Devil in a Kilt (5 page)

Her
breath caught in her throat, near choking her, at her first glimpse of the keep
itself. It stood across a cobbled bailey, grim and unwelcoming.

A
stone fortress on an island of stone, ruled by a man whose heart had turned to
stone—if indeed he still had one.

Linnet
had her doubts for a tangible air of unhappiness, powerful enough to crush
anyone's heart and soul, pervaded Eilean Creag. The oppressive atmosphere bore
heavily on her shoulders, the sheer strength of it making her almost physically
ill.

Not
a soul stirred within the courtyard or near the outbuildings clustered around
the outer walls as they rode across the cobbled bailey, halting at the keep's
broad stone steps. Duncan MacKenzie quickly dismounted, plucked her from his
horse, and set her down beneath an arched entrance bearing the MacKenzie coat
of arms.

As
if in a hurry to be rid of her, he let go of her immediately and mounted the
steps. At the top, he opened a large, iron-studded door, then turned to face
her.

"Lachlan
will take you to Robbie," he said. "I would speak with you in my
solar after you've seen him."

Linnet
opened her mouth to speak, but he'd already stepped into the gloom beyond the
door. She followed him, entering a dimly lit vaulted hall of enormous proportions.
Without further acknowledgment of her presence, he strode briskly past rows of
trestle tables and benches, elbowed his way through a knot of servants busily
decorating the raised dais at the far end of the hall, and disappeared up a
shadowy stairwell.

Speechless
at being fair abandoned in a yet-strange hall, Linnet stared after him,
grateful the sputtering rash torches did not provide enough light for those
present to see how her cheeks flamed at his callous dismissal.

She
bristled. Whether the arrangement pleased either of them or nay, she was
entitled to be treated with civility. Apparently her husband-to-be considered a
warm cloak and newly cobbled shoes adequate adherence to the codes of decency.

"
‘Tis not personal, my lady. He hasna been himself for a long time," his
squire, Lachlan, said, stepping up beside her. "If you'll follow me, I'll
show you where you may refresh yourself. After you've had a light repast, I'll
take you to Robbie."

Elspeth
joined them, placing her hands gently on Linnet's shoulders. "Dinna look
so lost, child; you've carried yourself so well thus far. Unless my perception
is failing me, the man's behavior just now has naught to do with you. Simply be
yourself, and all will be well."

"I
hope you're right," Linnet replied, more to herself than to Elspeth.
"For the love of St. Margaret and all that's holy, I hope you're
right."

"If
you'll allow me, I shall take you to meet Robbie now." Lachlan the squire
appeared just as Linnet finished a small portion of fish stew and pushed aside
the empty bowl. " ‘Twas my master's wish you see the lad as soon as
possible."

Linnet
stood, patted her still-damp head veil and readjusted the dampish folds of her
mother's
arisaid,
then let the squire grip her elbow and guide her
through the great hall. He skillfully dodged hordes of scurrying servants as
they rushed about, their arms laden, no doubt tending to preparations for the
next day's wedding festivities. Some sent shy glances her way, others stared
more openly.

Hopefully
they'd think she still wore her rain-dampened garments because she was too
tired to change clothes after the long journey. She didn't want their pity
should they guess she'd brought little with her besides what she had on.

At
least, her new cloak was fine and well hid her ragged gown. And, blessedly,
unlike her veil and precious
arisaid,
the splendidly woven mantle had
stayed fairly dry ... just as her betrothed had assured her it would.

Aye,
let Duncan MacKenzie's servants gape at her. Until she was more ready to face
them, the cloak and her veil shielded her well.

The
assessing perusals of dining clansmen followed her as well, their curious
stares taking in her every move as Lachlan led her past their tables toward a
spiral stone staircase barely visible beyond a darkened archway in a far corner
of the hall.

Something
lurked in the shadowy stair tower ... a palpable air of sadness so well defined
it seemed to have taken on a life of its own. It wasn't the same kind of
emptiness that filled and surrounded her husband-to-be, but a feeling of great
dejection laced with a very faint trace of hope.

Linnet's
instincts told her the oppressive atmosphere had to do with the boy, and
suddenly she knew, without yet seeing the child, that he was indeed Duncan
MacKenzie's true son.

Ne'er
had she been so sure of herself.

The
higher they climbed, the more certain she became.

When
they reached the third landing and Lachlan made no attempt to halt their
ascent, she yanked on his surcoat.

"Aye,
milady?"

"Why
is the lad hidden away in such a dismal corner of the castle?"

"
‘Tis not for me to say."

Linnet
folded her arms, driven to assertiveness by a sudden overwhelming desire to
ease the great pain already reaching her from somewhere higher up in the tower.
It came at her like a dark cloud and thickened with each step she took.

"I
know Sir Duncan doubts Robbie is his son. Be that the reason he's kept so far
from the hall and in such a dark place?"

The
flickering glow of a wall torch revealed the squire's discomfort. "Indeed
it causes my lord pain to look upon the lad, but I canna say why he's quartered
here. ‘Twas my master's orders, and I would ne'er venture to question his
motives."

At
the fourth landing, Lachlan led her down a dim passage, stopping before a heavy
oaken door. "He may be asleep."

"Then
I willna disturb him," Linnet said in a hushed voice, stepping past him
into the shadow-filled chamber the moment he opened the door.

The
cloud of sadness she'd sensed on the stairs fair knocked her back into the
passageway, so heavily did unhappiness permeate the room. The very walls seemed
saturated with distress, and it cost all of Linnet's strength to keep from
crumbling to the floor under the sheer weight of the boy's anguish.

Although
a fire burned in the stone hearth, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to
the darkness. Purposely, she went to the small chamber's one window and threw
open the shutters. When she turned around, she knew her instincts had been
correct.

On a
canopied bed against the far wall, a small boy slept, one arm flung around an
ancient-looking mongrel. The dog glanced warily at her, but the child slept on,
unaware she'd entered the room.

Covered
by a thick plaid woven in MacKenzie colors, and with only the back of his dark
head visible, Robbie MacKenzie didn't stir as she stared across the room at
him ... stared at him and the image of a stag's head hovering in the air above
him.

A
loud buzzing sounded in her ears and the vision intensified in clarity until it
seemed to glow from within. Then the whirring noise stopped, and the image
vanished as if it had never been there.

"Are
you ill, milady?" Lachlan hurried to her side. " ‘Tis pale you are.
Shall I fetch you a draught of mulled wine? Or escort you to your lady
servant?"

Shivers
still raced up and down her spine, but she shook her head. "Nay, I am fine
now."

"Would
you like to rest here afore I take you to Sir Duncan? Robbie will likely awaken
at any moment. He doesna sleep well."

Linnet
glanced at the child. "Then we dinna want to disturb his rest, do
we?"

The
squire made no move toward the door, and a light pink tinge colored his cheeks.
"My liege had hoped you'd spend some time ... ah ... getting to know
Robbie."

"
‘Tisn't possible to do that when the lad's sleeping, now, is it?" Linnet
announced, exiting the room. "You can escort me to your liege
instead."

"But
Sir Duncan—"

"—asked
to speak with me afore I retire, did he not?" she persisted, deliberately
evading the real reason she'd been ushered to Robbie's chamber. "Will you
take me there or nay?"

"Of
course, milady," he said, hurrying to join her in the passage.

As
she followed him down the stairs, Linnet sent silent prayers to all the saints.
She hoped they'd grant her the wisdom to choose her words wisely when she faced
the mighty MacKenzie of Kintail. She knew what he wanted from her, and she knew
the answer, too.

But
she meant to keep her knowledge a secret.

She
had a plan, and if the merciful saints were with her, it just might work.

Duncan
heard her outside his private chamber long before she chose to make her
presence known. She'd waited until his squire's footsteps faded before she
rapped on the door. But when he'd called out permission to enter, she'd
hesitated.

While
he waited, he glanced about the solar, his best-loved room. The only place
where he could truly remove himself from the world.

Escape
from the misery that was his life.

Except
for the rich silk tapestries on the walls, the solar was austere. A small
wooden table, one uncomfortable chair, and a large strongbox made up the
furnishings. No cushions adorned the window seats and even the sweeping views
of the loch did scarce little to ease the bleakness of the chamber. Only the
fire in the hearth provided a semblance of comfort and warmth.

Not
that he cared. ‘Twas old Fergus, his seneschal, who insisted on keeping the
firelog burning. Duncan liked the room sparsely furnished and cold ... it
matched his barren soul.

He'd
purposely chosen to meet with his bride-to-be here, where the severity of the
setting would emphasize the image of himself he wished to convey to her.

No
longer wearing his sword, but still clad in his hauberk of black mail, he knew
he made a daunting presence that would rattle her to her maidenly core despite
her repeated displays of courage on their journey.

‘Twas
better for her if she thought him as cold and immovable as the thick walls of
his castle.

He
moved to the hearth and stood with his back to the door, waiting. After a
moment, he called out again. This time she entered.

When
he heard her close the door, he turned around. "Do you know why I chose to
take you as my wife?"

For
what seemed an eternity, the crackling of the fire made the only sound.
Finally, she nodded. "Aye, ‘tis because of my gift."

He nodded
in return, satisfied.

"You
should know I canna make use o' the sight at will. The visions—"

"Your
soothsaying abilities are well-known in the Highlands," Duncan cut her
off. He'd seen an indefinable expression flicker across her face and didn't
want to hear whatever she'd meant to tell him. "I have no doubt you shall
provide me with the truth of that which plagues me."

He
paused before posing the question he must ask. His dread of her answer sent
more terror racing through his veins than he'd e'er felt when facing a full
battalion of mounted English knights and their ever-present Welsh archers.

Still,
he had to know. "You've seen the child?"

"Aye."

Splendor
of God, the wench said no more!

Simply
'aye.'

Dinna
she know he burned for an answer?

"And
what did you see?" The words fair burst from his lips.

Rather
than answer him, she smoothed her palms on the folds of her cloak and stared at
the floor. With her obvious discomfiture, realization dawned. Duncan breathed a
sigh of relief. He'd intimidated her more than was his intent, his warrior garb
and the bleak solar made her feel small and insignificant.

That
had to be the reason for her silence.

Moving
to the small table, he filled two jewel-encrusted chalices with a blood-red
liquid and handed her one. " ‘Tis herbed wine. Let us drink to a union
that shall be beneficial to us both."

She
raised her glass and took a small sip, but the small gesture of welcome Duncan
had hoped would put her at ease seemed to have the opposite effect for her
hands shook, and she spilled a bit of the wine onto the rushes at her feet.

"I
would like to ask a question if I may," she said, her voice steady despite
her slight trembling.

Duncan
took a long sip of his wine before answering. "What would you know?"

"Our
clans have ne'er been friends. Why did you not just kidnap me? Why
marriage?"

"Knowing
the truth of Robbie's parentage is not the sole reason I chose you."
Duncan dragged a hand through his hair and drew a deep breath. Merely speaking
about the lad caused him great pain. "Whether he is mine or naught, he
needs the care of a loving adult. You shall provide that care."

"And
you, sir? A child needs both mother
and
father. A boy-child, especially,
should have his father's love. ‘Tis not right to withhold it."