“Then who will lead your men onto King Robert’s field of foolery?” a husky female voice queried from the door arch. “You’d both be here, gathering dust and doing no good, while your champions face trials no warrior should suffer without knowing his chief fights at the front of the affray.”
“There speaks the bane of my life!” Kendrew’s shout could’ve raised the dead, but admiration kindled in his eyes as he pushed past Alasdair to confront the young woman on the threshold. “MacDonalds—behold my fair and most wise sister, Lady Marjory!”
Catriona stared at Marjory Mackintosh, seeing at once why she was called Lady Norn.
Tall and generously made, Marjory had sparkling blue eyes and a welter of curling red-gold hair every bit as wild as her brother’s. Hair nothing like Catriona’s own garnet-colored tresses, but sun-flashed curls with only a hint of red and shining with all the golden-blond brightness of a Nordic summer sun.
She wore a colorful gown in rich blue and gold tones, the bodice cut low and laced to highlight every ripe curve of her shapely body.
She could be a Viking goddess.
And—Catriona could scarce believe it—without even setting a foot in the hall, Marjory achieved what no other female had ever done: she’d rendered Alasdair speechless.
His face was still flushed with anger, but he’d unclenched his fists and his eyes had gone just as wide as Catriona’s. The look in them as he stared across the hall at Marjory would’ve made her laugh if they weren’t all caught up in such a grim tangle.
But Alasdair recovered swiftly, crossing the hall to make Kendrew’s sister a gallant bow. “Lady Marjory.” He took her hand, kissing the air above her knuckles. “I am honored. Though”—he shot a dark look at Kendrew, who was grinning—“it grieves me to meet you under such circumstances.”
“They are regrettable, I agree.” Lady Marjory’s blue eyes flashed, her hair glowing like sunfire in the torchlight.
Catriona almost choked. She couldn’t guess the other woman’s mind. But she knew it didn’t pain Alasdair at all to meet Lady Norn.
He’d almost stumbled over his own feet hastening to bend his knee to her. Catriona squelched the urge to make a tart comment when he signaled for her to join him.
It wasn’t easy.
But Marjory Mackintosh had warm, laughing eyes. And from the statement she’d made at the door, she also possessed spirit and wit, which were things Catriona admired.
“This is my sister.” Alasdair turned to her when she stepped up to them. “Lady Catriona of Blackshore. She’s with me because we’d been at Castle Haven earlier. There wasn’t time to ride south to Blackshore and then hasten north again to Nought, so we made the journey directly. I had tidings to share with your brother.”
Beside them, Kendrew snorted. “So you say.”
His sister lifted a pale gold brow. “Do you have reason to doubt him?”
Kendrew glared at her. “Does a herring swim in the sea?”
“True enough.” Lady Marjory shoved a sheaf of tumbled curls over her shoulder. “But sometimes they also land in hot, sizzling cooking fat and swim in the dark of a man’s belly.”
“See what I must listen to, every day o’ my life?” Kendrew turned again to Alasdair. “I will sell her to you for the weight of a good barrel of ale in silver. If you think you could stomach her.”
Marjory didn’t look offended. “All you’ve done”—she fixed her blue gaze on her brother—“was demonstrate what I must tolerate, living with you.”
Ignoring Kendrew’s grumblings, she reached for Catriona’s hand, her grip strong and firm. “Lady Catriona.” Her voice was low-pitched and smooth, friendly. “I am sorry for how you were treated on arriving here. Perhaps I can make amends for my kinsmen’s error—”
“We didn’t err.” Kendrew shot Alasdair a heated look. “Thon bastard and his men should be fodder for carrion by now. They would be, no mistakes made, if he hadn’t brought along his sister’s skirts to hide behind.”
“Have a care, Mackintosh.” Alasdair took a step toward him, threatening. “I’ll no’ draw my sword in front of your sister, but if you dinnae cease insulting me, I’ll gut you first chance I get. The fish in Loch Moidart can gorge on your flesh, and I’ll order my squires to make rope out of your dried innards.”
Catriona stifled a lip-twitch. Alasdair was so noble he gave any fallen foe a hero’s burial, often tending the grisly task himself in honor of the dead warrior’s bravery.
As if she suspected the same, Lady Norn watched him with interest.
Unaware, Alasdair balled his fists, his hot gaze on Kendrew. “That’s only half of it. We’ll use your ground bones to nourish our crops. And if there’s anything left, we’ll feed the remains to the crows.”
“Hah!” Kendrew cut the air with a hand. “If you swing your blade as poorly as you shoot arrows, I won’t be for fearing you overmuch.”
“Arrows?” Alasdair glanced at his men. Then he looked back to Kendrew, frowning. “I ne’er shot an arrow at you. Nor did any of my men, that I vow.”
“I say you did—or one o’ your minions, whatever.” Kendrew’s eyes narrowed. “Who else would want me dead? Deny it all you will, your lies change naught.” Striding to an aumbrey set deep in the wall near the hearth, he opened the cupboard’s door and withdrew his evidence.
“Here it be!” Returning to Alasdair, he held out the arrow. A simple goose-feathered shaft tipped with a sharp steel head. “This”—he shook the thing beneath Alasdair’s nose—“came whizzing past my ear when I stepped from the gate three days ago. Good for me, it thwacked into the curtain wall and no’ into my skull.
“If your aim hadn’t been two feet off ”—he slapped the arrow onto a table and spread his hands, indicating the distance of the miss—“I’d no’ be standing here tolerating your foul presence in my hall.”
“I’m a man of the sword, no’ a bow picker.” Alasdair made a derisive sound. “But had I aimed an arrow at you, rest assured I wouldn’t have missed. You have other enemies. Look to them, no’ me.”
Kendrew glared at him. “I did think of Cameron, that hound-lover, but”—he tossed his head, sending his wild red mane swinging about his face—“you’re the one to come sneaking onto my land, no’ James Cameron. So when my spies reported that you were riding through the mist, heading to Nought, I figured you were coming, with men, to finish the job you botched three days ago.”
“Three days ago I was with Cameron.” Alasdair went to examine the arrow, turning it in his hands. “There are no identifying marks. Whoe’er shot this”—he returned the arrow to the table—“went to pains to use an arrow that wouldn’t reveal its owner.”
Kendrew’s face turned red. “Think you I’m a daftie? I know why the shaft doesn’t show an ownership mark.”
“And now you also know it wasn’t me or James Cameron. We were together at Castle Haven. My sister”—Alasdair glanced at Catriona—“and my men will swear we were there for nearly a sennight. Cameron will tell you the same if e’er you ask him.”
“Why should I believe either of you?” Kendrew started to pace, then wheeled around. “Come to think of it, what were you doing at Castle Haven? Or”—he thrust his red-bearded chin—“are the two o’ you throwing your lots together to oust me from the glen?”
“I’m my own man.” Alasdair didn’t flinch. “But Cameron and I are of a mind about certain matters. That’s why I came here. And now”—he glanced at his men—“hearing that someone tried to kill you—”
“Someone who shot his arrow from hiding and then rode off before anyone could see him. I heard his horse’s hooves racing away, fast as night.” Kendrew spat on the floor rushes, earning a sharp look from Lady Norn.
“Kendrew…” She went over to him, slipping her hand through his arm. “I’ve ordered a repast, victuals and good mead to soothe the wrong you’ve done—”
“I’ve done no wrong! Or have you been sticking your fingers in your ears as well as interfering in af
fairs that are none of your concern?” He jerked away from her just as a line of kitchen laddies marched into the hall bearing platters of ripe green cheese, freshly baked bread, smoked herring, and huge trays of steaming beef ribs.
“Thor’s jumping hammer!” Kendrew’s face turned purple.
“Nae.” His sister angled her chin reprovingly. “Hospitality for guests as is custom in these hills, or have you forgotten?”
“Then I say we give them thon bandaging.” Kendrew stalked to a table piled high with folded linens. “That will suit as courtesy. And save us the trouble of carrying them to the trial by combat.”
“Kendrew!” Marjory hastened after him. “Now isn’t the time to speak of such things. Not after what could’ve happened at the cliff stair.”
“Humph.” Kendrew set his mouth in a hard line.
“We do not need your wound linens.” Alasdair looked from Kendrew to the folded cloths and back again to his foe. “We have enough—”
“Hah! You misheard me, you did.” Kendrew barked a short, harsh laugh. Then he gave Alasdair the kind of look he might have worn if he’d just thrown open the gates to Niflheim, the Norsemen’s frozen underworld realm of cold mist and unending darkness.
Viking hell.
His eyes still glinting, Kendrew folded his powerful arms. “The bandaging isn’t for my warriors. We shall win the battle and leave the field unscathed. My sister and her women made the linens for you!
“A token courtesy we meant to deliver to you and Cameron on the day.” He thrust his chin arrogantly. “That’s my hospitality to you, no’ my good victuals and mead.”
“You’re a snake.” Alasdair clenched his fists, advancing on him.
Marjory stepped between them, flashing a furious glance at her brother, then touching Alasdair’s arm. “He is riled. You can’t know how much he reviles the mistreating of women. What happened at the stair has shamed him. That’s why—”
“Hold your tongue.” Kendrew pulled her away from Alasdair. “I’m angry, no’ shamed,” he roared, his deep voice rolling through the hall like trapped thunder.
Ignoring him, Marjory turned back to Alasdair. Her glance also flicked to Catriona and the MacDonald guardsmen. “When I learned what happened, I ordered rooms prepared for you. So you can recover and refresh yourselves before you leave in the morning. Besides.” She cast a challenging look at Kendrew, as if she expected him to argue. “It isn’t wise to ride through the dreagan rocks at night. Even we do not.”
“Say you. I dance naked on top of the dreagan rocks when the mood takes me. Be it night or day.” Kendrew stomped away, muttering into his beard.
Marjory glanced down the hall to where the kitchen boys were placing the food platters on the high table and then sailed after her brother. “Wait, you!” She caught up to him near the hearth, seizing the back of his plaid so he had no choice but to whip around. “It is enough.” Her voice held the same thunder as Kendrew’s, but her fury was controlled.
“Now”—she released her grip on him and stood back, hands on her hips—“lest good meat is refused, perhaps you’ll finally tell the Lord of Blackshore why our men failed to see his sister in their party?”
“Dinnae goad me.” Kendrew’s angry blue gaze met her icy one. “I speak when it pleases me.”
“If you do not tell them, I will.” Marjory sent a look, a much warmer one, to Catriona. “At least let Lady Catriona know you’ve dealt with the scout who first spied their entourage. He is the one responsible.”
Kendrew tipped back his head and blew out a breath before turning to Catriona. “I’ve punished the watchman. My sister speaks true. He should’ve seen you. The man swears the mist was too thick and that he only knew MacDonalds were crossing onto our land.
“We keep a man posted on our boundaries, always.” He touched the Thor’s amulet at his neck, his fingers gripping the silver. “It was his duty to report to me what he saw, or thought he did. Even so, I’ve ordered him to spend three nights in my dungeon, with only slaked oats and water, to ensure he looks closer next time.”
“I hope he will.” Catriona nodded, relieved.
She’d half expected him to say he’d have the poor man for his breakfast.
Alasdair wasn’t as easily appeased. “What of them?” He jerked his head at the sullen-faced men gathered near two of the hall’s narrow slit windows. They stared back, their faces still smeared with peat and their shoulders yet covered with wolf hides.
“They cannae be blamed.” Kendrew bent a belligerent eye on Alasdair. “Odin’s rage was upon them. Once they’d blackened their faces and donned the wolf skins, the battle frenzy blinded them to anything but their bloodlust. And”—he took a deep breath, as if any explanation burned like bile in his throat—“they had orders to stay hidden behind the dreagan stones until they heard you ride past and knew you’d have enough time to reach the cliff stair, where—”
“You meant to trap and slaughter us.” Alasdair looked at him.
Kendrew glared back. “Would you have done otherwise?”
“No’ if I thought you’d tried to kill me and were returning to finish a botched attempt on my life.” Alasdair’s voice was hard. “But I would’ve first made certain my suspicions held water, that you can be sure.”
Kendrew flushed. “I only have two enemies. You and Cameron. No one else would dare to challenge me.”
Alasdair lifted a hand, studying his knuckles. “Could be we all have an unknown foe? That”—he looked up sharply, fixing Kendrew with a stare—“is why I came here. To find out if you or anyone else at Nought has seen a tall, dark-cloaked man skulking about in shadow. James Cameron and I have seen such a dastard.”
Casting a glance at his men, Alasdair arched a questioning brow. “Are you agreed we share what we know?”
When they nodded, he told Kendrew everything. He began with James’s account of the figure he’d chased through the wood and ended with his own tale of the damaged galleys at Blackshore, leaving out no detail save Catriona’s ploy with Birkie.
He also mentioned the suspicion that Sir Walter was somehow involved.
When he finished, the hall was silent.
Catriona and Marjory exchanged looks. The other woman had come to stand with her as Alasdair told his tale. Catriona couldn’t help but notice that her scent was as vibrant as her looks. It was a seductive dusky rose, with a trace of something exotic Catriona couldn’t place. Whatever it was, the result was pleasing. Perhaps later—unless Alasdair declined her offer of hospitality for the night—she’d ask her about the scent’s ingredients.
Just now it was more interesting watching her listen to Alasdair. Marjory hadn’t taken her gaze off him since he’d started speaking. She had a fiercely intent look on her face that was just as telling as Alasdair’s charge across the hall to make her a gallant bow.
He hadn’t bent his knee half that low to Isobel.
Catriona pushed the thought of James’s sister from her mind. Thinking of Isobel or Castle Haven would remind her of James. And she needed her wits. Nothing would scatter them faster than remembering how she’d lain in his arms as if they’d been made for each other, despite their names.
And regardless of how rudely he’d jumped away from her.
She’d felt his passion.
Even now she could feel his mouth slanting over hers, kissing her fiercely. Or the incredible thrill that had ripped through her when she’d opened her lips to him and his tongue swept against her own. His hands smoothing over her, everywhere, then holding her fast against him. The surging pleasure when he’d slid into her—
“Lady Catriona…”
She started, blinking to find Marjory peering at her.
“I knew your brother would have a good reason for coming here.” Marjory leaned close, her voice low. “He doesn’t seem a rash man, not like Kendrew, who often lets his sword speak before he listens.”
“Alasdair felt it was important to speak with your brother.” Catriona ignored Marjor
y’s other comment. She could’ve sung about Alasdair’s hotheadedness. But seeing Marjory’s face brighten when she spoke of him made it impossible not to hold her tongue.
She liked Lady Norn.
And she didn’t want to disillusion her. Nor would she speak ill of Alasdair in front of a feuding clan.
MacDonald pride was strong, and she wasn’t about to besmirch it.
But she would tease Alasdair mercilessly later. He could never again scold her for her attraction to James after he’d stood in the hall at Nought making moony eyes at his enemy’s sister.
Just now he was looking at Kendrew, waiting. “Well? I’m thinking your arrow-shooter may have been the dark-cloaked figure. Have you seen such a man?”
Kendrew drew a long breath and released it slowly. “Nae, I haven’t done.”
Alasdair nodded. “What of your men?”
“They would have told me.” Kendrew shook his head. “They are loyal, true as stone.”
But he glanced at them now. His warriors who stood so grimly over near the window slits. Sleety rain had just started to strike the windows’ narrow stone ledges, and a cold, damp draught lifted the men’s hair and beards, the fur of their wolf pelts.
One still had his huge battle ax slung over his shoulder. Several had kept their long swords, but they’d set aside their spears.
They all had glowering, hard-set faces.
Kendrew glared back at them, seeming a man who enjoyed scowling.
“You heard.” He watched his men closely. “Any of you seen such a man? Note anything amiss? Besides”—his voice took on a sour note—“a party of MacDonalds?”
“Nothing, lord.” The man with the war ax spoke for the group.
“Well, then.” Kendrew’s gaze met Alasdair’s. “If such a man exists, and I am still no’ convinced, perhaps we can all keep an eye out for him when we march to King Robert’s fighting ground?
“If he’s seen”—he drew a finger across his throat, grinning—“we put him out of his misery.”
Sins of a Highland Devil Page 20
