Page 55 of The Scottish Bride
She blew sand over the damp ink and folded the letter, then took brown wax from her writing box to melt it in the candle flame and seal the letter. With a small oval brass seal, minutely engraved with the laurel branch of the Keiths and etched with her initials, T and K, she pressed it and set the letter aside.
Taking one more sheet of parchment torn from a larger piece, she smoothed it and began. That page was already prepared, too, ruled with faint lines to guide new text, with a block of space reserved for the rubric, a large initial to be added with fine red scrollwork. Perhaps she could ask for a little vermilion ink to make the initials herself.
For now, she wanted to record what she could remember of the words that had come to her in the rain the day before. At first it seemed a blur. Then it came back.
Fire in the oak, in fair Holyoak, men at the gates and the tolling of the bell...
She gasped as awareness dawned. Fire in the abbey and men attacking the gates could not be ignored. Somehow, she had to warn the monks.
They rode forhours patrolling the hills and the high road, seeing only sheep and goats on hills coated in thick mist, a shepherd with a dog, a farmer driving an ox cart filled with hay. Once, Liam and the others followed the sound of a loud, drunken song to discover an old man guiding a pony cart stacked with ale kegs, an oil lamp swinging from the bench like a star in the foggy firmament. Gilchrist waved him onward, advising him to head home and be quiet.
“Och, aye,” the man said. “Soldiers about. Back that way.”
Riding in the direction the man indicated, Liam and his brother and cousin traveled as day sank toward dusk. The rain was done but fog sat cupped between slopes near the crescent-shaped loch that hugged a stretch of the Yarrow Water. That route would lead back to the abbey, where the drunken man had insisted soldiers might be found.
Soon a cluster of knights crested the rim of a hill, helmets gleaming dull in the dim light. Two wore red-and-gold tunics and three held lion-emblazoned red shields like strokes of flame in the haze. Liam and his kinsmen cut across the moorland as the leader cantered toward them and raised a gauntleted hand. He was a swarthy man, bearded black, eyes dark, face framed by his chain mail coif.
Gilchrist lifted a hand in greeting. “Sir! What brings you this way?”
The man walked his horse closer. “I am Sir Patrick Siward, come out of Dalrinnie Castle. We are looking for a lady who left the custody of the commander of Dalrinnie. She may be in danger. You are king’s men?”
“Aye, ordered to escort this fellow here.” Gilchrist gestured toward Liam. “After that we may ride to Dalrinnie. Orders from De Valence.”
“Aye then. Comyn would welcome more men at Dalrinnie should you go there. We saw you riding toward the abbey.” Siward gestured toward Holyoak in the far distance beyond the loch. “Do you have business with the monks?”
“Not your concern, sir,” Finley said.
“Some might disagree.” He rested a hand on his dagger hilt. “What is your business there?”
“The abbot is my kinsman,” Liam answered.
“And who are you?”
“Sir William Seton, acting as a royal messenger.” He had been directed to take a book from the lady, after all. “We stopped at the abbey. My wife was weary and in need of rest.” These knights were not the men who had gone to the tavern, but either way, his deliberate message—my wife—would reach Comyn. Either Sir Malise would look elsewhere or act on impulse and go after Liam, not Tamsin. He intended to be ready.
“We heard that king’s men were escorting a married pair. But we are looking for a lady who ran away from Dalrinnie. She took something of Comyn’s with her.”
“She is a thief?” Gilchrist asked.
“She is the commander’s betrothed. What she stole belongs to him, but he is more concerned about her safety.”
Finley stepped his horse forward. “Who is this lady? What did she steal?”
“Lady Thomasina. Small, fair, if you should see her.” Siward shrugged. “Whatever she took and whyever she fled, Comyn is in a fit over it. He thinks she may have gone to the abbey to beg sanctuary.”
“No thieving runaway brides at the abbey,” Gilchrist said. “You rode all day with no luck? Will you head back to Dalrinnie now?”
“Soon. Two or three patrols are looking. We will find her.”
“Your commander sounds a taskmaster,” Liam said.
“A lord and knight just doing what his king requires of him.”
“A woman alone would be foolish to travel through this area. There are outlaws in the hills and the forest,” Liam said.
“Outlaws? Say what you know.” He kept a hand on the hilt. The soldiers on the ridge were well armed, Liam noted. He crossed his hands on the saddle pommel, silent, watchful.
“What we all know, sir. The forest is overrun with dangerous rebels,” Gilchrist said. “None of us are keen to go there. Would you?”
