Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (12 page)

Maida rolled her eyes. “Rest! When she’s attending Lady Katherine? That’s about as likely as waking up on the morrow to find that all the snow has melted right away and the gardens are in wild bloom.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Or that Cook’s bashed neeps will actually be edible.”

Isobel smiled, drawing a dark glance from Cook.

“Sarding hell, bashed neeps are my nemesis, more vexing than a sarding, reiving Campbell!” he shouted. “But I will conquer them one day!” He waved a wooden spoon in the air, nearly hitting one of the male bakers in the face with it, who blocked the blow with a loaf of bread.

“If ye put a mountain of butter and salt atop the neeps, ye dunna notice they’re runny,” Maida said, trying to be helpful.

Cook looked dubious as he returned to stirring a pot of broth and muttering about misbehaving bashed neeps.

Mary Francis glanced shyly at Isobel and Maida. “’Tis true,” she whispered, “that the way Lady Katherine complains about everything—the weather, being stuck here, her lack of the proper number of servants, having to wear mourning gowns, the drafts in her bedroom, Leith’s crude manners and looks, the snow, the wind, the under-cooked porridge, I could go on and on—she could be the sister of Job.”

Maida laughed, covering her mouth with her hand, her plump arms jiggling.

“One would think that given her childhood she would be kinder,” Mary Francis said. “She had a brother but he died in infancy. She had a sister who died in a mysterious fall from a tower when Lady Katherine was only fifteen summers. Her father has thus indulged her e’ery whim and she is the heiress to all his wealth. She is in a powerful position to help her clan but she doesna seem to care about anything but her own wishes and basking in e’eryone’s admiration.”

Isobel had finished mixing the tea. “Mary Francis, sip the tea slowly throughout the day. Now that ye know how to make it, make more when ye need it. Drink it often, especially before bed, so ye willna be awakened by yer cough in the night. Ye’ll feel more restful in no time at all.”

Mary Francis nodded and sipped the tea. “Isobel, is it true that if ye scatter elder leaves to the four winds it will protect ye from evil?”

Isobel shivered, thinking of the menacing, robed figure she’d seen in the ground floor passageway and of the horrifying bird mask with its long, pointed beak. “Yea, ‘tis true,” she said, but she was no longer sure she believed it.

14

Isobel had a busy day, for when word spread about her aiding Mary Francis with her cough, others soon came to her with requests, asking for help for such things as stomachaches, earaches, and toothaches.

They were slowly beginning to trust her.              

She made her way to the dais for the evening meal, lost in thought about a little girl named Ainslee and her toothache and the boy Tavish’s stomachache. She was glad to have helped with some minor ailments but troubled that she hadn’t yet had any visions about Leith or Logan.

She sat down and turned to speak to Leith. Her words caught in her throat, for it was not Leith’s face that gazed back at her. It was an older man who looked very much like Leith, except that his face was more angular and blunt, his skin more leathery, and his black hair graying at the temples.

“What do ye, Isobel?” Leith asked, leaning forward from his seat to look at her. “Ye prefer my Uncle Rolph’s company to my own? Come, take the seat next to me.”

The man of dour hardness sitting close to Isobel regarded her with an intense curiosity. He wore trews and, over his saffron shirt, a jack—a padded leather jacket sewn with a metal plate.
There was blood on it.
He’d removed his fierce steel bonnet and it sat on the table next to his food. He had marks etched on his face from the apparent frequent wearing of it.

Rolph watched her studying his bloodied shirt and his steel bonnet and smiled. Isobel shivered to think what he would look like with the steel bonnet on his head.

“Who is this lovely and intriguing creature?” he asked. “Surely she canna be a witch or a MacKinnon, and if she is both, what a travesty that would be.” His eyes were also hazel, but darker than Leith’s.

“I was lost in my thoughts,” Isobel said, standing up to change seats. “My apologies.”

Rolph put his hand firmly on her arm. “Nay. I dunna care what my nephew demands. Sit. I will have the pleasure of yer company tonight.”

Isobel looked uncertainly at Leith. He nodded.

“I’m Rolph, Leith’s uncle, as ye now know. Ye have no’ heard of me before? They write ballads about me. Let me wash yer hands for ye.”

Isobel felt her face flush. ‘Twas a servant’s job to wash a noble’s hands, the job of the ewerer. “I dunna think that would be appropriate,” she said. “I am merely a…guest here. And ye must ken I am no’ a noblewoman.”

“As if anyone would mistake ye for a noblewoman,” Lady Katherine said. “Rolph, Isobel is quite an
amusing
creature.”

Rolph stood and he towered over Isobel. He was tall, like Leith, but rather loose-jointed. “Come with me, Isobel. I insist.”

Isobel rose and followed him to a sideboard, where there was a linen towel and two bowls, one empty and one scented with water. Rolph slung the linen towel over his arm and lifted the lid on the bowl with the warm water in it. Then he picked up the other bowl.

They had everyone’s attention now. Men put down their cups of ale and women turned from their conversations to watch. Everyone except Leith. He seemed to be having a heated conversation with Errol.

Rolph knelt.

“What do ye?” Isobel said. “Please, get up,” she quietly beseeched. “It is I who should be washing yer hands.”

“Hold out yer hands.”

Isobel held out her palms, wanting this to be over with quickly. Rolph poured the warm, scented water over her hands so it fell into the empty bowl. Rolph stood and set the bowls down, taking the linen towel and softly drying Isobel’s hands.

Isobel’s face flamed as the fingers that caressed her own lingered a bit too long. “Leith told me what ye’ve been through,” he whispered so only she could hear. “I’m vera glad he pulled such a lovely creature from the fire, even if ye are a filthy MacKinnon. Now at least ye’ll be a bit cleaner.”

“Perhaps we should sit now,” Isobel said.

There were murmurs and whispers as he guided her back to the table, his hand on her small back. Leith and Errol were still talking animatedly and seemed to pay no attention to Rolph’s strange actions.

The meal progressed and Isobel was once again impressed by the array of foods and how deliciously they’d been prepared. Even the bashed neeps weren’t quite as runny this time.

Rolph took out a sharp dirk and buttered a slice of bread with it, his gaze intent upon her face. “Yer unusually pretty for a MacKinnon.” It was subtle, but Isobel noted that his jaw tensed at the mention of her clan. “I’ve killed many a meddling MacKinnon pig.” He stabbed the table with the point of his dirk and Isobel was startled.

Leith turned his attention to Rolph. “Now is no’ the time or place, uncle,” he said. “Isobel belongs to our clan now. Her ties with her own clan have been severed, as they tried to burn her at the stake.”

Rolph smiled maliciously. “But of course,
my laird
, yer right.” He touched one of Isobel’s curls and she pulled back from him. He let it go and laughed. “But we should discuss the Reivers and what’s to be done with the two we have in our dungeons now.”

Leith frowned and his eyes hardened. “’Tis a most vexing and complicated situation.”

“It surely is most vexing,” Rolph said, as he stood and addressed the people in the hall. He placed his rough palms on the table. “But not complicated. We intercepted a party of eleven reivers before they could make off with any of our cattle or prized horses.” There were cheers and raised cups all around.

“Most of the reivers are now dead,” Rolph continued. “Two escaped. And we captured two. One of the ones we captured killed one of our best men, Neilcail. The prisoners in our dungeons now await a special and decisive fate.”

A woman rose and started to wail, and Isobel presumed it was Neilcail’s wife. She was escorted from the hall by two ladies, who tried to calm her. But she was inconsolable. Isobel felt sorry for her, for it was a horrible way to learn of her husband’s death.

“The only course is to hang the prisoners tomorrow morning,” Rolph said. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, as they say.”

There were robust cheers once more.

Leith stood. “Enough! I will think on the matter tonight. There will be no hangings until I’ve thought it through.”

The men and women in the hall quieted. Rolph’s laughter echoed in the hall, sounding hollow. “What’s to think on, my laird? The enemies who squat in our dungeons now are
MacKinnons
. Who took part in killing one of our best men.” He glared at Isobel.

Isobel felt an icy tingle and looked to Leith.

“Perhaps we should bring the prisoners up from below and let them watch us eat while they are given no last meal before their necks are stretched tomorrow,” Rolph continued. “Better yet, let us serve them spurs on a plate while we dine on fine ham!”

Isobel felt the room spin and the voices of people talking seemed to stretch and thin.

“We dunna need to incite the clan by bringing the prisoners into the hall,” Leith hissed. “Ye’ve already killed most of their party in retaliation.” But it was too late, for two of Rolph’s scouts had already gone below to drag them up from the dungeons.

Isobel’s heart hammered in her chest, for two of her own clan members were below. Her former clan. Would she know them? She’d gotten very weak, expecting to have a vision, but she had not fainted.

Rolph looked at Leith now with open disgust. “The reivers thought they’d take a short, moonlit ride, make a quick plunder of Maclean cattle and prized horse flesh, and dash home later for breakfast. We lost a good man to a MacKinnon arrow. Leith, yer father Raghnall, my brother, would no’ have waited an hour before he saw the traitors hanged.”

Leith returned his gaze and did not look away. “Yer wrong about my father. Ye seem to have twisted memories of him. He was just and fair and did no’ resort to violence indiscriminately. He taught me it’s sometimes best to use yer head rather than yer sword arm or a hastily prepared noose.”

Rolph smirked. “There are things ye dunna know about yer father.”

Leith refused to be drawn away from his purpose. “I am laird now, and we will no’ act rashly like the very clan we despise. I will investigate the matter and think on it and whate’er I decide on the morrow will stand as the final ruling.”

Rolph bowed in mockery. “Of course, my laird. But perhaps the people should help us to decide the MacKinnons’ fate?”

It grew deathly silent in the hall as everyone waited for Leith’s response.

“The clan trusts my judgment Rolph. If anyone doesna, they are free to raise a challenge now.”

Though Rolph stood motionless, his body emanated tension, his hand dangerously close to his dagger, which was still stuck in the table. Finally he smiled and laughed but there was no mirth in it. “It doesna have to come to a duel with my own
beloved
nephew,” he said. “Besides, it wouldna be fair, as everyone knows I have many more seasons of fighting experience than ye have.” He sat down, pulled his dirk from the table, speared a piece of ham with it, and began to chew. “Besides, Logan was the more talented in swordplay. I dunna think ye would be much of a match.”

“Logan and I were well-matched in swordplay, uncle. ‘Tis true that he was slightly better than I, but ne’er let it be said that I backed down from a challenge. Yer sure ye dunna wish to demonstrate yer skills with me, here and now?”

“Nay, as I said, ‘twould be a waste of time. O’er too soon and humiliating for ye.”

“Oh, I doubt that uncle, I doubt that vera much.” Leith’s jaw was taught with tension and his voice a dangerous growl, but there was no more to be said.

Isobel made her way to Leith’s side, which Rolph seemed to find amusing, as two men brought the prisoners shuffling into the hall, their hands tied behind their backs and chains on their feet. Isobel gasped. One of the prisoners was no more than eleven summers. The other lifted his shaggy, tawny head and his deep green eyes fell on her. He had the audacity to smile a crooked smile. “Isobel, sweeting?” he said.

The other prisoner was
Rory O’Neill, who had once kissed her behind a rowdy tavern on a warm summer night….

15

The prisoners had the attention of everyone in the hall.

Their clothing was ragged and blood-stained, their faces dirt-smudged.

“
Sweeting?
” Leith said.
“Isobel, do ye ken the prisoners? Can ye confirm they are MacKinnon?”

Isobel stood and walked over to them. “Aye. They are both of clan MacKinnon.”

“To whom does the child belong?” Leith asked.

“Dunna be afraid Tomas,” Isobel said. The boy’s sky-blue eyes were wild with fear as he looked at her, uncomprehending. She turned back to Leith. “He is fatherless. He is the son of a woman named Margaret. A bare hill forms the whole of their possessions, and the sheep eat over it. He is a villager. Many of them are starving now, as the clan and the keep is in chaos. His father has been dead for three summers.”

Leith’s eyes narrowed. “And the other, the man who calls ye ‘Sweeting’?”

Isobel felt a flush creep into her cheeks and hoped that Leith would not notice. “He is also MacKinnon, but he was no’ part of the mob that tried to burn me at the stake. Neither was Tomas.”

Rory’s mouth gaped. “They tried to burn ye at the stake, Isobel?”

She nodded. She could not help herself and reached out to touch his cheek softly, in friendship. “Ye were probably the only true friend I e’er had, Rory. Wynda was no friend. She cheered with the others, eager to burn my flesh.”

Rolph stood, twirling his dagger point in the wood of the table. “It makes no difference whether they are starving. Or that the boy is fatherless. This man, Rory, and this boy, Tomas, are both thieves. What they did was inexcusable. Go ahead, ask the boy what happened. He willna say a word. He willna defend himself because
he canna.
He hasna said a word since we captured him and brought him here. And neither has this Rory. Their silence speaks to their guilt.”

Rory laughed with boldness. “And who would believe any tale we told ye now, here, deep inside the Maclean castle, surrounded by our enemies?”

Isobel was surprised at how much Rory had changed since she’d last seen him several summers ago. He had been a thin, gangly youth then, with the first dusting of gold beard on his square chin, and clumsy, eager hands. He had grown into a tall, muscular man. He was quite handsome, in a different way than Leith, his green eyes still devilish and defiant. His hair fell to his shoulders and was a tawny gold, his nose hawk-like, his lips firm. He had been away fighting and reiving for many months and they had rarely seen each other in that time.

Isobel pinned Rolph with a firm gaze. “The boy doesna speak because he canna hear, Rolph. He was born that way. He has ne’er heard the sound of the sea hitting the shore, or the melancholy cry of a gull, or a single word from someone’s mouth, whether scolding or praise. He couldna tell ye what happened because he canna hear. He doesna speak. He is frightened. He is skin and bones, a child, and he is starving.”

“The witch lies to save her own,” Rolph said. “And what of the man? What excuse do ye ha’e for him?”

“I no longer call the MacKinnon clan family,” Isobel seethed. “No’ after they tried to burn me at the stake. But what I say is the truth.”

“Isobel,” Rory said, “had I known ye were in trouble, I would ha’ve come riding back to rescue ye, to finish what we started behind the tavern.”

“I took care of that for ye,” Leith said, his eyes hard.

Rory had the audacity to smile again. “Took care of which, Maclean? Rescuing her or finishing what we started behind the tavern?”

Leith’s eyes were furious but his body only tensed imperceptibly.

“Deaf or no’, it does no’ excuse his actions!” Rolph bellowed. “The fact is, he is a murderer. He killed NeilCail. The boy killed NeilCail!”

“What were the circumstances?” Isobel asked. “Who besides Rolph knows what happened? Who can tell it? Who is brave enough to tell it?”

“I dunna need to justify myself to a witch, but I will tell it,” Rolph replied. “And no one will say different. We’d just come upon the reivers in the moonlight. NeilCail had his back turned and this boy fired an arrow straight into it, spilling his blood and killing him like only a coward would.”

The hall was silent. The boy did not know what was being said and he began to tremble.

Isobel put her hand on his arm to try to calm him and he started at her touch, a fringe of dark, curling hair falling over his forehead. Then he stared at Rolph and thrust his chin out, defiantly.

“That’s no’ how I saw it,” Rory said.

“Quiet, ye filthy MacKinnon swine!” Rolph said. “He may be a boy, but this is no’ a game of Tom Tiddler’s Ground. Tomorrow ye and the lad will be hanged by the neck. Ye must both pay for killing NeilCail.” Rolph made a gesture about his neck, something the boy could not fail to understand. Tears threatened to spill from his blue eyes as he shook his head back and forth vehemently.

“Can anyone confirm the events Rolph has described?” Leith asked. He stood tall on the dais, arms crossed over his chest, awaiting an answer.

Three men confirmed what Rolph had said. Then someone else stepped forward. He was young, maybe fifteen summers, and had black hair. He was just starting to grow the beard of a man. “I did no’ see it that way,” the boy said bravely, risking Rolph’s wrath.

“Go ahead, tell it the way
ye
saw it, Edgar,” Rolph said, his eyes glittering with malice.

“I will. I can see…from where ye were standing on the hill, Rolph, it may have looked as if the boy fired the arrow into NeilCail’s back. But he did no’. ‘Twas Neilcail who was ready to fire an arrow into
the boy’s
back as he was retreating. The boy turned to see what was happening, arrow raised as he was fleeing, and saw NeilCail holding ready with his bow. The boy followed his instincts for survival and let loose his arrow on NeilCail. I know because I pulled the arrow out of NeilCail’s chest. It did no’ enter through his back.”

There were murmurs about the hall.

“Did anyone else see Edgar pull the arrow from NeilCail’s chest?”

A man stepped forward. He was short and stocky, with a shock of thick, grey hair. “Aye. I saw it. Everyone else was involved in the fighting, killing the other reivers. It is as Edgar says. The arrow entered his chest, no’ his back.”

“I saw it too, and it didna enter his back,” Rory said.

“It would seem there are liars in our midst,” Rolph said. “And of course ye, Rufus, would side with yer nephew Edgar, the son of yer own sister. And ye, Rory, what ye say has no bearing here. Ye will hang in the morning and I will fashion the rope myself.”

Isobel feared for the MacKinnon boy’s life and for Rory’s. She knew how quickly fear and anger could spread, how eager and bloodthirsty her own clan had become to see her writhe in flames. In moments, a horrible suggestion had bloomed into action through an angry mob and she’d been lashed to a stake.

Despite her fear, Isobel spoke on the boy’s behalf and on Rory’s. “Ye canna hang them. There is disagreement about the events leading to NeilCail’s death. And ha’e ye considered that they are worth more to ye alive than dead?”

Rolph smirked. “Of course ye would say that, Isobel. Of course ye would defend yer own clan.”

“As I said before, I am no longer a MacKinnon. Nor am I a member of the Maclean clan. I am alone, simply a woman with the Sight, and I’ve sworn to aid Leith Maclean. He saved my life. Ye canna hang this man, or this
boy,
on the morrow.”

“Why no’?” Rolph demanded.

Errol stood now, and approached Isobel and the prisoners. Isobel wanted to flee from his overbearing presence but willed herself to be calm.

“Much as I hate to admit it, the witch is right.”

Isobel studied Errol’s face, looking for some sign of mockery. Yet he appeared serious.

Errol looked to Leith. “They are worth more to us alive than dead. Their clan is no’ strong right now but they are foolish enough to seek revenge. Knowing we have these two here as our prisoners should stave off further reiving and retaliation by the MacKinnons, at least until we negotiate his return. We ha’e the upper hand.”

Leith looked at the boy and at Rory and then at Isobel, and again she could not read his expression. It seemed that two men inhabited Leith’s body, the one who had kissed her with soft fervor and possessiveness and the other who was determined to keep his feelings hidden from the world.

“The courts will no’ be in session again until the spring,” Leith said. “It seems that justice has been fairly meted out already, as most of the reivers lie dead. There are conflicting accounts of last night’s events. And ‘tis true the man and the boy are worth more to us alive than dead.”

Isobel sighed with relief and the boy looked from her to Leith.

“But the main thing is that the Maclean doesna hang children. Mayhap the man deserves to hang but no’ the child.”

“Nay!” Isobel cried.

Leith’s heated amber gaze searched her face. “At any rate, there will be no hangings tomorrow until I sort this out. The boy will remain with us, and he will be made to earn his keep here. Perhaps when the courts reopen in the spring, we can figure out what to do with him. Returning him to a life of starvation will be cruel enough punishment. The man, this Rory, can be returned to the dungeons for the time being.”

Rolph frowned. “So now we have a Campbell whore, a MacKinnon witch, and MacKinnon murderers as our revered guests. Braw, my boy, well done!”

“Ye go too far,” Leith said, a dangerous glint in his topaz eyes.

“And ye dunna go far enough!” Rolph said, storming off.

Leith came to stand by Isobel, Tomas, and Rory. “Remove Tomas’ ropes and chains and dunna return him to the dungeons,” he said. “I’m assigning him to yer watch, Dugald and Ranulph. And give him some fresh clothing. He smells like a pile of rotting sheep dung.”

The other men nodded. The boy looked at Dugald’s towering form and worry creased his brow.

“See that the boy is made useful about the keep.”

Isobel tried to hide her anger. “I am grateful ye spared the boy’s life, but ye canna hang Rory!”

Leith’s eyes seemed hooded. “Dunna be grateful, Isobel, for the boy’s time here willna be easy.”

“And as for Rory?”

“What is he to ye, Isobel?”

She turned away from him and he gripped her chin softly and forced her to look at him. “Who is he to ye?”

“Aye, who am I to ye Isobel?” Rory asked. His eyes traveled leisurely over her body, from her breasts to her trim waist and hips and back to her face. “Ye’ve grown into a woman, Isobel, while I was away. Memories of that night behind the tavern got me through some vera rough nights during the past few years.”

Isobel blushed furiously. “I think mayhap ye should return him to the dungeons, for now,” Isobel said.

Leith frowned and Rory laughed, flashing wickedly white teeth. “Oh relax, honey, yer no’ the first maiden I seduced behind a tavern. But yer kiss was the one I remembered more than any other.”

Leith put his face dangerously close to Rory’s. “Take him below,” he said. “I will pay ye a personal visit later, Rory.”

All traces of amusement fled from Rory’s face. “Are ye his prisoner too, Isobel?”

“Nay, Rory…I am…he rescued me from the flames that night, just as they were about to set the kindling at my feet afire.”

Rory looked surprised but did not have time to respond as he was roughly hauled away by several Maclean men.

Tomas looked confused as his ropes and chains were removed.

“It was the right thing to do, sparing their lives,” Isobel said.

“I havena yet decided on Rory’s fate. I havena yet spared his life.”

“I know ye arena that cruel.”

“Ye dunna know me at all, Isobel. Ye are ready to believe the best of me for saving ye from that fire, but mayhap ye should no’. Ha’e ye ne’er heard the tales about me?”

“I dunna believe the tales. Sparing their lives is the
wise
decision, Highlander.”

“We shall see. ‘Tis true that in the Highlands, boys grow into men vera early. Tomas’ time here, until the spring, willna be easy.”

“Ye will no’ hang him….”

Leith did not say anything, his jaw set stubbornly.

“He is a friend, and I dunna ha’e any!”

“A friend? Does a friend take advantage of an innocent woman behind a tavern? Does a friend take an innocent against the walls of a bawdy establishment?”

“It wasna like that! And ‘tis no concern of yers. I….”

Leith’s jaw clenched. “Yer right. ‘Tis no concern of mine.” He eyes were hot with anger. He looked toward the narrow, darkened stone stairs, where Rolph’s tall form had retreated. “I fear my uncle has become a problem,” he said, changing the topic of conversation. “Logan was his favorite, ye see, from the time we were lads. Logan was just that much better than I was with a battle axe and sword, the better fighting man, and Ralph admired him for that. Rolph admires viciousness in a man above all else. He and my father were vera different. My father knew that no’ all of the Macleans most important achievements came by the sword and battle axe.