“Where the hell do you get this stuff?” he asked her, but, not waiting for an answer, he continued, “She says she will wed me only if I love her, Agnes.”
“Ahhh,” Agnes Carr said, feeling not just a little jealous, but she smiled, nodding. “A clever and wise girl, I’m thinking, Conal.” At least she had him as a friend.
“What the devil does she mean, love her? I do love her,” he said.
“Youmake loveto her, my lord, and that is an entirely different thing,” Agnes answered him. “She wants you to love her with your whole heart.”
“But how do I do that?” the laird asked, an almost desperate tone in his voice. “I don’t even understand what that means, and if I don’t understand it, how can I do it?”
Agnes sighed. “True love, my lord, is like a will-o’-the-wisp. When you love with your whole heart you would do anything for your woman. Even give your life for hers. And a life without her is unthinkable, for it is empty and lonely. The sound of her voice makes you happy, and your first sight of her after a long day fills you with joy. Your own life without her is simply miserable.” Agnes shrugged. “I know that wiser folk than I could probably explain it better, my lord, but that is how I see it.”
“And men are really capable of these feelings, of this emotion, Agnes?” He swallowed the whiskey remaining in his cup. “She says she will know if I lie to her.”
Agnes Carr chuckled. “Wise, clever, and hard as rock,” she said. “Why I do believe, my lord, that you have finally met your match? And I suspect—although you are not yet aware, or even able to admit to it—that you love this lass, or at least have begun to love her. I have heard it said that your keep is habitable once again, and the food is edible. Grizel is my aunt. She tells me your lass is beautiful to look upon, and kind of heart with the servants and your men. Of course, when a lass walks about shadowed by a great dog, the men are apt to behave respectably. I suppose this means I’ll not be entertaining you in my bed anymore,” she concluded with a regretful sigh.
“I fear not, Agnes,” Conal Bruce told her with a small grin. “I suspect the kind of love Adair wants from me precludes a man’s visiting an old friend for a bit of a tumble.”
Agnes nodded. “It does, my lord. Still, I have many friends, including your two brothers. Duncan Armstrong brought the laddie to me just last week for tutor-ing. I must say that young Murdoc is an enthusiastic pupil. One of the best I’ve ever had. I was honored to have his virginity off of him.”
“Treat him well, Agnes,” the laird said. “As for Duncan, he had best treat you well. And you will never lack for anything as long as I am laird of Cleit.” He stood up.
“I had best get back to the keep. I am told the countryside may be in a bit of a turmoil, for King James wants the revenues of Coldingham Priory off Lord Home.
Keep yourself close, lass.” He walked to the door.
“Who told you?” she wanted to know.
“My cousin Alpin Bruce came yesterday. He’s in service to the Hepburn of Hailes. Lord Home is looking for allies.”
“What will you do?” Agnes asked him.
“Bide my time,” the laird responded. “I cannot afford to offend the king, and I cannot afford to offend Lord Home’s dignity. Such is the fate of we bonnet lairds,” he told her ruefully. Then he blew her a kiss. “Take care, Agnes.” And he was gone out her door.
Agnes Carr watched as the laird of Cleit rode away.
Then she chuckled to herself. The little English wench had ensorcelled Conal Bruce. He didn’t know it yet, but he was already in love with the lass; yet from what Grizel had said, Agnes Carr had no doubt that Adair would leave the laird if he could not admit to his feelings. “Poor laddie,” she said aloud. “Poor, poor laddie.”
Chapter 12
The party of horsemen making its way to Cleit Keep was not large. The man at arms on watchcounted ten men, lightly armed. He called down to alert the keep of their visitors. The horsemen galloped into the courtyard and dismounted. Conal Bruce hurried to greet them, his face impassive as he recognized Lord Home, the Hepburn of Hailes, and his cousin Alpin Bruce.
“Welcome to Cleit,” he said to Lord Home and the Hepburn. Then he shot his cousin a fierce glance. “You are not welcome here, Alpin, and you know it. Come into the hall, my lords, and take refreshment.” He led his visitors into the keep. When they had been settled with dram cups of his own whiskey, the laird of Cleit asked,
“How may I serve you, and what business brings you to Cleit?”
“I am disturbed to learn,” Lord Home began, “that you will not support me, Conal Bruce, in the matter of Coldingham Priory.”
“But neither will I support the king,” the laird answered. “I made that perfectly clear to my cousin when he last came. That was the message I sent to my lord Hepburn.”
“What prevents you from taking sides in this mostserious business?” Lord Home asked quietly. He sipped at his whiskey thoughtfully.
“My lord, this matter is between you and the king. I have no part in it. I am a simple man of no importance.
A borderer. A bonnet laird. Naught else. But if the king wishes to take his revenge on you he will strike out at your supporters, not necessarily at you. He will punish people like me to make his point—men of little significance with no great family or friends to defend them. I have what you see about me, my lord. A small keep, some livestock, a bit of land, a village. My people rely upon me for their safety and well-being. I cannot afford to take sides either against the king or against you, my lord. Please understand, for I mean you no disrespect.”
“That is not quite how your cousin Albin explained it to Patrick Hepburn,” Lord Home replied. “He said that you reminded him the Bruces were blood kin to the Stewarts, and that you would defend their rights to the death.”
“My cousin is a liar, my lord, and he always has been,”
