Page 17 of The Scottish Bride
He thanked the brewer, then went striding quickly over the meadow toward the road that skirted the loch, which would take him to the main road, north or south. Moonlight glittered over water, and soon the man was just a swiftly moving silhouette.
“Godspeed,” Tamsin murmured. Fear spun within. She wanted to stop him, and yet she did not know what to think, what to feel.
“Look there.” The brewer pointed behind them. “Riders coming from the castle.”
Hearing hooves thudding over the meadow from another direction, Tamsin turned. Visible through the screen of trees, several riders were coming from Lochmaben Castle, riding fast, soon pulling up near the cart. She gasped as Sir Malise walked his mount forward.
“Lady Tamsin!” he called. “So it was you in the yard—I thought so! What are you doing at Lochmaben? Are you in need? Who is this fellow?” He gestured toward the brewer.
“Sir Malise,” she said, “this is Master Brewer. He was kind enough to bring us here to wait for Sir David and the Dalrinnie escort. They are just coming there.”
She pointed in that direction, wanting to deflect his attention away from the harper walking near the loch. She smiled, hands folded, fingers shaking.
“Sir David is coming? Good.” Malise gathered the reins of his horse. “I am glad of the chance to see you, my lady. I want to be sure you are well. I know how difficult it may have been for you since your husband’s passing.”
“I am fine,” she said, a bit surprised, yet touched by his chivalrous concern.
“I will come to Dalrinnie,” he said. “I have a suggestion—to benefit you. Sir John was concerned about you. I will not forget it.”
Startled, she nodded. “Thank you.” She had no desire to see him again, but his mention of her late husband gave her pause. He could be sincere. She had seen that in him.
“Be safe, my lady. I have business at Lochmaben, but only came out now to stop that scoundrel yonder. We must hurry to catch him.”
“Scoundrel?” she asked.
“The harper?” Kirsty asked then.
“No harper, that one. An outlaw. A wolf’s-head I have been searching for. I recognized him in the castle yard. With me!” he shouted to his men, then turned with them to canter, then gallop, after the harper.
Ahead, the harper began to run, the slope taking him out of sight. Men and horses followed in hard, fast pursuit. Tamsin heard Malise shouting.
“An outlaw!” Kirsty said.
“But the harper had a message from King Edward. Malise must be wrong.”
“It is a puzzle. What did Sir Malise mean when he spoke to you?”
“He seems interested in my welfare.” She watched the riders thunder over the meadow.
“More than that,” Kirsty said. “Look! They are nearing the harper!”
Tamsin leaned over the side of the cart, heart thumping as she peered through the darkness. The pursuing horses drove forward so swiftly that all she could discern were moving shapes, then the glint of metal in moonlight. She heard distant shouts and the clang of steel.
Angling across the meadow, the Dalrinnie escort came closer. Shadows were falling fast now, a dark veil swallowing horses, men, and the meadow in murky, inconstant moonlight. She could hardly see the cluster of men and horses on the rim of the slope in the eerie light.
“They have him,” the brewer growled, standing up in the cart. “He is down. They are dragging him—”
“Oh, dear saints,” Lady Edith said. “He was a lovely man, the harper.”
Tamsin strained to see an agitated cluster of men and horses in a blur of darkness. This was not justice on Malise’s part. This felt like treachery. The certainty made her breath come in gulps as she gripped the cart side.
“Nay,” she whispered. “Stop—leave him be—”
“They are lifting a body,” the brewer said from his higher perch.
Dear God.Tamsin put a hand to her throat.
“Jesu,” the brewer said. “That lad was right enough, a good Scotsman. But Edward’s men need no reason to take down a Scot. Looks like they killed him. A shame.”
