stilled on Verbatim's head. "If it's any consolation, the earl helped bury the dog and promised the shepherd he'd find a replacement."
"How magnanimous of him."
Alexis sighed. "He's not your Sir Lancelot, Miriam. But don't judge him unfairly."
"I'm trying not to judge him at all."
"I know, and he's lucky the queen sent you. Shall I help you undress?"
"No. I'm going to investigate the garden."
"I'll go with you."
"Thank you, but no. I'll take Verbatim."
The dog barked and jumped to her feet. Head cocked, she stood perfectly still. Then she lifted her long blunt nose and sniffed. A moment later she went to the open wardrobe and poked her head inside.
The candle wavered wildly in another draft of air.
Alexis raised an eyebrow. "Something strange is going on. Maybe we have a ghost—"
"Shush." Miriam crossed the room and threw open the other door to the wardrobe. "What is it, girl?" she whispered to the dog.
The hound's head disappeared between the folds of a lavender day dress and an emerald evening gown. After rummaging through every item of Miriam's clothing, the dog backed up and sat.
For the thousandth time since acquiring the animal, Miriam wished Verbatim could talk.
"Would you like to go for a walk outside?" Miriam asked.
A loud bark was her answer.
Miriam picked up the leash and her cloak. "Don't wait up for us," she said.
"I wouldn't dream of it." But Alexis sat at the vanity and began brushing her hair.
Her scribes had explored the castle today. Following Saladin's directions, Miriam found the back stairs and exited the castle through a door that faced the kennel. The air smelled of rain, and clouds masked the moon.
Torches lined the wall, illuminating the guards on patrol. She counted twenty armed men. In Scottish, they spoke of a storm to come.
As if she were out for a casual evening stroll, Miriam made her way slowly to the garden gate. Looking left, then right, she bent low and tiptoed inside, Verbatim on her heels.
She started across the garden, but stopped at the sight of a tall dark shadow. Her heart hammered.
He stood near the giant urns, which now seemed as small as flower pots.
Verbatim growled.
Miriam clutched the leash and started backing toward the door.
The shadow moved. "Doona be afraid, lassie."
The rich burr in his voice sent shivers down her spine. The crunching of his boots on the stone pathway echoed off the garden walls.
Swallowing hard, she said, "Who are you?"
"A friend who means you no harm," he said in Scottish.
When he was only an arm's length away, she saw that he wore a hat pulled low over his forehead, the wide brim effectively shielding his face from view. A muted tartan cape fell to his knees. She squinted, studying the pattern of the plaid, but couldn't discern the design or his clan.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
He chuckled, deep and natural, as if laughter came easy to him. "I could ask the same of you."
Feeling foolish and frightened at once, Miriam said, "I'm walking my dog." She yanked on the lead. "Who happens to be extremely vicious."
"It doesn't look vicious." He squatted in the path. "It looks like a fine wee beastie to me."
In the dim light, a rakish plume waved over his hat. Was he a cavalier? A guest of the earl?
"Animals love me." He extended a black-gloved hand to Verbatim.
"Don't!" Miriam stepped back, dragging a growling, quivering Verbatim with her. "Easy girl."
The dog sat.
The man said, "Can you shake my hand?"
To Miriam's surprise, Verbatim held up a paw.
The stranger chuckled and stood. "I've been told I have the same effect on all women."
Miriam craned her neck. Fear snatched her breath. Dear Lord, he was tall and broad-shouldered. She whispered, "Tell me who you are."
He bowed from the waist. "I'm the Border Lord."
"The what?"
"The Border Lord. Doona tell me you've never heard of me?"
He reeked of feudal nobility. She remembered the tales told to her by the innkeeper in Bothly Green. He proclaimed the Border Lord
"How magnanimous of him."
Alexis sighed. "He's not your Sir Lancelot, Miriam. But don't judge him unfairly."
"I'm trying not to judge him at all."
"I know, and he's lucky the queen sent you. Shall I help you undress?"
"No. I'm going to investigate the garden."
"I'll go with you."
"Thank you, but no. I'll take Verbatim."
The dog barked and jumped to her feet. Head cocked, she stood perfectly still. Then she lifted her long blunt nose and sniffed. A moment later she went to the open wardrobe and poked her head inside.
The candle wavered wildly in another draft of air.
Alexis raised an eyebrow. "Something strange is going on. Maybe we have a ghost—"
"Shush." Miriam crossed the room and threw open the other door to the wardrobe. "What is it, girl?" she whispered to the dog.
The hound's head disappeared between the folds of a lavender day dress and an emerald evening gown. After rummaging through every item of Miriam's clothing, the dog backed up and sat.
For the thousandth time since acquiring the animal, Miriam wished Verbatim could talk.
"Would you like to go for a walk outside?" Miriam asked.
A loud bark was her answer.
Miriam picked up the leash and her cloak. "Don't wait up for us," she said.
"I wouldn't dream of it." But Alexis sat at the vanity and began brushing her hair.
Her scribes had explored the castle today. Following Saladin's directions, Miriam found the back stairs and exited the castle through a door that faced the kennel. The air smelled of rain, and clouds masked the moon.
Torches lined the wall, illuminating the guards on patrol. She counted twenty armed men. In Scottish, they spoke of a storm to come.
As if she were out for a casual evening stroll, Miriam made her way slowly to the garden gate. Looking left, then right, she bent low and tiptoed inside, Verbatim on her heels.
She started across the garden, but stopped at the sight of a tall dark shadow. Her heart hammered.
He stood near the giant urns, which now seemed as small as flower pots.
Verbatim growled.
Miriam clutched the leash and started backing toward the door.
The shadow moved. "Doona be afraid, lassie."
The rich burr in his voice sent shivers down her spine. The crunching of his boots on the stone pathway echoed off the garden walls.
Swallowing hard, she said, "Who are you?"
"A friend who means you no harm," he said in Scottish.
When he was only an arm's length away, she saw that he wore a hat pulled low over his forehead, the wide brim effectively shielding his face from view. A muted tartan cape fell to his knees. She squinted, studying the pattern of the plaid, but couldn't discern the design or his clan.
"What are you doing here?" she asked.
He chuckled, deep and natural, as if laughter came easy to him. "I could ask the same of you."
Feeling foolish and frightened at once, Miriam said, "I'm walking my dog." She yanked on the lead. "Who happens to be extremely vicious."
"It doesn't look vicious." He squatted in the path. "It looks like a fine wee beastie to me."
In the dim light, a rakish plume waved over his hat. Was he a cavalier? A guest of the earl?
"Animals love me." He extended a black-gloved hand to Verbatim.
"Don't!" Miriam stepped back, dragging a growling, quivering Verbatim with her. "Easy girl."
The dog sat.
The man said, "Can you shake my hand?"
To Miriam's surprise, Verbatim held up a paw.
The stranger chuckled and stood. "I've been told I have the same effect on all women."
Miriam craned her neck. Fear snatched her breath. Dear Lord, he was tall and broad-shouldered. She whispered, "Tell me who you are."
He bowed from the waist. "I'm the Border Lord."
"The what?"
"The Border Lord. Doona tell me you've never heard of me?"
He reeked of feudal nobility. She remembered the tales told to her by the innkeeper in Bothly Green. He proclaimed the Border Lord
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