“Our father taught me how to night-walk at the same time he taught Kendrew. A wise man, he believed such a talent as slipping through the night unseen might someday benefit his daughter as well as his son. Truth is, all Mackintoshes know such secrets.” Marjory went over to the sack, began pulling out the lengths of black linen.
She hoped Isobel would understand and leave.
She couldn’t bear goodbyes.
A sniff behind her proved Isobel knew their parting was nigh.
“I shall miss you so!” Her friend hugged her, holding her tight.
“And I you.” Marjory squeezed her back. “Now go, please.” She glanced at the night sky, saw the moon was just rising over Nought’s peaks. “I should be away already.”
But when she looked back at Isobel, her friend was gone.
Marjory blinked, glancing about. Had Kendrew schooled his wife in night-walking? She wouldn’t have been surprised. Then, from across the stone garden’s stillness, she heard the low thud of the hall door closing.
Isobel was once again within the keep.
And she should be on her way.
But first she closed her eyes and took a long, deep breath, filling her lungs with the familiar scent of cold, damp stone and crisp night air.
Then she said a silent prayer to all the gods of her beloved home, asking them to bless every soul within Nought’s bounds, most especially her brother.
She truly did love Kendrew.
But she loved Alasdair more. And so she removed her clothes, stashing them deep inside the cloth sack. Then she opened the first jar of peat juice and began smearing its blackness on her skin.
A short while later, as the gloaming turned to night, Nought’s clean, cold winds picked up and the curling mists thickened. And in the stone garden, a shadow moved out of an empty bower to slip through the high garden gate and then down the steep stone steps to the rocky vale below. No one blinked at the shadow’s passing and the night’s deep tranquility was only broken by the soft whimpers of a tiny dog.
But the good men of Nought loved dogs.
And cherished as they were, the beasties had free rein of the grounds.
A wee dog’s scuffling of an e’en were nothing unusual.
And so it was that Marjory and Hercules made their escape from Nought, slipping away into the darkness, their passage unnoticed.
Hours later, but on the opposite end of the Glen of Many Legends, at Blackshore Castle, someone else’s appearance was anything but quiet. Horns blared from the castle walls, dogs barked, and a small party of mussed and mud-stained Lowlanders rode hell-bent across the stronghold’s low stone causeway, racing for the castle gates.
Alasdair stood there, watching their approach with disbelief.
He recognized one of them as a man who’d not been to Blackshore since the trial by combat over two years before. He was a courtier who hadn’t been welcome then and wasn’t seen gladly now either.
Sir Walter Lindsay, the King’s man.
Only as he reined in before Blackshore’s steps and swung down from his costly leather-tooled saddle, he didn’t look half as lofty or arrogant as he had so long ago when he’d come to declare the King’s will.
He looked shaken to the core.
And – Alasdair now saw in the torchlight of his gatehouse – Sir Walter wasn’t just mussed and muddied. He was also blood-stained.
“Sir Walter – I greet you!” Alasdair strode over to him. “What brings you to Blackshore?” He eyed the red smears on the noble’s cloak, the tears in his thickly embroidered tunic. “I see you’ve had a rough journey.”
“A terrible one!” The man glanced at his companions, then back at Alasdair. “We came upon a group of wandering pilgrims who’d been set upon by brigands. Slaughtered to a man for a priceless relic they carried, or so one of them claimed before he died.”
Alasdair frowned, ushering Sir Walter and his men inside the hall, leading them to the hearth fire so they could warm themselves. “It appears you were also in an affray? Is that why you’ve come here, to refresh yourselves before returning to court?”
“The court sent me here.” Sir Walter’s answer surprised Alasdair.
“Indeed?” He arched a brow, a suspicion rising. “Can it be that Kendrew Mackintosh summoned you?”
Ewan and Malcolm appeared at Alasdair’s side, both men unsmiling. Others quickly joined them, none greeting the strangers kindly. Lowlanders weren’t generally welcome at Blackshore. And those from the crown were regarded even more warily.
“I came here on the King’s business, MacDonald.” Sir Walter kept his gaze on Alasdair, ignoring the other men. He stood straighter, brushed at his sleeve, a bit of his old loftiness beginning to glimmer through. “Word came to us that you have been stirring trouble again. The accusation was made by someone much higher than Nought. A man whose concerns were taken seriously by the King and so I was to inform you-”
“Was?” Alasdair gripped Sir Walter’s arm. “Are you no longer?”
“I think not.” Sir Walter held his gaze, clearly displeased by his admission.
“Explain.” Alasdair released him, stepping back and crossing his arms. “You have no’ made much sense since pounding up to my door. Indeed” – he glanced around at his men, standing in a tight circle around them – “I’m of a mind to show you that door if I dinnae care for your answer.”
Sir Walter’s expression changed at once, his arrogance fading. “I want no trouble here,” he said, glancing at Alasdair’s men, surely noting that they stood with hands on their sword hilts. “Truth is, we only require baths if we may have them. A bit of bandaging for our cuts, and beds for the night, and we’ll be on our way at first light.
“And” – he swallowed, sounding pained – “I would apologize in the name of my King for inconveniences caused you in recent times.”
Alasdair frowned. “Now you are speaking in riddles. You’d best explain yourself.”
Sir Walter glanced at his companions. To a man, they slunk away, retreating on the pretense of holding their hands to the fire.
Alasdair lifted a brow. “Well?”
“My men and I pursued the brigands who’d massacred the pilgrims. When we caught them, there was a fight.” He paused, clearly uncomfortable. “My men and I are expert sworders. To our surprise the ruffians fought with equal skill and finesse. After we cut finally prevailed, cutting them down, we discovered why they swung their swords so well.
“They were court men, disguised as common thieves. We knew their leader well. He serves one of the King’s bastard sons, a young man whose aspirations exceed his station and who-”
“What are you saying?” Alasdair stepped closer to him, looming over the smaller man. “Dinnae tell me one of the King’s own brood would set men upon pilgrims?”
Sir Walter shifted, swallowing again. “I fear it is worse than that, sir.”
Alasdair just looked at him, waiting.
“One of the men took a while to die,” Sir Walter explained. “Apparently his imminent end made loosened his tongue, making him fear God more than the man he served. He told us they’d heard the pilgrims carried a precious saint’s relic and when they found no such treasure on the men, they were angered and so slew them, innocents though they were.
“He also spoke of you, claiming his lord had often sent troops of broken men here, to your Glen of Many Legends, to cause havoc. His lord, the King’s bastard, hoped to stir enough trouble and woe here, always putting the blame on you and the other glen chiefs, so that the King would grow fed up with the lot of you and make good his threat to banish your clans from the glen.”
“And then this man would step in and claim our lands as his own?” Alasdair felt his temper rising. “Tell me that isn’t so.”
Sir Walter just looked at him.
“Is there more?” Something told Alasdair there was.
Sir Walter nodded. “Isn’t there a maid you favor? Can she be Lady Marjory? Kendrew Mackintosh’s sister?”
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“What of her?” Alasdair’s vision hazed red. He grabbed Sir Walter by the arms, lifting him off the floor. “What has she to do with this?”
“Nothing, sir, nothing at all.” Sir Walter wriggled in Alasdair’s grip. “It is only” – he gasped, nearly dropped to his knees when Alasdair released him – “the brigand we questioned claimed payment was made to a Norseman so that he would offer for her hand. The plan was that such a union would outrage you and you’d fight her brother, giving the King’s bastard enough reason to urge his father to banish you once and for all time.”
“By the hounds!” Alasdair roared. He could feel his blood boiling, his face heating. He threw back his head and clenched his fists, everything around him blurring, his pulse pounding in his ears.
When he looked again at Sir Walter, he almost felt sorry for the man.
He’d blanched. And – Alasdair could scarce believe it – he appeared to be trembling.
Still, Alasdair bellowed again. “I have ne’er heard such madness!” He whirled about, pacing a few steps before he stopped and slammed his fist on a table. “Even Mackintosh wouldn’t stoop so low.
“Is there more?” He strode back over to Sir Walter, disbelief and fury sluicing him.
Somewhere his men were arguing, he could hear their raised voices. And the castle dogs had gone wild, barking a storm, the din almost deafening.
Alasdair ignored the chaos, his gaze only on the Lowlander. “Well, is there?”
“If there is, I cannot say. The man died before we could question him further. I can promise” – Sir Walter drew a deep breath, again looking discomfited – “that I will report the entire matter to my King. He will be assured of your continued honor and loyalty.
“And he is sure to punish the young man responsible.” He straightened then, seeming to regain his dignity now that he’d said all that he must. “I am close enough to the crown to give you my word that you and the other glen chiefs will never again be harassed. Like as not, you will also receive recompense for such troubles in the past.”
“I do not care about recompense.” Alasdair began pacing again. “I care about Marjory Mackintosh. She is to be my wife, see you?” He spoke loudly and clear, lifting his voice so that every man in the hall could hear him. “I meant to ride to Nought for her this very e’en and would’ve been on my way had you not appeared.”
“I am sorry, sir.” Sir Walter did sound regretful.
“Haste is needed. Viking ships have been seen hereabouts of late. I will no’ see my intended placed in danger.” Alasdair glanced at Ewan and Malcolm, at Angus and Farlan, so many of his other men, all gathered round.
Not a one of them looked shocked or outraged.
Far from it, they were grumbling amongst themselves about Norn, praising her and fretting about her safety, vowing to tear apart anyone who’d dare harm her.
Only Malcolm wasn’t speaking.
The old man had turned aside, was dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve.
“Damnation,” Alasdair snarled, his own eyes stinging.
It appeared he wouldn’t have to leave Blackshore at all.
Although, after all that had transpired, if something happened to Marjory, he doubted he could bear to stay on here without her.
He turned back to Sir Walter, his anger rising again. “If any harm comes to my lady, even your King will not be safe from my wrath.”
The little man almost spluttered. “I am sure all will be well with her, sir. Word travels fast in these parts. Could be the King is already aware of the treachery and has taken due measures.”
Alasdair scarce heard him.
There was another commotion at his door. Sir Walter’s companions were huddled together staring round-eyed and aghast into the shadows of the hall’s arched entry. And Alasdair’s own men were laughing and shouting, running forward, whooping like fools.
Sir Walter also looked about, blanching as he raised an arm to point at the door. “Holy saints, protect us! It’s a haint!”
“A ghost?” Alasdair couldn’t stop a shiver, for one crazy moment wondering if Drangar had decided to visit his old stronghold.
But then the men surging the entry parted, making way for the spirit to enter the hall.
She was Norn.
Black-haired, dark-skinned, and swathed head to toe in sooty linen, but her sparkling blue eyes gave her away.
As did the smile she gave him as she came forward.
And perhaps the cheeky little dog who pranced along beside her, barking at Alasdair’s hounds.
“Norn!” He ran across the hall, sweeping her up into his arms and crushing her against him. “Praise be, you’re safe, my heart.”
He set her on her feet and grabbed her face, holding her fast as he kissed her deeply, only vaguely noting the sudden cheering of him men. Their foot stomping and ale cup clanking, all the hoots and shouts of glee. Even Sir Walter and his companions were smiling, though none of them ventured too close to Marjory.
She did look a fright.
“Sweet lass, what have you done to yourself?” Alasdair dragged the back of his hand over his lips, noting that she tasted of peat. “How did you get here? Surely you didn’t walk?”
“I flew.” She smiled, glancing after Hercules who was now running circles about the hall, chasing Alasdair’s beasts as if he already held sway here.
“Dinnae jest with me, sweet.” Alasdair picked her up again, started for the stair tower that led to his quarters. “I ken something dire has happened or you wouldn’t be here in such a state.”
“I’m here as a night-walker.” She shifted in his arms to look at him. “You’ll know my clan uses such magic to move through the night unseen. It’s a skill of all Mackintoshes, not just the men. And” – she lifted a hand to touch his face, that simple contact filling him with such happiness he thought his heart might burst – “using such a guise was the best way for me to escape Nought. I had to-”
“Dinnae tell me Kendrew threatened you?” They’d reached his door and he kicked it open, not caring if he split the wood. “I’ll tear him apart and-”
“He didn’t hurt me, though…” She paused just long enough to make his rage flare. “In his attempts to be a good brother, he accepted a marriage offer for me that I had to avoid. And not just because of you.
“There were other reasons…” She slipped from his arms, began unwinding the lengths of black cloth she’d wrapped about herself. She told him everything as she did, finishing in the bath several of his servants brought to the room. They’d appeared unbidden, carrying in the tub and ewers of steaming water and bathing linens in a show of acceptance and loyalty that made Alasdair’s heart split.
His people were welcoming her.
He would never let her out of his sight again.
“You’re ne’er leaving here again, Norn.” He told her so, just to make certain she understood. “I’ll still speak with your brother. I’ll take you to visit Nought whene’er you wish. But you’re mine now. We’ll wed so soon as possible and then-” His voice broke. “You do still wish to marry me?”
He had to know.
He couldn’t bear to lose her now, not after all they’d been through.
“Why do you think I’m here?” She smiled, the love in her eyes answer enough.
Alasdair crossed the room in swift strides and she stood and reached for him, naked and dripping. His heart slammed against his ribs and he lifted her from the bathing tub, pulling her into his arms.
“Sweet Norn!” He held her tight, running his hands up and down her wet back, then gripping her arms as he lowered his head to kiss her fiercely.
“I thought I’d lost you.” He pulled back, looking at her, drinking her in as if he could never get enough of just having her near. “When Sir Walter mentioned a Viking lord receiving payment to offer for you, I thought the world ended. The black-painted ships that have been seen about-”
“They are surely on their way back to Norway now.” She sounded s
o sure, her beautiful smile bright and confident. “I am safe here. I knew I would be-”
A loud horn blast cut her off, the sound repeated again and again. Then the pounding of running feet approaching, someone hammering on the door…
“Stay here.” Alasdair grabbed a spare plaid off a chair and swirled it around her nakedness. Then he ran to door, flinging it wide.
Ewan stood there, sword in hand.
“The Vikings,” he blurted. “They’re coming in the loch, full-manned and armed for war.”
“Then we’ll fight them on their terms – our best men and best galleys will make short work of them.” Alasdair hoped it was so.
Ewan didn’t look so confident.
And he avoided Marjory’s gaze, even flushing when she hurried over to them, clutching the plaid around her.
“How many Viking ships?” She looked from Ewan to Alasdair. “I believe the MacDonald galleys are more?”
“Aye, they are, my lady.” Ewan answered before Alasdair could speak. “The Viking ships are two. The black-painted dragon ships we’ve seen hereabouts for a while.”
“If they are only a pair, we’ll be done with them quickly.” Alasdair wrapped his arm around Marjory, drawing her close, hoping to chase her worry.
Ewan’s gloom wasn’t helping her.
Alasdair frowned at him. “Be gone, lad. Make haste and pass on my orders to man the ships. I’ll be in the hall right after you.”
The lad didn’t move.
“There is something else.” He looked again at Marjory, pity in his eyes.
“Then out with it. Now!” Alasdair tamped down the urge to shake him.
“The Vikings aren’t the only problem.” Ewan tightened his lips for a moment, inhaled sharply. “Kendrew is here as well.”
“Kendrew?” Alasdair stared at him.
Ewan nodded. “Aye, he is, and he’s brought all his fighting men with him. They’re no’ coming to the keep. They’re lining up on the cliffs, their purpose clear.”
“Holy gods!” Alasdair shoved both hands through his hair, dread sluicing him.
Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4) Page 31
