Amanda Scott (22 page)

The next voice she heard was Niall’s, saying, “I’d not have mentioned it to your grace, but I’m that concerned, and fear you must be as troubled as I am.”

“I’ve noted that you have no great liking for those two lads, but I find them refreshingly candid, and the younger one astonishingly shrewd.”

“’Tis the shrewdness that troubles me,” Niall said. “Men call him Lachlan the Wily, after all, not Lachlan the Wise.”

Mairi could not have walked away then if her salvation had depended on it.

“What is it you fear, exactly?” MacDonald asked with heavy patience.

“’Tis plain that our Lady Mairi is enamored with yon wily son of Gillean and he with her—though I suspect his true love is for her connections and inheritance.”

“Neither his feelings nor hers can alter her future.”

Mairi held her breath.

“And if they have acted on those feelings?” Niall said. “What then?”

MacDonald grunted. “Even so.”

“Laird, only think what the Steward would say, or that devil’s spawn of his that you have seen fit to seek as a husband to the poor lass! Think of—”

MacDonald interjected curtly, “Even if such a thing is true, Alasdair need only keep from her until he knows she cannot be carrying another man’s child. With all his women, that should not inconvenience him, and he will still have a princess of the Isles as his wife, with all the power that the connection bestows upon him. He won’t reject my daughter, Niall. That I promise you.”

Mairi believed him if Niall did not, and learning that her father, much as she knew he loved her, agreed with Lachlan’s and Niall’s opinion of Alasdair’s character made her feel sick. She knew he would insist that she marry Alasdair, and to do so when she was no longer a maiden was to face a horror beyond words.

No husband would forgive his wife for such a betrayal. Why, the law allowed any husband, noble or otherwise, to return such a wife to her family in disgrace and have the wedding annulled. Even if he did not send her back, all wives lived under their husband’s rods. At Finlaggan, with MacDonald, that meant little, because he was not a man of violence, but everything she knew about Alasdair Stewart told her he was not anything like her father.

What would Lachlan think when she told him? He had promised she would not have to marry Alasdair, but he had also said they had only to tell MacDonald what they had done and he would agree to their marriage. Having been so wrong on the one point, how could he possibly be right on the other?

Chapter 12

S
oon after the five royal galleys passed below the formidable black mass of Duart Castle, Mairi’s favorite among her father’s many fortresses, she discerned his beloved Ardtornish ahead on the opposite shore. Both castles sat on high promontories and enjoyed wide views, but Duart, on the Isle of Mull’s northeastern headland where the Sound of Mull met the Firth of Lorn, provided spectacular ones. The two formed part of a string of eight fortresses guarding the Sound and the Firth, two more of the inner sea-lanes strategically so important to the Lord of the Isles.

Sometime earlier, they had passed the tall, lonely-looking tower of the first of that string, Dunconnel, northernmost of the four tiny Isles of the Sea, on its craggy, nearly unapproachable rocky isle. Dunollie and Dunstaffnage, the next two, lay within sight behind them, and Castle Achaduin, seat of the Bishop of Argyle for over a hundred years, was barely visible on the Isle of Lismore to the north.

Aros and Mingary, the last of the string, lay west of Ardtornish, the former on the Isle of Mull’s north coast, the latter at the west end of the peninsula called Ardnamurchan. The Lord of the Isles controlled all of them and a hundred more for Clan Donald and the people of the Isles.

As the royal galley and its four escorts sailed farther into the Sound, their little-black-ship banners waving gaily in the breeze, Mairi began to hear welcoming horns from the landing seventy feet below the castle, in Ardtornish Bay.

An impressive line of basalt cliffs towered above beech woods and a rocky shore to form the U-shaped bay. Thanks to recent rains, the numerous waterfalls called the Morvern Witches spilled more water than usual from the cliff tops. Most of the year, the Witches were so thin that on windy days a stiff southerly breeze could hurl their skirts upward instead of letting them fall in the usual way.

At the highest point of the cliff face squatted the large flat rock known as
Creag na Corp
, “the rock of the corpses,” from which men that MacDonald or Morvern’s Brehon court had condemned to death were flung to the rocks below.

Crossing the bay took only a short time, and soon the royal galley, with a splendid display of oarsmanship, slid into place alongside the stone-and-timber landing. Willing hands rushed to tie lines, others to help passengers disembark. His grace stepped onto the landing and turned to assist his lady.

Mairi and Elizabeth accepted lesser hands, as did her ladyship’s two women. Meg Raith traveled in the second boat, which waited with the other three for the royal galley to row away from the pier. Then each in turn would land and unload.

After passengers and baggage had gone ashore, all five galleys would sail west around the point into Loch Aline, where his grace’s ships harbored.

Mairi had no intention of waiting for her parents, let alone for Meg. Instead, eager to see what if anything had changed, she hurried up the steps carved into the stone cliff to the laird’s tower. The entrance to its upper levels was on the east side and opened into a stairway ascending within the thickness of the wall. Hurrying up its yard-wide sandstone steps, Mairi passed the great chamber at the first landing and continued to the wall walk and parapets above. From the walk’s south side, she enjoyed a panoramic view of the Sound and the Isle of Mull.

The day was so clear that she could see Aros Castle to the west and Duart to the east. On such days, and on clear nights, beacon signals could flash all the way from Mingary to Dunstaffnage and Dunconnel, or from Dunconnel to Mingary, to warn of danger or celebrate royal events such as Marjory’s wedding. She wondered if Lachlan was on Mull now, visiting one of his father’s holdings. If he were, and if they had devised a signal . . .

Reality struck before she completed the thought. She did not know what part of the large island contained Ian Dubh Maclean’s holdings. They might lie far to the south or to the west, facing the Holy Isle of Iona near Niall Mackinnon’s land. In any event, if Lachlan were at a window in Aros Castle this very moment, staring at Ardtornish and thinking about her, she would not know it.

Although she was aware that soon she would be missed below, she walked the rest of the way around the battlements surrounding the slate roof. The laird’s tower, eighty feet from east to west and fifty north to south, was a solid fortress.

At an angle from the northwest corner, and sharing the garderobe tower, stood the new wing containing a kitchen and brewery on the lower level and guest chambers above. Ardtornish boasted outbuildings, too, including the great hall to the northeast, separated from the residence just as at Finlaggan, and to the southeast, a barn with stabling for horses, a corn-drying kiln, and several boat shelters.

The promontory upon which Ardtornish stood provided its greatest protection. Its curtain wall was minimal, and so safe did his grace feel with all of loyal Morvern behind him, that no other defense existed north of the great hall.

As Mairi hurried down to the great chamber, she smiled, happy to be at Ardtornish but happier to know she would soon see Lachlan again, and could tell him of the conversation she had overheard between her father and Niall Mackinnon.

Thanks to Niall’s skill, Ardtornish was ready to receive them and the many other guests who began to arrive the next day. Not until days later, however, on the Wednesday afternoon before Easter, did the sons of Gillean arrive.

Mairi’s plan to confer with Lachlan suffered a setback soon afterward, when MacDonald, greeting the brothers, said he had arranged for them to stay at Duart.

“You will appreciate your accommodation even more Friday morning,” he said with a laugh, “when being on Mull will allow you to sleep later than we can.”

Friday was the day of his grace’s grand tinchal.

Increasingly frustrated, and believing that Niall, not MacDonald, had arranged to house the brothers nearly five miles away, across the Sound, rather than more conveniently in the new wing, Mairi strove to contain her impatience. But Ardtornish suddenly seemed even smaller and more crowded than Finlaggan.

Opportunities arose that afternoon to speak to Lachlan, but none offered any promise of privacy, because guests wandered everywhere, even in the woods along the cliffs, and to the shore. Short of inviting him to accompany her to the garderobe, she could not think how they might conspire to be alone for even a minute or two. And if she were so desperate as to offer such an improper invitation, she could be certain they would find a line of people waiting to make use of the facility.

Three days remained of Lent, but the Lord of the Isles’ court at Ardtornish had already become a lively social gathering. Meals were boisterous, the evening ones even more so than midday, for not only did they eat supper at five, as usual, but gillies served a late supper, as well, to those hardy enough to stay up until the small hours and still manage to rise in time for morning prayers.

Mairi had exchanged only a few polite words in company with Lachlan when he approached her just before suppertime, with Hector beside him, to say politely, “Do you still mean to join the hunt on Friday, my lady?”

“Aye, sir, I do.”

“Will you and the other ladies carry bows, or do you go merely to observe?”

She raised her chin. “I will shoot, sir. I’ve had my own bow since I was ten.”

“Then I’ll wager you are a fine shot,” he said, smiling.

“I strike where I aim, I believe.”

He exchanged a look with Hector before saying, “I’d like to see you try your skill. Where hereabouts does one practice?”

“The archery field lies above the castle to the north,” she said. “But I did not mean to imply that my skills match yours or Hector Reaganach’s,” she added. “My bow is shorter and less powerful than a man’s.”

“Then, for our contest, we’ll shoot with your bow. How will that suit you?”

Several others, overhearing the exchange, immediately called for wagers and demanded that they arrange a party and a regular shooting contest. MacDonald, learning of the idea, agreed that it would be a fine way to prepare for his tinchal.

Mairi suppressed a sigh. For a few moments, she had believed Lachlan had found a way for them to be alone for a short time at least, but clearly he had not. She turned away, fearing she might reveal her disappointment to her father, and determined to think of a way to speak privately with Lachlan. But she had taken only a few steps before he caught her arm and said, “Don’t run off, sweetheart.”

She turned with a smile, noted that just then no one was within several feet of them, and said hastily in a low tone, “I must talk with you. Niall told my father that he suspects us of being enamored with each other.”

“He is right, of course, but I wish a demon would fly away with him.”

“But my father said—”

“Don’t fret, lass. Your father already knew as much, did he not?”

“Aye, but—”

“Just leave everything to me.”

“But—”

“We’ll talk later,” he murmured. “Now is not the time.”

“Aye, I did hope we might be alone to shoot tomorrow,” she said wistfully.

He smiled again. “We will be. It is going to rain.”

“What difference can that make, and how do you know?”

“I know everything,” he said, his smile widening to a grin as he added, “Remember that, and take heed what you do when I am not with you.”

“I have heard that you are a knowing one,” she retorted, not caring who heard her now, or who might accuse her of flirting. “Even if you do not set spies, sir, men do say that you have eyes and ears everywhere.”

“And I encourage that reputation,” he confided. “You’d be surprised at what I learn just because men fear I might have an eye on them. Often someone will decide it is better to tell me a tale himself than risk letting an enemy tell his version first and alter strategic details as he does.”

“Do you gather information about my father?”

He leaned nearer, murmuring, “I gather information, sweetheart; I do not by custom share it, except with my liege. I will tell you this, however. I have learned from my most trusted man that Mellis MacCoun cannot have killed his wife.”

Frowning, she said, “I own, I do not see how he could have, but can you be sure? Agnes Beton said Mellis is the most likely one, and she should know. Even my lady mother suspected that if it was not an accident, Mellis must have done it.”

“He did not.”

“Who is this henchman then, that you trust him so completely?”

“Ah, now, that would be telling.”

“Did he find out more about the witnesses?” she asked. “I thought that Fin MacHugh, Gil Dowell, and Shim MacVey must have stayed at Finlaggan that day, but Ewan said they all went to Kilchoman. Surely at least one ought to have remembered seeing Elma when she took Mellis’s things to him before they left.”

“Aye,” he said. “If they did not remember before they accused the lad, one or another should remember now why they did not. Of course, it may be too late to ask them unless they are here. We’ll look into that.”

“I think Gil and Fin may be here. Ewan and Shim are not.”

“I’ll look into it, but don’t you trot about asking odd questions of people, lass. A man who would kill one woman may easily kill another.”

She did not reply but glanced at Hector, chatting with Fiona MacDougall, the flirtatious daughter of Dunstaffnage’s constable. Although she could easily believe he was Lachlan’s most trusted man, she could not imagine how either one could know more about Mellis or the others than she did, or be so certain of themselves. But neither did she want to press him, lest he stop sharing what they learned.