Amanda Scott (28 page)

Downstairs, Fin discovered he had to deal with Mauri. “Such a hasty wedding doesna be seemly,” she said, arms akimbo.

“To find Donald the Grim on our doorstep demanding Molly’s return at sword’s point would not be seemly either,” he retorted.
“Just do your best, Mauri. None of our guests will expect a grand occasion.”

“What guests?” she demanded. “Who will ken aught about it?”

“We’ll send running gillies to spread the word,” he said. “People will come. Perhaps not many from any distance, but we’ll
not find ourselves alone.”

“Aye, well, we’ll see,” she said darkly, “but ’tis nae the way for a Mackenzie chieftain tae wed, and if that lass be willin’,
I’ve seen nae sign of it afore now.”

“She’s willing enough,” he said, hoping he was right. He was rapidly growing accustomed to the notion of having her as his
wife, but she was perfectly capable of changing her mind at the last minute and refusing to take her vows.

As he turned from Mauri and gave his orders to the running gillies, he had an odd sense of someone moving just at the edge
of his peripheral vision, but when he turned his head, no one was there.

Doreen came to help Molly change her clothing, clicking her tongue and scolding as only a servant who had known one from childhood
could do. Molly, however, had long since learned how to deal with Doreen.

“What has become of Thomas MacMorran?” she asked casually when the maidservant paused to take a breath. “I have not seen much
of him lately.”

“Well, ye might ha’ done had ye looked,” Doreen said sharply. “Not only does he sleep wi’ the others in the hall at night
but he were here in the castle all day yesterday, making a nuisance o’ himself.”

“How so?”

“The man wants to live in one o’ the wee cottages the laird gives them what ha’ families to provide for,” Doreen said. “It
makes no matter to Thomas MacMorran that other folks ha’ their duty, as well. Only Thomas MacMorran’s needs matter to Thomas
MacMorran. Forbye, here today he’s gone off to Skye wi’ Sir Patrick MacRae and wi’out so much as askin’ a body did she ha’
any messages for her folks there. So much for Thomas MacMorran’s notions o’ love.”

Molly began to feel sympathy for Doreen.

“Men,” she said with feeling.

“Aye,” Doreen said in fervent agreement. “A sorry lot, most of ’em.” Then, however, she spoiled this moment of harmony by
adding, “Except for the Laird o’ Kintail, o’ course. A grand man, that one, and lucky ye be to marry him.”

Repressing an urge to growl, Molly said, “Kintail is just a man like any other, who thinks he rules the earth.” Even as the
words spilled forth, she knew they were not true. No one could look at Kintail and see just a man like any other.

Doreen stared at her. “Faith, mistress, if all men were like that one, there’d be nae room left on the earth for the women.”

The image of an earth covered with men as large as Kintail, wearing swords and mail, and standing shoulder to shoulder, struck
Molly’s sense of the ridiculous so hard that she laughed aloud. “Very well,” she said when she could talk, “Kintail is larger
than most but no less stubborn or sure of himself. What is it about men that makes them think they know more about any subject
than a woman can know?”

Doreen grimaced, clearly agreeing, but after a few moments of silence as she helped Molly into a fresh bodice and skirt, she
said, “I warrant he’ll do well by ye, mistress. I own, though, I were flat astonished to learn ye mean to marry him.”

Molly sighed. “Do you think I’m being foolish, Doreen? I own, I don’t even know what stirred me to say that I
would
marry him.”

“Ye’ll ha’ a home at last that’s truly your own,” Doreen said gently.

There was that, Molly thought. Although she had contradicted Kintail when he’d said the same thing, Eilean Donan would be
her home unless he decreed that she live elsewhere, and that seemed unlikely. Indeed, perhaps the chance to gain a proper
home at last was what had persuaded her. She would belong. That thought comforted her more than any other that had passed
through her mind that day.

From the day that her uncle had so abruptly removed her from Dunsithe, she had felt displaced. Even at Dunakin, where everyone
was kind to her, she had felt apart from the others, different, but the thought of calling Eilean Donan home had distinct
appeal.

“I do want a real home,” she said wistfully to Doreen.

The maidservant smiled. “Aye, sure, I ken that fine, mistress. Every woman wants a home of her own and a man and bairns to
look after. ’Tis natural, that.”

“Perhaps,” Molly said. She found the thought of bairns— hers and Kintail’s—rather startling. A son of her own— doubtless one
just like his father—was a daunting but nonetheless intriguing prospect.

Kintail would kiss her again. Indeed, he would do much more than that. She was not sure exactly what the “much more” entailed,
but married people did often sleep in the same bed. Thinking of his kisses made her lips burn, and thinking about sharing
his bed and creating bairns stirred other parts of her body to burning as well.

These thoughts and others like them tumbled in a continuous but unhelpful stream through her mind as that evening and the
following day passed. Aside from the long hours of the night when she lay abed without sleeping, trying not to think about
the wedding night ahead, she seemed to be surrounded by people attending to one task after another, talking and making plans.
They consulted her from time to time, but whatever she added to the proceedings, she would never recall afterward.

She saw Kintail occasionally in passing, but although he smiled at her, he seemed to elude conversation, and she was just
as glad, for she knew not what she would say to him, and she did not want to stir coals with the wedding so near.

During the afternoon before the wedding, she was dimly aware of Mauri and Doreen sorting through her clothing in search of
just the right gown for her to wear for the ceremony, but she did not care which they chose. She tried on one after another
as they bade her, obediently turning this way and that.

If anyone noticed her distraction, they attributed it to pre-wedding nerves and said nothing. As for herself, she could seem
to think of nothing other than that she would soon be Kintail’s bride and, more than ever, subject to his authority. Her uncertainty
grew, but at the same time, she felt as if the wedding had taken on a momentum of its own so great that nothing could stop
it. The priest would obey Kintail’s orders, and so would everyone else, including herself.

That thought nearly shook her out of the spell under which she seemed to have fallen, but then Mauri told her that it was
time to go down to supper, and she rose obediently to go with her, feeling a sudden desire to see Kintail and be warmed again
by his reassuring smile.

She entered the great hall, expecting to see the same scene that had greeted her eyes every evening at that time, but the
reality was so different that she stopped at the threshold and stared. The hall teemed with people, and new arrivals crowded
the main entrance. The din of conversation was such that she wondered how she had missed hearing it on the way downstairs.
Indeed, she wondered if more hours had passed than she knew, and it was time for the wedding.

She looked for Kintail and saw him a short distance away, speaking to Tam Matheson. Other men turned to greet newcomers just
then, and when she saw muscles clench in Kintail’s jaw, she followed his gaze.

First, she saw Sir Patrick, looking unnaturally grim. Behind him, she saw the familiar figures of Mackinnon and his lady,
and her spirits rose. Eager to greet them, she followed Kintail as he moved toward them, but she stopped when she saw the
glowering face behind Mackinnon. It was a memorable face, for all that she had seen it only three or four times in her life.

Mauri bumped into Molly. Hastily apologizing, she said, “Who is that? He has two eagle feathers in his cap, like Mackinnon
or the laird, but I dinna ken…”

“That is Donald the Grim,” Molly said, her uncertain mood evaporating as apprehension took its place.

Fin strode toward the newcomers, barely concealing his outrage at Sleat’s audacity. He did not require Patrick’s warning glance
to remind him of the need to remain calm, however, so he centered his attention on Mackinnon and his lady, rapidly estimating
the number of men-at-arms with them.

“Welcome, sir,” he said to Mackinnon. “And you, my lady, are even more welcome. Mistress Gordon will be delighted to see you,
I know. She stands yonder,” he added, gesturing toward the doorway where he had caught sight of Molly moments before, only
to see that she had disappeared.

“I’m here,” she said quietly from behind him. She looked wary and as if she were not certain that she wanted to show herself.

Lady Mackinnon bustled past him to hug her, saying brightly, “My love, how well ye look! I vow, the change o’ residence has
done ye good.”

“That remains to be seen,” someone growled behind Fin.

The curt tone, cutting off Molly’s reply, told him who had spoken. He turned back and said just as curtly, “To what do we
owe your visit, Sleat?”

Donald Grumach “the Grim” of the Isles, Chief of Sleat and Uisdean, was a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired man with light
blue eyes. He had the proud look of his forebears, the sons of Somerled, King of the Isles, and arrogance underscored his
words as he snapped, “Ye’ll kindly refer to me as Donald, or Macdonald, as I’ve assumed my rightful, heritable title as Lord
o’ the Isles.”

Hastily, Mackinnon said, “There were naught else to do but bring him along, Kintail, for he were wi’ me when Sir Patrick brought
me your good news.”

“I do not agree that it
is
good news,” Sleat said gruffly.

With a heartiness belied by the measuring look in his eyes, Mackinnon said, “Now, Donald, ye canna do anything about this,
for ye’ve only a half score o’ lads in your tail. Moreover, ye promised no t’ make trouble an we let ye come wi’ us. Sakes,
lad,” he added in an audible aside to Fin, “there were naught else t’ be done wi’ the man!”

“He slaughtered my father and Patrick’s,” Fin said, striving to control his temper. “He has no business to set foot inside
the walls of Eilean Donan.”

“Their deaths were unfortunate, but they fell in battle,” Sleat said. “ ’Tis the chance a man takes when he raises his sword
against an enemy, but ’tis a worthy death. As to my purpose here, I claim hospitality to attend my ward’s marriage.”

“He comes in peace,” Mackinnon interjected swiftly, clearly recognizing that Fin would see little glory in battle deaths that
had resulted from base trickery.

Sleat added smoothly, “I trust ye’ll no forbid my attendance at the Maid’s wedding, or refuse such hospitality as I have every
right to claim.”

“And I trust that you do not mean to make trouble, Sleat,” Fin replied, putting emphasis on the name but seeing nothing to
gain by pointing out to the villain that Molly was no longer his ward.

“Mayhap your hearing failed you,” Sleat said gently. “I’m no longer merely Sleat but Macdonald, Lord of the Isles.”