“The bait must be something tempting to them both,” Rosamund said.
“Then the trap must be baited twice,” Logan told them. “Once for Henry the younger and once for Lord Dacre.”
“If Dacre believes that Henry and his men are Scots,” Rosamund considered, “that should be bait enough for him. But what will bring them together at the same time and in the same place?”
“There is a deserted abbey near Lochmaben,” the priest said. “What if Lord Dacre learned that gold, previously hidden there, was to be transported from that abbey across Scotland to Edinburgh for the little king’s use? He would want to take that gold. And what if Henry the younger learned about the same gold? The abbey is in a desolate area. Both men would consider it an easy haul. Lord Dacre would be warned of this band of renegade Scots in the neighborhood. Henry would not be warned of Lord Dacre. If they came upon each other, certainly a battle would ensue.”
“I remember once,” Edmund remarked, “my brother Richard saying you would go far in the church, Mata. Your talents are indeed wasted in this rural outback.”
The young priest grinned.
“To get them to the same place at approximately the same time,” Logan noted, “that is where our problem will lie.”
“Not if Henry believes the shipment will be unguarded for only the first five miles of its trek. That it will meet up with the king’s men where the abbey road and the Edinburgh road join. That means he must attack before the gold reaches it guardians. If he is clever, he will wait until the shipment is halfway between the junction of the two roads. We will make certain he does this and then we will make certain Lord Dacre knows it,” Logan said. “Your cousin is basically a coward. He is not looking for a fight, but rather easy pickings.”
“How do we do this?” Rosamund asked him.
“I will go to Lord Dacre,” Tom said. “I am English, and he will believe me, particularly as I will bleat about this bandit who threatens my estates at Otterly and those of my cousin the lady of Friarsgate, who is the queen’s dear friend, just back from court, you know, where her daughter was chosen to be a maid of honor in two years’ time and may be matched with the Earl of Renfrew’s son. His lordship is a snob. He will listen carefully to what I have to say and think to gain greater favor with the king by stealing this gold for him and protecting the queen’s friend in the bargain.”
“And who will tell Henry the younger of the gold?” Rosamund asked.
“I will,” Edmund spoke up.
“You, old man? Are you mad?” Maybel demanded. “Am I to be widowed in my old age, then? You will do no such thing, Edmund Bolton!”
They all laughed, but Edmund replied to his wife, “Nay, old woman. I will go to my nephew and tell him this tale of gold. I will say I heard it from our neighbor, the laird of Claven’s Carn. That I have come to him in hopes that by telling him of this bounty that can be his, he will leave Friarsgate and Philippa Meredith in peace. That the gold he may steal will give him the opportunity to begin a new life somewhere else. I am his uncle, his blood kin. He knows how much I love Friarsgate and our family. He will believe me, for he could never conceive that I would be duplicitous with him where the safety of Friarsgate and its inhabitants are concerned.”
“He is right,” Tom said.
“Aye, and brave, too,” the laird remarked. “You’ll take an armed guard with you, Edmund, for without them your nephew might be tempted to do something foolish.”
“And just where is this gold going to come from?” Maybel demanded. “And how will you gain the monks’ cooperation in this charade?”
“Remember, the abbey is deserted, Maybel. But neither Lord Dacre nor Henry the younger will know that,” the priest said. “Monks’ robes are easily available, and some of the laird’s men can don them to make it appear to anyone watching that the abbey is populated. Two monks will drive the cart up the abbey trail towards the road. At the first sign of trouble, the drivers will leap from the cart and flee into the woods. No one will chase after them, for it is the gold they want, not a pair of cowardly monks.”
“You still have not said where the gold will come from,” Maybel insisted.
“There is a supply of bricks stored away from when we made the new bake ovens,” Edmund said. “They can be wrapped in cloth and tied with yarn. Piled in the cart, they will appear to be just what Lord Dacre and my nephew have been told. Gold.”
“It must all be done with perfect precision if we are to succeed,” the laird said. “Tomorrow we will set up the steps to follow.”
“What will Lord Dacre think when he discovers the bricks?” Rosamund wondered.
“He will undoubtedly head for the abbey, and discovering it empty, realize he has been duped. I suspect he will believe there was indeed gold but that it was transported earlier in some secret manner to foil the English,” Tom said. He stood up, stretching and yawning broadly. “Oh, I believe I am ready for my bed,” he said. “All this plotting is absolutely exhausting, dear girl.” He bent, and kissed Rosamund upon her forehead. “Good night, and sweet dreams, cousin. Logan. Maybel. Edmund.” And then he was gone from the hall.
Edmund arose quickly, and taking his wife’s hand, bid Rosamund and Logan good night as he hurried his wife from the hall. Maybel, who had opened her mouth to protest their swift departure, suddenly realized what her husband was all about, and her jaw snapped shut as their eyes met in understanding.
“Where am I to sleep, lady?” the laird asked his hostess.
Why was he in such a hurry? she wondered. Had he met another woman while she was down in England? “Bide with me a while, my lord,” Rosamund said, and she arose to pour him a goblet of her best wine. After all these years of his alleged devotion, he was going to desert her for some other woman? Most certainly not until she decided if he was worth marrying! She swallowed her temper, and smiling, handed him the wine. “This is my favorite time of day, or rather, evening,” she told him as she brought her own goblet back to her seat by the fire. “Everything is quiet, and there seems to be a peace on the land as at no other time.” She sipped her wine.
He couldn’t resist. He enjoyed it better when she fought him openly. “Are you attempting to ply me with good wine and then seduce me, madame?” He cocked a black eyebrow questioningly at her.
“Have you always had such a fine opinion of yourself, Logan?” she demanded with a show of her old spirit. The beast! Could he read her mind?
“Always, my darling,” he told her with a brash grin. He saw her fingers tighten about the stem of her goblet. “You are contemplating hurling the contents of your vessel at me, aren’t you?” he said.
“Yes,” she admitted through clenched teeth. “Oh, yes!”
“I have a better idea, and it will save my doublet and not waste your good wine,” he told her with a grin. Then, setting his own goblet aside, he stood up. “Get up, Rosamund, and I will help you calm your temper,” Logan said. “But let us put your wine aside first,” and he took the goblet from her hand and set it upon a table. He drew her to a standing position. “From now on,” he said, “when you wish to do violence to me, you will instead kiss me.”
“What?” Surely she had not heard him aright, but then he was folding her arms behind her as he pulled her into his arms. His head was descending to meet hers. His lips were pressing themselves to her lips. With the touch of his flesh on hers, Rosamund’s knees gave way, but he was holding her so firmly that she did not fall. Her eyes had closed of their own volition, and her head began to spin.
Then he raised his mouth from hers and said, “Kissing is much nicer, Rosamund, than quarreling. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”