But Margaret wasn’t listening; she’d already moved on to the next discovery. Since they’d arrived at Stirling Castle a few hours ago, it seemed every minute had been filled with them. She’d barely taken time to wash—in the finest tub she’d ever seen—change her clothes, and run a comb through her still damp hair before she’d dragged Brigid off to go exploring. They could rest tonight.
Margaret put her hand on one of the walls. “Itisplaster! I wasn’t sure. The painting of the arms is so exquisite I thought it might actually be a shield! Can you believe they painted the whole room with this brick and vine pattern? There isn’t a surface that hasn’t been decorated in here. I’ve never seen a more colorful room. And look at these curtains.” She moved toward one of the windows and pulled the heavy scarlet velvet around her. “It’s fine enough to make a gown.” Glancing down at her plain dark brown wool kirtle, she grinned. “Actually it’s finer than any of my gowns. What do you think? Will someone notice if we take it?”
Brigid shook her head with amazement. “Can you imagine using fabric as fine as that for curtains?” Suddenly, her face drew tight with consternation. “Do you think our gowns will be very different from the other ladies?”
“I should hope so,” Margaret said with a proud squaring of her shoulders. “We are wearing some of the finest wool in all of Scotland. There are no finer weavers than from Galloway. I should think the other ladies will be very envious indeed.”
Brigid bit her lip, not looking convinced. This time it was Margaret who shook her head. Her friend worried about the silliest things. They were just gowns, for goodness’ sake!
Margaret walked past the wooden screen of the dais into an antechamber. “Look at this, Brigid. It’s some kind of private solar. Holy cross! Do you see these candlesticks? They must be solid gold!” She plopped down on one of the benches around the edges of the room. “There isn’t a chair without a pillow in this place. I believe I’m going to be busy when I return to Garthland Tower making cushions for all the benches.”
“You shouldn’t blaspheme, Maggie, and you don’t sew.”
Margaret replied to this minor detail with a stuck-out tongue. Leave it to Brigid to point out the realities. But maybe that’s why they were such good friends. Brigid was the riggings to her sail. She didn’t let her get carried away. Well,toocarried away. As for the blasphemies, her brothers said far worse. If anyone was going to hell, it was them.
“Very well, I shall have Marsaili make them then.”
“I don’t think she likes to sew any more than you do.”
“Well, at least she knows how,” Margaret said, grinning.
She stood and walked over toward a table. On it was some kind of checkered board arranged with tiny carved pieces. She picked up one of the figures to examine it, noticing that it appeared to be made out of ivory. There were all kinds of different-sized figures in two colors. Some were arranged on the board, and some were off the board on opposite sides of the table. “Maybe this room is for the bairns,” she said. “It looks like some kind of a game.”
“That’s a fine-looking game for a child.” Brigid frowned when Margaret picked up another piece. “Do you think you should be touching that, Maggie? What if someone gets upset?”
Margaret looked at her friend as if she were daft. “It’s just a game, Brige. Why would anyone care about that?” She picked up two of the biggest pieces. “Look at these—they are adorable. It looks like they have crowns. They must be a king and queen.”
Brigid wrinkled her nose. “They look scary to me.”
Margaret shook her head. “They should go in the middle.” Realizing there wasn’t a space in the middle in the checkerboard pattern, she improvised and put the queen in the center of the four spaces. “Well, the queen will go in the middle and the king will have to stand to her left.” She grinned and moved the pieces around. “With all these men on horses around them.”
“I take it the queen is you?” Brigid laughed. “Ruling over the men like you do at Garthland?”
“Well someone needs to,” Margaret said matter-of-factly. “As much as my father and brothers are away, nothing would ever get done if I didn’t take care of all those ‘minor details.’ ”
They looked at each other and burst out laughing, knowing that Margaret handled far more than the “minor details” for which her father liked to give her credit.
Brigid picked up a few of the pieces to examine them, and then a small flat piece of wood that Margaret hadn’t noticed before. It had something written on it.
“What do you think this says?” she asked.
Margaret looked at the lettering and shrugged. Like her friend she had no idea.
Not knowing how to play the game, they giggled as they took turns arranging the pieces in humorous formations.
“Do you hear something?” Brigid said. “I think someone is coming.” She gasped in horror. “It can’t already be time for the midday feast? We aren’t ready!”
“I’m sure we still have plenty of time. It can’t be that late—”
Margaret stopped, turning as a group of men walked into the antechamber. There were at least a half-dozen of them, but they seemed to be following one man. At least she assumed they must be following him, as he had the noble bearing of a king and was one of the most richly attired men she’d ever seen.
Probably a good ten years older than her eight and ten, he wore a dark green velvet mantle lined with fur, secured by an enormous jeweled brooch of silver. His surcoat was so richly embroidered it also looked jeweled. He was tall—about six feet—and sturdily built with dark hair and a neatly trimmed short dark beard.
“Friends of yours, Carrick?” one of the men asked with a speculative lift of his brow. He gazed at Margaret with unabashed interest, his eyes lingering over her hair. “Not the entertainment I was expecting, but I’m not complaining.”
Margaret didn’t realize what the man meant at first. She was too surprised to hear the identity of the young nobleman. This was the infamous Earl of Carrick and Lord of Annandale, Robert Bruce? From her father’s description, she’d been expecting a forked tongue and devil’s horns, not this impressive, handsome young man.
Entertainment? Her eyes narrowed back on the man who’d spoken. The man was older than the earl, shorter, and not nearly as handsome, although there was a brute strength to him. His eyes were fixed speculatively on her chest. He couldn’t think...
