Amanda Scott (16 page)

Fin wondered what had brought the soft, secret little smile to the Maid’s face and marveled at how so small a change of expression
could transform her from the chilly, stiff-featured lass he usually saw. The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come,
however. Had he not been watching, he would have missed it.

She was staring into the distance now, and he wondered if she felt lonely. One could not wonder at it if she did. As Mackinnon
had pointed out, anyone leaving one home for an unknown one was bound to feel unsettled. Doubtless he had felt so himself
the day he left Eilean Donan for university at St. Andrews.

Recalling that day, however, he knew that he had not felt lonely at all, because he and Patrick both had looked forward to
university life as a huge adventure. If they had missed familiar things after they reached the bustling university town, any
small ache was overshadowed by all the new and fascinating experiences they had shared. Perhaps he misjudged the Maid and
she, too, looked forward to some sort of adventure. He could not imagine that she would find much at Eilean Donan, but neither
could he doubt that she would come to love the place as he did. Of course, he told himself firmly, before long, she would
be off to a new home somewhere, married to someone who could do him some good.

He shifted on the hard seat, trying to get comfortable. They had been out for little more than an hour, and he had endured
much longer journeys, but the coble was not intended for more than short jaunts, certainly not for a man of his length. Even
sitting in the bow, behind the oarsmen, he could not stretch out his legs.

Glancing at the other boats, and seeing that their sails were not full, he knew that the men in them were probably cursing
the coble’s slower pace. They probably knew, too, that he could have left it for someone else to return to Kyle, but he had
not wanted Mackinnon to deliver him and his new charge to Eilean Donan.

He began fidgeting again. This was a snail’s pace, and he had already tarried too long away from home. He had work to do,
his baron’s court to prepare.

How could women sit still for so long, he wondered.

The Maid’s eyes were closed. Had she fallen asleep? She looked childlike, vulnerable, her beauty tender now, alluring. She
had better take care, he thought, lest she tumble into the water. Not that there was much fear of that, for she was small
and Doreen or one of the oarsmen would grab her if she began to topple. Besides, if he warned her to take care, would she
not simply ignore him? Or, as likely as not, she’d fling herself into the water just to defy him and create trouble.

Molly was savoring the sounds and scent of the sea and the caress of the breeze on her cheeks. Curlews and gulls overhead
called to one another, and she heard a seal barking in the distance. The breeze was warm, and it smelled wonderfully fresh
and clean, with a salty tang.

“Yonder lies Glas Eilean,” Kintail said abruptly a half hour later with easily detectable relief.

Molly kept her eyes shut, not yet ready to relinquish her peaceful reveries.

“’Tis just a wee bit o’ land barely showing itself in the water,” Doreen said.

“Aye,” Kintail agreed, “but Eilean Donan lies not far beyond it.”

Molly slitted her eyes open to see that he had twisted around to look ahead and was gazing toward a small, nearly flat islet
in the water ahead. She opened her eyes completely then and began to keep watch. As he had promised, the castle soon came
into view.

After the steep, towering hills that faced Dunakin across the strait and the impressive sharp-pointed Cuillin of Skye, her
first impression of Eilean Donan was that it sat low on a bit of land of singular flatness. The setting was picturesque, though,
for Highland hills and mountains jutted up around it on three sides, framing the castle magnificently, and snow-capped peaks
in the distance looked even higher than the Cuillin. Still, the small, rocky islet was unimpressive, not much larger than
the base of the castle.

The pinkish brown stone castle was more impressive. At its northwestern corner, a square tower—undoubtedly part of the keep—anchored
a high curtain wall dotted with arrow loops. From Molly’s vantage point, the tower appeared to be five stories tall. The main
portion of the keep was a story lower but also possessed its share of loops. Crenellated battlements punctuated with bartizans
encircled the structure at a level even with the top floor of the keep, indicating a walkway there.

For some time their oarsmen had been rowing intermittently, leaving more work to the ever-stronger wind, but they took up
the sweeps again when the four boats began wending their way around to the south and east shores of the islet.

The castle’s architecture became more intriguing as more of it came into view. Its entrance appeared on the east side, which
Molly saw also had room enough on the shore to land the four boats. Others were beached or anchored nearby— two galleys the
size of Mackinnon’s and a smaller, twelve-oared birlinn.

Men hurried to help them land, and Kintail greeted his people heartily.

She noted how eager they were to welcome him home. They welcomed Sir Patrick MacRae, too, and soon both Kintail and Sir Patrick
were laughing and chatting with their men as they pitched in to unload the boats.

Left to climb out of the coble by herself, with only Doreen to help, Molly watched the others with increasing annoyance. The
newcomers shot her curious glances and eyed Doreen, too, but no one seemed in any hurry to welcome her to Eilean Donan. Thus,
she stood where she was with Doreen at her side, waiting, uncertain for the first time in years about how to act or what to
do next.

Although many of the men milling around the boats were men she knew from Dunakin, she could not be certain that they would
obey her commands as willingly here as they had there—not when they knew that she was now Kintail’s ward. Her courage, normally
strong, wilted considerably.

“You lot, down there! What be ye at, then?”

Looking up, Molly beheld a plump, redheaded woman standing at the top of the rocky slope, halfway between the boats and the
castle entrance. She was perhaps ten years older than Molly. The wind, assailing her from both sides as it swept around the
castle walls behind her, tangled her long hair wildly around her face, but she ignored it, standing with her hands on her
hips, glaring down at the men.

They all looked toward her. Then, bewildered, they looked at each other.

Kintail shouted, “What manner of welcome is that to your master, Mauri MacRae? Is our dinner awaiting us?”

“Aye, it is,” she shouted back. “Thanks to one o’ the lads seeing your boats and recognizing from your banner that ’twere
yourself. And plenty o’ food there be, too. But what are ye about, amusing yourselves—the whole lot o’ ye— whilst them ladies
ye brought wi’ ye stand like posts? ’Tis like heathens ye’re behaving, every last one o’ ye. Ye should be ashamed, offering
them such poor welcome!”

Molly hid a smile, thinking that perhaps she would like at least one person at Eilean Donan. She looked at Kintail to see
how he would respond.

He was still gazing at the woman above them, and he was frowning.

She remembered then that they called him Wild Fin, and a hope flitted through her mind that he would not react too harshly
to the woman’s scolding.

He did not. Instead, he shifted his fierce gaze to Molly.

“Why do you stand there?” he demanded. “Everything in these boats must go up to the castle, and Mackinnon’s men are here merely
to protect us until we unload and they can leave. Both of you should be helping.”

Doreen stepped forward before he stopped speaking, but hearing his last statement, she paused and glanced back at her mistress,
clearly shocked.

Utterly astonished, Molly stared at him. “Help?” she demanded. “Is it as I suspected, then, Kintail? Do you mean to turn me
into a common servant?”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” he snapped. “Do you not see that I am carrying things, myself? Do you think that I consider myself
a servant here?”

“But it is the business of servants—”

He cut her off, saying sharply, “Unfortunately, we do not always have time to observe such formality, exposed as we are to
attack when we are outside the wall. ’Tis best you understand as much from the outset, so come and help carry these things
up unless you want to debate the matter further with me here.”

Appalled by such ill grace when, by rights, he should be guiding her up the rugged slope and welcoming her properly to his
home, Molly felt sorely tempted to refuse. A tiny voice in the back of her mind suggested, however, that a man so lost to
the proprieties as Kintail was might react unhappily to such defiance.

Unwilling to test him before such a large, unknown audience, she resorted to chilly dignity instead. Making her way carefully
to the nearest of three laden boats, she accepted a small bundle from Thomas MacMorran and turned to walk up to the castle.
As she did, she saw Kintail turn abruptly toward a grinning Sir Patrick MacRae at the far end of the line of boats, as if
the other man had spoken to him.

Sir Patrick stood with his feet apart, his thumbs hooked over his belt, and his back to the inflowing tide where it swept
through the channel between islet and mainland. Still grinning, he spoke again to Kintail, and Molly heard chuckles from the
men nearest them.

The chuckles ceased when Kintail’s fist flashed out and caught Sir Patrick solidly on one shoulder, knocking him off balance.
Shouting curses, arms waving wildly, he fell backward with a great splash, into the current and under.

The other men burst into howls of laughter, but quick as thought, Kintail bent and snatched up a rope, flinging one end of
it to Sir Patrick and hauling him back to shore, where he extended a hand to help him to his feet.

As Patrick bent over, hands on his knees, dripping, gasping, and coughing, Kintail clapped him on one wet shoulder with a
blow that nearly sent him back into the water, and said in a tone clear enough for them all to hear, “Is that insolence of
yours dampened yet, or does it require another ducking?”

For a moment, Sir Patrick’s eyes flashed dangerously, but meeting Kintail’s cool, intense gaze, he shrugged and a wry, rueful
smile touched his lips.

“Pax,” he said. “I’ll mind my tongue.”

“See that you do,” Kintail said.

No one was laughing now, and when Kintail’s gaze flicked toward Molly, she looked away quickly and began to hurry toward the
castle, followed by Doreen, who carried a bundle much larger than her own.

When they reached the top of the slope, the redheaded woman reached to take Molly’s bundle, saying with a wide, gap-toothed
grin, “Welcome, Mistress Gordon. I be Mauri MacRae.” Tucking Molly’s bundle under her arm as she made an awkward curtsy, she
added lightly, “Will ye come inside now?”

“I will, indeed,” Molly said. Although she was certain that Kintail expected her to carry more than one small bundle, she
followed Mauri MacRae and did not look back. Prickling between her shoulder blades warned her he was watching, doubtless with
disapproval, and with every step, she expected to hear him shout.

He did not, however, and when she and her two companions reached the tall arched portcullis entrance to the castle, she dared
at last to glance back.

Led by the still dripping Sir Patrick, a line of men bearing goods from the boats snaked its way up the short slope. The Mackinnon
men-at-arms were helping the others carry her belongings.

Beside her, Doreen chuckled and said, “I gave my Thomas a look, mistress, and I’ll warrant he had no trouble comprehending
it. If those Dunakin men mean to dine here, they can be earning their bread, and that’s all I’ll say about it.”

Mauri MacRae put back her head and laughed. “ Come along, ye two,” she said, still chuckling. “I’ll show ye where ye’re to
sleep.”

“You are very kind, Mistress MacRae,” Molly said gratefully as they followed her across a courtyard lined with shedlike outbuildings.

“Aye, sure, I am that,” the woman said cheerfully. “But ye’d best be calling me Mauri, the way everyone else does, Mistress
Gordon. There be so many MacRaes hereabouts that we’ll none of us ken who ye’re wanting, else.”

“I am Molly to my friends,” Molly said impulsively, “and this is Doreen.”

“Ye’re both welcome,” Mauri said, leading the way up a wooden stairway that led into the second level of the keep. “We can
always use extra hands, Doreen.”

“I serve Mistress Molly,” Doreen said with a smile. “But whenever she has nae need o’ me, I’ll be glad enough to oblige ye.”

Passing a stout iron yett, or gate, they followed their guide through a short archway, and entered what was clearly the great
hall of the castle. Clan banners fluttered from poles set at an angle high on the walls, just as they had at Dunakin. Mauri
did not pause but crossed the hall and stepped through another archway, where a twisting stone stairway took them up two flights
to a landing. A pair of doors faced each other there. Mauri paused and turned to face Molly and Doreen.