Lord of the Black Isle (4 page)

She then answered a barrage of questions from the Mackinnon sisters. “Where are you going?” Marion asked.

Elisabeth replied, “To Soutra Aisle and the hospital there.”

Barbara raised her brows. “Soutra Aisle? But that is a friary… but ye must have been told that already, so that makes me think ye ha' the help of our uncle Lachlan.”

Elisabeth laughed. “I had hoped that, at least once before I left, I could pull the wool over your eyes. I see that is not the case. And, yes, your uncle has given me a letter of introduction.”

Barbara nodded. “I shan't ask why ye have chosen this path, fer I would have done the same thing. I ken it is safe to say for all of us gathered here that we shall miss ye as much as a sister, and we send ye with our prayers fer much happiness to be waiting fer ye at the end o' yer journey.”

Elisabeth, who rarely cried, felt her eyes fill to the brim as she stood and hugged each one of them.

The best laid schemes o' Mice an' Men

go oft astray.

—“To a Mouse” (1785)

Robert Burns (1759–1796)

Scottish poet and songwriter

She should have known when the trip to Soutra Aisle started off exactly as planned that something was bound to go wrong, for didn't bad things come in twos? Or was it threes?

Elisabeth, accompanied by four of Alysandir Mackinnon's brothers—Drust, Colin, Gavin, and Grim—had been riding in a misting rain that seemed never ending, when as quickly as it came, it was over. Warmed now by the sun and the nice feel of her clothes drying, she settled into pleasant conversation with the Mackinnons, forgetting that history often repeats itself.

Suddenly, a cry rang out and what seemed to be an entire brigade of men rode out of the cover of trees. When she saw the black hair of the one in the lead, Elisabeth's heart plummeted. Not Angus MacLean, her heart cried. She thought she was done, once and for all, with the MacLeans capturing her and holding her prisoner. Faith! It happened so often that it was becoming quite ordinary, a daily chore like brushing your teeth. But instead of brushing your teeth, you mount a horse and shortly thereafter you are captured by the MacLeans and taken to Duart Castle and held prisoner. However, she had to admit that her accommodations were always first-class there and Angus did, quite frequently, invite her to join him for supper.

But how in God's name, she wondered, did Angus MacLean find her? She had a quick memory of the day the Black Douglas had brought her and Isobella back in time and how he had abandoned them in a glen without so much as a featherweight of advice. The MacLeans captured Elisabeth and took her to Duart Castle, while Alysandir Mackinnon rescued Isobella after she had taken a tumble off the side of a crag. The MacLeans treated Elisabeth well, but Angus refused to allow her to be with her sister, which kept them apart for months at a time. When old Angus MacLean wasn't using her as a pawn, she served as a prod to gouge Alysandir Mackinnon, for Angus knew Isobella would be begging him to reunite her with her sister, and knowing Angus, he probably received great satisfaction from that bit of knowledge.

And now, after all this time, it would seem history was going to repeat itself and she would find herself right back in the hands of Angus MacLean. Elisabeth had no time for further thought, for she heard the
whoosh
of MacLean blades being drawn all around them. She spurred her horse and cut in front of the Mackinnons, saying, “I'll not have an ounce of your blood spilled over this. You know that I have spent more than enough time as the MacLean's captive, and we both know he will not do me harm. I am only a way for him to poke and prod Alysandir.”

Angus MacLean's black hair and beard seemed to ride ahead of him, and behind Angus were ten or so of his men, who rode forward and drew rein beside him. Angus smiled and leaned forward, crossing his arms over the pommel of the saddle, the reins dangling loosely in his hand. He looked her over, then exclaimed, “Well… well… well… what ha' we here? 'Twould seem we ha' been blessed wi' a bit o' guid fortune, for we ha' found our wee, lost lassie, and she is looking no worse for the wear.”

Angus sat back and dipped his head toward her and then cast a glance in the direction of the Mackinnons, waiting in readiness as he took his time letting his gaze move slowly over each of them, and then he said, “I had no' expected to come upon such fair game, and I regret to inform ye that I will take my lass back now.”

He smiled and looked around the clearing, inhaling the rain-freshened air. “'Tis a fine, fine morning to be oot and aboot, and I find I rather like having such a lovely surprise gifted upon me. I am most grateful for finding my stray lassie when I least expected it, and I thank ye kindly for taking such guid care o' her, as I can see she is in the bloom o' health. And a welcome sight for these old sore eyes to see, she is.” He paused for a moment and then made a big to-do about scratching his head, as if puzzled about something. Then he said, “I ha' been given the opportunity to capitalize on my adversary's blunder, for what was the Mackinnon thinking when he let ye leave Màrrach with such a small escort?”

Elisabeth spoke quickly, not wanting the Mackinnons to become embroiled in this affair. “He probably wasn't thinking you would still be spying on me after my having been back at Màrrach so long, but the truth is, I did not want a large escort, and I begged him to keep our group small.”

Angus scratched his chin and leaned forward once again. “'Twas no' spying that brought us here, lass, for we are returning from lending our swords to show support for Alasdair Craig, the Duke of Galloway. There's trouble a-brewing at Ardnamurchan again, for the McDonalds and the McLains are once again rattling their claymores and butting heads like a couple o' hard-headed rams.”

He glanced around to his men and asked, “Indeed, is it no' our guid fortune to have happened upon Elisabeth Douglas quite by chance, and not because of any plans we made to do so?”

Naturally, his men nodded eagerly, and Elisabeth knew they would have given the same eager nod of agreement if MacLean had asked them if mud tasted good.

MacLean continued, saying, “However, no one can say I'm a man who doesna take advantage of a gift when it presents itself. 'Twould be foolish indeed, to do so. 'Twas a fortunate set o' circumstances to be sure, for we can take ye without wasting a dram o' yer bluid or ours.” He looked toward the Mackinnons, who still had not sheathed their swords. “Put yer swords away, laddies. The Mackinnon wouldna have his brothers make such a foolish stand when they are so greatly outnumbered. We will take the lass, and ye can hie yourselves back to Màrrach and tell Alysandir Mackinnon that Angus MacLean took his lass back to Duart Castle.”

Elisabeth felt as if the warm spring air had turned suddenly frigid and her blood ran cold. This couldn't be happening to her. Not now. She wanted to do something with her life other than waste it as a prisoner of the MacLeans. She blinked to hold back tears, angry at herself for showing such cowardice. She glanced toward her friends and said, “Please, do as he says. I will not have your blood on my hands. Return to Màrrach and let Alysandir decide how he wants to handle things.”

Drust started to speak, but Elisabeth shook her head and said, “Go… all of you. Go now and don't come back. Naturally, I am not the least bit happy to have this unwelcome and unexpected change in my plans, but I know the odds are not in our favor and that I will not be harmed. Please go. I beg you!”

She watched as they sheathed their swords and rode away, the sun glinting off their mail like a farewell salute. And then they were gone, swallowed by the dense beech trees and leaving nothing behind, save the wrenching heaviness that settled over her.

Why
, she wondered.
Why is there always an obstruction to my making any progress with my life? What purpose can be served by keeping me a prisoner? And why couldn't
you
, Sir James, have done something to prevent it? And don't give me all that malarkey about it being my fate. I'm sick and tired of that phrase!

There wasn't so much as a leaf that fluttered or a breeze that stirred, and she knew she had been completely abandoned to her fate.

“Come, lass. We've not so far to go afore we stop to rest the horses,” the MacLean said.

She turned her horse and fell in with them, while mentally trying to soften the edge of her disappointment over her plans having gone so awry.
Dear
God, I don't know why this is happening to me again, or what, if anything beneficial can come of it. There is so much good I could do if I could go to Soutra, if I were given the chance to practice medicine. I could save lives, instead of wasting my life in captivity, and all because of an old man's grudge. Please, send me a miracle and put a speedy end to the circumstances I find myself in.

And then she wondered if her vacuous vapor of a ghost was hanging around as an invisible observer, but no matter what she thought or how much she pleaded, he kept his distance, without so much as a rumble of thunder in the distance.
Fine, go ahead and wait. Then you can come out after the battle is over and shoot the wounded.

They rode on and she finally ran out of things to mentally vent about, and about that time, they came to a fairly wide burn that flowed into a narrow, heather-splashed clearing that opened in the thickness of trees and bracken. In the distance she could hear a tumbling waterfall. She looked around the glen and then at the men around her, dressed in the garb of knighthood, their swords polished and gleaming, their eyes keen and ears alert, and she wondered if there was an idyllic place in all of Scotland that had not been tempered by conflict.

Life here was hard, for Scotland was a place swept by rain and strong winds, dotted with solitary lakes and magnificent waterfalls, and surrounded by a coastline battered on three sides by an unforgiving sea. The weather was unbelievably unpredictable and, more often than not, rainy or cold, or both.

She was wondering if they were truly stopping here when at last the MacLean dismounted, and while his men tended to their horses, Angus came toward her. “Ye may dismount now, lass, and stretch yer weary legs a wee bit afore we take to the saddle again. We will rest the horses fer a time and have a bit o' nourishment fer ourselves.”

She wanted to vent her anger, but she knew it would do no good. Whatever they had planned, it would not be changed by anything she said, so she held her tongue and dismounted. She removed her saddle pouch, not trusting her letter to Lachlan Mackinnon to fate, which heretofore had not been very kind to her. She handed the reins to one of the men, who led her horse away.

Without a word or looking at the MacLean, Elisabeth turned away and walked toward the trees and sat on a chair-sized rock in the shade, mindful that she could get skin cancer in the sixteenth century as easily as in the twenty-first. She realized, too, that the Mackinnons had ridden away with some of her belongings in the pouches behind their saddles, so the only possessions she had now were behind her saddle, which was precious little. Well, it served the old codger right, and it pleased her beyond measure to think Angus would have to provide her with a new wardrobe. She had already decided she was going to be very, very picky.

She sighed and glanced around the glen, wondering how she always seemed to stay in the frying pan, only this time she had jumped smack into the fire. Out of one mess and into another… her life seemed to be a long stretch of hopscotching all over the place and making very little progress doing it. She decided to stretch her legs and maybe just keep on stretching them until she found an avenue of escape. It was worth a try, so she casually glanced toward Angus MacLean and found him talking to one of his men.

“I need a moment of privacy, if you don't mind,” she said, approaching him.

Without speaking to her, he nodded and turned back to his clansman, so she made her way toward the burn and followed it for a while before she turned into the trees that lined it. She had not ventured far when she jerked to a standstill, for she saw a man on the other side of the burn.

Judging by what she could see of him, he seemed to be as naked as the day he was born, but as her luck would have it, the interesting part of him was hidden behind a tumble of boulders. She walked on a bit further before she paused to remove her shoes and placed them beside the saddle pouch. She waded into the shockingly cold water, just far enough to wet her feet. She splashed a little water on her face and glanced around her before she scooped a couple of handfuls to drink.

Once she waded back and put on her boots, she glanced around and checked the sun to get her bearings. Looking down the shadowy bank of the burn, she decided to head that way, hoping the MacLeans wouldn't come looking for her anytime soon. She prayed the burn widened enough that she could even try floating down it, which would be faster than climbing through all the undergrowth that lined it.

Utter silence surrounded her as she picked up her pouch and moved deeper into the trees, keeping an eye on the naked man as she drew even with him and she saw… plenty, and it all appeared to be in magnificent working order, for he was just about the most splendid example of manhood as she had ever seen—and she was, after all, a doctor and had seen a great deal of the male anatomy. In fact, the rest of him looked good enough to bump old David off his pedestal in the Piazza della Signoria and take his place.

She paused to partake of life's offering and felt not one iota of embarrassment as she stared stupidly, with her mouth gaping like a backwoodsman on his first visit to town, but she would have to say in her defense that she was polite enough to chastise herself from time to time for gawking. And then she reminded herself that she shouldn't waste her precious time to pause and gawk, for the MacLeans could be searching for her at this very moment. But what woman in her right mind wouldn't look when afforded such an opportunity?

She was thinking that he was a prime candidate to help her get her mind off Ronan and being left at the altar, so to speak. Yes, if this black-haired Scot, proud as Lucifer before the fall and naked as a needle in broad daylight, couldn't get her mind off her recent predicament with the MacLeans, there had to be something wrong with her.

Of course, she was just talking big, for she wasn't on the verge of going over to his side of the burn and striking up a conversation, for that could be a good way to end up with her head on a pike. Still, she had to hand it to him, for he was one fine specimen of a young, healthy male in any century. It was a good omen, for she knew her feelings, when it came to men, weren't as dead as she thought.

All and all, Scotland was looking better and better all the time, for who wouldn't enjoy the site of a gloriously naked man without a smidgen of modesty? Of course, he was unaware that she was watching him with heart-thumping relish and drooling from the other side of the burn, while at the same time feeling Shakespeare was right on target when he wrote “Can one desire too much of a good thing?” Apparently not, for there he was, luring her like the scent of something sweet and forbidden, and desire rose within her like a burning flame begging to be fed.