The discovery of another black mark against Gordon left a sour taste in Niall’s mouth. ‘Dinnae worry, Jean. Who kens what they died of.’
Jean’s eyes widened, round and pale blue in her white face. ‘He said one had a knife in his back. It was murder.’
Of course she managed to blurt out the information just as the Selkie and the lasses gathered round them. Jean’s fear quickly transferred to Niall’s daughters, and he could feel the tension leaping betwixt them like sheet lightning in a clear sky, falling where it was least expected, and soon a crush of slender bodies surrounded him, hands clutching at his sleeves and plaid, and voices wailing, ‘Pa, Pa … a murderer.’
Niall pulled them to him, filled his arms with his daughters. ‘Whist now, whist. Yer Pa will never let aught happen to ye. Trust me.’
Niall was so angry; it was to be hoped Gordon had already eaten his supper or he was about to travel the road hungry, because his failure to keep his Laird informed had upset his daughters. ‘We dinnae ken the truth of the story yet, but I will soon and will make sure that ye feel safe in yer beds.’
The Selkie looked nervous, nae doubt she could sense that his daughters were agitated.
‘Aileen, take the lasses through to the Hall and tell them some stories that will take their minds off this nonsense. Naught scary. Meanwhile I will look into this news. That said, try to reassure the Selkie. She can have nae notion why the lasses are so upset.’
Celestina
Being called ‘the Selkie’ all the time was rubbing on a sensitive part in Celestina’s mind, giving her a headache. She didn’t mind Niall’s daughters calling her Celi; her close family had sometimes called her that, but only when at home. According to her father, it went against one’s upbringing to use pet names. Of course, acting as if what Niall called her had any importance could not quell the pangs of worry coursing through her chest.
At first, she fretted that the bodies they spoke of had come from the San Miguel—drowned—but to hear that one of them had been stabbed made her feel both frightened and relieved. It was difficult to feign ambivalence when the conversation around her rang with excitement and a dread that made the hairs on her arms prickle.
Like all young girls bursting with questions, the lasses didn’t follow Aileen quietly. Unfortunately, their nurse refused to speculate. ‘Be patient. Yer father will tell us all in guid time. He’ll speak to Gordon and get to the truth of the matter. Dinnae worry, lasses, trust in yer father. I always have.’
The girls seemed to calm immediately, and as Celestina watched them, Ygraen slipped an arm round Beth as they walked. A seldom experienced emotion called envy made her swallow, as if that would force down the feeling swamping her—a sensation that fled as Fiona took her hand, saying, ‘I’ll walk with ye, Sellie, so ye dinnae feel lonely.’
Celestina gave her hand a squeeze and smiled, wishing she could tell Fiona how happy she had made her. They were a lovely family, one she wished with all her heart she could become a part of; but it could never happen. The girls and Aileen believed she was a Selkie, a magical creature, when in truth Celestina knew she was a fraud and, unlike the stories Aileen told while they sat round the hearth, hers could never have a happy ending.
Chapter 6
Niall
The journey across the Bailey to Gordon’s quarters took nae time at all, which belied any excuse his steward might offer for his negligence. Niall gripped the handle and pushed the door open without bothering to knock. He hadnae entered his steward’s small residence for years, allowing the man his privacy and preferring to send for him, and the account books he kept, after each enriching venture Niall made into southern France with his fellow Highlanders. As a group, they had a fearsome reputation, though he had always thought his fighting men’s ferocious appearance had a lot to do with their renown.
What had Flora been thinking of? Gordon’s apartment was as richly furnished as his late wife’s chamber. His own muniment room suffered by comparison. His steward sat at an ornate table scattered with documents, the remains of a meal and an almost empty wine goblet containing the dregs of a dark red wine, rich-looking. He must ask Jean what the lass was in the habit of serving him that gave her plenty time to eavesdrop, and not only when the messenger came by.
Niall crossed the room trailing his fingers across the plush fibres of a fur-lined lap robe that hung over the back of a chair then turned his narrow-eyed stare on Gordon. The steward leapt to his feet, his mouth open on what Niall believed would be a protest at the intrusion before he cut it off with, ‘I didnae ken ye had become Laird in my absence.’
There was a sly edge to Gordon’s retort. ‘A man is entitled to his wee comforts.’
Niall lifted an eyebrow to make sure there was no misunderstanding. ‘Not at my expense, but that can wait. It’s not what brought me here. How long is it since the messenger brought ye the news about the bodies found north of here?’
‘An hour, mayhap longer,’ was followed by a smirk.
Was the steward an idiot? Had he forgotten how Niall earned the silver the man had spent on his rich surroundings? Didnae he realise his laird would recognise that tapestry for the twin of the one in the master’s chamber? A cold, steel-bound anger surged through Niall’s chest, as lethal as the sword he wielded in battle. It was a blade that kept his emotions grounded, his voice low, and patience feigned. ‘And ye didnae think to inform me of the killings as soon as ye heard, or to bring the messenger to me?’
His shrug proved he was the idiot Niall had thought him, and his words confirmed it, ‘A few hours cannae matter now. I would have thought a couple of dead strangers wouldnae have been aught new to a mercenary used to making his living with a sword in his hand. It happened a couple of days since, and drowned men cannae do aught to hurt anyone.’
‘Drowned is it? The last I heard, a knife in the back constituted murder. Even the maid who served yer supper understood that, and she let her fear spill all over the kitchen and scared my wee daughters out of their wits,’ he said, stepping up to the table. Niall’s thighs jarred the edge and Gordon’s plate banged into the wine goblet, which almost spilled onto a miniature laid flat on the table. Niall reached across the documents to lift it out of danger saying, ‘And aught that frightens them gets my back up.’
Gordon’s hand stretched out, poised to snatch the dainty wee painting from him, but Niall was too quick. He palmed the miniature and turned it betwixt his fingers. Flora stared back at him, shoulders bare and lips pouted in a way he recognised, desire writ plain on her face in the way she used to tease him to take her. When it suited her.
Niall’s size gave him the advantage as he dropped the miniature and launched across the table for his steward’s throat. The tiny ruff he wore—as if he were a Lowlander or English—flattened as Niall tightened his grip.
His steward’s face changed colour, his eyes bulged and his tongue protruded past his lips as Niall picked him up and shook him like a dog. Niall couldn’t prevent the cauld smile that stretched his lips as he let Gordon drop to his knees on the flagstones. ‘Think yerself fortunate I dinnae squeeze the rest of the life out of ye.’
He spread his feet and looked down on his steward as the man croaked, trying to drag down air. ‘I came here with the intention of sending ye on yer way back to Flora’s father, but that plan’s changed. It’s obvious that yer not to be trusted, and before ye leave here, I’m going to search this place, every document will be read and every column counted. Meanwhile, ye will be locked up until it’s done.’
It took little effort to grab Gordon by the scruff of the neck and push him, shuffling, toward the door. The air was cool on his face and, beyond Gordon, the courtyard was flooded by the blood-red light of the sunset, the colour it had turned as it sank below the horizon every night since he had found the Selkie on the beach after the storm. The Keep could either look handsome or gruesome depending on the way the light hit the granite walls. By the way Gordon began to struggle as they crossed the
threshold, the sight of the two men he had set to guard the Keep against intruders wasnae to his liking. And who could blame him as the dying sun made it appear as if they’d been dipped in blood. Niall grabbed the wrist flaying behind him as Gordon attempted to push Niall away.
‘Canny now, Gordon. Ye dinnae want to get hanged before I’ve discovered all the charges needed to do so lawfully.’ Niall twisted his steward’s arm up his back and leaned close to his ear. ‘It’s seems obvious now that ye were tupping my wife, but in truth that’s neither here nor there. Nae it will be my pleasure to discover everything ye have stolen from me and what ye have done with it, and then I’ll hang ye.’
He pushed him forward. ‘Take him away lads and lock him up tight.’
Jamie’s fists bunched. He was the larger of the two guards, both always the first of his men to put up their hands to return to fight in France. One look at their battered faces was enough to convince the meanest stranger that they didnae stand back from a fight. ‘We’ll do that right enough, Laird. Is he the one who stabbed the stranger?’
‘Nae this is another matter. I’ll have a guid few charges to lay against him, but I dinnae think murder is included.’ Niall’s voice faded as he felt Gordon’s spine tense. ‘But dinnae worry lads, he’ll get a fair trial before I hang him.’
Jamie grabbed the steward by one shoulder and Tam, his companion, took the other. Niall hoped Gordon realised that he had nae chance of escape. ‘We’ll stick him in the dungeon. It’s been a while since the rats had any company.’
The auld dungeons below the Keep had seldom been occupied in the years since his marriage had brought him both Inverbrevie and its demesne. He’d been the youngest son then, but that too had changed when his brother Hamish died. By then he had been doing his best by the men and women of the Sept his that father had insisted should now come under the McDonall’s arm. At Inverbrevie he had learned to be responsible for the clansfolk whau put their trust in him. He wasnae eager to give that up, nae matter that now he was the McDonall’s heir.
Chapter 7
Celestina
When Niall had returned to the Keep after last night’s kerfuffle, he’d done his best to reassure his daughters and Aileen. ‘There are guards on all the doors. Ye have nae need to get agitated. Yer Pa kens how to protect his own.’ That news had satisfied the others but did naught for Celestina; she needed to know more.
Her pretence of being unable to speak had become naught but a hindrance, and what few words she had gradually added to her vocabulary—well, it would appear a mite suspicious to suddenly be able to converse. She knew they believed she was magical but, even so, she was sure everyone would find such an occurrence hard to swallow.
They had given her so much: clothes and slippers—good though well worn—that had once belonged to Niall’s wife. None of the silks or velvets she was used to, but pretty nonetheless as a work dress. That’s why she was amusing herself by sorting and matching slippers and dresses, a service Rosalina had always performed for her. She missed her. Si, her maid’s conservative notions had annoyed her, yet she had never felt so alone as she did now without Rosalina by her side. Smoothing the skirt she had finished folding, she placed it in the chest Aileen had provided. In a futile attempt to conquer her loneliness, Celestina hummed a Spanish lullaby under her breath, remembering how Rosalina used to sing it to her when she was a little girl.
‘That tune sounds familiar, though I cannae think where I would have heard it.’ Niall’s voice startled her out of the daydream. She turned to discover he was almost upon her as he stalked across the chamber he had assigned as her own. Halting, he stared down at her, so tall Celestina’s head barely reached his shoulder. She smelled the manly fragrance that always clung to him—of leather, fresh air and another she could not place; yet she was aware that something about the scent made her want to dip her head and blush. Instead, she returned his gaze, eyes wide, acting confused.
He hummed a few notes, deeper than any she could manage and slightly off key, which he must have realised for he grinned, showing strong teeth that appeared very bright in his tanned face. ‘Now dinnae ye laugh; I never could keep a tune.’
A slight curve of her lips was all she dared. Tilting her head back, she looked into his eyes—dangerous. Her heart began to race. To counter its effect, she spread her hands, holding her arms out and, with a shrug, asked, ‘What?’
‘Ah, yer learning, lass, but I hope my daughters have not taught ye too much.’ He took her hand and lifting it said, ‘Hand.’
Realising he wanted her to follow suit, she repeated, ‘Hand.’
Turning her fingers, he brought her knuckle to his lips and pressed their firm warmth on the back of her hand until her breath stuttered at the base of her throat. ‘Kiss,’ he murmured, and when she could find no response, he then turned it over and placed a kiss on her palm, touching the heart of it with the tip of his tongue. ‘Kiss.’
Her knees turned to water and she let out a gasp. Her lips felt dry, so she licked moisture across them. Heat raced up her cheeks as he lifted her chin with a callused fingertip.
‘Kiss.’ Once more he repeated the word, then his lips covered hers, and she could no longer think let alone breathe.
Her first kiss.
Niall pulled back, his lips curved into a crooked smile. ‘Ah,’ he whispered, ‘I see that word will take ye some practice, but I can wait. As for what I’d love to tell ye … in fact I will. Ye might not understand me, but at least I can tell ye the truth and ye willnae repeat it.’
After that kiss she could hardly find her voice; however, she knew enough to roll her eyes and say, ‘What?’
‘I’ve come here to search through Flora’s things. Ye see, last night when I confronted Gordon, I discovered that he and Flora had been lovers.’ He ran a hand through his hair and a growl ripped out of his throat. ‘Bah! The Lord knows how long it went on before she died. And I hate it, for I looked at my daughters this morning while they broke their fast and wondered. I wondered about yon bonnie lasses—my daughters.’
Niall swivelled on his heel and strode over to the large chest against the wall that no one touched. She looked at his back and saw hurt in his stance. It made her want to comfort him, to do the impossible since it would give her away.
‘It won’t make any difference,’ he said without turning round, ‘I won’t let it.’
She wanted to ask if he were blind. Ygraen, Beth, Fiona, all shared features that anyone who had studied Niall’s face the way she had, could recognise at a glance. She sighed in frustration. If only her betrothed had been as honourable instead of concerned about how her reputation affected his.
Her mother and Rosalina had been very strict about falsehoods; even the smallest lie earned a punishment: ‘be sure your sins will find you out’. Now she could see why. And though she had lost her rosary in the sea, as a precaution, each night in the privacy of her chamber, she said a number of Hail Marys in an attempt to ward off punishment for her deceit.
Turning her back to Niall, she laid the newly folded skirt inside the small chest she had been allotted and had bent forward to close the lid when she felt soft silky folds fall over her shoulders in a garland of flowers.
‘What?’ She resorted to using the same question again; swiftly relieved the surprise had not ended in her giving herself away.
‘This shawl is one I brought home for my wife. She was already dead. Aileen must have put it away,’ he muttered.
She smoothed a hand over the shawl, one as lovely as any she had left behind on the San Miguel. She turned to lift her eyes to his face, but he did not glance down. His hair-roughened jaw jutted, firm and hard as rock, the cords in his throat stood out as if fashioned from rope, yet he did not swallow until she asked, ‘For me?’
At last he looked down, caressed her face with his gaze, ‘Aye, naught can say it doesnae suit ye, for it was meant for a bonnie Spanish lass, and they have black hair just like ye do.’
Sucking in a qui
ck breath, Celestina hoped her surprise didn’t show, but he did not notice her shock that he was so close to the truth. He grasped the edges of the shawl, holding them both in one large fist. As a result his action brought a dark bruise staining the tanned skin on his knuckles into her view, unwittingly revealing that his meeting with the steward after supper, must have ended in a wee scuffle.
Though she had no right, she felt proud of Niall, a man some might believe weak for the way he indulged his daughters—a way she could not for the life of her imagine her father acting; it wasn’t included in the strict Spanish code. From all she had learned of him, Niall put family first and punished those who attempted to disrupt their lives—a truth that made her fear the consequences of her pretence. What she truly wanted to ask was the details of the dead men that had upset Jean last night.
That thought dissolved in a burst of harsh laughter, a sound that rang with irony as Niall said, ‘Now that I look at the shawl again, it’s obvious that she might have wanted to strangle me with my gift. Flora had red hair, much like Fiona, and nature had accompanied it with a fiery temper.’ He shrugged, appearing as baffled as she felt. ‘Though why I’m telling you all this I’ve nae the slightest notion, apart from the knowledge that naught I do say makes any sense to ye. I should beg yer pardon for using ye, as if by speaking my thoughts aloud I made my intention seem worthier than is actually true.’
She felt strangely foolish, yet knew that if she could help Niall to heal the wound of his wife’s treachery she did not mind, so Celestina looked up, eyes wide, questioning and whispered, ‘Thank ye,’ trying to sound like his daughters, who had been so unfailingly kind to a stranger that she would always keep their generosity close to her heart.
Grinning, he said, ‘Yer a daft wee thing, but I like ye.’
Daft?
His head dipped and caught her open-mouthed. A smile curved his lips, shaped with an edge of cruelty as if the blame were hers. ‘I like ye far too much for my own guid, my wee Selkie. I’m entangled in yer spell,’ he sighed as his lips covered hers, took them, took her mind as her tongue welcomed the slide of his and her whole body felt primed for surrender.
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