Amanda Scott (7 page)

“She may have one day.”

“Nay, then, for it lacks but a few hours till dawn, and the lass requires her sleep. Make it four days. There’s a good lad.
We canna say fairer than that.”

“Two.”

“Make it three, at least!”

“Faith, Mackinnon, I’ll not be taking her to the end of the earth, only to Eilean Donan. It is not as far away as Dunvegan,”
he added dryly.

“Aye, sure, Dunvegan,” Mackinnon replied with a twinkle. “Well, I did think I’d sent the lass there, ye ken, but ’tis true,
I ha’ a dreadful memory.”

Gathering her scattered wits, Molly said, “Do you not think that someone should ask me if I
want
to go with him? Even if I did—and I don’t—I could not possibly prepare to leave Dunakin so quickly.”

“You have nothing to say about it,” Kintail said. “As it is Tuesday morning already, I’ll give you until noon Thursday to
pack.”

“We dinna dine until one,” Mackinnon said. “Ye’ll no want t’ go afore ye eat, for ye’ll need your strength, lad. ’Tis a wonder
and all that ye can keep your feet after such a clout as ye must ha’ taken, falling off your horse. And how ye come t’ do
such a fool thing, I dinna ken. My man’s a wizard training horses, and I ha’ never had trouble wi’ the one that gave ye a
toss, but mayhap ye—”

“There is naught amiss with me or the horse,” Kintail said, shooting a look at Molly. “Indeed, sir, so mild was his temper
before that moment that my men still suspect witchcraft.”

“That is not what your men said about his temper,” Molly said. “They said it was as wicked as your own—although,” she amended
hastily, “they did say, too, that he was as meek as a lamb with you. It
was
odd, sir,” she said to Mackinnon. “Naught occurred to spook him, I promise you. He reared for no reason.”

“Well, there be little accounting for beasts,” Mackinnon said amiably. Turning to Kintail, he added in the same tone, “We’re
agreed, then. Ye’ll remain until after dinner on Thursday—or mayhap till Friday morning. Ye’ll no want t’ be sleeping on that
stone floor in the hall all that time, either, for ye’ll need your sleep, and in a bed befitting your station. My people will
look after ye nicely. Now then, Molly, ye run along t’ bed. We’ll speak more o’ this business anon.”

“Aye, lass,” Kintail said.“You and I will also speak more anon.”

Ignoring the little shiver that shot up her spine at his stern tone, Molly curtsied to Mackinnon but spared only a nod for
Kintail. She was pleased when he frowned. Let him learn that she was no woman to bend her knee to a man merely because he
thought he wielded power over her.

“Come along, lad,” she heard Mackinnon say heartily as she strode briskly away from them. “Unless ye be lying and your head
aches like the devil—as it should—I’ll teach ye how t’ play chess properly.”

F
in accompanied his host willingly enough, but it was as well that no one asked him just then what he thought of his new ward.
From the moment of receiving the King’s writ, he had thought only of what the transfer would mean to Donald of Sleat and perhaps
to Eilean Donan. He had scarcely given a moment’s thought to what it might mean to him. Had anyone asked what he had expected
her to look like, he would have had no answer. Indeed, he would not have thought such a detail important, but he certainly
had not expected her to look as she did—deliciously, intoxicatingly beautiful.

He had never seen anyone like her. He doubted that most men ever had, and it occurred to him then that James could not possibly
know how beautiful she was, or he would have seduced her himself before offering her to anyone else. Such was his grace’s
reputation, after all, and if her fortune was half what they claimed, her purity would not matter a whit. Doubtless, James
thought of her still as a child, no more than a pawn in his favorite game of pitting noble against noble.

Fin realized that he, too, had thought of this new ward as a child, but she was no such thing. Even dressed as she was and
bedraggled after hiding in the shrubbery, she was exquisite. Her pale red-gold hair was soft and silky-looking, encouraging
a man’s touch. He could easily imagine burying his face in her long, thick curls. Her complexion was pale, translucently so,
with a stubborn little chin, a tip-tilted nose, and undeniably kissable lips. And her eyes were extraordinary—large, with
black-rimmed gray pupils, or so they had seemed in the dim torchlight of the corridor. Black lashes—long, curly ones—fringed
them and made her look vulnerable, until she opened her saucy mouth.

She had a truly elegant figure, slender, graceful, and enticingly curvaceous. Indeed, he could complain of nothing in her
appearance, and if the truth were told, he looked forward to seeing her again. But her behavior and manner of speech would
have to change if they were to get along. That much was certain.

Following Mackinnon to the high table, he wondered what the man had been thinking to let her grow up speaking so impertinently
to him or to anyone else. As Fin watched him finish his game, an image flashed before his mind’s eye of the lass naked and
spread out like a feast before him, her mouth bound shut. He chuckled at the thought. Doubtless, she would unman anyone foolish
enough to try gagging her.

When Mackinnon’s opponent relinquished his place at the chessboard, Fin took it with alacrity, certain that he could beat
the older man. But although they played several games, no matter what he did, no matter how clever his strategy seemed, luck
eluded him. When Mackinnon said kindly, as he offered him more of the heady
brogac
that the islanders drank, that Fin’s losses were probably due to the clout on his head, Fin wanted to believe him, but his
head did not even ache.

That seemed strange, too, because since he had hit the ground hard enough to render himself unconscious, his head ought to
hurt like the devil.

One benefit came from the busy night, however—or the
brogac
—for although he rarely slept well in strange surroundings, he slept soundly in the bedchamber allotted to him until a sharp
rapping at the door awakened him.

“Enter,” he growled, shifting his pillows and sitting up against them.

“You’re in a pleasant humor,” Patrick MacRae said with a teasing grin. “I came to see if you mean to sleep the day away. ’Tis
nigh onto eleven.”

“Faith, it cannot be so late!”

“Aye, but it is. I’d have come sooner, but Mackinnon told me you wanted to sleep late. He passed that information to Tam,
as well.”

“The devil he did! After this, my lad, unless you or Tam hear such an order from me, you will pay it no heed.”

“Aye, well, normally I would not have believed him,” Patrick said with a wise look, “but you stayed up till nearly dawn, after
all, letting the old man beat you at chess and drinking his
brogac,
so I thought he might be right to let you sleep.”

“Where is the lass? Is she still abed, as well?”

“Nay, the old man said she went hunting shortly after dawn.”

“Hunting!”

“Aye, I thought it strange, myself, but I did take the precaution of sending a pair of the lads to keep an eye on her so she’d
not winkle her way off the isle whilst you slept. They have not returned, so doubtless they managed to follow my orders.”

“Good man,” Fin said.

“Aye, unless Mackinnon is more devious than we think,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “He could have murdered our lads and hidden
the lass somewhere. This is his ground, after all.”

“Men say Mackinnon is a man of his word,” Fin said, “but I do not trust the lass. Unless I miss my guess, she’ll leap at the
first opportunity to escape me.”

“How odd that she did not take to you at once,” Patrick said, grinning again.

“You mind your manners, my lad,” Fin growled, “or even you will soon find it difficult to laugh. I may allow you frequent
liberties, but—”

“I’ll hold my peace,” Patrick said, sobering hastily. “There is still food set out in the hall,” he added. “Shall I send a
lad up with a platter of it?”

“I’ll go down,” Fin said. “Tell someone to saddle a horse for me. I mean to follow that hunt as soon as I’ve broken my fast.”

An hour later, Fin rode out of the castle with Sir Patrick at his side, and it did not take them long to find the hunters.
To his astonishment, the Maid rode ahead of the men, and she rode like a young goddess.

Her mount was of the highest quality, a fine bay gelding with four black stockings and a white blaze on its face. Its black
mane was strung with tiny silver bells that tinkled musically as it paced along with its long black tail arched high. Her
plushly padded saddle was inlaid with ivory and gilt. Her silver-tipped stirrups, her elegant gray velvet dress, and her plumed
black hat—all augmented her beauty and the magnificence of her appearance. The fair huntress held her reins gracefully in
her left hand and her bow in her right. A quiver of arrows hung from her belt. Her thick, reddish blond curls hung in a loose
cloud down her back.

The sight reminded him of his Viking ancestors, any one of whom would have been delighted to capture such a treasure and carry
her back to his home, to plunder at will until she squirmed with delight beneath him. The thought stirred tension in his loins.

Three huge gray deerhounds followed her closely, their heads held high, nostrils twitching eagerly as they sought to catch
scent of her prey on the wind. Still staring at the alluring huntress, Fin found himself wondering next how much it all had
cost. Becoming to her as it was, he hoped she did not expect him to clothe or mount her so finely at Eilean Donan—not unless
he discovered that her fortune was as large as everyone claimed it was and it somehow came into his hands.

He had expected her to be riding with the hunters but not actually to be hunting, herself. He wondered again what Mackinnon
was thinking, to let her ride with a company of men in such a fashion. He would certainly protect her better than that. Had
the man no common sense at all?

It would not have shocked him to see her—with a proper lady companion or two, of course—hunting larks with a merlin whilst
the men escorting them hunted with larger hawks or falcons. But the lass carried a longbow, and that, to his mind, was an
absurdity. The longbow was a man’s weapon, not a woman’s, and meant for warriors, not willow-slender lasses, who could spend
their time more wisely learning how to please a man. Surely, she could not even draw that bow properly. She was too small
and lacked the necessary muscle. Nonetheless, she rode astride, she rode well, and she carried the bow as if she knew what
to do with it.

Even as the last thought danced through his mind, the hunters flushed a flock of gray-brown wood pigeons and she swiftly raised
her bow, dropping her reins to her horse’s neck and letting an arrow fly in almost the same short span of time that it took
him to notice what was happening. The arrow flew true, and the bird fell.

Fin glanced at Patrick to see that gentleman’s mouth hanging open.

Patrick looked at him. “You saw that?”

“Aye,” Fin said. “She might not be as skilled as you are, but if I’m not mistaken, that shot was as fine as any other archer
might make.”

“I’ve never seen the like,” Patrick said. “She handles that bow as well as any man I’ve ever trained.”

Molly saw Kintail watching her, but she carefully avoided looking at him, because she did not want him to detect her curiosity
and mistake it for anything else. Better that he think she had more important matters on her mind. Nevertheless, she was delighted
that he was watching when she shot the wood pigeon. Men thought them difficult prey for an archer, because of their fast,
steep, erratic flight. When the arrow struck true, it was all she could do not to throw him a smile of triumph, and when he
and Sir Patrick rode away, she told herself the disappointment she felt was merely because he could not see her repeat the
shot.

Back at Dunakin an hour later, she handed her bow and quiver to a gilly and nodded to another to help her dismount. Before
the lad could do so, however, a muscular arm pushed him aside and Kintail stepped up beside her horse.