Amanda Scott (28 page)

“Nay, lass, I ken fine who brought you.”

“You were angry when you saw me.”

“Aye, I was,” he admitted. “I dislike having my orders countermanded.”

“I know, but I did want to come, so I cannot pretend I tried to persuade your father that his decision was unlikely to please you.”

“Much he would have cared,” he said. “He knew his interference would displease me, so I’m guessing he fetched you himself from Lochbuie.”

“Aye, he did.”

“Then his mind was made up. You’d have had no chance to dissuade him and would likely have drawn his reproaches had you tried. Mairi was with him?”

She hesitated.

“I’m not going to bite her head off either,” he said. “If the truth were known, I’m glad you came and sorry that I did not arrange for you to follow me here.”

“Truly?”

“Aye.”

She seemed to expect him to say more, and at last, ruefully, he said, “I’ve been busy, as I feared I’d be, but nonetheless, nearly everyone here has asked me about you. Only a few had known of our marriage before the Council meeting at Finlaggan. But thanks to your father, who surprised me by not gloating but spoke of our marriage often there, many more learned of it, and most of them seem to have told their wives and daughters.”

“Aye, they would,” she agreed. “Everyone thinks about marriages, you know, and a good many of the men at Finlaggan must have looked on you as an excellent prospect for one of their daughters.”

“Perhaps, but if you think their lasses ignore me now that I’m married, you are wrong. They flirt just as openly as they did before, including your sister.”

“You can scarcely blame Mariota, sir. You have made no secret—to her and others—that you would have preferred to marry her. She believes that after you get your annulment, you
will
marry her.”

He grimaced. “About that annulment, lass—”

“You need not tell me, sir. You have already made your position clear.”

“Nay, lassie, I have not, not if you still think I wish I had married your sister, because I don’t want any such thing.”

She looked searchingly into his eyes. “You don’t?”

“Nay, though I don’t deny I did wish it at Chalamine, even afterward, until I came home to find her at Lochbuie. I vow, I’ve never known a lass so full of herself as that one is. I doubt she ever thinks about anything except as it affects her.”

He had thought she would be pleased or relieved to know he had abandoned the idea of marrying her sister. Instead, she looked surprised, even worried.

“Prithee, sir, whatever you do, do not say any of that to her.”

“Sakes, lass, I’m not going to march up to the wench and tell her that I’ve come to my senses. ’Twould be bad manners for one thing, and unkind.”

“You don’t understand, sir. Mariota believes you love her and want to marry her. If you tell her you don’t, she won’t spare a thought for rudeness or unkindness. She simply won’t believe you. In the best case, she may decide you don’t mean it and will ignore all you say. But she is more likely to blame me or someone else—anyone—for persuading you to reject her, and if she does . . . She . . . she can fly into terrible rages when things do not go as she expects them to, and when that happens, she does not think before she acts. She might do anything.”

“Well, she had better not try such a scene with me, or with you,” Hector said grimly. “She will swiftly discover that my temper is more than equal to hers.”

“But don’t you see, sir? That is what I fear most.”

Cristina did not know what more she could say to him. Mariota was difficult to explain to those who did not know her well, who had seen only her kindness and charm. He had certainly experienced that charm, but having never seen Mariota in a rage, Cristina knew he could not possibly understand how dreadful they could be.

“She has already tried my temper today,” he said.

“Indeed?”

“Aye, lass, and do not give me that innocent look. What were you about to let her be so friendly with the Green Abbot?”

“I did not let her. Your father, Mairi, and I had only just arrived ourselves when you walked in. Mariota has been here for days, and she was already standing with the abbot and his grace. Then Fiona MacDougall came up to welcome us, you and your brother came in, and Mariota and the abbot left soon afterward.”

“I saw them go,” he said. “Cannot your aunt keep a closer eye on the lass?”

“Aunt Euphemia and Isobel arrived with me, but although my aunt is here now, she is not firm enough to control Mariota,” Cristina said. “Surely you have seen that she does as she pleases. Moreover, if you take her to task over her friendly ways with the abbot, she is likely to become more friendly rather than less so.”

“Sakes, but your father should have beaten obedience into that lass.”

Cristina pressed her lips firmly together and did not reply.

“I’ll speak to your father,” Hector said. “I still don’t know if he truly supports the Steward, but he does support MacDonald, and he may not realize that the abbot and his lot of Mackinnons lack that same loyalty. He would not want his daughter to find herself in opposition to the Lord of the Isles.”

Cristina was not so sure, but she did not want to quarrel with him. “I must go and find her, sir. Perhaps I can persuade her to avoid him, although we have known him since we were children. If he is truly an enemy of his grace as you say, then why does MacDonald make him welcome here?”

“Because MacDonald is a practical man. He treats his friends as if they might become his enemies and his enemies as if they might become his friends. And the abbot wields tremendous power hereabouts to use for good or evil.”

“How can he if he is in such disrepute with Rome?”

“Sakes, lass, local folks don’t care about his troubles with the Pope. All they care about is being able to marry and baptize their children, and Fingon is the most powerful cleric they know. If he should excommunicate anyone, other local clerics would refuse that person the sacraments whether the Pope agreed or no.”

“Does the Pope truly dislike him so?”

“I don’t know that he dislikes him, personally,” Hector said. “But surely you know the Roman Kirk expects its priests to remain celibate and to follow other rules and practices that do not march with our ancient Celtic ways. Even the Celtic Kirk barely supports Fingon’s longtime practice of fathering children with the lady of his choice. That practice finds no favor in Rome.”

She nodded. She knew that most Roman priests did not marry, but she had not realized the Pope took such a dim view of the ancient practices. That seemed a trifle intolerant of His Holiness, since everyone knew the Celtic ways were far older than those of the Roman Kirk. Had God looked on the older ways with the same disfavor, surely He would long since have allowed them to fall into disuse.

“It will be time for supper soon,” he said. “We’d better change our clothes.”

“When will the Steward arrive?”

“Soon, but come along now. Where have they put your things?”

“I’m not sure,” she admitted. “No one asked me, nor would I have known what to tell them.”

“I’ll wager Mairi had them carried to my chamber,” he said. “I’ll take you there, and then I’ll seek out your father.”

It was as he had expected, and Brona was waiting for her in his room. He left them to her ablutions and went to find Macleod but soon returned, shaking his head.

“You were right,” he told her when she had dismissed Brona. “Your father said she ignores the men buzzing round her, because she believes that after I have our marriage annulled, I’ll marry her. He told her he won’t allow it, that you and I are legally married and will remain so, but he says it is as if she does not hear him. She also told him the Green Abbot has promised to support my application for annulment, so I expect we will encounter even more rumors about that here.”

Cristina sighed. For a short time, before he had sought out her father, she had hoped again that he no longer meant to seek an annulment, but if the abbot would support him, perhaps he would get one after all.

His man entered to help him, and she sent Brona away and watched as he swiftly changed his doublet for a more splendid one of dark gray velvet trimmed with miniver and silver buttons, which made his eyes look bluer than ever.

Moving to a stool so that his gillie could brush his hair, he said, “I believe you said you had attended his grace’s court before, did you not?”

Suppressing the irritation that stirred whenever he reminded her that he did not recall meeting her before arriving at Chalamine, she said, “Aye, sir, I have.”

“Then you will know you must take care to avoid discussions of his grace’s affairs or any other political matters,” he said. “It is easy for someone who knows little of such things to offend someone who has a personal stake in them.”

“But I generally talk only to other women,” she protested.

“That matters not,” he said. “Women parrot what their husbands say and are even more likely to take offense if one seems to speak in opposition to their views. This matter of the petrel oil is such a topic. You have not had much to do with that, because Glenelg and Skye do not harvest much of the stuff, although they benefit as we all do from its export and sale. But the outer Isles look upon it as a very valuable substance and guard their oil like birds of prey. It is best, I think, to avoid talk of such things, and of course, you must avoid talk about the succession to the throne.”

“Indeed, sir,” she said coolly. “Perhaps you have prepared a list for me of topics that I may safely discuss.”

He glanced at her and at his man, just then selecting a jewel for his doublet. When he looked back at Cristina, she met his gaze steadily. “I think you are sensible enough to judge such matters for yourself,” he said. “If someone broaches a subject that makes you uncomfortable, you can always say that you see your husband beckoning, and excuse yourself. Now, if you are quite ready, we can go downstairs,” he added, as though she had been the one delaying them.

Since their chamber lay in the new wing of guest chambers adjoining the main building at the garderobe tower, they returned to the main building to descend the stairway in the north wall to the main entrance, and went out into the courtyard.

A strong wind blew through the Sound from the west, but the castle formed a solid protective barrier, and although the wind roared, the air in the courtyard barely stirred. They followed other guests across the yard to the great hall, which stood a short distance from the main castle and formed a third wall for the courtyard.

A wide walkway passed between the southwest corner of the hall and the guest wing of the castle, giving a clear view of the hillside beyond, because no curtain wall guarded the Morvern side. The Lord of the Isles feared no attack from that direction because Morvern had proved ever loyal. Indeed, the castle’s greatest protection was that loyalty and its own easily defended position on the steep promontory approachable only from Loch Aline and the easily defended steep stairway hacked into the cliff’s face from the landing in Ardtornish Bay.

The great hall was a vast chamber some seventy feet by thirty feet, presently teeming with his grace’s guests, many of whom, as Cristina knew, traveled daily to Ardtornish from nearby castles to attend his court, and traveled back each night.

The company at Ardtornish was nearly always merry, the music entertaining, the food generous and well prepared. It was a welcome change for those whose winter larders provided only scanty stock by now, and especially welcome with the beginning of the long Lenten season only days away.

Hector escorted her to the high table on the dais opposite the main entrance, pausing briefly to present her to Lady Margaret before finding her place several seats to the left of her ladyship. As soon as Cristina had made herself known to the women on either side of her, Hector moved to the gentlemen’s end of the table, at MacDonald’s right, and took his place next to Lachlan.

MacDonald soon nodded to his chaplain to speak the grace before meat, and afterward, everyone sat down and the meal began with great fanfare, as six gillies preceded by his grace’s piper bore in a whole roasted boar on a silver platter, surrounded by myriad other delicacies. They paraded their burden around the entire hall, coming to a halt before the Lord of the Isles, who smiled his approval before they took it aside to begin its carving. Other courses, beginning with six haunches of venison and two great salmon, followed with equal ceremony.

Cristina had hoped to sit beside Mairi, but Mairi occupied the place of honor beside her mother, and two other ladies separated her from Cristina. Nevertheless, Cristina’s nearest neighbors proved amusing, and she enjoyed the food.

Minstrels played from the gallery throughout the meal, which his grace’s butler and his minions continued to serve with splendid pomp and ceremony. Afterward, a troupe of players entertained the guests with miming, juggling, and other antics, and then the musicians began tuning their instruments for dancing.

The trestles in the lower hall were swiftly cleared away to make room, and a group of young people began to form a line for a ring dance. Cristina remained where she was at the high table, believing that Hector would come for her.

He did not do so right away, but other ladies also lingered at the high table, including Lady Margaret and Mairi, so she did not wonder at his absence. They all sat on the same side of the table, so she had been unable to see him after everyone sat down, and even now she could not do so without leaning forward and peering down the row of people between them. To do that would be unmannerly, so she contained her soul in patience but tapped her foot in time to the music.

Each of her near neighbors had departed, and she saw Mairi rising to accept an invitation to join the dancers. The handsome man who approached her had come from the gentlemen’s end of the high table, and Cristina believed he was one of Mairi’s half brothers from her father’s marriage to his first wife, Amy Macruari.

She still saw no sign of Hector or his twin. When MacDonald caught her eye and smiled at her, she smiled back, hoping that her expression before then had not betrayed her annoyance with her husband, or her impatience.