Amanda Scott (23 page)

Thinking about that kiss sent a surge of heat through her. She had to exert herself to sound dignified as she said, “You sent
for me?”

“Did you doubt Patrick’s word when he told you I had?”

Ignoring what was obvious provocation, she said, “I hope you do not mean to press me again to marry you, for I have not changed
my mind.”

He smiled and shook his head. “I won’t beg you, lass, now or ever. If I decide that we’ll marry, then marry we will. I am
lord here, in all things. I even beat Mackinnon at chess the night he stayed here,” he added with satisfaction.

“I’m surprised to hear that,” she admitted. “I have never known him to lose, but even so, you are not lord of the world, sir.
You may have the power of pit and gallows in Kintail, but I believe that even here you do not rule the Kirk. Micheil Love
told me long ago that in Scotland a woman has the right to refuse marriage if the proposed union does not suit her.”

Kintail shrugged. “Scotland has many laws, lass, but Edinburgh and Stirling are far from Eilean Donan. To whom will you make
your complaint?”

“The priest—”

“—is my priest,” he interjected. “He depends upon me and my people of Kintail for his food and shelter, and therefore, he
will not deny me what I want. His wife and children would suffer.”

“He should not have a wife, let alone children,” she snapped. “Priests are suppose to be celibate.”

“You see,” he said, as though she had proven his point for him. “As I told you, we are far from Edinburgh and Stirling, farther
yet from Rome and the Pope. Now, do you want to know why I sent for you or not?”

“Only if you do not mean to take more liberties and if we need not discuss marriage again.”

“Would such a marriage be so distasteful to you?”

To her surprise, she detected a wistful note in his voice as he asked the question, and she could not make herself reply with
a flat negative. Instead, she said, “I have scarcely seen you for days. Why did you send for me now?”

“Did you miss me?” His eyes twinkled. “You should be glad I gave my temper time to cool before sending for you. Had I followed
my inclination when you left Mackinnon and me the other day, I’d have made you regret your rudeness.”

She could think of nothing to say. Remembering her disappointment when he let her go so easily, she felt flames in her cheeks,
but she did not understand herself or her feelings where Kintail was concerned, and she could not read him at all. The twinkle
in his eyes said he was not angry with her, but the reminder that she had given him cause to be made it hard to feel confident
or to know how to deal with him. After a long moment, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

“Why did you send for me?”

“I thought you might be missing your horses,” he said gently.

Delight instantly replaced bewilderment. “You will let me ride?”

“I will take you riding,” he amended. “You are not to go out alone, mistress. Not now, not ever. If you do, you will not sit
a horse again for three full months. Do you understand me?”

Striving to conceal her annoyance at what sounded like intentional provocation, she said, “I am accustomed to having an escort,
sir.”

“Perhaps, on occasion,” he said. “But it strikes me that you also are far too accustomed to going your own road without consulting
anyone. That must stop. On Skye, where everyone knew you, things were different from the way they are here, particularly with
Sleat on the loose.”

“Where is he, then? I collect that he is not presently in Kintail.”

To her relief, he did not press his point but accepted the new subject. “I’m told he is still sailing amongst the Isles, gathering
men,” he said, “but soon he’ll move south, and the easiest route for his army lies through Kintail and Glen Shiel. This may
be our only chance for some time to ride safely. Will you come?”

Delight at the thought of riding overcame any momentary annoyance with him. Nodding, she followed him down to the inlet where
his boats lay. Fluffy clouds floated in a sunny blue sky, and a soft, light breeze blew from the northwest.

Commanding her to get into the stern of a small rowboat beached on the shingle, Kintail pushed off, jumping into the craft
as it slid into the water and deftly taking up the oars.

Surprised that he had not commanded one of his men to do the rowing, she watched him, noting that he managed easily and with
skill.

“I can sail, too,” he said. “I am no carpet knight.”

She smiled, seeing no reason to tell him that she had never taken him for one. Instead, she watched to see what she could
learn from him and to enjoy the play of his muscles as he rowed. When their eyes chanced to meet, she blinked and forced herself
to concentrate on studying his technique with the oars. She could row a little, too, but one was wise to seek always to improve
one’s skills.

The journey to the Dornie shore was brief, and in what seemed to be no time at all, they walked to the place where Kintail
kept his horses. To Molly’s astonishment, the horse that the gilly led out for her was her own bay gelding from Dunakin. Happily,
she stroked the soft, white blaze on the horse’s face.

“Mackinnon thought you might be happy to see this fellow,” Kintail said, patting the bay on the neck and holding out a lump
of sugar for it on his palm.

“Mackinnon brought him over?”

“Aye?”

“Four days ago!”

“Aye.” He said nothing more, watching her.

“Why did you not tell me?”

“The opportunity did not arise,” he said glibly, but she knew it was more than that. He had meant to punish her.

“Are we going to ride?” she asked, to break the sudden tension.

“Aye.”

Without further ado, he gripped her firmly round the waist and lifted her to the saddle.

As she arranged her skirts, she said, “I am glad to see him, sir. Thank you.”

“You need not thank me,” he said, adding with a straight look, “I am pleased to find that you are capable of gratitude, however.”

She bit her lip, knowing that she deserved the censure but disliking it nonetheless. He moved without further comment to the
big gray he would ride.

When he had mounted, she noted that four of his men had mounted horses, too. Since they were armed, and since Kintail did
not seem the sort of man who would insist upon always having his proper chieftain’s tail in attendance, she concluded that
he had not exaggerated their danger, even now.

Once they rode out of the yard, however, she forgot everything except the agreeable caress of the breeze on her face and the
familiar smells and sounds of riding in the open air. She was content to let Kintail take the lead and set the pace, happy
to be doing what she loved. A niggling little voice at the back of her mind suggested that she was also happy to be riding
with Kintail, but she ignored it, and when the same niggling voice suggested that marriage to him might provide many such
pleasant moments, she ignored that, too.

He led the way through Dornie village, pausing every few feet to speak to a villager and to introduce her, and Molly’s impatience
soon stirred. She wanted to ride. They left the village at last, and she was glad when he let the horses stretch their legs.
However, it was not long before he drew rein again in a cottage yard.

Before she could protest at yet more delay, the cottager emerged with a pair of barking dogs and a wobbly toddler, so she
found herself smiling instead, acknowledging Kintail’s introduction and the cottager’s polite welcome. Soon the man’s wife
and other children joined them to receive their share of attention.

After this scene had repeated itself several times, Molly rebelled, saying, “Do you mean to introduce the whole of Kintail
to me in one day, sir?”

“If necessary,” he said. “Mauri packed a dinner for us if we get hungry.”

“But why should it be necessary? Surely I need not meet everyone at once.”

“I thought you should meet the people who will find themselves in Sleat’s path when he comes to collect you,” he said, giving
her a direct look.

She glared at him, trying to repress the gory picture his words flashed before her mind’s eye. “That sounds as if you
want
me to marry you, Kintail, and I
know
that cannot be the case.”

“I have a duty to protect you,” he retorted. “Moreover, I have a duty to marry suitably and produce an heir, for the sake
of my tenants, and Mackinnon makes a persuasive argument for
our
marriage when he says that Sleat will likely lose interest when he learns that he cannot control you or your fortune.”

“Persuasive only because it points out that
you
will then control my fortune,” she snapped back, anger making her speak louder than she had intended.

He glanced over his shoulder, then signed to his men riding behind them to fall back a little. When he turned back to her,
the look on his face sent a thrill of fear through her and reminded her that she was with Wild Fin.

“Now, you listen to me,” he said grimly. “You may cut up at me all you like in private, but you will keep your voice down
when others are about, or I promise, you will not like the consequences.”

“Nor will I like them if you force me to marry you,” she said, trying to sound undaunted but fearing that she sounded only
peevish and regretting it if she did.

He took a deep breath. Then, more evenly, he said, “Whilst you remain unwed, your fortune is a prize Sleat can use to bargain,
but to do so he must hold you. I’d think you’d want to do all you can to avoid being used that way.”

“But you want the same thing he wants,” she retorted stubbornly.

“That’s not so.”

“It is,” she insisted. “It was Donald’s duty to protect me before it became yours. How do you know he does not believe he
will be rescuing me from you?”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, and she saw his lips twitch. He did not share whatever it was that amused him, but she welcomed
the near smile.

To her surprise, he said, “What do
you
want?”

She stared at him in astonishment, for no one had ever asked her that before. Opening her mouth to speak the first words that
came to her mind, she shut it again.

“Tell me,” he urged, his voice unusually gentle. “I shan’t eat you simply for answering a question that I asked, even if I
don’t like the answer.”

“I did not think that you would,” she replied. “I’m just afraid that you will not understand.”

“Try me.”

“Very well,” she said, adding bluntly, “I want a home.”

He shrugged. “That you will have, regardless of the choice you make. You have a home at Eilean Donan for as long as you like,
and another with Mackinnon at Dunakin, should circumstances ever require it. And, whoever you wed—”

“Home is not merely where one keeps one’s clothing,” she said, cutting in before he could continue his useless argument. “I
thought Dunsithe was my home when I was small, but in the space of a few midnight minutes, that changed. I do not remember
Tantallon, where my uncle kept me for several months after his men snatched me from my bed and carried me away. Nor do I recall
much about my time at Dunsgaith before Donald passed me to Mackinnon. The plain fact is that I have not had a home since my
father died.”

“Mackinnon gave you a home for nearly a dozen years.”

“But I always knew my stay was temporary, just as I know that Eilean Donan is temporary until you or the King decide I can
be more useful elsewhere. Don’t you see?” she pleaded, willing him to understand. Seeing no sign that he did, she added with
a sigh, “At least you asked, sir. No one else has done that.”

“I’ll go further yet, mistress. If you want me to send you to Donald, you need only say so. Similarly, if you prefer to marry
someone else, I will try to arrange that, if you can persuade me that he will protect you as well as I can.”

“There
is
no one else!” she snapped, instantly if inexplicably infuriated by what even she recognized as an eminently reasonable suggestion.
She did not want him to be reasonable.

“Then there is no impediment,” he replied on a note of satisfaction. “You need simply choose between returning to Sleat or
marrying me, and only one of those choices provides what you desire. Eilean Donan will remain your home.”

He made it sound like a matter of practicality, as if nothing else mattered. Perhaps if he were more interested in her than
in her fortune, she would feel differently. She pushed that disturbing thought away, however, for such thoughts were a waste
of energy. If anything other than her fortune came into it, it was that controlling her when Donald wanted her gave him some
sort of satisfaction.

That he could be so casual, so smug and self-satisfied, made her want to hit him with her riding whip, but his men were watching,
and she did not want to give them more grist for rumor. Moreover, she knew she could not trust Kintail to react to such a
gesture in a gentlemanly fashion, even before such an audience. Thus balked, she did not deign to reply at all.

Fin did not press her, knowing she did not want to return to Sleat’s guardianship. When she did not answer, he was content
to ride in silence, indulging himself again in the thought that had nearly made him chuckle earlier, of Sleat rescuing her
from him. Had someone told him a week before that he would now be considering marriage of any sort, let alone marriage to
the unpredictable Maid of Dunsithe, he would have thought he was the one needing rescue, and the thought that he could possibly
need rescuing from any female struck him as funny. Not so funny, however, that he would share the thought with Patrick.