Highland Lover: Book 3 Scottish Knights Trilogy (37 page)

Ranald must have thought so, too, because he said, “As you see, Allie has come home. What you do not immediately perceive is that she has brought with her a new husband, although I cannot tell you how
that
has come to pass.”

He had everyone’s attention, Jake thought, surveying them.

Ranald’s seat clearly had been the empty space to the right of Lord Farigaig, whom Jake had met on his previous visit and who sat in a two-armed chair beside his lady. The person next to Lady Farigaig was a skinny, elderly woman whose gimlet gaze threatened to pierce Jake through. She sat rigidly upright, her eating knife poised over her trencher. Her white veil began inches back from her brow, revealing hair of so light a gray as to be nearly white itself. Her face was long and wrinkled, but she was far from decrepit. He was sure she must be Lady Beatha.

Alyson stopped at the foot of the dais, facing her parents. “My lord, my lady,” she said. “May I present Sir Jacob Maxwell of Duncraig in Kintail, and other places. You may recall that he visited us last year with Ivor.” To Jake, she said, “Next to my lady mother, sir, is my great-aunt, the lady Beatha MacGillivray. And before you demand to know, Aunt Beatha, Ranald is right, although he ought to have let me tell you all myself. Sir Jacob is indeed my husband now.”

“That canna be but a wheen o’ blethers, Alyson,” Lady Beatha said in high-pitched but noble accents. “I witnessed
your marriage tae that fool, Niall Clyne, at Christmastide. I dinna say that this chap, wi’ his good looks and fine physique, doesna outshine Niall. But ye canna just doff one husband and don another like a new kirtle, lass. Ye’ve created a scandal, and we shall
all
be caught up in it.”

The older of the other two men at the table, a stout chap with red cheeks, said in bewilderment, “What ha’ ye done wi’ Niall, lass?”

Alyson gripped Jake’s forearm as she said, “That is my mother’s cousin, Patair MacNiven of Inverness, who spoke, sir. English pirates attacked and sank our ship off the English coast, Cousin Patair. They captured Niall, and we fear—nay, we believe—they threw him overboard.”

Testily, Lord Farigaig said, “Ye
fear
? Ye
believe
? Sakes, daughter, ha’ ye lost your wits? Ye canna marry again without
knowing
that the lad be dead.”

“With respect, my lord,” Jake said then, “it would be wiser if you and I, and Ranald—and mayhap these other two gentlemen—discuss the matter fully after supper, and elsewhere. You have my word that all is in order. I will make everything plain to you, whilst Alyson explains it to her mother and these other ladies.”

When her father did not agree at once, Alyson said, “The other man at the table, sir, is Patair’s brother, Donal, also of Inverness. The other women are my great-aunt’s woman, Sinead; Cousin Patair’s wife, Elsa; and Donal’s wife, Mairi.”

As she introduced them, Jake nodded to each. When the silence continued, Alyson scarcely dared to breathe or to look again at any of them, least of all her father or great-aunt. Even Jake’s presence failed to reassure her.

“I’ll speak wi’ ye after supper, lad, and Ranald may
come with us,” Farigaig said at last. “But come now, the pair o’ ye, and take supper with us. We’ll,
none
of us”—he shot a look at Lady Beatha—“discuss this at the table.”

Alyson felt her tension ease. Her father had not spoken so curtly to anyone in years. She hoped it would prove to be a good omen, not a bad one.

Jake readily accepted Farigaig’s invitation. Not only was he hungry, but he also wanted to learn more about Alyson’s family before he talked with her kinsmen.

Despite his host’s stricture regarding conversation, it went on apace in Scots and Gaelic, often at once. However, although Ranald twice wondered aloud if Niall could really be dead, Farigaig stifled every attempt to quiz Alyson or Jake. Recalling her description of her father, Jake watched him. Farigaig did not otherwise join the discussion but clearly kept track of it all.

After eating all he wanted, the laird declared that as his son was likewise finished, the two of them could now talk with Jake. “Patair,” Farigaig added as he got awkwardly to his feet and reached for the cane hooked over the back of his armchair, “ye and Donal will liefer stay and finish your supper, aye?”

Aware that the MacNiven men’s presence would make it harder for Alyson to tell her tale, Jake was about to object when Patair MacNiven said amiably, “I’m for me bed soon, Farigaig. Donal and our ladies will go up with me. Our Alyson is a woman grown and, tae my mind, must do as she pleases. She can tell us whatever she wants tae tell us later, if she likes. I dinna speak for Beatha, o’ course.”

Farigaig nodded. Signing to Jake and Ranald to follow
him and leaning heavily on his cane, he led the way into a room off the dais that Jake thought must be Lady Farigaig’s solar. A fire burned on the hearth there, too.

“Everyone will leave us be, in here,” Farigaig said, drawing a back-stool near the fire. “Sit, Ranald, and stop scowling until ye ha’ cause tae scowl.”

Clearly astonished, either by his father’s words or by his crisp tone, Ranald glanced at Jake, then drew two stools from the wall by the fireplace.

Without waiting for them to sit, Farigaig added, “I want tae ken summat more about ye, Sir Jacob. But afore ye start, d’ye truly think our Niall be dead?”

“I do, my lord,” Jake said, setting his stool so that he faced Farigaig with Ranald between them at Jake’s left. “Before I say aught else, I should tell you that Father Antonio de la Luna, the Papal Legate, married us. He is in Scotland, as you must know, to consecrate Bishop Wardlaw in a fortnight’s time at Scone. You will also know that a legate wields all of the Pope’s powers whilst he is here. It was he who annulled Alyson’s marriage to Niall Clyne, sir… for cause.”

Farigaig seemed to freeze and then, mentally, to wrestle with himself.

Content to let him do so, Jake saw Ranald open his mouth as if to speak and then shut it. So the lad either had sense or simply knew not what to say.

Fixing his attention on Farigaig, Jake noted lines of worry or grief etched into his face. It was likewise nearer gray than any healthy color. What remained of his hair was darker than Alyson’s but lighter than Ivor’s tawny locks. His eyes were the same light gray as his daughter’s, but he wore black, so Jake could not tell if their color was as changeable as Alyson’s eyes were.

“Ye said the annulment were for cause, lad,” Farigaig said tersely.

“I did, sir.” He did not elaborate. Knowing little about Ranald, he was reluctant to be more explicit and would take his cues from his host.

“I did think she was making a mistake,” Farigaig said. “I ought tae have stopped it then, but I lacked the vigor. See you, Niall Clyne were a younger son wi’ next tae nowt of his own and made nae secret of wanting her estates. But Allie thought he’d suit her as a husband, and she kens her own mind. Forbye…” He paused, glancing at Ranald. Then he said, “I feared that Niall would have let her rule the roost. I dinna think that be good for any woman.”

“Clyne was not home often enough to rule it himself,” Jake reminded him, feeling a sense of irony as he said it and equal determination
not
to be like Clyne if he could just figure out a way to have his freedom and still look after his wife.

“And why was Niall never at home?” Farigaig demanded. “Mungo Lyle is why. He had only tae crook a finger, and off our Niall would go.”

“Of course, he did,” Ranald said indignantly. “Mungo serves Orkney, and so did Niall. When Orkney beckoned, they both
had
to go.”

Farigaig looked at his son again and back at Jake. “I thought Niall were nobbut a prickmedainty and worth nowt as a husband.”

“You should not say such a thing,” Ranald said. “The man is dead!”

With a flickering glance at his son, Farigaig said to Jake, “Whenever Niall’s family would visit, he’d follow our Allie about. Despite her being the younger by three
years, Niall always looked tae her tae decide what they should do.”

“So what?” Ranald said. “They were bairns.”

“Will ye say then that Niall took the lead after they grew up?”

“Nay, but Alyson has a habit of telling
everyone
what to do.”

“D’ye think so, lad?” Jake asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Ranald looked sourly at him. “Are you saying she does
not
?”

“I rarely discuss any lady when she is not present,” Jake said gently. “But, you
are
Alyson’s brother. You must know that her nature is charmingly serene.”

“I have rarely found it so,” Ranald said.

“Then I would suggest that henceforth you regard her more carefully,” Jake said. “And speak of her more cautiously, withal.”

Ranald met his gaze directly this time, seemed to study it, and then looked away without attempting a reply.

Jake turned back to Farigaig and saw a near smile on the older man’s face.

“Methinks she will not rule your roost, Sir Jacob,” Farigaig said. “I begin to feel hopeful again. I do recall your visit last year. I fear I was a bad host, but Ivor was here, and he is competent in the role. Forbye, I wish I’d heeded ye more. If ye be a Maxwell, ye canna hail from Duncraig, though, as Allie said. More likely ye hail from Nithsdale, east o’ the Borders, aye?”

“I was born there,” Jake said. “My father has property near Dumfries. But we’re men of the sea, so a cousin manages the estate. I studied at St. Andrews with Ivor and also with Fin Cameron, who married your niece Catriona.”

“I do recall that now, aye,” Farigaig said.

He asked more questions about Jake’s connections. Then they talked of people they knew in common. Such discussions were inevitable when Highlanders got acquainted, but Ranald soon began shifting on his stool in evident frustration.

Farigaig noticed but let it continue for a time before saying, “I see that ye find all this chat tiresome, lad. Ye needna stay.”

“I want tae know more about our Allie and Niall.”

“Aye, well, I ken all that I need tae ken. We’ll discuss it another time.”

“But—”

“Goodnight, Ranald,” Farigaig said. “Dinna trouble the womenfolk in the hall but get off tae bed or tae some better amusement. I trow, ye do ha’ some.”

Ranald got up and turned away. When Farigaig cleared his throat, Ranald turned and bade him goodnight. Farigaig glanced toward Jake.

Although Ranald’s lips tightened, he said, “Goodnight, Sir Jacob.”

“Goodnight,” Jake said. “Prithee, do not pester Alyson for more details.”

“I suppose I can ask my own sister whatever I like.”

“You can, but I
am
her husband, lad. If you do trouble her, you will answer to me. Forbye, I’ll discuss anything you want to discuss. I must leave in the morning for Stirling, but I’d welcome your company.”

That he would ride to Stirling was true, although he would pass through the royal burgh and on to Rothesay Castle, to deliver his news to the King.

Clearly startled by the invitation, Ranald recovered
to say with disdain, “I have no wish to accompany you anywhere.”

“As you wish,” Jake said. “If you change your mind, I mean to leave soon after I break my fast.”

Ranald replied with a look that matched his earlier tone.

Chapter 18