The King's Messenger by Susanna Kearsley

Author:Susanna Kearsley
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster UK
Published: 2024-08-02T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

I hadn’t expected his touch to be gentle. It was so at odds with his size and his rough nature and with the force with which we’d always clashed, and it caught me so unawares and off my guard that I still felt off balance that night after supper. My father, who’d taken the chair at the small table next to me close to the fireplace of our lodgings’ parlour, guessed the cause of my silence.

‘What has he done this time?’ he asked.

‘Who?’

My father glanced up once, but meaningfully, from his work on his papers. ‘Young Logan. Or should I more properly say, your new husband? I must confess, I did not think to have gained a new son on this journey, and all of it done with no need of a dowry.’

‘I’m glad that you find it amusing.’

‘I do. I agree with your purpose, of course, in the pretence, but watching the two of you carry it out can be quite entertaining. You’ve had your first newlywed argument, have you?’

‘No.’ I didn’t choose to enlighten him further. Instead I leaned closer to study the pages that he’d started work upon. ‘What are you writing?’

‘Sir David’s account of his meeting with Prince Henry at Stirling Castle. The one he related to us at the Roman wall.’

‘Surely,’ I said, ‘he was telling that story to Hector? That can’t be of interest to anyone else.’

But my father did not cease his writing. ‘My orders, directly from my lord Northampton, are to keep a record of whatever Sir David says on our journey to London. It isn’t for me to decide what parts might be of interest to those who will judge him.’

‘But don’t you think that—?’

‘Phoebe.’

There would be no further argument, I knew. I left it there and went to bed. Our lodgings in the inn consisted of two separate bedchambers connected by this parlour, so that, as in Leith, I had a room unto myself for sleeping, while the men all shared the other.

The day had been a long one and my thoughts were tossed and troubled, so I knew the dream would find me, and it did.

I rose, as I had done in Leith, and went into the parlour, wanting only to be free of the confinement of the bedchamber. And, as in Leith, I found that I was not alone.

This time, Logan was not lurking in the shadows. He had left a candle burning and was standing by the window, looking out.

Surprised, I asked, ‘Are not you worried Patrick Graeme and his men will see you?’

He shook his head slowly, without turning round. ‘No. He isn’t behind us the now.’

‘But you said—’

‘Aye, I ken what I said. He was nearly on top of us, so if he chose not to follow us down from the Roman wall, he had a strategy.’ Logan turned then, and I saw the frustration writ plain on his features. ‘He’s cunning, the Laird of Inchbrakie. He couldn’t have missed our trail. Not with the five of us riding, he couldn’t have.

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