The Firebrand (11 page)

What shocked her, however, was the chamber itself. It had the feel of an oven to it.

As the door closed to her back, Adrianne stared at the fire blazing in a hearth that had been added to one end of the chamber. Shifting her gaze around the room, the thought occurred to her that there were entire castles in England with fewer furnishings than this single chamber contained. A half dozen carved chairs with pillows. A large settle by the fireplace and two tables covered with elaborate candleholders. French, Spanish, and Italian tapestries of exquisite workmanship covered nearly every inch of gray stone wall...from floor to timbered ceiling. The heat was intense, and the tightly closed shutters seemed to bring the walls in even closer.

Adrianne stood hesitantly by the door and watched the laird’s wife drop her fur mantle into the arms of one of her maidservants and seat herself in a comfortable chair by the hearth. An elderly servant moved close and laid a heavy blanket of quilted silk over Mara’s lap.

“‘Tis chilly in here. Not much better than that cave of a Hall, I’d say. Add more peat to that fire, will you, Bege?”

A trickle of sweat ran down Adrianne’s back as she watched the serving woman add more fuel to the flames.

“Did you find your chamber comfortable, Adrianne?”

“Aye, m’lady.” Adrianne judged that her bedchamber was probably directly above this one. She glanced at the closed shutters again and found herself yearning for a breath of fresh sea air. The two women entering with them, apparently unaware of the heat, seated themselves near the hearth and pulled pieces of sewing into their laps. “I am grateful to you for giving me a room with such a beautiful view of the bay, m’lady.”

Mara shook her head disapprovingly, her pale blue eyes scolding. “Enough of this ‘m’lady’ business. You will call me Mara. And you should not open those shutters at this time of year. The wind from the west is bitter cold, and the walls of this pile of rock have more holes in them than the fishermen’s nets. I’ll send auld Bege here up to seal those windows tight. She’ll be sure that the others keep a good-sized fire going for you.” She looked at Adrianne sharply. “They
did
bring up a brazier for you, did they not?”

“Aye, m’lady...Mara.” Adrianne added quickly. “But that won’t be necessary. I already closed the shutters and...and there was a good fire going there when I came down.”

Moving to the farthest point in the room from the source of fire, Adrianne patted away the beads of sweat that were forming on her forehead. Casually removing the tartan shawl on her shoulders, she folded it over her arm and sat down on a three legged stool.

With any luck, she thought, smiling into Mara’s piercing eyes, she would not suffocate.

“The dress. The one I sent you. That is the one you are wearing, is it not?”

She was relieved to have the subject of heat dropped for now. “Aye, m’lady...Mara. And thank you--”

“‘Tis too big.”

“‘Tis fine.” Adrianne responded quickly, grateful to be wearing something dry and clean and lacking in revealing tears. Most of all, she was happy to be wearing something
not
belonging to Wyntoun MacLean.

“Any foolish creature can see that ‘tis far too big in the waist and in the chest,” For the first time, an odd half-smile broke over the woman’s thin lips. “Why, we could put two of you in the bodice of that dress.”

Adrianne looked down at her own chest and smiled, as well. “Well, I’d say three—perhaps four. But I like it. It makes me look much more substantial, don’t you agree?”

There was a chuckle from the women by the hearth, and Adrianne looked up, only to be shocked by the transformation in the Mara’s face. The older woman was actually pretty when she smiled, and she was really smiling now. In fact, there was a glint of mischief in those pale blue eyes.

“You are not at all what I expected.”

Adrianne nodded, frowning at the comment. “I see that my reputation has preceded me.”

Mara’s eyes shone with intelligence. “You know the way men talk. They gossip more than women...in spite of the foolishness that some people believe. But I have learned not to believe much of the mindless chatter that I hear from them.”

“Well, Mara, in this case I advise you to believe everything...and then some.”

Mara turned to the old servant by the fire. “Bege, bring in some dried fruits and a pitcher of wine for us,” she said, turning to the other woman, as well. “Leave us.”

Mara fiddled with the rings on her fingers and did not speak again until the chamber was left to Adrianne and herself.

“Young woman, you shall not belittle yourself before me or anybody else again.”

Adrianne’s jaw dropped open at Mara’s scolding words, but she quickly recovered herself. “I was not belittling myself, but I am not about to hide who I am or anything I did at Barra.”

“Then tell me, child. Who are you?”

She was taken aback again, but the gentleness that had replaced the sharp tone in Mara’s voice was the cause for her surprise this time. Interest now lit the woman’s face.

“I believe you know who I am. But if you would like to hear about my family...about my two sisters and my mother...”

“I only want to hear about you. Who are
you
, Adrianne?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I believe you do.” Mara pushed the blanket from her lap and settled back, clasping two small hands around a large handworked gold cross that she wore on a chain around her neck. “We all know you are the youngest daughter to Nichola Erskine and Edmund Percy. We also know that your father was murdered for defying the English king while your worthy mother was chased from that country she chose to live in, running for the Borders to escape her own imprisonment…or worse. We know that you and your sisters have been left without home or future, largely deserted to fend for yourself--"

“We were not deserted. We were sent north to…”

Adrianne hesitated as Mara held up a hand, requesting her silence.

“I only care to hear about you, child. Tell me about this firebrand of a lassie who has successfully burned down every building on the island of Barra...if any of these stories are to be believed. Tell me of this hellcat who wreaked havoc not only on the lives of those islanders, but managed to shake the composure of that nun...that ice mistress...that abbess of the Chapel of St. Mary.”

“I see you are fond of her, as well.”

“My disagreements with that old Nero in a nun’s habit are older than you are, but I have no desire to get into any of that with you now. But for the moment, we are discussing you.” Mara’s eyes showed her admiration. “I hear she hung you in a cage from the Kisimul’s tower wall.”

“She did.”

“And you escaped?”

Adrianne shrugged. “I have never been fearful of heights. ‘Twas not much of a challenge.”

A mischievous smile brightened the woman’s face. “What was she accusing you of?”

“Those who were quick to tell you of my sins must surely have told you--”

“Not sins, Adrianne. No one said that. I heard only tales of bravery, compassion...and stubbornness.” The older woman smiled conspiratorially. “But I do not consider any of that a sin. Tell me.”

Adrianne shrugged again and met the pale blue eyes. “To be honest, ‘twas simply one thing after another. The abbess wished to exert control over me—to have me behave like some docile milk cow, staying put when she ordered. She wanted me to be as manageable as her other nuns. But I could not be that way. I need my freedom. I need to come and go and be useful...not only useful within the confines of an abbey. Even on a island as small as Barra, there is much to do.”

“You knew no one there. Perhaps she was concerned about your welfare...your safety.”

“How far could I have gone.” Adrianne shook her head. “Nay, Mara. I don’t believe ‘twas that. The abbess simply expected me always to remain where she wanted me. She wanted a grateful young woman attending her...but instead she ended up with...well, with me.” She paused and looked at her. “You called me a ‘firebrand.’ The reason she had me hung from Kisimul tower was because she claimed that I had set a fire in the little monastery there.”

“And had you?”

“Of course not. There was a fire, but I did not start it. But I also was not about to wait until the mass in the chapel was finished before warning the monks. The flames were leaping out of the windows of the chapter house.”

“And did you tell her that?”

“Aye.” Adrianne felt her temper rising inside of her at the memory. “But she did not believe me--did not
want
to believe me!”

In the long moment of silence that followed, Adrianne stared at her hands, listening to the fire’s occasional hiss and crackle. The sounds of people still at their meal in the Great Hall could be heard through the closed door. As the moments drifted by, Adrianne felt her anger subside.

“I will not ask you if anyone stepped forward on your behalf...as the answer is already clear to me. Obviously, no one did.” Mara turned the cross in her hand and gazed vacantly at it. “But my question to you is this. Was it worth it? Considering the trouble and the punishment she brought down on your head, was it worthwhile being so...so unmanageable?”

“Unmanageable?” Adrianne frowned. “This is who I am. I am no one’s fool. And I would do it all again. I might have been a nuisance to a few on Barra, but I was a help to many others...and to the wee lad who followed me onto Sir Wyntoun’s ship. That I know.”

“You must mean this lad...Gillie...is that his name?”

She nodded. “Aye...but do you know where he has been sent? I haven’t seen him since coming up to the castle.”

“You have no need to worry about him. Wyn has made the arrangements. He seems to have taken a liking to the lad. And once the Blade has bestowed his favor on someone, no one would dare do the child any harm.”

She still wanted to see Gillie—to make sure that the boy was truly better off here than he had been at Barra—but she fought the impulse to excuse herself.

“So what road stretches out now for Adrianne Percy?”

Adrianne rubbed her palms on the wool of her skirt. “I cannot say. I suppose I will go to my sisters. They are north, beyond the mountains, near Elgin.”

Mara shook her head and pulled the wrap back on her lap. “A very long and dangerous journey, considering the time of the year. But again, knowing Wyntoun, he’ll find you the best of escorts and the sturdiest of horses.”

Blade! Wyntoun! Two names, one man. Adrianne let the names dance in her head. And she had seen them both. Blade, the reckless pirate who considered a knife at his throat no threat. Wyntoun, the compassionate knight who’d offered the comfort of his arms when she’d been sick. That handsome face, the intense green eyes, one man answering to both names.

“Why is it that you have asked no questions about him?”

For the first time since entering the room, Adrianne was thankful for the extreme heat. Her blush would hopefully go unnoticed. Strange...Mara had broken into her reverie as if she could read her very thoughts. “Whom do you mean?”

“Come, now. Wyntoun, of course.”

“I...I didn’t know what to say...or ask.”

“You were clearly surprised when my husband told you of Wyntoun’s...vocation.”

“I was.”

Mara nodded. “Alexander loves a good jest, but truly he wanted you to know. At Duart Castle, we do not believe in keeping much a secret.”

“That’s quite unusual...considering.”

“‘Twill not seem so unusual, once you get to know my husband better.” The older woman’s eyes softened. “But I believe in this case, he has good reason for being so open. And he is very proud of his son.”

Obviously seeing Adrianne’s confusion, Mara continued.

“Since Wyntoun lost two caravels on the Irish Sea last year, Alexander has urged him to spend more time on Mull, preparing to take his place...when the time is right. But being a pig-headed MacLean—just the same as his father—Wyn has been ignoring Alexander’s suggestions, excusing himself for the most pitiful of reasons or simply disappearing on a midnight tide for months on end. His father just laughs, telling me he’ll just have to live another twenty-five years or so, but...” She paused, changing directions. “And Wyntoun says he’ll not rest until he has replaced his lost two ships with a new galleon...which makes me think he’s planning a trip south where he can take one from the Spanish king.”

“Do pirate chiefs always plan so?”

“I can hardly tell. But Wyn certainly does.”

Adrianne fought back a knowing smile. She had been correct in comparing Wyntoun MacLean to her sister Laura. “But couldn’t...couldn’t this openness about Wyntoun being the Blade of Barra be harmful if it were to be widely known?”

“Aye, I should say so! But Alexander would only reveal such things to certain...well, a select few.”

“But the Hall was full of people!”

“Aye, but they were all of the clan. You were the only guest.”

“Still! How does he know to trust me?”

“Did I not already speak of Alexander’s motives?”

Adrianne looked blankly at the older woman. The twinkle of mischief was back in the blue eyes. “Do these...motives have something to do with...with me?”

“Wyntoun is not the only planner and plotter in this family, my dear.”

“Mara, for the second time this day, I feel that I am being led around with a sack over my head.” She rose to her feet and took a step toward the shutters—desperately hoping for some air—but there was none. She turned around. “Please speak frankly.”

“Can you not see it, lass? Alexander is planning on you becoming Wyntoun’s wife. Sit down, Adrianne. ‘Twould not do for the Blade of Barra’s bride to faint dead away, now would it?”

Leaving Lady Mara’s chambers, Adrianne put her question to Bege, the aging maidservant, waiting in the dark corridor leading to the staircase.

“Aye, mistress. He’s come ashore and is in with the MacLean himself in the Great Hall.”

“Would you have someone ask him if I might have a few moments to speak with him...when he is free?”

“Aye, mistress. I’ll tell him myself. Where can I tell him ye’ll be?”

Adrianne frowned. By no means did she wish to give him a wrong idea by meeting him in her bedchamber. Not after all the confusion over her mention of "summoning."