too, my lady.” She spoke bluntly, then reached down to pet a large gray tabby cat that’d slipped into the room and now leaned against her skirts. Straightening, she smiled. “Most women do.”
Mirabelle took a sip of wine, considering. “Yet thatwasn’t always so. You said he was treated poorly at court?” She hoped he’d forgotten the night of her uncle’s celebratory feast, the Highland reel they’d danced and that had ended so cruelly. But what choice had she other than to walk away with her chaperone? The fierce guard, one of her father’s most brutish warriors, who’d accompanied the woman, would’ve ripped Sorley’s head off his neck had she stayed at his side.
Wishing she’d had the courage to have done so, she set down her wine cup. “Popular as Sorley is now, something must’ve changed.”
“To be sure!” Maili’s smile flashed again. “He saved King Robert’s life. After that, he became a royal favorite. His reputation soared and almost overnight, those who’d shunned him sought his friendship. Such is the way among nobles.”
As soon as the words left her lips, her smile vanished and she pressed a hand to her breast. “My pardon. I didn’t mean to say—”
“I’m not offended.” Mirabelle rushed to reassure her. “The royal court is much different from Highland halls. There are some men who could well be Lowland worthies, but they are few and not looked upon kindly. Our chieftains do swagger a bit and hold great power, but they are also a friend and protector to every clansman. All have the right to approach the chief at any time, knowing they’ll be welcomed, their concerns taken seriously. Indeed, they think of themselves as his cousin, no matter how tenuous the bond. Our lairds call them such, so why shouldn’t they?
“In clan society, all men are important and appreciated. The blood ties and”—Mirabelle’s heart squeezed—“the love of our land bind us powerfully.”
“I should like to have been of your Highlands, my lady.”
“It is a privilege we cherish, calling our hills home.”
Maili again reached down to pet the cat, who was nowbatting at her hem. “I should leave you. You’ve only had a bite of gooseberry bread.”
“It is good.” Mirabelle glanced at the crusty loaf, scarcely seeing it. Her mind raced, her heart thumping at her daring. “If you have a moment, I’d love to hear how Sorley saved the King’s life.”
“Oh, it’s a grand tale!” The girl beamed. “Perhaps even romantic enough to be sung in your Highland halls. It happened when Sorley was six-and-ten summers, during a royal procession to Holyrood Abbey in Edinburgh. The King and his party were riding in style, for the King loves Edinburgh and looked forward to returning there. In a joyous mood, no one paid any heed to the thick mists darkening the day. Great swirls of it blew across the heather, veiling outcrops and large swathes of whin and broom. Sorley—”
“He was in the royal entourage?” Mirabelle lifted a brow, doubtful.
“Aye, well…” Maili glanced at the door arch, lowering her voice. “He wasn’t with the King’s party. Some of the squires had been taunting him more than usual, claiming they’d win glory at an archery tournament to be held at Holyrood. Local archers were encouraged to enter the competition. Sorley followed the group, hoping to—”
“He wished to compete?” Mirabelle guessed, her heart squeezing for the bold lad she knew he’d been.
No boy should be jeered at by others. She understood his need to prove himself.
“Sorley excelled at anything he did.” Maili went to stand before the fire, the gray tabby cat trailing after her. “He wasn’t allowed to train with the squires, so he hid in the shadows and watched them. Later, when the castle slept, he’d sneak to a dark corner of the training ground and practice, mimicking what he’d seen. He quickly mastered sword work, but it was with a bow that he shone the brightest.” Maili
Mirabelle took a sip of wine, considering. “Yet thatwasn’t always so. You said he was treated poorly at court?” She hoped he’d forgotten the night of her uncle’s celebratory feast, the Highland reel they’d danced and that had ended so cruelly. But what choice had she other than to walk away with her chaperone? The fierce guard, one of her father’s most brutish warriors, who’d accompanied the woman, would’ve ripped Sorley’s head off his neck had she stayed at his side.
Wishing she’d had the courage to have done so, she set down her wine cup. “Popular as Sorley is now, something must’ve changed.”
“To be sure!” Maili’s smile flashed again. “He saved King Robert’s life. After that, he became a royal favorite. His reputation soared and almost overnight, those who’d shunned him sought his friendship. Such is the way among nobles.”
As soon as the words left her lips, her smile vanished and she pressed a hand to her breast. “My pardon. I didn’t mean to say—”
“I’m not offended.” Mirabelle rushed to reassure her. “The royal court is much different from Highland halls. There are some men who could well be Lowland worthies, but they are few and not looked upon kindly. Our chieftains do swagger a bit and hold great power, but they are also a friend and protector to every clansman. All have the right to approach the chief at any time, knowing they’ll be welcomed, their concerns taken seriously. Indeed, they think of themselves as his cousin, no matter how tenuous the bond. Our lairds call them such, so why shouldn’t they?
“In clan society, all men are important and appreciated. The blood ties and”—Mirabelle’s heart squeezed—“the love of our land bind us powerfully.”
“I should like to have been of your Highlands, my lady.”
“It is a privilege we cherish, calling our hills home.”
Maili again reached down to pet the cat, who was nowbatting at her hem. “I should leave you. You’ve only had a bite of gooseberry bread.”
“It is good.” Mirabelle glanced at the crusty loaf, scarcely seeing it. Her mind raced, her heart thumping at her daring. “If you have a moment, I’d love to hear how Sorley saved the King’s life.”
“Oh, it’s a grand tale!” The girl beamed. “Perhaps even romantic enough to be sung in your Highland halls. It happened when Sorley was six-and-ten summers, during a royal procession to Holyrood Abbey in Edinburgh. The King and his party were riding in style, for the King loves Edinburgh and looked forward to returning there. In a joyous mood, no one paid any heed to the thick mists darkening the day. Great swirls of it blew across the heather, veiling outcrops and large swathes of whin and broom. Sorley—”
“He was in the royal entourage?” Mirabelle lifted a brow, doubtful.
“Aye, well…” Maili glanced at the door arch, lowering her voice. “He wasn’t with the King’s party. Some of the squires had been taunting him more than usual, claiming they’d win glory at an archery tournament to be held at Holyrood. Local archers were encouraged to enter the competition. Sorley followed the group, hoping to—”
“He wished to compete?” Mirabelle guessed, her heart squeezing for the bold lad she knew he’d been.
No boy should be jeered at by others. She understood his need to prove himself.
“Sorley excelled at anything he did.” Maili went to stand before the fire, the gray tabby cat trailing after her. “He wasn’t allowed to train with the squires, so he hid in the shadows and watched them. Later, when the castle slept, he’d sneak to a dark corner of the training ground and practice, mimicking what he’d seen. He quickly mastered sword work, but it was with a bow that he shone the brightest.” Maili
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