Amanda Scott (6 page)

“I’ll go with you,” Molly said crisply. “To speak plainly, sir, with your master as their example, I’ll feel safer at Dunakin
than alone with any of your men.”

“As you wish,” he said quietly, gathering the reins of the horse his master had ridden. “Back to Dunakin, then, lads. You
four carry him for now, and I’ll relieve anyone who grows tired, though the distance is short. Would you care to ride one
of the other horses, mistress?”

“I’ll walk, thank you,” Molly said. She did not want to give them information when they had given her none. Nor did she want
to ride, since that would mean accepting Sir Patrick’s help in mounting. Doubtless, too, if she rode, he would ride also,
and she felt safer with everyone walking. “I’d be happy to lead one of the other horses if you like,” she added, watching
as they gently straightened the injured man’s legs and settled his arms beside him.

Sir Patrick accepted her offer with thanks, his attention focused again on the motionless form of his master.

Molly did not know whether to hope the injured man regained consciousness quickly or remained safely out of his senses, but
as she gazed down at him, she realized that her indignation and anger had given way to softer emotions.

Moonlight made him look peaceful and almost boyish, although he was far too large for anyone to mistake him for a child. His
features looked less intimidating now, to be sure, but nonetheless attractive. Doubtless, most women would find him handsome
and be only too happy to leap at his slightest command, even into his bed. Her feelings were mixed. She could not cheer such
an accident befalling anyone, and she could not help thinking that she had somehow spooked the horse into rearing, but she
was grateful for whatever had stopped the man from pursuing his intentions toward her.

She wondered what color his eyes were. She had seen only the darkness of their depths and the danger in their expression.

He certainly had made his wishes plain, and she found it disturbing that he had wanted to kiss her and doubtless to fondle
her the way she had seen certain men kiss and fondle croft women or female servants in the castle, whether the women were
agreeable to such pastimes or not.

His hands were large, she thought, gazing at the nearer one. One could easily hold her, and if he put the other arm around
her…

“We’re ready to go now, mistress,” Sir Patrick said, startling her. He handed her the reins of the horse she was to lead.

Sir Patrick walked, too, leading the two horses that he and his master had ridden. The animals gave them no trouble, and Molly
thought it odd that the one had thrown its rider, for she now recognized all six horses as coming from the Dunakin stables.
They were spirited beasts but not ill-tempered ones, whatever the men in the stable might have told the strangers.

The little party moved steadily but swiftly, and it seemed no time at all before they were inside the castle walls, where
gillies came at once to tend the horses and Molly led the way into the great hall.

Although servants had long since cleared away the supper tables, Mackinnon lingered at the high table. His lady had retired,
but it was ever her ladyship’s custom to retire to her private chamber after she had supped.

Micheil Love, who had long tutored the laird’s sons and Molly, had taken Lady Mackinnon’s place, and at the entrance of the
little group with their stretcher, both men looked up from the chessboard they had been carefully studying.

A look of annoyance flitted across Mackinnon’s face, but he said amiably enough, “What’s this, then? Ha’ ye come t’ grief
already, lads?” Then, as his gaze fixed on Molly, his tone altered to one of consternation, “Molly, lass, what are ye doing
wi’ this lot? Ye should be asleep in your bed.”

“Aye, sir, I know, but the storm kept me at the
ceilidh
longer than I’d intended, and then I came upon these men, and their leader was hurt, and…”

“Faith, I can see as much,” he interjected, “but off ye go now, and no argle-bargle if ye please. I’ll tend t’ this business.”

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly. “But as they have brought the injured man with them, I will go and fetch Gerald the Healer,
an it pleases you.”

“Aye, aye, that’s a good notion. The healer will ken what t’ do wi’ him.”

Worry for the man’s fate overcoming her now that her own safety was assured, Molly hurried through an archway at the left
of the roaring fire and down a service stairway that twisted through the thick wall to the lowest level, where the healer
had his small chamber near the kitchens. Knowing he would have gone to bed hours earlier, she hesitated only long enough to
snatch a taper from a receptacle on the wall and light it from a nearby torch. Then, pushing the door open, she said urgently,
“Gerald, wake up. The laird needs you at once.”

“W-what?” Sitting up on his fur-piled pallet, the healer rubbed sleep from his eyes and looked blearily at her, squinting
when his gaze met the candle’s light.

“Come quickly,” she said. “A man has fallen from his horse and lies senseless in the hall. I fear he may die!”

Bewildered, the healer said, “He fell from his horse in the hall?”

“His horse threw him on the track below the castle,” Molly said tensely, seeing no reason to reveal more. “Come now, and do
hurry!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.”

She turned away, keeping the taper, and he followed her back upstairs.

Mackinnon met them at the archway opening.

“Molly, ye foolish lass,” he scolded, “what be ye thinking? Gerald, go and see if there be aught ye can do for Mackenzie o’
Kintail. But ye, lass, get ye gone and dinna come back into the hall tonight. Indeed, I mean t’ see ye spirited away from
here as soon as may be, t’ Dunvegan— Nay,” he corrected hastily. “I spoke o’ Dunvegan t’ them earlier, so that willna do,
for ’twould be the first place they’ll look for ye, but it will take them a day t’ ride there, and in the meantime, I can
get ye safely t’ Donald o’ Sleat. He’ll see they dinna take ye away.”

“Take me away?” Foreboding swept through her. “But why, sir? I do not want to live with Donald. He may be my guardian, but
he is cruel, and Dunakin is more my home now than Dunsgaith could ever be. I want to stay here.”

“Cruel he may be,” Mackinnon acknowledged, “but when all is said and done, lass, the only thing that matters is that he is
your true guardian. I be but fostering ye whilst he tries t’ reclaim the Lordship o’ the Isles, which, as ye ken, he believes
the Crown stole from the Macdonalds years ago.”

“Aye, sir,” she said, having heard about Donald’s many beliefs and schemes over the years, all of which precluded his keeping
her with him. “But I do not want to leave Dunakin,” she added. “I scarcely know Donald of Sleat, and you have been like a
father to me for nearly as long as I can remember.”

“Likely, ye’d remain wi’ Donald for only a short time,” Mackinnon said reassuringly. “But go now, lass, I dinna want anyone
realizing who ye be till I get shut o’ this lot from Kintail.”

“But who are they, exactly? You mentioned Mackenzie of Kintail, but that name is not familiar to me.”

“That would be himself in there lying on the floor. He’s the Mackenzie chieftain from Eilean Donan Castle, and he carries
a writ from the King.”

“King James?”

“Aye, and what other king might be making a nuisance o’ himself but our own Jamie?”

“As to that, I do not know,” Molly said, forcing a smile. “I suppose that, since Henry of England has formed the annoying
habit of attacking the Scottish Borders and poking his nose into royal affairs at Stirling, he might decide to extend his
impertinence to the Highlands. He certainly has made a nuisance of himself everywhere else for many years, or so they say.”

“And who’s been talking t’ ye about the Borders?” he demanded.

“Why, you have, sir, frequently, and Micheil Love, as well. You said that I should know about what has been happening there
in my absence.”

“Aye, but your absence, as ye call it, ha’ gone on now for nigh onto a dozen years, lassie. I doubt what happens in the Borders
these days need trouble ye.”

“No, sir.”

“Aye, so dinna fratch wi’ me more, but go and do as I bid ye, and dinna go t’ your own chamber but sleep wi’ Doreen or Annie.
And if anyone asks ye who ye be, tell them ye be a servant lass here in the castle.”

A disturbingly familiar voice said grimly, “We would not believe her.”

Molly and Mackinnon turned as one and found themselves face-to-face with Mackenzie of Kintail. He looked even larger than
Molly remembered—and more handsome—but the impudent grin was gone.

She had recognized his voice instantly, for it had the same effect on her that it had had before. Even so, she could scarcely
believe that the tall, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and extremely healthy-looking man standing in the archway could be the
same one who had lain senseless only a short time before.

Evidently, Mackinnon felt the same, for he said blankly, “So ye’re no dead after all, Kintail.”

“As you see,” Kintail replied. “Your healer was surprised, as well, but I have a hard head.” Although he answered Mackinnon,
he looked at Molly, and she forced herself to look steadily back.

The flickering light from the taper she still held and from torches in nearby holders made his dark eyes glint menacingly,
making her feel as if she gazed into the eyes of Satan himself. She could not look away. His eyes looked brown, she thought,
but very dark. That dark gaze held hers and seemed to draw her nearer, although her feet did not move. Her body stirred as
if he had touched her.

Stupidly, she said, “You… you are standing up.”

“You are perceptive, mistress.” His voice was honey smooth, but his tone was nonetheless ominous. All sign of the impudent
marauder she had met on the hillside was gone. Some undercurrent in his tone kept her silent, although she longed to tell
him that both his comment and his manner were insolent.

Mackinnon said abruptly, “If ye’re not hurt, Kintail, mayhap we should return t’ the others now and let the lass retire t’
her chamber. I’ve a chess match t’ win yet, but your lads are welcome t’ bed down in the hall, and I warrant we can find a
spare chamber for ye and your deputy. He’ll be a MacRae, will he not?”

“Aye.” Kintail’s gaze still locked with Molly’s, and she began to feel that to look away now—if she could—would somehow give
him a victory. “We thank you for your hospitality, Mackinnon,” he added, “but we’ll sleep with my men.”

“As ye wish. Be they all MacRaes?”

Kintail glanced briefly at him. “Why would you think that?”

“Men do call the MacRaes ‘the Mackenzies’ shirt o’ mail,’ do they not?” Mackinnon said. “ ’Tis only natural t’ think MacRaes
would make up the greater part o’ your tail, lad. D’ye play chess?”

“I do.”

“Then if your head’s no paining ye, we’ll ha’ a game, for ’twill be my pleasure t’ beat ye,” Mackinnon said cheerfully.

Kintail raised his eyebrows. “Do you always win?”

“I do. Does that terrify ye, or will ye play?”

“I’ll play,” he said, capturing Molly’s gaze again. “But before we abandon the lass, I would know her name.”

“Dinna tell him, lassie,” Mackinnon said urgently.

“As you wish, sir,” she said. “He asked me several times earlier, but I did not like his tone, so I did not tell him.” She
shot Kintail a challenging look, daring him to recall all that he had said to her.

He did not flinch, saying easily, “I thought what any man would think, meeting a lass walking alone at such an hour. If I
offended you, mistress, you have only yourself to blame. You ought to have had a companion. In truth, you should keep her
more closely guarded, Mackinnon.”

“Why should he?” Molly demanded, furious that he would blame her for the incident. “Pray, what business is it of yours if
I choose to walk at night?”

“It is very much my business,” Kintail replied sternly, “because I believe that you are Mary Gordon, Maid of Dunsithe.”

“And what if I am?” She heard Mackinnon gasp but kept her attention firmly fixed on Kintail.

He said evenly, “If you are, I hold a royal writ granting me your wardship.”

“But you cannot hold such a writ,” she protested, appalled at the thought of this man having any hold over her, realizing
at last just what Mackinnon had been trying to explain to her. Desperately, she said, “My guardian is Donald of Sleat.”

“No longer, mistress. His grace the King has seen fit to transfer that guardianship to me. Apparently, he learned that Sleat
harbors thoughts of reestablishing the Lordship of the Isles.”

“I know little about that,” Molly said flatly, “nor can I imagine why a matter between Donald and the King should involve
me.”

“All you need to know is that I speak the truth,” he replied with that maddening calm. “Do you deny that you are the Maid
of Dunsithe?”

“I’ll not deny it, for I am certainly she,” Molly said. “But if you seek to control my fortune, sir, you should know that
many others have long sought to find it and all have failed. There is land, of course, and Dunsithe Castle in the Borders,
although that is doubtless falling to rack by now unless Donald still keeps a garrison there. But although men say that my
father was a man of great wealth, as far as I know, no one has laid eyes on anything but the castle and its lands since his
death.”

“That is my concern now, not yours,” he said. “At present, I am interested in collecting what is mine—which is to say, yourself,
mistress. You will prepare to depart for Eilean Donan at dawn.”

Molly looked from one man to the other, speechless and fighting tears. As she had continually feared, despite being allowed
to remain in one household for years, she was again to be uprooted without a moment’s thought for her wishes.

“Dinna be daft, lad,” Mackinnon said curtly. “The lassie ha’ made her home here for ten years and more. Ye canna sweep her
away overnight. I warrant it will take a sennight at least, for she’ll want t’ take farewell of all here who love her. Ye’re
welcome t’ stay wi’ us till she’s ready, but surely—”