otherwise?”
“I am aware of Stirling Bridge. And also Falkirk, in case you have forgotten that outcome.”
Her stiff reminder of Scottish defeat amused him, and he signaled to the musicians. The minstrel gave him an appalled stare when he suggested they play another tune.
“Another tune, my lord? Do you have a preference?”
“Aye. Sing of the Battle of Largs. In English.”
“The Battle of Largs….” The minstrel drew in a deep breath and bowed slightly. “Aye, my lord. As you wish.”
Beside him, Robbie laughed softly. “A prudent choice.”
Alex shifted his attention back to the lady. “As the Battle of Largs involved Norway and Scotland, I trust this meets with your approval.”
“If they must sing of battles, it will suffice.”
“And what would you have them sing? Love songs?”
Her beautiful eyes met and held his gaze. “Is that sovery bad? Can there not be more love and less hate in this world?”
“You ask the wrong person, my lady. ’Twas not my father who created this situation.”
Her slender shoulders lifted in another shrug. “I meant the war between Scotland and England, not this dispute you have with my father.”
“Dispute is a rather mild term for what he has caused by taking my brother prisoner without hope of ransom.”
For a long moment she searched his face with shadowed eyes, then shook her head sadly. “It does no good to argue the point. Sing what you will. Say what you will. I am at your mercy, as you so readily informed me earlier.”
“But you have opinions, my lady.”
“None you respect.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “If I voice them, you counter with your own view of the same, and we end in debate. If I must remain here, I prefer peace, or what passes for peace in this land.”
As Alex stared at her with a frown, the pipes wheezed loudly, and the first strains of the ballad rose into the air.
“Stately stepp’d he east the wall. And stately stepp’d he west; Full seventy years he now had seen; With scarce seven years of rest
….”
Leaning forward, he said softly, “Peace reigned in Scotland for near two score years, until Longshanks grew greedy and coveted the Scottish crown as well as English….”
“He lived when Britons’ breach of faith Wrought Scotland meikle woe; And aye his sword tauld, to their cost, He was their deadly fae
….”
“Perhaps because Scotland has shown itself incapable of ruling its own people,” she shot back, her voice rising to be heard over the pipes and minstrel. “It is a countrydivided against itself, and though Bruce may call himself leader and king, only a handful of Scots acknowledge him.”
Anger sparked her eyes and flushed her cheeks, and Alex was suddenly aware that the pipes had wheezed to a halt and silence had fallen. He looked down the length of the hall, recognizing animosity on the faces staring up at them, and decided it was best she retreated to the safety of her chamber. Even those who did not understand English could understand the contempt in her voice.
He rose to his feet and put out a hand. “My lady, it is time you retire for the evening.”
Rising gracefully, she said coolly, “I find the evening’s entertainment much too merry for my tastes, and will be glad to seek my peace.”
Without acknowledging the hostile glances directed toward her, she allowed him to lead her down the hall past the now silent tables, up the winding curve of stairs to the tower. She was silent, her back rigid, and Alex had the dark thought that he should never have yielded to the impulse to allow her in the hall. Even the most innocent of actions went awry with this maid.
When they reached the chamber she occupied, he swung open the door and stepped inside. His gaze flickered over the interior, noting that the changes he had commanded were now done. Tapestries hung on the cheerless walls, warming the cold stone and blocking some of the draft, and a generous supply of wood was stacked on the hearth. A new
“I am aware of Stirling Bridge. And also Falkirk, in case you have forgotten that outcome.”
Her stiff reminder of Scottish defeat amused him, and he signaled to the musicians. The minstrel gave him an appalled stare when he suggested they play another tune.
“Another tune, my lord? Do you have a preference?”
“Aye. Sing of the Battle of Largs. In English.”
“The Battle of Largs….” The minstrel drew in a deep breath and bowed slightly. “Aye, my lord. As you wish.”
Beside him, Robbie laughed softly. “A prudent choice.”
Alex shifted his attention back to the lady. “As the Battle of Largs involved Norway and Scotland, I trust this meets with your approval.”
“If they must sing of battles, it will suffice.”
“And what would you have them sing? Love songs?”
Her beautiful eyes met and held his gaze. “Is that sovery bad? Can there not be more love and less hate in this world?”
“You ask the wrong person, my lady. ’Twas not my father who created this situation.”
Her slender shoulders lifted in another shrug. “I meant the war between Scotland and England, not this dispute you have with my father.”
“Dispute is a rather mild term for what he has caused by taking my brother prisoner without hope of ransom.”
For a long moment she searched his face with shadowed eyes, then shook her head sadly. “It does no good to argue the point. Sing what you will. Say what you will. I am at your mercy, as you so readily informed me earlier.”
“But you have opinions, my lady.”
“None you respect.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “If I voice them, you counter with your own view of the same, and we end in debate. If I must remain here, I prefer peace, or what passes for peace in this land.”
As Alex stared at her with a frown, the pipes wheezed loudly, and the first strains of the ballad rose into the air.
“Stately stepp’d he east the wall. And stately stepp’d he west; Full seventy years he now had seen; With scarce seven years of rest
….”
Leaning forward, he said softly, “Peace reigned in Scotland for near two score years, until Longshanks grew greedy and coveted the Scottish crown as well as English….”
“He lived when Britons’ breach of faith Wrought Scotland meikle woe; And aye his sword tauld, to their cost, He was their deadly fae
….”
“Perhaps because Scotland has shown itself incapable of ruling its own people,” she shot back, her voice rising to be heard over the pipes and minstrel. “It is a countrydivided against itself, and though Bruce may call himself leader and king, only a handful of Scots acknowledge him.”
Anger sparked her eyes and flushed her cheeks, and Alex was suddenly aware that the pipes had wheezed to a halt and silence had fallen. He looked down the length of the hall, recognizing animosity on the faces staring up at them, and decided it was best she retreated to the safety of her chamber. Even those who did not understand English could understand the contempt in her voice.
He rose to his feet and put out a hand. “My lady, it is time you retire for the evening.”
Rising gracefully, she said coolly, “I find the evening’s entertainment much too merry for my tastes, and will be glad to seek my peace.”
Without acknowledging the hostile glances directed toward her, she allowed him to lead her down the hall past the now silent tables, up the winding curve of stairs to the tower. She was silent, her back rigid, and Alex had the dark thought that he should never have yielded to the impulse to allow her in the hall. Even the most innocent of actions went awry with this maid.
When they reached the chamber she occupied, he swung open the door and stepped inside. His gaze flickered over the interior, noting that the changes he had commanded were now done. Tapestries hung on the cheerless walls, warming the cold stone and blocking some of the draft, and a generous supply of wood was stacked on the hearth. A new
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