Amanda Scott (25 page)

“He does seem kind,” Mairi agreed. “But in truth, I think he has his eye on his cousin Ailsa. He is most protective of her, and teases her dreadfully.”

“That sounds more like a brother,” Elizabeth said. “Lovers do not tease, I hope. They should be more romantic.”

“Fetch that wet cloth, Lady Elizabeth,” Meg said sternly. “Ye can prattle all ye want when ye’ve settled yourself. Ye’ll be unhappy an that headache lingers and ye ha’ t’ take one o’ Agnes Beton’s powders.”

Elizabeth obeyed, lying on the bed with the damp cloth on her forehead and her eyes shut. She was dozing by the time Meg finished brushing Mairi’s hair.

“She’ll do better for a wee nap,” Meg said. “I’ll help ye into your dress.”

Mairi was soon ready, and leaving Meg to tend Elizabeth, she draped her crimson cloak over her arm and went to the great chamber. Finding no one else there yet, she remembered she had not yet checked with Ian to be sure that all was in readiness for her to hunt in the morning.

He knew what she required, of course, but knowing she would not rest comfortably until she had seen for herself that he had remembered all her trappings and equipment, she threw on her cloak and hurried out to the barn. On the way, she watched for Lachlan but saw no sign of him.

In the barn, she found Ian brushing the beautiful gray mare that was her special mount at Ardtornish. She preferred grays and would hunt riding a silvery gelding from the same sire and dam, and kept at Duart for her use.

“Is everything ready for tomorrow?” she asked.

“Aye, mistress. Your scarlet trappings ha’ been pressed out and polished and I’ve wound two fresh strings wi’ your bow and added fresh arrows t’ your quiver.”

She asked more questions, which he answered with the respect he always showed her, but as they talked, she realized something was amiss.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is the mare off her feed?”

“Nay, mistress, nor her brother neither. I went across earlier t’ look at him, and that lad seems as eager t’ hunt as ye be.”

“Good, for I mean to show certain people that a woman can shoot an arrow as well from horseback as she can standing still.”

“Aye, sure, ye’ve a fine eye for a target, mistress,” Ian said morosely.

“Ian, what is it? Tell me before I lose my patience!”

“’Tis only that I fear ye’ll be disappointed in the company,” the lad said reluctantly, looking wretched.

“Why should I be?” she demanded. “This court is as merry as any his grace has held. The hunt tomorrow should be wonderful.”

“Some fear trouble may be brewing,” Ian said lamely.

“Who would dare stir such a rumor?”

“I dinna ken who stirs them,” he said hastily. “I just thought ye should ken that everyone may not hunt. I ken fine that ye’ve a strong liking for Lachlan Lubanach and Hector Reaganach.”

“Surely you do not believe that he—that is, that
they
will stay away!”

“I did hear someone say that several people may, is all.”

“Pooh,” Mairi said. “They are neither of them such cowards. Furthermore, no one would disdain an invitation to his grace’s tinchal, or dare to cause trouble on such a grand occasion.”

“That be true, too, my lady,” Ian agreed, looking miserable.

She wanted to shake him, believing he knew more than he was telling her, but his concern seemed absurd. Nonetheless, instead of returning to the laird’s tower, she went directly to the great hall, where she found difficulty even pretending to be patient while she waited for Lachlan.

“You do both mean to hunt with us tomorrow, do you not?” she demanded without ceremony the moment he came in with his brother.

She discerned a flash of annoyance before he smiled in his usual warm way and said quietly, “You may be sure we will, sweetheart. We’d not miss such grand entertainment for anything. Why do you ask?”

“I just wanted to be sure,” she said, relieved. “I don’t want anything to spoil the day.”

“Nay, we’ll see to that,” he said, adding lightly, “Should you be here alone before your parents arrive?”

“Do you think to issue commands to me, sir?”

He glanced at his brother, whose eyebrows soared upward, giving him a most comical appearance.

Lachlan said, “I’ve acknowledged that I have no right to command you, lass. I express concern only because I would counsel against angering his grace or your lady mother now—or ever, come to that.”

“You need not fear they will be angry with me merely for coming to the great hall ahead of them, sir.” She spoke calmly, but his tendency to issue orders to her recalled the day Ranald had said her husband would teach her obedience after she was wed. Ranald had been talking about Alasdair Stewart, of course, not Lachlan Lubanach. Nevertheless, the memory was discomfiting.

As if he were reading her mind, Lachlan said, “A gillie who waited on me said he had heard earlier that Alasdair Stewart might arrive in time for the hunt. Do you ken aught of his coming, lass?”

“Nay, I do not,” she said. Her reply was curt, so she was not surprised when he frowned. Let him frown, she thought. He should know better than to irritate her. That was no way to woo a woman.

“Hector, I would discover more about Alasdair Stewart’s plans,” he said.

“I’ll have a word with the lads.” Hector bowed to Mairi as he took his leave.

“Is that how you do it?” she demanded. “You just tell him to find out what you want to know! It must be nice to play the lord over your elder brother.”

“Will you take a turn about the room with me, sweetheart? I warrant we should not stand here talking, lest we draw unwanted attention, but I’m sure no one will think ill of me for merely escorting you to the high table.”

“We have already talked overlong, I think,” she said coolly.

He held out his arm, his eyes dancing now in the way she found most difficult to resist. “I have vexed you,” he said. “That much is plain, but I am not certain what I said or did that came amiss.”

She raised her chin, but when he continued to twinkle at her, she finally put her hand on his arm. The great hall, like the one at Finlaggan, had a row of columns six feet from each long wall to support the roof and create a walkway. Lachlan escorted her up the near one to the dais, then bowed and walked away.

As she slipped off her cloak and draped it over her stool, she did not know whether she was angry or amused, but she did know better than to stare at his back. Therefore, she greeted Ranald’s approach with so much enthusiasm that he gave her an odd look. Remembering what Lachlan had said, she asked Ranald if Alasdair intended to join them for the hunt.

“As he is not here now, lass, I doubt it,” Ranald said. “His grace has not mentioned him, at all events. I think he is more interested in knowing if John Og’s wee son has been born yet.”

“I did expect to hear from them by now,” Mairi admitted. “Do you think something may have gone amiss?”

“Only that John Og has long since received more advice than he wants,” Ranald said, chuckling. “When our lady mother sent her last message to them, your Meg pressed her to tell him to put a spoonful of salt in the bairn’s mouth as soon as it cries to safeguard him from the fairies. I told her I thought a spoonful of brogac would be more to the taste of any son born to John Og.”

Mairi laughed, but as she did, she saw Lachlan and Hector talking to MacDougall of Dunstaffnage and Fiona. Her fingers curled, but she forced herself to relax. She would not behave like a child. Instead, when her mother and father stepped onto the dais, she asked Margaret if she might invite Fiona to sit beside her for the meal. Receiving permission, she stepped down to relay the invitation to Fiona, speaking warmly to MacDougall and Hector and politely to the others in their circle before returning to the dais with Fiona.

“Everyone is looking forward to the hunt tomorrow,” Fiona said as she gazed out over the lower hall. “Will you think me childish if I own that I’m looking forward much more to the Easter feast on Sunday?”

Grinning, Mairi assured her that she, too, looked forward to the feast, but she knew that Fiona, denied meat throughout Lent, hungered for it more than she did. And in truth, she was wishing she could see what Lachlan was doing.

Guests lined both sides of the high table, but he sat at the men’s end on the same side as she did, so she could not see him. She hoped they could exchange at least a few words afterward, but when the meal ended, Lady Margaret stood, saying matter-of-factly, “You and Elizabeth will need plenty of sleep tonight to last the day tomorrow, so you should return to your chamber now. Pray tell your sister, dearling.”

Agreement being the only acceptable response, Mairi ignored a sympathetic look from Fiona as they exchanged good nights. Standing and concealing her movements as well as she could with her skirt, she slipped the cloak, on which she had been sitting, off the stool to the floor. Then, chatting politely with the woman who had sat to Fiona’s left, she nudged it underneath the long linen tablecloth with one foot before going obediently to collect Elizabeth.

She hoped neither Fiona nor the woman beside her had seen her drop it, and that neither would mention it if she had, but with so little time, she had known no other way to provide an excuse to return. The men would linger for hours, and she wanted to talk with Lachlan, because their earlier conversation and the stiff way in which they had parted had disturbed her. She did not want to be at outs with him.

As it was, she had to wait until Lady Margaret and her women had retired to the inner chamber, because Mairi knew her ladyship would just tell her to send a gillie to fetch the cloak.

At last, though, as Meg helped Elizabeth prepare for bed, Mairi exclaimed, “Faith, but I’ve left my red cloak in the hall and I’ll want it in the morning. I’ll just run and fetch it.”

Meg shot her a quizzical look, but Mairi shot out the door before the woman could stop her. Hurrying downstairs, she saw as she crossed the courtyard that the great hall door stood open, the dark bulk of the building framing light from within.

A few torches lit the yard, two flanking the doorway, and she saw no one else as she approached. When she was a few feet away, she heard a voice from inside over the hum of general conversation. Recognizing it as Lachlan’s but unable to catch his exact words, she increased her pace.

Then Hector spoke as a lull fell in the murmur behind them, and she heard him clearly: “So your plan marches smoothly withal, but do you still believe in the necessity of building Gillean wealth and power by any means you can?”

“Things march, certainly, but we’ll not discuss that topic here, if you please.”

Mairi held her breath, hoping Hector would ignore the request.

He did, saying sardonically, “I understand your desire for discretion, my lad, but that wily brain of yours has apparently neglected to consider one vital detail.”

“And what detail is that?”

“That rather than give you his daughter, MacDonald might simply hang you or cast you off that rock they call
Creag na Corp
.”

“Perhaps, but you’ll concede that the prize is worth the risk.”

Numb with shock, but terrified of discovery, Mairi whisked herself around the corner of the building.

Wealth and power? Could that be all she meant to him?

Until that moment, she had believed he loved her as she had come to love him, but Hector knew his feelings if anyone did, and despite Lachlan’s comment about the prize being worth the risk, he had not denied Hector’s words.

Chapter 14

A
s soon as the yard was empty again, Mairi hurried back to the laird’s tower, forgetting her cloak until she reached her bedchamber to find Meg awaiting her.

“Where’s your cloak, then?”

“I . . . I didn’t get it after all.” Her throat ached, but when Meg looked skeptical, she added, “I’ll send someone to fetch it in the morning.”

“Where’d ye leave it, then?”

“I was sitting on it and . . .” She stopped, unable to think of anything to say that would not be an outright lie. “It . . . it might have slipped to the floor.”

“I’ll send a gillie t’ fetch it straightaway,” Meg said, eyeing her quizzically. “Ye should ha’ asked me instead o’ flying out in such a grand rush.”

Unable to trust her roiling emotions any longer, Mairi simply nodded and let Meg prepare her for bed. When Elizabeth seemed disposed to chat after Meg left, Mairi said she wanted to sleep and turned her back.

She awoke to a rattle of bed curtains and candle glow, feeling as if someone had put sand in her eyes. She could scarcely remember sleeping, for she had spent much of the night trying to imagine anything the conversation between Lachlan and Hector might have meant other than the obvious.

Every effort met with failure. Tears had welled into her eyes from time to time, but she firmly suppressed them. She hated to cry, and if she could avoid it, was determined to let no man’s behavior turn her into a watering pot.

Accepting his betrayal was impossible. Every fiber of her being resisted it, but parts of her flatly rejected it, responding instead to the plain fact that she was thinking of him. Disconcerting memories interjected themselves—memories of the way he had held her, the way he touched her and kissed her, of how easily he could make her body hum, and of the night he had made her his own. In the end, the result was emotional, but the chief emotion was anger.

“Hurry up, Mairi,” Elizabeth exclaimed. “You know that our lady mother will not allow us to keep his grace waiting on this of all days.”

“Ye look sick,” Meg said bluntly. “Mayhap ye should stay abed. I can send for Agnes Beton t’ give ye a potion that will put ye back t’ sleep.”

“I’m fine,” Mairi said curtly. When the other two gaped at her, she added hastily, “I beg your pardon. I did not sleep well, that’s all, but I’ll hurry.”

She dressed hurriedly, donned the crimson cloak that Meg held ready for her, and went downstairs with Elizabeth to find the others ready and waiting in the courtyard. Her ladyship’s views on dallying were well known, and although MacDonald would willingly have arranged for any number of boats to transport stragglers across the Sound, no one wanted to disappoint him by tarrying.