The Firebrand (15 page)

The knight shrugged off his misgivings. He had a job to do. He had to secure all three sections of the map. This was the first step toward finding Tiberius before someone else did. And Wyntoun’s initial plan—having Lady Nichola captured and kept imprisoned until an exchange could be made—had become unworkable. After meeting Laura, the middle sister, at Blackfearn Castle, and then Adrianne, he’d soon realized that the solution lay in becoming one of them. In joining their circle. And here he was, marrying the only available sister. Simple enough.

Ha!

He heard her laughter ring out clear and true across the courtyard, and he turned his head.

A feeling struck him then that every sailor has felt at least once out in a stormy sea. First the stinging rain and winds that have been lashing your face—driving cold spikes into your bones—suddenly ease, making your body feel somehow lighter. The frothy waves that had been threatening to sweep you off the deck for days suddenly diminish to rolling swells. And then, in the distance, that first single ray of sunlight bursts through the heavy clouds, glittering, fiery, ablaze on the surface of the lowering sea.

Seeing Adrianne’s face as she emerged from the dark gate beneath the curtain wall stopped Wyntoun in his tracks. Like sunlight ablaze on the sea after a storm, the light in her face captured him, and he stood still, unable to move, staring like a man enthralled.

And then he saw her smile brilliantly at a man who was passing through the gate with her.

Wyntoun was halfway across the courtyard to them before he even knew his legs were moving. The sharp stabs of jealousy were knife thrusts in his gut. His hands fisted as he charged toward them, his gaze now locked on the blackguard who was striding along beside her.

Somewhere from the back of his head, an awareness formed that he knew the man. Aye, it was Kevin, one of his own sailors, a young man of promise. A young man who would not live to fulfill that promise. Wyntoun’s strides carried him quickly toward the rogue. Before he could reach them, though, the knight saw the young sailor casually hand Adrianne a basket and turn his steps toward the kitchens.

Wyntoun hesitated as a flash of common sense suddenly asserted itself. What the hell was he doing? What was possessing him to go after this young man? By the devil, what was going through his head?

The knight halted abruptly. Before he could gather what remained of his wits, though, he saw Adrianne spot him and smile. He was still wrestling with his temper when she reached him.

“‘Tis early,” he managed to snarl. “Half the household—the half Mara could not rouse—is still asleep. Where have you been?”

“And good morning to you, too, Wyntoun.” She ignored his question and instead smiled into his face. “Or are you the Blade today?”

Her face was flushed and healthy looking from the cold and exercise, her eyes so blue they mocked the sky. She was so calm and composed that he had to fight the urge to throttle her. She was so beautiful.

“’Tis difficult to know how I should act. Do you go by different names on different days? Being as orderly as you are, you surely have some system that I can learn so that I can address you properly when we meet each day?”

His fingers ached to dig into that silky mass of ebony hair. His lips hungered for the taste of her full mouth. He’d touched those lips before, felt their softness. Now he wanted more.

“I certainly like this attitude in the morning,” she continued. “This brooding stillness. This silence. It means I can say what I will and do as I wish, I assume.”

“You assume incorrectly,” he responded gruffly. “I spoke to Alexander and Mara last night. Two days. Though I do not believe your nature will ever change, two days are all that remain of your wild and reckless youth.”

She moved the basket from one arm to the other and studied him with an obvious interest. “Is this a threat, Sir Wyntoun? Are you trying to scare me? Perhaps I should dive into the sea and swim to the mainland.”

“Are you a coward?”

“Nay, that I am not.”

“You must be a cheat, then, to wish to break our bargain so quickly.”

Her back stiffened. “I want nothing of the kind. ‘Twas
my
proposal that you consented to, and I will fulfill my part in it.”

“Then let us begin again. Where have you been this morning, Adrianne?”

Her eyes flashed with challenge. “Knowing where and when I go and what I do was not part of our pact.”

“In two days you will become my wife.”

“Very true. But as you said yourself, I still have two days of wild and reckless freedom left.” She paused a moment, obviously measuring his patience. “And even if we were already wed, I distinctly remember our agreement is that we are to wed in name only. I see no reason, therefore, that I should report every step I take. I certainly do not believe you need to know every secret I possess.”

“Are you trying to drive me mad, Adrianne, or are you trying to make me back out of our arrangement?”

She hesitated, her eyes narrowing. “Are you a coward?” she said finally.

“That I am not.”

She tossed him another one of her enchanting smiles and went around him.

“Then do not try to cheat me, either.”

Wyntoun turned to watch her go.

Like a thief, like a fraud, Adrianne stood back and watched the commotion created by the wedding.

Two days! That’s what Wyntoun had threatened her with. Two days for Mara and Alexander to set up the wedding and the accompanying feast. In spite of the Advent season, the pale old abbot from the small monastery overlooking the Firth of Lorn had been easily persuaded to come to the castle for the wedding. Indeed, in spite of the short notice, there seemed to be no shortage of help. Duart Castle immediately swelled with people who, under Mara’s dictatorial direction, practically turned the place upside down in preparation for the nuptial celebrations.

“Dinna move, mistress.”

Adrianne felt a needle brush past the skin on her back. The nearly toothless and wrinkled face of the seamstress peeked at her around her arm.

“I didna stab ye now, did I mistress?"

Adrianne shook her head and glanced longingly toward the door. She wished she had remained in Auld Jean’s cottage that morning and not returned to the castle. She wished she could walk out that door and simply disappear until this entire complicated mess was done with. But there was no chance of that. Mara had already given her a list so organized that it would have made her sister Laura envious. Places to go. Sauces to taste. People to meet.

She couldn’t breathe.

“Raise yer arm, mistress. Aye, like so.” Adrianne obediently did as she was told and watched as the old seamstress pulled the silky sleeve over one bare arm and adeptly pinned it in place.

“Canny, ye brazen fool, stop yer sulking. Come and lend a hand with this.”

Beyond the kerchief-covered head of the seamstress, Adrianne watched the blond-haired, shapely young woman come abruptly to her feet, dumping all the fabric on her lap onto the floor.

“Och, Canny, look what ye have done now!”

“But she’s too tall for me to be fixing that sleeve.”

“Tall? She’s but a wee thing! Och…very well, then! Ye can stitch her back as I finish the sleeve, can ye not?”

Adrianne gave the serving lass a friendly smile as the young woman brushed past her. But there was no warmth in Canny’s blue eyes as she glared back.

She should have foreseen what was coming. The first thrust of Canny’s needle pierced Adrianne’s flesh. She didn’t make a sound, but the seamstress must have seen her wince, for in a moment the buxom young woman was sent scurrying out to fetch another helper.

“She doesn’t appear to like me,” Adrianne said as Canny closed the door on her way out.

“Dinna mind her, mistress. She’ll come around when ye become Sir Wyntoun’s wife...or I’ll see that she gets a whipping a day for her foolishness!”

“Nay, I wouldn’t care for that to happen.” Adrianne continued to stare at the door. “Her dislike...is it because I am half English?”

The woman’s gray eyes held Adrianne’s for a moment. She finally shrugged.

“I know ‘tis not my place to tell, but with ye having no woman kin of yer own here, I suppose someone must tell ye.” Adrianne used her left hand to hold the sleeve on the right shoulder as the seamstress continued to sew. “Master Wyntoun has always been a favorite with the MacLean women. Of course, the menfolk would follow him anywhere. ‘Tis just that the young lasses—like that fool Canny—are a wee bit fonder of him than they should be. ‘Tis not ye, mistress. They’d not be happy with
any
woman he’d be choosing for a wife.”

Well, they don’t have to worry much, Adrianne wanted to say, as this marriage would only be a temporary match.

“Now, the lassies about here were that way about the MacLean himself when he lost his first wife and came back with the wee bairn of a son. Himself was a widower for ten years before he took Lady Mara as a wife. Of course, his brother Lachlan was laird then…but that’s a long story. The womenfolk soon came around for her, though, let me tell ye.” The woman’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Now that’s one woman who knew how to train and keep a husband, never mind putting all the other lassies in their place when it came to their dealings with her husband.”

“Her size is no measure of her will.” Adrianne smiled. “I like her.”

“I’m glad to be hearing that, mistress, as everyone already knows that she’s taken a shine to ye. Let me tell ye, Lady Mara would never have gone through all this fuss about the wedding on such a short notice, otherwise.” The seamstress gave Adrianne a knowing wink. “Now, as far as handling Master Wyn and putting all these other women in their place, I’m telling ye that ye should have a talk with Lady Mara. Liking ye the way she does, she’s sure to share some of her tricks with ye.”

She wouldn’t be needing any advice, Adrianne moped silently. He’d already told her that he didn’t want her as a real wife. This morning’s meeting in the courtyard had been proof enough of that. It galled her a little even thinking about it. Her…friendly and happy to see him. Him…cool and distant. Ugh!

Don’t think about it, she told herself. Their arrangement was for the best. It would be far better to have few ties and fewer regrets after the treasure was relocated and her mother was saved. It would be far better to go away. Far away.

And if Wyntoun, while he was…well, married to her, wanted to bring other women to his bed, who was she to complain? Adrianne found her jaw tensing as an ache formed in a strangely hollow place in her chest. Gnawing at her lip, she realized that she didn’t like the way she was feeling at the thought of him sharing his bed with another.

Nay, she didn’t like this one bit. Maybe she would have a talk with Mara, after all. If for nothing else, perhaps she should learn a few things about keeping the competition at arm’s length while she feigned this sham of a marriage. She needed to prepare herself.

Aye, prepared. Armed and ready to be the Blade of Barra’s wife.

****

One day left to the wedding. Mara was fretting. Alexander was grumbling. The seamstress complaining. Throughout the keep, chaos still reigned amid the mountain of work that needed to be done. And yet, everything had halted. The household waited. An eerie, whispering silence had descended on the Great Hall.

It was already midday, and the bride was again missing.

Wyntoun had brought the problem to Duart Castle, so there was no escaping his responsibility.

Setting out on foot for the village, the Highlander left the gates of Duart Castle and started down the hill in search of his runaway bride. The steady freezing rain that had started sometime before dawn had coated the ground with a crust of ice. The rising wind tugged at his cloak, and the chill rain stung his face.

She had taken no horse out of the stables. Because of the deteriorating weather, no boats of any kind had left the harbor. He could see the fishermen down on the rocky strand, huddled against the rain and working on their boats and nets. The bloody woman had to be nearby. Of course she wouldn’t go far. The aggravating wench would naturally want to stay close enough to enjoy watching his temper boil over. Why else would she be out causing mischief and testing his patience with just a day left to the damn wedding?

He had heard enough about Adrianne’s headstrong nature from his aunt on Barra. He frowned fiercely as he pushed toward the village. Perhaps he should have taken her words more to heart. Perhaps he should have thought of a different solution for finding Tiberius. People do not change, everyone knew that. The way you were born was the way you died. By the devil, he was a fool to think that she could change her temperament and rein in her unruly impulses. He was an even greater fool to think she would pretend to be an obedient wife for the short time that they had to stay together.

He had forgotten everything.

Arriving at edge of the village, he stood and peered past low walls and cottages toward the market cross by the stony strand, but he could see no sign of her.

As he was considering going from cottage to cottage, Ian and Bull, two of his sailors, trudged up from the fishing boats and approached when they saw their master.

“John saw her, m’lord,” Ian said, responding to Wyntoun’s question. “For the second morning in the row, he saw the mistress coming out of the mist toward his cottage when he left. She must be visiting with Auld Jean.”

“But I saw Kevin this morn,” Bull added, scratching his head. “And he told me that the lass…I mean, Mistress Adrianne has been settin’ with his Agnes both yesterday and today. Wee Agnes has been feeling poorly, master, ever since we dropped anchor and--”

“Now that you mention it,” Ian added, “I saw someone taking a basket of something into the widow Meggan’s cottage not an hour ago. That must’ve been the mistress.”

Wyntoun turned to see Coll and Ector, two more sailors who had joined the group.

“Aye, that was her,” Coll put in. “I saw her chasing Meggan’s youngest one and drag him out of the dungheap and back into the cottage.”