Mairi came and sat on the bed next to her and her expression grew serious, “It was a terrible, terrible time, and a poor match, but Lyall was on his grand quest for Dunkeldon. Do you know about Dunkeldon?”
“I was there, but I did not know its significance. I found your brother standing at the graves of your father and brother. I had to prod him to find out that much. He would not speak of it, and I did not push because of the deep pain he carried in his eyes when he was there.”
Mairi nodded. “That is another story for another night. ‘Tis enough to know our father was declared a traitor days after his death and Dunkeldon burned to the ground. Our older brother died that day and our mother was left scarred from the burns she suffered. The lands were taken. We were very young. It was many years later that Lyall approached Huchon de Hay, whose only daughter Isobel’s dower lands included Dunkeldon, the very land our family had lost. Our stepfather tried to talk some sense into Lyall but he would have none of it. His decision was made so the family stood by him.
“Isobel de Hay was raised in a convent, sheltered, and not the right match for my brother. She was as fragile as spun sugar, and about as sensible,” Mairi added in a wry afterthought. “I believe she always thought she would become one of the sisters and wed her God, but her father never would have allowed it. She was too valuable to barter. The blood bond through Lyall to the Ramseys and the barony of Montrose, our stepfather and close friend and council to the king, was all too tempting for de Hay.”
A daughter’s barter value. There was something Glennaunderstood and she experienced a moment of deep sympathy for Isobel de Hay.
“Isobel was naïve, and after they were betrothed, she was exposed to gossip and lies and manipulations of others with hard hearts and jealousies. My brother had been very successful on the tourney circuit. He had grown rich as Croesus from his prizes and purses, was acquiring the respect for the Robertson name-- he wanted so badly to vanquish all that had tarnished our name--and most expected that at some point, our stepfather would make him his heir to the barony.
But Lyall often kept to himself. There were not many he trusted, my husband, and at one time, another seasoned knight I only met a few times, Sir Ellar of Herth. So often he was without close friends to stand by his side, and that time of the wedding was no different. Isobel was a twit who listened to gossip. The night before their wedding ceremony, when the de Hay castle was filled with wedding guests, she wailed and pleaded with her father that he had betrayed her, that he had shamed her because he gave her to the son of a traitor. Lyall heard her. We all heard her.”
Glenna closed her eyes. She could only imagine what that had done to him.
“The wailing was horrid. I wanted to gag her. The next morning they wed but soon afterward, while the celebrations were going on, she snuck away. Lyall was the one who found her body at the base of the tower, dead, broken.” A haunted look came over Mairi’s expressive face and she was pale. “I have only seen that look on my brother’s face one other time, and I was so young. That was how my brother had looked when he buried Malcolm and we left Dunkeldon.”
Glenna wanted to know what happened to them, but she could see the telling of his story was painful enough for Lyall’s sister.
“By law, the dower lands stayed with de Hay because they had not yet consummated the marriage.”
“The betrothal was not binding enough?” Glenna asked.
“Not for the dower lands. The betrothal was the promise of the contract, but the wedding itself and the act of the marriage bed secures the deed. Lyall was left more broken than that poor, sad, young woman. Not because he had lost the lands, but what her words did to his pride. He blamed himself for her death and said had he treated her more kindly, she might not have chosen falling to her death over being wed to him. What she did to him.” Mairi shook her head. “She broke his desire to even try to reclaim honor for his name, then finding her body seemed to break something else.
“In what way? He changed?”
Mairi nodded. “He put up a wall that none of us could break through. He had been close with Donnald, the baron, who has been a good father to us both. But Lyall blocked him out. He ran wild and drank and disappeared for days at a time. Finally, he came back one day, looking like he’d been to hell and back, and he let his squires and other men-at-arms go, found them positions with other houses, and other knights, and he struck out alone and none of us could stop him. As far as I know, he never again joined another tourney.”
“Where did he go?”
Mairi frowned and shrugged. “I saw him only a few times before last year. He came back when we lost Robert—he and Lyall were close and had served together as pages, then squires for my stepfather. After Robert died, Lyall stayed at Greystone Manor with us. I believe he and my stepfather thought it best the boys and I were not without family close. My sons adore him, and I think after some time, they were good for him. There were days when I thought perhaps he might be coming back into himself again, but then de Hay contacted him.”
Glenna was as quiet as Mairi as she applied the knowledge to Lyall and his manner and actions. My Lord, what had he thought when he came rushing into the tower at Kinnesswood as she jumped?
The door opened and a young, fresh-faced maid came in. “Milady?”
“Aida. Oh, I had forgotten.”
“The bath you ordered is ready, milady.”
“And becoming cold whilst I stand in here yammering?” Mairi gave her maid a wry smile. “We will be right there. Forgive me, Glenna. I forgot myself. You must long for some comforts.”
Glenna thought the soft bed and furs she was sitting on was the finest comfort she’d ever experienced.
“There is a meal waiting for you and a bath. In your chamber.” Mairi extended an arm. “Come. We will see to your needs.”
Glenna followed her, pensive, but no longer tentative, and wondering if she could be so very wrong about the people in her future.
Nights were coolingoff and the sun setting earlier, signs of autumn and the changing of all things about them was edging out summer. Owls flew across the sky, landing on trees near the river, calling to the moon. But within the walls, noisy frogs had left the water ponds in the last weeks, making the air in the baileys quiet and peaceful but for the hum of insects. The air was brisk enough to make the ground cold and wet early in the morn, to turn the grass in the meadows silver with dawn dew. The time of year to think about what had passed and what was coming. A time for changing with the season.
There was slight wind when Ramsey opened the thick oaken door to the eastern wall and found his stepson leaning against the stonework with his elbows resting on a parapet, hands relaxed, face reflected in the moonlight as he stared out at the countryside.
Only if he could get inside his stepson’s head and his thoughts. Perhaps he could understand the demons driving him to commit the worse of mistakes and pretend he did not care.Lyall was not that shallow. The lad had not been, and the man could not be, though at that moment he was still angry and disgusted enough and ready to beat some sense into Lyall.
Ramsey closed the door and walked along the wall. “I have been looking for you.”
“And I have been avoiding you.” Lyall turned away from the parapet and faced him, that cocksure attitude in every nuance of his body.
