Amanda Scott (42 page)

The sky was growing lighter, for at that time of year dawn came earlier each day. Without the sail, it would take longer to
cover the nearly ten miles they must travel before they would be safely beyond view of Sleat, and Molly knew that although
Dunsgaith, Donald’s castle, sat on the far side of that peninsula, his men patrolled the shoreline along the Sound of Sleat.

Their birlinn flew no banner, which might in itself be enough to draw notice, but perhaps with all the unrest Donald had caused,
wary travelers often failed to identify their boats. One could hope so, at least.

The wind picked up, and since it still blew from the northwest, they had little worry now that any of Sleat’s people could
hear them. The oarsmen removed the rags from their rowlocks to make the rowing easier, but Thomas and Tam agreed that the
sail should stay down a while longer.

The sun was peeking over the eastern horizon when they neared the opening of Loch Nevis and approached Mallaig Head. The Sound
of Sleat was nearly five miles across at this point, and Thomas moved at last to put up the sail.

Doreen sighed. “I vow, I have been holding my breath since we left Loch Duich in fear that someone would hear or see us.”

“Don’t stop holding it yet,” Molly advised. “Look yonder to the west.”

On the far horizon, two low white clouds seemed to roll across the water toward them. Presently, just as Molly feared, it
became apparent that they were clouds of spray. Rising out of each was a single square sail.

Even as he rapidly hauled up their own sail, Thomas shouted at the oarsmen to pick up their pace. “Put your backs into it,
lads. They be nae friends o’ ours!”

Despite their efforts, the other galleys drew inexorably nearer. Until the pair had closed half the distance, Molly glimpsed
their hulls only occasionally amidst the spume set up by the banks of long oars on each side. With their sails’ aid, they
drove the slender, low-set galleys at a scarcely believable speed.

“Thomas, they’ll soon be upon us!” she cried, pointing.

He had already recognized the danger. “We canna outrun them, lads,” he said. “They’ll be Sleat’s boats. We must yield and
hope they dinna ken who we be. If they ask, we be loyal followers o’ Mackinnon.”

“An we each take two o’ the bastards, mayhap we can win free, Tam,” one of the oarsmen shouted.

“Ye’d ha’ to take more each than two,” Tam shouted back. “Do as you’re bid lads. If they ram us, we’re for a swim, so pull
nearer to shore. Mayhap someone can win free if need be.”

Molly saw Thomas lean closer to Tam, saw the other man shake his head, then seem to argue some point or other. Thomas patted
Tam’s shoulder, then hunched low and began to ease his way between the oarsmen toward the bow. Crouching some distance away,
he slipped off his tartan mantle and tossed it to Molly.

“They be Mackinnon colors, mistress. If ye wear it over yours, mayhap it will lend credence to our tale.”

“What is Tam doing?” she asked, noting that the younger man was standing now. He had cast aside his cloak and was pulling
off the precious boots that Sir Patrick had given him.

“I’ve told him he must go over the side as we turn,” Thomas said. “He doesna swim as well as I do, but he still runs like
a running gilly, and whatever comes o’ this, we’ll want a man free to report back, if need be, to the master.”

“Without his boots?”

“Sakes, mistress,” Tam said, “I never had boots afore these. Me feet be tough as whitleather.”

She smiled, but to Thomas she said, “They mean to harm us, do they not?”

“We dinna ken that yet.” He smiled reassuringly at her as he signed to two of the nearest oarsmen to make space for Tam Matheson.

The younger man stripped to his short kilt but retained his dirk. When he moved up beside Thomas, Molly heard him say, “I
dinna think I dare take my sword, man. I’m no so good a swimmer as it is.”

“Leave it, then,” Thomas said. “Ye’ll make the shore easily, because you can swim with the current here, and we’ll use the
birlinn to shield you from Sleat’s galleys. Slip overboard now, and quickly.”

Without another word, Tam eased over the side, and they watched him make for shore. They were close, within twenty-five yards
of the headland, and Molly watched tensely, looking from the swimmer to the oncoming boats and back again.

“Heel to port now, and turn sharp about, lads,” Thomas shouted. “We’ll make them keep their eyes on us, and pray that they
dinna see our Tam.”

“Yield to them when we draw near, Thomas,” Molly said, striving to sound calm and still watching Tam. “It would be useless
to defy them, especially since I’ll wager they want nothing more than to learn who we are.”

“Aye, mistress, likely ye’re right, but face toward the front now,” Thomas said. “Ye men, look to your oars and heed my commands.
I dinna want to see a single man glancing toward shore.”

The oncoming ships came fast, so fast that it was easy to see why men called such galleys the greyhounds of the sea. They
had a certain grace, even beauty, but just then, Molly thought of them as anything but beautiful. She could see Sleat’s banner
flying from each one.

In minutes, the two galleys had closed on the birlinn. Thomas MacMorran stood, his sword in its sheath, his arms raised high,
commanding his men to hold.

“I be Thomas MacMorran o’ Dunakin,” he shouted, fighting to keep his balance as his oarsmen’s blades dug hard into the water
and slowed the birlinn. “We travel in peace,” he cried to the lead boat. “What do ye want wi’ us?”

In reply, the newcomers swept up in fine style, scarcely slackening speed until they were right in front of them. Then, pulling
up dramatically with back-watering sweeps of their oars, they brought the great sails crashing down at the exact moment that
the lead craft’s helmsman, bearing on his tiller, swung his ship across the birlinn’s bow.

Thomas shouted for his oarsmen to yaw to starboard, but despite their quick response, the two boats met in a crunching thud
that jarred every tooth and bone in Molly’s body and jolted her from her seat. If there was damage, it was solely to the smaller
boat, for the sides of the galley rose half again as high as the Mackenzie birlinn. From her perspective, she could barely
see any oarsmen in the larger boat.

“At them, lads,” a voice above her head commanded gruffly.

To her horror, men-at-arms leaped from the galley into the Mackenzie boat, swords at the ready. Her oarsmen, taken by surprise,
were no match for the assault, and it was over in moments, wholesale slaughter.

Still standing, sword high, Thomas stepped between the women and the invaders, only to be driven back by men stepping right
onto the bodies of dead and dying oarsmen. He leaped onto an oarsman’s bench, his sword slashing, but his attacker’s sword
dove under it, and Thomas tumbled backward into the water.

With a scream of terror, Doreen leaped up to scramble to his aid, but Molly grabbed her skirt and hauled her back onto their
seat. Both women leaned over the side to watch for him to surface, but he did not.

“Thomas! Oh, Thomas,” Doreen screamed.

Molly pulled the sobbing maidservant into her arms. Tears streamed down her own cheeks, and nausea roiled her stomach as she
gazed upon the carnage.

“I bid you good day, Mistress Gordon. I had hoped that we’d meet again.”

Senses whirling, she looked up into the eyes of Donald the Grim.

“But you died,” she exclaimed. “I saw you die!”

“Your eyes deceived you,” he said mockingly. “I was grievously wounded, but God in His mercy saw fit to stop the bleeding,
and I am, as you see, wholly recovered. We are going to sink your boat, lass,” he added matter-of-factly, “so perhaps you
should climb into mine. We have a long journey yet before us.”

“B
eg pardon, laird, but ye’ve a visitor asking to see ye.”

Looking up from the list he had been making of needed supplies, Fin said impatiently, “Who is it?”

“She says her name be Lady Percy, sir.”

Fin glanced at Patrick, beside him at the high table in the hall, and raised his eyebrows. “Show her ladyship in.”

The gilly hurried away to do his bidding, whereupon Patrick said, “At least now we’ll learn who she is.” Noise at the entrance
drew his attention, and he whistled low and appreciatively.

Fin nearly did so, as well.

Lady Percy was a beautiful, elegant woman, and that despite looking as if she had traveled some distance to see him. Recalling
that Jamie had warned him to keep her close at Eilean Donan, he eyed her searchingly. She looked harmless enough, he thought,
but was that not ever the way with the fair sex?

“Good day, Lady Percy,” he said politely. “Welcome to Eilean Donan. I am Kintail, and this is Sir Patrick MacRae, my constable
here.”

“My lord.” She made a graceful curtsy, allowing her dark blue surcoat to fall open and reveal an amazing expanse of plump
creamy bosom barely contained in a low-cut, lace-edged, yellow silk bodice. Fin heard Patrick’s appreciative murmur but controlled
his own expression without difficulty.

He said evenly, “Although Kintail is a barony, madam, I have not yet been elevated to the peerage. In Scotland, unlike England,
I must take my seat in Parliament before anyone need address me as ‘my lord.’ How may I serve you?”

She straightened, and again her beauty struck him hard.

Her black-fringed gray eyes were nearly as beautiful as Molly’s. Her dress was fashionable, expensive, and became her well.
A lacy, pearl-embroidered caul confined her golden blond hair without hiding its splendor, and the leather shoes peeping from
under the edge of her skirt boasted gold rosettes. Slender and sensually curvaceous, she carried herself in a way showing
her awareness of the effect her appearance had on men. Her skirt was wide and her bodice tight, but as she moved, one could
see that her underpinnings were simple, lacking the stiffness of boning and tight corsets, and revealing the lines of her
body exquisitely.

Despite this blatantly sensuous behavior, her demeanor remained respectful and serious as she replied, “I have come to see
my daughter, sir.”

Fin raised his eyebrows, surprised. “Your daughter, madam? Enlighten me, if you please. Where do you expect to find her?”

“Why, here, sir. I am told that she recently became your wife.”

He stared at her, stunned, but he could not doubt the truth of her words. No wonder her eyes reminded him of Molly’s. They
were identical.

She said softly, “You did not know? Percy was my second husband. My first was Lord Gordon of Dunsithe. Please, sir, where
is Molly? She is the only daughter left to me, and as you must know, I’ve not seen her for years.”

“Your brother is the Earl of Angus,” Fin said, understanding why Jamie wanted him to keep an eye on her. For reasons understandable
to anyone who knew his history, the King suspected the motives of anyone connected to Angus.

The smile that touched her lips was sad. She said, “I pray you will not be so cruel as to prevent me from seeing Molly, sir.
I…I have come a long way.”

“Indeed, madam, so long a way that although you were within a few miles of Eilean Donan days ago, you traveled on without
stopping to see your daughter. Perhaps you would like to explain that omission to me.”

Her cheeks reddened, but her steady gaze did not waver. She said, “Brigands attacked my party. Surely, if you know I was in
the vicinity, you learned that, too.”

“Aye, for we found the men they murdered. Who attacked you?”

Her hesitation was so brief that had he not been watching carefully he might have missed it. Recovering, she gave him that
direct, guileless look again and said, “I did not know them, sir. They were typical Highland barbarians, I believe, but thankfully,
they did me no harm and let me go again this morning. Thus, I have come to you now. I want to see my daughter, and also bring
you a message from James, the King.”

Reaching inside her surcoat, she slid a leather pouch she wore on her narrow belt from side to front and opened it, extracting
a small, scrolled missive that bore a miniature of James’s privy seal.

When she handed it to Fin, he paused to examine the seal.

“This appears to have suffered some damage,” he said, giving her a look as direct as any she had given him.

She did not flinch, and this time, she did not blush. “It has come a distance, sire, and as you see, I have kept it on my
person. If the wax grew warm…” She shrugged as if to say that he could fill in the rest for himself.

Wondering who else had read it, Fin broke the seal and scanned the message quickly. It was much shorter than the one sent
with the man who had been killed, merely introducing Lady Percy to Kintail’s notice, begging him to render her such aid as
she requested, and adding that his grace hoped the Mackenzies, who had remained consistently loyal to the Crown, would continue
to serve his royal interests against Donald the Grim. It was just as well, Fin thought, that he had already sent a pair of
running gillies to Stirling with word of Sleat’s death. Jamie would be delighted to receive the news.

Quietly, his guest said, “Pray, sir, may I see Molly?”

“You come too late for that, I’m afraid,” he said, setting the letter aside with other documents on the table. “She departed
this morning for Stirling.”

Her expression froze. Exerting visible control over herself, she said, “She is riding, of course. If I leave at once, I can
catch up with her party before day’s end.”

“She is not riding,” Fin said. “I sent her by sea.”

“No!” She clutched a hand to her bosom, and the color faded from her cheeks. “Oh, pray, sir, tell me that you did no such
thing.”

Feeling cold, Fin stood up and stepped around the table toward her.

Lady Percy took a hasty step backward, her face as white now as alabaster.

“What the devil is this?” he demanded. “Why should I not send her by sea?”

“Because… Oh, mercy!” She took a deep breath, let it out, and said, “Surely you sent her with escorts, sir—a fleet of swift,
well-armed galleys.”