Amanda Scott (5 page)

Sorcha stood still and listened, but when Isobel said no more, she drew a long breath and faced her. “I should not have struck him,” she admitted. “But he made me so furious that I didn’t even think before I did it. I hope I have not made trouble for you, Isobel. I know well that he is your husband’s best friend.”

“Faith, don’t bother your head about that,” Isobel said with a warm chuckle. “I’ve wanted to smack Hugo more times than I can count. He is the greatest tease I know, and he can behave so arrogantly that sometimes my palms just itch.”

“Still…” Sorcha hesitated, not wanting to say more.

“Come, walk a little away from here with me,” Isobel said. “We can say I was feeling indisposed.”

“I shouldn’t wonder at it if you were,” Sorcha said,
worried that hurrying after her might have endangered Isobel or her bairn.

“I’m quite fit,” Isobel assured her. “Moreover, I told Michael I was coming to rescue you and not to fly into a panic if someone told him I was unwell.”

“He’s probably angry with me, too,” Sorcha said.

“Not a bit. He is married to me, remember. He is well acquainted with the Macleod temper, although he doesn’t see much of it these days. His temperament is so mild that I find it easy just to tell him when aught displeases me. But Hugo is not Michael. Did you really think he wanted Adela?”

“Didn’t you?”

“For a time, perhaps,” Isobel admitted. “When we were all together at Orkney, he was certainly interested enough to flirt with her, and I suspect she had a tenderness for him, too. But I’ve seen enough of him now to know he flirts with any woman who is not a hag, an idiot, or in her dotage. I’m afraid he meant nothing by it.”

Sorcha grimaced. “Then I’m glad I smacked him hard.”

“Aye, sure, but you’d better keep out of his path for a while. He acts for Michael in much the same way that Hector acts for the Lord Admiral of the Isles, so he is accustomed to acting instinctively and decisively. He is not a man who counts cost, Sorcha. You test him further only at your peril.”

“I’m not afraid of him,” Sorcha said, ignoring the little shiver she had felt at Isobel’s words. “Indeed, I doubt I shall see him again until I visit you someday at Roslin. Even then, surely, I’ll have to suffer his presence only in company.”

Isobel grinned. “You’ll not get off that easily, dearling. He and Michael will stay at Lochbuie for nearly a sennight before they return to Roslin. Thus, they will be there whilst you and Sidony enjoy your visit with us.”

“May the devil fly away with the man! How can I keep my temper if I must be in his company for so long a time?”

“Easily,” Isobel said, still grinning. “Recall that your host will be Hector Reaganach. You would be wiser not to anger him, as I can well attest, having lived with him and Cristina as long as I did. You and Hugo would both do well to behave yourselves whilst you are Hector’s guests.”

“I forgot about Hector,” Sorcha admitted, adding a moment later, “Mercy, I forgot about Cristina, too. She is bound to scold me as fiercely as Father will.”

Isobel shook her head. “You should have thought of that earlier, but I know how it is when one loses one’s temper. Just give thanks that Adela did not witness that scene with Hugo. She gives much fiercer scolds than Cristina does.”

“Aye, but I wish she were here, though,” Sorcha said.

“So do I,” Isobel said, putting an arm around her.

“You’d better not do that unless you want me to burst into tears,” Sorcha said. “Where can she be, Isobel? I cannot think of anyone but Sir Hugo who had reason to take her. Who could have done it, and where is she?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she dashed them away with the back of her hand. “You’d better go on without me,” she said. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this, lest they think I’m wishing I had not smacked that dreadful man.”

“Will you be all right?”

“Aye, and you should be with your husband to watch the ceremony. One Macleod sister stirring gossip is enough for one day.”

Very well, I’ll go,” Isobel said. “But don’t miss the ceremony. There won’t be another like it for years.”

She went on ahead, but Sorcha soon followed, because the horns were sounding, calling everyone to assemble who wanted to witness the inauguration of the new Lord of the Isles. She joined Isobel, Sorcha, Hector, and Cristina, and Sir Michael soon found them all and stood beside his wife.

Sorcha feared for a moment that Sir Hugo would join them, too, but then saw him standing by Ranald of the Isles, apparently to help supervise the proceedings.

The processional was a grand affair in itself. It included not only Donald of Isla, his mother the princess Margaret Stewart, and the various bishops, abbots, and priests who would take part in the ceremony, but also every member of the Council of the Isles and a great many Brehons, the hereditary judges of the Isles.

The only important cleric Sorcha knew would not be there was the wicked Green Abbot of the Holy Isle. As a proven enemy of the Lord of the Isles, he was under close guard on the sacred isle. Lord Ranald had seen to it, according to Macleod, to ensure that the abbot could not prevent or disrupt Donald’s installation.

Donald had dressed all in white, although other nobles in the procession wore the splendid velvet doublets, puffed hose, and black velvet robes of the royal court. Still others wore more traditional Highland garb, including kilted plaids and saffron shirts, and many carried
swords. Hector Reaganach carried Lady Axe, Clan Gillean’s legendary battle-axe, in her sling on his back. But no one appeared to be in a bellicose mood.

Pipes skirled and drums beat a tempo for the procession. Then all fell silent, and the prayers and blessings began. Sorcha began to fear that every cleric there meant to speak, but at last, Ranald stepped forward and spread his arms wide.

“To all who bear witness as Donald of Isla accepts his destiny today, I say this,” he said. “All here know that his grace our lord father, John the Good of Isla, named Donald to be his lawful successor. And all know I have given my word that it shall be so. Therefore, let any who retain doubt or disloyalty step forward now to speak of it, or forsake it forever and swear fealty to Donald on this day of days.”

Sorcha heard the same murmuring that she had heard when the priest had demanded that anyone who objected to Adela’s marriage speak or forever keep silent. With a shiver, she realized she half expected to see masked riders bearing down on them again.

But the murmurs faded to silence when Ranald raised one arm high and cried, “Let
Lia Fail
, our sacred Footprint Stone of Destiny, be carried forth!”

Four men carried the sacred stone, said to be older even than the mainland Stone of Scone, on which Kings of Scots had been crowned until Edward of England had stolen it and carried it off to England nearly a century earlier. Before Ranald brought the Footprint Stone to Eigg, it had lived at Finlaggan.

They set the stone down reverently, and two priests stepped forward, bearing vials of holy petrel oil with
which they lightly oiled it. Even from her rather distant vantage point, Sorcha could see that there were two prints, an outer, very large one, and an inner one the size of a normal man’s foot.

When the priests moved away, Donald stepped forward and placed his bared left foot in the print, wriggling his toes to settle them in the hollows. His foot fit the inner print perfectly, stirring more murmurs, smiles, and nods from his audience.

The Bishop of Argyll handed him a white wand as an emblem of his solemn duty to maintain justice in his realms. Another bishop gave him the Great Sword, one of the two emblems of Clan Donald and the Lordship, to symbolize his position as Guardian of the Isles. After he had turned around three times to his right as a sign of the Trinity, and brandished the Great Sword three times on high, everyone there shouted, “MacDonald, MacDonald, MacDonald!”

Donald of Isla was now formally installed and accepted as Lord of the Isles.

On the day of her abduction, as Adela had come slowly to her senses after her swoon to find herself lying on something soft, hope stirred that her abduction had been only a nightmare. Then a nearby sound made her open her eyes.

Her captor stood a few feet away, watching her. They were in a tent large enough for him to stand upright, and she lay on a pile of furs and blankets that was doubtless his bed. Hope vanished, and a chill swept through her as
she recalled what he had said to make her swoon at his feet. The shock she had felt when he pulled off his mask had been bad, but this felt much worse. She had remembered his name.

Something he’d said before her swoon awakened the memory, because at Orkney he had said that one of the things he liked most was teaching a woman her proper role in life. He had also declared himself without sin then, and he’d claimed God’s favor. Although she had been in his presence only minutes then, she had seen his ruthlessness, so the memory provided nothing for her now but renewed terror. She pushed his name away lest she inadvertently anger him by speaking it aloud.

He did not speak, but his stern expression made her say hastily, “I… I was so dizzy. I cannot think what came over me.”

“You’ve had nothing to eat since this morning, if then,” he said. “I warrant you’re just hungry. If you promise to behave, you may come now and eat with us.”

“Oh, I do promise, thank you,” she said, the intensity of the gratitude she felt nearly overwhelming her. If he meant to feed her, at least he did not mean to kill her, and perhaps she could soften his harshness if she did not anger him again.

After they had eaten, to her surprise, instead of retiring, they mounted horses again. She yearned for her own mount, but at least this time, he let her ride pillion.

The intense gratitude she had felt before increased with his decision to go on rather than camp where they had stopped for supper. But her fears increased, too.

Finding herself even so briefly on his bed, alone with him, had brought home to her how dire her situation was.
If he decided to rape her, he would, and no one would stop him. Faith, if he decided to kill her, he would, and no one would stop him. Doubtless, he just bided his time. To calm herself, she began to imagine her father and Hector at the head of an army, roaring down on them to rescue her. Then memory of what he had said he would do in such a case stirred a new fear, that any rescue attempt would merely endanger her and the rescuers, as well.

They soon emerged from the woods, and she was astonished to see that they had traveled no distance at all. Straight ahead lay the shore of Loch Hourn.

To her dismay, a galley waited there, and she soon found herself bundled aboard it. Although its oarsmen regarded her curiously, none spoke to her, and instinct warned her that she would displease his lordship if she spoke to them. Dusk turned to darkness as they headed into the Sound of Sleat and turned south.

She lost all sense of time and direction. Having no idea where they went, she held her tongue, remaining biddable and stoic, making no complaint about the weary hours of travel or the icy sea air. They reached landfall by the light of a half-moon.

Two men awaited them with horses, but she saw no sign of habitation and knew she need expect no rescue there. They made camp on the beach, and to her infinite relief, she slept alone in the great tent. When she awoke late Sunday morning, the galley was gone, but the men with the horses remained.

They made a late start and camped at dusk several miles east of a village one of them called Kinlocheil. Adela thought it sounded familiar but still had no idea where she was. She was exhausted, if not from riding
pillion all day with his lordship then from the constant effort not to draw his ire, and from trying to deal with waves of unpredictable emotions that assaulted her.

If he offered food or water, she experienced the strange deep gratitude of the day before. Twice she was almost tempted to hug him for his kindness. And both times the impulse stirred, she felt repulsed, as if her own soul were betraying her. Was it her soul? Was he right in believing that God favored him? What if he was?

If he looked at her, she wondered how she had irritated him. If he did not, she feared he was vexed. The slightest change in his tone stirred worry, and the possibilities grew more terrifying with each mile they rode away from Glenelg.

On Monday, more riders joined their group, and it became apparent that her father’s army would soon have to be a large one if he were to prevail. She knew that he and anyone else who might search for her would presently be on the Isle of Eigg at the installation of the second Lord of the Isles. As a Councilor of the Isles, Macleod could not absent himself from so important an occasion. One moment, she hoped he had sent someone after her, the next that he had not.

Too often her fearsome captor eyed her speculatively, making her skin crawl, reminding her of the threat he had made, and of other things he might do. And reminding her, too, that he expected her absolute obedience.