Amanda Scott (12 page)

She had thus decided to put the matter to him in just that way, and that, she told herself, explained her disappointment at his absence.

As her mother hustled her out of the great hall afterward, Mairi resigned herself to a dutiful afternoon. Lachlan had not spared her even a passing glance, so doubtless he was playing a game of sorts, or did not care about the outcome.

Determined to fix her mind wholly on her duties, she returned to the kitchen to fetch a basket with two small manchet loaves and a pot of soup, and then walked straight to Agnes Beton’s whitewashed cottage. Men were back at work on the chapel roof, and the musical rat-tat of their hammers accompanied her.

“Bless all in this house,” she called as she opened the door. “Agnes, I’ve brought you hot soup and rolls. I hope you feel well enough to eat them.”

“Bless ye, my lady, and a good morrow to ye,” Agnes wheezed from her pallet as Mairi entered. A fit of coughing overcame her, but when she could speak again, she said, “I’m better today, for I’ve distilled one o’ me own potions, but that soup smells tasty. If ye’ll set it on the hob, my Bessie will help me with it anon.”

Since the fire in the tiny fireplace had gone out, Mairi could not see that putting the pot on the hob would accomplish anything, so she said, “It’s still hot, so if you’ll tell me where I can find a spoon, I’ll help you with it myself.”

“’Tis an angel ye are, lass. Ye’ll find a mug on the table yonder and a wee spoon in the basket, and I’m thanking ye straightaway lest I die afore I drink it.”

Mairi grinned. “You’ll not die for years yet, Agnes. You’re as tough as whitleather. My father tells me so frequently. Moreover, he needs you, for no one else kens the herbs or the healing skills as well as you do.”

“Aye, but there be many hereabouts as think I should never get sick,” Agnes said with a weak smile that revealed a mouthful of crooked or missing teeth. “Are those wee loaves from the high table?”

“They are. I stole them from the kitchen myself just for you,” Mairi said as she drew a joint stool near the old woman’s pallet. “Here now, just taste this.”

“Wi’ permission, mistress, I’m thinking I’ll drink the broth first.”

Mairi helped her until the soup was gone, then handed her a roll, which the old woman carefully broke into pieces to eat.

“Such a fine meal,” she said. “I vow, my lady, I feel nearly well again.”

“Have you been sick long?”

“Nobbut a few days,” Agnes said. “In troth, my lady, it come upon me after our Ewan found Cousin Elma’s body on the shore. Such a shock as that was!”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

Agnes’s watery eyes narrowed as she shook her head. “Nay, my lady, I dinna ken. Some say ’twas that feckless brute Mellis; but some still say ’twas Ian Burk.”

“Ian could not have done it,” Mairi said firmly. “He was not here.”

“Och, I ken that fine now, but wi’ some, once an idea enters their heads, it’d take a lightning bolt t’ strike it out. ’Tis a pity our Elma were so bonnie a lass.”

“She was,” Mairi agreed, remembering, “but why should that be a pity?”

Agnes gave her a long look but made no reply.

“Come, Agnes, if there is aught you know of this, you must tell me.”

“Nae good comes o’ loose tongues, my lady, but I will say that Elma didna get on well wi’ Mellis, and she did seek her comforting elsewhere.”

“With Ewan?”

“Och, nay then! Me Ewan be a good lad, and finding our Elma like he did near did him in as well, I tell ye. Fishing, he were, and expecting t’ find Gruinart fair leaping wi’ salmon, but he found Elma afore he caught even one!”

Having known Ewan almost as long and as well as she knew Ian Burk, Mairi could easily believe that he had simply gone hunting for big fish, and she could see that Agnes was weary, so she did not press her further. Setting the empty mug and spoon on the table for Agnes’s daughter to wash later, Mairi took her leave.

The rest of the afternoon passed slowly until she retired to the bedchamber she shared with Elizabeth to change for supper, but the time then passed too swiftly, for she could not decide what to wear. She tried on first one dress and then another until Meg Raith threw up her hands in frustration.

“Faith, mistress, if ye dinna decide soon, your lady mother will be upon us.”

“I’ll wear this one,” Mairi said, indicating the sky-blue silk gown she was wearing. “Arrange my caul please, Meg, whilst I slip on my shoes.”

Meg obeyed, grumbling that Lady Margaret would be sending one of her ladies to hurry them before they were done. No such dire thing occurred however, and Mairi soon descended to her mother’s solar, where she found Lady Margaret, her women, and Elizabeth on the point of departing.

“Good, you will not delay us,” her mother said with a smile. “The bell rang several minutes ago, however, so if we do not want to be caught up in the bustle, we had better make haste.”

In the hall, the bustle had already begun, with people finding their places at the trestles. Once again, Mairi saw, Niall had seated the sons of Gillean at the far end of the high table. Hector Reaganach was looking pleased with himself, though, and she remembered that she had not seen him or Ranald at the midday meal. Lachlan sat beside Hector but did not glance her way.

Noting that Ranald stood near his own place, his expression exactly like Hector’s, Mairi said, “Do you know where Ranald was all afternoon, madam?”

“He does not confide such things to me,” Lady Margaret said.

Their secret was soon told, however, for Godfrey said to Mairi as they ate, “Ranald has a surprise, lass, and ’tis one I’m thinking you’ll enjoy.”

“Do you mean to tell me what it is, sir, or must I guess?”

“I can tell you only what I know, that he heard about a troupe of strolling players at Tarbert Castle—splendid guisers,” Godfrey said with a grin. “He went there and abducted them for our entertainment tonight, or so Ranald says.”

She chuckled. “I warrant he will not describe it so to his grace, however. I doubt he would look kindly upon the abduction of any Islesmen or their guests.” Nevertheless, she thought it a delightful treat. Their own minstrels were skilled, but their tunes had grown familiar to all, and new entertainment was always welcome.

She sensed that the others in the hall were as excited as she and knew that the news had spread.

Gillies quickly cleared away the trestles after the meal, opening a space in the center of the hall for the guisers, who wore masks and colorful costumes. All of them were men, but some were dressed as women, drawing hoots of laughter from the audience. Their play was simple, a familiar Isles tale about the great Somerled’s victory over the Viking raiders. Every member of the audience knew the story, but the guisers were new to them and skilled at stirring both laughter and cheers.

They had clearly conferred with MacDonald’s minstrels, because the musicians accompanied them with ease. When everyone had taken bows, the minstrels began to play for a sword dance and several gentlemen arose to take part, including Lachlan Lubanach and his brother.

Laying three pairs of crossed swords down the center of the hall, the men took turns showing off their skill at the ancient
Gille Callum
that had begun as a weapons dance in the days of the Roman Empire to develop military skills.

Despite Hector’s reputation for ferocious fighting, the audience soon saw that Lachlan was the more skilled dancer of the two. His steps were nimble, his grin infectious, and soon the audience was clapping in time to the music and steps. The two brothers danced side by side in their group of three, and Mairi noted that Hector kept glancing at Lachlan as if he were taking his cues from him.

He managed to accomplish all his steps, kicking a sword but once, and then lightly. However, when the three dancers bent to pick up their swords, he tried to do so without missing his steps, and tripped over his own two feet. As he tried to catch himself, both swords flashed up dangerously. Had Lachlan not swiftly intervened, the third man in their group might have found himself abruptly headless.

The audience roared with laughter, as if the entire business had been planned and rehearsed for their delight, but Mairi had been watching the brothers closely, and the darting looks that passed from one to the other told her plainly that such had not been the case. A glance at her father’s frowning face told her just as plainly that MacDonald had interpreted the incident as she had, but when the dancers finished their round, and all three clapped each other heartily on the back, evidently having enjoyed themselves hugely, the Lord of the Isles nodded approval.

When the gentlemen had had their fill of sword dancing, the players formed a line and invited the audience to join them in a ring dance. Merriment ensued, with MacDonald, his lady, and their offspring taking places in the line, mingling with councilors, guests, and retainers. There being far more men than women and children, everyone joined as he or she chose.

One masked guiser left the line to bow low before Mairi, laughing beneath his mask as he took her hand and pulled her to the head of the line, flinging a necklace of tinkling bells around her neck as a sign that she should lead the dance. Then, inserting himself between her and the next man in line, he took her hand and urged her to lead the way.

Laughing, she obeyed, and the line of dancers grew merrier. The music of the minstrels’ lutes and pipes skirled faster and faster as the line wended its way, gathering dancers as it went, until nearly everyone was dancing. Her merry captor left the line, having first placed Mairi’s hand in that of the gentleman behind him, and he soon returned with a grinning Lachlan Lubanach.

Believing that the guiser meant to replace her as leader, Mairi raised a hand to her necklace of bells, but he shook his head, inserted his new captive between Mairi and the man behind her, and the dance went on until the music stopped and she came to a breathless stop in front of Niall Mackinnon.

“You should be dancing with us, Niall,” she said merrily.

“You forget, my lady, that my brother, Fingon, is the Abbot of Iona,” Mackinnon said austerely. “The Roman Kirk does not approve of such wild dancing, and particularly dislikes ladies who lead, or wear the bells to do so.”

“Faith, sir, if my father sees naught amiss with it, I certainly do not.”

Beside her, Lachlan said, “What’s wrong with the bells?”

With a look of dislike, Mackinnon said, “The Kirk deems such bells to be the devil’s instruments. A cardinal o’ the Kirk likened such dancing to a man who binds a bell to his cow’s neck that he may hear the sound and be sure she is still there.”

“By heaven,” Lachlan snapped, “would you liken her ladyship to a cow?”

“I but quote Cardinal de Vitry,” Niall said austerely.

“I have read much,” Lachlan said, “but I do not know de Vitry.”

“‘Even as the cow that leadeth the rest hath a bell to her neck, so the woman who leadeth the dance may be said to have the devil’s bell on hers. For the devil, hearing it, is easy in mind and sayeth, “I have not lost my cow, she is safely mine.’”

Mairi heard Lachlan’s sharply indrawn breath and felt him stiffen beside her.

Chapter 7

“
C
alm yourself, lad,” the Lord of the Isles said, appearing apparently out of nowhere to rest a hand on Lachlan’s shoulder. “Niall’s but having a game with you.”

Noting that Hector had put an even larger hand on his other shoulder, Mairi said to Mackinnon, “I know you did not mean to offend me, sir, but I think it would serve you well if my father ordered you to lead the next ring dance, bells and all.”

Niall shot her a look of annoyance, but before he could speak, Hector said, “Beg pardon, my lady, but I’ve promised Rory Macleod that I’ll serve a penance now for near lopping off his head during our sword dance.” With a droll grin, he added, “Although it might have improved his looks.”

“Take care wi’ our Rory,” another wag said loudly. “He’s seeking favor wi’ the Lady Elizabeth, and may soon become another son t’ his grace.”

Someone else demanded to know what Hector’s penance was to be.

“I’m to sing a song or two,” he said. “But if we’re to dance another—”

Cheers broke out, giving Mairi to realize that despite his ferocious reputation, he was popular and had apparently, in his short time at Finlaggan, already established himself as an entertainer. Her teasing suggestion that Niall lead the next dance was forgotten when Hector took a lute from one of the minstrels, sat on a nearby bench, and plucked the strings in turn, testing each note. The instrument looked tiny in his hands, but his touch was sure when he began to play.

Mairi knew the diversion was intentional and was grateful for it, because she realized that her tactless comment might have set more tempers than Niall’s alight.

A hand touched her arm, and she looked up to find Lachlan still at her side. “Will you walk with me whilst he sings?” he asked, his carefully calm tone making her wonder if he was still angry with Niall, or maybe even with her.

She glanced at her father, but MacDonald’s head was bent toward Lady Margaret, who was nodding and smiling. “I should not, sir,” she said, “and well do you know it. I fear you mean only to plague me with questions I cannot answer.”

“Then you have not yet spoken to his grace.”

“No, for I have scarcely seen him. ’Tis Council time, I’d remind you. He spends most of his hours with his nobles and other men, not with his womenfolk.”

“Then ask him to walk with you,” he suggested. “He appears to be in an excellent humor now.”

Glancing at MacDonald again, she saw that he was laughing at something her mother had said. It seemed a pity to disturb them, but Hector had begun singing a humorous ballad that she knew had numerous verses, and she realized that it might well be the best chance, perhaps the only one, that she would have. The Council of the Isles would continue to devour his time for three more days, and afterward everyone would leave, including the sons of Gillean.

When Lachlan nodded encouragingly, she drew a steadying breath and moved to her father’s side.