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“Come, Molly,” Janet said, standing. “I have finished eating, so we can begin the apples straightaway. Then, perhaps, you and Bella would like to help with a few other light chores.”

  Bella grimaced, but Lady Meg said, “Aye, Molly, go along with Janet now, and I will talk with Walter. Then, perhaps, you will join me in my sitting room a half-hour or so before our midday meal, so that you and I can have a talk, too.”

  “Aye, madam, I would be pleased to do that,” Molly said, there being no other acceptable reply.

  She glanced at her host again as she turned away.

  To her shock, he winked at her.

  Wat saw Molly’s astonishment and knew he had overstepped the line of acceptable behavior for a host toward a young lady guest. But his wink was pure impulse and occurred before he had known he would do it. Glancing at his grandmother, he noted gratefully that she was talking again with his mother.

  Lady Meg nodded then and turned toward him. “I will see your mother settled in the solar, love,” she said. “Then you and I can adjourn to my sitting room. I know you want to prepare for your journey, so I shan’t let you linger with me.”

  “I’ll be there anon, Gram,” he said. “I want a word with Tam first.”

  “Surely, you won’t take him with you!”

  “Nay, Geordie will look after my men, and Sym’s Jed will look after me, as usual,” Wat said, speaking of the captain of his fighting tail and Sym’s son.

  He nearly revealed what he meant to tell Tam, but the hall was not the place for that. “I’ll see you shortly.”

  She nodded and returned her attention to Lady Scott.

  Finding Tam in the stable, talking with a pair of lads there, Wat waited only until he had dismissed them before saying, “I’d warrant you know that I want our guest’s presence here kept as quiet as possible.”

  “Aye, laird,” Tam said. “Ye’ll no want trouble wi’ the Cockburns.”

  “True,” Wat agreed. “You have guessed”—he looked swiftly around to be sure the stable was otherwise empty—“that she is Piers Cockburn’s daughter.”

  When Tam nodded, Wat went on. “I’ve agreed that we’ll do all we can to protect her, so her family must not know where she is until I glean more facts about her situation and decide what is best to do.”

  “What o’ Ring Tuedy?” Tam said mildly. “He seemed as set on finding her as Will Cockburn did. Ye’ll no want trouble with that villain either, I’m thinking.”

  Wat sighed. “I’d like to say that what happens at Rankilburn is no concern of Tuedy’s. But—and this is for no one’s ears save yours and Geordie’s, although Sym will likely hear it from Gram—the lady Molly is Tuedy’s wife, albeit unwillingly so.”

  Big Tammy’s thick, dark eyebrows shot upward. “Nay then,” he muttered. “That villain has a foul reputation with the lassies, laird. He’s been firm against marrying afore this, too. So what would ha’ stirred him to marry her ladyship?”

  “Cozying up to her father, I’d wager,” Wat said. “They own adjoining lands, and her ladyship thinks Piers feared a feud with the Tuedys if he refused. Even so, that any self-respecting father could give his daughter to a man known the length and breadth of the Borders as a deceitful brute alarms me.”

  “Our lads will keep mum, and we’ve little to fear from the Cockburns,” Tam declared. “Even so, the news will get out, sir. Such secrets always do.”

  “I know, but do what you can. Whatever happens, keep the lass safe.”

  After discussing other matters with Tam, Wat told Geordie, the captain of his fighting tail, that they would leave directly after the midday meal. “I will spend tonight at Melrose, Geordie, and tomorrow at Douglas’s Black Tower in Hawick, if I must. But I want to return here as soon as I can.”

  “Aye, laird, I’ll see to all, then,” Geordie said.

  Knowing that he had done what he could to protect Molly, and was leaving the Hall in good hands, Wat headed upstairs to his grandmother’s sitting room.

  Lady Meg would want to hear what orders he had given and would have last-minute advice for his trip to the abbey. But the morning was swiftly passing, and he could spare her only a few minutes.

  “I am surprised that our fathers never presented us to each other, Molly,” Janet said with a smile, as she deftly pared an apple. “I’m only a year younger than you are, so if they had, we might have been longtime friends by now.”

  “My father rarely mixes with other families,” Molly said. “I used to think he avoided such gatherings because he missed my mother. Now I think he just prefers the company of men and dislikes anything more formal. I do agree, though, that your father would have encouraged our friendship. He was kind to me whenever he visited us, and I liked him. You must miss him sorely.”

  Tears welled in Janet’s blue eyes, and Molly saw that Bella abruptly gave her full attention to the skinless apple she was slicing. The younger girl looked as if she were intent on making each slice equal to its predecessor.

  Janet wiped her eyes on a sleeve. “Father would disapprove of us turning into watering pots,” she said softly. “Whenever we succumbed to tears or what he called ‘tragedy faces,’ he’d remind us that emotions are for one’s bedchamber.”

  “He did,” Bella said. “But he was always gey quick with a hug when he said such things, Jannie. And his hugs—” Overcome, she stopped, swallowed hard, and fixed her attention again on her apples.

  “I’m so sorry,” Molly said sincerely. “I have wanted to express my own sorrow at his death, and my condolences, to you all. But one never knows what to say in such a case that will not upset the listener more than if one had kept silent.”

  “How true that is,” Janet said. “I never know what to say. Gram always seems to know the exact thing, but even she has been quiet, so one knows that she is suffering as much as any one of us is. It was so… so sudden. He just put a hand to his chest and turned ashen pale. Within minutes, he was gone.”

  “Gram said he had been feeling sickly all day,” Bella murmured. “He told her his arm and chest hurt. Then he said it was naught, that he had just been too busy and needed a good sleep. H-he couldn’t have known.”

  “At least he was not sick or helpless for days or months,” Molly said gently. “As for what to say to your grandame, mayhap you should ask her what you might do to make things easier for her now. I think she would tell you if you asked her.”

  Janet surprised her with a watery chuckle and quickly covered her mouth. “Oh, I ken fine that I ought not to laugh at such a time,” she said through her slim fingers. “But the notion of Gram’s not telling us what we might do, when she rarely misses an opportunity—faith, that just makes me want to laugh.”

  Bella said, “She told me once that offering advice so easily comes of having been the oldest of three girls. She said her mother expected her to look after the younger ones and to guide them, so it became habit later to manage things. Also, she is very good at managing. Mam never needs to lift a finger.”

  Janet met Molly’s gaze and looked swiftly away.

  Aware that she ought to change the subject, Molly said lightly, “It must be pleasant to have the company of other women. I have only men at home and the occasional maidservant whose parents will allow her inside during the day. None will let a daughter sleep inside our tower.”

  “Mercy, had you no personal maidservant, then?” Bella asked.

  “Sometimes I did during the day,” Molly told her. “But they never lasted long, especially as I grew older. Sithee, my brothers likewise grew older. Whenever a maidservant began to worry about drawing their attention, she would stop coming even by day. I didn’t mind much, though, most of the time.”

  Both Janet and Bella eyed her sympathetically, and long enough so that she said firmly, “Truly, I did not mind. Sometimes, one wants to be alone.”

  “I don’t mind that, sometimes,” Janet said. “But I want to choose the times.”

  “I like having other females around,” Bella said.
“Without them… well, who can one talk to if one is all alone?”

  “I had imaginary friends when I was small,” Molly told her.

  “I think Wat believes there are too many women here,” Janet said with another little smile. “Since our brother Stephen began his knightly training…”

  “He and Wat rarely had much to talk about before then,” Bella said sagely when Janet paused. “Whenever Wat was home, Stephen would plague him to talk about all that he did when he was not at home.”

  “I think it is the nature of brothers to plague each other,” Molly said. “I have three of them. I own, though, I’ve often wondered how it would be to have a sister.”

  “We can be your sisters for now, at least,” Janet said.

  “Aye, sure,” Bella said, brightening.

  The thought of having two such sisters warmed Molly all through. Then she recalled that she would soon have to go home and then let Tuedy drag her miles away to Drumelzier, his family’s home on the river Tweed.

  They were still talking and thoroughly enjoying each other’s company when a stiffly upright, elderly woman entered the kitchen. She said, “Lady Molly, forgive my intrusion, but I am Lady Meg’s woman, Brigid. She would have you bear her company now until they are ready to serve the midday meal.”

  “I must wash my hands, but then I will go to her,” Molly said, taking off the apron that Janet had given her to wear while preparing the apples. Picking up the pink and gray shawl from the stool where she had draped it earlier, and assuring the others that she would help again as soon as she could, she hurried in Brigid’s wake.

  Her wariness of Lady Meg, having waned earlier, seemed now to have disappeared, vanquished by curiosity.

  When Brigid opened the door for her to enter, Molly saw Lady Meg standing by a window directly opposite them. She turned with a smile.

  “You came up quickly, my dear. I am grateful.”

  “There is no need for gratitude, my lady,” Molly said, making her curtsy.

  “Come to the window and take that stool,” Lady Meg said. “We can enjoy the sun now that it has come out. ’Tis as if this early-November weather cannot decide whether to begin winter now or linger resolutely in autumn.”

  Taking the indicated seat, Molly said with a smile, “ ’Tis often the case at this time of year, though, is it not?”

  “It is,” Meg admitted. “In troth, I sought something to say other than to tell you again how dreadful I feel to have abandoned you as I did. See you—”

  “You need not apologize,” Molly interjected daringly. “I know my father, and since he never told me I had a godmother…” She spread her hands.

  “Yes, but mayhap you should not blame him alone,” Lady Meg said. “Marjory may not have told him. Only she, your mother, the priest, and I were present at your christening. As I recall, Piers had said…” She rolled her eyes musingly. “If I recall aright, he told Marjory that he had named three sons and thought a daughter’s naming did not warrant disturbing a priest, let alone God.”

  “That sounds like him, aye,” Molly said, stifling a grimace. “But I do think that Grandame ought to have told me about you before she died.”

  “I have heard that your father is a brutal man,” Lady Meg said mildly in what seemed to be a non sequitur. “Has he ever raised a hand to you?”

  “He used to skelp me with a switch, aye, whenever I misbehaved or made him angry. Do not most fathers do that?”

  “They do, but yours has a reputation for being more temperamental and violent than most Borderers are. Your brothers share that repute, so Marjory may have feared that telling you she had provided you with a godmother might prove dangerous for you. You must have been only seven or so when she died, aye?”

  “I had just turned eight,” Molly admitted.

  “And your birthday is sometime this month, as I recall.”

  “The seventeenth,” Molly said, impressed that Lady Meg had remembered. Piers Cockburn was not a man for remembering or celebrating birthdays.

  When Lady Meg remained silent, Molly said, “It was kind of his lordship to rescue me. He was likely thinking then only of his so-recent bereavement.”

  “It was good for our Walter to rescue you, child. His father’s death hit us all hard, but I think that Walter tends now to worry about the burdens he has inherited. His father also inherited the title much earlier than he had expected, you see, because my beloved husband died at the Battle of Homildon Hill.”

  Her lips twisted at the memory, and Molly could not blame her. The Scots had suffered dreadful losses in that battle, because they had endured exceedingly bad leadership from men who ought never to have been leading them. At least, that was what her father had often said.

  “It must have been a terrible battle,” she said.

  “It was, but that is not why I mentioned it. Robert was eager to assume his new duties and was duly respectful of them. But he had no other ambition and few other calls on him to do otherwise. Walter, however, seeks to emulate his grandfather and become the second Sir Walter Scott in this family.”

  “He means to win a knighthood, then.”

  “Aye, for he thrives on battle and raiding just as my husband did. But Wat knows that all such activities must take second place to his duties here and on his numerous other estates. Robert recently acquired several new pieces of land and hoped to acquire the other half of one of them and rid himself of Murthockston, which is gey distant from here. I know he’d want Wat to do that if he can.”

  “Doubtless, his lordship is aware of his father’s hopes,” Molly said with a feeling that she should not be discussing her host so familiarly. To change the subject, she said, “It is fortunate that he was home when Lord Rankilburn died.”

  “I sent for him,” Lady Meg said. Looking bleakly out the window, she added, “I kept having this odd sense of loving Robert too much. It came frequently and at odd times. I cannot describe it, other than to say that I’d experienced such feelings before, during a short period before my husband rode off to war that last time. I knew that our Walter would come home if I sent for him. So I did.”

  “How providential,” Molly said, thinking it also sounded eerie. Then, noting that Lady Meg had turned from the window and was eyeing her rather speculatively, she wondered if the comment had seemed improper to her.

  If it had, Lady Meg showed no sign of it. She said with a sigh, “The unfortunate thing is that Robert and Wat often saw things differently. Wat no sooner arrived than Robert asked him if he had turned his thoughts yet to marriage, which is a subject that Wat still avoids discussing.”

  “If he is reluctant,” Molly said feelingly, “no one should force him.”

  “No one did. However, the fact is that he is more than old enough to take a wife and sire children, and now that he has inherited the title, he has a duty to provide himself with an heir. Perhaps I should begin thinking about who might suit him. I don’t suppose you know any eligible young females.”

  “I… I have female cousins, madam, but I scarcely know them. In troth, I know only those females who have served us at Henderland.”

  “Certes, none of them would do, but I shall think of something.” Lady Meg drew a breath. “Now, tell me how you came to marry that dreadful Tuedy. Do not think you will shock me, for I do not shock easily, and I want to hear all about it.”

  Chapter 5

  After the midday meal, Wat left for Melrose with his manservant, Jed Elliot, his equerry, and a tail of six armed riders. That was half as many men as the King of Scots’s orders and first Parliament allowed the Lord of Rankilburn.

  Had he been crossing land controlled by an unfriendly clan, he’d have taken his full allotment. However, the Earl of Douglas controlled the land between Rankilburn and Melrose, and much of Teviotdale was Scott land.

  Wat wore his fur-lined cloak over breeks, boots, and a leather jack, and he carried both sword and dirk. When his man, Jed, had draped the cloak over Wat’s shoulders, an image of Molly weari
ng it the night before leaped into his mind.

  She had looked small in it, not to mention sad, wary, bruised, and bedraggled. As he rode, he thought about her several times, wondering what to do with her.

  Every time, the image of Ring Tuedy rose in his mind, making him wince.

  He and his men crossed the river Tweed at the abbot’s ford that afternoon and reached the abbey shortly before dark. Despite ever-threatening skies, they kept dry. Riding alongside the gray river, Wat heard baaing in nearby dusk-shadowed pastures and saw flocks of sheep, winter-heavy with the famous Melrose wool.

  Beyond the next bend, a group of men-at-arms camped. Several took obvious note of the Scott banner with its gold crescent moons. No one challenged him.

  Dismounting in the gravel yard, he handed his reins to his equerry and told Geordie to make camp downriver from the abbey buildings. “Tell them to keep clear of the lot west of here,” he added. “They’re likely friendly, but I saw no banner.”

  Taking only Jed with him, he crossed the yard through the darkening twilight to find a lay brother. He did not expect to see the abbot before morning.

  “Methinks there be unusual activity here, laird,” the lanky, redheaded Jed said as they walked toward the low-walled precinct and the newly whitewashed guesthouse east of it. Diverted from his imagined forthcoming talk with the abbot, Wat noted that the grounds near the abbey did seem to be busier than usual.

  Alert now, recalling the camp to the west, he looked more closely. The precinct and newly restored cloister inside its low wall looked as peaceful as ever, but a few weaponless but still martial-looking men strolled through the abbey’s winter-bare orchards. Others stood near its guesthouse or walked the river path.

  A crunch of gravel drew his attention to a man in the plain brown habit and black scapular of a lay brother hurrying toward them from the guesthouse.

  Wat recognized him from previous visits as Brother Kieran.

  “Welcome, m’lord,” he said as he approached, answering the question hovering on Wat’s tongue. News of his father’s death had beaten him to Melrose.