by Amanda Scott
Tamping down the concern he felt for her safety and the annoyance that such concern stirred in him, he reminded himself to speak calmly if he did speak. He wondered if she would sense him watching her. She had seemed surprised that she had not done so the day before. But she stood unaware, gazing into the thick fog.
The dog likewise sat still, although Mag saw its ears twitch and its head turn slightly toward him. He hoped it would not bark. Dogs rarely did bark at him, and he had petted those he’d met in the yard the day before. However, Pluff had said the collie was intelligent, so one might expect it to growl a warning.
Looking down, he realized that although he had been walking on solid fog-damp granite for some time now, a patch of the gravelly pebbles lay a foot or so away. Moving with care, he disturbed them enough to make them rattle.
She turned toward him then and stiffened when she saw him.
Andrena had been thinking about him, so it was as if with that slight rattle of stones, she had conjured him up before her. A frisson of unease stirred at the sight of him, because once again, she had failed to sense his approach. To be sure, she’d been deep in thought. Nevertheless, she ought to have felt his presence behind her.
The sensation she experienced now was what she might have felt in her father’s presence if she had displeased him. But she could not tell a thing about Magnus Mòr’s feelings from his demeanor. Surely, if he were angry—not that he had any right yet to be angry with her—she would sense his displeasure. Even so, she could not imagine any other reason for the brief chill of trepidation she had felt.
She glanced down at Bess, who was wagging her tail and practically smiling at him. “You might at least have warned me,” she muttered to the dog.
“I thought she might bark or growl,” Magnus said. “Are you not dangerously close to the edge of that cliff?”
Relaxing, she said, “It lies a yard or so ahead of me. You can just make out the shape of that boulder there,” she added, gesturing. “One can safely go that far even in dense fog. I came here because I like listening to the waves whisper whilst all else is quiet. One can enjoy such silence only when a fog is thick enough to keep the birds in their nests and the other creatures still. Sithee, I came out here to think.”
“Has the tower no place inside quiet enough for contemplation?”
“I like it here,” she said, feeling wary again. “The fog does not trouble me. I could find this spot safely in pitch blackness.”
“Do you often wear lad’s breeks?”
Squaring her shoulders, she lifted her chin. “I do. In troth, I prefer them for my solitary rambles. Does that trouble you?”
“Nay, I like the look of them, although I would not recommend them in company, especially female company. Do you mind if I stay here with you?”
“You may if you like,” she said. Although she would have preferred to enjoy her solitude longer, she was uncertain of his mood and did not want to be rude. He seemed to have accepted her explanation, but her wariness lingered. After all, her father wanted her to marry the man, and she had no idea yet about what sort of husband the large, powerful-looking Magnus Mòr Galbraith would make.
Evidently taking her mistress’s calmness as approval of Magnus Mòr’s presence, Bess moved to greet him more enthusiastically.
Bending to stroke the dog’s head, he looked up and met Andrena’s gaze. “I’ll go back if you want me to,” he said. Then, straightening, he added, “It occurs to me, though, that if you are willing, this might be a good place to talk privately.”
She nearly said that she could not imagine what they would talk about. But she stopped the untruthful words before they could leave her tongue. “I’m willing, sir. I ken fine that you must wonder at my father’s plan and think he is daft.”
“Nay, for his plan makes sense to me. I am sure now that Pharlain wrested Arrochar and its lands from Andrew by force and by stealth. Also, I can understand why your clan accepted Pharlain rather than demand his banishment.”
“Do you? Our clan has a well-deserved reputation for wildness, so I own, I used to resent their failure to support my father when he needed them. I did not understand that, at the time, most of his finest warriors were involved in unrest elsewhere and that Lennox…” She paused, uncertain of how much she should say about the earl, who was also the Galbraiths’ liege lord.
“Dissension was everywhere then,” Magnus said quietly. “The earl acted in his own self-interest, just as most other nobles did.”
“How old were you when my father lost his lands?” she asked bluntly.
He smiled. “When Pharlain took Arrochar nineteen years ago, I was just six. But I’ve learned much about those times. Unrest prevailed throughout the country. Recall that the English had captured a very young Jamie Stewart and that his father, the King, died of grief when he learned of it. That left Scotland with a mere boy—an English captive at that—as our King. And his heir was his uncle, the first Duke of Albany, who was and had been for years acting as Governor of the Realm.”
“You sound as if you approve of what Albany did.”
“Nay, I am not so bold as to approve or disapprove of what is now history. I have no way to know how I would have acted had I been of age or wielded power at the time. The fact is that Albany was gey powerful and Scotland needs a powerful ruler. We have too many greedy nobles, each determined to win as much power as he can for himself. Few seem to spare any thought for the health of the realm.”
“But the first Albany has been dead for five years. And no one can possibly think that his son Murdoch is as canny, as strong, or as capable as he was.”
“True, but what Murdoch lacks in wisdom, his son Lord Walter Stewart makes up in slyness, deceit, and ruthlessness,” Magnus said as he leaned his backside against a handy boulder. “Doubtless, Walter would seek to be King of Scots or rule in the rightful king’s stead, as Governor of the Realm, just as Albany of old did.”
“Aye, perhaps, but Jamie is back,” she said. “And he locked Lord Walter up on the Bass Rock soon after he got back, so Walter can no longer harm him.”
“You must know better than that,” he said. “Jamie’s enemies seek to oust him, and Walter, prisoner or not, stands next after Duke Murdoch to inherit. But Jamie may hold his throne despite them and their supporters. He seems determined to do so, and from all that I’ve heard about him this past year, he is a canny lad. He has already won over Douglas, Scott, and other powerful Border lords.”
“My father thinks they are untrustworthy.”
“Aye, well, most Scots wait to see who will benefit them most before taking sides. If Jamie can hold his throne for another year, he should be safe enough.”
It occurred to her that few men of her acquaintance would so casually have discussed the King’s uncertain position with her. Those who might would speak to her lightly, as if she were a child, or would soon change the subject. Only her father and mother ever took time to explain things to her.
As if Magnus Mòr were somehow hearing her thoughts, he said, “You seem to know much more about political matters than one would expect a woman to understand, especially one who has grown up in such a place as Tùr Meiloach.”
“Noblemen’s actions can affect all of us,” she said. “My sister Muriella hears many things, because she talks to everyone she meets and encourages them to tell her much of what they know or hear. She remembers it all and repeats it to the rest of us.”
“Everything?”
“Aye, Murie never forgets. She views conversation as storytelling, and since she means to become our clan seanachie, she takes pride in her ability to collect news whenever it comes her way.”
“Have the three of you lived here at Tùr Meiloach all your lives?” he asked, looking and sounding as relaxed against his boulder as if they sat by the hall fire.
“Aye, sure,” she said, wondering if he was truly as content to stay and talk there as she was. He certainly seemed to be. Despite the damp and the hardness of his chos
en position, he seemed oblivious to any discomfort.
“You must lead a gey isolated existence,” he said. “How can you know so much about what happens in the outside world?”
“We aren’t immured in our tower, sir. To be sure, Father rarely leaves Tùr Meiloach, knowing well that Cousin Parlan will learn of his absence and try to seize Tùr Meiloach’s lands as well as those of Arrochar. But people do visit us, and my mother has often taken us to visit her kinsmen. Also, the people south of us—”
“The Colquhouns?”
“Aye, the laird is a friend, although he does not make a song about that friendship for all to hear. He was frank enough from the outset to say that he values his peace and would liefer not have to go against Lennox to support my father.”
“Then how does his friendship aid you?”
“Colquhoun owns land from our southwest boundary to the Firth of Clyde, as you must know. He discourages all travel across his land, demanding large collops from would-be travelers, especially those who want to meet with Father.”
“I did hear that Colquhoun charges much to cross and guards his cattle well.”
“He does, aye. But he charges us naught and aids us when we want to travel. I have been to Glasgow many times and even once to Stirling. My mother insisted that we learn how to behave in other people’s homes. We are not peasants, after all, sir. She believes it is her duty to accustom us to noble society.”
“Do you enjoy town life?” he asked.
“Not much,” she said. “I hope that does not disappoint you. Sithee, I love it here at Tùr Meiloach.”
“I just want to know more about you, lass. Above all, I want to know what you think about this scheme of your father’s. Do not simply say that you are his obedient daughter. I want to know your true thoughts on the subject.”
She almost blurted out her frustration at not being able to sense his emotions or his thoughts even from his expressions. Perhaps, if she was honest…
Nay, then, she could not be. She and her sisters had long since learned the wisdom of keeping their unusual abilities to themselves. Besides, even if she could explain hers, she would have no way to know if he believed her or was being honest with her in return.
In fact, if he had heard all that the men seeking him had said to her the day before, he had heard one of them call her a witch. Moreover, he had admitted knowing more about her family than he had first seemed to know. Having lived with Parlan’s men for more than a year and a half, Magnus Mòr had doubtless heard many truths and untruths about all three MacFarlan sisters… and their mother.
“What is it?” Mag asked. “I can see that my words stirred your thoughts.”
“I am not sure that I can explain why they did or that you will believe me if I try,” she replied without hesitation.
“You have given me no cause to doubt your word, my lady. Until you provide such a cause, I will believe that you are telling me the truth or at least what you believe the truth to be. Is that fair enough?”
“Aye, sure,” she said. Her tone was doubtful, and she remained silent long enough to make him wonder if she would reveal her thoughts to him.
She glanced back toward the loch, as if seeking inspiration there.
He saw that the fog behind her had thinned. Above her head, a small patch of blue sky was visible through the mist.
Returning her gaze to him, she drew a deep breath and said, “Sithee, sir, my sisters and I share a bond closer than that of most sisters.”
“ ’Tis understandable that you would, growing up here as you did,” he said. “Do you fear you’ll see less of them if you marry me?” When she hesitated, he added, “Surely, you know that Andrew expects me to stay here at Tùr Meiloach.”
She nodded, her expression solemn, and he realized that he could now see how close to the edge she stood. He felt an urge to tell her to move nearer to him but ignored it, not only because he wanted to hear her opinion of their possible future together but also because he doubted that she was in real danger. Clearly, though, she lacked the strong respect for great heights that he had.
At last she said, “Your own home lies not far from here, on Inch Galbraith, so I expect I would see my family often enough even if you decided that you could not bear to live at Tùr Meiloach.”
This was no time to admit that his father had disowned him, leaving him uncertain that he had a home. “Tell me more about your family,” he said.
“Why, when you have revealed so little about yours?”
“Because you seem reluctant to tell me how you feel about this marriage notion of your father’s. Whilst you decide how you feel about that, it would be helpful for me to learn something about the rest of your family.”
“In troth, sir, I’m wondering why you don’t object to my father’s having decided your future for you,” she said.
This time, it was Mag who paused to reflect before replying.
Andrena watched him, trying to figure him out
“I do see some benefit to myself in such a marriage,” he said at last.
Evidently he had no objection to marrying her. His voice was even, his face expressionless. But he must have objections. Faith, she had objections to such a marriage, despite having known for years what her father planned to do.
Worse, how could she know if he meant what he said when she was unable to sense his emotions the way she did those of other people? That she could not even hazard a guess as to what the man might be thinking or feeling was most unfair.
“What is it?” he asked. “Something has disturbed you.”
She wanted to grind her teeth. She could not read him. But apparently he could read her with ease.
“I have said naught that should make you think I am upset.”
“By our lady,” he said as calmly as ever, despite the epithet. “You fear that your father will force us to marry. And you don’t think much of the notion.”
She did grind her teeth. “You are mistaken.”
“Am I? I don’t think so.”
“By my troth, sir, I don’t know what I think. I have known about my father’s plan for as long as I can remember. I know it is my clan duty to marry a warrior. However, until you came along, he had found no one willing to marry me who met his requirements. So I gave the matter little thought until now, but my father will not force us to marry. Forbye, you say you see a benefit for yourself. What is it?”
“I see more than one,” he said, surprising her. “First, any younger son needs a wife with property or wealth. But, also, I find you intelligent and most intriguing. I believe you would suit me well as my wife, if you are willing to marry me.”
“You do not object to adopting the MacFarlan name?”
“Nay, I’m willing enough. I was born a Galbraith, and I’ll always be one. But I’ve nae great objection to taking the name of MacFarlan.”
“What about your family?”
He hesitated and then said, “What they might think won’t trouble me.”
“Doubtless you think calling yourself MacFarlan will protect you from Cousin Parlan,” she said musingly, eyeing him to see if he would take offense.
“It may help for a time,” he said with a shrug. Then, folding his arms across his chest, he added, “But that was not the chief benefit that leaped to my mind.”
“What was?”
“I think I’ll leave discussion of that subject for a more appropriate time.”
His gaze caught hers then and something in his brought heat to her cheeks that seemed to radiate through her body, as well.
But she still could not tell what he might be thinking.
With a small sigh, she said, “We should go back now. But you should know that I will not disobey my father’s wishes.”
“Then you should know this, lass. If I think for a moment that you dislike the marriage, I will not agree to it.”
“Even though it will benefit you?”
“Despite all the benefits,” he said. “Perhaps we should
discuss this more and get to know each other better before we return to the tower. I’d like to walk high enough to look over the route I took yesterday. Pharlain’s men may have returned.”
“Nay, they have not,” she said.
“How can you be sure?”
She hesitated and then said glibly, “Our men will be on the watch for them. They will not allow what happened yesterday to happen again.”
Then, before he could quiz her more on that subject, she stepped toward him and said, “I’ll show you, if you like, since the fog is lifting. A burn not far from here feeds into the south river. From the hilltop above it, we can see much of the area you crossed and mayhap even catch a fish or two for the midday meal.”
“I brought no pole,” he said, pushing away from the boulder to stand upright.
“You won’t need one. I keep a cache nearby that will supply us.”
He nodded, gesturing for her to lead the way. As he did, the way he looked at her made her suspect that he knew she had not revealed the true reason that she was sure Parlan’s men had not intruded on Tùr Meiloach land again.
If he did suspect it, he would be right. But she doubted that he was ready to hear that the birds or beasts would warn her of intruders in the forest.
Striding ahead of him into the woods, she headed southeast. Before long, the incline steepened, and shortly afterward, they came to the merry burn. It ran through a narrow rocky chasm above them for some distance before widening and wending its way southward through an entanglement of hills to the river. Leading the way up a rock-and-pebble-strewn path near the water, she continued until they came to a half-hidden shelter in the shadow of overhanging boulders.
Entering it, she found her spear and one that her father often used. When she emerged from the shelter with them, she saw his eyes widen.
“You do know how to spear salmon, do you not?” she asked with a smile.
Chapter 5
