Amanda Scott (6 page)

“When you mentioned Glenelg earlier, I thought you had met him at Lewis,” Lachlan said. “I own, your going to Chalamine surprises me. You knew that MacDonald intended to tell Macleod of the reception when he arrives at Finlaggan. He does not trust the man, for all that he serves on the Council of the Isles. What stirred you to approach him betimes?”

“The weather,” Hector admitted, glancing from his twin to Mairi and back again. “I got caught in a storm whilst riding through Glen Shiel. My only choice for shelter seemed to be a crofter or Chalamine, so I opted for the latter.”

Mairi frowned, but Lachlan said with a twinkle, “Was there lightning?”

“Aye, damn you, there was, and rain pelting down on me as if that Noah lad ought to have begun building a new Ark.”

“Noah?”

Hector grimaced, then grinned. “Aye, you ken the chap. Macleod tried to tell me his kinsmen littered the world before any sons of Gillean blessed it with their presence. Insisted that he’d never heard of any Macleans on Noah’s Ark.”

“What an insolent man,” Mairi said. “He sounds most uncivil.”

“Aye, well, I told him the Macleans had no need of Noah’s Ark.”

With a sleepy smile, Lachlan said, “I warrant he wanted to know then how our people survived the Flood.”

“Aye, and I told him that there never lived a Maclean who had need of another man’s boat to take him from harm’s way.”

“You didn’t,” Mairi exclaimed, laughing. When he nodded, she laughed even harder. “How I’d have liked to see the old rascal’s face! What did he say then?”

“He laughed, and not long afterward he agreed to let me marry his daughter,” Hector said casually, watching them both closely.

His news clearly stunned them, apparently rendering Mairi speechless. Even Lachlan was silent for a few moments. But he never remained so for long.

“How came this about?” he asked evenly.

Mairi glanced at him, visibly reacting to his tone of voice.

Hector recognized the warning tone, too, but he met his twin’s sharp gaze easily. “If you had seen the lass, you would not ask such a foolish question.”

“A beauty, eh?”

“I’ve never seen her equal.”

“I doubt she can match my lass,” Lachlan said.

Realizing that he had stepped onto thin ice, Hector hesitated.

“Faith, sir,” Mairi said to her husband, “you cannot expect every man to think me as beautiful as you do, certainly not after I’ve borne you three bairns!”

“You are as beautiful as ever, lass,” Hector said. “Men still call you the most beautiful woman in the Isles, and I’ll not dispute that, because your looks are extraordinary, and motherhood has done naught to change that.”

“I fear you cater to my vanity, sir. But?”

“But my lass is extraordinary, too. She does not look anything like you, yet I have never seen her equal. She took my breath away the first time I laid eyes on her, and from what her father tells me, my reaction was the same as that of every other man who has clapped eyes on her.”

“As I recall,” she said thoughtfully, “Macleod of Glenelg has a host of daughters for whom he must find husbands, and he has yet to find even one.”

“Aye, for he insists on marrying off his eldest lass first. He would have foisted her onto me had I allowed it.”

“Foisted?”

“Aye, for she is as naught beside her sister. I tell you, I no sooner saw that lass than she stole my heart, but Macleod is a gey superstitious man. He was determined to give me his eldest instead. Feared that if he let a younger one marry first, some dire consequence would fall upon his clan.”

“So your interest has fallen upon a younger daughter,” Lachlan said.

“Aye, the second one, but the diamond in his collection, I promise you.”

“What is she like?” Mairi asked.

“Faith, did I not just tell you? She is beautiful.”

“Perhaps she meant that you might tell us something more than that,” Lachlan suggested gently. “What color is her hair?”

“Golden. Like spun gold. It was loose when first I saw her, and even with clouds of smoke billowing about her, her hair looked glorious, as if sunlight shone round her beautiful face.”

“Smoke?” Mairi said. “What smoke?”

“I told you earlier, her skirt caught fire, but thankfully I put it out before she suffered any harm.”

“Faith, man,” Lachlan said. “You sound besotted.”

“And you did not? When you fell in love with your lady here?”

“I warrant I never sounded as daft as you do. Has this paragon any tocher, let alone one worthy of you and your kinsmen?”

“What can that matter? I have enough to keep her, and I shall acquire more over time, more power, too, if what has occurred so far speaks for the future. I can support a wife, my lad, and any number of bairns as well.”

“Aye, you can,” his brother agreed. “But I would remind you that you have a duty to our clan as well as to yourself.”

“But what is she like?” Mairi asked again.

“I told you.”

“You told us she has blond hair, sir. Mayhap you have failed to notice that quite half the women in the Highlands and Isles have blond hair. I want to know what she is like.”

“Very well,” he said, frowning as he tried to remember something more about Mariota that would satisfy Mairi. “She has blond hair and green eyes, like new grass. Her figure is . . . good.” He hesitated, wondering how much he ought to say about that. Meeting his twin’s gaze, he detected a twinkle and decided that he had said enough about Mariota’s figure. “She is beautiful, stunning. You’ll see,” he promised. “Our wedding is to be in ten days’ time.”

“Why such haste?” Lachlan protested. “That does not even provide time enough for the priests to call the banns.”

“We’ve no need of banns. Macleod has his own chaplain, who will do as he bids. We decided the wedding should proceed quickly, so that I can get the lass settled in at Lochbuie before he and I must travel to Finlaggan for the Council. Also, he wants to take his eldest daughter and mayhap the next one or two to Ardtornish to meet the Steward when he comes.”

“Doubtless to seek husbands for them there,” Lachlan said.

Mairi was frowning. “You still have said nothing about what she is like, sir. I do not care about her hair or her eyes. I’m sure you would not fall in love with an ugly woman. But what does she think about? Is she intelligent? Does she care about important things? Does she want lots of children? Does she know anything about organizing and running a large household? Yours at Lochbuie, I need not hesitate to say, would certainly benefit from a woman well versed in such things.”

“Faith, lass, I don’t know what she thinks about! Do you think a man like her father gave us any time to be private with each other? No man of sense would risk letting his daughter be alone with a man before she is safely wedded to him!”

Mairi and Lachlan exchanged smiles, reminding him that they had spent many forbidden moments together before they had married. He grimaced.

Lachlan said, “I wish you well, brother, and hope she will make you happy. If she does not, I warrant you will know how to rectify the situation.”

“I don’t know,” Mairi said. “I should feel a deal better if I thought you knew anything about her other than that she has a pretty face and enticing eyes, and that she will doubtless look well in your bed.”

Her husband choked back a laugh, but Hector ignored him, saying simply, “You will soon meet her and can judge her for yourself, because you both must certainly attend my wedding.”

“Never fear, brother, we’ll be there,” Lachlan said. “Indeed, I think we should have another round of brogac to seal that bargain and to wish you well.”

“I’ll drink to that myself,” Mairi said, hugging Hector. “And I’ll always be here, sir, if she needs me. Pray, tell her that for me.”

“I will, lass, and thank you,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Enough of that now, the both of you,” Lachlan said.

Laughing, Hector told them an amusing tale about one of his visits, and with the subject safely changed, they continued to converse amiably until bedtime.

Cristina had not returned to the great hall after shepherding her sisters upstairs to their respective bedchambers, and although she had arisen at her usual time the next morning, she learned then that, the storm having ended, their guest had already departed for Kyle Rhea to rejoin his men and set sail for home.

Not until later that day did she learn anything about what had passed between him and her father, and then only when Macleod said casually as she was directing the servants in laying the table for the midday meal that he had agreed to a wedding with Hector Reaganach.

Surprised, she said, “You agreed to allow him to wed Mariota?”

“Aye, well, ’tis true that the lad believes as much.”

Staring at him, she said, “Surely he does not believe a falsehood, sir. Pray, be plain with me, for you cannot mean to make an enemy of a man so closely associated with the Lord of the Isles.”

“Have I no said I mean to make him me son-in-law?”

“But if that is true, how can he believe falsely that he is to marry Mariota?”

“I ha’ said from the outset that ye must be the first to wed, daughter, and I dinna tell lies—no to me own kin, that is.”

“But Hector Reaganach cannot have agreed to marry me,” she protested.

“Nae one can say I didna make myself plain to the lad.”

That was true, she knew. Still, if Hector Reaganach had departed in the belief that his host had agreed to let him marry Mariota, he would not agree later to marry anyone else. He had already made it plain that he did not want Cristina.

“He’ll just refuse to marry anyone else,” she said. “And what of Mariota? Do her feelings not matter to you?”

“Nay, why should they? She kens naught o’ me conversation wi’ the lad, nor will ye tell her. Ye’ll no be pretending she cares for him, because I heard her myself say she doesna think him worthy o’ her. Nor do I think him worthy, either. He’s nobbut a Maclean, after all.”

Repressing indignation that he would think a mere Maclean good enough for her but not for Mariota, Cristina said nothing for several moments. What her father had said was true, after all, in that Mariota had shown no interest in Hector Reaganach other than the usual flirtatious interest she showed in any man.

At last, forcing calm into her voice, Cristina said, “What is your plan, sir? How will you tell him that he cannot have her? For he will come here, will he not, expecting to take possession of his bride?”

“Aye, and he’ll take her, too,” Macleod said.

“But you have just said that he cannot have her.”

“I said nowt o’ the sort. I said he couldna have Mariota.”

“Then—”

“Are ye daft, Cristina? Have I no said from the start who his bride must be?”

A chill shot up her spine. “Your meaning is plain enough, Father, but you cannot force the man. He has already said he will not have me.”

“Never fear, lass,” Macleod said cheerfully. “Ye’re a good, obedient daughter, and I mean to see ye well rewarded. Just leave everything to me, and the matter will sort itself out as it should.”

Knowing well the uselessness of argument, Cristina put her faith in Hector Reaganach, certain that that gentleman would not allow Macleod to dupe him into anything he did not want. She likewise said nothing to Mariota about their father’s intentions, believing they would come to naught and being sure that Mariota had no interest in Hector Reaganach.

It was not long, however, before everyone at Chalamine knew that the laird was planning a wedding. He conferred with his parson, ordered a feast, and sent out invitations. To Cristina’s relief the guest list had perforce to be short, including only nearby kinsmen, because while a man like Hector Reaganach might scorn to stay inside when storms descended upon the Highlands and Isles, others were not so hardy as to set out in heavy seas even for a grand occasion. And the weather continued to be unpredictable, with wind and rain one day, gray skies the next.

Mariota remained oblivious until four days before the wedding was to take place. Not being the sort of young woman who took an interest in much that did not concern her, particularly if anyone might expect her to do chores, she paid little heed to the frenzy of cleaning, the ceaseless baking, and the other preparations. But when her father told her as the family members were breaking their fast that morning, that she would be giving up her bed to a visiting cousin whose family intended to pass that night at Chalamine, she demanded to know why she should.

“Why, because o’ the wedding, o’ course,” her father replied testily.

“What wedding?”

“Ha’ ye no been paying attention, lass? We ha’ been preparing for the day nigh onto a fortnight now. Cristina is to be wedded on Saturday.”

Mariota looked astonished. “To whom?”

“Why, to Hector Reaganach, o’ course. D’ye no recall that the man came here looking for a bride?”

“Goodness me,” Lady Euphemia said. “I know you mentioned Cristina several times, Murdo, but I thought you were simply mistaken. Indeed, I thought he intended to marry our Mariota, and moreover, I believe he thought so, too.”

“Is there really going to be a wedding?” Isobel asked. “I thought we were just doing the usual spring cleaning.”

Cristina grimaced at the shocked expression on Mariota’s face. On many occasions over the past days, she had itched to tell Macleod that she would not be party to his scheme. The knowledge that he would ignore her arguments or, worse, that he would react physically, as he had in the past when dealing with insubordination, had kept her silent.

Had she suspected even for a moment that Mariota wanted Hector as much as he wanted her, she would have refused to have anything to do with Macleod’s scheme, whatever the consequences to herself. But she had been certain Mariota had no such wish—as certain as she was that Hector Reaganach would put an end to the plot as soon as he learned of it. Now she was not sure of anything.

Mariota looked from her father to Cristina. “I don’t understand,” she said grimly. “How can Cristina be marrying Hector Reaganach? He wanted me.”

“But you said you did not want him,” Cristina reminded her. “You said he was unworthy of you, that he will never be as wealthy as his brother is. You even said his battle-axe—”