Chapter Sixteen
Madeline found the strength to remain alone beside the cart carrying her meager possessions. The busy yard swirled around her in a blur, but she had never felt more alone in her life. Tears rolled down her face in droves, soaking her chin, but she was unaware if she sobbed aloud or not.
She watched Teàrlach retreat down the slope along the road, winding away. It was over. He was over. He was gone. There was nothing she could do. In all her years, knowing naturally how to hide within herself, tuck her emotions away, she couldn’t conjure that talent now. Life felt finished, meaningless. And her heart shattered at her feet.
It was some time before a worried maid approached her to ask how to assist. And not much time after that that Queen Ermengarde was made aware that the Lady Madeline had arrived. But as soon as she was given a chamber, she laid her carcass down abed, still in her gown and slippers and Crawford plaid shawl, and she closed her eyes, trying to squeeze away the image of Teàrlach’s leaving, his desperate words, his gentle touch, his tender lovemaking, his roving hands, his sweet lips, and his eyes shining like amber in the firelight. He had given her so much. He had given her strength, taught her to read, and looked after her welfare when no one else had. He’d loved her.
Life may as well end now. The thought of marrying John was going to make her retch. And just the thought pushed her over the edge. She barely made it to the chamber pot, tripping on her skirts, before the contents of her stomach roiled up her throat and over her lips.
…
“I need an audience with His Majesty,” Teàrlach stated in the reception parlor dotted with socializing courtiers.
“His Majesty’s schedule is filled this day, sire,” replied the guardsman, distaste for Teàrlach in his tone.
No need to correct this man. The well-trained guardsmen of the castle knew not to mistake anyone with such a Highland brogue for a respectable laird, no matter how plush the fabric of his surcoat.
“’Tis important,” Teàrlach countered.
“Your grievance as well as everyone else’s.” The opposing guard sighed.
Teàrlach bit back his irritation. “It regards Henry de Moreville, a high Constable of Scotland. I’m his head guardsman and have delivered Lady Madeline Crawford for marriage. There’s a matter I must handle, and it must be done before I depart.”
The guardsman scrutinized him. “And when do you leave?”
“Today. I have nay the time to tarry. Tell him,” Teàrlach commanded, shooting glances to gauge how close the nearest bystanders were while lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “’Tis important.”
The guardsman regarded him. “Wait here.” He turned and entered through a polished door, the way into the room obstructed by a tapestry lending privacy to those within. The door closed.
Teàrlach stood for many minutes facing the door, his hand resting upon his sword hilt, ignoring the nobles sending looks his way, the women covering their mouths to hide their gossip to one another. God he hated it here. These tittering maidens would eat a sweet morsel like Madeline Crawford alive.
The guardsman finally returned. “Come in, sire.”
Teàrlach followed him through the door, around the tapestry, and there King William sat, upon a throne in a tiled room, the ceiling high and decorated in proper rows of banners, his wife beside him, though hardly paying him attention. In fact, the pair of them looked miserable being in the same room, let alone beside each other. It was no secret that their marriage had failed to produce a child, most likely from lack of trying.
“May I present to you, Your Majesty, Laird Henry de Moreville’s head guardsman,” the guard introduced, backing away on a bow.
Teàrlach gave a bow of his own, a rare occurrence when he showed deference.
“Your name?” King William asked.
“Teàrlach MacGregor, Your Majesty.”
“Ah, the famed fighter, aye?”
Teàrlach didn’t respond. He had never been addressed directly by King William and certainly didn’t like to think of himself as famed.
“What warrants your interruption of my proceedings?”
A glance around told him there were other men of business here, no women, and a scribe taking meticulous notes.
“I have a private matter to impart before I leave,” he replied.
King William looked around at his men, then back at him. “Why do you feel entitled to such a privilege?”
“I’ll nay discuss anything in front of an audience,” he argued bluntly.
King William scowled with annoyance. “I’ll need something more from you before I bother further.”
Teàrlach did his best to withhold his own scowl. “I’ve delivered Lady Madeline to your threshold. What I have to say pertains to her security. You need to hear it. I guarantee it,” Teàrlach added.
The king evaluated his serious tone and turned to his other subjects. “Please excuse us for a five-minute sojourn. Retiring to the parlor for a refreshment will be sufficient.”
Teàrlach considered whether or not he was making the right decision. He knew he was. King William was reputed to be fair-minded. The king was doing much to extract his country from the talons of control England tried to insert into them and was even attempting to purchase Northumbria.
The men filed out until it was just the king and his queen.
“So, what, pray tell, is the importance of your untimely interruption?” King William asked.
Teàrlach wasted no time on pretentious toe kissing and flowery preambles. “Laird Moreville has been cheating the lady out of her maintenance pay. The twenty-pound disbursements you’ve sent him, he’s been diverting into his own accounts, only providing Lady Madeline with five pounds of supplies per month, no serving staff, and barely enough food to survive. She’s lived alone at Dungarnock tower with an elderly couple and nay a single guardsman for protection for nigh six months now. I came upon her by complete chance as I traveled to take up employ to Laird Moreville. She had fallen over a waterfall and was rendered unconscious.”
“What?” the queen questioned with astonishment, sitting forward. “My goodness, how fares the maiden?”
“She’s well,” Teàrlach assured with his curt nod, though a maiden, she wasn’t. He had rid her of her maidenhood quite thoroughly. “A fractured leg that healed well with some splinting. But had I nay heard a scream, naybody would have known. He provided her with nothing but a pauper’s living.”
“Have you proof of this claim?” the king demanded, his brow stern. “’Tis quite an accusation. Henry de Moreville is one of my most trusted constables.”
“There’s much cause to nay trust him,” countered Teàrlach, pulling forth the ledger from within his surcoat and approaching the king without permission. He held it out and the king received it. “But…but I care for the lady,” he admitted honestly, his blasted eyes reddening again. Be damned but you’re a warrior! He chided himself. Act like one! “I knew her when I served her faither. I wish to see her well-treated. The man stole your royal disbursement and by my calculations over the course of these months, he has only maintained her on thirty pounds and stolen ninety pounds from her, to help fund refurbishments to his son’s new estate.”
King William opened the ledger. “At what am I looking?”
“On each new month, from December on, you’ll see a twenty-pound deposit. And a few rows down, you’ll see there is a five-pound withdrawal with no inventory noted. Further on, you will note a fifteen-pound deposit into his estate account with no listing of the money’s origin. I witnessed a delivery of your royal messenger’s purse and saw said purse divided upon his desk into a stack of fifteen coins, and a stack of five. The ink upon one of such ledger entries was nay yet dry.”
King William flipped deliberately through each leaf, regarding each entry.
“If this is true, is his son, John, a part of this scheme?”
Teàrlach shook his head. “I’ve seen nary a reason to suspect him. His relationship with the laird, his faither, appears strained and distant.”
“Good, then he can proceed with his wedding, if he’s innocent,” the king replied, unaware of how the casual remark slapped Teàrlach’s face. “I’ll take this from here. You may leave—”
A piece of parchment slipped out from the back cover of the ledger into his lap.
“What is this?” King William asked.
Teàrlach furrowed his brow. He didn’t know anything else had been in the ledger.
“What am I holding?” the king asked again, reading over the missive and scrutinizing it more closely. His brow knitted. He held the missive to the queen who read it.
“A missive delivered in secret to Laird Moreville…from one of your prison wardens,” the queen remarked.
King William took back the missive skeptically, reading it again. His mouth hardened. “What say you about this?”
“I have nay a clue,” Teàrlach replied, shaking his head. King William looked increasingly angered. Teàrlach stood tall, his eyes furrowing. “Am I being accused of something? I give this to you in good faith. I saw the ledger open which is how I knew what it contained. But I did nay turn through it after I took it, for I had Lady Madeline to consider and kept it well-hidden.”
“But the lady cannot read. How would she know it to be any different than any other book?”
Teàrlach’s glare never faltered. “I taught her to read.”
“You what?”
“She’s smart, and quick, aye,” Teàrlach defended. “She wished to learn and I was inclined to teach.”
“And just how much time have you spent with the lady, hmm?” King William inquired, his eyes narrowing. Teàrlach didn’t answer, searching for the right thing to say, when the door opened and the guardsman from without stepped through.
“The men have refreshed and five minutes have passed. May they reenter, Your Majesty?”
The king thought some more, considering Teàrlach’s information. Then his face became impassive. “Indeed, reenter. Sir MacGregor is done here.” He looked at Teàrlach. “I thank thee, sire, for bringing this to light. I’ll investigate it from here forward.” His tone was dismissive and Teàrlach bit his tongue from further discussion. “Bring forth my coffers and deliver into Sir MacGregor’s hand three coins. For his trouble.”
“Nay. I require no money. Make sure…” Teàrlach cleared his throat, fighting off the bloody waver to his next words. “Make sure the Lady Madeline is—” He cleared his throat again, balling his fists. “Is looked after well. Good day,” he replied, bowing once, quitting the hall as the queen removed herself to receive Lady Madeline. He most certainly didn’t wait for the three bloody coins.
“Good day, Sir MacGregor…” The king’s words trailed away behind him.
Riding King through the streets, he couldn’t look back. He never wanted to see Edinburgh again. As he neared the outskirts of the city, the castle looming proudly behind him, he kicked his horse into a lope, then as he broke into the countryside, a full gallop. He leaned over King, his arms moving in concert with the horse’s neck, letting the beast’s mane tangle in his face. His heart raged, stung, ached. Anger kept seizing his chest. Alone in the countryside and ready to burst, he let go of the reins and allowed his arms to drop lifelessly beside his thighs, tipping his head back, as his horse lumbered to a halt. His tears finally bubbled down the seam of his nose and cheeks, pooling in the crack between his lips. He didn’t care that he cried, but by God, he ached. He was never going to be the same. He had to get far, far away from Scotland, away from the memories.