Page 6 of How to Be a Scottish Mistress

A nod her son answered with one of his own.

“After these many months, I had hoped the boy would be stronger,” Sir George mused, his eyes narrowing with worry.

“He improves each week,” Fiona replied sharply.

“Can he wield a sword?”

“Yes.”

“With authority?”

Fiona skewered the knight with a piercing look. “He’s barely eleven years old.”

“He began learning how to fight at his father’s knee when he was but a lad of five,” Sir George responded. “I supervised the making of his first wooden sword myself.”

“My brother has refused to allow Spencer any time on the practice field,” Fiona replied, embarrassed to admit her own flesh and blood had so little confidence in Spencer’s abilities. “Father Niall works with him, but the priest’s skill is limited. With the proper training, I know Spencer will be able to compensate for the weakness in his leg. All he needs is the opportunity.”

Sir George took a breath. “If the lad cannot be trained here, then perhaps he can be fostered at another castle?”

“Believe me, Sir George, as much as it would pain me to be separated from him, I have tried to find him a place. Father Niall helped me compose the letters I sent to all the holdings in the area, both large and small.” Fiona felt her face flush with heat. “No one will take him.”

Sir George’s eyebrows rose. “No one?”

Fiona frowned. She had begged her brother to intervene and when he refused, she had taken matters into her own hands. Though possessing only a rudimentary knowledge of reading and writing, Fiona had put all her efforts into the task of securing a future for Spencer. Yet even with Father Niall’s aid, it had taken her hours to write those letters.

Waiting had been the hardest part. For as each reply—and rejection—was received, hope for Spencer’s future had slipped further and further away. Now all that was left was the reality of her situation. No one was going to come to their rescue and willingly take up Spencer’s cause.

They would languish in her brother’s castle for the rest of their lives—an unwanted burden with no true place or purpose. For Fiona, the idea was equally repellant and terrifying and completely unacceptable.

What had started as a mother’s duty to protect her child was now a compulsion for Fiona, burning like a fire within her chest. She would give her own life if it prevented any further harm from coming to the boy. But she was greedy in her wishes and dreams, wanting more than mere survival for Spencer. She wanted him to thrive, to flourish, and when the time was right, to regain his birthright.

“Henry was never openly accused of treason, but ’tis common knowledge that the king did nothing to prevent the attack on our lands,” Fiona said. “That, coupled with Spencer’s injury, has made it impossible to find a nobleman willing to foster him, to give him the proper training needed to attain knighthood.”

Sir George stared at her somberly. “Have you considered the boy’s future might lie with the church?”

“Oh, Sir George, not you, too,” Fiona said, bristling at the remark. “’Tis bad enough that I must listen to my brother harp upon how Spencer’s infirmary makes him fit only for a priestly life. I expected more from you.”

Sir George bowed his head. “I only want what is best for the boy.”

“As do I,” Fiona huffed, though there were moments she had questioned her own motivation. Was her need for revenge putting Spencer in a dangerous position? Should she listen to men like Sir George and her brother, who were so certain the only course for Spencer was a life of spiritual devotion?

Feeling a twinge of uncertainty, Fiona watched Spencer finally make his way to their side. His smile was wide and genuine as he embraced Sir George. It renewed her spirits to see the boy so happy. And renewed her determination. She refused to languish here at her brother’s keep, wasting precious time. She would not quietly accept the future that others wanted to foist upon her son. She would fight for the future he deserved.

Had not Father Niall himself reluctantly agreed the boy had no true calling to be God’s servant? And when further pressed, the priest had added that he highly doubted Spencer would be happy living a quiet life of faithful devotion.

Seeing the hunger and longing in Spencer’s eyes when the men were training was proof enough of the boy’s true desires. He deserved to inherit his father’s lands, to lead and protect their people. Somehow, someway, Fiona was going to make certain he had the chance.

“Will we be ready to leave soon, Sir George?” Fiona asked.

The answering silence from the knight was disturbing. Fiona suppressed a shiver of alarm. If Sir George abandoned them now, they would be stuck here for months. Maybe even years. So great was her distress, Fiona failed to notice her brother, Harold, sauntering smoothly across the bailey toward them.

“Ah, I see your chivalrous knight has finally arrived.” Harold halted beside her, his arms crossed, booted foot restlessly tapping. His narrowed gaze slowly swept from her to Spencer, and then rested speculatively on Sir George. “Good day to you.”

“My lord.” Sir George favored Harold with a curt nod before turning toward Fiona. “The preparations for our journey are nearly complete. If it pleases you, Lady Fiona, we will depart tomorrow at first light.”

Spencer tilted his head in interest. “Am I going, too?”

“Yes, of course.” Fiona smiled. He looked so young, so eager. With great effort she resisted the urge to run her hands affectionately over the lad’s dark curls, knowing the gesture would embarrass him in front of the other men. “Sir George and his men will escort us north, to the Abbey of St. Gifford, so we may visit the holy shrine.”

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