Amanda Scott (50 page)

After a pause, Nell said, “Good night, my dear ones.”

They heard her quick footsteps fading into the distance as he said gently, “Did you want to discuss it all with her now?”

“She may forget everything by morning.”

“She won’t forget that,” he said. “Maggie Malloch said we’d remember that your sister is alive, and any memories Nell may
have of her whereabouts have nothing to do with what happened today. Whatever she remembered tonight will linger and may even
be clearer tomorrow, but we will do as you choose.” His hand stroked her belly lightly.

“We’ll wait,” she said. “We’re going to find Bessie, and despite what Maggie said earlier, I believe she will help us. She
seemed angry to learn that someone had hidden the truth from her. She won’t let them get away with it.”

“Excellent; so where would you like me to touch you next?” he asked, his sensuous tone stirring the embers inside her.

“Here,” she said, showing him and stirring in languorous delight when he complied. Nevertheless, before long, an errant thought
struck her.

“Did I hear you say that you love me?”

“I did. You are mine, Molly, my lass, and will remain so for all of our days.”

“I love you, too,” she said, “but just remember one thing, Fin Mackenzie.”

“What’s that?” he asked lazily, toying with the tip of her breast.

“You no longer have license to accost innocent maidens walking home on dark nights.”

“I’m still master here and at Eilean Donan,” he said.

“You’ll have to keep me happy if you want to prevent such events in future.”

“Recall my skill with a bow and arrow, sir. I can render you unequal to—”

“You win, sweetheart,” he interjected swiftly, wincing. “I promise, on my oath, to remain true to you forever. Now, go to
sleep.”

Chuckling, she snuggled against him. When she heard his breathing slow and deepen, she sighed and snuggled closer, taking
comfort from the warmth of his body, knowing she belonged with him and that she had found her true home at last.

Sleepily, she murmured, “Thank you, Maggie Malloch, wherever you are.”

I hope you enjoyed
Abducted Heiress
. When it was suggested that I include fairies and their ilk in Fin and Molly’s book, I studied many fairy and spirit legends
from the Highlands and Borders of Scotland. Much of the information I’ve used comes from two sources:
The Clans of Darkness
, edited by Peter Henning, and
The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries
by Walter Y. Evans-Wentz. I am also indebted to the latter for certain details of the crofters’
ceilidh
at the beginning of the story.

After studying fairies, I looked for Scottish historical events that might plausibly have relied on “fairy intervention.”
When I came upon the story of the 1539 attack on Eilean Donan, I knew I’d found what I wanted.

The versions differ drastically (especially those offered by the Macdonalds, Mackenzies, and MacRaes), but to take the widest
extremes of each, imagine as many as fifty galleys full of Macdonalds (each galley holding approximately forty to fifty armed
men) attacking a castle that contained only three men, who defended it successfully. Surely, fairies must have had something
to do with it, especially when one takes into account the small size of Loch Duich and the area around the castle.

After discussing this attack with the present Laird of Kintail, I decided to use his version primarily and adjust it to suit
my story. Citing an 1886 Edinburgh reprint of
History of the MacRaes
by Alexander MacRae of Kintail (1587–1634), he suggested a more probable number of three to four galleys. He also provided
me with the names and ages of the five people in the castle during the attack: Mauri and Malcolm MacRae, their infant daughter
Morag, Ian Dubh Matheson, and Duncan MacRae, who shot the famous arrow that killed Macdonald of Sleat. Sir Patrick MacRae
is patterned on Duncan, who became constable of Eilean Donan in 1539 after the death of Ian Dubh Matheson Fernaig, who was
killed during the attack.

For those of you who are purists when it comes to British titles, let me assure you that Fin Mackenzie is not Lord Mackenzie.
In sixteenth-century Scotland, a barony, with all its rights and privileges, including the power of the pit and the gallows,
did not necessarily mean the baron could call himself a lord. According to Sir Ian Moncrieffe of that Ilk (
The Highland Clans
, Barrie & Jenkins, Ltd., 1977) Kintail was erected into a barony in 1508. However, there was no “Lord Mackenzie of Kintail”
until 1609, when the position was raised to the peerage, giving the holder of the title the right to sit in the Scottish Parliament
and call himself a lord. To call Fin “Mackenzie of Kintail” is accurate and is the manner for equivalent titles of the period
(various Douglases, Scotts, Macdonalds, etc.).

The Mackenzies did hold Eilean Donan in 1539, but both Fin and Molly are fictional characters, and MacRaes now own the castle.

I would like to extend a heartfelt thank you to Donald R. MacRae, the present Laird of Kintail, for his help in understanding
Eilean Donan’s history (and for his extraordinary patience in answering my many questions). I would also like to thank him
for permitting me to “rewrite” his family history, even to the extent of letting a female shoot that MacRae arrow. When I
asked if he would mind my doing that, he did suggest that for a female to use a longbow would be implausible, but when I
pointed out that she had fairies on her side, he agreed that it would be possible and told me about the wee people who inhabit
the woods of Kintail. It is his description that I used for the glade in the first scene with Catriona and Claud, and he is
also my “authority” for the sensation of peripheral movement that one experiences when one first begins to realize that wee
people are nearby.

I would also like to thank Pam Hessey, in particular, and other members of the California Hawking Club, in general, for helping
me get the hunting scene right. And I must thank Nancy and Charles Williams for their unfailing support and their help in
tracking down research books. Many thanks also to Suzanne and Jim Arnold of Serenery for providing so many great pictures
of Eilean Donan to refresh my memories of the castle and its splendid setting, and to all the dedicated folks who man the
clan tents at the numerous Scottish and Highland Festivals in California, Washington, Oregon, and Arizona who have enthusiastically
assisted me in my research. Last but hardly least, special thanks go to Maggie Crawford, Beth de Guzman, and Karen Kosztolnyik,
my editors at Warner, for their generous advice and encouragement when it came to blending the fairies’ world with Fin and
Molly’s. It’s been great fun.

If you’ve enjoyed
Abducted Heiress
, I hope you will look forward to reading the adventures of Molly’s little sister, Bess, when she meets Sir Patrick MacRae.
Hidden Heiress
will arrive at your favorite bookstore in summer 2002. In the meantime, happy reading!

          Sincerely,

Return to the misty isle of Scotland, where
Bess Gordon’s story unfolds in a magical world
of romance, fairies, and intrigue….

The Secret Clan

HIDDEN HEIRESS

by Amanda Scott

Available from Warner Books in Summer 2002

For a sneak preview of
Hidden Heiress,
please turn the page.

The Scottish Borders, March 1541

“E
lspeth!” The feminine shriek rang through the sun-dappled woods.

Silence followed. Not even a bird twittered.

“Elspeth, where are you? Her ladyship wants you, and if I have to search for you, be sure that you will regret it. Come home
at once!”

More silence. No breeze stirred, no leaf twitched. It was as if every living thing in the woods held its breath, so quiet
that one could hear the rushing of a burn some distance away.

Minutes passed without a sound, but no more shrieks shattered the silence; and at last a small cottontail rabbit hopped out
from beneath a bush, paused, and looked about. Apparently satisfied that the offensive intruder had departed, it turned its
attention to a nearby patch of new grass.

When the
chip-chip-chwee
of a chaffinch sounded from a treetop, echoed immediately by the chattering of a squirrel, a certain thick clump of shrubbery
slowly parted in front of what looked like a rock slab, and a face appeared.

It was a lovely face, oval with high cheekbones, black-fringed gray-green eyes, a tip-tilted, freckled little nose, and full,
rosy lips. The slim, arched eyebrows were considerably lighter than the lashes but many shades darker than the flaxen hair
that fell in a long silken sheet, framing the pretty face. The eyes were wide and watchful. The head turned cautiously, looking
to the right and to the left.

The bunny continued to graze, the birds to sing. One small, rawhide-shod foot stepped forth from the shrubbery, followed by
the other, whereupon the slender figure of a young woman, seventeen or eighteen years of age, was revealed. She wore a simple
faded blue gown with a plain white apron, and if she had earlier worn the customary white coif and ruffled cap that most females
wore in daytime she had mislaid both elsewhere.

Free of the shrubbery, she paused and listened, and one could see that her fine, straight hair reached all the way to her
hips. Apparently realizing that it required some sort of confinement, she reached back over one shoulder with both hands and
gathered it, flipping it forward to plait it with quick, experienced fingers.

The birds continued to sing, and although the little rabbit had stopped grazing and seemed alert to possible danger, it did
not dart away.

The plait finished, albeit loosely and showing little indication that it would remain so for long, Elspeth Douglas drew a
deep breath and exhaled. She would have to go home now, and on the way, she would have to think of an acceptable excuse for
her tardiness. Not that any excuse would help if Lady Farnsworth was already angry with her, but at least Drusilla had gone
away. She could be sure of that, because the young woman was wholly incapable of keeping silent, let alone of moving silently
enough to fool the birds and other creatures of the woods.

That she had to return was a pity, because the day was a particularly fine one for April, and she enjoyed the solitude of
the woods. Moreover, she could not be sure that Drusilla had shrieked the truth at her. The elder of the two Farnsworth daughters
might easily have come looking for her without a command to do so, because Drusilla was not kind and often exerted herself
to make Elspeth’s life difficult, and others’ lives as well. Less than a week before, her complaints that Sir Hector’s falconer
had dared to flirt with her had cost the man his position.

As these thoughts flitted through Elspeth’s mind, a new sound intruded on the woodland peace. Although distant, it was nonetheless
easily identifiable as the baying of sleuthhounds, and it sounded as though they were heading toward her.

To hear such sounds in daytime was unusual, for the hounds generally were used for chasing reivers, and reivers generally
did their reiving by moonlight. Doubtless, someone was either training his dogs or—although the season was young yet—using
them to hunt rabbits or deer. In either event, she knew she would be wise to leave the woods before the hounds surged into
view. No animal had ever harmed her, but a sensible person left unknown dogs to themselves.

Elspeth turned reluctantly homeward, but she had taken only a few steps when, just as she sensed a presence looming behind
her, a large, warm hand clamped over her mouth and a muscular arm wrapped tightly around her torso, lifting her off the ground
and holding her securely against a hard, masculine body.

Kicking backward, her heel connected solidly with a shin, and she had the satisfaction of hearing a muffled grunt of pain,
but her captor did not release her. Instead, his grip across her chest tightened, making it hard for her to breathe.