Amanda Scott (21 page)

Lachlan had warned her afterward that she would bleed, and the pain she felt had made her sure he must be right, but she had nearly leaped out of her skin when he had said he would clean her himself. Once again he proved to be the most persuasive man she had ever met, and despite her initial resistance, she had let him, feeling no surprise whatsoever when he produced a large kerchief for the purpose.

Astonishingly, his touch had set fire again to her body, and remembering now, she readjusted her opinion. Some parts of lovemaking were pleasant, particularly so. She wondered if Freya could possibly have experienced those things and not mentioned them. Mayhap John Og was not as skilled as Lachlan.

She pondered the latter’s skill for a moment, and the next thing she knew it was morning and Meg was drawing back the bed curtains to waken them, their bed robes in her hand. As Mairi slipped hers on and swung her feet out of the bed, she glanced at her kirtle on its peg to reassure herself that it had not become covered with grass or leaves on Council Isle. It was dusty around the hem, but although she did not recall its being so before her adventure, such a state was not unusual enough to stir her maid’s curiosity.

She moved to the washstand as Elizabeth jumped out of bed and hurried to the garderobe, and was scrubbing her face when, behind her, she heard Meg say, “Why, what’s this then? I didna see it last night or I’d ha’ taken it down t’ soak.”

Lowering the wet cloth, she turned to see Meg examining the hem of the kirtle. “What is it?” Mairi asked, amazed that she sounded normal.

“A stain here at the hem.” Meg shook her head. “I must be getting old, that’s all. I’ll see to it this afternoon, mistress. I ken well ye like t’ wear this kirtle.”

Mairi nodded, saying nothing, not trusting her voice, because Meg was examining the stain more closely.

“It looks like blood,” she said, “but ’tis an odd place t’ find blood.”

Tempted to say she had somehow scratched herself, Mairi kept silent.

Meg shrugged, pulled the kirtle off the peg, and tucked it under her arm. “I’ll just fetch Lady Elizabeth’s tunic for her,” she said. “I’ve put your things on the bed, mistress. If ye’ll slip on your shift, I’ll help ye wi’ your lacing and all.”

Exhaling with relief, Mairi obeyed and by the time Elizabeth returned, she was dressed and seated on the stool, letting Meg arrange her hair.

In the great chamber after prayers, they discovered that their father had broken his fast and had already gone to begin the final meeting of the council.

“Will everyone leave today, madam?” Mairi asked Lady Margaret when they had taken their places at the table.

“Many, I expect, but I shouldn’t think that all of them will.”

“Do we know yet who means to stay?”

Her mother’s well-plucked eyebrows rose. “Whoever wishes to do so will stay, Mairi. Surely, you know that our laws of hospitality demand as much.”

“Yes, madam, of course,” she said hastily. “I was just curious.”

The word slipped out without thought, and she winced when she heard it.

Lady Margaret’s benevolent expression vanished and with ominous calm she said, “Curiosity is a poor excuse for incivility.”

“Yes, madam. I beg your pardon.”

“It displeases me when you speak so heedlessly.”

“Yes, madam.” She dared say no more, because Margaret might forbid her to leave the residence if she believed such punishment would teach her a good lesson.

After a tense silence, her mother said, “Elizabeth, when you finish, fetch your embroidery, and I will show you that stitch you asked me about yestereve.”

The moment of danger past, Mairi soon escaped, but she gained nothing by it. The only people she saw were servants, because everyone else was apparently attending the final council meeting. She considered joining them but feared she would find it impossible to keep her gaze from Lachlan and thus betray to others exactly what had happened. Therefore, she turned to her usual duties, although thoughts of him continued to hold her mind captive.

In daylight, especially after her mother’s rebuke, the events of the previous night loomed unnaturally large and pricked her conscience sorely. Nevertheless, she had only to remember his touch on her hand, her shoulder, or her breast, to re-create echoes of the sensations he had stirred.

She wanted to see him, to reassure herself that he honestly cared for her, wanted to marry her, and believed he would win her. That she loved him would not weigh with her father, she knew, because noble marriages were too important to leave to any lady’s predilections. An heiress, particularly one of so powerful a father, was but a pawn for him to play as he thought best.

She knew that her father loved her and that she was important to him, but her importance was the same as Lady Margaret’s to Robert the Steward. The primary value of any powerful man’s daughter was that he could use her to create or strengthen advantageous alliances.

Marjory’s wedding to Roderic Macleod at Ardtornish had been so grand an event that everyone of note in the Isles and on the coastal mainland had come, their galleys festively decorated with banners, ribbons, and gilt. Even Robert the Steward had attended, and those unable to do so knew soon afterward that the ceremony had taken place, because beacon fires had burned from castle to castle to announce it. Folks had talked about that wedding for a full twelvemonth afterward.

Mairi expected signal fires and banners for her wedding, too, and if she married Lachlan instead of Alasdair, she would not have to leave the Isles. Also, she would enjoy many more nights like the previous one.

The more she thought about Lachlan, the more she feared he could not win her. By the time the Council of the Isles adjourned to the great hall for their final midday meal, her eagerness to see him had changed to anxiety for their future.

When she entered the great hall to find Sir Ian MacSporran at the place beside hers, she searched for Lachlan, seeing him again at the far end of what would usually be the gentlemen’s side, with Niall beside him. Neither looked her way, but as she gazed at Lachlan, Niall shifted his disapproving gaze to her.

Sighing, she looked away. Unless the Fates intervened, she would have no opportunity to exchange a word with Lachlan Lubanach until after they had dined.

The meal seemed endless. She liked Ian MacSporran, who was always patient with questions about fiscal matters, but had anyone asked later what they had discussed, she could not have recalled.

The company was boisterous, even celebratory, as if they had achieved great things, but she knew their joy was more likely due to the council meeting’s having ended without major altercation. It occurred to her that she knew little of what they had done, which was unusual, since she took great interest in her father’s affairs and generally wheedled as much information from him and from others as she could.

But since her return to Finlaggan, other than her efforts to identify Elma’s killer, she had spared thought for little other than Lachlan the Wily. He had bewitched her, and she wondered uneasily if, having done so, he would vanish as mischievous fairies and other wee folk always did after wreaking their mischief. The thought depressed her, but she could not seem to banish it from her mind.

When the meal ended and Lady Margaret stood to leave, Mairi did as well, her depression deepening at the fear that she might not get to exchange another word with him. She certainly dared not turn and walk to the end of the table where he stood with Niall and other men, to demand speech with him. To do so would incite just the sort of scandal that MacDonald had warned her to avoid.

As she followed her mother in the opposite direction, she held her head high, determined that no one should guess her disappointment.

Elizabeth and Lady Margaret’s women fell in behind her, and followed her ladyship outside. At the foot of the steps, Mairi paused to inhale the fresh air, willing herself to find a more appropriate subject to occupy her thoughts, when a familiar voice spoke from behind her.

“Your ladyship, pray forgive us for racing after you and accosting you so discourteously, but we would sadly disgrace ourselves did we fail to take leave of you after your many kindnesses to us, and I’m told that the horses his grace has provided to take us to Askaig await us even now in the stable enclosure.”

Feeling instant heat in her cheeks at the sound of Lachlan’s voice, she turned with a smile, only to realize that he had spoken to her mother.

Lady Margaret said, “’Tis no discourtesy, sir. We are pleased that you and Hector Reaganach would not leave without bidding us farewell.”

“We thank you most sincerely for your gracious hospitality,” Lachlan said, bowing deeply, as did Hector beside him. “We have much enjoyed our stay.”

He was looking past Mairi at her mother as he spoke, and although she knew courtesy demanded that he keep his eyes on his hostess, she could not help feeling neglected. Catching Hector’s gaze, and detecting a teasing twinkle in his eyes very like his brother’s, she knew she was failing to hide her feelings. Accordingly, she smiled at him, only to catch a reproachful look from Lachlan when she did. That look, however, did much to warm her spirits again.

Her mother was assuring both brothers that they would always be welcome at Finlaggan, and their father as well.

When she finished speaking, before Lachlan could reply, Mairi said casually, “Do you mean to join his grace’s court when he removes to Ardtornish, sir?”

“Aye, my lady, we do,” Lachlan said with another bow. “Seil lies near there, as you know, and his grace has kindly invited us to take part in his great Easter tinchal. I neglected to ask him, however, if the ladies of his court customarily hunt the deer along with the gentlemen.”

Lady Margaret said, “We do, sir, if the weather is fair.”

“Which means only that the sky must not be weeping and grumbling,” Mairi said. “Last year it dripped all day, but that did not stop us, and since the deer do not mind the wet, we managed to take two and enjoyed a fine, successful hunt.”

They exchanged a few more platitudes before Lady Margaret bade the two gentlemen farewell and Mairi had, perforce, to walk away with her.

No further opportunity arose to speak to him, because the brothers departed at once, and although Finlaggan did not see the last of its guests for three more days, the place seemed empty without the sons of Gillean.

Nevertheless, Mairi found much to keep her busy, because less than a fortnight remained before the household would remove to Ardtornish until midsummer. Ranald would return briefly to Dunyvaig, and Godfrey to Kilchoman, but they had servants aplenty to see to their packing.

With her own belongings to see to and her usual duties as well, the time passed more quickly than she had expected, until at last the evening before their departure arrived. After supper, she bade farewell to her particular friends among the household staff who would not go with them. A considerable number would remain, since administrative matters required constant attention, but Niall, Ian MacSporran, and many of their minions would go, as would Agnes Beton. As skilled as she was with herbs and potions, she always traveled with the family.

Thinking of the herb woman reminded Mairi that she had not looked in on her in nearly a sennight. Agnes had recovered from her illness by then, but recalling that she had said her son, Ewan, would be home from Kilchoman before they left for the north, Mairi decided to pay her a visit.

Dusk was already darkening to night when Ewan opened the cottage door and she entered with the customary blessing for everyone inside.

“God bless ye, too, m’lady,” Agnes said, rising with much of her usual energy to greet her. ’Tis kind o’ ye t’ come.”

“I wanted to assure myself that you are well enough to travel,” Mairi said.

“Och, aye, I’m me old self again.”

“Will you be going, too, Ewan?”

“Nay, mistress, there be plenty o’ work needs doing here at Finlaggan, so I’ll bide in the cottage and look after me mam’s herb garden and all.”

“Ha’ ye learned aught more about our Elma, mistress?” Agnes asked.

“Nothing helpful, I’m afraid.”

Ewan said quietly, “I’m thinking now that ’twere no accident, mistress. She were too high on the sand for the sea t’ ha’ put her there.”

“I agree, Ewan. Can you tell me more about Gil Dowell, Shim MacVey, and Fin MacHugh? I don’t know any of them well.”

He frowned. “What manner o’ thing d’ye want t’ ken?”

“Whatever you can tell me. I’m particularly curious about how they came to mistake the day they saw Ian Burk talking with your cousin on the causeway.”

“Sakes, mistress, none o’ us recalls the order o’ things that day. ’Tweren’t till ye said Ian left afore dawn that I even recalled he’d gone t’ Dunyvaig.”

“Well, do either of you have any idea what Elma was doing that day?”

The two looked helplessly at each other.

Agnes said, “Days seem alike after a time, mistress. Like as not, she helped make beds, particularly them o’ the high steward and purse keeper, and straightened their quarters, like every day, but some do say she left soon after the midday meal.”

“What about the witnesses?” Mairi asked. “Do you know what any of them were doing that day?”

“Och, aye, I ken that fine,” Ewan said. “There were wi’ me at Kilchoman.”

“But if that is true, they must know they saw Elma after she spoke to Ian. They all said they had not seen her again after that, but she took Mellis’s dinner out to him just before Lord Godfrey’s party departed that day.”

“Aye, well, they must ha’ forgot about that,” Ewan said.

Taking her leave soon afterward, Mairi mulled over what they had said. That the men had forgotten seeing Elma was possible, she decided, but that one or all of them had lied was just as likely, if not more so.

Returning, she detoured through the kitchen to bid farewell to members of the staff who were staying, and had stepped into the buttery when she heard MacDonald’s voice from the great hall. He sounded weary and annoyed, so she paused, wondering if she should proceed or avoid possibly vexing him further by returning through the kitchen to the courtyard.