Amanda Scott (34 page)

“Does no one amongst you speak plain, broad Scot?” she demanded, dashing an impatient sleeve across her still damp eyes.

“If ye mean the tongue spoken by the villainous English, lass, I speak it well enow,” one of the men said. “Who be ye and
what possessions ha’ ye got that we might find useful— after your pretty selves, o’ course.” He leered at her.

“I am Lady Percy,” Nell said, retaining her dignity with effort. “I come on the King of Scot’s business and bear his warrant,
granting me safe conduct.”

“Och, does yon wee bletherer, Jamie, think he rules the Highlands, then?”

“You know that he does rule them,” Nell said, striving to keep her increasing fear from revealing itself in her voice. “He
is High King of
all
Scots.”

“I ha’ heard that,” the man said, still grinning. “All the same, I ha’ never laid eyes on the man, so I’ll wait till I do
to decide will I follow him or no.”

“Even if you do not recognize James’s power, surely you recognize the Laird of Kintail,” Nell said, remembering how near Eilean
Donan was and assuming these must be Kintail’s men. “I am bound for Eilean Donan, because my daughter abides there. She is
Mary Gordon, Maid of Dunsithe, and she is Kintail’s ward.”

The man’s eyebrows shot upward. “Aye, so? Then I’ve a notion my master will want to speak wi’ ye, lass, straightaway.”

“I warrant he will,” Nell said gratefully. “Will you kindly ask your men to look after mine, since you are responsible for
their present condition?”

He glanced at the fallen and shrugged. “I canna do other than bury them,” he said. “They be dead, and I canna seek help fra’
the local priest just now, ye see.”

She wondered what he could have done to alienate the priest but decided it would be undiplomatic to ask. So, with a reassuring
nod to Jane, she prepared to follow her new escort, striving to quiet her fears by telling herself that, horrid as it all
was, at least she need worry no longer about how to rid herself of Jamie’s guide.

The man with whom she had spoken, clearly the ruffian leader, took her reins from her, insisting that she let one of his men
lead her horse. Another led Jane’s, but to Nell’s surprise, they did not continue along the shoreline of Loch Duich. They
turned north up a side glen, away from the loch where their guide had said that Eilean Donan sat on an island, so the castle
was not their destination. But when she demanded to know where they were going, no one deigned to reply.

Making their way through twisting, steep-sided glens, they came in less than an hour to a tent encampment in the midst of
dense woodland. The leader ran ahead and disappeared inside the largest tent. Minutes later, he emerged with another man,
tall and fair-haired, who strode ahead of him to confront Nell.

“Lady Percy,” he said, eyeing her shrewdly, “I understand ye’ve expressed a wish to see your daughter.”

“I have,” she replied firmly. “If you are Mackenzie of Kintail, I must tell you, sir, that I do not approve of the way you
welcome people to your land.”

“Ah, but you are mistaken, my lady. Your daughter does reside with Kintail. Indeed, she has married him, but I am not he.
I am Donald, Lord of the Isles.”

“Are you?” Nell said. Quelling her shock at learning of Molly’s marriage, she forced a smile. “H-how delightful, sir. I must
tell you, this meeting solves a problem for me. I bring messages from Henry of England and my brother, the Earl of Angus,
so you can imagine how confounded I was to learn that expressing a desire to see my daughter no longer provided a suitable
excuse to visit you.”

“I can certainly arrange for you to see your daughter, madam,” he said, returning her smile, “but I hope you bring me more
from England than messages.”

The castle was quiet except for hushing noises the servants made as they tended to their work. Having grown bored with her
own company, Molly searched for Mauri and Doreen and found them in the kitchen, supervising the daily women.

“What would ye, m’lady?” Mauri asked.

Molly started at hearing her new title on Mauri’s lips. Although guests had undoubtedly used it when paying their respects
after the wedding, Doreen had not, and she had not yet grown accustomed to it. Her wedding—indeed, all of the previous day—seemed
almost surreal. Waking without Kintail beside her—albeit in his bed—had made everything else seem like an illusion. She missed
him, too, for she looked forward to continuing the delightful exercises they had begun.

Realizing that Mauri still waited patiently for a response to her question, Molly said, “I came to see what I can do to help
you.”

“Ye’ll do naught today,” Mauri said firmly, drawing her away from the others and speaking in a low tone that would not easily
carry. “A proper bride doesna show her face for four days after her wedding.”

“Do Highland husbands generally lock up their wives, then?” Molly asked with a wry smile. “Kintail seems to have forgotten
to do so.”

“He ha’ forgotten more than that,” Mauri said flatly. “He should be here wi’ his bride, but he and our Patrick think Donald
be up to more mischief than just inflicting his heathenish presence on your wedding, especially since he had his own men waiting
yonder for him today.”

“I thought there were watchers,” Molly said. “How did Donald’s men get here without warning?”

“Ye canna stop them coming to meet their laird when their laird be here,” Mauri said reasonably. “Some o’ our lads rode wi’
them, o’ course, and when Donald and his lot left, Ian Dubh and Malcolm followed, saying Donald may ha’ more men hidden hereabouts.
He’ll likely head north to meet his fleet, they said.”

“Did Kintail and Sir Patrick follow them, too?”

“Nay, the pair o’ them and Thomas MacMorran took Lady MacRae and Bab back across the loch in one o’ the boats,” Mauri said.
“Likely, they’ll return soon.”

“Someone’s coming now,” Doreen said, turning as hasty steps approached the kitchen. “Thomas!” she exclaimed happily when the
tall young man-at-arms entered. “My mistress be looking for the master. Where did ye leave him?”

Looking apologetic, Thomas said to Molly, “He didna return with us, mistress. He said he were in a mood to walk round the
loch instead. He’s no alone, though. Sir Patrick sent two MacRae men with him. They be well armed, all three.”

Molly felt no concern for Kintail’s safety. He seemed somehow invincible, but his choice of activities for the day after his
wedding disturbed her.

“Did he offer any reason for this walk of his?” she asked.

Thomas seemed suddenly reluctant to meet her gaze.

“What is it, Thomas?” Doreen asked. “What’s amiss?”

“Naught,” he replied, glancing at her. Then, drawing a deep breath and looking directly at Molly, he said, “The laird be in
a fashious mood, is all. He said he were unfit for company and that a stretch o’ his legs would do him good. But he isna a
fool, no wi’ Donald likely up to mischief, as he is, so, he did agree to take the two other lads along.”

Realizing that Doreen and Mauri were also evading her gaze now, Molly knew that they, and Thomas, too, all thought that somehow
she had angered Kintail. She nearly told them that she had done nothing of the sort but thought better of it. If she had learned
anything about her new husband, she had learned that he would not like hearing that she had discussed his private business
with others.

It also occurred to her that she might have done something unwittingly. Since her memories of the previous night seemed untrustworthy,
such a possibility did exist. There being therefore nothing she could say that would ease their concern, she was grateful
when Thomas took advantage of the silence to say diffidently that he wondered if Doreen had time to take a wee walk with him.

“Since Donald will likely make trouble soon, we must snatch what time we have, lass,” he said, smiling at her. “We’ve things
to discuss, ye ken, but I’ve scarce had two minutes o’ your time since we came here.”

When Doreen began to list things she ought to do instead, Mauri laughed and told her to get along. “I’ve plenty of women to
help me,” she said. “They’ll all be off by end of day, but for now, ye go wi’ your Thomas. And, mistress, ye should go along
back upstairs. I warrant the laird will expect to find ye where he left ye.”

Molly obeyed, not because she believed that Kintail would expect her to stay in his bedchamber but because she wanted to think.
Her thoughts provided little guidance, though, and the hours passed slowly. When he had not returned by late afternoon, she
went downstairs again.

“It seems odd that he would stay away so long,” she told Mauri.

Mauri laughed. “No so odd, m’lady. If Wild Fin’s in a temper, nae man will hurry him.”

Mauri said nothing about Molly’s going back upstairs after that, and Molly realized that the older woman feared now that she
worried about Kintail’s safety. However, she worried only that she might unwittingly have been the one to put him in a temper.
She had not the least idea how she could have, though, and her own temper was beginning to stir.

Clearly wanting to distract her thoughts, Mauri gave her a box of recipes collected over time by various mistresses of the
castle, and suggested that she select a few dishes from them that might please her. Molly was still poring over these in a
small chamber near the kitchen when at last she heard Kintail’s voice.

Closing the box of recipes, she jumped to her feet, but he was already in the doorway, filling it. He wore chain mail, sword,
and dirk, but he had taken off his helmet—and his gloves if he’d worn them. His dark hair looked damp and curly.

She reached out to him, then pulled her hand back, feeling strangely shy.

“What the devil are you doing, hiding away down here?” he demanded, looming over her, his look and tone revealing that his
mood had not improved much since Thomas had left him.

“I was choosing recipes,” she said. “You were gone all day.”

“I know,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair and looking rueful. “I’ve been busy, lass, but I’ve returned now, and what
do I find but that my wife has hidden herself away to read recipes.” His gaze swept over her from head to foot, and she saw
that his eyes were gleaming as hungrily as they had the previous night.

Her body responded instantly to that look. Holding his gaze, she smiled and said, “I could tell you that I was looking for
ones that would please you.”

“You could,” he said, reaching out to tweak a curl that had escaped from her coif. “But I have learned to doubt such words
from your lips, lassie. Have I told you that you have beautiful lips?” he asked, bending to kiss them, while still holding
the curl coiled round his finger.

The kiss began gently but soon deepened, becoming more possessive, more demanding, and her lips parted when his tongue pressed
against them. An arm slid around her, pulling her closer, and when her breasts met the hardness of his shirt of mail, their
nipples came alive, pushing against her bodice. His fingers slipped free of the curl twined around them, and moved to stroke
her left breast.

“Just touching you makes my hands tingle,” he murmured before kissing her again. His touch and his kisses were doing more
than that to her.

He was very large and very near, making her conscious of how small the chamber was. She heard faint noises from the nearby
kitchen, but they did not trouble her. She cared only about him and the feelings he stirred in her.

Breaking off the kiss, he said abruptly, “Can you swim?”

She blinked, struggled to regain her wits, and then nodded warily.

“I thought as much,” he said with satisfaction. “Knowing how capable you are on a horse and with a longbow, and how determinedly
you seek to do whatever you want to do, I dared to hope that you could.”

“Why?”

“Because I am going to take you to a secret place I enjoyed as a child and to which I return when I want to be alone.”

“Do you want to be alone tonight, then?”

“I want to be private with my wife. Will you come with me?”

“Aye, sir, of course I will, if you wish it.”

He gave her a look that told her he had thought she might say something else, or perhaps that he had hoped she would, but
he said only, “Good.”

“Do we go at once or should I change to some other dress?”

“I don’t care a jot what you wear, but you’ll want a mantle for afterward, and a warm one, at that. The afternoon has been
fine, but the night may turn cold.”

“Do you really mean to swim, sir?”

“I do.”

“Is it not too late in the day? It will be suppertime soon.”

“And it may well be dark before we swim, lass. Wait and see. Now, go and fetch that warm mantle and a pair of stout shoes.
I’ll see to the rest.”

When she rejoined him, he also carried a mantle. She learned that Mauri had packed a supper for them and that he intended
to carry the bundle himself.

“Do we not take horses?” she asked, remembering the day he had taken her around to meet so many of his tenants.

“Nay, we’ll walk.” The narrow-eyed look he shot her reminded her that he had forbidden her to ride, but he did not mention
that, and she was grateful.