Bride for a Knight (27 page)

“It would be so nice to see them again,” Aveline persisted, watching the bustle.

Jamie slid a glance at her, bracing himself for more carefully crafted persuasion. They were standing in the shadow of the keep’s forebuilding and he stepped closer now and hooked his fingers under her chin, lifting her face so she had to look at him.

“The MacKenzies have already promised to come here for our wedding revelries in the spring,” he told her, lowering his own voice.

Not because he cared if Gelis Long-nose and the MacKenzies heard what he had to say, but because he did not relish his father hearing him.

Even though the thrawn old goat stood a good distance away. Looking more stubborn than usual, he leaned heavily on Morag’s arm, having stoutly refused to use a crummock for support. But walking stick or no, Jamie knew there was nothing wrong with Munro’s hearing.

Truth be told, he’d often suspected the man could listen through walls.

Indeed, for all Jamie knew, such a feat might well be how he always managed to get the better of his fellow Highland cattle lairds, e’er seeming to know what the men said behind his back or when they believed Munro out of earshot.

“I have ne’er sailed the Hebrides,” Aveline pressed him then, hooking her hand through his arm and squeezing. “Lady Gelis says her father or his friend, Sir Marmaduke, would surely take us on a grand sailing adventure. Perhaps even as far south to the Isle of Doon? We could visit Devorgilla—”

Jamie laughed despite himself. “The wise woman of Doon? For truth, lass, that one ne’er misses a wedding feast anywhere in the Highlands and the Isles,” he said, secretly certain the indomitable cailleach could even appear at two celebrations at the same time if she wished it. “You will surely see her in the spring as well. Without—”

“But—”

“Without us having to make the long journey to Eilean Creag and even farther to Devorgilla’s fair isle,” he finished for her, looking pleased with his logic.

Aveline cast a wistful glance at the MacKenzie pannier ponies. Well-burdened and restless, they appeared eager to be on their way. Excitement began to beat through her. Lifting her chin, she gave Jamie her most hopeful smile.

“Visiting the MacKenzies would be an adventure,” she said, certain of it.

But Jamie only shook his head.

“Nay, lass,” he disagreed, speaking close to her ear, “it would be a strenuous excursion that would push my da past his limits.”

“Oh.” Aveline’s face fell. “You are right, of course. And he would ne’er stay behind.”

“There you have the way of it.”

Jamie sighed, sliding a quick glance at his father. Although he kept his bearded chin proudly lifted and was even making an effort to be halfway gallant and charming to the three MacKenzie women, Jamie was certain he was leaning even more heavily on Morag’s arm than he had been moments ago.

Most troubling of all, the sparkling glint in the old man’s eyes that Jamie knew most would mistake for a host’s laughing good cheer, wasn’t the like at all.

Munro’s eyes were misting with emotion.

He was sorry to see the girls depart and Jamie worried that without their light and laughter, their lively and spirited chatter filling the hall of an e’en, his da’s spirits would grow even bleaker.

To be sure, he cherished Aveline. As, it would seem, did everyone at Baldreagan. They’d heartily welcomed her into their midst. But she’d become family; the MacKenzies had provided a distraction.

A most welcome distraction. And a needed one, especially for Munro.

Jamie ran a hand through his hair and pressed his lips together, trying not to frown. His father wasn’t healing as fast as he should either and much as Jamie wished otherwise, a long journey by land and sea, now, or even in the spring, would surely be too much for him.

“Sorry, lass.” Jamie turned back to his bride. “A spring journey to Eilean Creag is one pleasure I canna give you.”

He smoothed his knuckles down her cheek. “Leastways no’ this year.”

“But you will keep your word and take me to St. Maelrubha’s this afternoon?” She kept her sapphire gaze fixed on him. “I thought we’d take some heather to your mother.”

Jamie frowned after all.

And promptly recalled another bit of masterful manly wisdom the great Black Stag of Kintail had once shared. Namely that females have an astonishing ability to take the slightest slip-of-tongue and embroider it to suit them. Most often to an unsuspecting male’s distinct disadvantage.

Jamie blew out a breath and shoved back his hair. Truth was, he’d said a very vague something about wishing to pay a call on old Hughie Mac. Close as Hughie’s cottage was to the Garbh Uisge, Jamie thought to question him.

After all, Hughie, too, claimed to have seen the ghosts of Jamie’s brothers.

That alone made a visit worthwhile.

But a return to the Macpherson kirkyard and the dark and dank-smelling little chapel had not been mentioned. Nor was going there how Jamie preferred to spend the day with his lady.

Especially if such a visit involved taking a clutch of heather to his mother’s tomb. Jamie stiffened. That kind of folly was something he hadn’t allowed himself since he was a wee lad. Munro had caught him, chasing him from the chapel in fury, ranting that he’d had no right to lay blooms on the grave of a mother he’d killed.

But before he could tell Aveline he had no desire to go there, Gelis ran over to them, all ringing laughter, glowing cheeks, and bright, wind-tangled hair.

“I’ faith! Have you e’er seen such frowners?” she cried, tossing a glance at her father’s guardsmen, nary a scowling man amongst them. “They are complaining that I’ve brought too much baggage! But”—she flung an arm around Aveline and smiled— “Arabella and I were forewarned. ’Tis said that the farther north one travels, the less likely it is to expect even a lumpy pallet to sleep on, much less a palatable meal!”

“No one told us any such thing,” Arabella amended, joining them.

She reached to smooth Gelis’s hair, her own braid sleek and black as a raven’s wing and nary a strand out of place. “You know we are going to visit Lady Mariota’s father in Assynt. Archibald Macnicol is as proud a chieftain as our own da. His holding, Dunach Castle, will surely have no less comforts than Eilean Creag.”

Gelis swatted at her sister’s hand. “Loch Assynt is also known for its dread water horse—lest you’ve forgotten!” she exclaimed, pulling a face. “And if we do venture on to Lady Juliana’s Mackay kin in Strathnaver, ’tis said the land thereabouts is riddled with the faery mounds of the
Sithe
and that the ghosts of fearless and bloodthirsty Norsemen sleep in the high dunes of every strand!”

Arabella sniffed. “Sleeping Norsemen you’d no doubt waken with all your twitter and babbling.”

Jamie choked and hid a smile behind his hand.

“Go ahead and laugh,” Arabella said, looking at him. “You know it’s the truth.”

Unfazed, Gelis fluffed her skirts. “Vikings were braw men. Tall blond giants with hot blue eyes and huge, wicked swords they gave names like Wolf Tooth or Leg Biter. They—”

“They were heathen sea-raiders,” Arabella corrected.

Flipping her neat black braid over her shoulder, she sent a meaningful glance across the bailey to where Beardie was helping the MacKenzie guardsmen load the long line of pannier horses. As always, he wore his huge Norseman’s ax thrust proudly beneath his belt, though he’d forgone his rusty winged helmet. Catching the girls’ stares, he lifted a hand in greeting but his most-times good-natured smile appeared a tiny bit forced.

Looking back at her sister, Arabella shook her head. “I daresay you’ve already broken one
Viking
heart and you can be certain Lady Juliana and I will be watching you closely when we get to Dunach.”

Gelis rolled her eyes. “I truly do fear we’ll get naught to eat in the far north but dry oatcakes and salt fish,” she fussed, hot-eyed Vikings and their swords apparently forgotten. “For truth, I’d rather stay here.”

She paused to look at Jamie. “Mother sent us here for a reason. And—”

“We’ve seen her concerns addressed,” Lady Juliana finished for her, “and your father’s men are waiting on us. They are ready to ride.”

She placed a hand on both girls’ shoulders, offering an apologetic look to Jamie and Aveline. “You will have a care?” she asked, speaking to them both though her words were clearly meant for Jamie.

He nodded, wishing the sun hadn’t chosen that moment to slip behind a cloud, its abrupt disappearance casting the bailey in shadow and drawing attention to the chill, knifing wind.

“All will be well.” Aveline gave the older woman a quick, impulsive hug. “God go with you, and let us know when you’ve safely returned to Kintail.”

When she stepped back, Jamie took Lady Juliana’s hand, bringing it to his lips for a farewell kiss. “We shall look forward to seeing you in the spring, my lady. Here at Baldreagan, God willing.”

I shall ask the Old Ones to watch o’er you,
Jamie thought he heard her say as he released her hand. But already she’d turned and was striding briskly toward the waiting MacKenzie guardsmen and, he saw, his father’s own men who were scrambling to open the gates.

“Till the spring!” Gelis cried, throwing her arms around both Jamie and Aveline, hugging them tight. “I shall dance the whole night of your wedding!”

“If you do not run off with a hot-eyed Viking before we return home!” Arabella quipped, waiting for her own chance to embrace her hosts.

When it came, she blinked furiously and dashed at the tears suddenly wetting her cheeks. “Do not do anything foolhardy, James Macpherson,” she warned. “My da has a formidable temper as you well know—you willna want him grieved with you for not heeding Mother’s message.”

Then she whirled on her heels and was gone, Gelis flying after her. A flurry of skirts, a few frantic hand waves and cries, and the whole loud, racket-making party of MacKenzies were through the gates and vanished.

Gone, from one instant to the next, the creeping autumn mists closing around them, muffling the sounds of their departure and blocking them from view.

At once, deep silence settled over Baldreagan’s bailey . . . until Munro noisily blew his nose.

Jamie glanced him, even started toward him, but Munro scowled and waved him away. “Do you not have anything better to do than gawk at an auld done man?” he snapped, his voice at least two shades thicker than it should have been.

His jaw thrusting forward, he fixed Jamie with his fiercest glare. “Patrolling the battlements mayhap? Or sharpening your sword?”

“Lucifer’s knees,” Jamie swore beneath his breath. “He’d try the patience of St. Columba. Does he not ken that I—”

“Leave be,” Aveline urged, placing a hand on Jamie’s arm and squeezing. “He is only sad to see the MacKenzies leave. Come nightfall, he will be in better fettle.”

“Ach, to be sure,” Jamie agreed, watching Morag help his da back inside the hall. “So soon as he is hungry and kens no one will serve him so much as a dried bannock unless he wipes the frown off his face.”

Not that Munro was alone in his grimness.

If truth be told, everyone still lurking about the bailey was frowning.

Or at least looking dispirited.

Glum.

Even the sun’s feeble autumn warmth had fled and the afternoon’s chill was increasing with the lengthening shadows, a faint smirr of cold thin rain even beginning to splatter the cobbles. The wind was picking up, too, its random gusts sending wispy curtains of damp, gray mist scuttling over the walls and across the bailey. But no one complained, even if something somewhere had set the castle dogs barking and snarling.

The gloom matched the moods of those slowly returning to the keep, the usual goings-on of the castle’s daily business.

Only one soul smiled.

A tall and hooded figure standing unnoticed in the deep shadows of one of the wooden byres stretching along the curtain wall.

The departure of the MacKenzie she-bitches and their pack of swell-headed, muscle-packed watchdogs would prove the turning of the tide for Clan Macpherson.

It’d been tedious to move in and out of the keep with so many souls in residence.

So many sets of curious, probing eyes and too many extra sword arms.

The nuisance of unexpected interference.

The figure allowed one slight tightening of the lips. Had it not been for the ill-timed appearance of a drink-taken MacKenzie guardsman careening out of the shadows near the postern gate, a half-clothed kitchen wench still clinging to him, all giggly and smitten, a certain crossbow shot would have fired true.

Blessedly, they’d both been too ale-headed to notice anything amiss.

Indeed, the MacKenzies’ visit had been an annoyance, but they’d left now.

The figure’s smile returned.

Any other difficulties and disturbances could be easily dealt with. Proving it, the figure wagged a finger at the handful of bristly-backed, snarling castle dogs, then began scrounging inside a worn leather pouch kept for just such purposes.

A fine and large meat bone soon appeared and sailed through the air, landing on the rain-dampened cobbles with a satisfying
kerplunk
.

As was to be anticipated, the offensive yapping and growling ceased at once. The figure forgotten, the mangy curs pounced on the bone, their greedy hunger outweighing the danger of a mere two-legged trespasser.

The figure watched them with pleasure, sure in the knowledge that it mattered not a whit how many dogs prowled Baldreagan’s bailey or how often the addle-witted laird changed his sleeping quarters.

Nor would it avail any of them that one son yet lived.

For the nonce.

A grievous betrayal would soon be righted, fullest vengeance achieved at last.

And this time nothing would go wrong.

Do not do anything foolhardy
.

Arabella MacKenzie’s warning rang louder in Jamie’s ears the longer he stood in the cold, dank shadows at the back of St. Maelrubha’s chapel, an armful of late-blooming heather clutched against his chest and his feet seemingly frozen to the stone-flagged floor. Damnable feet, for each one refused to move, stubbornly ignoring his best efforts and not letting him take the last few steps toward his mother’s tomb.