by Amanda Scott
They walked so in silence, but after she had looked up at him for the third time as if she meant to speak, then looked away again, he said, “What is it, lass? Have you more that you want to say to me?”
She nibbled her lower lip, then looked up again and said, “Not to say, exactly, just to ask you a question. But I should not, I know.”
“Ask me anything you like. I shan’t mind.”
“It is only that the question is most improper. Sithee, I was wondering if you meant it when you said it.”
“You will have to remind me of just what I said before I can answer that.”
She looked away again. “It is silly, and one should not care about such things, I know, but when one’s thoughts simply fix on something . . .”
“Then one ought to ask the question,” he said. His curiosity was increasing by leaps, and her equivocation made him want to shake her. But he sensed that if he grew forceful with her again, he would never learn what had disturbed her, and he wanted very much to know.
She still looked hesitant, so he held his tongue, hoping she was one who could not bear silence without needing to fill it. Nothing in her reaction encouraged that hope, however. She seemed to be thinking, trying to decide what to do, and even his brief experience warned him against showing his impatience.
Reining himself in was a rare experience, but he managed it.
At last, she said, “Do you often say things to women that you do not mean?”
“I usually mean what I say to anyone. But you must still tell me what I said.”
Color crept into her cheeks, and she hesitated again. Since she had shown no lack of courage before, he suspected it was something he had said about her. But he could recall saying only that she was foolish to have come into the woods alone, and he doubted she could possibly be wondering if he had meant that.
In a tone so gentle he scarcely recognized it as his own, he said, “You can ask, lassie. I’ll answer truthfully if I can, and I’ll not judge you for the asking.”
The look she gave him then was pure gratitude. Then, hastily, blurting the words, she said, “You said I was beautiful. Do you really think so?”
He nearly asked if she was demented, but the intense, too-anxious look on her face stopped the words in his throat.
Matter-of-factly, he said, “You must know that you are beautiful. Surely, everyone who knows you has told you so.”
She shook her head. “No one.”
“But that is impossible. You need only a glass to see it for yourself.”
“You don’t understand,” she said. “I have six sisters. People talk about the beautiful Macleod sisters, but most people know only the ones who have gone before me. Cristina, the eldest, is an extraordinary beauty. My hair is pale beside hers, my figure less buxom, and my demeanor far more retiring. When she enters a room, everyone notices her. And people who knew my sister Mariota say that Cristina is but a pale shadow compared to her. I am a shadow to them all.”
“Mariota is the one who died,” he said, remembering.
“Aye, and Isobel says that whatever they may say about Mariota’s looks, her nature was not beautiful, but others recall only her astonishing beauty.”
“You didn’t know her yourself?”
“Nay, I was but a babe when she died. So you see, no one ever thinks of me as beautiful, because my looks are as nothing compared to all the others’.”
“But surely, you have been to the King’s court. Someone there must have commented on your beauty.”
“Nay, for I do not enjoy large gatherings. I went with Sorcha and Isobel to Edinburgh Castle once because my father wanted Lady Clendenen to present me to his grace, but his grace was ill, so we did not stay above half an hour. I’d never heard such a din, though. I don’t know how anyone can converse in such a place.”
He chuckled, remembering his own brief experience at Stirling. “Half the court is daft and the other half drunk, but most folks find it amusing. And, too, any man who wants to amount to much in Scotland knows he must make his bow there.”
“Have you done so?”
Nodding, he said, “I did not like it any more than you did, but I have found my own way to make my mark until I take over my family seat in the Highlands, which I suppose I’ll have to do after I’ve had my fill of adventuring. No one in the west cares much about the doings of the royal court except the Lord of the Isles and those of his ilk who want to acquire as much power as they can. Even they avoid Stirling and Edinburgh and do most of their business at the Isles court instead.”
“Is that what you do?”
“Nay, I’ve not been next or nigh any such doings for years.”
“I meant, do you go adventuring?”
“Och, aye, I enjoy that right enough, and presently there are many such opportunities available for a man like me.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Perhaps another day,” he said with a smile. “The abbey lies just yonder, so I expect we’ll find Clendenen House nearby, shall we not?”
“Aye,” she said, frowning. “Very near.”
Too soon, they approached the main entrance of Clendenen House, the home of Ealga, Lady Clendenen, on the south side of the avenue known as the Canongate because it extended from St. Giles Church to Holyrood Abbey. The stone-and-timber houses flanking the wide road stood close to one another, although nearly all boasted narrow drives leading to stables and deep gardens behind.
On the north side, nearer St. Giles, lay Sinclair House, where Sidony was presently living with her sister Isobel and Isobel’s husband, Sir Michael Sinclair. To the northwest, Edinburgh Castle on its craggy hilltop overlooked the whole city.
With four hundred houses and two thousand people, the royal burgh was the largest town Sidony had ever seen, but she had grown accustomed to its bustle and noise. Thankfully, the Canongate remained quieter than the area nearer the Castle, although a cart piled high with wool rattled past on its way to a ship in Leith Harbor.
Sidony’s companion tossed a coin to an urchin on the narrow flagway and asked the grinning recipient to hold his horse for him. Then he offered an arm to Sidony, but she paid no more heed to it than before. She wanted no one to suspect that he could be anything more than a casual acquaintance.
The front door of Clendenen House opened before they reached it, and to her relief, Rob appeared in the doorway, rather than Hugo.
“We worried about you, lass,” he said, his voice softly husky, his speech slow and measured. However, when his gaze fixed on her companion, Rob’s hazel eyes, usually hooded, opened wide.
Before he could say more, a large hand gripped his shoulder from behind, and Sir Hugo Robison appeared beside him, taller, darker, and broader, his displeasure fairly crackling through the air.
Her sisters’ husbands all tended to be big men, but Sidony knew only one man larger than Hugo, and that was Cristina’s husband, Hector the Ferocious.
She hesitated, eyeing Hugo warily and resisting the urge to look at her companion, to gauge his reaction to Hugo’s so-obvious displeasure.
To her shock, the man beside her laughed and said, “Sakes, Hugo, you look ready to eat the poor lass. If you must vent your spleen, man, vent it on me. At least, I can defend myself.”
Hugo’s attention shifted, but he did not share her companion’s amusement. “Wouldst try your skills against mine again, you misbegotten scruff?”
“Aye, and gladly. The last time, you caught me off my guard. That won’t happen again.”
“The last time, I set you on your backside and put an end to dispute before it had begun,” Hugo said. “I’d hoped you’d not require further instruction.”
“Just try me, my lad, and we’ll see who teaches whom.”
He spoke the words softly, but Hugo heard them, for he grimaced and shook his head. Then, to Sidony’s profound relief, he said without rancor, “I trust you can tell me the lass suffered no harm at your hands, Giff.”
“You know she did not. D
o you mean to keep us standing on your doorstep? Sakes, it is not even yours, as I understand it, but Lady Clendenen’s. You might also shout for a servant to take the lady Sidony’s salmon and clean it to cook for her supper. ’Tis a fine big one, as you can see.”
“Aye, we’ll go inside,” Hugo said, standing aside to let them pass and motioning a gillie forward to take Sidony’s fish and the pole. “You can give him that sword of yours, too, Giff,” he added.
“That belongs to the old gardener,” Sidony said to the gillie as he took the pole from her. “Pray, return it to him with my thanks.”
“Aye, my lady,” the lad said before turning to receive the heavy sword and scabbard from her companion.
Dismissing the gillie, Hugo said, “It is about time you arrived, Giff. We’d nearly given you up.”
“I was in Galloway, so your lads were a good time tracking me down.”
“How did you chance to meet the lady Sidony?” Hugo asked evenly.
Rob said, “Let us adjourn to Ealga’s wee parlor before we talk more.”
The man whom Hugo had called Giff shook Rob’s hand and said, “I did not realize you would be here. We are cousins, my lady,” he added. “I’ve a host of Logan cousins, because the earliest MacLennans were themselves Logans who, for one cause or other, removed to the Highlands. But, Rob, are you in this business, too, then?”
“We’ll go into the parlor before we talk more,” Hugo said firmly.
“Sidony! There you are!”
Recognizing the familiar voice and its note of profound relief, Sidony turned to greet Isobel, who stood atop the stairway on the west side of the small entryway.
Although pregnant with her second child, the fair-haired, gray-eyed Isobel showed no sign yet of her condition and was as beautiful as ever. Sidony saw that Giff was regarding her sister with the same besotted look that most men displayed upon first seeing her.
Oblivious, Isobel said, “But where have you been, dearling? You worried us dreadfully, for you were gone so long. Hugo was just going to go in search of you.”
“I did not mean to worry you,” Sidony said guiltily. “I just went for a walk.”
“But where?” Isobel asked. “And who is this man with you?”
Sidony bit her lip, at a loss for what to say, since she could hardly call him Giff, as Hugo had done. And to admit that she did not know his name was clearly ineligible, and would only make matters worse.
In the silence that followed Isobel’s question, the gentleman in question looked pointedly at Hugo, who said, “Forgive me, my lady. Allow me to present my friend Giffard MacLennan of Duncraig. Sithee, he took his training at Dunclathy with my father, and, I might add, delighted in being a great nuisance to the rest of us.”
Isobel smiled at the newcomer. “Nonetheless, if that is so, I suspect I should more properly call you Sir Giffard, should I not?”
Sidony regarded Sir Giffard with greater interest than ever. If he had trained at Dunclathy, he had learned the same knightly skills as Michael, Hugo, and Rob had. Dunclathy was Sir Hugo’s family home, and his father, Sir Edward Robison, was a famous swordsman and warrior with whom only the very best men studied.
Before Sir Giffard could answer, Hugo said, “Isobel is Michael’s lady wife, Giff, so take care that you behave yourself in her presence.”
“I should not dream of doing otherwise,” Sir Giffard said, bowing deeply. “’Tis a great honor to make your acquaintance, my lady.”
“How did you come to know my sister, sir?” Isobel asked bluntly.
“I’ll explain that to you myself,” Sidony said hastily, striving to speak with her usual calm. “I am sure that Sir Giffard, Rob, and Hugo have much to discuss, so we should leave them to it. I do hope you will forgive me for worrying you so, Isobel.”
“Of course I shall,” her sister said, giving her a warm hug. But she glanced at Hugo as she did, adding, “Does Sir Giffard stay to supper, sir?”
“Perhaps,” Hugo said. Then, as Sidony grasped Isobel’s arm and urged her toward the stairway, he added evenly, “I’ll talk with you before we sup, Sidony.”
“Aye, sir,” Sidony said, stifling a sigh. Then, recalling her manners, she turned to Sir Giffard with a downward look and a curtsy to say, “Thank you for your kindness, sir. I trust you have not offended anyone by escorting me home.”
Just as politely, he replied, “I am happy to have served you, your ladyship.”
She looked up, and as her gaze met his, an urge stirred to remind him that she had required no such service. Aware of Hugo’s narrow-eyed interest, she suppressed the urge, made a second curtsy to excuse herself, and followed Isobel upstairs.
Chapter 3
Giff watched the two women hurry up the polished wooden stairway and realized he was hoping Lady Sidony would look back before they disappeared. With half an ear, he heard Hugo tell a gillie to fetch refreshment. Then, except for the hushing of the ladies’ skirts and the quick, light taps of their footsteps on the stairs, silence fell until Hugo cleared his throat.
Well aware of the older man’s lack of patience, Giff nevertheless waited long enough to draw a breath and let it out before he turned and said, “Let us to the parlor, lads. I am eager to hear what new adventure lies ahead.”
He saw the other two exchange glances and was sure Hugo came close to rolling his eyes, but that did not surprise him. Both men were several years older than he was, as Michael was, too, and were already established at Dunclathy when he’d arrived there. They had thought themselves superior then, and although he had soon proven his worth, some of that earlier sense of superiority clearly lingered.
Taking the initiative now, he said, “I was sorry to learn of the deaths of your father and brother, Rob. You are Logan of Lestalric now, are you not?”
“I am,” Rob said. “And if you’ve just come from Galloway, doubtless you bring news from any number of our kinsmen there, do you not?”
“Aye, sure,” Giff agreed, recalling that the unnatural beast he had ridden to Edinburgh belonged to one of those kinsmen. “But mayhap this is not the moment—”
“At this moment, Giff,” Hugo interjected, shutting the parlor door, “I want to hear how you met Sidony. Surely you do not accost young women in town streets.”
“It is worse than that,” Giff said, grinning. “You’ve forgotten her fine fish. I heard her whistling in the abbey woods, and I followed the sound.”
The grim look on Hugo’s face deterred Giff from mentioning the stolen kiss. He decided to hold that in reserve against a time when he might need a diversionary tactic. Prior experience with Hugo told him such diversion might prove necessary.
Hugo said, “You probably frightened the lass witless.”
“I warrant I surprised her,” Giff admitted. “But I doubt I’d have scared her witless under any circumstance. Her ladyship keeps a cool head.”
“Does she? Why were you in the abbey woods in the first place?”
“Have you seen the main roads?” Giff asked. “Wool carts as far as the eye can see. And sheep! All baaing and leaping over one another, or just leaping when one least expects it. The horse I borrowed takes a dim view of sheep.”
Rob grinned. “They do create hazards now and again, I’ll agree, but the wool must get to the ships, so I must put up with them more than you did. Sithee, a good bit of the shore of Leith Harbor belongs to me, and those sheep and carts cross my land to get to the harbor. I’ve even let them put up shelters against the rain when it comes, and some shepherds, especially those with only a cart or two to their name, drive their sheep as far as Lestalric before they shear them.”
“That explains seeing as many bald ones as ones still in wool,” Giff said.
Hugo’s expression indicated a total disinterest in sheep. He peered more closely at Giff and said, “What’s that mark on your face?”
Clapping a hand to his left cheek and feeling suddenly eleven again, Giff fought an urge to step back.
“Take your hand
away,” Hugo said, looking closer yet. “By the Rood, that looks like a smear of fish scales.” He glanced at Rob, who was biting his lower lip, rigidly controlling himself. “Does something about this amuse you, my lad?”
“Aye,” Rob said unrepentantly.
Hoping to divert them both, Giff said, “I’ve come all the way from Galloway in just two days, Hugo, so you’ll have to forgive me if I’ve got smut on my—”
He broke off when Hugo put a finger to the cheek in question, rubbed hard, then raised the finger to his nose and sniffed.
Favoring Giff with an enigmatic look, he said, “So that salmon is not just supper. What did you do to warrant smacking with it, Giffard?”
“Sakes, what would make you think such a thing?” Giff demanded.
“My knowledge of you and of the Macleod sisters,” Hugo retorted. “You should know that I have the honor to be married to the one nearest in age to Lady Sidony. I own, however, that although my Sorcha would not hesitate to flatten a man who accosted her, it does surprise me that Sidony tried such a thing.”
“At least you do me the kindness to assume she only tried,” Giff said, ignoring memory of his ignominious descent to the boggy ground as he added glibly, “I fear I mistook her for a serving maid. When I let my error be known, she clouted me. May we sit, Hugo? I’ve had little sleep these past two days.”
“Stay away from her, Giff,” Hugo said. “The Macleod sisters may look as high as they like for husbands. Her father and good-brothers will seek one for her who is wealthy, steady, and reliable—not a scapegrace whose byword is ‘reck not.’”
“Nay, then,” Giff said, smiling again. “Not that I have any intention of taking a wife, however fine, but for Mac-Lennans ’tis ‘whilst I breathe, I hope.’”
Hugo shrugged. “If you ask me, it is much the same thing.”
“Aye, sure, but ’tis why you sent for me, is it not?” He glanced at Rob. “You keep quiet, sir, yet dare to show amusement. Have you nowt to say in this?”
Rob smiled sleepily. “I can trust Hugo to say all that needs saying, and in my experience, the Macleod lasses are well able to look after themselves.”
