The image of the serving woman he passed in the corridor when he was searching for Lady Margaret came into his head. The woman carried a tray, wore a servant’s gown and an old woman’s kerchief, and walked with her head down. He was so intent on finding a lady in a sparkling gown and headdress that he barely saw her. And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind he had noticed something was not quite right about that serving woman.
It was the hands that clasped the tray. They were not the red and chafed hands of a servant, but the smooth, elegant hands of a noblewoman. He could kick himself for missing that clue. As he mulled over the memory, he was certain the graceful walk and slender shape beneath the drab servant’s gown belonged to Lady Margaret Douglas.
Now, that was intriguing. He smiled at her inventiveness. His amusement faded as he recalled the king’s petulant voice and her brother’s irritated expression when she did not return to the hall. If Finn’s suspicion was correct and her brother wanted her to initiate the young king into the pleasures of the bed chamber, it was no wonder she left the feast.
Perhaps she used her disguise to escape for a few hours solace in a lover’s arms. Finn certainly was never one to judge a woman for seeking pleasure.
So why did the thought of Lady Margaret meeting a lover unsettle him?
A couple of hours later, Finn returned to the nearby tavern to see if he could learn something useful from the guards about her habits. He settled in, expecting he’d have to buy a few rounds before he could casually bring Lady Margaret into the conversation, and then buy a few more before he could get them to tell him when she usually left the palace to visit friends or shops in the city.
As soon as he sat down next to some guards, however, he heard them complaining that if Lady Margaret did not reappear by morning, Archibald Douglas would send them to Blackadder Castle with orders to find her and bring her back.
“I don’t relish the notion of asking the Beast of Wedderburn to hand over his wife’s sister,” one of the guards said. “The last time a man crossed him, the Beast tied his severed head to the market cross by his hair.”
“Let’s look in the village near the castle first,” one of the others suggested. “That’s where we found her the last time, after we learned she visits the old man in the last cottage on the road.”
“Aye, we’ll go to the village first,” another said, “and pray we find her there.”
###
It must have been near midnight when they reached the cottage. While Lizzie tied her horse in the brush behind the cottage where it would not be seen, Margaret got a fire going in the hearth.
“You can have the bed,” Lizzie said, stifling a yawn. “I’ll sleep in the loft.”
Margaret was too tired to argue and quickly stripped down to her chemise. When she pulled down the extra blanket Thomaskept on the shelf above his bed, a small leather pouch fell onto the mattress. She started to put it back on the shelf, but then stopped herself. It was an ordinary pouch, the kind used to carry coins or a talisman. She did not know why she felt compelled to open it.
She untied the leather lace and upended the bag into her palm. As shining bits of black stone poured out, memories filled her head from the night William tore her pendant from her neck and smashed the stone into these tiny pieces. Her mother had given her the stone, a black onyx, believing it held magic that would protect her and bring her good fortune.
It had done neither.
Two years later, she had left Drumlanrig with nothing but the night shift she wore, a rough blanket, and a handkerchief with these smashed bits of onyx clutched in her hand. She had told Thomas to throw them away. But dear Old Thomas had known better, that one day she would want them, and he kept them for her.
Rap.
Margaret tilted her head. Was that a knock at the door?
Who would visit Thomas at this hour? She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and hurried to the door. But when she reached it, she hesitated. Could her brothers have already discovered she’d gone and sent men to fetch her?
Rap. Rap. Rap.
She leaned her ear against the door.
“Please, help me!” a frantic voice called from the other side. It sounded like the lad Brian from the village.
As soon as she opened the door, Brian rushed past her carrying his sister.
“Quick, shut the door before anyone sees us,” he said.
“Mercy!” Margaret cried when he turned around and she saw smears of blood on his face and clothes. “What’s happened to you?”
His eyes were wild, and little Ella had her face buried in his neck.
“I saw ye ride in,” he said. “Ye said I could come to ye if I needed help.”
CHAPTER 6
“You were right to come to me,” Margaret told Brian. “Now tell me what’s happened.”
