“I’ll never understand what possessed my sister to run off and wed that wild Highlander,” Aunt Peg said, touching the back of her pudgy hand to her forehead.

“He was devilishly handsome,” the maid said in a voice too low for her aunt to hear.

Glynis did not believe that was the reason her mother had followed him across Scotland, though her father must have been handsome as a young chieftain.

“It was because he loved her so much,” Glynis said.

She felt a sting in her eye, thinking of her father’s daily visits to her mother’s grave. How many times had she spied on him there as a child and heard him having a discussion with his long-dead wife? If Glynis had grown up expecting to have love in her marriage, it was her father’s doing, however inadvertent.

“Love doesn’t put food on the table,” her aunt said. “Henry’s left his shop to take us on our errand, so we must not keep him waiting.”

Glynis had a hundred questions she wanted to ask about her mother, but her aunt had had little to say on the subject when she inquired earlier.

In far too short a time, Glynis found herself on the High Street again. The city was nothing like the soft, dreamy images she had of it. Her nursemaid, Old Molly, had told her stories about her parents falling in love here when her father was called to court. According to Old Molly, her father had been a lost man from the moment he first saw her mother on this very street. How had he noticed her in the midst of this chaos?

“Is it always like this?” Glynis asked. The constant noise of voices, carts, and clanking bells made her head throb.

“Aye,” her aunt said. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

“There’s no place like it, except for London,” her aunt’s husband said. Henry was a squat, bald-headed man who seemed as mild and pleasant as her aunt.

As Glynis followed them through the doorway of yet another shop, she had to turn sideways to avoid a woman carrying a large basket. They had visited half a dozen shops, and her aunt and uncle had not purchased anything.

“What is it you’re looking for?” Whatever it was, Glynis hoped they found it soon.

Glynis felt an elbow in her side and looked down to find her aunt beaming up at her with a smile so big that her eyes nearly closed above her plump cheeks.

“A husband,” her aunt whispered in a giddy voice. “Henry says two of the unmarried merchants are interested in ye already—and we’ve only been out an hour!”

*  *  *

Blackness settled over Alex’s soul as the door clanked shut behind him. In the dim torchlight coming through the door’s iron grate, he took in his cell. He was in the undercroft that carried the weight of the castle and rested on the black rock on which it was built.

The curved ceiling was too low for him to stand, so he sat on the uneven rock floor and held his head in his hands. His freedom was everything to him. Sailing, fighting, swiving. That was his life. His cell didn’t even have a window.

He had known it might come to this when he agreed to come to court for Connor, but he hadn’t let himself think about it. Most hostages were kept in better quarters—apparently he’d made a poor impression on the regent.

As the hours ticked by, Alex wondered how he would keep his sanity in the months to come. He felt the weight of the tons of stone above him.

He heard muffled footsteps and assumed they were bringing him his first meal. But when a guard with missing teeth unlocked the iron grate to his cell, he was empty-handed.

“Ye have friends in high places,” the guard said. “Follow me.”

Alex leaped to his feet and nearly banged his head in his hurry to get out. Feeling like a rat, he followed the guard through the tunnel-like corridor between the cells. Impatience thrummed through his muscles as the guard fumbled with the keys at the last door. Finally, it opened, and Alex stepped out into a burst of sunshine that was like entering Heaven.

A tall, dark-haired Frenchman with a white scarf around his neck was waiting there. By the saints, it was the White Knight, Antoine D’Arcy, Sieur de la Bastie.

“You are free, Alexander,” D’Arcy said.

Alex didn’t quite believe it until D’Arcy signaled to a man standing behind him, who came forward to hand Alex his claymore and his dirks.

“God bless ye, D’Arcy,” Alex said, as he strapped on his claymore. “Ye can consider the debt ye owe me repaid.”

“Saving a man from prison is not equal to saving a man’s life,” D’Arcy said.

“It is to me,” Alex said and squeezed D’Arcy’s shoulder. “How did ye do it?”

“It was fortunate I was in the hall and saw the guards take you,” D’Arcy said, as they started walking in the direction of the castle gate. “I told the regent that you and your chieftain had fought the English with us in France, and so you could not be traitors.”

Why fighting the English should ensure their loyalty to the Scottish Crown was something of a mystery to Alex, but he didn’t say so. “The regent accepted that?”

“I told him I would defend your honor to the death.”

Despite all he’d been through, Alex had to fight a smile. D’Arcy lived for the old knightly virtues that seemed naïve to a Highlander.

“I suspect that your being rich, titled, and famous throughout France for your fighting skills may have been persuasive as well,” Alex said.

“Of course,” D’Arcy said without the slightest bit of humor.

D’Arcy had horses waiting for them in the castle’s lower courtyard next to the massive stone gatehouse. As Alex rode through the gate, he eyed the iron spikes of the raised portcullis above his head. He blew out his breath when he reached the other side.

“Albany asked ye to come to Scotland?” Alex asked.

“He needed help persuading the queen and her English faction to give up the regency,” D’Arcy said. “We had to lay siege to Stirling Castle before she would hand over the royal children.”

They continued talking royal politics as they rode down the hill. Even the city air smelled good to Alex.

“What will the queen and her new husband do now?” Alex asked.

The handsome Douglas chieftain had wormed his way into the queen’s bed in a bid for power almost before the king’s body was cold.

“The queen fled to England to her brother, King Henry VIII, but her husband…,” D’Arcy paused, lifting an eyebrow, “… accompanied her as far as the border and turned around.”

Alex laughed. “There’s true love for ye. I suppose the Douglas was afraid of being labeled a traitor and losing his lands.”

“I’m glad your clan is not part of this rebellion,” D’Arcy said. “I’d rather not face you and your cousins and that big fellow Duncan in battle.”

Alex grinned, recalling the last time they had practiced together. It had been a hard fight, but it had ended with D’Arcy on his back and the point of Alex’s blade at his throat. To his credit, D’Arcy had conceded with his usual grace.

“You’ll find that rebellions are like mud in the Highlands,” Alex said. “Everywhere ye step, more squishes through your toes.”

“Albany is intent on putting an end to them,” D’Arcy said. “He and the Council have appointed Colin Campbell, the Earl of Argyll, as Protector of the Western Isles, and they’ve given him authority to put down the rebellion ‘by sword and by fire.’”

“Ach, ’tis dangerous to give that much power to the Campbells,” Alex said.

“Albany is aware of the risk,” D’Arcy said. “But as the Scottish Crown has no army of its own, he must rely on chieftains who can command large numbers of men to enforce the Crown’s authority. In this case, that is Colin Campbell.”

Alex had come to Edinburgh to appease the Crown, but it was the Campbell chieftain who now wielded immediate power over the clans in the Western Isles. Fortunately, the Campbell chieftain owed Alex a favor for rescuing his sister. He hoped he could use it to benefit his clan.

“Albany has charged me with delivering the decree to the Campbell chieftain,” D’Arcy said. “If you are leaving for your home, you must travel with me as far as Inveraray Castle. It would be like old times.”

“I’m leaving as soon as I collect my horses,” Alex said. “But I’ll wait for ye outside the city.”

“I can’t let you go yet,” D’Arcy said. “Sabine de Savoisy insisted I bring you back to the palace to see her.”

Alex groaned. He had forgotten all about Sabine.

CHAPTER 20

The guards at the door to the palace looked as if they would like to gut Alex, but they let him through with D’Arcy. Once they were inside, D’Arcy sent a message for Sabine with one of the servants.

“Ah, the exquisite Sabine de Savoisy has arrived,” D’Arcy said a short time later.

Alex turned in time to see her descending the wide staircase. All the men in the hall seemed to be watching her as she paused on the stairs to survey the room. When her eyes met Alex’s, she gave him a slight nod.

“Weren’t you and she once… ,” D’Arcy said.

“A very long time ago,” Alex said.

“If you wish to ride to Inveraray with me and my men, meet us at noon tomorrow outside the palace gates,” D’Arcy said. “Of course, I won’t blame you if you decide to stay longer to visit with Sabine.”

Alex bid D’Arcy farewell and crossed the hall to greet Sabine.

“You’re as lovely as ever,” he said, as he brought her hand to his lips.

Sabine was a few years older than Alex, so she must be about thirty now. The planes of her face were sharper, giving her a starker, more austere beauty. Her hair was drawn up into a high, elaborate headdress that drew the eye to the graceful line of her neck.

“I am delighted you could visit me at last.” As she took his arm, she added in a low voice, “I’ll take you to a room where we can be alone.”