Amanda Scott (14 page)

Thinking of that exchange now as he watched the men preparing the boats, he believed he was right to remain firm. His mother
had died when he was small, but experience with other women had shown him that they would take as much liberty as a man allowed
them and more, and if a man could not control his household, he could not expect to control much beyond it.

With responsibilities and duties as vast as his were over the lands of Kintail, he could not risk rebellion from one small,
clearly overindulged female. Still, it had not been thoughts of her overindulged childhood that had rendered his night a sleepless
one. Thoughts of her slender, curvaceous body had done that, images of how she might look naked and what it would feel like
to wrap his hands in her silky-looking hair or to stroke her smooth skin. Despite his determination to keep his mind on other
things, no matter what else he forced himself to think about, only moments had passed before his imagination turned again
to her.

He sighed, again having to force his thoughts back to the moment at hand.

Mackinnon oarsmen and a third Mackinnon boat carrying armed men would accompany Fin’s party to Eilean Donan as protection
in case Donald the Grim should already have learned that his guardianship of the Maid had ended. No one doubted that in such
an event he would take speedy action. Fin’s hope was that he would see his charge safely inside the walls of Eilean Donan
before that happened—if she had not already taken flight.

That fear had alternated with the other thoughts of her that had teased him through the long night and since rising. Her anger
the previous night had been plain to see, and he doubted that it had eased in the meantime. She had made it clear that she
would not submit easily to his authority—or, indeed, to any man’s.

It occurred to him again then, uncomfortably, that his duties as her new guardian included finding her a suitable husband,
preferably one whose connection would prove advantageous to himself. Before he could think of arranging such a match, however,
he had to teach her to mind him and thus to mind the husband who would wield authority over her. Anyone could see that she
was not prepared for marriage. Since she had not learned to submit to any man, she would doubtless lift that stubborn little
chin of hers to Jamie himself, should his grace ever venture past the gateway to the Highlands and demand that the Maid of
Dunsithe kneel to him.

That mental vision tickled Fin’s sense of humor, but he quickly reminded himself that the reality was no laughing matter.
The plainest fact of life was that women, by far the weaker sex, were dependent upon men to protect them. In return, they
owed their protectors quick and absolute obedience.

Simple duty demanded that he teach the lass her proper place. Mackinnon certainly had not done so. He had spoiled her, in
fact, and had done the Maid no favor thereby. Jamie’s reaction to her sauciness, should he ever experience it, would not be
pleasant. Indeed, the King was not the only one who should concern Mistress Gordon, since he was not the only man who could
do what he pleased to punish insolence. Any laird who possessed a barony held the power of the pit and the gallows, as Fin
did himself, and could speedily put an end to insolence—to life, for that matter. The thought of her incredible beauty wasted
in such a harsh manner banished the last lingering gleam of humor from his mind. The image that he had stirred to life made
him feel sick, and he resolved that before he had finished with the lass, she would be as meek as a nun’s hen.

He was a man born to duty, after all. He had not shirked the responsibilities thrust upon him when his father died, nor would
he shirk his responsibility toward the Maid of Dunsithe, no matter what effect she had on his libido.

The sky had lightened considerably by the time he and Patrick returned to Dunakin, leaving the others to guard the boats and
cargo. Members of Mackinnon’s household were still seated at the long tables, eating, and Fin’s gaze swept the huge chamber,
seeking the shapely form of Mistress Gordon.

When he did not see her, his jaw tightened, and his fears increased, for if Mackinnon had helped the minx run away, he could
do little to retaliate. In the present political climate, with a soon-to-be-outraged Donald the Grim on the loose with armies
and fleet, to attack anyone on Skye would be sheer folly.

He saw her then, standing beside Mackinnon, one dainty hand resting on his forearm while she chatted with some of their people.
Fin relaxed, the strong relief he felt warning him that he had been more worried than he had realized.

Beside him, Patrick murmured with a chuckle, “I’ll wager you’re damned relieved to see that lass. As besotted over her as
Mackinnon is, I feared he might find a way to winkle her into hiding.”

“’Tis as well that he did nothing of the sort,” Fin retorted. “Aye, it is,” Patrick agreed, still with a touch of that annoying
humor. “We’d never have found her, you know, for the mountains here are devilish treacherous and keep their secrets well.”

Fin shrugged. With Mistress Gordon standing before them, he had no need to waste any thoughts on Skye’s mountains.

She turned then and looked at them, and when he saw her chin tilt up defiantly, he fought a sudden, unexpected urge to smile.

Molly had noted the entrance of Kintail and his deputy at once. But she had taken care not to react visibly. Obliquely, through
narrowed eyes, she had watched their approach, and as others made way for them, she realized that both mainlanders were much
larger than most men. Seen singly or even as a pair, the difference in the two was not particularly noteworthy. But surrounded
by so many others, the contrast became remarkable. Most Highlanders were taller than she was, and most men seemed to tower
over her. Kintail certainly did, but she had credited his intimidating manner as much as his size for creating that sensation.

Perhaps, she thought idly, his horse had thrown him simply because he was too heavy for the poor beast to carry. Then she
remembered Maggie Malloch and sighed, uncertain whether to hope that the woman was only a figment of her overactive imagination
or to hope instead that somehow Maggie wielded sufficient power to help defend her against Kintail.

Upon waking and before Doreen had come to help her dress, she had tried to invoke Maggie Malloch’s presence, hoping to persuade
her to work whatever magic she could to put off the journey to Eilean Donan, but her attempts had failed. If Maggie had heard,
she had not deigned to respond.

Molly had eaten only a few morsels of bread to break her fast, and when Mackinnon had urged her to eat more, she told him
she was not hungry. Her insides were muddled enough, without taxing them to digest food.

When she saw Kintail’s dark gaze sweep the chamber, she knew he was looking for her, and although she quickly returned her
attention to the tenants who had approached to bid her farewell, and had done her best to listen to them, her skin prickled
at the thought that he might be watching her. Curiosity soon overcame resolution, and she turned, unable to avoid looking
to see if he had found her yet.

Her gaze collided with his, firing unfamiliar sensations through her body. Reacting automatically, she straightened her shoulders
and raised her chin.

His dark eyes narrowed, although she saw his lips twitch and then press together tightly. But he continued to look at her,
his dark gaze like a gimlet, until she wished he would look away. She could not seem to do so, and he was making her blush.
Not only did her face feel hot but also her entire body. It was as if the very temperature in the hall had risen to an unnatural
degree.

Mackinnon’s touch on her arm made her jump.

When she turned, wide-eyed, to face him, he said gently, “It appears, lassie, that Kintail be ready for ye.”

“I…I wish that you and her ladyship were coming with us,” Molly said impulsively. The unexpected wish spilled out without
thought.

Mackinnon looked both rueful and uncomfortable. “I, too,” he said, “but Kintail ha’ deemed it otherwise. He thinks it be better
an ye go alone.”

“Well, at least I shall not be completely alone,” she said, forcing a smile. “Doreen will go with me.”

The smile vanished with his next words.

“Doreen canna go either, lass,” he said, avoiding her gaze. “Kintail said Eilean Donan isna large enough to accommodate more
servants, but he ha’ promised ye’ll no be lonely.”

“He will not try to marry me off to someone straightaway, will he?” That possibility distressed her more than she had thought
it might, for she had long known the time would come when her guardian would arrange a marriage for her, one likely to be
advantageous to himself if not to her. The thought that Kintail, rather than Donald the Grim, was the guardian who would make
that choice was somehow even more upsetting.

“He’ll no fling ye into marriage,” Mackinnon said, clearly more comfortable with this topic. “He isna interested in marrying
yet himself, and he said he’d think a bit on his choices, but in the meantime he says ye’ll ha’ companions aplenty.”

“He said ‘companions’?”

“Aye.”

For a moment she wondered if Kintail meant to make a servant of her to remedy the lack of space to house more of them. The
thought almost stirred a smile, for she knew that she lacked the household skills necessary for such a position.

He was upon them before she could consider the matter longer. His manner was easy, though, revealing none of the tension that
she had discerned in him when he entered the hall.

He said quietly, “Art ready to leave, mistress?”

“Aye, if I must,” she replied. “Is it true that you refuse to allow my personal maidservant to accompany me?”

“I was told that she intends to wed in a month’s time,” he said, his manner still calm, even reasonable. “Taking her with
us if she will only have to return soon and is likely to pine for her man in the meantime seemed pointless.”

“She is loyal to me,” Molly said stubbornly.

“Aye, that would be the real reason that I will not take her,” he said with a teasing smile.

She gasped, as much at her body’s reaction to that smile as to the idea that he could be taunting her about such a thing.
To cover her confusion, she said more sharply than she had intended, “You dare to admit that?”

His smile disappeared, but he said only, “If you want her to accompany you, mistress, I will not forbid it, but she will have
to share your bedchamber, and it is quite small. I doubt she will make good company for you if she is unhappy, but if her
unhappiness does not trouble you…”

When he paused, letting her fill in the rest of the sentence for herself, she wanted to slap him for making her seem uncaring.
That Doreen might not want to accompany her to Eilean Donan had not occurred to her, but memories washed over her again of
her departure from Dunsithe—the terror and misery she had felt at being ripped by veritable strangers from the only home she
had ever known. She remembered now that she had scarcely spoken a word for weeks after that terrible night. Neither pride
nor compassion would let her subject Doreen to such an ordeal.

“Perhaps someone else can accompany me,” she suggested, turning to Mackinnon. “I know that her ladyship would say it is unsuitable
for me to travel amidst all these men without at least one other female to bear me company.”

Kintail said quietly, “Since you travel with your lawful guardian, lass, it is perfectly suitable. I’ll let no harm befall
you. My men would not cause you grief in any event, and certainly not whilst I am at your side.”

She did not look at him, unable to say aloud that she was beginning to fear that his being at her side might prove to be the
most dangerous thing that threatened her. Instead, she watched Mackinnon, but that gentleman looked doubtful, and she realized
then that few women at Dunakin would be willing to move to Eilean Donan. All were loyal to the laird and would obey if he
ordered them to go, but it occurred to her that although she had lived among them for years, she was not a Mackinnon and had
little claim on the members of that clan.

“An ye wish it, lassie,” Mackinnon said gently, “I’ll ask about and see who else may be willing.”

“No,” Molly said, gathering her dignity. “I hope that you and her ladyship will visit me, though. I shall be glad to see you
both.”

“Aye, we’ll do that, and right soon,” Mackinnon replied, shooting a look at Kintail that dared him to refuse them permission.

He did not. “You will be welcome,” he said. “And ’tis not far, after all, only eight or ten miles by boat—two hours with a
good westerly breeze.”

Nodding agreement, Mackinnon signed to a nearby gilly, who held Molly’s cloak over one arm. The lad handed it to him, and
facing her, Mackinnon draped it over her shoulders and tenderly fastened the clasp under her chin.

One of his fingertips gently stroked the line of her jaw, and tears glistened in his eyes. “We’ll miss ye, lass, and that
be plain fact,” he said.

“Aye,” she said, astonished to see him display his emotion before such an audience. She found herself unable to say more and
glad that Lady Mackinnon had declared it too difficult to bid farewell to her.