Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (8 page)

While the men had been talking, servants brought food:
boiled eggs, butter, cream, cheese, a large earthen pot full of honey, ham, cold venison pasties, thin oatmeal cakes and bannocks, and a small wheaten loaf. They also brought whiskey and ale.

“Ye dunna wish anything else to eat?” Leith asked Isobel.

“Nay. I wish to talk to ye about….

“Leith,” Lady Katherine interrupted, placing her hand on his wrist in a rare gesture. “Are ye sure this is wise? Bringing an uncouth peasant, and a Seer, to the table where the laird is at meat with distinguished company, offering her the choicest dishes from yer cook?”

Leith took the opportunity to grasp Lady Katherine’s hand and she looked uncomfortable. “I do no’ see her as a peasant or a Seer but as an aid. She, unlike many here, has no reason to deceive me.”

Lady Katherine frowned. “Dunna be naïve. Of course she has reason to deceive ye. She owes ye her life and so her visions will be favorable to ye, no doubt. If she did ha’e a black premonition, why would she risk telling ye? Would she risk yer wrath and being turned from the keep? Where would she go? And on what is yer trust based, my laird? She hasna had a vision yet.”

“If Isobel needs things to do,” Errol interrupted, “perhaps she can muck out the shit in the stables or tend to the privy after I’ve used it. She seems well suited for shoveling shit.”

Isobel looked at the sullen war councilor. “But Errol, I’ve heard ye dunna like to use the privy. I heard ye prefer to take a nice shit in the apple orchard. Only ye were caught with yer trews down and rode bare-bottomed back to the castle, screaming like a wee girl. I bet yer buttocks, and yer pride, were sore for a week.”

Leith laughed and Errol stood up, the veins in his pale neck standing out, his fists clenched at his sides. “I’ve been leading seasoned men into battle since my twelfth summer and no’ one of them has e’er dared speak to me the way
she
does!”

“Dunna fash yerself, Errol,” Leith said, a smile dancing on his sensual lips. “Yer acting like a primping Lowlands muck.”

“I
willna
sit at the same table with her. She shouldna be present here. She belongs with the hounds.”

Leith sighed. “Then ye’ll sit by yerself, somewhere else. My mind is made up.”

Errol’s body tensed. Something about his stance reminded Isobel of a mechanical clock about to strike the hour. She’d seen such a clock once, in a rare town exhibit. The earth was at the center, with the sun, moon, and stars revolving around it. Blue and red halves had separated day and night.

Errol finally gave in and returned to his chair. Dourly, he swilled ale from his cup.

Lady Katherine withdrew her hand from Leith’s. “Mayhap, my laird, there are things the Seer can help
me
with. Of course, only if it doesna interfere with
yer
plans.” She stared at Isobel with pity. “She is like a wee baby bird that has fallen from its nest. All she needs is a little guidance. Isobel, can you sew a straight line?”

“Of course,” Isobel said, inwardly seething at Lady Katherine’s disingenuous pity.

“Good. I have clothes that need mending. I canna wear mourning clothes fore’er.”

“I shall consider yer suggestion, Lady Katherine,” Leith said. “I would vera much like to see ye in colorful gowns again. I favor ye in deep green.” He looked at Isobel. “Will aiding Lady Katherine with her garments interfere with yer gift?”

“Nay. I will be glad to have something to do. The visions tend to come when my hands are busy with mundane and…odious…tasks.”

Lady Katherine raised an eyebrow.

“I can also provide yer clan with relief for toothaches, nightmares, the fluxes, the gout, hiccoughing, stomachaches, earaches, and I know how to treat battle wounds.”

“Ye boast of yer many skills witch,” Lady Katherine said. “I wonder, are ye any good with a bow and arrow? Ha’e ye e’er hunted a wild boar? I ha’e, and if ye dunna do it properly, the animal doesna die right away. It is the same with a man.”

“I ha’e seen many men die painfully from arrow wounds,” Isobel said quietly. “I wish I had no’ seen it.”

There were murmurs in the hall now. All eyes were on Lady Katherine and Isobel. Lady Katherine did not realize that by insulting Isobel and boasting about herself she was also treading on sacred ground—the male ego. The blood-red rubies around her neck glistened in the candlelight as she continued to boast. “Ye speak of yer many healing skills, witch, but what of hunting?”

“Lady Katherine, ‘tis true I ha’e no’ hunted except to catch a rabbit for my dinner on a cold winter’s night.”

Lady Katherine smirked. “I thought so. My father, the head of the Campbell clan, taught me to hunt. It is unusual, but ye see, he lost his son and thus treated me often like the one he lost. We went on many a hunt together. If ye don’t pierce the heart and kill instantly, ‘tis cruel. ‘Tis a most unskilled bowman who misses his mark that way.” Her eyes had a faraway look in them.

“Did ye hunt with Logan?” Isobel asked.

“Of course.”

“Were ye a better shot?” Isobel asked. “More skilled with a bow than all the men here? Leith? Errol?”

Lady Katherine seemed to remember her place. Her hand toyed with the rubies at her throat. She glared at Isobel. “Certainly I canna compare my skill to any
man
,” she said sweetly, “but my father taught me well. Just not as well as he would’ve taught a beloved son.”

“Let us return to talking of yer skills, witch,” Erroll said. “When are ye going to have a vision? Perhaps ye could advise our laird on the current Reiver situation? These particular Reivers can hide a thousand head of cattle in a glen and wait for the pursuit to end, no one e’er knowing they’re e’en there. They are vera skilled thieves. I think we should seek them out and attack first. Send them a powerful message. Do ye see anything, witch? What do ye advise? Apparently our laird doesna need his war councilor for such matters.”

Isobel grew quiet. “Yea. I
do
see something.” She looked directly at Errol. “I see a giant horse’s arse.”

Leith laughed. “Errol, I think this one can hold her own with ye.”

“But the Reivers, my laird, are no’ a laughing matter. They failed once to steal our stock and now they’re e’en more determined to raid us.”

“I think they would be foolhardy to come this far north in such a storm. But as I said before, I trust ye to handle it, as I always have, Errol. The patrols ye’ve sent out return on the morrow?”

“Aye, Rolph and his men will return then.”

“Ye have us protected then. We will hear their reports soon enough. Now, I have important matters to attend to with Isobel.”

“Where go ye this morning, my laird?” Errol asked. “Perhaps ye require an escort? It would be wise in light of recent events….”

“A few men will accompany me. That is enough. I am no’ riding afar of the keep and willna be gone long. I dunna need an official war councilor escort. And tonight,” he said, “there will be dancing, good food, and whisky and we shall forget our troubles for a while.” 

“As long as it’s only for a while,” Errol said, his eyes silver with annoyance.

9

“What do ye think of my war councilor?” Leith asked.

“I think ye and Errol are alike in many ways,” Isobel said. “Yer both tall and powerfully built. Ye both dunna like to have plans made for ye. But yer behavior seems to be more weighed and measured, while Errol’s reactions seem impulsive. He leans toward violence and attack. ‘Tis no’ the immediate answer to e’ery problem. I dunna know him, but I wonder if Errol puts the clan’s needs before his own obvious need for glory and praise. He strikes me as someone who would be deaf to any comments that dunna please him. I have seen firsthand the bloody results of a proud Mackinnon war councilor that doesna consider any plan of action other than his own. I’ve walked many a battlefield after a fight. But perhaps my assessment is unfair, because as I said, I dunna know him.”

“Interesting. But I didna ask for a description of
my
character, Isobel. And of course Maclean war councilors are far more skilled, seasoned, and prudent than any glundie Mackinnon war councilor and so ‘tis no’ a fair comparison.”

“Yer also arrogant. I think I told ye that before.”

He laughed, and Isobel was glad he could not see her blushing. She hadn’t failed to notice that he’d used her name again. “He openly questions yer judgment,” she said. “He wonders if sorrow has clouded it.”

“I encourage him to openly question my judgment. I always have. For many years, he has provided brutally honest feedback to my proposed plans. ‘Tis why we’ve been so successful on the battlefield. We balance each other. We disagree at times, but thus far it’s resulted in good for the clan. With the political changes that are sweeping the western isles now, our clan needs men like Errol. We are, at the moment, fairly independent of young King James the Second, answering only to the Lordship of the Isles, but it may no’ always be so.

“Our support of the Lordship of the Isles dates back to when the building of this castle on an earlier stronghold first began. My ancestor, Lachlan Lubanach, or the ‘Wily Maclean’ as they called him, married the bonny Mary Macdonald, daughter of the Lordship of the Isles at the time, and his cousin. He was Chief but had to get special Papal dispensation from Rome to marry Mary. Though ‘twas a love match, Mary’s father was persuaded to allow the match only after he was kidnapped by Lachlan. Somehow, during the abduction, the chief of the MacKinnons was killed. So the Macleans came to own much of Mull, the MacKinnon lands being granted to them by the Macdonalds as a dowry.”

“Aye, I had heard that these were once MacKinnon lands.”

“And now ye are here, a MacKinnon healer, and can call this yer home. ‘Tis strange how things sometimes come round full circle. Mayhap ye were always meant to be here.”

Isobel was thoughtful. “What does yer war advisor think of the young king? Of those who build a power base against him? The powerful Douglas clan still poses a threat to him, and vows bloody revenge because James’ advisers had the young Earl of Douglas and his brother murdered at ‘the Black Dinner’ seven years ago at Edinburgh Castle. My father talked of it on occasion.”

“’Tis rumored the King tried to stop them and cried when the brothers were beheaded. Some say he is soft, weak. Others say James the Second has a fiery temper, as fiery has the red birthmark that mars half his face. Errol and I agree that the King may eventually act to break anyone who tries to go against him. And one day he could vera well assume full control of the government. He will reach adulthood in two years. But his active kingship may differ little from his minority now. It is believed the high-ranking men with political power will continue to dominate him.”

“Errol disagrees with ye on another point,” Isobel said. “He does no’ want me here and resents me with a king’s might.”

“He will get used to yer presence. He will come to accept ye.”

“I vera much doubt that.”

Leith and Isobel sat astride his dark war horse in a snow-studded glen, the sun appearing to the east, grazing the ice that encased the tree limbs and making it sparkle riotously. They’d ridden far enough that the keep had receded into the distance, and it sat fierce and beautiful, high on a promontory.

The cliffs, ridges, and long, sloping escarpments that rose above the sea like the prow of a Viking vessel were also sunlit, and the sea was a cold bolt of rippling silver partially covered by a haar that had rolled in earlier. It had stopped snowing but the air felt heavy as a velvet curtain, and more snow was coming. Cold winds swept the salt spray high above the water and sent it crashing into the rocks at the base of the keep; the rocks had been fashioned into fantastic shapes by the sea.

Isobel sat in front of Leith and was warm beneath his plaid, which he’d wrapped around them both. She was not unaware of his powerful, masculine form pressing against her back, or of his strong arms around her, holding the reins.

Leith pointed to an area just beyond the keep. “See where the sea rushes in and out there?”

Isobel nodded.

“There are sea caves there, some of which are vera dangerous at high tide. Ye dunna no’ want to be caught in them when the sea rushes in. As boys, Logan and I used to play in the caves. When the sea swelled and began to rush in and out, we used to think it was a warning, like the sound of a giant blowing across the mouth of his empty jug. That’s when we knew we had to leave the caves, when the giant blew on his jug.”

“It must ha’e been wonderful, being a child in such a beautiful place and ha’ing all those coves, caves, and hills to explore.”

“Aye. It was. We’d climb as high as we could on the hills, thinking we could see e’erything, clear to England, clear to the stars, clear to our vera futures. And the caves. They are vera beautiful inside. I can well imagine many a hapless fisherman lured to his death by the colorful rocks inside, glistening with reds and greens. The roofs of the caves are adorned with strange purple clumps. ‘Tis almost like being in a chapel.”

“Some would find it a more spiritual place and more beautiful than any chapel built by a man’s hands.”

“Would ye find it so?” he asked.

“Aye. I’ve ne’er been vera comfortable in chapels filled with people. I dunna mind them when I am alone there.” She continued to study the eerie beauty of the glen. “Leith, do ye feel guilty for falling in love with yer brother’s fiancée?”

“Love is a strong word.”

“She inspires love…lust…desire…whate’er ye wish to call it, in many men. It doesna take a Seer to know that Errol is also smitten with Lady Katherine. Is Errol married?”

“Nay. He was. His wife died giving birth to their child, a son, who was stillborn. So he lost them both on the same day. It happened while he was away on a campaign three years ago. He has ne’er forgiven himself and vows ne’er to marry again. He carries a lock of the babe’s hair with him into battle, always.”

“I am sorry to hear it. He has no other children?”

“Nay. The time his wife and son died is the only time time I ha’e e’er seen him cry. Errol can be a horse’s arse, as ye so aptly pointed out, but he is unwaveringly loyal to me and a good strategist on the battlefield. His father and grandfather were both excellent fighters and strategists. Both men were also strong-minded and at times stubborn and unruly. He is right to question my judgment in bringing ye here; I would expect no less from him. But I am of sound mind and I am determined that in time, he will see the benefit of it.”

“Ye have a lot of work to do, then,” Isobel said.

He laughed. “Aye.”

Silently they stared at the snow-covered glen and the looming ben beyond.

“This place, this glen, it means something to ye,” Isobel said.

“Aye. It does.”

She studied its cold, aching beauty. She could not see Leith’s face, but she’d noted the grief in his voice. “This is where Logan died.”

“Yea. ‘Tis also where we hunted our first stag all those summers ago, the one whose head now hangs in Logan’s bedchamber, the one
I
brought down.”

“I heard there was debate on the matter.”

“He was an expert bowman as well. ‘Twas a matter of pride, bringing down our first stag. I believe my arrow hit the creature a split second before Logan’s did, but Logan wouldn’t ha’e it. We almost came to blows. I raised my fist and only managed to just stop it from plowing into his jaw. He barely flinched. I was thinking then, if I couldna learn to check my impulses and my stubborn pride as a boy, with my own twin brother, how could I e’er do it as a man? We were being groomed to one day lead the clan.”

He paused and Isobel waited for him to continue. “We were both so angry one minute and laughing the next. I let him have the stag for his wall. It seemed more important to him. I remember thinking then that we’d have many more hunts together, e’en when we were old men. I didna realize….”

Isobel shivered. “There is dishonor and betrayal here, drifting in the air around the auld trees. Logan must ha’e had enemies. Mayhap the others vying for Lady Katherine’s hand in marriage, for her lands? Perhaps a Campbell who didna wish to see the marriage to a Maclean take place?”

“E’eryone loved Logan, Campbells aside. No’ e’eryone loves me. He didna seem to ha’e any enemies, which makes his death e’en more troublesome.” He paused. “Lady Katherine is a bonny, wealthy woman. But I dunna think it was one of her suitors or clansmen. I think it was something more ominous than that. There is treachery afoot in my own keep and I think it is an old treachery, perhaps something that began long ago, a grudge or grievance someone has managed to keep hidden for a vera long time.”

“The Island of Mull,” Isobel said, “seems like a beguiling place where one must look beneath the surface to see what’s truly there.”

“Logan was probably the most skilled archer of the clan. Mayhap the best in all of Scotland. He was using his long bow that day. Crossbows are noisier. He also carried his sword, which wasna found after he died. His quiver was full of good arrows, the heads mounted in gold and at least a hand’s breadth wide. Whatever he pierced with them was doomed to die. The arrows were also missing after he was killed and thus the motive of robbery has been put forth, but I dunna believe it. It doesna
feel
right.”

The horse pranced, growing impatient. “Ye arena afraid of ghosts, are ye Isobel?”

She hesitated. “Nay.”

“Good. Ye shouldna be afraid. For I am the one he comes back to haunt. I ha’e seen him in my dreams. He believes e’erything is my fault; he beseeches me to hold the clan together at all costs. I canna fail him.”

The wind slid through the pine branches above their heads, filling the air with a low moaning sound. The horse’s ears pricked up, and with a tug of the mane and a quick nudge with his heels, Leith turned him, guiding him from the glen. The horse was as highly trained as its master, attuned to his every movement and mood.

“I thought ye should see it,” he said. “This place. I dream of it far too often.”

As they began to make their way up a snow-covered hill, Isobel felt as if the carved faces high in the north wall of the Maclean keep watched their slow departure, watched her, especially, with disdain.

“Logan is buried in the chapel cemetery?” she asked.

“Yea. We go there next. It’s just up this hill.”

“Do ye fear for yer life as well, Highlander?”

He laughed. “Should I, Isobel?”

“I didna mean….”

“I fear my days may run short if I dunna discover the traitor in our midst and soon. I dunna fear dying, though. I fear failing the clan more than I fear dying. I canna afford to fail them now. It’s better to face up to life and no’ turn away from it.” He paused. “Did ye see me dead in yer dreams last night, Isobel? I am no’ afraid to know.”

“Nay, Highlander. When I dreamt of ye before I met ye….”

He pulled the horse up short. “Ye
dreamt
of me before ye met me?”

Isobel trembled, remembering the dream, how she’d awoken afterward, her hands fisted, her heart pounding, and her body slick with sweat. “Aye, Highlander. Before ye saved me from a fiery death, I dreamt of ye. I canna explain it. But in the dream, I was vera frightened of ye, for all I saw was a black-haired warrior on a great horse, aiming an arrow at my heart. I didna know what it meant.”

“Ye had this dream more than once?”

“Aye. It was always the same. In the dream, I thought ye were going to kill me. And yet, ye saved me. All along, the arrow was no’ meant for my heart, but for Bothen’s. So, ye see, our dreams can mean different things.”

She trembled slightly and hoped he did not notice, but he pressed more closely to her. He pushed a curl gently behind her ear and leaned his rough cheek against her neck. “So, ye dreamt of me too, Isobel.” His warm breath sent shivers through her body. “What does it mean?”

“I dunna know,” she said. “It always seemed the dreams were warnings.”

“Mayhap we are being tested,” he said. “But I am no’ afraid. All men face death and someday I will, too. I will face my destiny, whate’er it is.”