The Thistle and the Rose(27)

That was enough for Alec to like her, to want her to be protected, but he sensed that he needed to reason clearly right now, for Colin's sake, as well.

“But we do not know the reason for any of this, do we?” Alec asked. “Why is she running? Who is she? Is the bairn hers? Or if not, whose is it?”

“God knows,” Colin answered. “With all the nobles that died at Flodden, Kit could be the child of any one of a thousand different lairds.”

“Then why are the English chasing her?” Alec went on.

“And what is her friend, this Father William, doing up at the abbey by Argyll's castle,” Colin added thoughtfully.

“It seems to me,” Alec concluded, “that this woman—whoever she is—is trouble you'd be better off without. If she's not going to be honest with you, then why not just let her run?”

“That is not an option I want to give her right now.”

“Why not?” Alec asked. “You have enough to worry about right now, getting the clans to rally behind the Crown Prince.”

“That's true,” Colin said. “In fact, I got word this morning that Argyll has returned to his winter castle, and I want to talk to him about where he stands...and soon.”

“So we'll be going up there?”

“Aye, tomorrow or the next day,” Colin answered. “And while we're there, we'll find out about the abbey soldier involved with the attack.”

“And what are you going to do about Celia?”

“I'll make sure she stays here until we get back.” Colin would use information about her priest friend as enticement for her to remain until he and Alec returned. “If she runs from here with the English after her, more people will get hurt. If we have to fight Danvers and his English butchers, let it be right here.”

But inwardly, Colin's feelings were different from those he was willing to express to Alec. There was too much about this woman that appealed to Colin, that attracted him. He was sure that beneath the cloud of circumstance, beneath the veneer of false identity, Celia could be the woman he'd been searching for his whole life. He simply could not let her walk out of his life right now.



Celia and Edmund moved quickly ahead of the two trailing soldiers on the paved road. As they walked, Celia focused her eyes downward on the shiny wetness of the round paving stones, but she was thinking only of Colin's fierce glare, a look that had frozen her blood in her veins.

Moving up the hill toward the end of the village, she felt a tearing sensation in her chest, a suffocating closeness that encompassed her like a cloud. Celia felt something akin to grief, to the mournful sense of loss that accompanies the death of a loved one. She felt that she had somehow lost a dream of happiness. A dream to love and to be loved. A dream that Celia knew had never really been a possibility, but was a longed-for dream nonetheless.

“Argyll is back,” Edmund said in a low voice, casting his eyes backward to make sure the soldiers were out of earshot.

“You heard from Father William?” she asked, painfully aware that the time had come for them to leave.

“I received a note from Dunbar, but I haven't opened it yet,” he replied. “The fisherman that I paid to take the message to the abbey brought back word that the earl had just arrived.”

“Read the letter to me, Edmund,” Celia said resignedly. She was holding back her tears, now. Already, there existed in Celia a clear sense of just how painful that parting from this place, from these people...from Colin...would be.

Edmund broke the wax seal that held the folded parchment closed. They continued to walk as his eyes perused the scrawling hand of the priest.

“Just like Dunbar,” Edmund said ironically. “We ask for a straight answer, and he sends us a poem:



Walking solitary, you alone,

Seeing nothing but sticks and stone;

Out of your painful purgatory

To bring you to the bliss and glory

Of Argyll's place, a merry town,

We here convey this joyful sound.



Well, at least, he's clear about the message. We'll leave for Argyll in the morning.”

“No, Edmund,” Celia said, taking the paper out of her uncle's hand. “Something's wrong. He's warning us to stay away.”

“How do you read that?” Edmund asked, looking perplexed.

“William Dunbar is a master of the ironic,” Celia answered with a slight smile. “When we exchanged messages at court that we didn't want understood by others, we wrote them in verse.”

“So?” This was not getting any clearer for Edmund.

“We both knew that if we received a poem from the other, then the message was really the exact opposite of what was written. It was a kind of code we had, and he's doing it now.”

“Then what does he mean?”

“Look at the lines,” she said, pointing at the message. “`Walking solitary, you alone.' He knows I'm not alone. `Nothing but sticks and stone.' He heard Eustace talk about Kildalton Castle as a paradise. As far as `this joyful sound,' when did you ever hear Father William sound joyful?”

“I'll buy that,” Edmund joked.

“The bottom line is that Argyll's place must not be too `merry,' and he doesn't want us to be there.” Celia thought over the message in her head. Something wasn't quite right. If Father William thought that the Argyll part of the plan was no good, then why hadn't he simply come to Kildalton? There was something he was not sure of. She wished she were there to see for herself.

“Then we wait,” Edmund shrugged. “Maybe now that Argyll's returned, whatever has been bothering Dunbar will be resolved.”

“Maybe. But what about the things that Eustace said in front of Colin?” Celia wondered.

“Do not fear the Campbells, Celia. We have to trust Dunbar's judgment about going to Argyll right now. Until he sends us word, this is still the safest place for Kit.”

Fear Colin Campbell? Celia thought as they passed through the drawbridge of the castle's thick curtain wall. Never. Celia knew that she would pour her body and soul into his hands if she could. If she only could.



After spending an hour with Kit and Ellen, Celia returned to the Great Hall. There were no new arrivals, but many of the injured were still in distress. Children were running here and there among the groups of wounded peasants, and the sounds of dogs and children lightened the air of suffering in the room.

Celia went from group to group, checking the wounds and the burns, talking to those who felt up to it, cheering those who could be cheered, comforting those who could be comforted.

It was in the midst of this that she saw him. Colin, still wearing his heavy leather cloak, was standing with his father, talking to him. She could see his eyes were roaming the room, she saw them fix upon her. She had just sat down to change the dressing on a young man's shoulder. Celia tried to focus on the shoulder wound, a gash that had been stitched so neatly. The wound was clean, she thought.

But it was no use. Colin's eyes were piercing her to the core of her existence. She felt her eyes drawn irresistibly to him. He had turned his head and was saying something to Lord Hugh. As she watched, his face was that of a statue, his eyes were ice as his gaze returned to her.

She could not stand Colin's glare any longer, so she lowered her eyes and devoted her attention to the patient before her. But she couldn't help wonder whether she had been the subject of the discussion between father and son. She dreaded the talk that Colin had warned her about. Oh, how she hated the lies. And how she hated, more than anything else, the scornful way Colin had looked at her at the harbor.

How he must hate her now. Now that he knew that she was bringing his enemies to their door. Now that he knew that she was the one being sought after. Now that the blood of innocent Highlanders was being spilled because of her. How he must despise her.

Celia nodded at the young man as she finished her work on his shoulder. Standing, she looked up at the spot she'd seen Colin standing last, but there was no sight of him. She let out a weary sigh, relieved that the anticipated discussion might be put off.

Celia backed up slightly to make room for an elderly woman who was trying to pass.

Celia backed into a human wall. Startled, she knew who it was before he even spoke.

“I want to talk to you now.”

Celia could tell from his tone that he was not going to be put off.

She turned around and looked at him questioningly, hoping against hope to see some hint of softness, some hint of gentleness. Celia was hoping... But his expression was hard, revealing nothing. He took hold of her hand, expecting her to follow. She held back.

“Where are you taking me?” Celia asked, delaying the inevitable.

“A place where we can talk...privately,” Colin said, facing her. “I believe there are a few things that you and I need to discuss.”

Without another word exchanged, Colin led Celia from the Great Hall into a narrow arched corridor in the older section of the castle. Celia had not been on this side before, although she knew that Edmund's room was somewhere above her on the second level. The corridor intersected other corridors, and there were a number of solid oak doors along the passage.

When Celia had returned from the village, she had noted two soldiers stationed in the upstairs hallway that led to her bedroom. Now, in this older section of the castle, they passed several more guards, stopping before one who was standing before one of the entryways. The soldier stood aside for Colin, who pushed open the heavy wooden door, and Celia followed him into the dark chamber.