The Return of Black Douglas (13 page)

“Seems I’ve captured a lass who canna resist having the last word.”

A hot retort formed quickly in her mind. She opened her mouth and noticed the laughter gleaming in his eyes. She quickly clamped it shut.

“Take care,” he said. “Ye havena no idea how close I am to tossing ye on that bed and joining ye there.”

He had no idea how she wished he would do just that. He was so real to her now and had become a part of her life in such a short time. Would he also be part of her future? Or would his noble existence be nothing more than a memory, a whisper from the past? They were pieces on a chessboard, and the game had yet to be played. Would she be a captured pawn or a queen?

Only the ghost of the Black Douglas knew the answer, and he was being very close-lipped.

Alysandir was fighting a few battles of his own. One of them was the urge to place her on the bed and strip away her strange clothing, piece by piece, kissing each newly exposed bit of skin he uncovered. Saint Columba! He had thought of little else since meeting her. He had to hold his yearning for her tightly in check, now that he was in her bedchamber.

He wanted, nae, he needed to know her story—how she came to be in Scotland, who she was, and whether he could trust her in his home among his family. Only then would he dare to make love to her, slowly at first, then wildly and passionately until she cried out his name and begged him not to stop. By that point, he would not want to.

He glanced down at her face and saw the softly glowing fire of desire in her eyes. She made a little noise deep in her throat, and he knew that she was under the same spell as he.

“I think you should put me down now.”

She breathed the words against his skin, and he thought she was the loveliest lass he had ever encountered. He wrestled with himself, yet he knew the man in him had to step away and defer to the clan chief.

He lowered her to her feet beside the bed, and this time she remembered not to put weight on her injured foot. “Sit down.”

“Ahhhh…” She sighed as she sank into the delicious softness of the bed.

“Move back.”

She frowned, gave him a suspicious look, and scooted back.

“I only want to examine yer ankle, naught more.”

She lifted her head to see how her ankle fared. It was horribly swollen and had a bruised, purplish tint.

“’Tis a nasty twist ye gave it,” he said.

“You should see it from my side. It hurts worse than it looks,” she said, not bothering to hide her grumpiness. She was tired, dirty, hungry, and separated from her life, her family, her home, her country, and her century. Her ankle hurt like hell, and she felt like the world was closing in on her. She stole a look at him, and desire coiled in tight knots inside her. Her breathing was erratic.

Did he have to be so damned desirable and the living reality of what she had imagined? He packed so much ammunition that she knew she would be a goner if he ever decided to use it on her. How could she resist him? Why would she want to?
Danger
, her mind warned. Panic swept over her and she felt stricken, knowing escape was impossible. She was praying for a diversion. She got one when he twisted her ankle again.

“Ouch!” she cried out.

He rolled up a blanket and propped her foot up on it. “’Twill ease some of the throbbing.”

“It wasn’t throbbing until you tried to twist it off!”

“Elevating it will ease the pain.”

“It hasn’t done much to ease it so far.”

He made a disinterested shrug. “I will have Mistress MacMorran make a poultice for the swelling.”

“Have her make one for your swelling confidence, while she is at it. And I don’t want a poultice.”

“What have ye against a poultice?”

“As long as it isn’t amulets, charms, snake tongues, hot irons, or leeches, I’m okay with it,” she said, and wondered if anything from this period truly was beneficial. They had no antibiotics, but she recalled they did rely heavily upon roots and herbs and garlic. She recalled Elisabeth telling her that, strange though it was, antibiotics were not effective against viruses, but garlic was. And that was about as far as she could go with this.

“I dinna understand the word ‘okay.’”

She was startled out of her reverie. “It means something is all right, or that you approve of it.”

“So ye willna allow amulets, charms, and such?”

“No, I don’t want those things.”

“Why?”

She started to say, “Because they are ineffective” but decided he would not know the word “ineffective.”

“Because they do not work.”

He gave her close scrutiny. “Ye have used them then?”

“No, I haven’t,” she said hastily.

“Then how do ye know they dinna work?”

She was too exhausted to delve into that now. “I have been told so by those who have tried those remedies.”

She glanced down at his hand on her ankle. She felt her face warming. He must have realized where his hand was about the same time she did. Before she could say something, he pulled his hand away.

“Ye have a way of coming between a man and his good judgment, mistress.”

“Well, perhaps that will change now that you have me here in your castle. An object in possession seldom retains the same charm that it had in pursuit.”

“Ahhh, a learned woman who can quote Pliny the Younger,” he said. He stood and gave her a look that made her debate whether to raise her foot and invite him back to hold it again.

“Dinna fret. I am harmless as a setting hen at the moment and too tired to be much of a threat to ye. Mistress MacMorran will be along to minister to ye better than these rough hands,” he said, and with a nod, he departed.

She fought the urge to call him back. Rough hands sounded wonderful to her, but he was gone and seemed to take with him all the light and warmth. She was left with the gloom of a cold and unfamiliar room. When she heard the door click, a stony weight settled over her.

She remembered her sunny yellow room at home, with the French doors that opened to a veranda, the sound of music coming from Elisabeth’s room next door, and the sight of the Blanco River flowing slowly. She closed her eyes and could almost smell the aroma of her father’s barbecue and hear the laughter of her younger siblings dancing and chasing each other around the pool, and she wondered if she would ever dance or laugh again.

Thankfully, she did not have very long to devote to melancholy before the door opened and a middle-aged woman, with kind eyes the same color as her grey hair, came into the room. One glance at the pleasant, motherly face, and Isobella’s spirits lifted. “Are you Mistress MacMorran?”

“Aye, mistress, indeed I am, and ye are Isobella Douglas, newly arrived upon the Isle of Mull from parts unknown.”

“Guilty on all counts.”

Mistress MacMorran looked around the room and made a clucking noise with her tongue. “’Tis colder than St. Mary’s Loch in here, and I see a fire has not been laid in the fireplace.” She clapped her hands on her hips, her elbows jutting out like tumped-over pyramids. “I will see that it is taken care of immediately, so dinna worrit aboot it.”

Isobella looked around. The room was dreary, sparsely furnished, and eons away from home, but she would make do
. If my ancestors could stand it, I can, too!
She forced a smile she did not feel and said in the most cheerful voice she could muster, “You have no idea how wonderful a fire sounds.”

“’Tis the dampness that comes in with the mist at night that makes the chill greater,” Mistress MacMorran said, placing her stout hands on her hips again. She gave Isobella a good going-over, her gaze coming to rest on the throbbing ankle. Her caterpillar-like eyebrows rose in silent study before she finally said, “Weel now, ’tis a fine looking bit o’ damage ye have done to yersel’. Does it pain ye greatly now?”

Isobella nodded, as tears welled in her eyes and began to slide down her cheeks.

“Och! Ye puir lassie, dinna ye worrit none. I will have ye up and aboot in no time. A good soaking in a hot tub will work a miracle, and a brisk rubbing wi’ a few herbs and oils will have ye feeling better soon.” She paused. ’Tis a certainty that ye will be needing some more appropriate clothing to sufficiently cover all yer… charms.”

The longer she talked, the more Isobella cried. She couldn’t help it; exhaustion and anxiety had taken over. But it wasn’t exactly the first impression she had wanted to make. Mistress MacMorran removed the blanket Alysandir had placed under her ankle.

“This will do to cover yer hiddens for the time being.” She covered Isobella and said, “Ye will be needing yer food on a tray, for ye canna go hopping on one foot doon to the hall fer yer repast.”

With that, she turned and departed, leaving Isobella to laugh at the use of words like “hiddens” and “charms” for her private parts. But, the laughter did nothing to lift her sagging spirits. A short time later, a pile of clothing walked into the room on two human legs, followed by two more legs carrying a few more garments.

A lovely, smiling face surrounded with dark, glossy hair peeped over the top. “I am Alysandir’s sister, Sybilla,” the young woman said, and with a great heave, she dumped the load of clothes upon the side of the bed Isobella did not occupy. “This is my younger sister, Marion,” she said, and Marion dumped her load next to Sybilla’s.

Sybilla had very fine hazel eyes and a beautiful face framed by sable brown hair that hung in one long braid down her back. “’Tisn’t much,” she said, “but ’twill fit ye, I think.” She gave Isobella a good going-over from head to foot. Sybilla pulled a garment from the pile and laid it out on the bed next to Isobella. “’Twill do for a sleeping gown.”

Isobella looked it over and decided it did indeed look like a nightgown, made of fine white linen and trimmed with a thin edging of lace.

“Thank you for your kindness. I will have a care with them.” There was a moment of awkward silence, then, “I’m Isobella Douglas.”

She smiled at Marion, who stood quietly to one side, her blond hair in curls, her grey-blue eyes looking at Isobella with great curiosity. “I do hope we will become great friends. I find I am much in need of feminine company.”

“Alysandir said the Macleans took yer sister,” Marion said.

Isobella nodded. “Yes, and I hope your brothers return with her soon.”

“Yer speech is strange,” Sybilla said. “Ye are no’ English?”

“No, I’m not.” She hoped Sybilla wouldn’t question her further. She did not want to alienate her new friends. “I apologize for my appearance. I know I look a fright. I hope to change that soon.”

Sybilla smiled and said, “Mistress MacMorran will put yer other things in the trunk, and she will be back to aid ye with yer bath since ye canna walk.”

Well now, things were definitely looking up, so she thanked Sybilla and Marion. “Please come back to visit me. Often! With my ankle this way, I fear I shall not be able to leave the room for a few days. I would love the pleasure of your company.”

Marion said, “I think ye are verra bonnie, and I ken Alysandir thinks so, too.” Her face turned a lovely shade of pink, and Sybilla laughed. “We will leave now, but we will visit ye again.”

“That would be lovely,” Isobella said, thinking the wind must have changed directions, because a delicious smell drifted into the room and she realized just how very, very hungry she was. She was hoping she would be getting something to eat soon.

As if by magic, Mistress MacMorran entered with a large tray in her hands. Isobella eyed the tray and saw something that looked like chicken, a green vegetable she did not recognize, and some fairly dry, crusty bread. She devoured everything, including the bread, which was divine with a swath of butter and a little honey.

Soaking her ankle in the tub did help, and so did the comfrey poultice Mistress MacMorran put over it after Isobella bathed and returned to bed. She glanced to her right and saw that a demijohn of water had been placed on a small, wooden table next to her. She turned her head back to Mistress MacMorran, who was pouring a cup of something dark and red. Isobella eyed it suspiciously.

Watching her with sharp eyes, Mistress MacMorran said, “’Tis cherry-bark tea. Drink it doon, lass. ’Twill ease the pain and help ye sleep,” Mistress MacMorran picked up the tray, peered into the goblet to be certain it was all gone, and turned away. She paused long enough at the door to say, “I will come by to see how yer ankle fares on the morrow. Will ye be needing anything else now?”

“No, nothing, thank you. You have been so very kind,” Isobella replied. She was the most comfortable she had been since she arrived on Mull.

So why did she wish she could sprout a pair of wings and fly away?

Chapter 18

The mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter;

We therefore deem’d it meeter

To carry off the latter.

—“The War-Song of Dinas Vawr”
Thomas Love Peacock (1785–1866)
British satirist and novelist

The next afternoon, Alysandir paced the room before he stopped in front of the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. Behind him, his brothers Gavin, Drust, and Colin were gathered. They had returned to Màrrach moments earlier without Isobella’s sister. Alysandir paused to search their faces. “So ye never found the Macleans after they took the lass?”

“Oh, aye, we found them, along with aboot sixty of their clansmen,” Drust said. He was seated on a straight-backed settle, his legs stretched out toward the fire in front of him.

Colin seemed to be waiting for one of his brothers to say something, and when none did, he said, “Alysandir, ye might have figured out a way to retrieve the lass without a scuffle, had ye been there, but the two of us couldna find a way that would allow us to return home with both our heads attached to the rest o’ us.”

Alysandir stared into the fire and thought a moment. “Do ye have any idea where they were going to take her?”

“Aye, we followed them,” Drust said, then added, “at a distance, of course. They rode right back to Duart Castle, bold as lions and in a verra relaxed way, confident that if we did follow, we wouldna be so foolish as to try and rescue the lass.”

“Ye are no thinking of rescuing her from Duart, are ye?” Colin asked.

“Nae, I value my head as much as ye do. ’Twould be a difficult undertaking, for Duart is a formidable fortress, built to withstand attack. Bartering willna work either, although I know that if I offer to arbitrate for the lass, ole Angus will be most agreeable.”

“Then what are ye waiting for?” Gavin asked.

Drust’s face grew intent. “Think, Gavin. What do we have that Angus Maclean would demand as a fair exchange for the lass?”

Gavin frowned, his dark blue eyes seriously considering his choices. “Ye mean Barbara?”

Drust nodded. “Aye, he would be more than willing to exchange our sister for Elisabeth Douglas, and I’d wager my life on it.”

“What will we do, then?” Colin asked softly as he looked from brother to brother.

“I will have to think upon it,” Alysandir said. He glanced at his brothers and smiled at the way Gavin was impatient with expectancy and eager to become a part of the discussion, in spite of his younger years.

Drust studied Alysandir’s face. “What will ye tell the sister?”

Alysandir shrugged. “I willna tell her anything right away. She will no’ understand why I dinna ride out in the morning to fetch her sister. She will have questions, and she will want answers I dinna have. Ye ken that Duart is a castle that has never been penetrated. Maclean will be prepared and ready for us.

“A daring attack would be foolish and costly with Mackinnon lives, and it is doubtful that we would have the lass even then. Attempting a rescue without a plan is equal to love withoot strategy. Planning is everything.” He paused and said with a grin, “Of course, the simplest solution would be for Barbara to change her mind aboot Fergus.”

Colin let out a whistle. “Ye are no’ going to tell Barbara to marry Fergus Maclean, are ye?”

Alysandir tried to hide his amusement. “Does anyone tell Barbara what to do? And no, I’m not going to tell her to marry him, but I do want to see how she feels aboot it after being at the nunnery this past week. There was a time she fancied Fergus, and if time has brought back that feeling, then the task is an easy one. If she is still adamant aboot not wanting to wed him, then I must come up with a solution.”

“What have ye found out aboot the sister? Ye mentioned when we arrived that she hurt her ankle in the fall doon the crag. Is it healing?” Colin asked.

Alysandir nodded. “Aye, ’tis better. ’Twas a nasty tumble she took, and her ankle, though not broken, was dangerously close to it.”

“Did she tell ye her story?” asked Drust.

Alysandir shook his head. “Nae, she has yet to speak o’ it.”

Drust’s brows rose and he looked at Colin, whose face also wore an expression of surprise. “And ye havena pressed her?” Drust asked.

“Nae, I havena.”

“Why?” his brothers asked in unison.

“I was hoping the two of ye would return with her sister and I could question Elisabeth aboot it before I heard Isobella’s account.”

“Ye smell a rat, do ye?” Colin asked.

Alysandir shook his head, conscious of his brothers’ gaze upon him. “Nae, but that doesna mean there isna one aboot.”

“Ahhh,” Drust said. “Ye are going to play the fox.”

Cool as a cathedral, Alysandir smiled and turned toward his desk. He poured himself and his brothers Drust and Colin a dram. He handed each of them a silver goblet, and then seeing the disappointed look on Gavin’s face, he smiled and poured another one. He extended it toward Gavin and said, “’Tis aboot time ye rid yer face of that goose down.”

Gavin jerked his head, tossing his sandy brown hair back and out of his eyes as he sprang to his feet, which set his brothers to laughing. He ignored their teasing jibes. “Ye mean I can shave?” he asked.

The brothers raised their goblets in salute. “Aye, ’tis a man ye have become, Gavin, so shave away, unless ye need us to help ye with yer scraping,” answered Alysandir, and a round of laughter erupted when Gavin’s face turned as red as a newly bloomed rose.

After a round of teasing, the laughter died down. Alysandir waited to see what his brothers would say. Drust looked thoughtful as he swirled the liquid around in his goblet. He took a sip. “Ye know, Alysandir, that the longer ye wait to tell the lass aboot her sister, the more awkward the spot ye are in. What if she learns we returned afore ye tell her?”

“There are times when one must temper good judgment with silence and, when that doesna work, add in a little deceit. ’Tis a blessing of sorts that she isna oot and aboot right now, due to her ankle. Hopefully, I will have a plan laid soon.”

Drust shook his head. “I hear that thin ice ye are walking on cracking under yer feet.”

Alysandir went back to the fireplace and placed his goblet on the mantel. He took up the poker and gave the logs a poke or two, enough that sparks swirled about and the flames were fanned to life. When he picked up his goblet and turned back to his brothers, he saw they were grinning at him.

“What mischief are ye aboot, or have ye no told me the entire story of yer encounter with the Macleans?

“We were wondering the same aboot ye,” said Drust.

Alysandir regarded his brother with narrowed eyes. “What do ye mean?”

Colin was grinning widely. “Weel, ye havena told us aboot yer journey back to Màrrach with such a bonnie lass. How fared ye with her for two days and one night? Did ye roll her up in yer plaid with ye?”

Alysandir answered coolly, “And if I did?”

Drust looked at Colin and slapped him on the back. “I told ye so. Now ye owe me yer blue velvet doublet.”

Colin scowled at his brother and then said, “I have an idea how to solve the problem with the two lassies. If we canna snatch the one lass from under the Macleans’ noses at Duart, then we can give them the lass we have here. The lassies want to be united, and I’ll wager they dinna care if it is at Màrrach with the Mackinnons or at Duart with the Macleans. Then ye willna have to worrit aboot Isobella discovering we are back or how ye can rescue Elisabeth.”

Drust turned back to Alysandir, his grin flashing over the lip of the goblet. “That sounds reasonable and by far the easiest way I’ve heard yet. We simply give them the one we have. The sisters will be together, and that will be the end of that.”

A long silence followed, while every eye was upon Alysandir. When he did not respond after some time, Drust glanced at his brothers and then asked, “Alysandir, ye are no’ against Colin’s idea, are ye?”

“Nae, I am not against it, but neither am I for it. Therefore, I’ll not act upon it.”

“Why canna ye act upon it?” Gavin asked. “’Tis the perfect solution.”

“Aye, ’tis perfect all right, save for one thing,” Alysandir replied, sounding quite amiable.

“And what is that?” Colin asked, itching with curiosity.

Alysandir lifted his goblet, finished the liquid inside, and then said with a dismissive tone, “Mayhap I have discovered a more attractive reason for keeping the lass here.”

After his brothers left, Alysandir thought upon his last remark. Isobella had him thinking about things he had not thought about for a long time. He thought about his response to Colin’s suggestion. He poured another dram, telling himself it wasn’t because he needed it to help resist her. He was past that already.

He desired the lass, and at the same time, he wondered why he didn’t make things easier for himself and send her packing to the Macleans as his brothers had suggested. He had enough trouble at the moment without dragging back more in the form of a woman who made his blood run hot.

Suddenly, Drust walked back into the room. After one look at Alysandir, his eyes were alight with humor. “’Twould seem ye are having a bit of a disagreement with yerself. Let me see. It wouldna have to do with that fire-haired lass wi’ the emerald eyes, would it?”

“Did ye come back in here to add more dross to the weight of my growing mountain of problems?”

“A growing problem for ye, is she?”

Alysandir did not say anything, but that did not deter Drust. “Weel, that will bear watching, for ’tis obvious that Alysandir, the man, wants her to warm his bed, but she isna the sort of lass to go for that sort of thing. And Alysandir the chief of Clan Mackinnon, willna trust her because he doesna ken if she is a spy. The truth is, he canna trust any woman again.

“Desire and duty. Those are the dilemmas he faces. Mayhap he will find a way to have both the truth and the lass in his bed. Of course, she might refuse to tell him what he wants to know and he canna bring himself to bed her unless she does. ’Twould seem ye are sitting on the sharp horns of a predicament, and all yer alternatives are unsatisfactory ones.”

After a long spell of silence, Drust continued, “’Tis not the worst thing in the world for ye to marry again, Alysandir. ’Tis no yer fault that it didna work out before. Ye shouldna let it trouble ye.”

Alysandir gave Drust a hard look. “Do I seem troubled?”

Alysandir’s voice was almost jovial, but Drust knew his brother well. “Aye, brother, ye do at that, and ye only get that look when it’s aboot a woman… or the lack of one.”

“Ye should be concerned aboot yer own unmarried state and not mine.”

“I know it is difficult to bury the past, but ye canna let what happened before place a shadow upon yer future. Ye are too young to be bitter. Ye have to bury it. If ye did, ye could find love again.”

“Love!” Alysandir almost spat out the word. “Och! The last thing I want is to be yoked together with a woman like a pair of Highland cattle. I am done with that, and keep yer thoughts on yer own unmarried state and off of mine. Love is no longer a reality or a desire. I am finished with love, finished with women, and sick of being burdened with both. Love with a woman is impossible.”

A log in the fireplace fell with a loud crash and sent a shower of sparks scurrying into the room and across the stone floor. A stand holding a book given to Alysandir by his uncle fell over, and the book landed face up and open.

Drust righted the stand and picked up the large book. He was about to replace it when something caught his eye and he began to read, “‘Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility,’ and the words were meant fer ye.”Alysandir looked at Drust with an odd expression. “Read it again,” he said, and Drust did.

Alysandir frowned as he looked at the book in Drust’s hands. He tried to remember what book it was, but it had been resting in the stand so long without him taking any notice of it that he could remember nothing.

“What book is that? Whose words are those?”

“They are the words of Thomas à Kempis, a German monk and writer. It was written in the early fifteenth century. It would seem he had some words to say to ye.” Drust laughed. “Och! ’Twould seem ye are no’ so finished with women as ye thought, for as it says, love pleads no excuse of impossibility. ’Twas no accident.”

Alysandir shook his head. “The wind blew it over.”

Drust laughed. “Say what ye will. I know what yer life has been like. But there are good women in the world, Alysandir, and a good number of them can be trusted.”

“I am no’ a bitter man but a cautious one. I depend upon no one but myself and trust no one but our uncle and my brothers. My life has been handed over to leading the clan.”

“Aye, and ye are fearlessly devoted, for ye have neither dread nor fear of death. ’Tis yer disregard for yersel’ that makes ye a dangerous man, for ye will call any man’s bluff. ’Tis true ye once married for love, but ye locked away the memory until ye canna recall what it feels like to be in love any more than ye can remember the face of the woman who left ye. Mayhap that is also why ye canna stand the sight of yer son.”