Amanda Scott (11 page)

“You chose the wiser course,” Michael said dryly. “Come now, let us go up. Doubtless, the men on the wall have already announced your arrival and the fact that I came down to meet you. We do not want to annoy Hector Reaganach again.”

Hugo’s eyebrows shot up again. “Faith,
have
you annoyed him? I own, I’m eager to meet him, for although I’ve often been in his presence, it has always been in a crush at court or some like occasion, so I have never been presented to him.”

“Well, you shall soon have that honor,” Michael told him. “Doubtless, he will also present you to his lady wife, who is another of Lady Isobel’s sisters, as well as to Princess Margaret Stewart, her daughter Mairi of the Isles, and to Lachlan Lubanach Maclean, Lord High Admiral of the Isles.”

“You find yourself in most exalted company, do you not?” Sir Hugo exclaimed. Grinning at Isobel, he added impudently, “My lady, you do not know what you have done by introducing this rascal to your family. They should instantly have consigned him to perdition.”

“Well, they did not,” she retorted. “Indeed, they want me to marry him.”

She was not sure what demon had impelled her to blurt out the last bit, but Hugo did not exclaim or even look surprised.

He merely regarded her more narrowly as he said, “Do you mean to say that you have been wise enough to elude that fate? Pray tell me that the reason he means to leave Lochbuie at once is that you had the good sense to reject him.”

“Well, I did,” she said. “But in truth, sir, I do not know that sense had much to do with it. I don’t want to marry any man, and my kinsmen want me to marry him only because they think he has somehow compromised my reputation.”

“Oh, I doubt that is the sole reason, my lady. If I think a moment, I should be able to come up with at least one or two others to explain their position. But since you had the wisdom to spurn him, I shall hold my peace.”

His twinkle was difficult to ignore. Conscious of Michael’s sudden oppressive silence beside her, she grinned at Sir Hugo, and when he offered his arm, she accepted it and allowed him to escort her through the gate and upstairs to the hall.

Michael made no comment regarding his irrepressible cousin’s notion of humor, letting the two go ahead of him and wondering only why Hugo’s reflexive flirtation with Lady Isobel did not annoy him more. From their earliest years, he and his cousin had competed against each other in everything, particularly when it came to their flirtations. They were as close as brothers, and in some ways closer, for at times they seemed almost to read each other’s minds.

They had nearly come to blows over women in the past, but now he felt only gratitude to Hugo for making Isobel smile again. If he was irritated with anyone, it was with her for flirting back, but he had no right to feel irritated about that.

She was a mystery to him. He had never known a woman whose thoughts morning and night were for anything other than marriage, household, social events, or children. Women who did not marry were generally thought to be sad creatures, but Isobel clearly was not, and she was already well past the age that most fathers insisted on finding husbands for their daughters. Lady Adela was older yet.

If he recalled correctly, Isobel had said there were eight of them and that she and three others were still unwed, so he had assumed that Macleod had managed to find husbands for only half of his daughters, perhaps because he lacked wealth enough to endower them all well. But if they were all as beautiful as Isobel and Adela, the man would have to be a fool to assume they would require large tochers.

As he followed Hugo and Isobel into the hall, he saw that the others had gathered there, evidently to break their fast. He had been in the process of dressing when he chanced to see Isobel outside, and had finished quickly and hurried down the spiral stone stairway that led from his small bedchamber to the kitchens on the first level, below the hall, without entering that chamber. No sooner had he stepped outside the wall than he had had a clear view of the
Raven
rounding the point into the bay. Realizing that he had little time remaining to explain Hugo to Isobel before she would meet him, he had hurried to intercept her, but the galley had arrived too quickly to allow a detailed explanation.

Hector Reaganach was on his feet. “More guests, Isobel?”

“This gentleman is Sir Michael’s cousin, who has come to fetch him,” she said, taking her hand from Sir Hugo’s arm and stepping back.

When Hector shifted his gaze to Michael, he took the hint and went forward, saying, “He is indeed my cousin, my lord, Sir Hugo Robison of Strathearn.”

“You are welcome at Lochbuie, Robison,” Hector said. “I believe you must be a connection of Isabella, Countess of Strathearn and Caithness, are you not?”

“I have that honor, my lord,” Hugo said, making his bow.

Hector made the other introductions, formally presenting Sir Hugo to Princess Margaret before inviting the two men to join the family at table.

As they accepted the invitation, Hector added, “I trust your men will join us. Doubtless, our people have already told them they are welcome.”

“Aye, my lord, they will be eager to do so,” Sir Hugo said. “They won’t enjoy much rest, however, as Michael informs me that he wishes to depart with the afternoon tide. Doubtless, they had hoped—”

“Mercy me,” Lady Euphemia exclaimed, “your men
should
rest, sir, after such a long journey. Sir Michael, surely, you do not mean to leave so soon!”

“You are kind to concern yourself, my lady,” he said. “But I must not linger. Had circumstances been different . . .” He fell silent, looking for Isobel to be sure she had caught his meaning.

But Isobel was not where she had been only moments before. He saw but a glimpse of her skirt as it whisked out of the great hall to the stairway.

Realizing that she would be unwise to sit down at the table with her sister and aunt, not to mention Princess Margaret, in the old, rather shabby gown she had donned to walk on the shore, Isobel opted to break her fast later and took the opportunity afforded by Hector’s conversation with Sir Hugo to slip away.

Since no one had objected, she doubted that anyone had seen her go or would miss her if she did not return. Indeed, Cristina had given her a sharp look, warning her that she must at least change her clothing before she did return.

Meeting a maidservant coming down the stairs, she asked the girl to bring bread and ale to her bedchamber.

“Aye, m’lady, straightaway.”

“I’ll want your help to dress, too, Ada. In this dress, I dared not stop to break my fast with the princess Margaret.”

“Och, nay, m’lady,” the girl said, twinkling. “Ye’ve sand on them boots, and your hair’s in such a tangle, it looks as if demons ha’ been dancing through it.”

Isobel had not spared a thought for her hair. If it was in a tangle, it was partly because she had not bothered to do anything more than to smooth the thick plaits with her fingers before going outside. The plaits themselves had loosened in the stiff breeze, however, and she could not doubt Ada’s evaluation. No wonder Cristina had given her such a look.

Ada soon joined her in her bedchamber, bringing sliced ham as well as the bread and ale, and quickly made her presentable while Isobel ate.

“The hall be full o’ men now,” Ada confided. “They do say they willna be staying, though,” she added with a sigh of disappointment.

Isobel realized that she shared Ada’s regret and tried to tell herself that it was only because she found Sir Hugo amusing and wanted to know him better. That thought, however, led only to remembering that she would have little opportunity to enjoy socializing with young men in the future, because she would be ruined and therefore unable to take part in all the social events she had enjoyed in the past.

Although she told herself that it would not matter in the least, that such events were unimportant, and that she would enjoy the solitude, those arguments were less convincing than they had been before that fate loomed so largely before her.

“Be Sir Michael truly a prince, then?” Ada asked.

“He is not,” Isobel said.

“But I heard that his brother be one, and if one brother be a prince, be they not all princes?”

“You should not be gossiping about the laird’s guests,” Isobel said sternly. “In any event, even his brother is not a prince yet.”

“Aye, sure, but when he does become one, will not—?”

“Enough, Ada. That will do.”

She did not want to talk of Michael or the man about to become Prince of Orkney, but she wished that she had paid more heed when Hector and Lachlan, and even their father, Ian Dubh Maclean, had discussed the ceremonies that would soon take place in the far north. She had cared only that they would see a Scotsman who had become a Norse prince, not about more trivial details. And she wished now, more than she had thought she would, that she would see that ceremony.

Since she had already decided that she would not rejoin the others, she was not as happy as she might otherwise have been when her sister entered the room a few minutes after Ada had left it. It occurred then to Isobel that she might have been wiser to seek her solitude elsewhere.

“Good morning, love,” Cristina said, moving to embrace her. “I would have come to you last night, but Hector said he was sure you wanted time to think.”

“His way of saying
he
wanted me to have time to think,” Isobel said.

“Aye, but I did want to talk with you, and I was certain from the way you slipped away just now that you would not return. I was right, was I not?”

“Aye,” Isobel admitted. “I realized I must look a fright, and then once I was away . . .” She spread her hands. “I hope you do not mean to try to persuade me to marry him.”

“No, of course not,” Cristina said, moving to gaze out the narrow window overlooking the courtyard.

“Good,” Isobel said. “Because I have not changed my mind.”

“Have you not, dearling? Are you perfectly certain that you could not be happy as his wife? They say the St. Clair family is enormously wealthy, you know.”

“Are they? Then doubtless that is one of the reasons his cousin thinks Hector wants me to marry Michael,” Isobel said with a sigh. “Sir Hugo said he could think of reasons other than to prevent my ruination.”

“Did he?” Cristina sighed. “But the fact that Sir Michael could make you more comfortable than most men could is hardly a bad thing.”

“Well, I don’t think Michael has so much,” Isobel said. “He does not look like a rich man, or act like one. Moreover, I should think all the money belongs to his brother. He is to be a prince, after all, and princes should be wealthy.”

“Mairi says the entire family lives more royally than her mother’s family does,” Cristina said. “The St. Clairs have at least three castles, she said. A liaison like that would benefit more than just you, Isobel. You might think about Adela, Sorcha, and Sidony. Just imagine what such a connection could mean to them.”

“Let one of them marry Michael then,” Isobel said tartly.

When Cristina gave her a look, she said with a sigh, “I ought not to have said that, but I’m not going to sacrifice myself, for I am not noble, Cristina, nor do I want to be. I was afraid of this, although I did not know that wealth entered into it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I expect that everyone, not just Hector, you, and Aunt Euphemia, but also Mairi, Lachlan, her grace the princess Margaret, and doubtless even Ian Dubh, will try to talk me into marrying that man. Not to mention our father,” she added, as she realized what Macleod’s likely reaction would be to learning that a man of wealth was willing to marry her. “Faith, I’ll have to enter a nunnery to find any peace.”

“I’ll be happy to leave you to your peace,” Cristina said, walking to the doorway. She turned as she reached it, adding, “But you should know that we care about you, Isobel, all of us. If we express our concern about your future, you should know that is but one of the consequences awaiting you if you continue in this stubborn refusal to understand the life that you are creating for yourself.”

When she had gone, shutting the door with a snap behind her, Isobel stared at that door for a few moments before following. The last thing she wanted was to spend the day entertaining a string of well-intentioned advisers. Only to Cristina did she dare speak her mind freely. To the others she would have to be more respectful, and she knew she could not endure many such conversations before erupting.

Accordingly, with the intention of resuming her interrupted walk, she avoided the great hall by taking the service stairway that led to the kitchens, only to stop on the landing above them when she heard voices below and realized that Michael was talking with his cousin.

Although she could not see them, their voices floated clearly up to her through the narrow, spiral stairwell.

She turned swiftly, thinking they must be on their way up, but Sir Hugo’s next words stopped her with her right foot on one step, her left on the step below.

“So you’ve told the lass naught of your quest, have you?”

Isobel could not have stirred another step then if her life had depended on it. Good manners were one thing, overriding curiosity quite another.

Chapter 8

M
ichael said firmly, “Not here, Hugo.”

“No one in the kitchen is paying us heed, Michael,” Hugo said, “and we have privacy here that we might not have if we try to talk in your chamber. ’Tis why you wanted to take this stairway in the first place, is it not? You thought Hector Reaganach or one of the others might pursue us otherwise, to ask more questions. But ’tis only to me that you need give answers now. Whether you choose to talk about her ladyship or not, I want to know why you slipped away to that cave.”

Michael sighed, wishing, and not for the first time, that Hugo would remember that although he was a year Michael’s senior, he was neither his parent nor his older brother. Hugo had sworn fealty both to him and to Henry, and consistently displayed that loyalty by acting as a boon companion and even as a bodyguard when necessary. But that was all. He held no authority over Michael.

“Hugo,” he said, “I know you are angry that I went to the cave without you, but at the time you didn’t believe I’d meet danger in going, and nor did I. Moreover, you have shown no interest in my belief that a cave somehow figures in our family secrets, so I decided to let you sleep rather than argue any more with you.”

“Aye, sure, you were ever the thoughtful one,” Hugo said sardonically. “Did you likewise neglect to warn me that Waldron was in the vicinity?”

“Here at Lochbuie?”

“Don’t push me too far, cousin.”

“What makes you suspect that Waldron is involved?”

“Who else would be leading men to find you? Lady Adela said a number of men were hunting you. She said two of them called you criminal and accused you of abducting Lady Isobel. She also said they took a whip to you. Is any of that true?”

“It is all true,” Michael said. “Nonetheless—”

“Faith, lad, what were you thinking to involve two innocent lasses in this?”

Michael chuckled. “You know nothing about it, cousin, or about Lady Isobel, who involved herself and is the only one concerned in this business. But if you will cease berating me as if you were my father, who was much better at it than you, I’ll tell you all about our adventure. First, though, come upstairs with me. I do not like talking in stairwells, and I warrant I can protect you from Hector and his minions.”

Hugo reached for him but stopped halfway, cocking his head to listen.

Michael had heard it, too, a soft footstep above. Putting a finger to his lips, he listened for further sound but heard none. “A servant most likely,” he murmured. “There are small chambers off the stairs all the way up, which is why I’d prefer to talk in my chamber, so come.”

He led the way, and Hugo followed without further protest.

Isobel made her way quickly but as silently as possible up the stairs until she reached her bedchamber. Being as certain as she could be that the two men would not follow her to a level known to be family quarters, she waited until she could be certain they had gone elsewhere before going downstairs again and outside.

Carefully avoiding family members, she slipped out through the postern gate again, telling its guardian that she was going for another walk. “The one I took this morning ended before its time when our visitors arrived.”

“Aye, sure, m’lady, but they’ll be off again by afternoon tide, they say. It’ll be coming on to rain afore long, too,” he warned. “Look yonder.”

Noting the still-darkening clouds in the west, she nodded, saying with a smile, “I won’t melt if it does rain.” Then she hurried off down the path, having no wish to linger when it might mean being seen and called back to bid a proper, respectful farewell to their departing guests. Mairi, Lachlan, and Princess Margaret would doubtless be leaving on the afternoon tide, too.

Not that it was necessary to await the tide. Oarsmen could row a galley against its force and often did, but most captains would not begin a long journey by unnecessarily pitting their men’s strength against an incoming flow. Hector would not, and neither, apparently, would Michael or Sir Hugo.

With curiosity burning a hole in her mind, she wasted no time communing with the few denizens of a shoreline considerably diminished since her earlier visit. Seawater now covered the mud, leaving only a strip of shingle between breaking waves and the high-water mark. Along this strip, she strode, keeping a wary eye out for more powerful waves as she tried to create order from her scattered thoughts.

The tide would begin turning before the castle folk sat down to their midday meal, and the men would want to be off soon after they dined. But she could not share that meal with Michael and Sir Hugo without attempting to elicit answers from them that she knew they would not give, so it was better that she walk.

Still, she could not go just anywhere on the island. There were rules against that, and she needed to think, which she could do more easily if she did not have to worry about inadvertently wandering beyond sight of the ramparts.

Topping the knoll where she had seen the fat little puffin and his friends, she walked on toward the low western promontory of the bay’s mouth. The puffins had gone, but two otters played offshore and gulls wheeled overhead, shrieking. A stiffening breeze blew her from behind, whipping her cloak and skirts around her legs, but although she knew it was blowing the rain-dark clouds closer, she loved the sense it gave her of being at one with the elements.

She told herself she need not spare a thought for what was happening at the castle, that everyone would be glad not to have to concern themselves with her or with the trouble she had stirred. Only when she heard the bell clanging the hour did she stop and turn. Seeing nothing to make her think anyone was searching for her, she was about to turn back when she realized that except for a lad running toward the castle, doubtless fearful of missing his dinner, the pier was empty.

The golden galley awaited its master near the end, bobbing on the waves, and a smaller one that she recognized as Lachlan’s bobbed near the landward end.

No one watched either boat.

Apparently, all the men had gone inside to eat, trusting those on the ramparts to keep watch. Even the ramparts looked deserted, although she knew they were not. Lochbuie was always carefully guarded.

She began walking back toward the castle without giving thought to why she did. Not until she glanced up as she walked along the shingle, and saw the lone guardsman pacing his course behind the castle parapet, did the thought form fully in her mind that she wanted a closer look at Michael’s ship.

She looked up once, saw no one, and told herself that she need not look again, that she was doing nothing to which anyone could object. No one would mind in the least if she wanted to look more closely at a boat tied to Lochbuie’s pier, and no one could be surprised that she might want to examine one that dared to be larger than the one belonging to his grace’s Lord High Admiral of the Isles.

Accordingly, she strolled past dozens of oars standing blade-up in the racks down the center of the pier, straight to the golden galley with its banner waving in the breeze. She remembered that Michael had called it the
Raven
, but she could see its device now, and it was not a bird but a black cross on silver cloth. The thought flitted through her mind that, although the cross was black rather than white, the device was similar to what Matthias had described on the strangers’ banner.

She counted fifteen highly-polished oarsmen’s benches and realized that with the usual minimum of four men per bench, two to alternate rowing with each oar, Sir Hugo must have come with at least sixty oarsmen, and might have half again that many, since each bench looked as if it could seat six men, maybe even eight. Hebridean galleys normally boasted only thirteen benches and twenty-six oars. Hector rarely required more than fifty-two oarsmen even on long trips, but she knew that his lead galley could carry eighty.

A kittiwake’s easily recognizable cry sounded right overhead, startling her, and she glanced at the castle again. The lone guard walked the parapet, but although he had surely seen her, she did not think her presence on the pier would concern him enough to report it. When he rounded the corner, she stepped over the gunwale onto a bench. Moving from bench to bench, she saw that the galley was as tidy as any of Hector’s boats. Michael’s men clearly knew their business well.

The high bow blocked the breeze, still blowing from the northeast, and the sun’s rays were warm. She pushed her cloak off her shoulders to savor the warmth as she sat on the portside foremost bench, which served as one of two forward storage lockers for extra sail canvas, oiled raingear, and other equipment. Leaning against the oak planking of the galley’s high bow, she shut her eyes, enjoying the movement of the boat as it rocked on the waves, and the warmth on her cheeks and eyelids.

Not until approaching voices and a steady thunder of footsteps on the pier startled her did she realize that her restless night after the exhausting previous day had tired her so that, in the seductive warmth, she had fallen into a doze. Recognizing Mairi’s voice, and Lachlan’s, she felt momentary panic and remembered Mairi’s insistence on calling Michael
her
Michael. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain to either Mairi or Lachlan what she was doing on Michael’s boat.

The thudding footsteps and murmur of men’s voices told her that Lachlan’s oarsmen accompanied them. They were going home to Duart Castle.

Mairi and Lachlan had no cause to walk any farther once they reached their galley, especially if Princess Margaret was with them, as surely she must be. But if the midday meal had ended, the others would soon be coming, too—if, indeed, Michael’s men were not right behind Lachlan’s.

Hoping that was not the case but determined to avoid teasing questions or worse if Lachlan took it upon himself to scold her for making free with another man’s boat, she looked for somewhere to conceal herself. The only places showing the least promise were the storage locker on which she sat and its mate opposite.

Quickly opening the first, she saw that it would not do, for it was top-f with brass rowlocks and other heavy items. The second, however, held rolled canvas and was otherwise nearly empty, leaving plenty of room for her. Without another thought, she stepped in, curled up, and eased the lid shut.

Strolling behind the Lord High Admiral and his lady, Michael watched the far shoreline in hope of catching a glimpse of the lass. When she had not appeared at dinner, Hector Reaganach had sent a servant to look for her. But learning that she had gone outside the wall again to walk on the shore, he had merely nodded to the gillie who relayed that information, and had gone on eating his meal.

Michael admired the man’s restraint. The lass had tested it a good deal since their unexpected arrival at Lochbuie, and he had rarely met a man of power who was able to withstand for long such blatant flouting of his wishes.

Bidding one’s guests farewell when they departed was not merely a duty but a strict obligation of courtesy. Doubtless Isobel would face rebuke, if not stern reprimand, for her bad manners. That thought stirred mixed emotions.

On the one hand, he hoped Hector gave her all she deserved. On the other, he hoped he would not be too harsh. And whatever Hector did, Michael hoped he would change his mind about allowing her to attend Henry’s ceremony.

Pausing only to bid the princess Margaret, Lachlan Lubanach, and his lady farewell and to see them aboard their boat, he left his host and hostess to finish their own farewells and returned to his musing as he moved on to board the
Raven
. He knew he was indulging in false hope by thinking Hector might change his mind. If the lass were to go, she would face not only scandal but the Countess of Strathearn, and Michael could not wish his mother’s displeasure on anyone.

It struck him now that he, too, would face that displeasure if the scandal of his having spent a night alone with Isobel should spread to Orkney or Caithness, and he wondered if it had occurred to Isobel that if such a scandal did erupt, he would figure in it as the villain. He doubted that even that knowledge would change her mind about marrying him, however, and he found himself wondering, as Hugo took charge of the men, if anything could.

Although he had told himself it did not matter one way or the other—that he owed her his protection, but the decision to marry or not was hers to make—he had not realized how disappointed he would be at her refusal. Still, it was for the best, because marriage to him would make them both more vulnerable to Waldron’s endless scheming, and he did not want her to become a pawn in that game.

His oarsmen boarded swiftly and took to their oars. Well fed if not rested, they would fare well enough until they put in somewhere for the night where they could hunt and fish for their supper. He had no reason to keep them at their stations through the night, nor did he want to. They could easily make Skye by dusk and could perhaps seek hospitality from Gowrie of Kyle Rhea.

He said as much to Hugo, who nodded and moved aft to inform Caird, the helmsman. Still thinking of Isobel, gazing at the far shore, hoping to spy her walking there, Michael noted with half an eye that the two men in the stern conversed longer than the simple relaying of his order would require.

Hugo explained when he returned, saying, “It occurred to me that if Waldron was able to commandeer a boat at Glenelg, he might also have acquired a galley or longboat. If he did, he will have managed by now to learn your direction.”

Michael nodded, knowing it was pointless to mention that Gowrie had promised his men’s discretion. If Waldron wanted information and knew where to come by it, he would have it. That his men had seen them crossing to Skye had surely provided him with sufficient information to lead him to the rest.

“What do you and Caird suggest?” he asked.

“That we head west rather than returning as we came through the Sound of Mull. We can sail near the coast of Ireland and miss anyone lying in wait for us at the west end of the Sound.”

Michael nodded again and signaled his assent to the helmsman before taking his seat on the larboard storage locker.