Amanda Scott (22 page)

“Ye ken fine that I canna do any such thing,” Claud said. “Nae more can ye, unless ye o’ the Highlands ha’ more power than
we do. And sakes, lass, I be in enough trouble already, wi’out doing what I’ve nae business doing.”

She pouted. “I just want what is best for my laird, Claud.”

“Aye sure, lassie, I ken fine what ye want.”

“Moreover, my clever one, if they should marry, both of us will have done our duty, for you will have provided your Maid with
a husband and I will have provided my laird with a proper fortune. Even the nay-sayers in the Circle will see then that making
the King give her to Kintail was an excellent notion.”

“Aye, perhaps,” Claud said. But recalling the Maid’s anger, he wondered if anyone wielded enough power to change her opinion
of Kintail.

He soon forgot about her, however, when Catriona diverted his thoughts in her own special way.

Nell Percy was bored and growing frustrated, fearing that all her careful planning might come to naught.

The company in the hall at Stirling was lively and loud that evening, and since Nell hoped to draw James’s attention again,
she was exerting unnatural patience. That patience was weakening rapidly, however, due to the annoyingly talkative matron
she had met her first night at Stirling.

Surreptitiously watching the woman’s two homely, silent daughters while attempting to listen to the mother, it occurred to
her that the girls’ silence was due to nothing more than knowing they could not get a word in if they tried.

With bright enthusiasm, their aggravating mother said, “It is such a pleasure at last to be able to converse at length with
you, Lady Percy.”

“So you have said, madam,” Nell replied, but the woman was still talking and barely acknowledged Nell’s words with a gesture
as she babbled on.

“Your so charming brother Angus—so dreadful your being separated from him, madam, although I must own that I do not comprehend
what all the fuss was about or why he has stayed in England all these years. In sooth, I believe his grace the King is jealous
of the Douglas power.”

She tittered behind one hand as she added, “I know I should not say so in such a place as this—the King’s own palace, and
myself but a royal guest—but then, no man ever expects us poor females to understand these things, and I am not a Douglas
by birth, thank heaven! One can only wonder at your nerve, madam, coming here so soon after your poor half sister’s unfortunate
demise at the stake. My husband, who claims a slight connection, said he is persuaded that Janet Douglas had no acquaintance
with the powers of darkness or with poison and that her husbands both died quite natural deaths. Her misfortune, Sir Hector
said, was merely that she was a Douglas who had chanced to displease the King.”

“You say your husband is a Douglas, madam?”

“Well, not to say a Douglas, exactly,” the woman replied, apparently deciding that this query was worth heeding. “Sir Hector
could claim cousins with your uncle of Kilspindie if he chose, but thankfully, under present circumstances, the connection
is slight—through his mother, you see. Our Elspeth is more closely connected of course,” she added with a sly look, “but no
one heeds a maidservant’s antecedents even in these days of unrest. I should not rattle on, though, when doubtless the less
you hear about Elspeth, the happier you will be. She was not as fortunate as you, or course, her mother being of common stock,
whilst yours was well born. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “in view of your half sister’s dire misfortune, perhaps you
do not view the circumstance of your birth as unhappy. At all events, I am persuaded that Elspeth is happier with us than
she would be if her father had taken her with him to serve in his English household.”

Nell’s attention had wandered, but this statement reclaimed it, and noting the birdlike look of expectation on her companion’s
plump face, she decided that the woman had intended to pique her interest.

Gently, she said, “You need not mince words, madam. Do you suggest that a maidservant of yours is Angus’s natural child?”

“I suggest nothing, madam. I speak plain fact. Our little scullery maid is your own niece, left with Sir Hector and me when
your brother fled to England. Angus promised to send money for us to pay for her wages when she was old enough to earn wages,
and he did—but, sadly, only for a short time. Since then, we have borne the cost, but perhaps my meeting you here is a sign
of heavenly intervention. Perhaps you might see your way to…” She paused, showing delicacy for the first time since Nell had
met her.

Nell’s patience, however, was spent. She let the pause lengthen until the other woman fidgeted and looked as if she might
speak again, perhaps to rephrase her suggestion in less spiteful terms.

Without giving her a chance to do so, Nell said in a chilly voice, “I am sorry to disappoint you, madam, but Angus’s sexual
accidents are not my concern. If you want something from him, you must tell him yourself. Doubtless one of your people is
brave enough to risk carrying your message to England where he can easily learn Angus’s whereabouts. Whether Angus will deign
to respond, I cannot say.”

“Pray, Lady Percy—”

But Nell cut her off, saying frostily, “Forgive me, but I see his grace the King beckoning to me.”

James was doing no such thing, but when she strode toward him, he looked up and smiled. Taking the smile for an invitation,
she approached, albeit slowing her angry pace to one of greater decorum.

“Good evening, sire,” she said, curtsying low. “Faith, but you are just what I need this evening, madam,” he said with a grin.
“These men have been boring me witless with tales of Donald the Grim—his damnable great army and his more damnable fleet of
galleys. I want pleasuring instead, see you, and what with the Queen being at Linlithgow and sundry others of my wom—” He
broke off, chuckling, and looked around as if to be sure that any courtiers who had heard him were joining in his mirth.

They were, and Nell discovered that she was still capable of blushing. To divert him, she said, “Is Donald of Sleat behaving
badly, sire?”

“Aye, he is,” James said, his tone turning gruff. “The traitor has threatened to raise the entire Highland west against me.”

One of the courtiers hovering at James’s side said condescendingly, “ ’Tis said that Sleat can command as many as fifteen
thousand broadswords and over a hundred galleys. He may soon be marching south with his fleet escorting him.”

“You are too solemn,” the King said grumpily to the man. “Mackenzie of Kintail and others who remain loyal will halt this
Sleat.”

He shot an enigmatic look at Nell, but she was at a loss to interpret it, for besides looking annoyed, he looked rueful. Unable
to imagine an appropriate way to respond, she remained silent, hoping the men would continue to discuss Donald. Even if he
were no longer Molly’s guardian, she had to learn where he was now and where she might find him later.

The other men seemed happy to discuss Donald’s forthcoming rising, but James, looking more and more uncomfortable, suddenly
stood, silencing them all.

“Come, madam, I have had a surfeit of politics for one day. Surely you can think of something better calculated to amuse your
king.”

“Willingly, sire,” she said, resting her hand on the forearm he offered her and allowing him to lead her from the hall.

He took her to his private chamber, and conversation lapsed for some time while he enjoyed his fill of her. Not until he lay
back against the pillows, sated, did he say, “There is something you should know about your daughter.”

“You told me she is no longer ward to Donald the Grim. Where is she, sire?”

“Aye, that’s the rub, and I fear you will be wroth with me. You will perhaps recall my mentioning Mackenzie of Kintail earlier.”

“Aye, sire, I remember. One of your loyal Highlanders.”

“Kintail is the Maid’s new guardian. If Sleat passes through Kintail on his way south, as we expect, she sits directly in
his path. You can be sure he wants her back or, at the least, that he wants to punish Kintail for taking her from him.”

“But was it not you who warded her to Kintail?” Nell asked, turning this new information over in her mind in an attempt to
see how it could aid her.

“I did. My intent was to bolster Kintail’s loyalty by giving him control of an excellent Border estate and of the lass’s fortune
if he can find it.”

“I’ll wager you also desired to punish Donald,” Nell said dryly. “My daughter is still a pawn to be pushed about at will by
whoever controls her.”

James shrugged. “She and others of her ilk have always served so, madam, as you know from your own experience. Increasing
one’s power requires position, wealth, and above all, connections to others of like and greater power.”

He was telling Nell nothing she did not know. “I would see my daughter, sire,” she said. “Mayhap, if you permit, I can be
of use to you.”

“How so?”

“With Donald’s army running rampant in the western Highlands, you might benefit from a safe means of communicating with this
Mackenzie. I could take him a message from you and see my daughter, as well. Who would dare harm a lady of rank traveling
with an armed escort?”

“Royal messengers do risk interception,” James admitted. “Indeed, I sent word to Mackenzie a fortnight ago, when I first learned
of Sleat’s increased activity. I’ve received no message in return.”

Nell’s eavesdropping had told her as much. She waited.

“I will consider your offer,” James said at last. “But, madam, do not think to fool your king. I have not forgotten that you
are Angus’s sister or that you entered Scotland from England without first seeking my permission to do so. Also, it has been
suggested that Henry of England may be supporting this madness of Sleat’s. If I find you have more reason for your journey
than a mother’s natural wish to see her daughter, you will rue the day that you came to Stirling.”

A shiver shot up Nell’s spine, but she looked him in the eye and smiled as she said, “I assure you, sire, I am only a mother
in search of her long-lost child.”

W
hen Molly left Kintail and Mackinnon so abruptly on the shore, she had expected Kintail to follow her inside or to send a
gilly with a command to present herself to him for further discussion, but he did neither. Instead, he returned to take command
of his baron’s court, and for the next few days she saw little of him. Since Barbara, her mother, and Mackinnon departed along
with the many who had attended the court, and since Maggie Malloch had not put in another appearance, she had no one except
Doreen or Mauri with whom to discuss his irritating behavior.

Throughout her childhood, she had confided in Doreen, but the habit had waned even before leaving Dunakin. To discuss Kintail
with her at all seemed wrong, let alone to reveal that he had kissed her. Nor was she tempted to speak about anything so personal
with Mauri, whom she scarcely knew.

Oddly, the temptation was greater to confide in Sir Patrick—if only a little—when he introduced her to Eilean Donan’s account
books the day after Kintail’s court. However, although Patrick behaved in his usual charming, cheerful way, she recalled his
behavior that first night when Kintail had wanted to bed her, and she knew she could not speak frankly to him, either. His
demeanor was unexceptionable as he explained how the accounts were organized and showed her how to enter MacVinish’s sheep
and the cow sent to Ian MacMurchie, but she was glad he did not seem disposed to chat. Soon she was engulfed in household
details, but by the lesson’s end, she knew nothing more of any consequence about Kintail.

She did learn that he and Sir Patrick spent most mornings hunting or hawking and most afternoons dealing with tenants’ problems
and attending to other duties of landowner-ship. She also learned from Mauri that Kintail had sent out running gillies to
see what they could learn about Donald the Grim’s movements, but what those gillies reported to him on their return, she knew
not.

Thus, when Sir Patrick came to her in Mauri’s solar the fourth day after Mackinnon’s visit to tell her that Kintail wanted
to see her, Molly felt both eager to confront him and wary of what he might say or do to her.

“Where is he?” she asked Patrick, setting aside the needlework with which she had been pretending to occupy herself while
she waited for Mauri to join her.

“Below, in the hall,” he said.

That did not sound as if Kintail intended to pick a quarrel, she decided, for surely he would have chosen a more private place.
Nevertheless, she felt increasing tension when she entered the hall and saw him standing near the fireplace, talking with
one of his men. The banners overhead stirred in the ever-present draft, but the fire, for once, was small. The days were growing
warmer.

Kintail’s stern gaze met hers. He dismissed the man with him but did not move, waiting for her to approach him, regarding
her speculatively, as if he were judging her mood. He did not look as if he intended to kiss her again.