Angel of Skye (26 page)

“Will you have me back if things don’t work out?”

“This will always be your home, Fiona,” the prioress asserted, taking hold of the young woman’s arms and looking into her face. “You will always be our beloved angel. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Fiona hugged the woman tightly to her again as the tears began to course down her face.

The two stood in silence, each thinking of the past they had shared, of the moments of joy, and of what each had learned from the other. The prioress could still remember the wild, little kelpie running the countryside, skirts pulled up to her scratched and bruised knees, her hair flying behind, with a satchel sometimes bigger than her on her shoulder. And she remembered the young girl sitting by her falcons’ empty mews the day Fiona had let them all loose. The prioress smiled, remembering the lass sitting there, fearful and yet brave in the face of certain punishment, but with a constant belief that she had done the right thing.

Fiona’s thoughts, too, dwelled on memories of the past. Of the many times when she had lain awake in her bed, banished from dinner and in disgrace for some disturbance she had caused, pretending to be asleep when the prioress would come to her, as she always did, with a plate of food and a gentle word of forgiveness. She thought of the older woman’s constant reminders of the things to be concerned with in the wicked world outside the Priory gates, all the while encouraging Fiona to experience what she could and to apply all that she was learning.

The prioress patted Fiona’s back and took her by the hands. The nun cocked an eyebrow at her.

“But don’t think these mainlanders are going to rush you off before I give you one last counseling session.”

Fiona smiled at the prioress through misty eyes and obediently followed her across the room, sitting in one of two chairs by the fireplace.

“I want you to know, Fiona,” the prioress began, leaning forward and taking her hand again. “I have no fear that you will conduct yourself in a manner befitting the blood that flows in your veins.”

“M’lady, I am the same person,” Fiona began. She was uncomfortable about the reference to her parentage.

The prioress silenced her with a look and a squeeze of Fiona’s hand for emphasis.

“You can’t change who you are, child, but what I fear is this unknown past that you are riding into. You have a great, open, and loving heart. But don’t trust anyone, Fiona. There was a reason why your mother wanted to send you far away to the poet Henryson. The ones that hurt her, the ones she feared, they could still be there to hurt you.”

“Is there anything else that you know about that time, about my mother? Was there anyone else whom I could look to for help?”

The prioress thought for a moment. She wanted to give Fiona any information that might help her, but everything she had learned over the years was secondhand, gleaned from a procession of travelers and friends.

“Of course, there is always Lord Alec and his family. Alexander Macpherson, his father, is a good and decent man, Fiona. But he’ll not be at court to help you.” The prioress searched her memory. “I know very little about your uncle, Lord Gray, but there is someone else who could be a good friend.”

“Who, m’lady?” Fiona looked at the nun expectantly. She had a feeling she would be needing all the allies she could find to vindicate her mother’s reputation.

“Lord Huntly. The man to whom I sent word of your presence here. You should know this, Fiona. Because your half-brother, the king, is only a bairn, all the power in Scotland lies in the hands of a group of nobles...headed by Lord Huntly. He is the most influential man at court. More powerful than the queen. And though he has already done you great service, I believe he will do more if you ask him.”

“Why, prioress?” Fiona asked. “What is his interest in me?”

“From what I have heard, Lord Huntly was...well, an ardent suitor of your mother’s.”

“Do you mean he wanted my mother’s hand?”

“Aye, Fiona. I mean he was madly in love with her. He made no secret of it, and he always said he would someday win her back.”

“But he never did.”

“Nay, lass. He never did.”

There I saw Nature present her a gown

Rich to behold and noble of renown,

Of every hue under heaven...

—William Dunbar “
The Goldyn Targe
”

Familiarity breeds contentment, Alec thought.

For the first few days, Fiona had been complaisant enough. In fact, she’d been better than he’d expected—following the lead, staying to herself, occasionally exchanging a word or two with Robert. And Alec had been at peace.

Then, starting a second week in the saddle, she’d become restless and agitated. Around mid-morning today, she’d galloped to the front of the line, where she and Alec had argued like tinkers over the fact that she’d wanted to ride in front with him. In too brusque a tone, Alec had adamantly refused, explaining the dangers, the difficulty of protecting her there.

But Fiona hadn’t listened. When Alec had demanded that she get back, she’d called him names. Finally, after he’d threatened to gag her and tie her to her horse, she’d called him a bully and had marched back to the middle of the pack. She had ignored him since.

He missed her harassment.

Alec knew his disposition had gone downhill from the moment the group had left the Priory gates. All along the way there had been people waiting for them as they went by; crofters and fishermen, MacLeods and MacDonalds, even lepers had come out to wish her farewell. At every turn there had been an emotional outpouring for her. But his response to this attention had grown progressively sullen. After all, for the safety of all involved, he had wanted to leave the island covertly, without too many knowing which way they planned to travel. But with everyone in Skye seeming to know about their route, Alec was certain that the whole of Scotland also knew.

It certainly appeared that he’d been correct. After crossing to the mainland at Kyle of Lochalsh, they had been surprised by a crowd of well-wishers who had gathered at the dock. But the murmurs of support that went through the throng were directed not at a king’s daughter. Alec had heard the voices, and he’d heard the word “angel” over and over, like a chant. Like a prayer.

But he had worried as they’d crowded close around her—reaching out, touching her. He knew that his fellow Highlanders’ belief in the supernatural was deeply rooted and strong. And Fiona was a living incarnation of that faith. He now knew that her deeds had long ago become legendary in this part of the country and that it was only natural for news of her real identity to travel ahead of them like a brushfire across a moor.

But he could not risk future scenes like this. She had no fear. No reservation. In every instance, despite Alec’s objection, Fiona had dismounted and joined the peasants. It was amazing how the people poured their hearts out to her and how she responded. She was all compassion and kindness. All generosity and tenderness. Alec glowed inwardly with a sense of pride looking on her, but he forced himself to focus on his task. Her safety was at stake.

When had her safety not been on his mind? Concerns had been dogging him the entire trip, but not without good reason. The attack on Fiona had not been a matter of her simply being an available victim for the outlaws.

Not long after Neil MacLeod had left Skye, a nagging idea had occurred to Alec. It was at least possible that Neil MacLeod himself had instigated the attack on Fiona. But Neil was not a thinking man. He followed orders, and that bothered Alec even more. And the gold they had discovered on the dead men after the attack had only confirmed Alec’s theory.

There were powers out there that wanted her destroyed. The potential enemies and the list of motives were plentiful, and scattered across Scotland. There was Kathryn who, by having Fiona alive, would lose Drummond Castle and all that went with it. Then there were the men that had killed Fiona’s mother. It was very possible they were still alive. Would Fiona be able to recognize them? While she’d been on Skye, after the attack, Alec had made certain that she was guarded and watched all the time. But here in the open countryside, it was a different story.

So as they continued, he had pushed them to travel at a breakneck pace. They had ridden late into the darkness each night, and started out early, sleeping and stopping for only the hours needed to rest themselves and the horses. Alec had planned it so they would skirt villages when they could, following the mountains and the lochs east into the Highlands and finally crossing Loch Ness where it narrowed beneath the impressive profile of Ben Nevis.

Now they were only two days’ ride away from Benmore Castle, and Alec was all too aware of the weary but stalwart face of Fiona all day. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize her health by pushing too hard.

The warriors and the squires were busy setting up camp on the edge of the shimmering Loch Lochy. Above them, a bluff was reflecting the golden light of the descending sun. Alec had been delighted to see the bluff and the ruined stone tower perched on top of it, for this landmark was familiar ground. For the first time since they’d left the Isle of Skye, Alec was beginning to feel at ease.

Casting his eye around the bustling groups of men and horses, he searched for his sparring partner. This journey was taking forever, as far as Alec was concerned. So many nights staring up at the starlit sky, he’d wanted to go to her. Having her so close and yet so unreachable was becoming more intolerable with each passing day. And night.

But he’d forced himself to stay away, refusing to give in to longing on his part that might compromise her future.

Tonight, looking around him, he decided enough was enough. He ached for her company, for her barbed wit, for the pleasure of just being near her. That is, if she’d consent to even talk to him.

David was sitting on a fallen tree by the loch, eating his evening ration of oat cakes and dried meat with Robert. As Alec approached, the two looked up at him with a puzzled look on their faces.

“Well, where is our serene little dove?” Alec asked with a smile. “Out upbraiding the warriors for their mistreatment of the horses?”

They stared at him in silence for a moment, the drinking cup en route to Robert’s mouth frozen in his hand.

“She’s not with you?” David blurted out, leaping to his feet.

Alec looked hard at the two.

“Why would she be with me?”

“M’lord, she left a half hour ago,” Robert blurted out.

“Aye,” David broke in. “Robert told her you knew the connection between that tower up there and the late king.”

“She was asking...she said she was going to find out more,” Robert stammered.

“We thought she was going to ask you...”

Alec turned quickly, glancing up the bluff at the stone pile at the top.

“I’ll go after her,” he said. “There’s no telling what she might run into out here after the sun goes down. We don’t want to put any lions or wolves in any unnecessary danger.”

“Do you want me to come along?” David asked. “For safety’s sake?”

“Nay,” Alec said, patting the sword at his side. “I’m more heavily armed than she.”

Striding to where Robert had tethered Ebon, Alec leaped onto the bare back of the steed.

“Lord Alec,” David called walking up and tossing the rider a hastily assembled packet of food and drink. “She may be more amenable to coming back with you if you’re willing to take the time and show her the tower.”

Alec held the packet up quizzically. “And what is this for, bribery?”

They both laughed. Then, wheeling the horse toward the steep and winding trail leading to the summit, Alec disappeared into the lengthening shadows.

Leaving the circuitous route the trail was following, Fiona directed her steps onto the steeper, more rugged path up the cliff face. Warm from the climb, Fiona had draped her cloak over one shoulder. She shook her hair free of its braid as she peered up at her goal. As she drew nearer and nearer to the top, she grew too caught up in her own excitement to pay any attention to the sun descending behind her. The old trail she was following was nearly obliterated by the leaves, briars, and ferns that clung to the rocky face of the bluff. When she felt the hem of her dress catch on an encroaching branch, Fiona hiked her skirt up, tucking the hem into the belt encircling her waist.

The sound of falling water came from somewhere above, and Fiona continued the final leg of her sojourn. The evening was warm, and the air on her legs felt good as she climbed.

Reaching a small gorge just below the summit, Fiona found herself facing a shallow and rocky pool surrounded by clumps of birch and green ferns. She breathed the fresh coolness of the air and dropped to her knees beside the clear, burbling water. Swinging her legs around, she removed her shoes and dipped her dusty feet into the cold, spring-fed pool with a slight shiver.

Fiona glanced up past the small waterfall to the tower, just a few yards above her. She’d made it, and a sense of satisfaction swept through her. There was no one around, and the quiet security of the glen offered the moment of peace Fiona had sought.

Tossing her cloak and shoes onto the bank, the young woman unlaced the top of her dress. Cupping the water with her hands, she began to wash the bare skin of her legs and her arms. Then she stopped and straightened up.

This is ridiculous, she thought, looking about her again. Wading to the bank, Fiona unfastened the belt that held the dagger Alec had given her. Then she quickly stripped off the soft wool dress, pulling her arms free and pushing the garment down over her hips. Standing in the glen in her chemise, she felt a sudden thrill of liberation as the warm breeze caressed her naked shoulders. Walking back into the pool, Fiona made her way into the deeper area beneath the falling water and submerged her shivering body in the cleansing spring-fed currents.

Surfacing, Fiona felt the gooseflesh rise at the cold shock of the water, but she enjoyed the sensation. It was a refreshing pause from the hot and demanding days in the saddle and from the strenuous climb. She swam back and forth in the confined space, wondering whether her absence had been discovered yet by those below.