Wedding for a Knight: Warner Forever

Chapter 1

Stirling Castle, April 1380
The Earl of Fife, hereditary governor of Stirling Castle and third son of the King of Scots, sat behind the large desk in his audience chamber, sternly regarding the well-dressed young man who stood before him. Fife was a good judge of men, and this one seemed more confident in his presence than most. Fife's formidable personality and ever-increasing power intimidated most men--with good reason.
"Who sent you here to me?"
"I came of my own accord, my lord," his visitor said. "I own, though, that I came to you because I think we can help each other. I am told that, rightfully, you should be heir to the throne of Scotland but must bow to a lesser man."
"It is true that I am more capable than my brother Carrick will ever be of ruling this country as it should be ruled," Fife admitted. "However, Robert the Bruce set the order of succession years ago and ordained that it must go to the eldest son."
"But the Scottish Parliament can alter that order, can it not?"
"Aye, if one could persuade them to do so."
"I'm told also that you are a religious man, a follower of the Kirk of Rome."
"That is true enough," Fife said.
"If the Pope were to support you instead of the Earl of Carrick as the next King of Scots, would that not increase your chances of persuading the Parliament?"
"Aye, sure, but what would his holiness ask of me in return?"
"We seek information about the death of a cousin, the son of my late father's brother. He disappeared whilst trying to find and return an item of some value to the Kirk of Rome. His own men believe he died at the hands of certain Scottish nobles."
"What is this cousin's name?"
"Waldron of Edgelaw, my lord."
Fife leaned forward. "And these Scottish nobles. Do you know their names?"
"The Sinclairs, my lord, likewise cousins of Waldron on their mother's side."
"I did hear rumors about his death," Fife said, "but my sources told me that from all they could learn, he died in a fair fight. Tell me more of this item he sought and why you think the Sinclairs had aught to do with his death."
"First let me assure you that if you can aid me, his holiness will be grateful. You may be sure of great financial reward as well as holy favor."
"Then something of great value is involved," Fife said. "What is it?"
His visitor nodded. "They told me you were astute, my lord. 'Tis true that what Waldron sought was of enormous value, but it does belong to Holy Kirk."
"Aye, sure, and I'd faithfully see it returned," Fife promised. "But what is it?"
"Treasure, my lord, stolen from the Kirk nearly a century ago by the Knights Templar. Those who sent me believe the Sinclairs guard it now. Likewise, a woman now in their care but who is soon to marry and depart for the Highlands spent a fortnight with my cousin right before his death. Her name is Lady Adela Macleod."
Fife was thinking. He said musingly, "Sir William Sinclair was one of the men who attempted to carry the Bruce's heart to the Holy Land."
"Aye, sir, and a Templar."
"Perhaps, but you are the second man in as many weeks to speak to me of hidden treasure. I must think on this. Return tomorrow, and we'll discuss it further."
Roslin Castle, Thursday, May 10, 1380

"Smile, Adela. We brides should look happy on our wedding day!"
Lady Adela Macleod turned to her younger sister, Sorcha, who was certainly beaming brightly enough for both of them. But although Adela tried to obey her command, she knew her own smile was feeble at best.
She had hoped that her second wedding, unlike the first, might proceed without undue fuss or drama. However, although she knew that Roslin Castle's highly trained guardsmen would prevent the kind of trouble that had cut short her first ceremony, she had already seen more fuss and ado than she liked. And she knew that before the day was over, she would see more. Nervously, she fingered the gold chain necklace her mother had given her the year before she'd died.
Sorcha reached to push back a long, thick strand of Adela's straight honey-blond hair that had managed to slip over her shoulder to the front of her tightly laced golden velvet gown. Letting go of the chain, Adela stood quietly, even submissively. Sorcha's pearl-trimmed caul and the simple blue, shoulder-length veil that matched her silk gown concealed her own curlier, amber-golden hair.
Adela reminded herself that fuss had been inevitable. Not only were there now two brides and bridegrooms instead of one couple, but when one's hostess was a powerful countess in her own right, one had to expect such an occasion to merit extraordinary pomp and circumstance. And when one's younger sister had married the countess's favorite nephew by declaration a fortnight before, one could scarcely cavil when the fond aunt and one's own fond parent insisted on a double wedding to sanctify both marriages properly.
Even her father, Macleod of Glenelg, had had little say in today's wedding plans.