into the dimness of the long room before she could answer.
“William spoke true.” Maili didn’t look at her, intent on smoothing the linen on the next table. “The only two men who were here before you were farm lads bringing a cartload of peat.”
Mirabelle set down her wine cup. “We passed two beggars as we turned into the inn’s rear yard.”
“You heard William.” Maili didn’t meet her eyes. “There weren’t any such men here.”
“I spoke with one of them.”
Maili moved to another table, her wrinkle-straightening hands more busy than ever. She also kept her face averted. “Perhaps they were wayfarers? All sorts of travelers use the crossroads.”
“The men were leaving the stableyard, riding two ancient horses.” Mirabelle watched the girl closely. “They didn’t look like any beggars I’ve ever seen. They were big, well-built men, burly and muscled.”
“Many such men visit the Red Lion.” Maili gestured toward the door arch, the smoky long room now filled with the rumble of deep, male voices. “Our patrons are farmers and their sons, smithies and thatchers, men from the town, and sailing men from the wharves along the river. Sometimes we see well-born parties like your father and his guardsmen.
“Everyone hereabouts knew not to look in this morn.” She bobbed a curtsy. “If you’ve no further wishes, I’ll leave you. There’s a bell”—she lifted her chin toward a small ringer fastened to the wall near Mirabelle’s table—“if you need me.”
“I’m fine, although…” Mirabelle ran a finger around the edge of her wine cup, deliberately stalling to keep the girl with her.
She knew something Mirabelle didn’t.
And the more she tried to hide it, the more Mirabelle wanted to know what it was.
So she willed herself to appear relaxed, spooned a dollop of gooseberry preserves on a thick slice of warm, crusty bread. She also decided on a different approach. “You said you work at the castle…” Mirabelle spread the preserves evenly. The Stirling connection was her best opening. “Do you know Sorley the Hawk?”
“Everyone knows him.” Maili’s face softened, her eyes turning dreamy in a way that pinched Mirabelle’s heart. “Sorley and I go way back. We grew up together, mostly causing mischief in the castle kitchens.”
“Oh.” Mirabelle put down her spoon. “I didn’t realize—”
“Och, I’m not someone’s by-blow, my lady.” The girl gave Mirabelle a smile. “Not that I’d be hanging my head if I was.” She winked. “Truth is, most such bairns are born of love, or at the least, powerful desire. That’s a very fine way to have been made if you ask me. I cannae say the same for many nobles.”
“I do agree.” Mirabelle did.
“That I knew, my lady. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have met my eyes when I brought you in here, much less spoken to me. Some of the worthies at court don’t see me at all, or they act as if I’m air.
“Sorley faced worse, not having a father in a place where blood and station matter over all else. Many were unkind…” She let the words trail away and smoothed the apron tied around her waist. “My mother worked in the castle kitchens and looked after him. Until she succumbed to a fever.” She glanced aside, her gaze on the peats glowing softly on the grate. “My father passed when I was two summers and so I became an orphan, dependent on those with a heart, much like Sorley and other castle bastards.”
“I am sorry for your losses.” Mirabelle was. She liked Maili, admiring her goodness and her strength. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to speak her mind. There was so much she wanted to know. “Sorley’s fortunes appear to have bettered. The court ladies speak highly of him.”
“They would, wouldn’t they? He’s a bonnie man. He has the devil’s own good looks, charm, and…” A wash of pink stole across Maili’s cheekbones. “He’s most popular at Stirling, aye.
“You’ve noticed him,
“William spoke true.” Maili didn’t look at her, intent on smoothing the linen on the next table. “The only two men who were here before you were farm lads bringing a cartload of peat.”
Mirabelle set down her wine cup. “We passed two beggars as we turned into the inn’s rear yard.”
“You heard William.” Maili didn’t meet her eyes. “There weren’t any such men here.”
“I spoke with one of them.”
Maili moved to another table, her wrinkle-straightening hands more busy than ever. She also kept her face averted. “Perhaps they were wayfarers? All sorts of travelers use the crossroads.”
“The men were leaving the stableyard, riding two ancient horses.” Mirabelle watched the girl closely. “They didn’t look like any beggars I’ve ever seen. They were big, well-built men, burly and muscled.”
“Many such men visit the Red Lion.” Maili gestured toward the door arch, the smoky long room now filled with the rumble of deep, male voices. “Our patrons are farmers and their sons, smithies and thatchers, men from the town, and sailing men from the wharves along the river. Sometimes we see well-born parties like your father and his guardsmen.
“Everyone hereabouts knew not to look in this morn.” She bobbed a curtsy. “If you’ve no further wishes, I’ll leave you. There’s a bell”—she lifted her chin toward a small ringer fastened to the wall near Mirabelle’s table—“if you need me.”
“I’m fine, although…” Mirabelle ran a finger around the edge of her wine cup, deliberately stalling to keep the girl with her.
She knew something Mirabelle didn’t.
And the more she tried to hide it, the more Mirabelle wanted to know what it was.
So she willed herself to appear relaxed, spooned a dollop of gooseberry preserves on a thick slice of warm, crusty bread. She also decided on a different approach. “You said you work at the castle…” Mirabelle spread the preserves evenly. The Stirling connection was her best opening. “Do you know Sorley the Hawk?”
“Everyone knows him.” Maili’s face softened, her eyes turning dreamy in a way that pinched Mirabelle’s heart. “Sorley and I go way back. We grew up together, mostly causing mischief in the castle kitchens.”
“Oh.” Mirabelle put down her spoon. “I didn’t realize—”
“Och, I’m not someone’s by-blow, my lady.” The girl gave Mirabelle a smile. “Not that I’d be hanging my head if I was.” She winked. “Truth is, most such bairns are born of love, or at the least, powerful desire. That’s a very fine way to have been made if you ask me. I cannae say the same for many nobles.”
“I do agree.” Mirabelle did.
“That I knew, my lady. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t have met my eyes when I brought you in here, much less spoken to me. Some of the worthies at court don’t see me at all, or they act as if I’m air.
“Sorley faced worse, not having a father in a place where blood and station matter over all else. Many were unkind…” She let the words trail away and smoothed the apron tied around her waist. “My mother worked in the castle kitchens and looked after him. Until she succumbed to a fever.” She glanced aside, her gaze on the peats glowing softly on the grate. “My father passed when I was two summers and so I became an orphan, dependent on those with a heart, much like Sorley and other castle bastards.”
“I am sorry for your losses.” Mirabelle was. She liked Maili, admiring her goodness and her strength. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to speak her mind. There was so much she wanted to know. “Sorley’s fortunes appear to have bettered. The court ladies speak highly of him.”
“They would, wouldn’t they? He’s a bonnie man. He has the devil’s own good looks, charm, and…” A wash of pink stole across Maili’s cheekbones. “He’s most popular at Stirling, aye.
“You’ve noticed him,
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