Amanda Scott (36 page)

She held his gaze, wishing she could tell him what she thought of his ordering her to bed, but she knew that if she tried to dismiss Brona, he would tell the woman to stay, and Brona would not disobey him. With a sigh, she watched him leave, promising herself she would tell him during the next private moment she had with him. The afternoon’s incident had relieved her of any fear that the earth would swallow her if she spoke sharply to him—or even slapped him, for that matter.

The plain fact was that Hector made her feel safe, and he would soon come to rue that fact if he thought he could ride roughshod over her wishes and opinions. The thought made her smile, and nerve endings throughout her body tingled at the thought of challenging him again.

Finding his twin in the hall, only to learn that they would remain there until the guest of honor had departed for his bed, Hector contained his impatience for another half hour. At last, though, Robert stood up. His entourage moved to attend him, and after a ceremonial farewell to their host and hostess, they left the hall.

The minstrels continued playing, and folks returned to their dancing as Lachlan said, “His grace would have us meet him in the great chamber straightaway. Have you had any news from your lads yet?”

“Aye,” Hector said. “Although I cannot say that they have found out much to aid us yet. They claim that someone—a stranger—paid them to attack the flotilla. One of them has remained devilishly quiet though,” he added. “’Tis my belief that he knows more but fears to speak. The men are still questioning him.”

Lachlan nodded. “Keep at it then,” he said.

“There is another thing,” Hector said, and went on to tell him what Cristina had learned from Lady MacFadyen.

“MacFadyen’s as loyal as they come,” Lachlan said, frowning. “I must not keep his grace waiting, but I want you to go back and see if perchance MacFadyen is still in the hall. If he is, ask him about this business. I would ken more of it.”

Hector found MacFadyen, but the man could tell him no more than his lady had told Cristina.

“She ought not to ha’ spoken o’ that business, because I told her she ought not, but I’m thinking females ha’ their tongues hinged in the middle,” he said, shaking his head. When asked why he had not told Lachlan of the inquiry, he said, “I said nowt of it t’ him ’cause ’twas only some Mackinnon saying he spoke for the abbot and no the abbot himself. I thought it were nobbut mischief-making.”

“A reasonable attitude, that,” Lachlan said when Hector reported it to him soon after joining him and MacDonald in the great chamber on the second floor of the castle. “Still,” Lachlan added, “I would know more.”

“I, too,” MacDonald agreed. “Did you get the man’s name, the Mackinnon?”

Hector nodded. “I did, your grace, someone called Kinven, MacFadyen said. He is not here, however, and MacFadyen did not know where I might seek him.”

Lachlan said with a rueful smile, “Then you are bound for Coll on the morning tide, my lad. I cannot say why I feel urgency over this, since it seems to have naught to do with the puzzle at hand, but I do, and I trust such feelings.”

Hector nodded. He trusted them, too.

The conversation turned then to the matter of the captives and what little information they had gleaned from them. Hector’s instincts had been twitching since the attack on the Steward’s galley, and despite all the precautions they were taking and planned to take when they returned him to Oban, he could not help thinking they were missing something important.

When he said as much, Lachlan and MacDonald agreed, and their discussion lasted into the small hours.

Cristina awoke shortly after sunrise the next morning in an otherwise empty bed. She had a vague memory of her husband joining her in it at some point, and a slightly clearer one of him kissing her and bidding her farewell. It had still been dark though, so she could not be sure that he had done any such a thing.

Learning a short time later from Brona that he had taken a large contingent of men, his favorite longboat, and an escort of four others, and was on his way to the Isle of Coll for an unknown time and purpose stirred her curiosity and no small measure of annoyance. That he had told Brona he’d left a longboat for his wife, with several others to escort her to Lochbuie, only irritated her more.

“The least he could have done was to waken me properly and tell me himself,” she muttered to herself when Brona left her and went to fetch the gown she wanted to wear. She wondered if his trip to Coll had aught to do with what Lady MacFadyen had said, decided it did, and cursed all gossips, and petrels in general.

Brona returned to the chamber then with the moss green gown Cristina had requested, laid it carefully on the bed, and said, “We’ll ha’ t’ bustle about, m’lady. You ought t’ ha’ told me yestereve that we’d be leaving today.”

Guiltily, Cristina apologized for the oversight, not mentioning that she had hoped to change Hector’s mind but that first the captives and then the apparently ubiquitous petrel oil problem had intervened. The temptation to inform Brona that they were not leaving after all was strong, but although Cristina had assured herself only the previous night that Hector held no more fears for her, she realized that she did not have the nerve to defy him. Indeed, she thought with a rueful smile, she would not put it past him to have asked Lachlan to make sure that she obeyed.

Since she was in no hurry, tide or no tide, and still hoped Hector would return in time for her to try her feminine wiles on him, she told Brona they would leave as late as possible on the afternoon tide, certainly not before the midday meal. And when the captain of her longboat approached as she was leaving the hall after the meal to tell her they might miss the tide if they did not leave by three, she told him airily that she would do her best but that four would be more convenient for her, and then obligingly sent gillies to fetch what baggage Brona had ready.

She had not seen Mariota at the table, and Lady Euphemia had seemed a bit worried about her. Macleod told them he had no idea where the lass had gone and was clearly not worried in the least. Nonetheless, Cristina knew she could not leave Ardtornish without bidding her good-bye and at least trying to soothe her injured feelings. She wanted to find Isobel, too.

Accordingly, she went upstairs to the room Mariota and Isobel shared with their aunt, only to find it empty. Realizing then that her sisters might be searching for her, she went to her bedchamber but found only Brona there. The room was empty of Cristina’s belongings except for the cloak and gloves she would wear.

“Have you seen Lady Mariota or Lady Isobel?” she asked.

“Nay, my—”

She stopped, mouth agape, when the bedchamber door crashed back on its hinges and Isobel ran in, red-faced and nearly out of breath.

“Thank God I’ve found you, Cristina,” the child exclaimed. “Mariota said she’s beside herself with remorse over the mischief she’s caused, and to prove it to you and Hector, she’s going to throw herself off one of the cliffs!”

“Isobel, are you sure that is what she said?” Cristina demanded, catching the little girl by both shoulders and looking directly into her eyes.

“I’d never make up such a thing,” Isobel said indignantly. “I knew I had to tell you at once, especially as one of the gillies said you are leaving today, but you know how Mariota is. I warrant she’s only trying to make herself important.”

“Perhaps,” Cristina said doubtfully, remembering how distraught Mariota had been and how impulsive she could be in such a state.

“You
know
how she is,” Isobel insisted.

“I suspect you are right, dearling, but surely you can see that I dare not risk the possibility that this once she may have meant exactly what she said.”

Isobel’s smooth brow furrowed. “But what will you do? You aren’t really leaving, are you? If you tell Hector Reaganach, mayhap he—”

“I’m going nowhere until I find Mariota,” Cristina said, adding more sharply, “And we must tell no one.”

“But surely Hector or Father, or even Aunt Euphemia might—”

“Might what?” Cristina demanded. “What do you imagine any of them could do if she stands on the edge of a cliff and threatens to throw herself over the edge?”

“They could order her to come to her senses.” But Isobel’s tone lacked conviction, and Cristina knew she was having the same difficulty that she herself was having in imagining Mariota submitting meekly to any such order.

“Just so,” she said when Isobel gaped at her helplessly. “If ordering her to be sensible had ever proved useful, I’d be happy to issue that order myself. Mariota is as likely to heed my orders as anyone else’s, don’t you agree?”

Isobel grimaced and said with a sigh, “She is more likely to do the very thing one commands her
not
to do.”

“Just so,” Cristina said. “Persuasion is necessary, and I’ve years of experience, so heed me, Isobel. Until I know the truth, you must promise me you won’t say a word to anyone about Mariota’s threat. Only think what a scandal it would cause that she had threatened such a thing, especially with the Steward here! Father would . . . Faith, I do not know what he would do to her, but I do
not
want to find out.”

Isobel paled at the thought but said sturdily, “If she kills herself, will that not create an even greater scandal?”

“Aye, so you must not delay me. But I want your word that you will say nothing to Hector or to anyone else until I give you leave.”

Isobel hesitated.

“Come now, you know that I shall do much better with her on my own, because neither Hector nor Father would attempt to contain his displeasure with her. If one of them should begin bellowing at her, it could well mean disaster.”

“That’s true,” Isobel said with a sigh.

“Will you promise me?”

The child nodded.

“Good,” Cristina said, gently squeezing her shoulder. “You can safely leave this to me, dearling, but mayhap you should stay out of sight until I return. Hector is away, but I warrant he’ll be back soon. If he or if Father should chance to miss me and demand to know my whereabouts, you would have to reveal them.”

“They won’t find me,” Isobel said firmly.

“Thank you,” Cristina said. “Brona, I’ll take my gloves, but keep my cloak for me. Isobel, run out to the barn and bid them ready a horse for me, one that I can ride without a saddle. I’ve no time to lose.”

Isobel ran to do her bidding, and knowing the gillies would take a few moments to prepare the horse, and that Mariota was likely waiting impatiently for someone to come look for her, Cristina glanced at the frowning Brona, then took a moment to tuck errant curls beneath her caul. To stir curiosity by seeming to be in a demented rush would serve no purpose, and what little time she lost she would regain by not having to walk to the cliffs.

“Brona,” she said gently, “I cannot ask you to deceive the laird or my father, but if you could manage to avoid them for a short time . . .” She paused hopefully.

“Go, m’lady,” she said. “I’ll no betray ye an I can help it.”

Cristina hurried, but Isobel had already disappeared by the time she reached the barn, and a silent gillie gave her a leg up. Grateful for his lack of curiosity, but wondering why he said nothing about her riding off when every servant in the place must know by now that she was supposed to be leaving Ardtornish in less than an hour, she said, “I shan’t be long. I mean only to ride to the cliffs for some fresh air. Should anyone ask after my whereabouts, pray tell him I will return shortly.”

“Aye, my lady,” the lad said with a nod.

Turning her mount toward the cliffs, she urged it to a gentle lope as she rode alongside the castle, sending up a prayer that the pace would not arouse anyone’s curiosity. At present, the area seemed deserted except for two gillies crossing the yard from the steps that led down to the bay landing, and she decided that people must already be beginning to dress for the evening festivities.

As soon as she thought it safe to do so, she dug her heels into the palfrey, urging it to a faster pace. If Hector saw her, he would doubtless scold her for riding too fast up the hill, but she would tell him the palfrey needed more exercise if it couldn’t manage such a gentle slope.

The thought of what he would likely say then drew a smile, and she realized that she enjoyed their verbal jousting except when he was truly angry. That he might be that angry, if only because she was missing her tide, did not deter her.

He would surely understand that Mariota’s safety mattered more than returning to Lochbuie on any particular tide. He had proven himself astonishingly reasonable in most matters, and although he certainly had a temper, and could certainly be stern and unyielding when he believed himself in the right, he had also shown that he had common sense and a strong sense of humor. Not that the situation held any of the latter, and what he would say to Mariota when he learned of this latest start, as doubtless he would, she did not want to imagine.

She saw no sign of her on the way up the hill, and since she could see
Creag na Corps
from the slope, she wondered if her unpredictable sister had merely been teasing Isobel. The lads she had seen at the top of the stairs—doubtless the ones who had carried down her baggage—should also have seen Mariota had she stood poised on the rock to leap, and they would certainly have raised an alarm.

But if Mariota was enjoying one of her dramas, she would not show herself until the scene had played out as she intended it to. Moreover, if she truly intended to do away with herself, she would not care how many people saw her.

“The more, the better,” Cristina muttered, relaxing. Doubtless, Isobel was right, and their sister was indulging herself in one of the impulsive, dramatic scenes to which she was prone. Such events, enjoyed by Mariota and feared by the rest of her family, had followed upon nearly every incident in which she had felt slighted or had not had her own way. The scenes had grown rarer as she grew older, not because she no longer enjoyed them but because everyone else tried to avoid them.

“Hector was right,” Cristina told herself. “We have spoiled her, but I don’t know how we could have avoided it, when the consequences of stirring her rage were always so dreadful. He doesn’t yet know her as we do.”