The Flower Reader Read Online Free Page B

sheriff of Edinburgh chasing us down for horse reiving as well.”
    Jennet was already in the saddle. Lilidh tossed her head and whickered. “We can’t hold Granmuir against the earl,” she said. “Young Master Alexander’s got no soldiers to bring, and you’ve got only Wat and Master Norman and Robinet and the boys.”
    “I do not need soldiers,” I said. I swung up astride on the hammerheaded chestnut, tucking my skirts around my legs. Thank God the gray camlet was thick and serviceable. “Just Père Guillaume.”
    “The auld priest? You think you can pray away the earl’s army?”
    Wat was mounted as well, with Tante-Mar behind him clinging fast. He wheeled his gelding and the three of us clattered out toward Foog’s Gate. It was a dangerous ride down from the castle rock, and none of us spoke as the horses picked their way.
    “I do not have to pray them away,” I said, when we’d reached the bottom. I kicked the chestnut to a canter and we swept down the West Bow and through the Grassmarket three abreast in the moonlight. At the West Port a watchman stepped out in front of us; I threw him a coin and he opened the gate. “All I have to do is marryAlexander. Then neither Rothes nor Huntly will have power over me, or Granmuir, ever again.”
    W E REACHED G RANMUIR IN THREE DAYS . Jennet and Alexander were a day behind us; the sun was setting behind the forest when they arrived at last, bursting free of the trees and galloping hard along the clifftop causeway connecting Granmuir to the mainland. I knew him instantly, Alexander, my Alexander, by the sun striking gold from his hair like the gold of a yellow iris, a fleur-de-lis, the flower of princes, of beauty and light. He rode wholly at one with his long-legged Spanish stallion. No one rode like Alexander Gordon.
    No other riders. No pursuit. For the moment, at least.
    I ran toward the gatehouse. Young Davy More waved the blue-and-gold colors of Granmuir and shouted in Gaelic as the riders thundered through. A flash of mud-spattered white—Lilidh, pacing the stallion, with Jennet More dragging back on the reins. For a few moments there were trampling hooves everywhere, iron shoes sparking against stone, heads tossing and foam flying. Alexander kicked his feet free of the stirrups and slid out of the saddle like an acrobat. I threw myself into his arms.
    “Alexander,” I cried. “Alexander, Alexander, my darling—”
    He cut me off with a kiss, then another and another, hard and exuberant. He smelled of sweat and male and excitement. I wrapped my arms around him, dazzled.
    “They are close behind us,” he said. “Rothes’s men. Is the priest ready?”
    “In the church. Hurry.”
    Hand in hand like children we ran for the church, with Jennet behind us shouting orders for the care of the horses. Tante-Mar and Wat Cairnie were waiting to witness our vows. Just as we reached the ancient chapel, Davy More shouted again.
    “Men a-coming, flying the Earl of Rothes’s colors! Good ten or twelve, closing fast.”
    We crowded into the church. Wat Cairnie shut the doors—the wood was strong enough but worn; light showed through the planking; would it hold?—and pushed a heavy bench up against them. Père Guillaume had lit two candles on the altar and laid out his stole and missal; the scent of beeswax and primordial holiness inside the little stone structure was greater than any incense. My exhilaration turned to solemnity.
    “This is not the wedding I would wish for you,
ma douce
,” Tante-Mar said. There were tears in her eyes. “You have no proper dress or veil, no procession, no maids to attend you. But look, I have brought a bit of lace—it was your mother’s. And her turquoises. They will protect you from evil, and at the new moon—”
    “I want nothing of hers,” I said. “Just as she wanted nothing of me.” To soften the ruthless truth of it I hugged Tante-Mar’s shoulders. Her bones were thin and pointed as birds’ bones.
    “Step