“So, it moved him?” She cocked an ear, hoping for the right answer. She had never attempted to portray herself as pitiful or victimized.
“I feel sure he will come ’round.” Valan emerged from behind the screen, the hard planes of his muscular body taking on a golden sheen in the candlelight. With the linen cloth, he squeezed water from his hair, then scrubbed the wetness from his body. “I ordered him to give us an answer by dawn. That gives his conscience ample time to push him in the right direction.”
He tossed the linen aside and joined her in the bed. “All will be well,” he promised, nuzzling the tender flesh behind her ear and smoothing his warm, large hand down her side and up between her thighs.
“All will be well, indeed.” She arched into his touch and concentrated on the moment’s pleasures, refusing to allow her worries to spoil it. Whatever was meant to happen would happen—whether her worries led the way or not.
*
Valan peered closerat the forged stamp. His weaponry knave had carved an amazing amount of detail into the end of an appropriately sized oak stick. An image of the king, holding his sword and scepter while seated on the throne. The intricate scene was surrounded by decorative beading and several words Valan couldn’t make out since he always struggled with Latin. It was an exact replica of King Alexander’s privy seal. Used to authenticate official documents of a more personal nature to His Majesty. “How did Niall come to know so much about the king’s privy seal?”
“I did not ask, m’lord.” Marcas gave a meaningful nod toward the creation. “As the provisions knave, I never question the weaponry knave’s work just as he never questions my healing or cooking.” He offered a folded parchment with a proud smile. “I handled the writing of the order. Make quite the scribe if I say so m’self.” He tapped a finger on the wooden stamp. “I have the sealing wax ready to light if everything meets yer approval.”
Valan carefully opened the order, noting the folded edges of the parchment had been rubbed until worn. The lightly frayed edges added authenticity. As though the thing had passed through several hands and traveled a long distance in the messenger’s pouch. As he moved closer to the candle and read the forgery, the skills of his two knaves not only made him smile but also appreciate that they served him and not someone else. He handed it back to Marcas. “Well done. Impressive work from the both of ye. Even better than I hoped.”
“Roland waits to pose as the messenger.” Marcas refolded the parchment, dripped a glob of honey-colored wax on the flap, and embossed it with the seal. “Since he and Master Artan were among those who left to level the English’s camp, verra few have seen his face—especially no one who might reveal that he’s nay a true messenger for the king.”
“Niall and yerself have served me well indeed.” Valan clapped a hand on the man’s shoulder. “As ye always do.” He cracked open the door of the small storage room and peeked out. No one must see either him or Marcas. He tossed a glance back over his shoulder. “’Tis safe to go. Stealth now, Marcas. No one must find any evidence, ye ken?”
Marcas smiled, tucked the order inside his tunic, and picked up the small iron chamberstick with its sputtering candle. “Dinna fash yerself, m’lord. I shall toss the stamp into the first roaring hearth I pass. Roland waits for me at the edge of the woods outside the postern gate. He knows to bide his time for a bit then deliver the message to Lady Elspet in front of witnesses.”
“Good. On wi’ ye then.” He stepped back, allowing Marcas to leave first. While giving the knave enough time to put some distance between himself and the storage room, he ran through the details of their plan yet again. They could leave nothing to chance. He stood in the darkness, studying it from every angle. As of yet, he found no glaring issues they might have missed. After ample time passed, he placed his ear to the door and listened. Nothing but silence came from the passage running between the southeastern tower and the great banquet hall attached to the back skirting wall. With stealth perfected from endless battles, he slipped out, hurried down the hall, and entered the courtyard with no one’s notice.
He needed to find William and update him on how the message would be delivered. With any hope, his second in command had settled his uneasiness after his nervous announcement that he would, in fact, take the Lady Beitris for his wife. Beitris had rolled her eyes but agreed. God help William MacAlpine de Courcy. Valan smiled at a sudden realization. If the daughter was anything like the mother, the young warrior would soon discover himself a very lucky man indeed.
Movement at the top of the forestair across the courtyard caught his eye. Elspet emerged, pausing on the landing to make a slow perusal of the area. Rather than armor, she wore a deep blue gown that somehow made her even lovelier. The close-fitting sleeves accentuated the gracefulness of her arms. A narrow, braided belt resting low on her hips draped its length down her front, perfectly setting off the slimness of her waist. While she didn’t attempt to tame her hair with veil, caul, or crespine, for the first time since they first met, she wore a shining circlet that came to point in the center of her forehead. Her simple, long braid, wrapped in ribbons the same blue as her gown, fell to her waist. With it being midsummer and warm, she had left off the sleeveless surcoat that might hide her mouthwatering curves. Valan reveled in the sight of her. A beauty, she was—nay, more than a mere beauty. Elspet was a goddess queen.
Her searching gaze settled on him, and she smiled, making his chest tighten even more. She was his. Forever and all time. He must remember to thank the Lady of Argyll whenever he saw her again. Lady Christiana had chosen well for him.
He hurried across the courtyard and took the wooden steps two at a time. This morning, when he forced himself to leave her bed, she had been asleep, all warm and tempting among the pillows. It had been all he could do not to stay with her. He greeted her with a kiss of her hand. “Ye are loveliness itself, m’lady. How fare ye this fine day?”
“I will be better when all is settled,” she said under her breath. A furtive shifting of her eyes and a subtle jerk of her head warned him that Dullis or someone who might be a problem was near. Speaking louder, she continued, “I must admit, it feels quite strange to stand in the courtyard and hear nothing but the hopeful sounds of my people rebuilding their lives. The morning seems brighter with the siege ended.”
“M’lady?” Dullis pulled the door open wider and joined them on the landing. “Since Himself arrives tomorrow, does there nay need to be a hunt for a fine venison to celebrate?”
“I am lady of this keep, and our beloved laird,Himself,sleeps inside his tomb.” Elspet glowered at the woman. “Ye will refer to his brother as Master Euban. NotHimself.Do ye understand?”
Dullis’s puckered scowl darkened even more. “Aye, m’lady. As ye wish.” She gave a pointed glance down at the corner of the courtyard where smoke and the clattering of iron pots rose from the kitchens. “What do ye wish me to tell Cook about preparing forMasterEuban?”
“Cook and her scullery folk will do as they have done since all from the village came to live within these walls. Prepare dinner enough for every man, woman, and child. If Euban wishes to eat, he can eat the same food his kin enjoy.” Elspet stared the woman down, her tight-jawed glare daring the surly maid to challenge her.
Valan caught Dullis’s attention with a fierce look of his own. He’d held his tongue as long as he could. “Do as yer mistress bids ye, aye? Withrespect, I might add.”
Dullis jerked her chin downward, then disappeared back inside the hall.
“Walk with me to the battlements?” Elspet motioned toward the outer access stair to the rooftop of the gatehouse. She lowered her voice. “We should be safe to speak freely up there.”
For the benefit of Dullis, who he felt certain still listened at the door, he gave a polite bow and offered his arm. Elspet accepted it with a graceful nod. But when they reached the middle landing of the outer stair, he brought them to a halt. In a low voice, he explained, “We should remain here, m’lady. Ourking’s messengerwill arrive at any moment.”
“As ye wish.” Elspet’s smile tensed as did her hold on his arm. “The order looks convincing enough?” She spoke without looking his way. Instead, she pointed at something across the courtyard as if they were discussing it.
“Better than I dared hope.” He pointed at a different area close to the first imaginary object of their feigned interest.
“There is one thing that concerns me.” She patted his arm as though agreeing with whatever he had said. “Why would the king send such an order about a distant cousin? How would he know that William was here or that he might wish to marry Beitris?”
Valan rested his hand atop hers and squeezed. He had thought of that as well. “Rest assured. We have that covered. William’s mother and the king’s mother are quite close. And in truth, William’s mother never warmed to her son being aGallóglaigh.To this day, his mother tracks him closer than a hound in chase of a scent and keeps herself apprised of his whereabouts and quests at all times.”
“So, his mother whispered in Marie de Coucy’s ear that a lairdship would grant her son a safer life than that of a mercenary?”
