“I am going to my father to beg him to cease his part in this war!”
Isobel appeared shocked. “And Stephen does not know?”
“He does not know. He left before I even thought of this plan. But even if he did know, he would not let me go. A man does not allow his wife to serve such purposes.” She would not tell the child that her brother did not trust her, and would think, as Isobel had, that Mary meant to run away.
Isobel’s eyes glowed. She smiled eagerly. “If you can stop Malcolm, why, the bards will tell stones about you and the minstrels will sing of you! No longer will they speak only of your beauty—but of your courage! And Stephen—he shall no longer be so angry with you! He will love you again!”
Mary was silent. Her heart was wrenched hard by the child’s words, words that accurately reflected her own hopes. How much did Isobel know? More important, how much did Isobel understand? It seemed as if the child comprehended Mary’s predicament completely. How could one so young be so astute? “Then you will help me, by keeping silent?”
Isobel regarded her. “You will come back?”
“Of course.” She saw that Isobel was uncertain enough to hesitate. “I love Stephen, Isobel.”
And Isobel’s eyes danced. “I will help you. I will help you to stop this war and I will help you gain Stephen’s love again!”
Late that day, as dusk fell upon the land, Mary was escorted by a single rider around the enemy lines—her husband’s lines—as they approached the Scottish army’s camp.
The Scot who rode with her was a strong lad who had been eager to help her once she had revealed her identity to him and his kin at their small croft on the eastern edge of the Cheviot Hills. It was no secret that Malcolm’s huge army was camped on the flats just north of Liddel, just as it was no secret that the Norman armies were camped on the gentle slopes just south of Carlisle. Upon leaving the small farm, they had traveled directly west into the hills, using deer trails. Soon they had turned south. There had been some need for caution. The two armies were firmly entrenched and many leagues south of them, but armed Normans and Englishmen, vassals or allies of her husband, were still riding across the land to join forces with him. They did not dare use the old Roman road, but followed more paths on the hills just above it. Twice Mary and Jamie had to stir their old horses into a gallop and rush off of the trail to hide in a copse of trees or a gully. They had crouched beside their mounts in fright as the fully armed Norman knights pounded by on their big destriers on the road below them, menacing and dangerous. If Mary had not realized how perilous her scheme was before, she certainly realized it now. If she was caught by these knights, not one of them would believe her to be Stephen’s wife. Her fate, and Jamie’s, did not bear thinking about.
The irony of it was vast. Stephen’s troops had become the enemy, when she loved him so dearly.
When the sun was hanging low, the light faded and gray, it was time to leave the old Roman road behind The River Tyne forked south and the two riders forked west, leaving the road and slipping into the woods, earnestly in search of Malcolm’s camp now. Not too many leagues ahead lay Carlisle.
Jamie had a ready wit, which he had used all day to keep Mary distracted from the danger they were in. Now his gap-toothed grin was gone and sweat sheened his fair skin, although it was cold out. Mary perspired as well. Her heart thudded with dread. The Scot army was not far away, but neither was the Norman army, and undoubtedly there would be many patrols out all that night. Both she and the young lad were terrified now at being discovered by a Norman patrol. She still feared a horrible fate, as did he, but more important, capture would mean that her mission had failed—when they were so close to success.
Ten minutes after having left the road, they were challenged by a patrol. The rough Highland burr gave away the scouts as Scots immediately, and Jamie laughed with relief. Mary did, too. Dear God, they had made it! Somehow they had sneaked past hundreds of Norman troops, evading their patrols, and reached safe Scottish territory!
Despite her disguise, Mary was recognized the instant she threw off her cowl, before she could even reveal herself. The big, burly Scotsmen, all on foot and wearing their plaids, were incredulous. No one asked what she was doing there, but their incredulity had given way to pleased grins. Mary knew what they thought. They thought that she was coming home, a traitor to her husband.
Night was falling rapidly, but Mary could see well enough to be shocked at the size of her father’s camp. Jamie had boasted about its size, boasts based on rumor, and Mary had not believed him. Now she turned to one of the brawny men striding along beside her tired plow horse. “He must have gathered five hundred men! Why, there must be a dozen different clans here! I see the Douglas colors, and the Macdonalds, and the Fergusons, too! They have not supported us in all the years I can remember!”
The big Scot whom she had addressed flashed her a roguish grin, then winked. “Yer da has taken the bit between his teeth, lassie. He’ll win this one, ye can be sure.”
Mary was not sure, but defeat was by no means a glaring probability now. What, she wondered, had Malcolm offered these clans in exchange for their support? And what, dear God, would happen when the Scot army met the Norman one? She was afraid. The destruction would be horrendous, the loss of life on a scale impossible to imagine. Now she understood why Alnwick prepared for a siege. Malcolm’s army was massive enough, forbidding enough, to raise the specter of such a fearsome event.
Now was not a time to be selfish, but Mary could not help from choking on a sudden lump in her throat. She could imagine herself cowering in the solar at Alnwick with the other women while the tower was bombarded with stone and metal missiles and Greek fire, while the walls were being buffeted by heavy battering rams. If she failed to dissuade him from war, would it come to that? Would her father attempt to destroy Alnwick, her husband’s home, even while she remained within its walls?
She must not think so dismally. Mary blinked twice to clear her vision and gazed out upon the panorama of so many weather-stained tents spread out on the rolling green fields ahead. Malcolm’s tent was on a small rise, no bigger or grander than anyone else’s, and Mary saw him immediately. Malcolm squatted before his campfire, surrounded by many powerful lairds, as well as Edward, Edmund, and Edgar. Mary forgot about her escort, Jamie, and the scouts. She urged the old horse forward. Edgar saw her first. He stared, shocked. Then he ran towards her, a glad cry escaping his lips. Mary dismounted, sliding into his arms. She was glad to see that be had full use of both of them.
He did not hug her. He shook her wildly instead. “By all the saints! What are you doing here, Mary? Why are you not with your husband?”
“And I’m glad to see you, too,” she said tartly, giving him an embrace. He shrugged free. He had never been demonstrative with his affection, thinking it unmanly. Now he was disapproving. “I hope you have a good reason for being here and not at Alnwick, where you belong!”
She looked at his young, stem face. Edgar was never disapproving of her, they had spent their lives defying authority together and defending each other. Mary realized that he might think that she was betraying Stephen, too. “I have only come to have a word with Father. I intend to return to Alnwick this night.”
He gaped. His expression was so boyish, so much like the old Edgar, that she smiled. He opened his mouth to speak, but Edward and Edmund were upon them. “Mary?” Edward was also disbelieving. “How in hell did you get here?”
“More importantly,whyis she here?” Edmund said.
Mary looked at Edward, saw his concern, and looked at Edmund, saw his distrust. “I must speak with Father.”
“Do you carry a message from your husband?” Edmund asked skeptically. “Does the mighty bastard now hide behind a woman’s skirts?”
Mary clenched her fists, livid. “He would never hide, not from anyone, and especially not from the likes of you!”
Edmund growled, “You show your true colors, sister.”
She flushed. Her defense of Stephen had been automatic, but not diplomatic. “I bring no message from Stephen. He does not know I am here.”
