The Return of Black Douglas (22 page)

Chapter 25

I can play at Tafl,

Nine skills I know,

Rarely forget I the runes,

I know of books and smithing,

I know how to slide on skis,

Shoot and row, well enough;

Each of two arts I know:

Harp-playing and speaking poetry.

—from an Old Norse manuscript
Rognvald Kali Kolsson (1100?–1158)
Norwegian skald poet and Earl of Orkney, Scotland

Alysandir and his men did not return until late the next afternoon. Isobella and Bradan were returning from another visit to the stables when Alysandir and his clansmen rode through the gates at a canter and into the keep. She and Bradan paused a moment to watch them dismount and kick the mud off their boots as they tossed their reins to waiting groomsmen.

But what caught her attention was the carcass of a large stag slung over the back of one of the horses. She rested her gaze upon the drooping head and imagined him racing for his life across the moors with a hunting party and deerhounds in pursuit, and she wondered if the Scots field-dressed it in much the same manner that her father and brothers did. She decided that probably that had not changed much over the centuries.

Alysandir had not told her they planned a hunt, so she supposed they happened upon the stag and took advantage of their good fortune. Children were gathering around the carcass, so she asked Bradan if he wanted to join them. He shook his head. She smiled, not certain if Bradan was interested more in the children or the stag, but then decided it was the latter. He seemed fascinated with the dead stag, the sightless eyes still open, the tongue lolling down like a red pennant from a castle tower. It was exactly as her brothers had done, and she decided boys also had not changed much over the centuries.

She was standing with her arm around Bradan’s shoulder when she noticed Alysandir gazing at her. He acknowledged her with a slight dip of his head; the second time he had done such. She smiled, a flood of memories of their lovemaking warming her until her toes curled under with delight.

Bradan had the opposite reaction to the sight of Alysandir, however, for the moment Bradan saw him, he broke away from her and lit out like a legion of devils were after him. She knew it would do no good to call him back, so she watched him disappear faster than a rabbit darting into a hole.

***

It was almost suppertime, and Isobella assumed Bradan was already safely ensconced in his tower hideaway and would not be leaving it until the following morning. She was walking down the hallway thinking about what she was going to wear to dinner when she was caught off guard by someone grabbing her arm from behind.

With a gasp, she turned around and saw Alysandir gazing at her warmly. She smiled, not bothering to hide the delight that shone in her eyes.

“How was your meeting with the Macquarrie?”

“’Twas an attempt at peacemaking between the Macquarries and the MacDonalds over a romance between Macquarrie’s daughter and the son of Robert MacDonald. It seems lovers’ spats are a favorite pastime on Mull.”

She tried to hide her disappointment over learning the trip had nothing to do with Elisabeth. “I was surprised to see the stag in the courtyard. Did you encounter it by chance?”

“Aye, but he was a smart one and tried to swim across the inlet. We gave chase, for we couldna let such a prime stag get away.”

“I am glad you were successful.”

He pulled her against him. “Not as successful by half as my tracking ye doon.”

She heard someone coming up the stairs and tried to step away from him, but he held her tightly.

“You don’t need to hold me in place. I am not going to bolt.”

“Is that the only greeting I am to receive from ye?” He loosened his hold, but he did not release her. “Is there no warm and welcoming kiss awaiting me?”

Laughter danced in her eyes. “I thought about grabbing you by the hair and dragging you off to my lair, but I was afraid the clan would frown upon that. It has been only two days since I saw you last. What did you want me to do, rush out to greet you with a kiss in the courtyard in front of everyone?”

His look sent a ripple of desire through her. “Aye, ’twould not bother me, for everyone will know soon enough that ye are my… that ye are mine.” He released her arm. “Ye will sit with me in the hall tonight.”

His words had a sobering effect, and she wondered what he had been going to say at the end of that phrase: “…know soon enough that ye are my—” My what? She had a feeling he almost said “mistress,” or whatever the going term was here on Mull for a woman who was a little above a prostitute and well below a wife.

“I prefer to dine with your sisters,” she said, raising her chin, icicles dripping from each syllable.

He cocked his head and studied her face a moment. “Ye will sit beside me.”

“That makes it difficult. I am trying to blend in here and become friends with some of your clanswomen. They are, for the most part, aloof and distant towards me. They obviously know you have come to my room and why, for you have not taken great care to hide the fact.”

“Who has treated ye this in this manner? Give me their names.”

She placed a hand on his arm. “Don’t involve yourself in women’s folly. It would only serve to make things worse. Please… let me handle the matter in my own way. Once they realize that I am not a threat to any of them and that I do not have romantic notions about you, they will come around.”

She saw a flash of anger in his eyes, his face turning hard and dark. “I have my ways of finding oot. If anyone is beastly toward ye, they will answer to me. I expect ye in the hall and seated next to me, and if ye dinna come, I will have ye carried doon by the guards.”

She almost laughed at his protectiveness, yet his autocratic attitude that riled her. She did not want to have it out with him now, so she tried to soften things with a spirit of willing cooperation.

“I don’t plan on entering the Great Hall like Cleopatra sailing down the Nile, if that is what you had in mind, but I will come on my own two feet. I am not a cantankerous woman, Alysandir. I do not like disagreements. I am a peacemaker, and believe it or not, I do not thrive on discord. I am meek as a shadow and mild as a moonbeam.”

He ignored her sarcasm. “After the meal, ye shall come to my study. I wish to see how well ye play Hnefatafl.”

“We call it Tafl in my time.”

“I expect to see ye at supper.”

She smiled, thinking how much she genuinely liked him, even when he played the dictator. He had been her friend before he was her lover. He started to turn away, but she detained him with a hand placed on his sleeve. “Please, I have a favor to ask.”

“And what is this favor?”

“I would like to name the new foal sired by the English war-horse.”

His brows went up in surprise. “And what name would ye give him?”

“Cahir Mor.”

“’Tis a fitting name ye have chosen, lass.”

“I take that to mean you agree to name it Cahir Mor?”

“Aye, the name suits me.”

“Thank you,” she said, and came up on her toes to kiss his cheek.

“Ye stir my bluid.” Before she could turn away, he took her hand in his and placed a kiss upon her wrist. He drew her into a small, dark alcove behind the stairwell and surrounded her with his warmth, enveloping her in a cocoon where nothing else existed but the closeness of his body, the comfort of his arms, and the security of knowing that he would protect her. His mouth found hers and she surrendered to his kiss, her hands soft against his neck.

She never wanted to leave. And yet she had no control over her life. She could find herself back in Texas a minute from now or tomorrow or next month or next year. Her happy thoughts of a future with Alysandir vanished. Caution took its place. She pulled away from him, breathing unsteadily while her pulse pounded in her ears. She brought her hands up between them and pushed him away as she took a step back.

“We need to go, or we will be late.”

She had to end it now before they both were carried away. She turned and started down the hall at a fast pace, her skirts rustling about her. She was almost to the door of her bedchamber when he laughed and said, “Ye told me many things aboot ye, that ye are not cantankerous, do not thrive on discord or disagreements, that ye are a peacemaker that is mild and meek. What ye did not tell me is that ye are faint of heart.”

“I run away to live and fight another day. In essence, I am merely regrouping.”

The sound of Alysandir Mackinnon’s laughter rocked down the hallway and whispered along the spiraling stairwell. It floated past the Great Hall and through the massive studded door of the donjon, where it was caught by a breeze, as it drifted through the barbican and over the heads of the two guards standing there. It was swept into the current of a whirlwind and rode on the back of sand eddies along the beach and swirled around a tousle-headed lad building a turret out of wet beach sand.

***

Alysandir did not understand Isobella’s tendency to blow both hot and cold, but he did not have time to linger on the subject for long. As he went down the stairs, he heard the sound of horses coming through the gate and a commotion in the bailey, so he went to investigate. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The sky darkened and a heavy, black cloud settled over Màrrach, but the air did not hold the smell of rain. An uneasy wind stirred as he stepped through the door and saw his uncle Lachlan’s men from the monastery in Iona. Then he saw his sister Barbara.

Gordon McMurry rode closer and dismounted to greet Alysandir with a hearty hug and a slap on the back. “We have escorted Barbara home for ye,” he said, obviously making a valiant effort to hold back laughter.

Alysandir frowned. “’Tis a favor ye are doing me, then?” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Did she ask ye to bring her here, or did ye grow weary of her steel will and bossy manner?”

“Aye, ’twas both and then some,” Gordon said and laughed. “’Twould seem yer uncle, Lachlan, grew weary of her daily bombardment of requests to return to Màrrach, so he decided to save ye the trouble of fetching her yerself. ’Twas he who asked me to escort her back to Màrrach and to place her under the care of her brother, the chief o’ Clan Mackinnon.”

“Are ye saying she was a wee bit o’ trouble to my uncle?”

“Nae, not a wee bit o’ trouble, but more a monstrous amount o’ it, she was. ’Tis a woman of strong opinion and demanding ways ye have on yer hands, Alysandir. Faith, such a woman would expect ye to peel her grapes afore she would eat them.”

“I don’t suppose ye would be interested in taking her off my hands now, would ye, if I threw in the peeled grapes?”

Gordon did not laugh when he replied, “Nay, not for all the grapes in Italy. She is a comely lass, that is true, but I would sooner take vows of celibacy than to live with a cantankerous woman.”

“She only needs a man with a gentle touch.”

“Och! The deil is in her tongue, Alysandir. She would devour a gentle man. ’Tis an ogre that she needs.”

Barbara, who had just dismounted, walked by and gave Gordon a swift kick in passing. “Keep yer opinion and yer hostile words to yerself. The nunnery would be preferable to being shackled for a lifetime with a brute like ye.”

Gordon grinned as he watched her walk away.

“’Tis a pity ye are no up to the task of taming the lass,” Alysandir said. “I thought ye had an eye for her.”

“Aye, the sight o’ her warms my bluid, but I canna let her know that I fancy mysel’ to be exactly the kind o’ man she needs to tame her. ’Twill take a great effort, ye ken, but once I have won her heart, I shall go after the rest o’ her.”

Alysandir laughed heartily and clapped Gordon on the back. “Come inside, and we will have a dram or two before we sup.”

***

Isobella stood at her window trying to see what was going on in the courtyard. She saw a lone woman and a group of men dismounting… none of whom she recognized.

She turned away when she heard a knock at her door. “’Tis Sybilla and Marion, and we have brought our sister Barbara to meet ye.”

Isobella hurried to open the door and found herself surprised, for no one had mentioned Barbara was such a beauty. No wonder Fergus Maclean was determined to have her. With her wealth of luxuriant red hair and fiery green eyes, she would be a standout in any crowd. Isobella was willing to bet Barbara had a fiery temper and a strong will to go along with it, for she had seen the way Barbara had kicked one of her escorts.

Isobella knew immediately that there would be no middle ground between the two of them. They would be either very dear friends or archenemies. Isobella was praying it would be the former.

Barbara looked her over and then said, “I hear ye have a sister who was taken by the Macleans. My sisters seem to think it is Alysandir’s place to tell me aboot it, but I prefer to hear it from ye.”

Isobella laughed outright, both delighted and relieved it was not hatred at first sight. “Shall we take a walk? We have some time before dinner. I will give you the short version as we go.”

They went downstairs, walking past the Great Hall and Alysandir’s library and into the garden. Barbara and Isobella were walking arm in arm, auburn head next to red one, as they talked, Sybilla and Marion following close behind.