Highland Wolf (3 page)

Opening the wide heavy door that led to the outside, James welcomed the flood of light caused by an unusually sunny day. The gardens behind the kitchen had already been planted and he inhaled deeply of the smell of the still damp laundry waving gently on the lines it had been hung from. He had never really taken much notice of such things before, but now they filled him with a sense of homecoming and made him even more determined to wrest hold of Dunncraig from Donnell MacKay’s greedy hands. This was his home and he should never have allowed himself to be driven away.

“Weel, it appears ye are enjoying the comfort of your room. Fine working quarters ye have gotten yourself, aye?”

James turned slowly to face the owner of that querulous voice and felt himself tense with the fear of discovery. Big Marta stood scowling at him, her thin but muscular arms crossed over her thin chest. It should have occurred to him that, while the men-at-arms he had known might all be gone, at least some of the servants would still be around. Big Marta being an excellent cook, it was no surprise MacKay had held fast to her. Unfortunately, she was one who had known him the longest and the best. He hoped the way she was narrowing her dark eyes was due to a rising temper and not that she was beginning to recognize something in him.

“It was not my choice, eh?” he mumbled and shrugged his shoulders.

Big Marta rolled her eyes. “Now, isnae that a fine thing? Ye cannae e’en speak our language weel, can ye? And here I was just thinking that there was something familiar about ye. ’Tisnae likely as I have ne’er kenned a Frenchmon. Ne’er wanted to. I suspicion I cannae really blame ye for this,” she said and sighed. “’Tis just another thing that fool has done to make our lives a misery.” She frowned at him. “Can ye understand better than ye can speak?”

“
Oui
.”

“Since ye are nodding your head, I will assume that means
aye
.”

“Aye.”

“Weel, ye are a handsome laddie so I will tell ye what I have told the others, stay away from the lasses who work for me. ’Tis hard enough to get all our work done without ye and those fools MacKay has gathered round him sniffing at the skirts of every maid in Dunncraig. I can reach ye a lot quicker than I can them and best ye remember that.”

James nodded again. It was an easy promise to make. After more than three years of celibacy he was certainly hungry for a woman, but the risk of his disguise being revealed was too great. Before that, the risk of being betrayed or caught unawares had kept him from taking any lovers, even some tavern maid who took a man’s coin, gave him ease, and then was forgotten. Even if he were free to indulge himself, he would not do so with a maid who worked within the walls of Dunncraig anyway; never had. It was a
rule his foster parents had made very sure he and his foster brothers had learned well.

“Humph. Nay sure I believe ye any more than I do MacKay’s dogs, but we will see.” Big Marta looked around the room. “Just what has the fool got ye doing for him?”

“Carving.” James pointed to the wood and then the tools. “He liked my goblet.”

“Ah, I see. That was a verra fine goblet. Good work, verra good. Havenae seen any better. More fine things for our great laird. The bairns can cry themselves hoarse from the hunger in their wee bellies, but MacKay will have a finely carved chair to sit his arse on and a fancy goblet to swill his wine from.” She shook her head, her graying brown hair bouncing with the movement. “Just dinnae bother my lassies and keep your messes to this room. Dinnae let all those wood chips and all get into my kitchen.”

Before James could nod again, Big Marta left. He breathed a slow, hearty sigh of relief. If she had noticed anything familiar about him she was keeping it to herself.

He moved to run his hands over a large piece of oak. It would serve to make one of the elaborately carved mantels MacKay was so eager for. James did not really mind doing the work as he had often bemoaned the lack of time to indulge his skill. Perhaps while he sought the proof he needed to rid Dunncraig of MacKay, James could finally get a few of the things done that he had often dreamed of. MacKay might think it was all for his aggrandizement, but James would know that when he was once again free and laird of Dunncraig, he, too, would be well satisfied with whatever work he had accomplished.

“I just need time and a wee bit of luck,” he whispered to himself as he studied the piece of wood, trying to decide exactly what sort of design he would carve into it.

Just as he picked up one of the tools neatly laid out for his use, Big Marta stomped back into the room. She slapped down a tray of bread and cheese on the table and then looked at him. James felt a trickle of sweat go down his back as the woman stared right into his face, a gleam of amusement and satisfaction to see in her clear, intelligent eyes.

“I am thinking ye will need your strength for what lies ahead, laddie,” she said and then marched out of the room again.

James stared down at the tray of food and the tankard of ale. She knew; he had no doubt of that now. The question was, how did she know? He was sure his disguise was a good one. Big Marta had known him for a long time, but so had Edmund and Ida and they had thought his disguise a good one, too.

“Best ye keep your gaze cast down a wee bit more, laddie. Them green eyes of yours be the sort a woman remembers.”

He turned to look at Big Marta but only caught sight of a piece of her skirts as she disappeared back into her kitchens. James cursed softly. Obviously covering one eye with a patch was not enough. Now he was going to have to act shyly around any lass who tried to talk to him, at least the ones who had been at Dunncraig when he had been laird. When this was all over, his family would find that very amusing.

He was going to have to pretend to be humble, even shy around women, unable to speak the language clearly, and reveal none of his love for his own child. He was also going to have to play the servant and one with an inclination to remain celibate. Add all of that to the fact that he could not simply kill MacKay as he ached to do but had to search out some proof of the man’s crimes, and James began to feel as if he had taken on a burden he could never carry far. He hoped he could prove his innocence quickly or he might be too maddened by all the games he had to play to care.

“What are ye doing?”

James was glad he was not doing any carving at that precise moment. The sweet, high child’s voice was so familiar, and the sound of it so longed for, that he could easily have badly marred the huge piece of the mantel he was working on. Slowly, he turned to look at little Meggie and clenched his fists in an attempt to quell the fierce urge to brush the child’s thick, tousled curls off her face. He had been at Dunncraig for a full week and this was the first time Meggie had come near enough for him to talk to her.

“I make the mantel for the fireplace, eh?” he replied.

Meggie cautiously stepped into the room. The way she kept a wary eye on him made James’ heart ache. Meggie had always been a happy, trusting child. Life at the Dunncraig that Donnell MacKay had created had obviously taught his child fear and caution. The latter was something all children could afford to learn and learn well, but fear, especially while within the walls of her own home, was not. MacKay’s temper, the one the man revealed several times a day, had bred that fear in Meggie as it had in so many others at Dunncraig. James had no doubt about that and he added that to the long list of crimes Donnell MacKay had to pay for.

“I am carving the mantel to put in the lord’s bedchamber,
oui?
” he repeated when she just stood there and frowned at him.

“Oh, I understood ye, sir, e’en though ye do talk a wee bit odd, aye? Nay, I was just wondering why Sir MacKay wants ye to do that. He has one now, doesnae he? He doesnae need another one.” Meggie inched closer to the wood James had been working on. “’Tis verra pretty.”

“You are much kind.” He smiled when she giggled and then he clasped his hands behind his back to resist the urge to hug her. “Why do you say Sir MacKay? Is he not your papa?”

“He tells everyone he is, but he isnae.” Meggie suddenly looked nervous. “But ye must ne’er say that I said that, please.”

“I will never do so. It is to be our secret,
oui?
”

“Aye, our secret. I ken he kissed my mother, but that doesnae make him my father. He has kissed a lot of women. My da was handsome and kind and laughed and smiled. Sir MacKay just yells and hits people. He isnae a nice mon at all.”

Stunned by the words
I ken he kissed my mother
, James had to take a moment to clear his mind enough to respond coherently to Meggie’s confidences. “
Non
, kissing does not make a man a papa. Where is your nursemaid?”

“Annora? She is working in the gardens. See?” Meggie held up her very dirty hands. “I was helping her but I needed something to drink. Big Marta gave me something. Why do ye think they call her Big Marta? She is a wee woman, nay a big one.”

“I am thinking the name is a jest,
oui?
Something to make people smile.”

“Oh. They tease her? Do ye think it hurts her feelings?”

“
Non
. I think she carries the name well, eh? She is big in spirit,
oui?
”

Meggie smiled and nodded, causing her thick curls to do a wild dance around her head. “She
is
verra strong and everyone does what she tells them to.” She looked back at the wood James was working on. “’Tis verra, verra pretty. When I have clean hands can I touch it?”

“
Oui
. I am in here most days, working. You may come whenever you want.”

“Meggie!”

“That is Annora. I better go back to her. She worries ’bout me, ye ken.”

Before James could say anything, Meggie was gone. James stared at the doorway she had just fled through, but saw nothing. His own thoughts consumed him until he was blind and deaf to all else. The innocently said words of his child pounded in his brain.

I ken he kissed my mother
.

He tried to tell himself that Meggie was imagining things, that she had only been two years old when Mary had died. It had to be impossible for a child that age to know what she saw and recall it for three years. Yet, he could not shake the words from his head.

Mary unfaithful? It was impossible to believe. Mary had been painfully shy. She had blushed and tensed even during the most restrained form of lovemaking. He had not wanted to believe that she had found his touch distasteful, had even hoped that after a few years of marriage she would begin to enjoy the more intimate side of their union. Now he had to wonder if what he had seen as an intense shyness had indeed been distaste, a distaste born of the fact that Mary had been in love with another man.

James tightened his grip on the awl he held until his hand threatened to cramp. He had never understood Mary’s acceptance of Donnell MacKay, but perhaps he should have looked more closely. It was hard to think he had been made a fool of, but it was time to look back over his brief marriage with a more critical eye. Although it was difficult to believe the Mary he had known had had any part in his destruction, James knew he could not ignore the possibility.

Once he accepted that Mary might not have been the sweet, shy wife he had thought her to be, James then wondered if she was really even dead. The body he had buried had been the right size, but the fire had burned that body beyond true recognition. He had accepted that it was Mary, for witnesses had placed her in the tiny cottage at the time of the fire and one small, charred hand had still been adorned with the wedding ring he had slipped on Mary’s finger. There had even been a few charred remains of the gown she had worn that day. That still left a lot of room for doubt, however. The biggest doubt was stirred by the fact that he did not think Mary had the clever deviousness needed for such a plot and he could not believe she had the patience to remain hidden from sight for so very long.

Shaking away the questions clogging his mind, James turned his attention back to his carving. The slow, meticulous work would calm him as it always did and allow him to think more clearly. There were obviously a lot more secrets to uncover at Dunncraig than he had thought. He would need to remain calm and avoid drawing any suspicions his way as he hunted for the truth. James just hoped the truth would not reveal that he had been a blind fool who had fallen victim to a sweet smile and pretty blushes, thus bringing his enemies into the heart of his home.

“Where have ye been, Meggie?” asked Annora as the little girl skipped up to her side. “Did ye need to drink a bucketful of water?”

Meggie giggled and shook her head. “Nay, I was talking to that mon who carves wood into pretty pictures.”

Annora glanced back toward the keep and then frowned at Meggie. “Ye shouldnae
pester the mon whilst he is working.”

“He didnae mind.”

“He may have been too polite to tell ye to leave him be.”

“Nay, he talked to me.”

“Weel, that was verra good of him, but ye should still leave him to do his work.”

“He said I could come back and touch the wood once my hands were clean.”

Annora’s first impulse was to say a resounding nay, but she bit back the word. The man did do some exquisite work. She could easily understand Meggie’s interest. It would also be wrong to deny the child the chance to make a friend just because she held so many fears for Meggie’s safety. Such fears could smother the child’s spirit, and simply living at Dunncraig under Donnell’s rule did enough of that.

“Weel, then, ye may go and look at his work when ye are clean again,” Annora finally said. “E’en more than once if he says it is all right. But ye are nay to pester him too often, and no talking to the mon until his ears burn.”

“I like to talk.”

“Everyone likes to talk, but he is a mon who has work to do. Your father has hired him to make things, things that will make Dunncraig beautiful.”

“Dunncraig is already beautiful.”

“Aye, I think it is, but—”

“And that monisnae my father.”

Annora had a few doubts about Donnell’s claim of paternity as well, but she would never admit that to Meggie. “Donnell says he is,” she murmured.

“He lies.”

He did, Annora thought, and suspected it was more often than even she could guess, but she could not say such things to Meggie. “Meggie, ye were but a wee bairn when your mother died,” Annora began even though she was not sure about what she should or could say to the little girl.

“The monisnae my da! I ken that he kissed my mother, but that doesnae make him my da!”

Quickly pulling Meggie into her arms, Annora held the tense child close and stroked her hair. “Then he isnae your da. Now, ye must calm yourself ere ye make yourself ill. I wasnae crying ye a liar. ’Tis just that I was puzzled o’er how such a young bairn, as ye were then, could ken, with such utter confidence, just who her father was.”

“Because
my
da wouldnae hit me. Or ye. My da was handsome, and he smiled and laughed and gave me kisses.”

That certainly did not describe Donnell, Annora mused. “’Tis also that ye have ne’er denied it before.”

“Because he would hit me. Or ye. I didnae want that.” Meggie stared down at her hand as she threaded her fingers through the laces of Annora’s plain, aging gown. “And I thought he might be like my da someday, after he learned to love me. But I dinnae think he e’er will. I dinnae think Donnell loves anyone.”

Annora’s heart felt as if someone had stuck his fist into her chest and was squeezing it. There was such painful longing in Meggie’s voice, a longing Annora understood all too well. Even though no one was certain if Sir James Drummond was dead yet, Meggie was an orphan. Her mother was dead and her father had to remain hidden or he soon would be. Poor Meggie wanted and needed a family and all she had
gotten was Donnell MacKay. Annora also knew that no matter how much love she gave the child it simply could not compensate for the loss of her parents.

“Meggie, sweet lass, ye must continue to play the game. Ye can understand that, cannae ye?”

“Aye, I can. I ken that Sir MacKay would be verra angry if he heard, and I dinnae want him to be angry.”

“Nay, we ken weel that that would be a verra bad thing. So we must keep this just between the two of us.” Annora wondered about the fleeting look of guilt on the child’s face but decided enough had been said on the subject for now. “Now, shall we finish our work?”

Meggie nodded and returned to the small section of the garden she was planting. Annora watched her for a moment and then turned her attention to her own work. Her mind would not rest, however. Meggie was so adamant that Donnell was not her father. Annora knew that a child might turn a wish into her own fact when she was unhappy, but Meggie was not a child who carried pretending to such lengths. She was unhappy at times, but mostly she just avoided or ignored Donnell and all of his unkindness.

The problem was that Meggie’s belief that Donnell was not her father fed Annora’s own doubts about her cousin’s claims. And the thought of Mary being Donnell’s lover made her shiver with such distaste she preferred not to think about it at all. Unfortunately, she had not known Mary very well and knew she could have been easily fooled. Yet, could the woman have fooled her own husband for very long? Inwardly shaking her head, Annora decided it was just another puzzle she had to unravel. Considering how long it was taking her to even begin to unravel the others, Meggie could be married and have several children before the full truth was known.

Perhaps it was time to cease being so timid in her search for the truth, she decided, disgusted with her own cowardice. Annora had thought that she could uncover the truth about Donnell’s sudden rise in wealth and stature by getting to know the people of Dunncraig and speaking to them. However, Donnell was doing an excellent job of ensuring that never happened. She doubted she could elude his guards very often and it would probably raise some suspicions if she did. So, instead of looking to others to answer all the questions she had, she would look inside Dunncraig itself.

Once the idea settled in her mind, Annora decided it might not be too difficult. Most of the men who were loyal to Donnell stayed close by his side, so once she knew where Donnell was, she ought to be able to poke about undeterred. The question was where to look. Donnell had a very rigid schedule and so she knew exactly when he would be in his ledger room and when he would not. It would probably be the best place to start. All she had to do was make sure she had a route of escape or a very good excuse for being there if she was caught.

“Why do ye do this sort of work?”

At the sound of that deep voice, Annora was so startled and afraid that somehow the man guessed her plans that she nearly screeched. It took all of her control to hide how much Egan’s sudden appearance had frightened her. She kept her gaze upon the ground as she sat up straight and, once sure that she was composed, she looked up at him. Kneeling at his feet and looking up at him tasted far too much of subjugation, but Annora quelled the urge to get up and look him straight in the eye. Even though she would still have to look up, that could prove far too confrontational, so she resisted the urge. Egan
always reacted to any sort of confrontation in the same way—with his fists.

“I like working in the garden,” she said. “It is soothing and it produces something worthwhile.”

“’Tis work for one of the other lasses, one of the ones what doesnae come from such good blood as ye,” Egan said.

“And they would ne’er hesitate to do it if I asked it of them, but I truly enjoy doing it myself. And ’tis good to get out in the sun now and then.”

She kept her voice soft and calm and her gaze fixed upon his pockmarked face. Annora had quickly learned that it was as unwise to annoy Egan as it was to annoy Donnell. He had yet to do more than slap her once or twice, but he had nearly beaten to death several other women at Dunncraig for what were very small mistakes.

Annora wondered why the man was such a brute. Despite the pockmarks on his face he was not unhandsome. His eyes should have been lovely, for they were a soft hazel color, but they were the coldest eyes she had ever seen. Egan’s features were a bit rough, but even and well placed. Yet, when he was angry, he looked cruel enough to scare anyone who saw him. She did her best never to make him angry.