The Knight's Bride. Lyn Stone

sighed and shrugged. “Not many know the location of Byelough Keep. Please God, Father cannot find one who does know it until my husband returns from the war.”

      “At least that should happen soon enough,” Melior assured her, imparting the first good news she had heard in many a day. “I did hear upon landing on this coast that there has been some great victory for the Scots at a place called Bannockburn close by Stirling. The English fled like frightened rabbits. Most of the Scots are following into England, giving chase. Some are not, however. I met many on the road, bound for their homes.”

      “Thank God for it. No doubt my lord will rush back with all speed since he seemed so loath to be away.” Honor felt she had seen to that with her parting kisses. Tavish swore he would leave her not an hour longer than he must.

      “I only hope your husband is warrior enough to withstand the wrath when Lord Hume does come,” Melior added with a grimace.

      “As do I!” Honor quaked with apprehension at the very thought of the gentle Tavish facing either her tyrannical sire or the vicious brute who had been her betrothed.

      Unfortunately, she had not had the time to search out a man who was strong as well as kind. At the moment, kind had seemed infinitely more important. “Go and make yourself comfortable, Melior. Will you stay here?”

      “Would you mind, my lady? My journey was no dance around the Maypole. I spent many a year singing keep to keep here before crossing to France, however, and I like Scotland. Have you need of a troubadour?”

      She smiled and reached for his slender hand. “I have need of a friend, which you have certainly proved yourself to be. I owe you much and this will be your home for as long as you like, Melior. You are well come. We have sorely missed your music.”

      Relief flooded his foxlike features as he bowed over her fingers. His thin lips brushed her knuckles in a manner that seemed a bit too familiar, but she knew it was only gratitude mixed with a bit of flattery. The well-traveled minstrel possessed a sly nature and kept an eye out for the main chance, but he knew his place well enough. Entertainers who reached above themselves, especially with a lady, did not survive two score years as this one had done.

      Honor understood Melior’s needs well enough to keep him faithful to her cause. So long as she paid him generously, both in coin and praise for his music, he would serve her without fail. If only she could judge every man as neatly as she did this one, she would not need to fear.

      Her husband presented no challenge at all, though he believed himself cannier than most. Tavish desired her body and the wealth she had brought him. Honor thought those a fair trade for his name and protection.

      He swore he loved her, and she was inclined to believe that he did. She tried as best she could to return the feeling. Once she had even said the words to him and made them sound real. Though Tavish had been overjoyed by it, Honor felt a bit guilty. She had never employed a pretense of affection with any man. It seemed unfair now that she must pretend. She wanted to love him.

      Tavish’s devotion, real or otherwise, certainly sweetened the fact that she had followed him here from France and placed herself at his mercy apurpose.

      She had chosen Tavish Ellerby because he showed himself to be the exact opposite of her father and, not least, for the fact that he owned a secluded keep in the wild borderland of Scotland. To Honor’s relief, she had come to care for her husband in the two short months they had shared. She looked forward to his return from the war so that they might know each other better. Though quite new to this marriage business, Honor felt she could become an excellent wife, given time. Her words of love to him would be true soon enough, for Tavish was a lovable sort.

      For the first time ever, a man with the power to alter her life, willingly gave her some say in her future. He considered her as a real person with desires of her own. However, Tavish’s placid nature might not serve her so well once her father found them.

      Would her husband give her up without a fight once he realized she had deceived him about her father’s consent? Would he even have the choice? Of a sudden, Honor experienced another sharp stab of the guilt she tried to hold at bay. Had she stated her reasons truthfully at the outset, would Tavish have wed her anyway? Somehow, she did not believe so.

      “Ah, well, hindsight serves nothing,” she muttered to herself. Under no circumstances would she surrender to her father’s keeping. To escape him and his onerous plans for her, she had lied, stolen and wed under false pretense. She felt no satisfaction at all in that. Only relief, and even that now proved temporary, considering Melior’s news. However, wrongly as she had behaved, Honor admitted that whatever else it took to maintain her sanctuary here, she would do without hesitation.

      More than her own life lay at risk now.

      

      Alan had brought Tavish home. The huge stone settled into place as though it had formed there. Alan released the ropes lashed to it from his captured warhorse and tethered the fractious beast to a nearby tree.

      Blood trickled down from beneath his crudely wrapped right shoulder. Damn! The wound had broken open yet again. He cursed the mess even though he realized the fresh bleeding might likely save him from Tavish’s fate. Hopefully any poison would leak out with the blood and sweat. He swiped his arm clean with the tail of his plaid and hoped he had not lost his needle.

      After a longing glance toward the cool, rushing water of the nearby burn, he sat down beside the smooth, rounded rock and began to chisel on it. Plying a fist-size rock and a sharp jag on his old, broken broadsword, Alan pounded out the design.

      Poor Tav, he thought as he worked, had everything in life a man could ask. Snug home, bonny wife, a bit of coin put by. Alan supposed he would never know suchlike himself. Considering that, mayhaps Tavish had been the luckier one after all. For two months, at least, Tav had lived every man’s dream. “Leastways, most men dream of it. Not me, o’ course,” Alan muttered, chipping away at the stone. “Aye, ye had it all, old son,” he grunted. “And ’tis sorry, I am, ye lost it too soon.”

      When Alan finished, the outline of a shield listed slightly to one side and the wolfs head he had intended resembled a bitten apple with two leaves. Well, the Lady Honor could replace this if she wished. For now it would serve to mark the place. Frowning at his clumsy effort, he piled up a pyramid of small stones in front to form the cairn. Then he rose, straightened his muddy breacan and shook the kinks out of his legs.

      Drawing himself up to his full height, Alan held the hilt of the broken sword high above the marker he had made to cast the shadow of the cross over it. “God keep ye, Tavish Mac Ellerby.”

      He thought to say more of a farewell, but the sudden thunder of hooves shook the ground beneath his bare feet. Facing the approaching riders, Alan drew Tavish’s undamaged sword from its sling on the horse and assumed a battle stance. Just then, the wind unfurled the colors held by the advance man.

      Lion D’or on a red field. The Bruce.

      The party of horsemen surrounded him in a flurry of jingling harnesses and stamping hooves. Alan dropped to one knee and grinned up at the rider on the prancing gray.

      “We might have been Edward’s men, Strode. Did it never occur to you to run and hide?” Bruce asked.

      Alan threw back his head and laughed. “If there’s an Englisher this side o’ London, I’ll kiss yer beastie’s arse and call him sweeting!”

      Bruce dismounted and stretched out his arm for a clasp of greeting. He winced when he noticed Alan’s wound. “We’re collecting Douglas’s men just south of here, and then on to York. My brother told me he gave you leave after our victory, and now I ken why!” Bruce wrinkled his nose at the sluggish red trail still working its way down Alan’s bare arm. “See to that hurt or we’ll be burying you. You’re like to lose that arm.”

      Alan nodded once and looked away, over the hills that separated him from Rowicsburg castle. “It will heal. Mayhaps I’ll join ye later.”

      “You would see your father first, then?”