The Firebrand (26 page)

The MacLean smiled. Not much had changed over the years.

True, they were now built quite differently. Alan, his hair going gray as his father’s had at the same age, lean but strong with a mind as sharp as Toledo steel. And Wyntoun, he thought happily, tall and broad and smart enough to outmaneuver—on sea or on land—any man alive. Wyn was a son to be proud of—a strong-armed lad with a warrior’s heart and scholar’s brain. And above all else, these two cousins had remained the same steadfastly loyal friends that they’d been from the time they had wrestled together in the courtyard as toddlers.

Why, the two had always been hellions in their own way. Always thinking up the same mischief and carrying it out so damned efficiently. Like the time the two rogues stole and roasted the abbot’s prize fighting cock. By the devil, Alexander chuckled to himself, he’d had to pay a price to get the old bastard to lift the sanction of excommunication from them. And the time they’d pelted Colin Campbell, the earl of Argyll, with snowballs. Colin had leaped from his boat onto the quay and chased the two halfway to Loch Dan, nearly burying the two in the snow when he caught them…and laughing about it for the rest of his visit.

Och, so many other times, as well…the rascals! And every time someone would haul them by their ears into the Great Hall, each of them would insist on taking the blame alone for the other. There had been many a punishment that Alexander had had to mete out in doubles.

His gaze narrowed slightly, thinking back on the dark days when his brother Lachlan had been laird. He shook off those thoughts, eyeing the two young men. There was something else that had not changed over the years. The two of them still were vying for the attention of the same lassie.

Alexander cleared his throat and strode into the chamber.

“Early risers and hard workers.” The MacLean laird took note of his son’s tired face as Wyntoun raised his eyes from the map. “I hear in the Hall that neither of you two have been in to break your fast with your kin, and yet here I find you already plotting and planning your next conquest. So, are you taking New Spain from Emperor Charlie this fine morning, or will it be Ireland from the haughty King Harry? Personally, I’d prefer you took Ireland—you cannot be too careful about your neighbors, I always say!”

As Alan deftly rolled up the chart, Wyntoun came around the table to greet his father. None of this disturbed Alexander in the slightest, however. For the last five years, he’d insisted that his son keep him in the dark about his pirating plans.

In truth, the MacLean had had little choice in the matter. Alexander believed Mara’s threats about his continuing to ply his trade on the waters of the Irish Sea. He wasn’t about to let himself to be affected by any longing over his own seafaring days. Nay, he’d long ago decided to sit back in the Great Hall and let these lads carry on the clan tradition.

“Good day to you, Father.” Wyntoun sat on the corner of the table. “I had planned to be away from the castle for the better part of the day, so Alan and I thought we’d best catch up on our work now.”

“Ah, so where will you be taking yourself off to, this day?”

“A few of the men will be riding with me west…to Glen Forsa.”

“All that way!”

“Aye, there is a crofter there with a bonny colt, they tell me.”

“A colt, is it? Well, your new bride will enjoy a ride like that, I’m sure.” Alexander peered at his son closely. “You
are
taking Adrianne with you, are you not?”

What sounded like a snort from Alan earned the shipmaster a withering look from Wyntoun, but the laird was amused to see Alan look back challengingly at Wyntoun as he excused himself from the room.

“Nay, Father. I am not taking her with me.”

“And why not?” Alexander asked bluntly, walking about the chamber. He took his time to look at everything as he continued to talk, making certain to add to Wyntoun’s uneasiness. “From what I hear of her, the lass is an excellent rider. I understand you yourself saw fit to test her skill—on a horse, I mean—on the very night of your wedding.”

Wyntoun’s brow was furrowed, his eyes dark. “Adrianne is busy caring for the lad Gillie.”

“Mara tells me the boy’s fever broke during the night.” He stopped and picked up a jewel-encrusted Spanish dagger from the table, gazing at it with feigned interest. “She tells me that your wee bride, on the other hand, is the one that looks to be ailing this morning.”

“What do you mean? What’s wrong with Adrianne?”

His undisguised concern brightened Alexander’s mood considerably. “Perhaps you should ask Alan what’s wrong with her. They tell me he makes certain to visit her every evening, just to make sure she eats some supper.”

The flush of anger in Wyn’s face was, to the laird, another satisfactory response. Alexander moved around the table and sat on the carved wood chair.

“Father, stop your meddling in my affairs. By the devil, you are starting to sound like Mara herself!”

“Aye, there is a ring of truth in that, Wyn. But have it your way, lad. And while you’re at it, do not give another thought to what I said about Adrianne’s health.” He casually flipped the dagger over in his broad palm. “Of course, if you were to visit her yourself...Nay, lad, just ask Alan to check on her for you.”

The MacLean leaned back against the chair, watching the agitation play over Wyntoun’s handsome features. He himself hid his enjoyment of his son’s discomfort, instead furrowing his brows and putting on a reflective demeanor.

“But then, hearing these gossiping wenches talk, the whole clan knows you and your bride had quite a night after the wedding feast. ‘Tis very well, lad,” he said, holding up a hand to silence Wyntoun. “And if you’re no longer interested in the lassie, you need not be explaining to me. Many a man has sown the seeds of his posterity and then moved on to greener meadows. And we both know there are more than a few lassies here on Mull who are ready to open the meadow gates for you…in a manner of speaking.”

The MacLean watched Wyntoun wrestle with a response. By the saints, he thought, this is very promising. He’d never seen his son tongue-tied before.

“Father, my men are waiting,” the knight said finally. “A good day to you.”

As Wyntoun practically fled from the room, Alexander smiled broadly in the direction of his son’s belt and the sword, standing by the door. Aye, the lad did indeed have to be going, the laird mused. But where Wyn was headed…now,
that
was something worth thinking about.

As the knight approached, Nichola stepped back, accidentally sitting on the bed. In an instant he was standing before her, towering over her, his grip strong and sure as he drew her to her feet.

“Sir Henry,” she murmured, disengaging herself from him. “I do not… you…you should not…your words…” Nichola took a deep breath. “M’lord, your words are most unsettling. I suggest you make clear what you have just said.”

“Aye, Nichola, that I will,” he said quietly. “Allow me to do just that.”

Their gazes locked for a long moment, and Nichola read nothing there to support any fear. She always knew Henry Exton to be a man with a strong will and powerful passions, but he was also a man of honor. She had nothing to fear, Nichola reminded herself. Not from this man, anyway.

But as she gazed into his blue eyes, she wondered at the strange fluttering sensations in her belly. Never had she felt desire for another man but her husband. It could not be that, she told herself, fighting the feeling. It must not be.

“I want you to know, Nichola, I would have stayed away if you had not learned in whose keep you were being held.”

He reached out, his strong hands taking hold of her upper arms, holding her at arm’s length. She could feel the strength of his fingers, the heat that seemed to radiate from the two points where his thumbs rested on her shoulders. She held her breath as the heat spread inward, through her chest.

“But you know who holds you,” he continued. “And I am too old to waste more years pursuing you.”

Nichola shook her head vaguely, not trusting her voice. She could not swallow because of the incomprehensible dryness in her throat. By the Virgin, she thought, why must my heart beat so wildly in my chest?

She forced out the words. “What do you mean, ‘pursuing’ me?”

“I only speak what is in my heart, Nichola. Death took from me a good woman, a good wife. But since her passing, one woman alone has filled my thoughts, challenged my willpower. One woman alone has taken hold of my soul, Nichola. When I ride in the hills, I see one woman. When I find myself in a crowd, I look for one woman. When I close my eyes to sleep, I dream of one woman. You, Nichola. You alone.”

“I scarcely believe my ears, Henry. How could you…how…? All these years? I am…I was a married woman.”

“True enough. But have I ever behaved dishonorably, in spite of my…my desires? Have I even once allowed myself to act or say or even hint anything that might be construed as improper, so long as my friend Edmund was alive?”

His hands slipped once along her arms, caressing her. Nichola closed her eyes, willing herself not to show the treacherous shiver that raced through her.

“But now, everything has changed. Edmund is gone, and you have been a widow nigh on a year. You are free to choose.”

“Hardly enough time to…”

He took her hands in his own, interrupting her. “Nichola, ‘tis no secret that you have been left with naught. Everything your husband owned—everything that you and your daughters should, by rights, possess—has been taken by the English Crown. Most women in your position would be planning their next marriage before their husbands are cold in the grave.”

“I am not most women,” she said shortly.

“Aye, that you are not,” he said more gently. “Truer words were never spoken.”

The fingers of the warrior moved to her face, caressing the curve of her cheek, the flesh of her bottom lip. She opened her mouth to protest, but no words formed.

His lips were on hers the next instant and, as the fiercest of the storms raged within her, Nichola managed somehow to remain steady on her feet while his mouth plundered hers…and then withdrew.

Her eyes were closed, but she could see him in her mind’s eye, his rugged face a breath from her own. She felt as if she had been branded by him…inside and out.

And suddenly, with the force of a lightning bolt, she realized what she had known all along. Each time he had come to visit. Each time he had spoken her name. Each time he had touched her hand. All these years. She had known all along.

“Now that I have told you how I feel, m’lady, I only ask that you consider my offer. I will give you my name, my devotion, and all the passion that a man can feel for a woman…for as long as life allows. And I promise you, Nichola, I will protect you from every danger that lies in your path.” She stared at his broad chest as he paused. She did not trust herself to look up. “Real danger is coming nearer each day, my love, and in the end I may be the only man alive who can protect you from it.”

With a gentle touch, he raised her chin so their eyes once again met.

“Choose me for whatever reason suits you…but choose me.” His eyes shone with feeling for her, feeling that she knew he had worked so hard to hide for so long. “I will await your answer, Nichola. And I pray you will not make me wait another lifetime.”

****

Catherine refused to be intimidated by the three sets of eyes staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“Certainly, you should see that my idea makes sense,” she said to her sister Laura, who appeared even more dubious than Athol and William. “Benedict is the only person we know who has seen the Treasure of Tiberius…who has touched it. Showing him the two portions of the map that we already have, might give him enough information to tell us where it lies hidden. He was close to our father. He might already have some idea of the whereabouts of the treasure. In fact, he might even have been the one who helped devise some of the cryptic notations on this map. We simply won’t know until we ask him.”

Laura shook her head. “I do not entirely trust Benedict, Catherine. And I am not certain Mother totally trusted him, either. If she had, she could have arranged for him to accompany any one of us when we left England.” Laura placed a hand on Catherine’s arm. “Though I know time is of the essence, I don’t believe we should rush into such a potentially disastrous act. I say we wait until Adrianne arrives. It should not be long now, and everything may become very clear to us then.”

“And what do we do when she arrives?” Catherine asked in reply. “None of us know what exactly ‘tis that we are facing. What happens if, when we have the map, we send an army to retrieve the treasure, only to discover it missing? What will we do then to free our mother?”

“Something is already being done about the Lady Nichola.”

William of Blackfearn’s answer was an obvious surprise not only to Catherine but to Laura, as well. The Ross chieftain looked from one face to the next as he explained.

“Wyntoun MacLean did not only go to fetch your sister, Adrianne. He also went to begin searching for where your mother is being kept.”

“But he was going to the Isle of Barra!”

William nodded to his wife. “Aye. And from there Wyn was going to Duart Castle on the Isle of Mull, where he was to begin collecting information through his connections in the Western Isles…and in the south, as well, to the Borders and beyond.”

“‘Connections with pirates?” Catherine asked skeptically. “Connections that only the Blade of Barra would have?”

“Why did you not tell us of this, William?” Laura asked.

“Even without knowing for certain what he would do, I knew that Wyn would not let us down or further endanger your mother. But there is something else I know of Wyntoun MacLean that you should all know.” He paused, glancing at Athol. “He is also a Knight of the Veil.”

“A Knight of the Veil?” Catherine asked with alarm. “Who are these knights?”

The earl of Athol took his wife’s hand. “They are a group of knights that answer to a higher power than any one king. ‘Tis a secret brotherhood that is rumored to wield more power than Scotland, England, and France combined.”