Authors: Lord of the Isles
With another twinkling look at Hector, Mariota obeyed, and since Tam was still looking after the now brightly burning fire, Cristina signed to one of the other lads to clear Macleod’s documents off the table and lay another place.
As she did, Hector Reaganach strode to her father with his hand outstretched, saying, “Forgive me, sir. In all the bustle, I did not see you standing there.”
“Aye, sure, but I must thank ye for your quick action,” Macleod said gruffly, shaking hands with a sour expression. “The brainless chit might well ha’ gone up in smoke whilst we scurried about trying to find her. I expect, as tall as ye are, ye could see right over the smoke.”
“I just followed her shrieking,” Hector said with a disarming smile. “’Tis I who am beholden to you though, sir. That storm out there is raging, and I am grateful to have a roof over my head again.”
“Aye, well, ye were a right fool and all to be out in such a muck.”
“I was, indeed,” Hector agreed. “I have no doubt my father would be as wroth with me as you are, sir, so I’m thinking you must be a man of sense. ’Tis a lucky man you are, too, with such beautiful daughters.”
Although he spoke tactfully, Cristina knew from experience that he, like every other man who cast eyes on Mariota, had noted the beauty of only one daughter. Nevertheless, she appreciated his tact and decided he was considerate.
Her father, however, only snorted. Brusquely and without any tact whatsoever, he said, “Aye, sure, I ken fine which daughter ye’ve been staring at like a lovesick owl, but ye’ll ha’ the goodness to keep your hands off the lass, and ye’ll no flirt wi’ her under me own roof, sithee.”
“Flirt with her? Faith, sir, I believe I want to marry her. I cannot think of a better life than one spent gazing at her beautiful face day in and day out.”
“’Tis a fool ye are then, just as I said,” Macleod said frankly. “Ye’d do a sight better to wed a wench who can run a household as cleverly as our Cristina can—aye, and look after the sick and the gardens as well. Nobbut what I doubt I’d let ye have her either,” he added with a narrow look.
Cristina sighed, recognizing her father’s tactic at once.
Macleod believed that a man always desired a thing more if he feared it might be beyond his reach. But with Mariota in the mix, that tactic made no impression on Hector Reaganach.
He smiled and nodded kindly to Cristina as he said, “I am sure that Mistress Cristina—nay, ’tis Lady Cristina, I’m sure. I beg your pardon, lass.”
She said nothing, merely fixing her steady gaze on him, knowing what he would say next as well as if she had put the words in his mouth herself.
He held her gaze for a moment before turning away to say to Macleod, “I’m sure she is everything a wife should be, sir. But ’tis your younger daughter that has taken my fancy, and surely she, too, is of marriageable age.”
“Aye, she is, but I’ve five daughters o’ marriageable age,” Macleod said testily. “Mariota’s seventeen, Adela sixteen, Maura fifteen, and our Kate has turned fourteen. Since any lass can marry at thirteen, that makes five o’ them.”
“Then, doubtless, you’d be pleased if I were to take one off your hands.”
“I would, but Cristina must be first as she’s the eldest.”
Tam had filled the laver, and Cristina was motioning the younger girls to wash their hands, but she turned back at these words and saw both consternation and stubbornness written large on Hector Reaganach’s face.
To divert him from blurting out something that would stir Macleod’s anger and doubtless befoul their supper table with unpleasantness, she said, “My father believes it is unlucky for a younger daughter to marry before her elder sister, sir. Surely, you can understand that. Many Islesmen believe as he does.”
“Sakes, Macleod,” Hector said, “I’d never have thought you superstitious.”
“Oh, but you need think no such thing, sir; indeed, no,” Lady Euphemia said with a swift, measuring glance at Macleod. “My brother prides himself on knowing what is what, you see, and very wise he is, too, so you won’t sway him from it. If he declares that you must offer for our Cristina, you had very much better do so. Indeed, she is a grand good lass, is Cristina, and kind, so pray do heed my brother, sir, for Mariota’s rather too fond of herself, and temperamental into the bargain.”
“Enough, Euphemia,” Macleod snapped. “Ye’ve nae call to criticize the lass.”
“No, Murdo, certainly not. I am sure I never meant to do any such thing.”
Casting a glance at Hector, Cristina saw his gaze narrow and believed he understood that her aunt would now support Macleod’s position. Surely, he had known enough dependent women in his life to recognize one and comprehend that she believed that her peace and security depended on pleasing her host.
But even as Cristina reassured herself, she saw that look of resolve settle over his handsome features again. She was certain from what she had seen of the man that he had not thought of marrying anyone before he had entered the great hall. But all it would take now for him to press this sudden yearning of his, would be Mariota’s reentrance into the room.
In the hope of explaining before then that Macleod would reject his offer, and thus avoid grievous insult, she said, “I believe it is not so much superstition that drives my father’s belief, sir, as his concern that if he does let one of his younger daughters marry first, bad luck may fall upon the Macleods.”
“Sakes, lass, that is precisely what makes it superstition!”
“I disagree, sir. To be superstitious, one must
believe
that ill luck will follow. My father merely wishes to take care that if ill luck should chance to befall our clan, the others will not blame him for it.”
Hector gave her a measuring look. “I think you should have the privilege of meeting my brother, lass. He, too, enjoys quibbling. I do not.”
Macleod’s temper was short. Frowning, he said, “As your brother is already married, ye ha’ nae reason to present him to Cristina. Nor be there reason to continue talking on the subject if ye’ve nae wish to marry her yourself.”
“Perhaps you and Hector Reaganach would prefer to take supper in the inner chamber, where you may discuss the matter as you choose,” Cristina said. “I promised the children that we’d sup in the hall tonight, because of the storm.”
As if to punctuate that promise, another great crack of thunder shook the stone walls, and Sidony shrieked.
“We’ll all eat in here,” Macleod said. “We’ve nae need to speak privately, for I’ve made up my mind, and nae man will change it.”
Hector Reaganach smiled. “With respect, sir, we’ll see about that. The sons of Gillean are not noted for patience or for turning away with the goal in sight.”
“Aye, well, we Macleods ken our own minds, lad. Remember that.”
Cristina sighed again, foreseeing a long and fractious meal.
T
he storm outside picked up fury again as they moved to take places at the high table. Startled by a particularly loud crash of thunder, young Sorcha tripped. She caught herself but in the process banged a knee at one of the table’s corner legs.
“Kiss your thumb, lass,” Macleod commanded. “’Twill ease the pain.”
As she obeyed, Cristina saw Hector hide a smile and knew he thought that Macleod’s superstitions were foolish. Suppressing a jolt of annoyance, she glanced down the table to be sure her sisters were standing quietly, waiting for their father to speak the grace before meat.
The storm grew even fiercer, with lightning flashes changing the light in the vaulted chamber from moment to moment as cracks and rolling, thunderous booms battered against the castle’s stone walls, making it doubtful that anyone heard more than an odd word here and there as Macleod spoke the words of the prayer.
Finishing with a brusque “Amen,” he gestured for them all to sit.
As they obeyed, Isobel shook back her flaxen plaits and said clearly to Hector Reaganach, “Why were you out in such dreadful weather, sir, if you agree with my father that it was dangerous?”
Cristina, who had wondered the same thing but would never have put herself forward in such an unbecoming way, waited for an intervening roll of thunder to fade before she said, “Civilized people do not ask such questions of their guests, Isobel. Pray, attend to your supper and allow him to enjoy his in peace.”
“But how am I to learn things if I may not ask questions?”
“Dinna be impertinent, lassie,” Macleod said.
Conscious of Hector Reaganach’s amused eye upon her, Cristina said, “We can discuss that later if you like, Isobel. Presently, you must tell Tam what you would like him to serve you from that platter he is holding.”
With a sigh, Isobel obeyed.
Shooting a stern look at her, Macleod said, “We dinna want to hear your voice again, nor any o’ the rest o’ ye either. Nobbut what the child put a good question to ye,” he added, shooting a sharp look at Hector. “Just listen to it roar out there. ’Twere a daft thing to be riding through such a din and deluge, so I trust ye had good reason for subjecting yourself to the experience.”
“I did,” Hector said as Isobel shot a resentful look at Cristina.
Cristina did not respond to the look, deciding that if her outspoken little sister had not yet learned that their father considered himself above deferring to the rules of civility, she soon would.
The look of amusement in Hector’s eyes deepened when her gaze met his again, but instead of annoying her further, this time the look warmed her to her toes, and she felt an odd inclination to smile at him. She told herself she was merely pleased that he had retained his civility despite her father’s prying questions, but she knew she was attracted to the man and wished with all her heart that she were not. She also noted that although his gaze drifted once or twice in Mariota’s direction, he did not allow it to linger. Her sister’s frown indicated that she had also noted that fact and did not admire his good manners as much as Cristina did.
Macleod was still gazing at him, clearly waiting for him to say more. When Hector turned instead to help himself from a dish of stewed mutton, Macleod said testily, “Well, what was your reason then for being out in yon storm?”
Hector continued to help himself to the mutton, but Cristina saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. She did not know him well enough to guess what he was thinking, but she could tell that Macleod’s cross-questioning had begun to annoy him.
Having taken as much stew as he wanted, he turned to his host and said mildly, “As it is his grace’s business to which I attend, sir, I’m certain you must understand that I cannot divulge the details to you here at the table.”
“Sakes, lad, lest ye’ve forgotten, I serve as a member o’ his grace’s Council o’ the Isles. Therefore, I’ve every right to ken his business if it has aught to do wi’ the Isles, as I suppose it must.”
“I have not forgotten your position,” Hector said. “I will be happy to discuss it privately with you at your convenience, but ’tis not a topic for bairns’ ears.”
“Och, aye, then,” Macleod said, glancing up and down the table as if he had just remembered that his daughters were present.
“But that’s not fair,” Mariota protested. “I’m not a child, and I want to hear your adventures, sir. I’m sure you must have had exciting ones, and I shall die if I cannot hear them. Can you not send the children off with Aunt Euphemia, Father?”
Much as she would have liked to call Mariota to order as she had Isobel, Cristina held her tongue, knowing that scolding her would serve no purpose since Mariota would ignore her. However, seeing Isobel open her mouth to protest, she shot that young lady a minatory look that kept her silent, then turned back as Hector said with a smile to Mariota, “Anyone with half an eye can see that you are not a child, my lady.”
“Well, you need not say that as if you want only to placate me, my lord,” Mariota said archly, fluttering her ridiculously long, dark lashes.
“I was agreeing with you, lass,” he said.
Mariota tossed her head. “You said you want to marry me, but surely you do not think I’d marry a common messenger, even if he rides for the Lord of the Isles.”
“Mariota!” Cristina exclaimed, unable to restrain herself this time. Shooting a hasty glance at their father, to attempt to gauge his temper, she added, “My dear, truly, you should not speak so to a guest.”
Macleod gnawed a mutton bone, apparently undisturbed by Mariota’s impertinence. Hector seemed unperturbed as well, for he said only, “Is that what you think, that I am but his grace’s messenger?”
Mariota gave a dismissive shrug. “I’m sure it is nothing to me what your position is or whom you serve. Your clan is a sadly unknown one—to me, at least—and therefore most likely not a suitable one with which to ally myself.”
“Sakes, lass, I’d think that being laden with eight daughters for whom he must find husbands—even as beautiful as you all are—your father would not be so hard to please.”
“’Tis I, not he, who is hard to please, sir,” she said, tossing her head. “After Cristina marries, I shall have dozens of offers from which to choose—offers from the very best families, too, I promise you.”
“’Tis true,” Macleod said complacently. “The lass will ha’ her pick o’ the Highlands and Isles, so she needna take the first upstart son of Gillean that wants her. She’ll take a man what kens his history, one as
has
a history farther back than a few odd generations or so.”
“With respect, sir, I warrant that our Clan Gillean history is as ancient as your own,” Hector said.
“Nay, now that canna be,” Macleod said, “for we Macleods ha’ been in existence since the beginning o’ the world. I warrant ye’ll no be telling me that any Maclean lived afore the Flood now, will ye?”
“Which flood would that be?” Hector asked.
“Aye, sure, I’m no surprised ye dinna ken the Bible as well as I do, for all that yon Macleans claim to be one o’ the learned clans. Still, I expect I ken that good book well enough for us both. I’m speaking o’ the great Flood that drowned the entire world, save that lad Noah, and his family and flocks,” Macleod said.
“That Flood, eh?” Hector said. “But I’m thinking there were Macleans aplenty before that Flood, and afterward as well.”