Snow Raven (17 page)

“Mistress Tanner has been amusing us with tales of a masque at Greenwich this eve,” Gil put in quickly to ease the awkwardness, his grin raffish as ever. “I declare, I should very much like to visit Glorianna’s Court one day.”

“One does not step unwitting into an adder’s nest, Gil,” Ran said, still looking at Merry. “’Tis the first lesson in life I thought I had taught you.”

Merry bristled at his remark. “Methinks judging the worth of somebody of whom one has no personal knowledge rather high-handed, Lord Lindsay.”

Her cool use of his title informed Ran she was in a high dudgeon, but he no longer cared. At this point he wanted her out of his life, her meddling ways relegated to the court where she belonged.

“I see you are quick to take advantage of the slightest lapse in rules, Mistress Merry,” Ran said as he glanced over the unfamiliar hall.

“Christ’s wounds!” Gilbert suddenly exploded. “This place was a sty! You cannot deny the change is for the better, Ran, and I, for one, have no complaint.” The younger man flung himself back on the couch, hands linked over his middle as he glared at Ran with a sulky countenance.

“’Tis not the place of a prisoner to rearrange furniture, Gil. I hold you responsible for letting matters get out of hand. I told everyone Mistress Tanner was to keep to her room until negotiations finished.”

“What negotiations?” Gil hurled back. His defiance touched a nerve in Ran and suddenly he resolved to clear the room.

“That’s enough. You and Hugo are dismissed for the night. Don’t trifle with my temper any more than you already have. And as for you, Mistress Tanner—”

“Aye?” Merry faced Ran with equal aplomb, rising from the chair and folding her arms across a décolletage he noticed was far too daring for every day wear. Had she attempted a curtsey, he was willing to wager her breasts would tumble out in all their silken ivory glory.

Ran flushed at the thought, feeling overheated. He was used to the hall being cold and dank, and the warmth permeating his bones now, while welcome, was most disconcerting. So were the emotions this redheaded woman roused in his chest, her clear eyes transmitting both a silent challenge and a plea he found strangely compelling. Exciting, even.

He did not understand his attraction to a woman so unlike Blair, his beloved wife. None could compare to his flaxen-haired, sweet-natured lass and he was determined none should ever try. He tore his gaze from Merry with some effort.

“’Tis over late,” he muttered. “We shall speak on such matters another time. For now, ’tis enough you understand when boundaries have been crossed.”

“Aye, milord. I understand quite well.” Merry’s voice was frosty as she spun on her heel and vacated the hall, leaving only the scent of damask roses in her wake.

Chapter Fourteen

LATE THE NEXT EVENING, just before the crimson sun slid down behind the dark-gray clouds marching over Auchmull, a rider arrived at the gates.

Hertha found Merry gazing out at the thickening clouds from the single, narrow window in her room. “Och, ’tis surely the messenger from Braidwood. Lord Ranald is away.”

Jolted from her reverie, Merry turned from the window. “I’d like to meet the rider in the yard,” she said. “Mayhap he has word of how Jem is doing.”

“I’ll stay and finish mending this hem, lass. Ye go on ahead.”

Tossing Hertha a quick nod of thanks, Merry grabbed up a cloak, gathered up her cumbersome skirts, and hurried out the door. It never occurred to her to think she might be breaking Ranald’s rules. Even after the previous night’s incident, she was determined she would make the best of her lot. She’d been cooped up too long without benefit of fresh air or stimulating company, and was anxious for news about her fate.

Nevertheless, she couldn’t forget the chilly reception she’d received from Auchmull’s inhabitants upon her first appearance, and she paused to self-consciously tug up the hood of her cloak about her face. In the twilight, her features and distinctive red hair were reduced to shadowy nothingness. She completed her journey without incident.

The inner ward was bustling with activity as Auchmull kinsmen were busy unloading a wagon piled high with kegs of heather ale. Merry heard grumbling as she passed by the workers, most of it directed at her.

“I thought she was supposed to be our prisoner, nae our bleedin’ royal guest!”

“Did ye see the gown she wore at sup? Whoosh! How many falderals does the
Sassenach
wench have, I wonder?”

“Enough to snare poor Ran, nae doubt,” one fellow snickered under his breath as he swung down the last barrel with no little ease, and it slammed to the ground at his feet.

Merry overheard more muttered remarks about the fickle hearts of females as the men rolled off the barrels. She stared after them a moment, troubled by what she’d heard. There was no lost love for her in any of their voices. Why their opinions should matter at all was just as disconcerting as the contents of their speech.

Merry saw the lone rider had dismounted and was tending his steed. Duncan and Brodie had gone with Ranald after dinner on a mission to purchase a horse to replace the stolen one, and though Gilbert was supposed to be guarding her, he and Hugo had imbibed over much with the meal and lolled about the hall, slumped laughing over a half-finished chess game.

Merry approached the messenger, supposing he was bewildered why he was not hailed with eager questions. The other men had admitted him after a cursory inspection and gone about their business tending the ale.

With the fading light silhouetting the man’s figure against the horizon, Merry couldn’t make out much more than the fact he seemed very cold or tired. His shoulders were hunched up around his ears, and a long cloak was tightly wrapped about his body, a hood shadowing his features. His hands appeared strong, however, as he juggled the reins about. He was gazing straight ahead, and Merry approached from the side.

“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “I was wondering if you might carry word from Braidwood.”

The man started, his head swinging around sharply at the sound of her voice. She made out a narrow, sharp-featured face belonging to a youngish man with a curl of brown hair dangling over his brow. He was not uncommonly large, but appeared sturdy.

“Mistress Tanner?” he inquired warily, studying her closely.

“Aye.”

“My name is Cullen Maclean.”

“Cullen!” she exclaimed as a wave of shock and disbelief rolled over her mind, threatening to overshadow her composure. Blair Lindsay’s brother. The dreaded “Black Cullen” Hertha had warned her about. His blue eyes narrowed in warning.

“Hush, gel,” he said, and glanced around them furtively. “There’s others who’ll overhear ye. And if ye wish to leave Auchmull alive, ’tis wise ye listen to me. I bear word from Sir Wickham.”

Merry realized with a sense of mounting hope he must be part and parcel of some rescue attempt. He could help her. It seemed ironic she should be forced to turn to Lindsay’s brother-in-law for aid, but she did not question her good fortune.

Lowering her voice, she said rapidly, “La, you won’t believe what’s happened to me. ’Tis all so incredible. But of course, you must know. You’re here, aren’t you?”

He gave her a level look with uncanny blue eyes. “Dinna say The Wolf has nae earned his reputation,” he growled under his breath. “Like Blair, ye seek to find a conscience where there is none. Ye women hae to go and meddle wi’ things ye know nothin’ about.”

Merry had a sudden pang of fear. Perhaps he was right. Maybe the last shred of humanity she sought in Ranald’s dark eyes was simply not there. Now Cullen Maclean appeared to be her best chance for rescue, and Merry was desperate for an explanation.

“You’re right,” she blurted. “’Twas wrong of me to foolishly trust Lindsay. I thought him Providence at first, after the coach accident. It seemed coincidental when he appeared at my rescue—”

“Nae so coincidental now, eh?” Cullen said, and she thought he might be laughing at her with those cool blue eyes.

“Nay,” Merry said softly, stepping forward so she could see his face more clearly beneath the hood. “What has Sir Jasper to say of these appalling matters?”

“He is livid,” Blair’s brother tersely responded. “He will have Lindsay’s head for this. A grave insult hae been dealt the house of Wickham, and as Macleans are vassal to Sir Jasper we shall stand wi’ him against The Wolf o’ Badanloch.”

Merry was gravely silent a moment. “How did it happen, Cullen? How did your sister die?”

He didn’t immediately answer her. Instead, his keen gaze moved across the yard, where he spied several men hurrying out from the keep.

“Yer lord and master has noted yer absence, lass,” Cullen told her. “’Pears he dinna trust ye.”

“Lord Lindsay is not my lord or master,” Merry replied sharply, but as she spun about, she saw Gilbert Lindsay dashing down the steps, clothing rumpled, raking a hand through his dark hair, a frantic expression on his face. He had been ordered to watch over her, and Ranald had trusted him to the task.

“Ran’s a clever one,” Cullen mused in a low voice, “but he canna watch us all at once.” He shook his head and a faint smile sketched his lips. “Och, what a coil this be.”

“I had nothing to do with any of this,” Merry said defensively, realizing with a sinking sense of despair that Gilbert’s frantic search about the yard would soon unearth them both. Gil had not drawn attention to her missing status since he obviously did not wish Ran to know of his failings, but he was now striding in their general direction. Soon she would lose her only chance for answers.

“Cullen!” she pleaded softly, extending an entreating hand to the messenger. The other man merely shook his head, indicating the time for conversation had ended the moment Gilbert Lindsay had spied their exchange. Seconds later, Gilbert joined them. He took in Merry’s high color and recognized the visitor at once. His violet-blue eyes flashed.

“I can imagine what brings you to Auchmull,” he greeted Cullen shortly. “You’d best get on the road again before Ran returns.”

“Please,” Merry blurted, stepping between the two wary young men. “There must be a way to settle matters peaceably, without further conflict.”

Gilbert set his jaw. He clearly didn’t like the sound of such a notion.

“If you’re planning an escape, Merry, you may as well realize there is no use,” he told her. “Ran has Auchmull well guarded by day and night, and our clansmen don’t ask questions when they find something amiss. Ran’s orders are that you shall not leave, and his wishes shall be met whatever the cost.”

Merry sighed. She pulled the cloak closer about her form, shivering as she felt Cullen Maclean’s sharp gaze scouring her face too closely for comfort. She cleared her throat and spoke briskly.

“Please give me credit, Gilbert. I know better than to try to escape. I simply don’t wish to see conflict further heightened over me.”

“Then you will avoid the company of this one, Merry.” To her surprise, Gilbert’s gaze was level and cold on Cullen. He reminded her of a younger version of Ranald then.

Drawing himself up proudly, Black Cullen gazed contemptuously back at the young man. Something very close to hatred burned in his blue eyes.

“Yer skeevin’ leader killed nigh ten innocents,” he rasped, “and we will nae soon forget it. Those Macleans who lived will carry the memories of Badanloch in our hearts and minds forever, and live each day with a fresh curse on our lips for all Lindsay curs and their treachery!”

Gilbert looked pale but proud as he stared back at Blair’s brother.

“Y’know Ran cannot be responsible for what happened,” he said in a shaking voice. “’Twas a terrible miscarriage of justice, aye, but twisted circumstances led to that outcome and you may rest assured a full investigation has been started in the name of the king.”

“The king! Pah!” Cullen spat, and Merry was shocked by his vehemence, and the murderous rage that lit his eyes. They flared bright blue, and she could see the proud young man matched Ranald’s temper for sheer ferocity.

“Lady Deuchar has Queen Anne’s ear,” Gilbert said. “If anyone discovers the truth, ’twill be our Darra.”

Cullen sneered. “Doubtless Her Majesty will find in favor o’ the Lindsays who dance on the strings of the new Kirk. We canna expect a fair hearing from thievin’ Jacobites.” He pressed his lips tightly together, as if gathering his composure. Then he said, humbly, “’Tis a long ride back to Braidwood. A storm lurks on the horizon. I feel it in me bones. Canna let yer own shirt-tail relative hae the shelter of yon livery fer one night?”

Gilbert looked displeased by the request, but before he could answer, fat white flakes drifted lazily down from the sky, catching in the thick tangle of his eyelashes. He blinked them aside with a sigh.

“All right,” he said in a low voice as tension throbbed between the two men. “You may sleep in the stables with your horse. Hugo will watch over you. If there is any trouble, any at all, you will reckon with Ran personally when he returns.”

Cullen bobbed his head in what Merry thought was a mock gesture. He did not speak to her again of Wickham or any other matter, and with mounting despair she allowed herself to be drawn away by Gilbert. His hand gripped her arm by the elbow, and she shook herself free of his grasp as soon as possible.

“Oh, Gil,” she crossly exclaimed. “I meant what I said. I have no intention of trying to escape. D’you think I would trust Cullen Maclean if I did? I have only his word he serves Sir Jasper, and the truth of the matter is far from clear.”

“I think you had best not meddle at all, Merry,” Gilbert said, leading the way back to the keep with a considerably sobered air. They entered the castle, and he led her directly to her room. He obviously intended to return her to the status of prisoner. Her disappearance had shaken him up, and their former camaraderie seemed to have vanished.

Merry felt a mounting panic at the thought of entering the small stone chamber again. What if Gilbert told Ranald of her actions, and Lindsay locked her in tonight? She had the feeling his dark eyes could read her mind somehow. They bored into her as if silently challenging her to attempt an escape. Something in his gaze had told her he was expecting that very thing.