"Which is most like what got her beat," Angus commented grimly. "He wid see her dead ere givin' up Wildwood."
"Aye." Rolfe nodded. "That may be the case, if he caught wind of it." He considered the situation before glancing at Angus. "She headed here for protection, I presume? Why did she not head for court? The king would have protected her."
Angus shrugged. "I doona yet ken. She fled here with her maid an' the maid's son, but she fell under a fever along the way. She's been restin' since arrivin' an' I have no yet spoken to her."
"I see," Rolfe murmured, his expression tight with displeasure. "Is she well?"
The Dunbar pursed his lips. "Alive. Barely. He near knocked the life out o' her. 'Tis why she anticipated yer rescuin' her an' fled here to the safety we could offer as kin."
Rolfe and the bishop exchanged a glance, then the younger man asked, "Have you sent a messenger to the king with news of her presence here?"
"Nay. I thought to wait for ye to arrive. 'Twill be best to give him all the news at one time. He may wish ye to escort her back to court once she's recovered."
Rolfe nodded. "You are a wise man, Angus Dunbar."
The laird's lip curled. "An' yer a fair diplomat, lad. 'Tis why yer king sends ye out on such fool chores."
"Hmm." Rolfe's displeasure at being saddled with such chores was obvious as he peered at Blake. "We had best see to this one now."
Angus grimaced. "Aye. Weell now ... that could be a problem. As I was tellin' ye, Seonaid took advantage of the uproar Lady Wildwood's arriving caused. The day after the lady arrived, the men an' I took to bowsin'. The chit waited until I was fou, then come gin nicht she flew the cavie."
"What?" Blake asked, with both confusion and frustration.
"He said she left the day after Lady Wildwood arrived--"
"I understood that part," Blake snapped irritably. "What the devil is gin nicht?"
"Nightfall. Laird Angus and his men were drinking and Lady Seonaid waited until he was drunk, then at nightfall she flew the--"
"Coop. Aye, I understood that." Turning back, he glared at the older man, who was eyeing him with open satisfaction. Blake liked to think of himself as something of a master of words. He used them often and well to gain his way in many things. It was the height of irritation for him to find himself unable to understand what was being said, and he suspected the Dunbar knew as much and was enjoying himself at his expense. "Am I to take it, then, that you are breaking the contract and are willing to forfeit her dower?" he asked.
Dunbar sat up in his seat like a spring. "When the devil sprouts flowers fer horns!" he spat, then suddenly went calm and smiled. "To me thinkin', 'tis ye who forfeit by neglectin' yer duty to collect yer bride."
"But I am arrived to collect her." He flashed a cold smile.
"The lass has seen twenty-four years," the Dunbar snarled. "Ye should have come for her some ten years back."
Blake opened his mouth to respond, but Rolfe touched his arm to stop him and murmured smoothly, "We have been through all this, Laird Angus. Been and back. You agreed to the wedding taking place here, and Lord Blake has come as requested to fulfill his part of the bargain." He frowned. "I do not understand why you are being difficult. You had agreed to the wedding by the time I left. Duncan agreed also. Only Seonaid was wont to argue the wedding taking place when last I was here, yet now you appear to be against it as well."
Angus shrugged, amusement plucking at his lined face. "Aye, I agreed to it. Howbeit, I dinna say I would be makin' it easy for the lad. He's tarried a mite long for me likin', an' 'tis an insult to every Dunbar."
There were murmurs and nods of agreement all around. Rolfe sighed. It seemed the laird would see the deed done, but not aid in the doing, which was not good enough in his opinion. "I understand your feelings, my lord, but I fear Lord Blake is right. By aiding your daughter in escaping her marriage, you are breaking the contract, her dower will be considered forfeit, and--"
Laird Angus silenced him with a wave of disgust. "Oh, save yer threats. I'd see the lass married soon as you would, 'tis well past time." He glared at Blake. " 'Sides, I'd have grandbabies from her, even if they are half-English." He paused to take a long draught of ale from his tankard, then slammed it down and announced, "She ran off to St. Simmian's."
"St. Simmian's?"
" 'Tis an abbey two days' ride from here," he explained with amusement. "She asked for sanctuary there an' they granted it. Though, I canna see the lass in there to save me soul."
"Damn," Rolfe snapped; then his gaze narrowed on the Scot. "I thought you knew not where she was."
"I said she dinna tell me," he corrected calmly. "I had one o' me lads hie after her when I realized she was gone. He followed her trail to Simmian's but had no luck in gettin' her out. Men're no' allowed inside, ye ken."
"Aye, I know," Rolfe muttered irritably.
Angus Dunbar turned his gaze back to Blake, his eyes narrowing on the small signs of relief he saw on the man's face and in his demeanor. "Well? Ye ken where she be now, lad, why do ye tarry? Go an' fetch 'er; she must be bored by now an' may e'en come out to ye."
Blake glanced at Rolfe. He had been thinking that he might have just slipped the noose they would place on his finger, but the expression on the other man's face and his would-be father-in-law's words told him he had thought wr
ong. They expected him to fetch her out of the abbey to wed. To his mind, it was rather like asking a man to dig his own grave, but it seemed he had little choice.
Sighing, he turned to lead the bishop and Lord Rolfe from the room, but at the door to the keep he paused and waved them on before he returned to face the Dunbar. "You say the abbey is two days' ride away?"
"Aye. Two days."
"Over lands friendly to you or not?"
Angus Dunbar's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Friendly to me. Though no always friendly to the King o' England," he added with amused pleasure. "So I wouldna be wavin' yer banner o'ermuch."
Blake nodded. He had suspected as much. It would no doubt please the Laird of Dunbar and his daughter no end if he died in the attempt, forfeiting the lands promised by his father should he fail to marry the wench. "I would have your plaid then, sir," he said with a predatory smile of his own.
Angus Dunbar blinked at him in surprise, then frowned. "Now, why would ye be wantin' me plaid?"
"If the lands we cross are friendly to you, I would wear your colors to prove we travel under your protection."
There was dead silence in the room and even a bit of confusion; then the men seated at the tables began to murmur amongst themselves, whispering something through the hall until it reached the man to the left of the bewildered laird. His bewilderment seemed to clear as soon as the man leaned to whisper into his ear. Whatever the fellow had said, Angus Dunbar found it vastly amusing. Throwing back his head, he roared with laughter, as did every other man in the room.
Still laughing, the grizzled old man stood, and with little more than a tug and a flick of the wrist, drew the plaid off. Left wearing only a long shirt reaching halfway to his knees, he tossed the brightly colored cloth across the tabletop.
His laughter slowed to a stop as Blake caught the plaid and grimaced at the stench rising off the blanket, then turned to leave again.
"Here!"
Blake paused and turned back. "Aye?"
"Would ye leave me standin' here in naught but me shirttails?" Laird Angus asked, his brows beetling above his eyes.
Blake stared. "What would you have of me?"