16
Fergus was frustratedby the time the rider appeared.
Leila had continued to be subdued and Fergus could not doubt that there was a new reserve between them.He had tried to talk to her several times, but she said only that she needed to rest.He sensed her concern but could not persuade her to share it with him.If ever she had been mysterious, now she was more so.He felt that all was at stake, though that made little sense, and he disliked that the easy camaraderie that had once been between them was gone.
What had Stewart said to her?She would not speak of it.
Fergus was sleeping each night in the hall, a courtesy to his lady wife that made him keenly aware of how much he missed her company.It was more than the tales she had shared with him.His sense of doom lingered, though he could not explain it.Killairic was safe.His father was well.There was no peril he could discern.Gavin appeared to be happy to be helping the miller’s son, and Fergus hoped there would be word of a relation who would take the boy when Murdoch returned from Iona.
Leila had told him of her home in Jerusalem, at his request, but he sensed that the tale was thin, as if she did not wish to confide in him.He felt that he was told the version any stranger might hear.He offered to help her to learn more Gaelic and her acceptance was less than enthused.She was certain he had more important matters to attend.He asked her to teach him Arabic and she demurred.
Murdoch had gone to Iona in his stead, as planned, and Fergus thought he had made the right choice in that, at least.He knew that Leila had ceased her lessons with the priest, though she still went to the smithy every day.He had no desire to force her to convert, though he did wonder why she had abandoned the plan when she had been so intent upon it.
It must mean that she reconsidered her plan to stay.
The birds had arrived from Carlisle and the dovecote had been completed.Leila took them beneath her care and gave them much attention, but said naught about them being her nuptial gift.He had visited the dovecote at her invitation and tried to share her pleasure that they had laid eggs.
He could not, for her smile did not reach her eyes.
Fergus was pacing in frustration when he was summoned by the guard on watch.He studied the approaching figure, wondering at his arrival.The horse had the slender grace of the horses bred by the Arabs, which troubled Fergus.Such beasts were uncommon even in Paris and virtually unknown in Scotland.Something about the rider’s trap and his garb made Fergus recall the dust and sun of Outremer, and he wondered that this arrival wore no insignia.
He could not think of any incident that would prompt a man to pursue him all the way from Palestine.
Surely Leila had not expected to be pursued?Was this man’s arrival what she awaited?
Fergus could not wait for the man to reach the gates.He strode out to meet him on the road, well beyond the gates.The wind was up and Fergus knew there would be rain by the evening.He supposed this man would be their guest, though he balked at that.
The arrival was dressed in the Frankish fashion, but his garb did not look quite right, as if he mimicked a style he had seen but was himself accustomed to dressing otherwise.His skin was tanned and his eyes were green, his features lined, and his gaze sharp.
The man eyed him warily, then dismounted, his gaze falling to the signet ring on Fergus’ finger.“I seek Fergus of Killairic,” he said, his French slow and accented.
“And you have found him,” Fergus replied, propping his hands on his hips.He supposed he did not look very welcoming, and he did not care.“Why do you seek me?”
The man raised his hands.“I bring a missive.It was read first by Gaston de Châmont-sur-Maine, for he was the one to direct me here.”
Fergus frowned in his surprise.Gaston had sent the man here?“Where is it?”
“In a pouch beneath my tabard.”
“Where are you from?”
“Jerusalem.”
Fergus nodded understanding, even though he was mystified.He could not imagine why Gaston would have granted directions to anyone, and thought of the safety of the reliquary.He pulled his knife from its sheath, thinking it made sense to be wary, even though he sensed no threat from the visitor.“Move slowly.If you deceive me in this, it will be your last living deed.”
The man nodded.He eased one hand beneath his tabard then removed a leather pouch from beneath his clothing.He opened it slowly to reveal a furled scroll.When he freed it from the pouch, Fergus saw that its original seal had been broken.Fergus did not recognize that mark, but there was a new one of red wax with Gaston’s insignia alongside it.
He told no lie about Gaston, at least.
Fergus frowned at the script, which was familiar to him but also illegible.“This cannot be intended for me.I do not read Arabic.”
“It is addressed to Leila binte Qadir lufti al-Ramm and is a message from her uncle.Lord Gaston implied that you might know her location.I am charged to deliver this to her with my own hand so would appreciate your assistance.”
Fergus hesitated.Was this from the uncle who had arranged Leila’s marriage?He doubted any other relative would have troubled to send a message so far.Could it be good tidings?Or was it a threat?Could it be a deception, meant to lure her back against her own better judgment?
What should he do?He wanted to protect Leila, but accepting the missive would reveal that he knew her location—or even indicate that she was hidden here at Killairic.On the other hand, he did not want to deny her any contact with her family.
“Karayan,” Leila said from behind him, and Fergus realized that she had not only followed him but recognized the visitor.He spun around to see her approaching quickly, then turned back to find the messenger had dropped to one knee.
