Amanda Scott (8 page)

He shrugged. “Not Mellis MacCoun, if that is what you’re thinking, because he was at Kilchoman with me. We did not return until that evening, after she’d disappeared. But stop changing the subject,” he added sternly. “If you’ve taken a liking to Lachlan the Wily, you’re wading into dangerous water.”

She was tempted to tell him Lachlan had said he was thinking of marrying, to ask what he thought about that, but she knew what Godfrey would think of any man discussing that subject with her rather than with their father. She knew, too, that everyone expected her to marry Alasdair Stewart if only because—presuming that a cumbersome number of persons obliged him first by dying, and the fractious Scottish Parliament agreed—he might one day become King of Scots.

Even if he did not, her grandfather Robert would be king unless, through some miracle of God, David finally managed to produce a son or daughter. And since her father’s primary reason for marrying her to Alasdair was to help fulfill his goal of forming as many royal connections as possible, the better to protect every member of Clan Donald, she doubted that he would change his mind.

Fingers touched her right knee, nearly startling her out of her skin.

“What is it, lass?” Godfrey asked. “Art cold?”

Managing a rueful smile, she said, “I think I nearly fell asleep as I sit here, sir. Much as it pains me to admit weakness, I’m dead tired.”

“And no wonder, since Ranald tells me you insisted on starting for Finlaggan nearer midnight than dawn and then were becalmed for hours. Did you sleep at all?”

“I wasn’t tired then,” she said. “Even becalmed and unable to see my hand before my eyes, the current carried us safely enough, albeit slowly, and it was exciting to be on the water in such darkness. Although,” she added, remembering, “Meg Raith kept imagining sea monsters.”

Godfrey chuckled again, but then said gently, “You neglect our guest.”

She had known from the moment Lachlan Lubanach’s fingers touched her knee that Lady Margaret must have returned her attention to his grace, but she had thought it would do him good to study patience.

Turning to him now, she said with polite dignity, “I trust you find our meals to your liking, sir.”

“They are excellent, my lady, as are his grace’s minstrels.”

She had not heeded the minstrels, because they played wherever her father dined, but she glanced obediently at the little gallery halfway up the east wall. A narrow stairway in the wall led up to it, she knew, for as a child she had often sneaked up there to listen while her father and other men discussed kings and princes in faraway lands and wars that one or another wanted the Lord of the Isles to help him win. She did not approve of war, for although her father was not combatant, the politics of war often took him from home for long stretches of time.

Niall Mackinnon had caught her eavesdropping once when she was eight or nine, and had spanked her soundly before bearing her to MacDonald and telling him what she had done. But although he had scolded her for slipping away from the women without permission and thus worrying a number of people, and had
not
scolded his high steward for her humiliating and painful punishment, MacDonald had always, patiently, answered her questions. He had also, in time, taught her to play chess, explaining that much of the game’s strategy imitated war.

Realizing that Lachlan was sitting quietly now, watching her, she said, “Will you tell me the story now that your brother related to my parents?”

“Another time, perhaps,” he said. “Your lady mother is nearly ready to depart, and I warrant you and the lady Elizabeth will go with her.”

“Aye, but there is time enough for you to explain what you meant,” she said, mildly annoyed because a true gentleman would have complied with her request.

He looked puzzled. “What I meant by what?”

“Good sir, you know perfectly well. You said you are interested in marrying, and you said it in such a way that I’d have to be a noddy not to take your meaning. But surely you know that my father would never permit such a connection even were I to consent to it.”

“Would you consent?”

His gaze had intensified, and every fiber of her body threatened to betray her as she gazed back. It took enormous strength of mind to say calmly, “You must not ask me such a thing. ’Twould be most improper under any circumstance, but to ask when we know so little of each other . . . Faith, to ask me at all when neither you nor your father has approached mine. You step beyond all the bounds, sir.”

“Aye, I do that, and often,” he said. “I have found it is the best way.”

“The best way for what?”

“To get what I want, of course. Necessity acknowledges no bounds.”

Lady Margaret chose that moment to stand up, and Mairi, stunned by his casual attitude toward such an important topic, felt only gratitude that she need not continue the outrageous conversation. That she would have liked to continue it confused her, for she had never had such an experience before and knew not how to cope with it. Indeed, she had never known a man like Lachlan Lubanach and had no idea how to cope with him.

He fascinated her at the same time that his behavior outraged and appalled her. Often had she heard troubadours sing of men who fell hopelessly in love in the face of all opposition, and rode off in triumph, the ladies of their desire riding pillion behind them. Mairi had long believed those tales to be apocryphal, for what possible end could such defiant couples meet but disaster.

Obediently she returned with her mother and Elizabeth to the laird’s hall, knowing that MacDonald and his councilors, including the sons of Gillean, would be busy all afternoon with the business of the Council of the Isles. If her thoughts frequently slid away from her duties, she nonetheless performed them and did not protest when she learned that the family would take supper privately, for by then she was exhausted. Moreover, she wanted to think about Lachlan Lubanach and devise a way, somehow, to keep him safely at arm’s length. He offered excellent opportunities to practice the art of flirting, but that was all she wanted of him.

She was certain of that and told herself so several times before she climbed into bed beside Elizabeth. She was still telling herself so when she fell asleep.

The next morning Mairi woke with the dawn, and when her waking thought was for a pair of teasing blue eyes, she mentally scolded herself and resolved that flirtation would not be the order of the day. After Lady Margaret arose, the entire household would assemble for morning prayers, but that would not happen for another hour, and by then Mairi intended to be a good distance from Finlaggan.

At Dunyvaig, every waking hour had been duty-bound. Determined to show her father and mother that she was perfectly able to handle such responsibility, and having no social obligations of note, she had devoted as much energy to her tasks as Ranald had to his. Since Ranald was likely to knock heads if work on the boats or fortifications progressed too slowly to suit him, Mairi’s diplomatic skills had been required occasionally as well, after such incidents.

Plainly, she now deserved a holiday.

Dressing quickly, without assistance and without waking Elizabeth, she brushed snarls from her long hair and carelessly replaited it, deciding to leave it uncovered until her return, when Meg Raith could arrange it properly and encase it in its usual, formal caul. Finding gloves and donning the hooded crimson cloak she had worn in the boat the morning before, she hurried downstairs and across the open, south-facing forecourt without encountering another soul.

Loch Finlaggan stretched southward, gray, calm, and peaceful. The previous day’s fog had lifted, but the sky remained overcast, the air still. As she crossed the great hall courtyard, a pair of gulls soared silently overhead. Beyond the hall, she hurried along the narrow road linking servants’ cottages and chapel, then continuing through the enclosure to the stone causeway and the main island of Isla.

Her skin prickled as she strode past the chapel, for although workers had not begun work for the day on the roof, it was always possible that her father’s chaplain or one of the monks who served him might step out and call to her. He might want only to bid her good morrow or welcome her return, but could as easily demand to know where she was going and wonder aloud if she would return in time for prayers. Answering either yea or nay to him could well land her in the suds later.

No one called to her, and as she passed through the gateway to the stable enclosure, she released the breath she had been holding.

“Ian, are you here?” she called as she entered the barn.

“Down here, mistress, wi’ the lad.”

Smiling, she turned toward his voice and found him in the end stall brushing her favorite mount, a sleek, long-tailed, light gray gelding she called Hobyn.

Patting the horse’s flank, she eased past it to its head, murmuring endearments and reaching to stroke the blaze on its face. Instead, Hobyn pushed his soft nose into her palm.

“He missed me,” she said.

“Aye, he always does,” Ian agreed, still brushing. When she said nothing more, he glanced shyly at her and said, “’Tis that grateful I am t’ ye, my lady. Nae one else would believe I didna kill Elma.”

“I know, Ian. It is plain now to everyone that you did not, however.”

“Still, I’m glad ye came home when ye did and that ye spoke up so strong at his grace’s court. Had ye no done that, Mellis MacCoun would ha’ demanded me hanging straightaway.”

“The charge against you was weak, Ian. I’ve yet to hear anything to prove Elma’s death was not an accident. In any event, I mean to ride this morning.”

“Aye, sure, mistress, I’ll just saddle Hobyn and get me own pony.”

“I want no saddle today, nor do I need you with me,” she said. “I mean only to ride to Loch Gruinart and back before I break my fast.”

“Sakes, mistress, ’tis safe enough for ye anywhere on Isla, I ken well, but if ye should suffer a mishap—”

“I won’t,” she said, laughing at his concern. “Nor will anyone scold you. It is not as if I have not done the same thing many and many a time before.”

“Aye, ’tis true, that,” Ian said. “I’ll just put the lad’s bridle on then and give ye a leg up.”

Minutes later, free of care and comfortably astride as she had ridden since childhood, she rode out of the enclosure and across the causeway, keeping an eye on the cottages along the shore on the slight chance that one of her brothers had come out early to speak to a guardsman or someone else who lived there.

Ancient woodland lay before her split by a narrow track that ran alongside one of the many burns feeding into Finlaggan. She followed it to the top of the low ridge, and as she rode north along the ridgeline, the eastern sky beyond the pointed twin Paps of Jura grew pink and then orange, spreading color into and under the thin cloud layer above.

Riding downhill to Loch Car Nan Gall, she paused to watch the sun peep over the horizon, splashing golden rays through the narrow space below the cloud layer. The wooded dale was narrow, and she crossed a second ridge a short time later. From the top, she enjoyed her first view of the sea at the north end of the island. Following a tumbling river through more patches of woodland, she soon came to the craggy point where Loch Gruinart met the sea.

To her right lay the cliffs from which Elma might have fallen. Others loomed above the seashore on the other side of the loch mouth, for she had often seen them from boats on the water. But she thought it unlikely that Elma would have walked so far, and unlikely, too, that she had taken a boat, since someone surely would have known of it and spoken up before now.

It occurred to her then that Elma might have followed Godfrey’s party to Kilchoman, perhaps to take Mellis something he had forgotten. But even if Godfrey had not followed his usual route south to Loch Indaal and across its head, his party would have ridden closer to the head of Loch Gruinart. From where she was to the loch head was at least five miles from the sea, too far from any cliff off which Elma might have fallen.

One of Mairi’s favorite pastimes was to ride along Loch Gruinart’s shore and back to Finlaggan by way of jewellike Loch Cam, and the temptation was strong to do so today if only because she might find some indication as to exactly where Ewan Beton had found Elma’s body. But that likelihood was remote, and the journey would take too long. As it was, she risked missing breakfast and would likely have to endure her mother’s displeasure.

Nevertheless, she could not return without first galloping on the sand. Loch Gruinart was blessed with wide, rolling sand dunes along its shore, and she could ride full out on them. Indeed, one of her greatest pleasures in summertime was to run barefoot through the warm sand. Just thinking about that now made her smile.

From the ridge above, Lachlan watched the lass ride down to the shore. She was a pleasure to watch, no matter what she did, but on horseback, she was breathtaking. He had never known an Isleswoman who rode so easily and so well, as if she were an extension of her horse. The silvery gray was splendid, too.

He had spent an hour after supper the previous evening building an acquaintance with young Ian Burk. Easily deducing that Lady Mairi cared about the lad, and that Ian might thus prove a font of valuable information if handled deftly, Lachlan had employed his considerable skills of interrogation to excellent result. Although Ian was plainly devoted to his mistress, the task had not been difficult after Lachlan expressed his satisfaction that Ian had proven his innocence, and his certainty that Lady Mairi’s relief must have been profound.

The result had been as if a dam had broken, releasing a torrent of praise for her ladyship. Directing the conversation after that had been child’s play, and he had soon learned that her ladyship delighted in early-morning rides, that she had been unable to indulge that pleasure at Dunyvaig, from whence she had just returned, and that she would almost certainly want to ride first thing in the morning.

Thus, Lachlan had set himself to wake before dawn, had ordered his horse saddled, and had ridden across the causeway into the woodland before her, soon finding a concealed vantage point from which he could watch for her to follow.