Amanda Scott (25 page)

Chapter
13

H
ector gazed steadily back at his angry father, striving to give no indication of his feelings. Indeed, those feelings, as near the surface as they were, were unfamiliar to him, except the one that made him feel twelve years old again, facing punishment for some misdeed or other.

Those misdeeds, now that he came to think of it, had usually been committed at Lachlan’s instigation and the punishments usually shared. This time he was on his own, just as he had told himself he wanted to be.

He considered reminding Ian Dubh that the problem had resulted from Macleod’s chicanery, not his own, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it stirred. He had made his own choices. Had he not forced the issue at the outset, he would not have married Cristina, so in truth, he could blame no one but himself.

“Have you nothing to say for yourself?” Ian Dubh demanded.

“No, sir,” Hector said.

“Then you will set aside this notion of seeking an annulment.”

Oddly, the idea of spending the years ahead married to Cristina did not disturb him as much as it had, but the thought of submitting tamely to such a decree did. Perhaps it was that Lachlan’s words, then Ian Dubh’s, reminded him that the decision did not lie wholly with him, because he owed them both his obedience.

The reminder did not work. He simply could not knuckle under this time. He would make his own decision in this matter if no other.

With a slight smile, he said, “I have not yet decided exactly what I will do, sir, but I will certainly ponder your concerns, and Lachlan’s.”

“If annulment was appropriate, lad, you should have said so at once and not after you’d consummated the marriage. ’Twould be no better than rape to gain an annulment after taking advantage of the lass.”

Stunned at the course his father’s thoughts had taken, Hector opened his mouth to tell him they had not lain together until the previous night, but he shut it again without saying a word. He believed that Cristina had misunderstood the matter just as she said she had, and he would not have anyone accusing her of a greater part in the conspiracy than she had played. That tale would remain strictly between them. Still, if his father opposed the very notion of annulment, and Lachlan did as well, any chance of successfully applying to Rome would be small.

He could tell the Pope the truth, that this wife had mistakenly made him think they had consummated the union on their wedding night, but to do so would be to appear a great fool, and it would embarrass Cristina. He found that thought as distasteful to him as the thought that others might come to view her as pitiable, a woman who had lost her maidenhood and whose husband had then cast her off.

“I must tell you,” Ian Dubh said, “I had little interest in your marriage to a younger daughter, but this with the elder is not without merit. She will doubtless bring a decent tocher, and Macleod will find himself in sad straits if he refuses to pay it. I have told Lachlan that I would have him speak to Macleod about that.”

Hector had not thought of a tocher for Cristina, but it was customary for a father to provide one for any daughter that married, and one from a man with Macleod’s wealth and standing should be considerable. But he did not care about that. He wanted nothing from Macleod.

Still, acquiring a tocher would give Ian Dubh something else to think about.

“Is there aught else that you want to discuss with me, sir?” he asked.

“You are mighty reticent, my lad.”

“I have not been disrespectful, Father, nor disobedient. But I would lead my own life, and with respect, sir, I will decide what is best for me and for my wife.”

“Where is she?”

“At Lochbuie.”

“I cannot think why you did not bring her with you,” Ian Dubh said. “You still have not properly presented her to me as you should.”

“Again, with respect, sir, I invited you to my wedding, where you might easily have met her. You elected not to attend.”

“True, but I have been busy with these documents. I told you, did I not, that they pertain to events that occurred whilst Bruce was attempting to unite Scotland?”

“Aye, you did.”

“One of them apparently pertains to financial or military aid promised him by someone fleeing from King Philip of France—the fourth one, that would be.”

“Indeed, sir. Very intriguing, to be sure. Did you say that Mairi is somewhere about? I do want to pay my respects.”

“Aye, you should. She will be pleased to see you and will doubtless scold you for not bringing your Cristina with you. She would have liked to see her.”

“Does Lachlan return in time to sail with us to Ardtornish?”

“Nay, he will sail into Loch Aline and go straight to confer with his grace. He would have you join them there as soon as you can. Mairi says she will go to Ardtornish for the festivities but prefers to remain here with the bairns until then.”

“And you, sir, do you go to Ardtornish to pay your respects to the Steward?”

“Perhaps,” Ian Dubh said vaguely, his attention already drifting back to the documents on the table before him. “I believe he is a good choice to succeed David, but only because he will not stir passions on either side. The whole country can benefit from a few peaceful years, I’m thinking—if he does actually take the throne, that is. Things do not always progress as one expects, although the mendicant friars do say that David has been ailing of late. Still, there are those who hope not to follow the Bruce’s will.”

“You refer to clans that do not support the Steward?”

“Aye, who else? Some of them are most warlike in their dissatisfaction, I’m told. The Mackinnons, certainly, even your Macleod and his ilk.”

“The Mackinnons seem to find joy in mischief,” Hector said. “But Macleod told me that he has no real objection to Robert, that he would merely prefer someone of more ancient lineage. Moreover, Robert has acted ably as steward of the realm. Why would anyone fear he’d be a bad king?”

“Faith, lad, they don’t fear him. They think themselves superior to him. Surely, you understand that. Mackinnons and many others have been on this earth a far longer time than the upstart Steward has. Even Clan Gillean, for all that many call us babes, can document our history further back than the Steward. He derives his primarily from his grandsire’s position with the MacDonald of his time, and from his own maternal kinship with the Bruce’s sister. Historically, the man is a fledgling. ’Tis no wonder that clans with thousand-year histories dislike him.”

Hector could not disagree. He barely knew Robert the Steward, but what he did know did not encourage him to think the man would make a great king of Scots. Robert had been an able administrator in his younger days, but his greatest achievement was the production of innumerable sons and daughters, legitimate and not, whom he had married into most of the great clans.

Because of those connections, Hector doubted that Robert would encounter too much opposition when the time came to take the throne. Few would attempt to displace a man with whom they felt familial connection. The Macleods might rant about the unfairness of Parliament’s overlooking their ancient heritage, but Hector doubted that they would actively oppose him. The Mackinnons, on the other hand, could prove dangerous. And if mischief was brewing over petrel oil, he would not be surprised to learn that they had at least a finger in that as well.

He would have to mention the possibility to Lachlan. He would not put it past Fingon Mackinnon to be making mischief there merely to divert the attention of the Admiral of the Isles from affairs closer to home.

All in all, he thought, as he left Ian Dubh with his documents, the meeting had gone well. As often happened, anticipation had been worse than reality. He was a grown man now, after all, no longer a lad to tremble at the thought of displeasing him. Yet his father’s generally soft-spoken displeasure had always been enough in the past to make him quake in his boots. In truth, he had frequently been answering for both Lachlan and himself, because as he recalled now, his wily brother had all too often managed to avoid such confrontations altogether.

He went in search of Mairi and his naughty nephews, seeking entertainment of a lighter nature, but found his sister-in-law alone in her parlor.

“Sit down, sir, if you are still able to,” she said with a sympathetic smile.

He grimaced. “I’m a wee bit old for flogging, lass, but he is unhappy with me, not least because I’ve not yet arranged for him to meet my wife.”

“That must be nonsense, because he met Cristina right here at Duart.”

“The devil you say!”

“Surely he did not say he had not yet met her.”

He thought back to that part of their conversation. “Nay, he said only that I had not yet properly presented her to him, and when I reminded him that I had invited him to the wedding, he changed the subject to his precious documents.”

She grinned. “I think he likes her.”

“I should have guessed that he’d met her, simply by the fact that he seems to approve of her.”

“Aye, well he disapproves of annulment, I know. Lachlan does, too.”

Hector sighed, and when his nephews chose that moment to fling open the door and dash into the room, he greeted their noisy welcome with unmixed relief.

“Cristina, Soot is missing! I cannot find her anywhere,” Isobel exclaimed, rushing up to Cristina as she was taking inventory of the castle linens. She had already listed everything in the cellars and storage kists.

“Kittens often disappear, but I’m sure she’ll pop up when she gets hungry,” Cristina said. “Help me fold this sheet. Then perhaps you will be kind enough to carry it up to my tower chamber for me. I want to mend that tattered hem.”

“You have scarcely sat still since Hector left,” Isobel said as she took one end of the sheet and gave it a shake as she moved away from Cristina. “Even Mariota has noticed that you seem never to light anywhere long enough to talk.”

“He has been gone only two days,” Cristina said with a smile. “Moreover, it takes many hands to make a household run smoothly, and I warrant you will not suggest that Mariota has been much help.”

“No, for she does not think they are her responsibility. I like to help though, and I’ll be glad to take this sheet up for you. I could mend it for you as well, if you like.” When Cristina hesitated, Isobel added indignantly, “You won’t say you cannot trust me to do so. You know I can stitch every bit as finely as you do.”

“I know, love. You set a very pretty seam, and even your embroidery is above reproach. I expect it is just a matter of wanting to see to things myself.”

“More likely, it is a matter of not wanting to depend on anyone else,” Isobel said roundly. “You never have.”

“Oh, not ‘never,’ surely!”

“Well, in my experience, you rarely can bring yourself to ask anyone for help, so I suppose it is a good sign that you will let me take this thing to your tower chamber,” Isobel said with the air of wisdom she wore so lightly. “I did not think you would allow me to go there. It has become your private retreat, after all.”

Cristina shook her head. “You shame me, my love. I do not want you to feel as if you cannot enter a chamber of mine, any chamber, nor do I want you to think I don’t trust you, for I do. If you like, you may mend that sheet. Indeed, I must have quite a pile of mending by now, and I will gladly welcome your help with it.”

“Excellent,” Isobel said, grinning. “I make progress. Perhaps I can now trick Mariota into offering to help, too. Aunt will, certainly.”

“Aye, she will,” Cristina said, “but I think we will ask one of the gillies to carry the basket down to the parlor for us. It will be more comfortable there for the four of us than my wee tower chamber.”

Isobel did not argue that point, and Cristina was grateful. She did not want her sanctuary invaded. She would not mind spending time there quietly with Isobel, and the kittens often shared it with her, but the thought of Lady Euphemia talking nonstop or Mariota complaining to her there made her wince.

She finished the inventory and took the stairway to the landing between her bedchamber and Hector’s, thinking about how quiet the castle was without him and how much she noticed his absence. Memories of the night before his departure ambushed her thoughts if she did not fill her mind with household chores, so she kept as busy as she knew how to be. She did not want to think about that night, or how stupid she had been, or how she had inadvertently tricked him again.

He had said he believed her, and perhaps he did, but how could he not believe that she had witlessly betrayed him again nonetheless? How could she have been so stupid? She had not even questioned Macleod about what he had meant when he threatened to stay and see that she did lie with Hector as his wife. She had simply assumed he meant that she had to sleep with the man.

Since then, she had wanted to please Hector, to make him glad he had married her and not Mariota, but she had known she could not simply seek his approval; nor could she now. She could be no more than what she was, and he plainly wanted a wife whose beauty would stun everyone who looked at her.

That woman she could never be, and now that others knew he wanted an annulment, surely there could be no reason for him not to seek it openly. Perhaps she should offer to help. She could even approach the Green Abbot. Surely, if she explained what had happened and confessed her role in it, she might persuade him to add his support to Hector’s application.

She sighed, knowing she could do no such thing. Not only had Hector forbidden her to approach the abbot, but she did not want to aid the annulment.

She was entering her bedchamber, trying to persuade herself that if she just did what needed doing and did not fret over things she could not change, she would do well enough, when she heard Isobel shouting from the next landing.

“Cristina, Soot nearly drowned! Oh, hurry! I don’t know if I can save her!”

Casting the fresh linens she had carried up with her onto the bed, she ran up the stairs and found Isobel on the landing, tenderly cradling the black kitten, which was soaked to the skin and shivering miserably.