by Amanda Scott
Mag was delighted to see her smile but astonished to see the spears. “You are ever surprising, lass. I’ll admit that I’d expected poles. I have not taken a spear in hand for many months, but I’ll wager that I can still spear a fish or two if I must.”
“You must, aye,” she said, still smiling. “I keep such caches scattered about, because I don’t like to carry things unless it is necessary. I often carry my dirk, but I ken fine that a woman bearing more noticeable arms may seem to seek trouble.”
“You think of your fishing-spear as a weapon?”
“Aye, sure I do. Don’t you?”
“I do, but I’ve never known a woman who could throw anything straight.”
“I’ll hit any sensible target you choose except a forest creature,” she said evenly as she leaned the second spear against a nearby boulder.
“Another time, perhaps,” he said, watching her as she turned back to face him. Wondering if he’d offended her, he added, “I just want a view of the landscape I crossed yesterday. If the fog has lifted enough, I’d like to see the loch, too.”
“Go ahead,” she said. “From the crest of yon ridge across the burn, you will have a fine view southward to the river and west to the Loch of the Long Boats.”
“Will you not come with me?”
“Nay, I’ve no need to look to know that no enemy threatens us now.”
He wondered if she truly had such confidence in her father’s men. He had noted the pause earlier before she had assured him that men would be watching for intruders. The previous day, clearly, they had failed to see him or his pursuers. Most likely Andrew Dubh had made his displeasure known. No leader of men wanted to learn of enemy intrusion from any but his own people. The wildly inclement weather over the last few days was surely not sufficient excuse.
Andrew had seemed to take the incident in stride, though. If he had spoken to his men, Mag knew naught of it.
Finding a place where he could leap across the burn, he climbed swiftly but cautiously, recalling the tales he had heard about Tùr Meiloach’s terrain—its dangerous instability and the equally dangerous beasts that inhabited it. The lass proved to be right about the view from the ridge, because it was spectacular, the sort of panorama on which one could feast one’s eyes.
Mist still clung to the ground and to trees here and there but was thinning rapidly. A thick finger of fog hovered over the river to the south, and a thinner layer coated the loch. But he detected no movement and could see no boats on the loch. Nor would any boats have set out through such a dense morning fog. Pharlain’s men were skilled, but they were not daft.
Although the view invited him to stay, he did not linger, because the lass was more enticing and he wanted to see her smile again. He could see her now below in the still misty declivity, standing on a flat granite slab that jutted into the burn. She had clearly put him out of mind and focused her attention on her fishing.
He was about to scramble down again when she drew back her spear.
Pausing to watch, he admired the figure she made, standing there like a huntress. As the thought crossed his mind, her spear flashed down and back up, a large salmon wriggling indignantly near the tip. She swiftly brought the fish to ground and ended its struggles in a single blow with a rock. Then, she gently removed it from the spear and slipped a string through its gills before sliding it back into the water and tying the string ends to a stout branch of an overhanging shrub.
Shifting the dirk on her belt, she glanced up, saw him, and waved.
His long vision was excellent, and he could tell that the salmon’s death had saddened her. Not a true huntress then, he decided. He saw no hint of victory even now as their gazes met. Descending almost as quickly as he had climbed, he found her seated near the water on the jutting rock slab.
“I saw your catch,” he said. “You handle that spear right skillfully.”
“Thank you. My father taught me.”
“Do you use it for hunting, as well?”
“Nay, I hunt with my bow, but only rabbits and only when I must. I dislike killing any of our beasts. I don’t mind so much with the fish, but this one was such a splendid chappie that I hated to see him die.”
“Men must eat, lass. Women and children, too.”
“I ken that fine,” she said, returning her gaze to the water. “My father taught me many skills, so that I can look after myself and, if necessary, anyone else who needs looking after.” Looking back at him, she added, “I confess, though, that I wanted to fish today just to show you I can.”
“I see nowt amiss in that,” he said, picking up the spear that she had leaned against the boulder. “Your skill is impressive. But it will not long remain so if you do not practice regularly.”
“I know that, too. But I’ve got my fish. It is your turn now.”
He nodded, hoping he was not about to make a fool of himself. He had not so much as touched a spear during his imprisonment. Hefting the one he held, he saw that it was well-crafted, smoothly polished, and perfectly straight. Its point was razor sharp and well-barbed. He would have no excuse if he failed.
She scooted out of his way. “Stand yonder, at the edge. ’Tis the best place.”
Accepting her recommendation, he stepped to the edge of the slab and saw that the burn widened just below it, drawing fish into a near whirlpool there. He watched for several moments, noting passage of a few large trout as well as salmon.
She kept quiet, watching him.
He drew back the spear, chose a target, nearly went for it, but drew back. Hefting the spear again, he drew breath and, finding a new target, brought the spear down hard, pulled it back, and flipped its tip upward as soon as it pierced the fish.
Hers was bigger, but his was a fine specimen. He looped the two together on her string and dropped them back into the water to keep cold.
“We should go back now,” she said. “Forbye, I hope you broke your fast before you came out.”
“I did, and I am not ready to return. Don’t you want to take more fish?”
“Nay, others will be fishing—hunting, too. We do not lack food.”
“Then we can discuss your thoughts regarding this plan of your father’s,” he said, sitting on the slab beside her. “You say you don’t know what you think but will obey Andrew Dubh. I would liefer know the cause of your uncertainty, lest you submit to his will and soon regret your decision.”
“I will discuss whatever you like,” she said amiably. “But I would like to choose a topic of my own first if I may.”
“What is it?”
“You seem much more even-tempered than most men I have met,” she said. “I did think that you might take offense earlier when I suggested that you might take our name only to protect yourself. But you did not seem to do so.”
“I was not offended,” he said, mentally rejecting his initial brief surge of annoyance as taking offense. “You had reason to question my agreement with your father. As for being even-tempered, I must admit that I was a firebrand in my youth. My brothers could easily stir a blaze in me with their teasing. But a prisoner learns quickly that a hot temper is not an asset. In troth, had I had better control of my temper before that fracas, I’d likely not have fallen captive. But tell me what your sisters think of our possible marriage.”
“Lina likes you. I think Muriella would like me to know you better.”
“Doubtless, they both would like that, as would I. They call you Dree?”
“They do, aye. Muriella gave Lina and me our nicknames when she first began to talk, because she couldn’t say our names. She also called herself Murie. Our mother tried to persuade her to say Muriella, but she refers to herself so only when she is in the sort of company that demands formal behavior.”
“She seems gey sprightly, more so than the lady Lachina.”
Andrena smiled. “Murie just seems so, because Lina is so practical. As you have seen, Lina is a skilled weaver and needlewoman. She is also a fine musician and the peacemaker amongst us. Murie is
a dreamer and gey creative. She, too, is skillful with music but prefers to make up her own tunes and songs. She also spins threads, yarns, and stories. And, as I mentioned before, she remembers everything she hears or sees. Sometimes one wishes that her memory were less retentive.”
“I see,” he said with a smile, thinking of Lizzie, who also often remembered things that her brothers wished she had not. He nearly said so but stopped himself. Not only had he grown accustomed to keeping his thoughts to himself, but also, now that Andrena was talking, he did not want to divert her.
“What I doubt you will understand as easily is the bond that the three of us share,” she said. “When one of us is upset or ailing, the other two sense it even if they are not with her. Yesterday, when you and I returned to the tower, you will recall that they were about to set off in search of me. They had been watching the birds, and they both sensed my emotions when I reacted to that lout who grabbed my arm. They sensed them again when I turned and found you in my path.”
“When I startled you, you mean.”
“Aye, you did,” she said. “But we talk only of me, sir. You have yet to tell me much of interest about yourself or your people.”
“There is nowt much to tell,” he said. “I have two brothers and a father on whom I have not clapped eyes in more than a year and a half. My mother died when I was small, but I had four sisters. One died young, two married before I fell captive, and the fourth has likely married by now.” Meeting her gaze, he said gently, “I’d liefer talk more about you, lass. I want to know what you think.”
“In troth, sir, I think we should go back. We can talk as we go, if you like, but my sisters and my father will begin to wonder where we are. And if my lady mother begins to worry, you will soon get a taste of my father’s temper.”
“Then, we will go at once,” he said, suiting action to words.
As Andrena rose to accompany him, she decided that he had agreed too easily to go. He seemed amiable enough, so she wondered why he resisted talking about his family. It was, after all, common Highland custom to exchange details of one’s clan and family whenever one met new people. Visitors or overnight guests often recited their ancestry for generations to ensure that others did not mistake them for anyone else. The larger the clan, the longer the introductory discussion might take. But Magnus Mòr had merely enumerated members of his immediate family: two living brothers, three living sisters, one father, and no mother.
Under other circumstances, she might have pressed him harder. But amiable as he was, something about him made her feel as if it would be rude to insist that he tell her more about his brothers and sisters. If so, it would be ruder yet to ask about their spouses, the circumstances of his mother’s death, the scope and violence of his temper when it did flare, and other such intriguing details.
Overall, she decided as they walked silently downhill toward the tower, there was much to recommend Magnus Mòr Galbraith as a husband. Despite his having suffered capture and imprisonment, he seemed confident of his skill with weapons and would doubtless hold his own in battle. More intriguing was the twinkle in his eyes, the way his smile lit his face, and the natural good manners he displayed.
When she moved to step down from one boulder to another, she unexpectedly felt a gentle hand at her elbow. Her first impulse was to reject the notion that she needed his help. But the thoughtful gesture warmed her, and she thanked him.
He smiled then, and she half-expected him to speak, but he just gestured for her to go ahead of him. He reminded her of a gentle giant in a tale that Murie had told, a giant who always acted kindly, moved with the lithe ease of a cat, and spoke more softly than a whispering wind. That giant revealed more martial traits when his friends were threatened, and Andrena was sure that Magnus Mòr would, too.
When he still had not spoken by the time they reached the track that she had followed the day before, she said, “What was it like to be Parlan’s captive?”
“Unpleasant,” he said. “But to survive, a man finds his way wherever he is.”
“That,” she said, glancing back at him, “is not much of an answer.”
Mag had been watching her well-shaped backside twitch under the soft deerskin breeks and wondering how long it would be before she felt compelled to speak. But he had not expected her to put him on the spot so quickly.
Amusement stirred at that thought, and honesty, as well. The fact was that watching her stride ahead of him had been stimulating him in more ways than he wanted to contemplate. She had startled him right out of that pleasant reverie.
Moreover, had he not, only a short while before, been thinking that she was not only stunningly beautiful but intriguingly strong-minded and that life with such a woman could only prove interesting, not to mention sensually and mentally invigorating? Now, here he was, taken off his stride by a question that he ought to have expected before now and a flat refusal to accept his glib reply.
“In troth, I’d liefer not talk about my imprisonment,” he said. “But you do have a right to know that nowt of importance happened to me there. Once I learned to keep my wits about me, to control my temper, and to avoid setting anyone else’s temper aflame, I got by. It was unpleasant, but it did me no lasting harm.”
“You stayed there for a year and a half,” she said. “Surely, as big and powerful as you are, you ought to have been able to escape long ago.”
“One of the disadvantages of being larger than most is that the guards kept a closer watch on me. Also, some louts believe they must challenge anyone who looks more powerful simply to prove that he is not. I learned to keep my wits well-honed, and I made friends with other prisoners, even with some of Pharlain’s henchmen. Recall that a number of the older ones served your father. They are not all as loyal to Pharlain as he thinks they are.”
“But you must have wanted to escape,” she said. “Sakes, when you did escape, you chose the worst possible weather for it. You might have drowned.”
“Aye, but thanks to the devilish winds and rough water, they had taken off my chains. I swim well, and they were not expecting me to try. Nor could they follow me in such blackness. The wind had blown out our torches and the lantern they kept swinging from the bowsprit. One can tell the difference between water and land even in such darkness, but one cannot see the hazards. They had, perforce, to keep their boat well away from that rockbound shore until dawn.”
“But why didn’t you escape before? There have been other stormy nights.”
“Aye, sure, but chains must always be a deterrent, and we were rarely on the loch in bad weather. Also, after a captive settles into a routine, although the notion of escape does often tickle his thoughts, he does not dwell on such notions without a stronger incentive to escape than to stay put.”
“Mercy, I should think escape would be the first thought in one’s mind.”
“Only if one sees more benefit in trying to escape and accepting whatever punishment comes if he fails than in staying where he is.”
“You didn’t want to escape?” She stopped, turned, and stared at him.
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, coming to a halt. Shifting his gaze toward a nearby stirring of leaves, he thought briefly and said, “Sithee, a man must consider the odds. One chap who tried to run sacrificed a foot as a result. Pharlain said it would keep him from running again, and it did. The poor chap died of infection.”
Her face paled. Then, frowning thoughtfully, she said, “Did your clansmen not seek to free you? Could they not have paid a ransom or some such thing… or fought for your release?”
“They may have done such things,” he said. “Pharlain might not have told me if they had.” He doubted that anyone had offered to pay a ransom. Nor, he thought, would his father or brothers have inquired about his health. But he was not ready to confide that to her… not yet. Mayhap a time would come, or not.
She was still frowning. “My father aids his people whenever he can. I know that if one of our lads were captured, Father woul
d do all he could to win the man’s freedom… or the woman’s, come to that,” she added firmly.
“He would, aye,” Mag said. “He does seem to be that sort of a man. But if you think that our dallying will annoy him, mayhap we should make haste.”
She gave him a quizzical look but turned and strode swiftly along the path, offering him that splendid view again. However, his enjoyment of it faded under the weight of knowing that he owed her answers to her questions. He suspected that what had stopped him might be fear of her reaction, rather than simple reluctance to discuss painful facts. That might mean that he feared he might lose her, though.
She made no further effort to converse, and he soon saw the tower rising above the trees. The gate opened before they reached it, and Andrew Dubh stood just inside, waiting for them.
The lass did not seem surprised to see him.
Andrena knew from the look on her father’s face that he expected them to have news for him. Feeling contrary and annoyed with both men, she bade him a cheerful greeting and asked if her mother was in the solar.
“Sakes, I dinna ken where she be. I’ve been wondering where the pair of ye were.” He was not looking at her but at Magnus Mòr, who remained silent.
“I walked to the cliffs,” Andrena said. “Then we speared a pair of fine salmon near my cache on the home burn and came home.”
“Well then?” Andrew said, still looking at Magnus, who hefted the string of fish for him to see. Fixing a piercing gaze on Andrena then, Andrew said, “Ye ken fine what I want to hear, lass? Will ye agree to marry this fine lad?”
“I will, sir, because he is kind and considerate and I ken fine that you might have provided someone much worse. But I’ll tell you plainly, I am by no means sure that this is the best notion you’ve ever conceived.”
But Andrew was grinning. “ ’Tis a fine plan,” he insisted. “Ye’ll see. I’ve sent for the priest to come as soon as ever he can get here. I didna tell him why he’s to come, so likely he’ll be imagining last rites or such. Forbye, he’ll be pleased to find a wedding awaiting him instead.
