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“A group of wounded men arrived in the bailey not a half hour past,” Alice reported in a rushed whisper. “I heard two squires speaking of it when I went to the kitchen to fetch some food for you to break your fast.”

“What of the earl? Was he injured?”

“I don’t believe he was hurt. Apparently, they were set upon by a man the squires called Gilroy and his band of brigands, but the earl and his men fought off the attack.”

“Where is he now?”

“Giving chase. The squires were arguing over whether he would take Gilroy prisoner or kill him the moment he was captured.”

Fiona shuddered. As much as she understood the need to vanquish one’s enemies, killing always left a bitter taste. “From what I understand, this Gilroy is a fierce fighter, an enemy of long standing.”

“Oh, my lady, there is more to this sordid tale.” Alice took a deep breath, then blurted out, “Gilroy is the earl’s brother.”

“What?”

“ ’Tis true.” Alice’s head bobbed enthusiastically. “He’s his half brother. His bastard brother.”

“Truly?”

“Yes. They share the same sire, and according to the squires, much of the same tenacity. They spoke almost with admiration as they declared he might call himself Gilroy, but he was a McLendon through and through.”

“That is indeed a peculiar way of referring to one’s enemies,” Fiona agreed. She selected a simple, formfitting green kirtle with tapered sleeves, a full skirt, and a short train, and Alice assisted her into the garments.

“’Tis only one of the many things I don’t understand about these people,” Alice commented, as she tied the silk ribbons across the bodice of Fiona’s gown.

The maid efficiently brushed, then plaited and pinned Fiona’s hair on the top of her head. She added a delicate pure white veil and over that placed a gold circlet mitre to keep it in place.

Feeling better prepared to face the others, Fiona turned to Alice. “We might not understand these people, but that is no excuse for neglecting our devotions. I shall attend Mass this morning and pray for the safety of the earl and his men.”

Alice’s mouth pressed into a thin, disapproving line. “Prayers for the earl are all well and good, but I think it would be wise if you asked the good Lord for some help for yourself, Lady Fiona. I fear you’re the one who’ll be needing it more.”

Chapter 7

The church was filled when Fiona entered, nearly every bench packed tight. Spying a space near the front, she tried sliding into place as unobtrusively as possible. But it was near impossible to remain unseen, as the whispers of her presence spread through the chapel like wildfire.

Pay them no mind, she told herself. She carefully adjusted the skirt of her gown, then glanced beneath her lashes to see who sat beside her. ’Twas Hamish, the castle steward. She offered him a shy smile. Hamish grunted, his expression leaving little doubt that he was displeased with her seat choice, but at least he had the good manners to stay in the pew. Fiona was sure any of the women seated so piously around her would have made a scene and stomped away.

It was difficult to concentrate on the service with so many resentful glares trained upon her back. Fiona could almost hear the snickers when nerves made her stumble over the words of a familiar prayer, but she refused to bow her head. Her pride demanded she stay, but more importantly, she needed the familiar comfort of the Mass to calm her nerves.

Plus, she assumed the castle squires would be required to attend the Mass, which meant she would have a chance to see Spencer and hopefully speak with him. Though it had been only a day, she missed him terribly and wanted to see for herself how he was fairing in this strange new environment.

It was a pleasant surprise to look up and find Father Niall upon the altar, assisting the castle priest. The two men worked together in harmony, their common faith overcoming any political differences. Of course, the fact that Father Niall was half Scots didn’t hurt either, Fiona thought, as she knelt on the hard wooden floor.

Fiona had a much better view of the inside of the chapel from her kneeling position. She felt a shiver of joy when she spied a pew filled with young squires, Spencer among them. Contented, Fiona folded her hands together, not taking her eyes off Spencer for a moment. His face was paler, but his back straight. The lad beside him leaned close and whispered something in Spencer’s ear, causing him to break into a wide grin. Fiona’s spirits lifted. Spencer seemed to be adjusting to his new position.

Far better than I.

When the Mass ended, Fiona waited outside the church, ignoring the stares of the people who walked past by refusing to meet their suspicious gazes. But then Spencer appeared and Fiona’s heart lightened.

“Spencer! Good morning.”

At the sound of her voice he turned, then gave her a bow. “Good morning, my lady.”

Fiona bit her lip. She had taught him proper manners from the time he was a small boy, but never expected to be on the receiving end of such formality.

She wanted to push the other lads aside and wrap him in a tight embrace. Unsure, she controlled the impulse, knowing how mortified he would be at so public a display of affection, especially in front of the other squires.

“May I have a word?” she asked.