The Return of Black Douglas (14 page)

Drust’s words brought back memories, and Alysandir recalled a point when he had felt the joy of life and living. But that had all been wrung out of him, and he was left with nothing more to give. He slammed his hand down. “Do not speak of them again. They are dead to me.”

“Saying doesna make it so. Ye vowed never to allow a woman close enough to betray ye again, yet something within ye hungers to pleasure a woman ye love. Deny it all ye wish, but I know ye keep the beast chained. Whether out of fear or regret, I doubt even ye know.”

“Perhaps some men were not meant to be married or to love anyone.”

“Aye, just as ye never expected nor wanted to be chief of the Mackinnons, but once the responsibility was on yer shoulders, ye became a fearlessly devoted leader. Ye are dedicated and focused upon being a good shepherd to our clan.

“Ye did not strive to have their adoration, or praise, in a kingly fashion like Argyll. Rather, ye wanted them to feel confidence in yer ability to guide, and secure in yer protection as they went aboot their daily lives. Ye are a strong man, and ye meet yer destiny face to face without wincing.”

Drust knew him better than he had thought possible, Alysandir mused silently.

“I know ye have a burden to carry,” Drust said. “Just as I know that since the death of James IV, ye have had to learn how to avoid the wrath of that pompous Regent John Stewart and how ye worrit aboot his oversight for the infant king James V. I ken what it must be like fer ye to be always on guard and judging the powerful earls, like Argyll, and holding yer own against them. And there is always the constant threat of England, which is far greater than the feuds amongst the clans.”

Alysandir bet Drust did not know about the rumors that England was now using female courtesans—and from time to time, ladies of high rank—to extract information from unwary Scots. He decided to keep that bit of information to himself, even as he wondered if a pair of them had reached Mull.

“So, what do ye intend to do with the lass?”

Alysandir would not deny the possibility of anything concerning Isobella. “I intend to watch her as closely as an enemy.”

“Mayhap ye will be the lion what lay doon with the lamb, as our uncle said. The lass seem harmless enough.”

“Aye, the lion would lay doon with the lamb,” Alysandir said, “but I doubt that the lamb would get much sleep.”

Drust laughed, and Alysandir looked down at his empty goblet and considered filling it again. But he had tried that before, and he learned it was a temporary cure. Once he was sober, the problems that sent him to drink in the first place were still there. He slammed the goblet down and slumped back into his chair, wondering if all of this would ever end.

He rarely admitted it to himself, but he knew that deep in the innermost part of him there still existed a remnant of the man who wanted the love of a good woman. Now the question seemed to be: Was the fear of pain greater than his desire? What would he risk to allow a woman into his life again? He glanced at Drust.

“Don’t ye have something ye need to see aboot?”

“Nae, I would rather watch ye squirm and apply all yer logic to a situation that ye dinna have any control over. Ye want the lass, but ye dinna want to admit it. So, let the lass go to be with her sister. I will accompany her to Duart, and ye will be done with it. Ye canna win if ye keep her. She is different from all the rest. Ye have only met her and look at what it has done to ye. Let her go.”

Alysandir slammed his hand down upon his desk. “She stays! And ye’d best find something that diverts yer attention or I will send ye to Iona to spend some time praying with our dear uncle.”

The sound of Drust’s laughter followed him from the room. After he was gone, Alysandir hurled the decanter across the room. The sound of the glass falling was as musical as the sound of her voice. He pulled his mind away from Isobella, the desirable one, and concentrated on Isobella, the woman he did not trust.

All war is based on deception, therefore when capable, feign incapacity, and when active, appear inactive. He now wondered if her ankle truly was as bad as she let on. True, it was swollen, but that also would be the perfect cover.

Isobella was his captive. She could not be trusted, and until she proved differently, she would be his enemy. He thought of the dream he had had the night before Isobella appeared in the glen, imagining her as the willing fantasy lover he craved to see again. He ached to have her in his bed waiting to be delighted.

He hadn’t cared who his fantasy lover was or where she came from. She hadn’t asked for promises he could not keep or vows in which he no longer believed. He wished Isobella had come to him like that with no mystery, no secrets, just smoldering passion. Impossible, of course, but perhaps that was the purpose of the dream after all. He hoped Isobella would drive him as wild as the fantasy.

He did not know if he could trust her. But he did want to bed her.

Chapter 19

Can I see another’s woe,

And not be in sorrow too?

Can I see another’s grief,

And not seek for kind relief?

—“On Another’s Sorrow,” 1789
William Blake (1757–1827)
British poet, painter, engraver, and mystic

The next morning, Isobella heard the rattle and clank of armor and the nickering of horses coming from the courtyard below. She had learned from Marion the day before that Alysandir and his men were leaving on a hunting trip.

She was still fretting about Elisabeth. It had been a week since she was captured, and still there had been no word about her sister or Alysandir’s two brothers. She would have to be patient. If his brothers were anything like Alysandir, they would do their best to find Elisabeth. The only good thing that had happened was that her ankle was healing and she could walk on it with the slightest limp.

She was sitting in the solar with Alysandir’s sisters, Sybilla and Marion, who were becoming her good friends. She was beyond thankful for their companionship and help, for she would have been bored out of her mind and sick of her room, were it not for them.

Coming to the solar to sew with them had become a daily occurrence. Today, they undertook the impossible task of teaching her to embroider. They were working on valances in tent stitch. She watched them quietly stitching with a precision she would never be able to attain.

After about fifteen minutes, she was still trying to get a bit of wool yarn jabbed through the eye of her needle. She glanced enviously at the sisters’ canvases, with their elaborate tendrils of fruit, colorful and exotic flowers, and brilliant foliage winding around tree trunks, and let out a sigh of defeat.

“There seems to be an awful lot of yarn for the wee eye of this needle.”

The sisters laughed, and Sybilla said, “It takes a lot of practice.”

“I don’t think I will live long enough to learn. Perhaps I should try stable mucking.”

When the laughter quieted down, Marion said, “Perhaps ye could read to us while we embroider.”

Isobella shook her head. “My Latin is best read silently. My Gaelic vocabulary is miserably inadequate.”

“Alysandir has a few books in English in his library,” Sybilla said.

Isobella had replied that she liked the idea when they heard a loud commotion coming from the courtyard, followed by the clatter of horses’ hooves, and the ring and jostling of bridles and equipment.

Sybilla sprang out of her chair and hurried to the window. “Alysandir and our brothers are coming through the gates now,” she said. Marion and Isobella joined her to crowd around the window for a look. Isobella recognized Alysandir as he pushed back the hood of his hauberk and the sun drew out the richness of his hair, dark as the wood of the ebony tree.

About that time, another horse snorted and danced sideways, bumping into Alysandir’s horse, which reared, pawing the air with his forelegs. Alysandir acted with swift confidence to bring his mount under control. Gallagher was a lot like his master, for both possessed latent strength and a capacity for violence. The way the two of them worked together was quite a magnificent sight to watch.

“Alysandir is a fine horseman,” Isobella said. He was about to dismount, and she stepped upon a stool to get a better view. Just as she did so, he glanced toward the window and nodded in her direction.

Sybilla gasped and brought her hand up to her chest with open-mouthed amazement. “Did ye see that? Alysandir nodded at ye. I havena seen him do that before.”

Isobella did not want to be singled out, so she replied, “He was being courteous.”

“Nae. He recognized ye in front of all and sundry,” she said, with a shy smile that made her lovely grey-blue eyes shine as brilliantly as the golden locks of hair braided on top of her head.

“I don’t know why. I’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side.”

“That isna what Alysandir said,” Sybilla replied. “He was most full of praise aboot ye.”

Isobella glanced at Sybilla, who smiled innocently, which was her way of letting their visitor know that was all she was going to say on the subject. Isobella was thinking that some handsome knight like Alysandir should be nodding at Sybilla. Her lovely sable brown curls brought out the vivid golden color in her hazel eyes.

“I see Colin and Drust. They must have met up with the hunting party,” Marion said, then added softly, “Oh dear.” She turned to Isobella. “I am sorry but I canna see any sign of yer sister.”

Isobella frantically searched the bailey, but there was no sign of Elisabeth. She could not hide her disappointment. “If those English bastards have taken her!”

Sybilla put her arm around Isobella’s shoulders. “Dinna fret. Alysandir willna give up. They will find her. Alysandir knows Angus Maclean is a shrewd old fox. He will find a way to rescue her.”

“We should put away our sewing for today,” Marion said, rising. “It is almost time for supper.”

Isobella hurried to her chamber to find a dress. Choosing one wouldn’t be a difficult decision since only three dresses graced her trunk. A seamstress had taken her measurements and fabrics had been chosen, so her sparse wardrobe would soon be adequately replenished. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she chose the deep blue gown, without ornate trim, over the ruby silk.

She was a bit apprehensive about seeing Alysandir at dinner. They had not had much contact since her arrival. Yet she knew he would not wait forever to hear her story. After her bath, her skin was baby soft and just as pink, and she smelled faintly of heather. She took extra care with her hair, twisting it into a bun of sorts, and missed the big mirror she had at home. She eyed the small hand mirror and reminded herself that by sixteenth-century standards, she was most fortunate to have even that.

With trembling hands, she slipped the blue silk over her head and was grateful when Sybilla and Marion came and helped her with all the buttons. When they entered the Great Hall a few minutes later, Marion and Sybilla lagged, leaving Isobella to make her entry alone.

The moment she stepped into the hall, everyone stared and all conversation died away. Across the room, Alysandir heard the whispers and then the silence. He looked up and saw a beauty walk into the hall with his sisters not far behind. She looked familiar, and then the realization hit him with the swiftness of a striking sword.

“Is that Isobella?” Gavin asked.

“Aye. Every desirable, beautiful inch.”

“‘Twould seem ye are the envy of every man in the hall,” Ronan said. “I can certainly see why.”

“Do not take a fancy to the lass,” Alysandir warned.

Ronan laughed and slapped his brother on the back. “Not to worrit. I value my life too much.”

Alysandir swallowed, his hand almost crushing the silver cup in his hand. He knew the beauty was Isobella, but his mind could not seem to accept the idea. All he could think was, it had been a good thing she wasna dressed like that in the glen because he wasna certain he could have kept his gentlemanly manners.

He saw her uncertainty and knew she did not know what was expected of her or where she should sit, but having him come to her rescue would do her more harm. Thankfully, Marion and Sybilla appeared, and flanking her, they accompanied her rest of the way.

He had never seen a dress fit a woman so well. He had not thought about it, but now he could see that she was well blessed where she should be, filling out the bosom of her dress and leaving plenty of enticement above the décolletage. There wasn’t a ripple or a loose place anywhere. The dress almost looked like it had been painted on her.

She carried herself like a queen,: graceful, regal, and dignified. She was all woman and every inch a lady, and he had never seen her equal, not even in Paris. He was thinking she would make the perfect mistress, but at the same time, he wondered if she would accept such a role. Beautiful, arousing, and complicated meant nothing but trouble.

Isobella took the seat, while Alysandir watched her from across the hall. She found it a bit disconcerting, but by the time supper was over and the tables were cleared, he was no longer there. The experience became rather like performing a play with no one in the audience.

In his absence, she was lighthearted and gay, and although she would have loved to join the dancing after the meal, she did not want to stress her ankle, nor was she ready to draw unnecessary attention to herself. Instead, she engaged in conversation with members of Alysandir’s family and a few of the bolder clan members who came to meet her, curious about her strange speech and sudden appearance at the castle.

At one point, Drust rescued her. “We must let the lass rest,” he told the others. “She has done naught but answer questions fer the past week. ’Tis a wonder she doesna have crossed eyes from all of it.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said and crossed her eyes and joined in the laughter.

During the ensuing lull, she studied the hall, especially the murals, which were painted in vivid, prime colors to depict heraldic, religious, and historical themes. Carved stone corbels bore the arms of the Mackinnons including those through intermarriage. The huge fireplace, with its stone-carved lintel, depicted the face of the ancient Celtic green man, leaves sprouting from his head.

Above the lintel was an overmantel hung with a shield bearing the chief’s crest. The flagstone floors were thankfully bare, free of reed mats or the flowers and herbs typically scattered over the floors during this time period.

This was Renaissance Scotland on an evening very removed from her time. It was an historian’s dream come true, experiencing this race of hardy people living in a stern and sometimes comfortless manner, always mindful of a neighboring realm that was richer, larger, and more powerful. They lived amid jealous kings and betrayals among powerful families, all vying for control and position.

It was a place of myth and mystery, a place of mountain tarn and moors, of mist-shrouded crags, soaking rains, and never-ending jealousies and feuds between warring clans. And yet, they were a resilient race, strong, robust, hard-headed, quick to draw a sword, resolute, family oriented and distrustful, yet oddly accepting of a stranger in need who was very far from home.

Drust said something to Colin, who replied louder than he should have. “Nae, I wasna born under a lusting planet.”

Everyone laughed, and Isobella’s head went back as her hand came up to her throat. As she caught her breath, she discovered that Alysandir had returned. He was deep in conversation, which gave her ample time to study him. He was absolutely the sexiest man she had ever seen. And wasn’t he just the epitome of elegance in his velvet doublet and white shirt, with his hair neatly tied back?

Then their eyes met, and he gave her a slow grin. She smiled and looked away, for she was growing weary and she had sipped at least two glasses of wine. When Sybilla whispered that she and Marion were leaving, Isobella responded quickly that she would go with them.

Once she was in her room, she undressed quickly and settled herself comfortably in bed. She was barely asleep when a violent storm blew in from the Atlantic. She opened her eyes and yawned, thankful she was safe, warm, and dry, and then fell asleep again. She slept soundly until a sudden crash of thunder jerked her awake. Another ear-splitting boom followed, louder than the one before.

She listened to the roar of wind and the explosive leaps of thunder that rattled the crags in the distance while jagged flashes of lightning ripped across the sky, filling her room with light. Wind roared down the chimney and fanned to life a small blaze, which she welcomed.

Strange though it was, she conjured the memory of the heat emanating from the Mackinnon’s body the night they had slept together in the glen, wrapped in his plaid. She sighed when she remembered the way he had taken her hand and held it against his chest.

A fool’s counsel from a wise head… or is it wise counsel from a fool’s head?

Her eyes popped open, and she looked around the room. She saw nothing, but that did not mean the Black Douglas was not there. Was he trying to warn her? Or was he trying to play the court jester? Where was he?

Now you see him; now you don’t.

“I know you are here, so you might as well show yourself.”

“I have been here for some time.”

She whipped her head around and saw him, a shadow in the dark corner. “Sir James, have you misbehaved and been confined to the dark corner by the gods?”

“
‘
Far an taine ’n abhainn, ’s ann as mo a fuaim.’”

“I am supposed to understand that?”

“Where the stream is shallowest, greatest is its noise.”

“I have asked you to visit me many times and you’ve never come, and now when I am asleep you pop up.”

“A little neglect may breed mischief.”

“Mine or yours?”

He laughed. “If this poor ghostie ha’ offended.”

“I am not going to ask you about Elisabeth.”

“Then I will tell you that she is well, but then I could be speaking falsely.”

“When are we going back home?”

“Did I say ye were ever going home?”