Amanda Scott (15 page)

Standing in the darkness, she savored the silence, for only servants in the kitchen, bakehouse, and stables were up so early. The chaplain and his minions would be at prayers and guardsmen at their posts, but from the roofed courtyard she saw no other human and heard only the soughing of a breeze through the shrubbery.

Even the loch was silent. Night birds had ceased their murmuring, and those of daylight still slept.

She walked over to the low wall separating forecourt and residence from the rest of the complex. Above her, the dark sky blazed with millions of stars, for the moon had set, and beyond the wall, at the bottom of the slope, the water of the loch lay mirror calm, reflecting each twinkling point of starlight.

Although she had come outside to think, she found it difficult to focus her thoughts even in such solitude.

When it came to Lachlan the Wily, feelings and emotions seemed to bar all rational thought. She had only to hear someone speak his name, or to think of him, and it was as if he touched her, because a sense of warmth spread through her body in much the same way as it did when he stood beside her.

So foolish, she thought, to conjure a man’s image and produce only feelings, the strongest of which, if she but dared to admit it, was desire.

Her fingers itched to stroke his soft tunic again, to smooth the errant lock of hair that persistently fell over his brow. She remembered how he had held her and touched her the night before, and her breasts tingled at the memory. For all Alasdair Stewart’s supposed success with women, he had never stirred such feelings in her.

She sighed. Surely, knowing she had to marry Alasdair, she ought to feel some irritation at his excesses with other women, but she felt none. Doubtless that would change after they married, but even that thought brought only another sigh.

Grayness nudged the dark away at last, and then, slowly, golden fingers of sunlight stretched from the east to touch land and water. Deciding that the morning bade fair to be a fine one, she hurried upstairs to find Meg Raith, who slept in the tiny wardrobe room adjoining the bedchamber she shared with Elizabeth.

As Meg was lacing the kirtle properly, Mairi said, “I don’t want to wear a caul this morning, Meg. Just tidy it and put it in a net. I am going to ride.”

“Surely ye’ll break your fast first, mistress, and learn what duties your lady mother desires ye to attend.”

“She won’t mind,” Mairi said, knowing that if she encountered her mother, there would be tasks to perform or children to amuse. She meant to have her ride first. “I have promised to help this afternoon, so I’ll return before Sext, but if I am a trifle later, pray don’t send a search party after me.”

Meg frowned but did not attempt to dissuade her.

Hurrying to the stable enclosure, Mairi found that Ian had Hobyn waiting. The gray gelding nosed her affectionately.

“Thank you,” she said to Ian, “but how did you know I would want him?”

He shrugged. “The morn be gey fine, mistress. Ye nearly always do ride on such a one. Will ye be wanting yon saddle on the lad, or me t’ ride wi’ ye today?”

“No need,” she said. “I mean to ride only toward Loch Indaal and back.”

“Ye’ll no be going the whole way!”

“Faith, and why not?” she said. “’Tis no farther than I rode yesterday to Loch Gruinart. Indeed, I shall make better time, because the track goes alongside the hills instead of over them as the Gruinart track does, and is smoother.”

“Aye, sure, but ’tis more heavily traveled, too, so I’m guessing that his grace or her ladyship would prefer ye take me wi’ ye, is all.”

Mairi eyed him narrowly. “I know you desire to please them, Ian, but if you would please me, do not question my decisions. If anyone disapproves of my riding, let that person speak to me.”

“Aye, mistress,” the lad said hastily. “I didna mean t’ vex ye.”

“I know,” she said quietly. “Give me a leg up, will you?”

She was halfway across the stone causeway before she remembered that she had meant to ask him if anyone else had ridden out. Telling herself that it did not matter one way or the other, she urged the gelding to a trot and decided to enjoy the fine, brilliant morning and to think of nothing and no one else.

From the shelter of the woodland track she had followed the day before, Lachlan smiled as he watched her, deciding when she grimaced and glanced back at the stable enclosure that Ian Burk had successfully evaded any questions she had asked, or had simply denied serving anyone else that morning. Lachlan had done no more than give the lad a coin and ask politely that he not make news of his departure, adding that he had an important matter to attend to.

He knew it was possible, even likely, that Ian believed he attended to business for the Lord of the Isles, but Lachlan had not said so. If his conscience pricked him, the prick was small, for he held by certain maxims he had encountered in his study of Roman philosophy, not least among which was that if one’s cause was good a small wrongdoing could become a virtue.

Since the first duty of any son of Gillean, like any of Clan Donald, was to increase the power and substance of the clan, his cause was certainly good.

He had relayed no information to anyone about his direction or plan, so if Ian did betray him, the lad could say only that he had left Eilean Mòr. But he believed Ian would earn his coin by denying knowledge of him unless MacDonald himself inquired. Then, of course, he would have to answer honestly, because MacDonald was his liege lord and a man had to serve his liege without question or hindrance. But if MacDonald even asked such a question, the fat would already be in the fire.

Her crimson cloak framed and set off her astonishing beauty. She had not bothered to tie its strings at the neck, leaving it open down the front, and as she rode across the causeway toward him, he saw that the sky-blue kirtle beneath it fit like a second skin. More enticingly, its low-cut bodice revealed a more-than-generous portion of her plump breasts.

After they were married, he would strictly forbid her to ride out looking like a prime invitation to seduction, but for the present, he would account it his duty to see that no other rascal dared try to accept that invitation.

Keeping her in sight without being seen proved easy, because the crimson cloak was visible for miles. Moreover, the hillside where he rode was thick with trees and shrubbery, giving him cover despite branches yet thin of leaves, because evergreens grew among the deciduous beeches, elms, and black poplars. He let his pony pick its own way through the woodland, keeping his eye on the lass.

She glanced over her shoulder occasionally, but his gray-green doublet and hat, and tan leather breeches, blended with the hillside colors. His horse was more visible, but its bay coat merged into the shadows well, and so far she had not seen it.

They followed the River Sorn, and after less than a mile, the landscape opened into flat meadowland with downy birch groves, willows, and aspens replacing the beeches, pines, and poplars of the hills. Although willow and alder thickets sprouted along the river and the burns and rivulets emptying into it, he knew he could not conceal himself much longer and spurred the bay to a faster pace.

Despite Ian’s warning, Mairi had seen no other riders. The only sounds were the gurgle and rush of the fast-flowing river, the thuds of her pony’s hooves on the dirt track, the whoops of curlews overhead, and the chirps of woodland and river birds.

The morning fulfilled its promise, and although the breeze gathered strength as she entered the meadow, sunlight splashed on spring meadow grass and the myriad white daisies and yellow dandelions that cut wide, undulating swaths through it. As the dirt track dipped near the water, three coots swam rapidly away, warning others with their echoing hoots.

A kingfisher on a nearby alder branch, having taken no notice of her or of the coots, lifted its head and looked toward the woods behind her. As it did, she heard solid, thudding hoofbeats and turned sharply to see who came.

When she saw him, her breath caught in her throat. She had suspected he would come, but now that he had, she did not know if she was glad or sorry. If her heart’s pounding was any indication, she was glad, but her head was not so sure. She waited for him, striving to look unconcerned, even cool and self-possessed.

He slowed and drew to a halt, facing her as he said evenly, “You should not ride alone, lass.”

“And you should not follow me, sir,” she said, raising her chin.

“Should I not?” His eyes danced.

“You know better.” But she was having difficulty. Her lips wanted to smile.

“Had you any particular destination in mind?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Just to ride in the sunshine toward Loch Indaal until it seems time to turn back.”

“I thought perhaps you might be seeking more answers to your mystery.”

“No, just to think,” she said. “I did learn more yesterday, that I did not tell you, though.” She told him what Agnes Beton had said about Elma.

“So Elma took comfort from men other than her husband,” Lachlan said thoughtfully. “A dangerous course, especially if Mellis is a brute. What of the witnesses? Could any of them have been her lover?”

“I doubt that Ewan was. I don’t know about Gil or Shim, or Fin MacHugh.”

“Then we should find out more about them, but it can prove dangerous to track a killer, lass, and it is no task for a woman. Have you no duties at home?”

“I do, of course, because the council meetings continue through tomorrow, as you know, sir, since you serve as a councilor. But Niall is one, too, because as chief of the Mackinnons he serves as master of weights and measures for the Hebrides.”

“So he will be out of your hair for a time.”

“I should not put it so,” she said with a smile. “’Tis more that in his absence I must see to some things that he would generally attend to.”

“Are his duties not taxing, added to your own?”

Her smile widened. “ My duties are generally light, and presently involve only supervising our people as they see to the councilors’ needs. My sister Elizabeth can see to it if I’m late. Indeed, sir, should you not be at this morning’s meeting?”

“I attended the one yesterday afternoon, so Hector is there today,” he said. “Apparently, the King has renewed his demand that his grace pay his share of the royal ransom to Edward of England, so they’ll be arguing over their reply. I warrant I shan’t miss anything that won’t be discussed at length this afternoon, so like you, I decided to ride. Do you, perchance, know a place called Loch Cam?”

“Of course.”

“I have been told it is most beautiful.”

“Cam is much like any other loch on Isla,” she said, “albeit higher than many and closely guarded by steep-sided bens.”

“I thought I would ride along that ridge we crossed yesterday,” he said.

“’Tis easier to follow the burn yonder and approach from the south.”

“Will you show me?”

She hesitated. Here on the main track she was safe, but the way to Cam lay through thick woodland, with no track except deer trails by the burn that would not take them all the way. The ride would be too private, and she ought not to go.

“Art scared, lassie?” he said, his voice low, caressing. Again, the sound of it struck chords that vibrated through her, touching nerves and tensing muscles in her midsection and below, some that she could not remember ever feeling before.

She swallowed hard.

“Well?” he said, arching an eyebrow. “’Twas only yestereve, after all, that you were alone with me and came off safely, but if I frighten you . . .”

“You don’t,” she said, hoping she spoke the truth. “What could you do, for mercy’s sake? If you molest me, I need only tell my father to see you hanged.”

“I thought he threw offenders off a cliff,” he said.

“Not here on Isla,” she said. “Here, he hangs them on Judgment Knoll. You are thinking of the cliff at Ardtornish called
Creag na Corp
, the Cliff of the Corpses, from which condemned criminals are hurled to the rocks below.”

“You would not let that happen to me,” he said, gazing steadily into her eyes. “So, tell me, dare you show me this beautiful loch of yours, or not?”

She knew the correct answer to that question was no, if only because such a trip would mean once again staying away from Finlaggan longer than she had planned, but instead and without hesitation she said, “Aye, if you like.”

He smiled warmly. “Lead the way then.”

They rode side by side to the burn she had indicated, then up the sloping meadow until thickening woodland threatened to engulf them again. Finding a deer track, Mairi moved into the lead.

A few moments later, spying a bright carpet of pink ground ivy and yellow primroses ahead, she said quietly, “There, sir, look. Spring is truly upon us.”

“Aye,” he murmured, “and you’ll see more proof of it if you look into the shadows to your right beyond those white anemones.”

She saw the doe and her fawn at once, as still as statues in the dense shadow of a tall poplar, but she knew she would not have seen them if he had not pointed them out. Looking back at him, she smiled.

The way steepened, but before long they crested a hill and looked down the glen where Loch Cam, a third the size of Finlaggan, lay dark blue and peaceful, an elongated cup between steep parallel ridges. To their right lay a formidable spill of boulders, interspersed with clumps of heather and bracken. To the left, sheltered from the harsh sea winds that could roar through from the glen’s open northwest end, the hillside was tree-dotted and splashed with yellow and white daisies.

Picking their way amidst rocks and shrubbery, they rode down to the water.

“Let’s tie the horses and walk from here,” he said.

She hesitated. “I should not stay away too long.”

“’Tis but a short walk,” he said easily. “I’d like to see the view from the end of the loch, and it will do us good to walk for a time.”

She doubted that he needed exercise, for surely he had ridden longer distances without respite, but when he dismounted, tied both horses to a shrub, and slipped his hands beneath her cloak to lift her down, she did not object.