Page 18 of Kidnapped by a Rogue
“There is something I would ask of you,” she said.
“What is it?” Archie asked in a clipped tone, clearly impatient for her to leave.
“Insist that William return my dowry,” she said. “He has no right to it.”
“Have no worry about that,” Archie said with a self-satisfied smile. “He’s already returned every last penny.”
“God bless you!” She was so relieved she would have thrown her arms around Archie, if Archie was the sort of brother one could embrace. This meant she could have her own home.
“We’ll need the dowry for your next marriage,” Archie said. “Until that’s arranged, I will, of course, hold your property for you.”
Margaret rarely lost control, but she had to struggle to overcome the urge to beat her fists against Archie’s chest. He was making it plain she would never pry his hands off what should be her property until she agreed to marry when and whom he bade her. And once she did marry, control of her property would pass directly to her new husband.
She felt her life spinning out of her control again. Her brothers were so confident they could bend her to their will. She did not want to be the meek and submissive younger sister her brothers remembered, the one who married as she was told without complaint or question.
But how could she fight them when they held all the power?
“I must dress for the feast,” she said, because she needed to get away from them before they saw how shaken she was.
She hurried toward the door, but Archie’s voice stopped her when her hand was on the latch.
“I have important state business to conduct with our guests from England,” he said. “I can’t have my stepson interfering in matters he doesn’t understand.”
She waited with her back to him, knowing what he was about to say, and yet not quite believing he would have the gall.
“Remember, I’m relying on you to keep the king entertained tonight.”
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Finn emerged from the darkness of the tavern and fixed his gaze on the imposing gatehouse to Holyrood Palace at the base of the Canongate Road. The hour was early for drinking, even for him, but his guess that the tavern closest to the palace would be frequented by palace guards had proven correct.
A few whiskies after a long, tedious night of guard duty loosened the men’s tongues, and Finn learned the palace would be full of guests for a great feast tonight. Once he was inside, Finn could easily blend into such a large gathering. Everyone would assume he was a low-ranking member of some other guest’s party.
The challenge, however, was getting inside.
The palace was attached to the much older Holyrood Abbey, which was Finn’s next destination. Moray had told him more about the abbey than he needed to know. Since its founding hundreds of years ago by King David, the abbey had had a strong relationship with the royalty of Scotland. The early Scottish kings stayed in the abbey’s guest lodgings so frequently that eventually royal lodgings were built to accommodate them. More recently, James IV expanded those lodgings into a royal palace to welcome his bride, Margaret Tudor.
As Finn entered the abbey’s church, his eyes were drawn upward to the graceful arches and intricate carvings. This was a very wealthy abbey, thanks to royal patronage and to the noblemen who joined their brotherhood, took vows of poverty, and gave their property to the abbey. And yet common people of the parish also worshipped in this church, which made it easy for Finn to enter without drawing notice.
Like all great churches, it was built on the lines of a cross. Finn passed through the long nave along the north aisle to the transept, where a screen separated the public from the monks during services. A young novice was sweeping the floor in front of the screen.
“I’ve a message to deliver to Brother Ansel,” Finn told the novice. “His father is gravely ill.”
“I’ll give it to him.” The young man held out his hand.
“I promised Ansel’s mother I would put the message into his hands myself and wait for his reply,” Finn said.
The novice withdrew into the dim interior on the other side of the screen. A short time later, a monk appeared. He had sharp, coal-black eyes that discerned at a glance Finn was not there to deliver a message from anyone’s mother.
When he saw the seal on the parchment Finn slipped to him, the monk darted a glance over his shoulder. “Not here,” he said, glaring at Finn.
Finn followed him out of the church through a low side door that led into the walled area that contained the abbey’s extensive gardens. Once they were on the other side of the row of tall trees that separated the church from the gardens, the monk glanced around once more to be sure they were alone. Then he quickly broke the seal, read the message, and hid it inside his robes.
“Moray wants me to help you enter the palace in secret?” the monk hissed in a low voice.
“All ye need do is get me inside,” Finn said. “I’ll make my own way out.”
“Moray asks too much!”
