Ramsay was relieved beyond all when that man offered his hand. “It seems all is well that ends well,” Ahearn said gruffly and Evangeline laughed with pleasure.
“It is, Ahearn, it is!” She took his arm and stretched to kiss his cheek.
“But Normandy?” Alexander protested. “All are gathered at Kinfairlie, in preparation to ride here for your nuptials. You must come to Kinfairlie first.”
Evangeline smiled and Ramsay knew he was not the sole one charmed. “I should like that so much better than wedding here, cousin, and already suggested as much to Ramsay,” she confessed. “Might we so impose?”
“’Tis no imposition,” Alexander said, to her evident delight.
Evangeline offered a hand to Lady Haynesdale. “But you must accompany us to my cousin’s abode and share in the celebration.”
“Indeed,” Alexander said. “And we must hear all the details of events of this day.”
“Of course!” Lady Haynesdale agreed happily. “You must be in need of refreshment after your ride. Stephen has requested that a meal be served here in the meadow, as Evangeline does not wish to enter Dunhaven again.”
“That would be ideal,” Alexander agreed and chatter erupted as plans were made.
Ramsay breathed a sigh of relief that Ahearn had accepted Evangeline’s choice. There was solely the Hawk of Inverfyre who could destroy their plans, and Ramsay hoped against hope that his lady was not obliged to choose between him and her father.
* * *
John Mowbray,third Duke of Norfolk and the Warden of the Eastern March, arrived at Dunhaven with his entourage early on a pleasant May evening. His journey had been uneventful and he anticipated a merry reunion with Rufus Percival, a cohort from the wilder days of his youth.
Indeed, he had accepted the invitation to Rufus’ nuptials partly to lord his new post over the other man. Mowbray had little intention of doing much as Warden—in truth, he intended to do little at all—but the opportunity to make Rufus fidget was irresistible. Purportedly friends, they had mostly been inclined to the same wild impulses and often found themselves cohorts. He knew little of the man’s nature, save that Rufus was no less inclined to accept a challenge or a dare than he was himself. They had run wild until Mowbray had been disciplined by the king himself.
To be sure, he resented that Rufus had continued to be unfettered.
And so he rode to Dunhaven, leaving his wife at home, hoping for some drunken revels and a willing wench—or six—to remind him of past pleasures.
Instead, he found no pennant flying from Dunhaven’s tower, as if Rufus meant to miss his own nuptials. Even more confounding, the meadow outside the walls was thick with tents. Indeed, a large company sat at tables and benches in the meadow, feasting and laughing as merrily as if they were hosted at the king’s table. A group of musicians played and several sang along robustly to a familiar tune.
In the midst of it all was a dark-haired lady of some beauty, laughing. She wore a coronet of daisies and a gown of blue. A knight in azure and argent was close by her side, his murmurs clearly prompting her merry mood.
What was this? Where was Rufus?
A knight of distant acquaintance approached and Mowbray nodded with relief. He had seen Talbot Everard at joust, and belatedly realized he knew the colors of the knight beside the lady as well. Ramsay MacLaren. But what were these two knights doing so close to Scotland’s borders, when they were routinely found in Tours in the spring, at tournament. Were they also guests of Rufus? That missing pennant was troubling, though.
“Sir Talbot,” Mowbray said when the fair-haired knight bowed before him.
“Sir John,” that man said, then smiled. “If you have come for a wedding, you are to be disappointed.”
“But the date was to be Saturday.”
“But that was the wedding of Rufus, which will not be celebrated.”
“Whyever not?” His gaze trailed to the tower, devoid of pennant, and he feared he might guess the truth.
“Rufus lies dead in his chapel and will be buried on the morrow, beside his father.” The other knight appeared untroubled by these tidings, a most curious detail since he was evidently a guest at Dunhaven.
Mowbray blinked. “Dead? Both dead?”
“Aye, dead. Rufus killed his father some days ago, and he himself died in a duel of honor, this very day.”
Dead. Mowbray could not summon a great deal of distress over that detail. “But what of this duel of honor?” He wished he had made more haste in his journey, for he had not been able to travel to France for a year and he missed the spectacle of the lists. That there had been a joust here and he had missed it by mere hours was a matter of considerable disappointment.
“Rufus Percival’s betrothed, Evangeline Armstrong of Inverfyre, witnessed the taking of his father’s life. My companion, Ramsay MacLaren defended the lady’s cause and challenged Rufus this very day.” Talbot smiled. “He triumphed.” He frowned then. “Or perhaps they were victorious together.”
Mowbray was impatient with this detail. Of course, Ramsay had triumphed. Few were victorious against Ramsay MacLaren—save Rufus when he cheated.
