Maiden of Inverness by Arnette Lamb

clans would disperse, and little wars would again plague the Highlands. But the damage wouldn’t stop there. Flanders and the Nordic states would cancel the trade agreements Revas had worked so hard to gain.
    Unless he took action. But he must move cautiously. “ ’Twill go worse when Cutberth learns that I’ve brought his daughter home.”
    With a callused hand, Brodie worried his chin. “He’s not heartless enough to send another assassin after her, is he?”
    That possibility angered Revas to his soul. Harm would not befall Meridene; he’d watch her like a hawk, accompany her on the smallest of errands. “Pray he does not; if so, the Bishop of Inverness will pass along Cutberth’s plans to our Father Thomas.”
    â€œCan the bishop be trusted?”
    â€œHe’ll take the side of the Scottish church, as he did last year when the pope excommunicated King Robert. The Vatican will not like it, but ’tis a risk he’ll gladly take in the name of self-rule. All of our clergy will.”
    â€œAs will Elginshire.” Brodie rose and walked to the pedestal table where the Covenant of the Maiden had rested for thirteen years. “What words of wisdom does the first Meridene offer on the subject?”
    Brodie, too, was fond of the tales put down in the book by Meridene’s namesake. “She was not so fortunate as we are. In her time, the clergy were untrustworthy and lecherous. When she wanted information, she sent a whore to loosen the priest’s tongue.”
    â€œSurely your Meridene cannot find fault with her namesake. There’s one Scot she’ll remember fondly.”
    â€œShe wants nothing to do with the Covenant.”
    Brodie whistled. “What will you do?”
    â€œChange her mind.”
    Smiling crookedly, Brodie returned to his seat. “Pity her, then, for I’ve yet to see you target a lassie’s heart and come away wanting.”
    The compliment emboldened Revas. “She thinks I keep twenty women.”
    As serious as sin on Sunday, Brodie said, “Do you?”
    Revas leveled him a look reserved for the randy Summerlad Macqueen. Then he couldn’t help laughing.
    Brodie cleared his throat. “Who told her such a tale?”
    â€œâ€Šâ€™Twas Ana, and I doubt her stories stopped there. She was angry at my taking Meridene in the dead of night.”
    â€œWorry not, Revas. John Sutherland will control his daughter. But when will you tell Meridene about yours?”
    Revas had sired an illegitimate daughter, and the lass Gibby lived in comfort with her maternal grandparents in the nearby village of Aberhorn. Her mother, Mary, died of a fever shortly after weaning Gibby, and the girl was the very joy of her grandparents’ life.
    Would Meridene grow angry when she learned of his by-blow? Lord, he hoped not, for Gibby was a fine lass. “I haven’t decided when to tell her. ’Tis early yet, and she’ll not find fault with dear Gibby.”
    Brodie waved his hand in agreement. “Everyone loves the lass.”
    Revas noticed new blisters on the sheriff’s hand. Normally that palm was smooth. “Have you been wielding a sword with your left hand?”
    â€œAye, that young lad from Tain fights offhanded. Now tell me. What news of the parliament at Saint Andrews?”
    The occasion had been a milestone in Scottish history, for it marked the first true Scottish parliament. “Nothing more surprising than the event itself. To Bruce’s relief, the members voted to decline the French king’s invitation to join him on Crusade.”
    â€œDid Macgillivray take his seat there?”
    â€œAye. Cutberth strutted about like a ripe bull put to a pasture of seasoned cows.”
    â€œDid he wear the sword of Chapling?”
    Revas knotted his fists. “Aye. He took pleasure in taunting me with it.”
    â€œYou crossed words?”
    The subject of Meridene’s