Amanda Scott (12 page)

“Then mayhap the blue silk with the embroidered trim, mistress. That gown becomes ye well, I think.”

“Aye, it does, but Kintail will not see it. I shall begin as I mean to go on, Doreen. That man will not call the tune for
my dancing. The red, if you please. Shake it out well and brush it. I must look my best, for I want him to see that he has
more than a meek little miss to deal with.”

She washed everything that showed, and when Doreen helped her don the elegant, fur-trimmed crimson gown, Molly shook out the
skirts with a chuckle. Seeing the maid-servant’s disapproving look, she said, “Fear not. He cannot murder me, and he must
learn straightaway that I am no ewe for his shearing. He may do as he pleases with my fortune if he can find and hold on to
it.”

“Ha’ ye truly got a grand fortune, mistress? What would it be, and all?”

“Heaven knows,” Molly said with feeling. “Her ladyship says I do, that men have searched every stick and stone at Dunsithe,
trying to find it. She said Donald keeps men-at-arms there to guard it, lest someone else find what he has not. At least that
may change now that Kintail has thrust himself upon us. He claims to have little interest in my fortune, but he would be an
odd sort of man if that were true.”

“Aye,” Doreen said quietly. “Men be ever a greedy lot.”

Realizing from the tone of her voice that Doreen was not speaking now about Kintail or Donald, and being in no mood to indulge
the girl’s personal troubles, Molly said, “I shall wear my silver pomander. Fetch it, please.”

“Aye, mistress.” Doreen hastened to do her bidding, and while she did, Molly dabbed onto her wrists and into the hollow of
her throat some of the lily-scented French perfume that Mackinnon had given her for Christmas. Had anyone asked why she bothered,
she would have said that she liked its scent. That it would compete with the scent of cloves from her pomander did not trouble
her in the least.

Her thoughts darted ahead to the hall and the man who awaited her there. Although she looked forward to proving that she could
manage him, she suffered a few misgivings when she tried to imagine how he would react to her dress. Having sensed more than
once the passionate nature beneath his stern demeanor, she knew he was a man who would not ignore defiance. Still, she could
not imagine him bellowing at her before all and sundry in the hall, and surely he would not harm her.

Doreen adjusted the pomander on its chain for a second time, and suddenly annoyed by her fussing, Molly dismissed her, saying,
“I would be alone for a few moments. I’ve little time left, after all, before I must leave Dunakin. You may return to finish
whatever you must here after you eat your supper.”

“Aye, mistress.” Without another word, Doreen left the room.

Drawing a deep breath, Molly moved to the single arched window embrasure. Lifting her skirt to put a knee on the padded bench
under the window, she leaned forward to look outside, hoping to clear her mind of all thoughts of Kintail, at least for a
moment or two.

To the west, in the darkening peach-colored sky, gray mist swirled like a living thing over and around the stark, jagged peaks
of the Cuillin, drifting lower as the sky darkened into night. The mist was the sole lingering sign of the previous day’s
rain. If the weather cleared, nothing would prevent Kintail from taking her away on Thursday.

“’Tis no use grievin’ afore ye’ve summat tae grieve over, though ye’re bound tae miss this place and all within its walls.”

The voice startled her but not nearly as much as did the appearance on the flat cushion beside her of the plump little woman,
leaning back against the arching stone wall of the embrasure. This time she appeared to be no larger than a bairn’s doll,
but once again, she held the odd stick with its white bowl at one end, and gray-white smoke issued forth in a thin stream.
Molly was close enough to note its pleasant fragrance.

“Why do you haunt me?” she demanded, struggling to recall the woman’s name. “I hoped you were naught but a dream or hallucination!”

“Maggie Malloch be nae dream,” the little woman said, as if she had read her mind. “The last time we spoke, if ye’ll recall
it, I were just beginning tae sort out what from what when ye so rudely interrupted me.”

“Interrupted you?”

“Aye, for ye called upon spirits that be none o’ my world or your ain. Forbye, if ye wish tae hear all I mean tae tell ye,
ye mustna do that again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Molly promised, wondering what spirits she had called up before. That she had somehow conjured up this
little woman was bad enough. Surely, there were no odder creatures about. “What is that object in your hand?”

“’Tis called a pipe,” Maggie said, taking another puff. “’Tis a fine thing, too, though it comes from a faraway land. Folks
often smoke them there, but ye willna see any hereabouts for a few odd years yet. D’ye recall all I told ye afore—about me
and my world?”

“You told me that you are a household spirit from the Borders, that you followed me here to the Highlands out of some sort
of duty, and that your son, Claud, is responsible for my having to leave Dunakin. I fail to comprehend how he can be, however,
since I am leaving by royal command.”

“Aye, well, it happened as it did because ye made a wish whilst ye were leaving yon
ceilidh
last night,” Maggie said.

“A wish! What wish? And how could anything I did after the
ceilidh
have aught to do with King James’s having transferred my wardship to Kintail? Surely that happened sometime before.”

“I do be getting ahead o’ myself,” Maggie said, nodding. “I canna blame ye for what James did, because that grievous mischief
occurred on account o’ Claud fallin’ in lust again. I do recall tellin’ ye that bit, though,” she added. “Forsooth, and though
it grieves me tae say it about me own son, he’s no got wit enough tae ha’ dreamed up such a trick on his own.”

“He falls into lust?”

“Aye, and ’tis a wicked thing, lust is. ’Tis my belief Claud were goaded into mischief by one who would put Dunsithe’s treasure
into Mackenzie hands. Men do things for lust, ye ken, that they wouldna do for any other cause, and most times, they regret
what they ha’ done once it be too late tae do aught about it.”

“And is it too late now?”

“Aye, sure, for didna the King command, and hasna Kintail acted? When yon villain, Donald the Grim, learns what ha’ come
tae pass, will he no send the armies that killed Kintail’s da months ago tae reclaim his so-valuable ward?”

Molly frowned, saying, “But if your Claud had the power to make the King act, why can he not simply turn things back the way
they were?”

“Because that isna in his power. What they ha’ done be done, both in your world and in ours, and we must all make the most
of it. That be what I meant when I told ye about Claud hearing ye make your wee wish.”

“But—”

“Dinna interrupt,” Maggie said sharply. “I told ye afore, I ha’ only a short time tae make m’self visible tae ye. If ye had
the gift o’ second sight, I wouldna ha’ tae exert m’self, but ye dinna have it, so I must. When Claud stirred the King tae
act, he displeased the Circle—them wha’ govern our clan. They take a dim view o’ mucking about in royal affairs, ye see, and
many in it spoke against him. I persuaded them tae give Claud another chance, but the reckless lad took a pet when I told
him he must let his wicked lass be—the strumpet wi’ which he’s in lust—and he stormed off tae the
ceilidh,
your
ceilidh.
When ye left the cottage afterward, my Claud heard ye wish ye could know a proper hero tae accomplish heroic deeds—a man
capable o’ slaying dragons, ye said.”

Vaguely recalling that she had muttered some such foolishness, Molly said, “I was air dreaming. Do you mean to tell me that
Claud thought he could grant my wish by casting me into Kintail’s path?”

“Aye, summat o’ the sort,” Maggie said, grimacing. “I grant ye, it makes no sense tae anyone wi’ a brain that isna fashioned
o’ porridge, but doubtless my Claud thought he could make up for the first error if ye could just see Kintail as that hero
ye wished for. I kent m’self it were hopeless, so I intervened afore—”

“You?”

“Aye,” Maggie said with a twinkle. “I feared Claud might get up tae mischief, in the state he were in, so I kept me eye out.
When Kintail mistook ye for a serving maid and reached for ye, I stirred his horse tae give him a toss.”

“And then you mended him afterward,” Molly said, beginning to believe in Maggie Malloch despite her more sensible self’s insisting
such things could not be.

“Aye, I did, and I dinna mind tellin’ ye, it were a good thing for Claud that I ha’ such powers,” Maggie said. “Many in my
world can take a dust mote from a man’s eye or even stop blood flowing at a distance, but few can do as much as me. ’Tis Claud’s
greatest folly that he seeks tae emulate me wi’out the power tae do so.”

“Then can you not just make Kintail not want me anymore?” Molly asked.

“Nay, for we canna affect any man’s emotions. I can stir a single puffy white cloud into a dark and dangerous storm, but for
all that I
can
do, I canna make a man care about summat that he doesna care about, or take away his greed or anger or even me own Claud’s
lust. Would that I could do that!”

“I see,” Molly said with a sigh. “I don’t suppose then that you can make Kintail happy to see me in this dress rather than
in the blue one he ordered.”

“Nay,” Maggie said, twinkling again, “I admit, though, that Claud may be right about one thing. It would be gey helpful an
ye could see your way clear tae falling in love wi’ the wretched man.”

Unable to help herself, Molly laughed. “Merciful heaven,” she exclaimed, “you cannot honestly think that there is the slightest—”

But again, she spoke to air, for Maggie Malloch had vanished, and just then the castle bell began to ring, summoning the household
to supper.

When Fin saw the Maid enter the hall dressed in sable-trimmed scarlet, he stifled an oath. Heaven knew how many people at
Dunakin knew that he had ordered her to wear blue, but from his place at the high table, he saw nearly every head turn her
way and he could not blame any of them for staring.

She wore no coif tonight and her beautiful hair, worn in a thick plait over one shoulder, glinted brightly in the flickering
light. She looked magnificent, but if he intended to maintain control of his household at Eilean Donan, he would have to make
his position clear now.

Beside him, Patrick cleared his throat, and when Fin glanced at him, the appreciative twinkle in his friend’s eyes told him
that Patrick, at least, knew exactly what she was doing. His jaw tightened at the thought, but he could not deny that the
scarlet gown became her even better than the yellow one had at noon.

She moved slowly, and he could have sworn she avoided his eye. So at least she had sense. She was also damned attractive.
Her movements were sensual, displaying a willowy grace that kept every masculine eye riveted to her body.

Able to think of only one thing that might teach her that he controlled her destiny, he waited until she reached the high
table. Then he turned to Mackinnon and said in a clear, carrying voice, “I have changed my mind, sir. We will depart at dawn
tomorrow for Eilean Donan.”

She looked at him then, and her magnificent eyes flashed with anger.

Fin felt his body stir. He wanted to shake her, but he knew he dared not lay his hands upon her, for if he did, lust would
vanquish any sense of duty he felt toward the lass and every ounce of common sense as well. He would carry her from the hall
and teach her—

Mackinnon’s voice shattered his reverie. “But she will not have finished her packing! Surely, one more day—”

“Anything that she has not packed by morning you can send after her,” Fin snapped, looking sternly at his ward.

She gazed back, sparks still flashing from her eyes, and said, “If this display of pique is merely an attempt to show me that
you will not brook defiance even in such trivial matters as allowing me to choose what I shall wear, you waste your time.
And if ’tis a show of arms, sir, you abuse your power.”

“There is nothing trivial in my decision.”

“I disagree.”

He held her angry gaze as he said to Mackinnon, “I must hold a baron’s court in less than a sennight, sir. Therefore, as much
as I’d like to let you keep her longer, the truth is that I have much to do and would be wiser to depart at once.”

She continued to glower at him, but he knew she understood that he would not change his mind. Although the alteration in plans
clearly infuriated her, she did not debate his decision further. Once again, he gave her credit for good sense.

Believing that he had won an important point, Fin turned his attention to his host when that gentleman diffidently suggested
that moving Molly and all her things might require another boat or two. When she sustained her silence through the rest of
the meal, he began to wonder what she was up to, but he told himself she was just learning to behave better. He realized that
he missed the sound of her voice, but he managed to suppress the wish that she would speak again, if only to rail at his domineering
ways.