Authors: Lord of the Isles
“Mariota does not feel things the way other people do, so she doesn’t always understand the results of her actions,” she added. “She would tell you that she thinks with her emotions and thus more creatively or just differently than others do. After explaining that to you, she would expect you to accept her view.”
“Then you had better be sure she understands that I meant every word I said to her,” he retorted. “Because if she ever plays such tricks with us again, I won’t be so lenient. And lest you wonder, I mean to tell your father about this straightaway.”
Cristina nodded, knowing that nothing she could say would dissuade him. She also knew, though, that nothing he could say to Macleod would persuade him that Mariota had done anything horrid. If Mariota was ever to understand that she could not control Hector, Cristina knew she would have to have a long and difficult talk with her, and at least try to make her understand why he was so angry with her.
In the meantime, they joined the others in the great hall and had taken their places on the dais before she found an opportunity to speak to Mariota. Fortune, or more likely Mairi’s influence, had put Cristina two places away from her on the ladies’ end of the table with Mariota at her left and Lady Euphemia just beyond.
Cristina did not know the woman to her right but deduced that she must be of importance, because she sat next to Mairi of the Isles, who was, as usual, in the place of honor beside Lady Margaret Stewart.
Everyone still stood, waiting for the grace before meat, and she was glad to see, for Mariota’s sake, that Hector and Macleod were not next to each other.
Robert the Steward took the place of honor at MacDonald’s right, with Lachlan Lubanach next to him. Hector and a string of Isles chiefs that included Macleod followed, and since the Steward had not traveled with his lady wife, Cristina assumed that the woman next to her must be a chief’s wife.
As everyone sat down, Mariota leaned close and hissed, “I do think you might have stopped him from speaking to me so rudely.”
Glancing right to be sure her neighbor was safely engaged in conversation with Mairi, Cristina said quietly, “Mariota, keep your voice down. When you sent that man up to waylay me, you precipitated a most unpleasant scene. I am not surprised that Hector is angry, only that you cannot see that you were in the wrong.”
“But I apologized,” she muttered. “You heard me.”
“You said you were sorry,” Cristina said. “After you do something dreadful, you always say you are sorry, over and over, but you never mean it, and people can tell that you don’t. Even as you were apologizing, you cast blame on me for what had happened. Don’t you see how that turns your apology into an accusation?”
“Don’t be daft, Cristina. You simply fail to see everything as clearly as I do. You let minor details and stupid logic distract you, such as what others might think and so forth. I
never
do that.”
Cristina gritted her teeth. “That’s true enough,” she said. “You don’t.”
“Because I always know just where I’m going,” Mariota declared, “and I never let such trifles get in my way. Hector doesn’t understand that about me yet, and you are mean not to explain it to him. I think you are just manipulating him for your own selfish purpose, because you’re afraid you’ll never find another husband after you lose him. But you’re a fool if you think I’m the only one you need worry about, because he is enormously popular at this court. The women adore him, and he flirts with them all. Only consider Fiona MacDougall. They say she’s been mad about him for years, and she can always make him laugh. And, for his part, Hector is always most attentive to her. You’ve seen as much for yourself. Why, I shouldn’t be surprised to learn that he beds her whenever he likes.”
Cristina gasped. “How dare you—” Conscious of the always-curious crowd below the dais and the gillie at her shoulder about to pour claret into her goblet, she broke off, forced a smile, and nodded for the lad to proceed. When he had done so and moved on, she leaned near Mariota to say fiercely into her ear, “If I ever even suspect that you have repeated that piece of vulgarity to anyone else, Mariota, I will see to it that everyone learns what a liar you are.”
“But—”
“Not another word,” Cristina snapped. “That was a horrid thing to say to me, and it is untrue as well. Fiona MacDougall is one of the kindest women I know, and I will not allow you to tarnish her reputation merely to achieve your own ends.”
“But—”
“Silence,” Cristina hissed, hoping the constant din of conversation in the hall would make it impossible for anyone else to hear her. “You heed me well, Mariota. If I hear from anyone that you are spreading such scandal, I will not only tell Father but also Mairi, who is one of Fiona’s closest friends. She will undoubtedly tell his grace, who is quite fond of Fiona and likely will banish you from his court. Now, do not speak to me again tonight. I am far too angry with you to say anything kind.”
Mariota’s eyes instantly filled with tears, but Cristina felt no remorse. She knew that Mariota was not crying because she was sorry for what she had said, but only because her words had not had the effect she had intended them to have.
Knowing that the tears would disappear the moment something else attracted her sister’s attention, and noting that the lady on her right had stopped chatting with Mairi, Cristina turned her attention in that direction and introduced herself.
Discovering the woman to be the wife of a chief from one of the isles involved in the upset over the collection and sale of petrel oil, she put everything else out of her mind to draw the woman out on less controversial topics. They discussed her children and the fact that Cristina had newly married. As they chatted amiably of difficulties inherent in trying to turn a hitherto masculine household into a comfortable home, the woman said, “I cannot tell you, madam, how pleasant it is to talk of things other than petrel oil. It seems as if everyone else is determined to debate that topic, and what with trying to remember from one moment to the next what I am supposed to say and absolutely must not say, I grow quite befuddled, so I’d as lief not discuss it at all, lest I find myself deep in the suds.”
“But what could you possibly say that you should not?”
“Faith, one never can be sure. Why, I merely suggested that his grace might like to know how important the oil is to the Holy Isle, and my husband barked like an angry seal. He is MacFadyen of Coll, you see, where much of the oil is collected.”
“But everyone knows the oil is used for sacramental use everywhere.”
“Aye, but the Green Abbot wants us to donate a vast amount of it—years’ worth—directly to his abbey, saying MacDonald should not make the abbey pay. But there, I should
not
be talking of that, so pray let us discuss something else.”
C
ristina was happy to indulge so good-natured a neighbor as Lady MacFadyen, and although she could not in good conscience ignore Mariota, thanks to her ladyship, she was able to maintain a courteous demeanor toward her. Nevertheless, she felt only relief when the meal was over and the evening’s entertainment began.
MacDonald had arranged for minstrels and a troupe of players to amuse his guests, and a number of the men joined in a sword-dancing competition. Lachlan Lubanach was one of them, showing himself to be nimble and quick. Hector remained seated, although he watched the dancers with interest.
When Cristina looked to see if he would join them, Mairi caught her eye and grinned. Speaking across Lady MacFadyen, she said, “Don’t look for your husband to dance tonight, madam. For as long as Lachlan serves as master of my father’s household and high admiral of his navy, he has strictly forbidden Hector to do so.”
“But why?”
Mairi chuckled. “Because the last time the two of them entered such a competition together, Hector nearly lopped off another man’s head as they picked up their swords. Only Lachlan’s swift parry saved the poor lad.”
Mairi’s amusement was contagious, and Cristina laughed with her. When the dancing was over, however, she was delighted to see Hector take a lute from one of the minstrels and begin gently to pluck its strings. His musical skill was what had first attracted her to him. Before she had heard him sing, she had thought him just another self-important member of his grace’s court, albeit a handsome one. But the first time she had heard him take lute in hand, it had been as if he sang to her alone.
His touch was light and skillful, and conversation faded to silence as he played. When he had everyone’s attention, he began to sing, and Cristina watched and listened with much the same awe she had felt the first time. He had chosen a ballad about the conquests of Somerled, and although nearly everyone there must have known the story of that great leader’s victories over the Vikings, they listened intently. She had forgotten the impact Hector’s voice had on his listeners.
When he finished, silence fell, but then he began a livelier song that soon had his audience laughing. When it ended, someone called out for another favorite, and someone else yet another, because many of his grace’s guests had enjoyed Hector’s music before. In his large hands, the lute looked like a toy, but he played with the deft touch of an expert, and his deep voice was vibrant and pleasing. Minutes later, he encouraged members of his audience to join him in singing the chorus of a popular ballad, and her clear treble soared above the others. She saw him watching her, and when he smiled, she felt a rush of pleasure, as if he had touched her.
Hector wondered why he had not known that Cristina possessed such a clear, lovely voice. Indeed, he wondered why he had not noticed her at his grace’s court before, since several people had mentioned that it was a pleasure to see her there again and had congratulated him on his marriage. Because she did not wear the bright colors and extreme fashions that had become so popular amongst Islesmen and their women, he had feared that she might feel out of place. But although she did not try to achieve the sartorial splendor in which her sister Mariota delighted, he had soon realized that Cristina’s quiet elegance pleased him more.
Mariota’s necklines plunged too low, and her bodices fitted so tightly that he wondered how she could breathe. Moreover, she seemed always to be preening herself, and flirted with any man who looked her way. He would not envy the man who won her, but they flocked to her like cattle to a salt lick.
As he finished the song, he saw Lachlan motioning to him from the rear of the hall. A number of people were calling out more tunes for him to play or sing, but he shook his head with a smile, stood, and handed the lute to the minstrel from whom he had borrowed it.
Catching his twin’s eye, he jerked his head slightly in Cristina’s direction and turned toward her, knowing Lachlan would understand that he meant to see his lady safe in her bedchamber before joining him. He had told him about the incident with Fergus Love while they ate, and they had discussed it at length. But before he could deal with Fergus, he had to deal with the captives.
Cristina saw him moving purposefully toward her. The minstrels had begun playing a tune for a ring dance, so she wondered briefly if he wanted her to join the dancers with him or just to talk. But although he was smiling, she had seen the exchange of nods with his brother and suspected that something was in the wind.
When he reached her, he extended a hand and said, “Come, my lady. The hour grows late, and Lachlan and I have matters to discuss with his grace as soon as the Steward retires. I would see you safely abed before I must go.”
Unwilling to accuse him of not trusting her to stay there, even with her father and her aunt still present—not where anyone might hear, at all events—she said only, “Would it not be disrespectful for me to leave before the Steward does, sir?”
“I’ll make your excuses,” he said, taking her hand and placing it on his arm.
“Has there been more trouble then?” she asked.
“My lads have been questioning the men we captured after the attack,” he said. “We mean to discuss what they have learned, and decide what to do about it.”
She frowned, and as they moved toward the courtyard door at a pace quick enough to discourage anyone who might want to speak to them, she said, “So, it is not more trouble over petrel oil this time?”
He glanced at her. “Nay. At least, I do not think that business enters into it, since this last was an open attack on the heir to the throne.”
She hesitated, then said, “I think perhaps I should tell you what I learned at supper, anyway.”
“Wait until we are outside,” he said.
Accordingly, minutes later, as they crossed the courtyard, she said quietly, “Lady MacFadyen of Coll told me the abbot approached her husband to demand that he contribute a large amount of oil directly to the abbey on the Holy Isle.”
“The devil he did! Coll is Maclean land—Lachlan’s, in fact—so what that damned interfering scoundrel thinks he is about, I should very much like to know.”
“He told MacFadyen that his grace should not be profiting from sales of oil to the abbey,” Cristina said.
Hector’s response was a distinct snort. “MacDonald holds no brief for the abbey, the abbot, or for the Pope’s authority, come to that,” he said. “Doubtless, Fingon thinks we should give the oil away to any kirk in Christendom that wants it. But stay,” he added. “Iona’s petrels provide barrels of the stuff, and both the abbey and the Holy Isle’s inhabitants benefit to the same degree that everyone else in the Isles does from the sales. Why would he demand donations from other Isles when he could just keep a portion of his own, and the result would be the same?”
“I don’t know,” Cristina said.
“Nor do I,” he said. “But I mean to find out. I’m glad you told me of this, lass. We’ve suspected that he’s up to mischief, but what it is, we cannot fathom.”
They did not talk as they went upstairs to their bedchamber, and once inside, finding Brona waiting patiently, Hector kissed Cristina lightly and told her not to wait up for him.
“I’ve no idea how long I’ll be,” he said. “But you have much to do tomorrow to get ready to leave, sweetheart, so you should go straight to sleep.”