smiled, clearly reminiscing. “Not even the mostseasoned castle archers shot better. His friends, the other lads in the kitchens and stableyards, swore he could split a hair at a hundred yards. That wasn’t just boys’ bluster, he truly was good.”
“He proved it at the tournament?” Mirabelle was sure that was so.
“That he did, my lady. He took all prizes in his age group.”
Mirabelle looked at her. The girl’s face glowed and her eyes held admiration. Was it possible her affection for Sorley went deeper than the innocent relationship she’d described? If so, it was no concern of hers. So why did the possibility pinch her so fiercely?
Trying to ignore the sensation, she took a small piece of cheese.
“Will you not join me?” She offered the tray to the girl, pleased when she accepted a bit of green cheese and an oatcake.
Watching her, Mirabelle remembered something Maili had left out of her tale. It was her own fault for distracting the girl. And she felt a need to learn as much about Sorley the Hawk as possible. If he accepted the proposal she’d made him, they’d share great intimacies.
If she knew more about him, she’d be able to better relax when the time came.
She might be willing to lose her innocence, but the act was still a bit daunting, much as she was attracted to Sorley.
She also remained certain he was the man she’d encountered in the inn’s rear yard. Likewise she was sure the innkeeper had looked into the private parlor to warn Maili against revealing Sorley’s disguise.
Mirabelle took another sip of wine. Her Highland curiosity would give her no rest until she discovered the reasons behind such an intrigue.
So she set down her cup and turned her entire attentionon Maili. “You said Sorley saved the King on the journey to Holyrood?”
“He did, aye.” Maili took a linen napkin from another table and dabbed at her mouth. “There was an ambush, planned by a small troop of English hunkering in a thicket of whin and broom. The underbrush and mist hid them well, but Sorley spotted them just as one of the archers aimed at King Robert. Before the assailant could loose his arrow, Sorley fired one of his own, piercing the man’s wrist.
“The archer fell, his arrow flying wild and slamming into the heather.” The girl’s face lit, her excitement catching. “His men yelled and burst out of the thicket, armed with flails, light spears, and swords. But the King’s men were warned and ready, making short work of the Sassenachs. By e’en, when the royal party reached Edinburgh, Sorley’s feat was on all lips, his fame sealed. From that day onward, men called him Sorley the Hawk.” Maili swiped at her cheek, her eyes glistening. “Had it not been for his keen eyesight and sharp aim, our good King might not have lived.”
“It’s a fine tale.” Mirabelle found her throat thick, her voice not as steady as she would’ve wished. “I’m not surprised, given the high praise I’ve heard when castle folk speak of him. Tell me”—she had to know—“does he come to the Red Lion often?”
In a blink, the brightness slipped from Maili’s face and she darted a glance at the archway. Men’s voices could still be heard, Mirabelle’s father’s the most dominant as he continued to praise the virtues of the learned order of MacBeth physicians and Celtic medicine. The clatter of cutlery and the chink of ale cups proved that the men were still eating, not yet ready to clamber onto the inn’s roof.
Turning back to Mirabelle, the serving girl drew a long breath. “Aye, well, Sorley does look in now and again. Most men hereabouts do, lest their womenfolk forbid them a cup or two of ale and…” She blushed, and then shrugged. “A bitof comfort such as they don’t enjoy in their marriage bed, as you surely knew.”
“I do.” Mirabelle didn’t lie. “All men need more than a plaid to warm their bones of a cold, dark night.”
Maili’s face warmed with a smile. “You are
“He proved it at the tournament?” Mirabelle was sure that was so.
“That he did, my lady. He took all prizes in his age group.”
Mirabelle looked at her. The girl’s face glowed and her eyes held admiration. Was it possible her affection for Sorley went deeper than the innocent relationship she’d described? If so, it was no concern of hers. So why did the possibility pinch her so fiercely?
Trying to ignore the sensation, she took a small piece of cheese.
“Will you not join me?” She offered the tray to the girl, pleased when she accepted a bit of green cheese and an oatcake.
Watching her, Mirabelle remembered something Maili had left out of her tale. It was her own fault for distracting the girl. And she felt a need to learn as much about Sorley the Hawk as possible. If he accepted the proposal she’d made him, they’d share great intimacies.
If she knew more about him, she’d be able to better relax when the time came.
She might be willing to lose her innocence, but the act was still a bit daunting, much as she was attracted to Sorley.
She also remained certain he was the man she’d encountered in the inn’s rear yard. Likewise she was sure the innkeeper had looked into the private parlor to warn Maili against revealing Sorley’s disguise.
Mirabelle took another sip of wine. Her Highland curiosity would give her no rest until she discovered the reasons behind such an intrigue.
So she set down her cup and turned her entire attentionon Maili. “You said Sorley saved the King on the journey to Holyrood?”
“He did, aye.” Maili took a linen napkin from another table and dabbed at her mouth. “There was an ambush, planned by a small troop of English hunkering in a thicket of whin and broom. The underbrush and mist hid them well, but Sorley spotted them just as one of the archers aimed at King Robert. Before the assailant could loose his arrow, Sorley fired one of his own, piercing the man’s wrist.
“The archer fell, his arrow flying wild and slamming into the heather.” The girl’s face lit, her excitement catching. “His men yelled and burst out of the thicket, armed with flails, light spears, and swords. But the King’s men were warned and ready, making short work of the Sassenachs. By e’en, when the royal party reached Edinburgh, Sorley’s feat was on all lips, his fame sealed. From that day onward, men called him Sorley the Hawk.” Maili swiped at her cheek, her eyes glistening. “Had it not been for his keen eyesight and sharp aim, our good King might not have lived.”
“It’s a fine tale.” Mirabelle found her throat thick, her voice not as steady as she would’ve wished. “I’m not surprised, given the high praise I’ve heard when castle folk speak of him. Tell me”—she had to know—“does he come to the Red Lion often?”
In a blink, the brightness slipped from Maili’s face and she darted a glance at the archway. Men’s voices could still be heard, Mirabelle’s father’s the most dominant as he continued to praise the virtues of the learned order of MacBeth physicians and Celtic medicine. The clatter of cutlery and the chink of ale cups proved that the men were still eating, not yet ready to clamber onto the inn’s roof.
Turning back to Mirabelle, the serving girl drew a long breath. “Aye, well, Sorley does look in now and again. Most men hereabouts do, lest their womenfolk forbid them a cup or two of ale and…” She blushed, and then shrugged. “A bitof comfort such as they don’t enjoy in their marriage bed, as you surely knew.”
“I do.” Mirabelle didn’t lie. “All men need more than a plaid to warm their bones of a cold, dark night.”
Maili’s face warmed with a smile. “You are
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