Page 16 of The Scottish Bride
“I should not.”
“Where will you go?”
“Wherever my music is needed,” he said lightly.
“Come with us to Dalrinnie,” she said impulsively.
“Not me. You will be safe with the escort. You and the lady widow.”
“The who?” she asked.
“Your elderly friend. The widow of Dalrinnie. Lady Thomasina.” The harper tilted his head toward Lady Edith.
“That is Lady Edith. She is not the widow of Dalrinnie,” Kirsty said. “Why did you think so?”
“I was sent to find the widow, a Lady Thomasina of Dalrinnie. An elderly lady. I was told she might be found at Lochmaben this week. I have a message for her from King Edward.”
“Elderly!” Kirsty half-laughed. “What would King Edward want with the lady of Dalrinnie?” She glanced at Tamsin.
Tamsin felt sick. King Edward! She had been wrong about the harper. So very wrong. He was no rebel helping Scotland’s noble cause. He was looking for her, and he was dangerous to her. King Edward’s message to her would either order her into a convent or an unwanted marriage—or an iron cage.
Her breath came quickly. She felt betrayed, began to panic. How foolish she had been to trust him. This man, this beautiful, devious harper, had charmed and cajoled her.
A small lie helps us see the light of a new day.She valued truth more than anything, and he had led her along to help the king claim her estate and ruin her life.
Fighting the compulsion to tell him what she thought, she sat silent. Staring.
“My lady?” He tipped his head as if puzzled by her sudden glare.
“Lady Edith is not the widow of Dalrinnie,” she said, repeating what Kirsty said.
“Where is she? I can share this message only with her. If she is at Dalrinnie—then I will have to go there.” He frowned.
She sensed he did not want to go there. Good, she thought. “Why do you think the lady is old?”
“The king called her the Rhymer’s daughter. Thomas the Rhymer, if you have heard of him. If so, she must be very old.”
Rhymer’s daughter! That was the teasing name her family used for her because she had so admired her great-grandfather that she had wanted to be like him, a prophet, a person of wisdom. But if King Edward knew that name, it had only come from someone familiar with her family. Henry would not have discussed it—but her late husband had heard, and might have told someone.
Ah, she thought, Sir Malise. That must be it. And in trusting the harper, she had stepped into Edward’s trap. He was looking for her, and the harper was his messenger.
She lifted her chin. Nothing for it but the truth. “I am Lady Thomasina Keith.” She wanted him to hear the coldness in her voice.
His brows lifted. “You! That cannot be.”
“It can. I am Thomasina. Tamsin,” she said. “My family called me Rhymer’s daughter as a teasing name. But very few know that.” She narrowed her eyes. “And I am not old.”
“I see that. I apologize, my lady.” He looked bewildered, pushing a hand through his hair, hood falling back. “Then the message is for you. We must speak in private.”
She looked at the approaching horses. Suddenly the urgency of that strange little vision returned. “Come with us to Dalrinnie. Explain yourself there,” she said on impulse. “Get in the cart, Master Harper.”
“Not now.” He frowned, his eyelashes black crescents. “I will find you later.”
Her head was all in a muddle. She could not trust him. She did not know him. She was rightfully furious with him. Yet she feared for his safety and could not let him leave.
“You will be hurt, sir—do not go—you will be followed—”
But he stepped back. “I will bring you the message. Farewell, Lady Tamsin. Lady Kirsten. Lady Edith,” he added.
