Page 87 of The Scottish Bride
“You knew him well?”
“I ran with him for two years, a small group of men. James Lindsay was with him too. Wallace was a bold man. A good man, with courage. Too much, sometimes,” he added in a bitter tone, then urged his horse onward.
“The Guardians of Scotland,” she said, keeping pace. “They work with Bruce?”
“They were appointed to act as Scotland’s guiding council when we lacked a king, and to work with Edward to strive for balance and justice. Not an easy task. The roster changes often. Some step down. Some die in the effort. I have known a few. Admirable men, each one. It is an honor to support them.”
“In secret ways,” she said. “That is what you do.”
“It is.” He glanced at her. “And whatever you learn stays secret too, lass.”
“It will. I am glad to know you work for Bruce and not Edward.”
He tilted his head. “Who said I do not work for Edward?”
That stunned her. “But you did work for Bruce—”
“At times I must work for both. But one king knows the truth.”
“Bruce,” she surmised, and saw him nod. “Will you take the book to Edward, as ordered, or to your other king?”
“I have not decided.”
His words were like a flame to a wick, and her temper flared. “I am thinking this is not your decision,” she said. “This book is mine, not yours. It belongs to my family, not either of your kings. I decide what to do with it. If you still think to take it from me—you can just stay here. I will fetch it myself.” She pressed the dapple gray’s sides and surged ahead, leaving Liam in her wake.
Riding past the old kirk, her heart pounded with a mix of indignation and anger tinged with regret. She did not want to argue with Liam—she wanted his agreement. She did not want to wander into a town alone, not knowing quite where to go. But now hurt and pride kept her from looking back, waiting for him. Yet she hoped he was there—perhaps keeping his distance, for she had not cooled entirely. The book was hers. He did not have the right of it. She desperately wished he would see that.
The kirk path became an earthen street, then turned to a cobbled street lined with buildings, to branch into other streets. Ahead, she saw the bell tower of a larger church and then saw the market area, a three-sided green lined with shops, stalls, carts. A busy place where people walked about, knights on horses rode past.
She slowed, still too proud to look behind her, though she wondered where she was, and where she should go. The market, surely, would be the place to look for the bookseller. One step at a time, she told herself.
Above the town, beyond the tops of buildings leaning unevenly toward their streets, she saw a castle looming over the town. Selkirk Castle, Liam had mentioned along the way. Then, behind her, she heard horses’ hooves coming nearer, louder. Hesitating, still fuming—though it began to fade as reason set in—she held her chin high and did not look around.
A moment later, Liam rode up beside her and leaned over to take one of the reins of her horse. She slid him a glare in silence.
“Look daggers at me all you like, my lady,” he said, “but the town council does not permit horses on the square. We need to stable our mounts. Come. I know a place.”
He released the rein to her control and gestured for her to follow him down one of the branching avenues. “There is an inn down along the Water Row where we can care for the horses. We can also have a meal and find a room for the night.”
“A room!” She lifted her chin again, still wanting to be angry. But she needed his guidance here. Needed his calm and assurance. Already she felt the town encroaching on her, the crowds and noise and commotion assailing her, making her suddenly anxious.
“Can we go back?” she asked.
“It is a long way back to the forest, and we would need to ride at night. We must stay. I know an inn. All is well,” he added.
“Aye then.”
“Keep your hood up. Even with the veil, your hair is bright as new gold. I do not want you noticed.”
She tugged at the hood, guiding her horse to walk behind his. When he turned into an alley beside a building, she noticed a painted sign reading “The Grapes Inn,” decorated with fat bunches of purple grapes. She stopped when Liam did, in the center of a dusty yard behind the inn, where a stable sat. A lad came running toward them as Liam helped her dismount to take the reins of the horses. Liam took Tamsin’s leather satchel from her saddle and led the way through the alley to the inn’s door.
A woman looked up from a table, where she was filling jugs from a keg. “Greetings, sir. What do you want?”
“My wife and I would like a room for the night.”
Listening, Tamsin felt a sweet shiver go through her at the words, at the quiet confidence.My wife. She was still upset with him, yet his murmur softened that.
“We just stabled our horses,” Liam continued, “and hope for a room and a meal.”
