Amanda Scott (9 page)

“Whisst now, whisst,” Maggie said sternly. “Ye’ll do nae good by settin’ up a screech, for if anyone else comes in, I’ll ha’
tae be taking me leave o’ ye straightaway. Would ye mind shuttin’ that door now—and quietly, mind.”

Fascination replaced the lingering remnants of Molly’s fear and disbelief. She had heard tales of the wee people all her life,
but never had she actually seen one before—or two, if one counted the cat, as she hoped one could. “But you cannot be a fairy,”
she protested. “Fairies are much smaller than you are.”

“How small? Like this, d’ye think?” Maggie shrank until she was smaller than the wildcat’s paw. The beast looked much more
menacing now.

“I-I’d prefer larger, if you don’t mind,” Molly said, eyeing the cat warily.

“Aye, well, that’s what I thought,” Maggie said, returning to her previous size. “Now, shut the door if ye’d like me tae stay
and chat.”

Molly pointed to the wildcat. “What about him?”

“Dinna fash yourself. He’ll be doin’ ye nae harm.” Maggie snuggled deeper into the wildcat’s thick fur.

To Molly’s astonishment, the beast began to purr.

“There, now, ye see,” Maggie said. “But we canna be wastin’ time. What d’ye think o’ yon Finlay Mackenzie o’ Kintail?”

The question caught Molly as she moved at last to shut the door. Using more force than necessary, she said bluntly as she
turned, “He is hateful and arrogant.”

“Aye, well, I were afraid ye wouldna like him, though he seems tae be handsome enough.”

“I suppose,” Molly said, “if one likes dark-haired men with eyes that seem to look right through one. I do not.”

“’Tis a pity then, but once our Claud had stuck his finger in the pie, there were little I could do. He’s in lust again, Claud
is, and bein’ in such a state turns his brain tae porridge. Nobbut he’s no so strong in that area most days, come what may.
I fear our Claud didna come out o’ the womb wi’ all his bits in such fine order as I did m’self, ye see, even though he had
the good fortune tae ha’ me for his mam.”

Thoroughly bewildered, Molly stepped nearer and said, “Whatever are you talking about, and who is Claud?”

“If ye’d but listen, I told ye, he’s me son, though it isna summat I care tae brag about most days. Aye, sure, and ye can
believe me when I say that!”

“But who are you? Or, more to the point,
what
are you?”

“Aye, now that would ha’ been a better way tae put your question in the first place, instead o’ taking it for granted that
I were one o’ them feckless Highland fairies,” Maggie Malloch said, nodding. Making a gesture with the white implement in
her hand, she said, “Ha’ ye no heard tell o’ the household spirits, then?”

“I don’t think so, although I have heard many stories about the wee people,” Molly said, “about fairies that steal babes from
their cradles, and about the evil Host that flies at night, seeking stray souls to collect.”

“We’ll no speak o’ the Host, if ye please. As for fairies stealing bairns, them would be Highland fairies or the Irish lot,
and I’ve nae truck wi’ such. Foolish creatures they be, always spouting o’ kings and queens and the like, and making mischief—stealing
grown folks away, too, and then returning them twenty years later tae everyone’s consternation. I dinna hold wi’ such fractious
goings-on.”

“Are you a Highlander of another sort, then?”

“Nay, lass, I be nae more a Highlander than ye be yourself. Me and Claud, we traveled wi’ ye from the first, when your uncle
took ye away tae Tantallon, and later we followed ye tae Dunsgaith when that misbegotten fool that’s presently ruling Scotland
sent ye here tae Skye. And we ha’ been wi’ ye at Dunakin since Donald sent ye here.” She put the stick end of the white implement
in her mouth, sucked on it, and then blew out another stream of smoke.

Watching this process in fascination, and feeling that she somehow owed the little woman an apology, Molly said, “I am sorry
if I caused you to leave your home, but you can scarcely blame me when I did not even know you existed.”

“Pish, tush, I dinna blame ye at all. ’Twas a dreadful night, that.”

“It was, indeed,” Molly agreed, involuntarily putting a hand on her left breast as a sudden, unexpected memory swept over
her of the pain she had endured.

The little woman nodded, watching her. “I ken fine that ye sometimes still ha’ nightmares about it, for all that we try tae
divert them tae others wha’ deserve more tae suffer them,” she said quietly. “But in time, an all goes well, that scar will
fade, mayhap even disappear, just as memories fade and disappear.”

Again, Molly had the feeling that Maggie Malloch could read her mind, but she did not like thinking about that night and was
grateful when curiosity pushed the uncomfortable memories aside. “You divert my nightmares to others?”

“Aye, well, it be me bounden duty tae look after the Maid o’ Dunsithe—mine and Claud’s, as well—and we ha’ done it right cheerfully,
although it required little effort whilst ye lived here at Dunakin. Nae more than aiding ye in learning tae speak the Gaelic
and helping wi’ your lessons—and keeping the laird happy by seeing that he always wins at chess.”

“Is that how he does it?”

“Aye,” Maggie said with a long sigh.

“Forgive me for saying so, but you do not appear to be very cheerful now.”

“Nay, then, but ye can lay me dour face at Claud’s door. I’ll grant ye that, like him, I had begun tae fear that Donald the
Grim didna mean tae to his duty by ye and see ye suitably wedded. That man be as wicked as a man can be, and nae mistake,
but I’d no ha’ taken such a rash step as what Claud did, and he shouldna ha’ done it, either—on anyone’s account. I canna
doubt it ha’ vexed ye, too, since ’tis sure ye’ll feel some alarm at leaving the only home ye’ve known for years.”

Despite years of practice at shielding herself and others from her deeper emotions, Molly had felt more than a twinge of alarm
about leaving Dunakin, especially at having to leave with Kintail. She said with careful calm, “I would remind you that, altogether,
men have uprooted me three times before now—from Dunsithe to Tantallon, then to Dunsgaith, and from Dunsgaith here to Dunakin.
Most young women know they must leave home when they marry, of course, but the sudden way this happened does put me forcibly
in mind of the night my uncle snatched my sister and me away from Dunsithe.”

“Ye were both too young tae take from your mother,” Maggie said with a grimace. “And Angus were nae man tae look after bairns.
’Twas a pity and all, though, that the wee one were so delicate and failed as quick as she did.”

Not wanting to dwell on thoughts of wee Bessie’s death, which even so many years later had the power to devastate her, Molly
said, “But what did Claud do, exactly, that was so rash and annoyed you so?”

“Why, ’twere my Claud who caused that feckless King James tae transfer your writ o’ wardship from Donald tae Kintail. Claud
said he thought such an act would move things along and soon see ye married. Tae that same end, it were Claud who revealed
ye tae Kintail last night when he and his men were riding past.”

“May God have mercy,” Molly exclaimed. “Why would he do such a thing?”

She spoke to air, however, for Maggie Malloch had vanished and the wildcat had vanished with her. Even the spiral of smoke
had disappeared.

M
olly stood gaping at the now vacant bed for several moments and then rubbed her eyes. But the hallucination—for it surely
must have been one—failed to reappear. Indeed, no sign whatsoever remained to show that a large furry wildcat and a plump,
middle-aged woman two-thirds its size had been resting there only moments before. The coverlet was not even indented.

“Will ye be wantin’ hot water, mistress?”

The maidservant’s voice, sounding from the doorway behind her, startled her into remembering why she had come into her bedchamber
in the first place. So intently were her senses fixed upon the bed that she had not heard the door open.

“Aye, Doreen,” she said, struggling to sound normal. “Just have someone fill the ewer, so that I can wash what shows. Then,
help me change into another dress for dinner—the embroidered yellow wool, I think.”

The maidservant nodded and hastened to do her bidding. She had no sooner left the chamber, however, than Lady Mackinnon bustled
in. Plump and comfortable-looking, she did not attempt to hide her relief at seeing Molly.

“Thank heaven you’re back, my love,” she exclaimed. “I knew that ye’d gone out, but I did not think ye meant to stay away
the entire morning!”

“I apologize, madam, if you have been awaiting my return with impatience,” Molly said with a fond smile. “It was such a fine
day, you see.”

Lady Mackinnon threw up her hands. “Say nae more! I see exactly how it was. ’Tis ever the same thing when ye fling yourself
onto the back of a horse.”

“Come now, madam,” Molly said, moving to kiss the older woman’s soft cheek. “I do not believe that I still fling myself onto
horses. You have taught me to behave more properly than that. Once, perhaps, when I was small, but—”

Lady Mackinnon chuckled. “I expect I should allow myself credit when it is due me,” she said. “I have indeed had some influence
over ye, I believe.”

“Much influence, madam, and I am grateful for it. You taught me how to go on in many ways. I—I shall miss you.” The little
hitch in her voice surprised her, and she strove to regain her customary control.

“I would ha’ done the same for a daughter o’ my own, love, had I been blessed wi’ one,” her ladyship said. “Ye filled that
void, and thus ’twas my duty, for heaven kens Donald o’ Sleat wouldna ha’ bothered to teach ye deportment.”

“Nor, I warrant, would he have taught me my letters and numbers.”

“Now, to be truthful, that canna be laid to my account, for I scarcely ken them myself,” Lady Mackinnon said. “Ye did that
yourself, for when Mackinnon hired Micheil Love to tutor our three lads and ye insisted on bearing them company during their
lessons, there were naught anyone could do to gainsay ye.”

“I was barely seven years old when I came to you, madam. Surely, you will not say that I held sway over your entire household.”

Lady Mackinnon’s pale blue eyes twinkled. “I willna say that,” she replied, “but in the face of the dreadful temper tantrums
ye threw when anyone denied ye, it did seem wiser to let ye ha’ your way about the lessons. Many Highland families of rank
educate their daughters, after all.”

“Is such education not so common in the Borders, then?”

“As to that, I dinna ken, but when Mackinnon told Donald of Sleat that ye shared our lads’ lessons, Donald didna object.”

“He will object to the present situation, though, will he not?”

“Och, aye,” Lady Mackinnon said, her brow knitting in worry. “That man—nae one kens what to expect from him any day, but it
be rarely anything good. One only prays that— What do
ye
want, lass?” she interjected in a sharper tone when Doreen appeared in the open doorway, carrying a ewer of hot water in
one hand and Molly’s yellow dress draped over her free arm.

The maidservant stopped abruptly at the threshold.

“She is to help me change my dress for dinner, madam,” Molly said with a reassuring smile for Doreen.

Lady Mackinnon said briskly, “Come ye in, then, come ye in! But fetch out another dress for your mistress. She willna want
to wear such a fine one to dine in today. And be quick about it, lest all the food be gone afore we get to the table.”

Doreen moved swiftly to set the ewer by the basin, but Molly said nothing immediately to contradict her ladyship. She knew
Lady Mackinnon exaggerated the need for haste, but it was true that their midday meal was a hastier affair than supper would
be. At midday everyone left chores to eat, and everyone knew that dalliance was not allowed. Supper, however, was more leisurely,
accompanied by conversation and music from the pipers’ gallery. Afterward, people tended to linger in the hall, and a number
of the men slept there each night on the floor.

Diverting her train of thought to a mental list of what remained to do before she could depart for Eilean Donan, she moved
toward the basin to wash her hands and face, and saw that Doreen still held the yellow dress. The maidservant was looking
uncertainly from her to Lady Mackinnon.

Lady Mackinnon said, “Quickly, lass, fetch a more suitable gown.”

“That one will do,” Molly said. “I told her to fetch it.”

“But ye willna want to wear anything so splendid, my dear, and I ken fine that your ordinary clothing hasna yet been packed
into the kists ye’ll take wi’ ye.”

“Aye, madam, but I have good reason for choosing this gown.”

“I canna imagine what it could be,” Lady Mackinnon said, her tone inviting confidence. When none was forthcoming, she frowned
and then suddenly smiled. “I see how it is,” she said. “Indeed, I do! The man is handsome, to be sure, but oh, my love, I
do hope he willna disappoint ye. To my mind, he is rather brash, rather…Well, no to put too fine a point on it, he is an arrogant
laddie and of such great size as to be intimidating. Of course, Highland chiefs—nobbut what Kintail is only a chieftain like
Mackinnon, but with a family as powerful as the Mackenzies, it is much the same thing. For all that he is young, he—” She
broke off with a comical look. “Faith, but what was I about to say afore I carried on about Kintail?”

Well aware of where her ladyship’s thoughts had been taking her but in no mood to encourage her, Molly said gently, “I chose
this gown, madam, because Kintail ordered me to wear blue. He told me in a most authoritarian way that my life will be different
from now on, and although I do not doubt the truth of that, he will not choose what I shall wear—not now or ever.”

“Nay, then, of course he canna treat ye so,” Lady Mackinnon agreed. Frowning, she went on in her scattered way, “That is to
say, I expect he can, for men do, ye ken—some men, at all events. But he has nae cause for tyranny, and if he were a heartless
man, I dinna believe his grace the King would ha’ consigned ye to his care and protection.”