by Amanda Scott
“Take the dirk from its sheath now, and show me how you hold it,” he said, hoping his tone would warn her that he expected obedience.
Grimacing, she flicked off the leather loop that kept the dirk in its sheath and withdrew the weapon. Andrew had at least given her a dirk short enough to manage. He had also taught her to take it from its sheath and hold it properly.
Even so, she looked worried rather than confident of her ability.
“This is foolish,” she said, lowering the weapon.
“If you feel safer carrying it when you go out alone, you surely know how to use it,” he said reasonably. “You need only show me that you can protect yourself, and I will agree with Andrew that you should carry it.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“And I say that you cannot. I also say that unless you prove that you can use that blade, you won’t lay a hand on it again. Pretend that I’m Pharlain.”
She licked her lips, and he could see that she was considering the idea. But she shook her head.
Realizing that the test would be useless if she worried about stabbing him, he snatched a plump pillow from the bed. “See if you can stab this whilst I hold it out before me. You won’t hurt me, no matter how hard you try, lass, so come at me.”
Her eyes glinted. He could see that she was getting angry, but that was fine. If she lost her temper, he would teach her two lessons in one.
Holding the pillow out with both hands at arm’s length in front of his chest, tilted slightly downward, he said, “Strike it dead center if you can.”
She held the dirk out from her right side, pointed upward with the blade’s edge properly aimed away from her, gripping it as if it were a hammer, with her thumb atop her fist. She would do little harm to the pillow so. Not that he cared about the pillow, but Hector would. And Hector would tell him exactly what he thought about such goings-on in a bedchamber.
The thought made Mag’s lips twitch.
As they did, she leaped at him, slashing forward and up with the blade.
In a flash, he let go with his left hand, held the pillow steady with his right, and caught her wrist before the blade touched the pillow.
“That’s unfair,” she said angrily, trying to jerk free. “Your arms are much—”
She broke off although he hadn’t said a word. Nor did he let go.
Instead, tossing the pillow back onto the bed, he gently took the blade from her hand, set it on the nearby candle table, and pulled her into his arms.
“I should not have said you were unfair,” she muttered to his chest. “I ken fine that any man’s arms will be longer than mine. But I also ken fine that you think—”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking right now, lass, or how I feel.”
“Aye, sure, I do,” she said. “You are going to forbid me to walk out alone or to carry my dirk anymore.”
“Only until I can teach you,” he said. “We can work on that today and during our return to Tùr Meiloach tomorrow. Sithee, mo chridhe, I do understand your love of solitude—in the woods, on the hills, or near the sea. I often feel those same needs myself. I’ve never taken anyone with me to the Narrows before,” he added softly.
“Do you truly think of me as your heart?”
“I do. My own strong, sweet heart, whose safety concerns me deeply.”
“You disarmed me so swiftly, so easily. And with your left hand.”
“Any warrior could do the same—many nonwarriors, come to that,” he said. “A man who was angry or brutal enough could do much worse. Sithee, I stopped when I had taken your weapon. But I still held your wrist, so I could easily have spun you around and pressed your own blade to your throat.”
Feeling her tremble, he eased her a little away from him, looked into her eyes, and said, “I think we should stop for now. I wanted to teach you that carrying such a weapon does not ensure your safety. Now I just want to hold you.”
He did, and he caressed her. That led eventually to other things, so that the laird had returned from the mainland long before they left the bedchamber.
Galbraith was at the dais table when they went downstairs and greeted them pleasantly, even teased them about “sleeping so late.” But Andrena thought he still seemed uncomfortable with Mag, and she soon sensed that the laird felt guilty about something. It did not take much imagination to guess what that was.
Looking from the younger man to the older, she was sure that if she could get them talking about their long-ago argument and all that Galbraith had said then, they would soon sort themselves out. But then Lina loomed large in her mind’s eye. Knowing that her wise sister would say, as she had many times, that one must think through every possibility before acting on an impulse, Andrena held her tongue.
The impulse stirred again several times during the day, because they spent it with Galbraith while he showed them improvements he had made to Inch Galbraith and talked about others at Culcreuch. But Andrena, like the men, exerted herself to avoid mentioning difficult topics.
At bedtime, impulse stirred again to urge Mag to talk with his father. But he easily kept her thoughts occupied until both of them fell, exhausted, to sleep.
The next morning, when he said they would leave as soon as they had broken their fast, she nearly protested, and not just because she still hoped he would talk with his father. She felt limp from two delightful nights of sensual exertions and feared that she lacked the strength to walk to Luss, let alone up the steep, rugged path beyond its glen and onward. But she knew that Mag was eager to take her home so he could warn her father about Pharlain’s plans and get word to the King, either by taking the message himself or perhaps entrusting that task to Ian Colquhoun.
Mag ate a hearty breakfast with his usual speedy efficiency, drank the last of the ale in his mug, and got to his feet. Glancing at Andrena’s still half-full bowl of barley porridge, he said, “Finish eating as you will, lass. I want to see that the lads have collected all of our things and that the boat is ready to take us across. I’ll fetch your cloak whilst I’m about it. Can you think of aught else you need?”
“Nay, for I packed everything in my sumpter basket.”
Turning to his father, he said, “I’ll return here before we leave, sir.”
Galbraith nodded but did not speak. Nor did he initiate conversation with Andrena when Mag had gone, so she kept her thoughts to herself until she had eaten all she wanted. Then, signing to a hovering gillie that he might clear her place, she drew her ale mug nearer and looked thoughtfully at its contents.
Galbraith said, “That ale is not as fine as the claret I provided ye on your arrival, my lady. Still, it is drinkable, I trow.”
Looking up with a smile, she said, “My name is Andrena, my lord. My friends and family call me Dree. I hope you can bring yourself to do so, as well.”
“I am not sure your husband would approve of that.”
“Aye, sure, he would,” she said. “Moreover, if by some mischance, he did express disapproval, I would tell him that he must not.”
A glint of humor leaped to Galbraith’s hazel eyes. “D’ye often tell our Magnus that he is wrong?”
“I have not known him for long, sir. And he has rarely been wrong. But I do not fear him or his temper, if that is what you mean.”
“We Galbraith men have quick, hot tempers, Dree.”
“I know that Magnus did have a fiery one of old,” she said solemnly. “But he told me that imprisonment taught him the disadvantages of such. And I have seen no sign of its return.” Before any second thought could stop her, she added, “He cares deeply about you, my lord. I am sure of that. And he feels—”
Breaking off when Galbraith lifted a warning hand, she heard the quick, approaching footsteps that he had heard. Giving him a rueful smile, she stood as Mag strode back into the hall.
Galbraith likewise arose, and when he did, Andrena turned toward him, smiled again, and stepped toward him. When he opened his arms to receive her, she hugged him, mur
muring, “I am glad I have you for my good-father.”
“I think ye’ll be a great asset to our family, Andrena-lass.”
He released her, turned toward Mag, and then glanced back at her with a slight frown. “I am recalling only now that Andrew Dubh MacFarlan has been seeking husbands for his daughters for some time now. For the eldest… You are his eldest daughter, are you not, Andrena?”
Realizing what he was recalling and that Mag had told her himself that he’d not yet brought up the subject, Andrena said warily, “Aye, sir, I am.”
Turning next to Mag, he said, “As I recall MacFarlan’s requirements, the sticking point for most was his insistence that any husband for the eldest must—”
“—must agree to take the MacFarlan name, aye, sir,” Mag said.
“And you agreed?”
“I did, having at the time no great reason to refuse,” Mag replied steadily, meeting his father’s gaze.
Andrena nearly winced at the pain she sensed in the laird then. But he said, “I expect I have only myself to blame for that, lad. I ken fine that you must be on your way at once if you are to reach Tùr Meiloach before darkness falls. But we should talk more about this, I think.”
“I’m willing, sir, and you know where I’ll be.”
Galbraith nodded, saying nothing. But his disappointment was keen enough to make Andrena wish that she could give him another hug.
She gave Mag a look that ought to have suggested that he could at least take a few minutes more to make things right with Galbraith.
He met her gaze as steadily as he had met his father’s but said only, “Art ready to go, sweetheart?”
The endearment dashed away any further urge she might have had to interfere more than she had. She nodded but then decided that she ought to make at least one stop before they set out.
“I’ll be along shortly, sir. I must visit the garderobe first.”
“Aye, sure, I’ll wait for you outside then.”
She nearly suggested that he’d do better to talk with his father but bit off the words and whisked herself off to the garderobe, leaving the two men alone.
Chapter 18
Mag understood what Andrena wanted him to do. But he did not think it was his place to bring up the devastating argument with Galbraith any more than it had been to hurl his agreement to take the MacFarlan name in Galbraith’s face on their arrival. Nevertheless, he knew he must not leave Inch Galbraith without bidding his father a proper, courteous farewell.
As Andrena’s footsteps faded up the nearby stairway, Mag turned to meet Galbraith’s gaze and to note with relief the tiny smile curving his lips.
“She speaks her mind, that one,” Galbraith said.
“She does, aye,” Mag agreed. “Sometimes, she reminds me of Lizzie. But she is wiser than Lizzie is, I think.”
“She has more years in her dish than our Liz does,” Galbraith said. “I was telling her when ye returned that I think she will make an excellent addition to our family. Ye’ve done well to marry her, lad. I’d like to have been there when ye did, but I ken fine why ye might not have thought so. By my troth, though, if I could take back those words that I flung at ye in anger all those months ago, I would.”
Mag could not think what to say. Having endured the pain of those words for so long, simply saying that he could forgive them seemed impossible. Moreover, he could not be sure Galbraith even remembered all that he had said, and Mag did not intend to remind him.
“I… that is we should go now, sir. Will you go down to the pier with us?”
“I will, aye. And I meant what I’ve just said to ye, Magnus. I was wrong. Colquhoun gave me an earful, I can tell ye, when he heard what I’d done.”
“He told me,” Mag admitted. “We stayed at Craggan Tower the night before we went to Paisley. The laird lent us a galley and sent Ian with us.”
Details of the trip to Dunglass and the abbey and of how they had met Pharlain’s galleys on their return providing safe topics while they waited for Andrena, the atmosphere was entirely amiable as the three walked together down to the pier. The coble awaited them there on breeze-rippled water.
When Andrena saw Mag and Galbraith waiting for her in the tower’s entry hall, she sensed calm between the two and hoped that it meant they had talked. The laird gave her an extra-hard hug and insisted on helping her into the boat, thus stirring her impatience to know what they had said to each other.
The journey to the western shore passed quickly. In the wee clachan, the two gillies and Lippin Geordie awaited them with the garron. As soon as the men had strapped on the sumpter baskets, they bade their farewells and left.
Andrena kilted up her skirts to make walking easier but wished that she were wearing her breeks. She had not asked Mag if he’d mind, because even if he had agreed that she could, her mother would learn one way or another that she had and be displeased. Not only might Peter and Jonas talk, but the possibility of meeting someone else in Glen Luss or on the path beyond it did exist. Come to that, many of their own people would find the fact that she was wearing breeks in her husband’s presence worthy of eager discussion.
The gillies’ presence also deterred her from asking Mag about his talk with Galbraith. She thought she saw her chance when they stopped to rest and get a drink from a gurgling rill. But he drew her toward a flat boulder, sat down beside her, and said, “Let us talk for a time about how you can defend yourself.”
“Father said that the very sight of a blade in a woman’s hand terrifies men.”
“It would not terrify a warrior,” Mag said. “Andrew must know that as well as I do. It is more likely that he believes you are safe on Tùr Meiloach land and won’t need to defend yourself there. Or he may think that, in an unusual situation, you might use a dirk against a badger or a wolf, although—”
“I would never hurt an animal,” she interjected. “As I told you before, I have killed rabbits, but rarely and only because we do eat them and Father insisted that I learn to shoot at moving targets. I hate killing them, though, because the poor things don’t really move much and cannot defend themselves.”
“But a badger, a wildcat, or a wolf…?”
“They don’t attack me. Wolves, after all, are usually nocturnal hunters, and badgers are dangerous only if cornered. Wildcats are the same. I often see them in my rambles, because they haunt rills and burns in search of prey. But although they may look right at me, they soon melt away into the shrubbery and vanish.”
His eyes twinkled. “You are making an excellent argument to persuade me that I should keep that dirk. Not only have you said that you don’t need it to defend yourself against the beasts of the forest, but you have also told me that you don’t want to hurt anyone. Do you think that you would stab a man if you could?”
She opened her mouth to tell him indignantly that of course she would. But she shut it again with the words unsaid. The fact was that she had not thought about having to stab a man, because she had never felt threatened at Tùr Meiloach, even by the three intruders seeking Magnus. The three had angered her but not frightened her. She had had her dirk then and not spared it a thought.
Meeting his now-serious gaze, she said honestly, “I don’t know if I would.”
“Good lass. I would not have believed any other answer. I have another question, though. When you sensed danger lurking behind the point on the Loch of the Long Boats, how was that feeling different from what you felt about those men who were searching for me?”
“I was not afraid of those men,” she said. “I had sensed the birds’ distress earlier, so I knew someone had entered their territory who did not belong there. But I sensed no threat to myself from them, then or later.”
“Even when that lout grabbed your arm?” he demanded.
She thought back to that moment. “I was furious that he would dare touch me. But I felt no fear of him.”
“By God, you should have,” he said. Then, more gently, he added, “I will admit that if lack of
fear kept you from taking that dirk out of its sheath, I am glad you felt none. What he might have done if you had put a hand to it—”
“Faith, sir, the birds would—”
“I don’t want to hear about the birds! Tùr Meiloach is not magical. Your father has merely convinced his enemies by craft and trickery that it is.”
“Faith, I’ve made you angry again.”
“Of course, I’m angry. I have not let myself care about anything for a long time, but I care about you more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. I don’t possess many things in this life, lass, but what I do possess, I mean to keep and protect.”
Heart pounding, she stared at him, wondering if she had heard him aright.
The stunned look on her face recalled Mag to the other men, now watching them. “Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “I’m glad the hawks flew at those men, but I don’t understand why they did. And I’m concerned that their doing so has made you feel as if you have no need to defend yourself. Just being a woman gives you a huge disadvantage. Even a weak man is likely to be stronger.”
“I do know that, sir.”
“Aye, but you may not know how you can use that to defend yourself. Sithee, most men will expect you to obey them and to fear their strength. So if you lack opportunity to defend yourself with a weapon, or otherwise, you should stay calm but wary. If you appear unthreatening and wait for your opportunity, it will come. Otherwise, you may make your opponent angry with you, perhaps too angry to remember that he won’t win praise for killing a lass.”
She would have liked to assure him that the birds of Tùr Meiloach would protect her. But she could not explain their behavior, because she did not understand it any better than he did.
“You said you would teach me how to use my dirk,” she reminded him.
“We can talk about that as we go,” he said, getting to his feet and signing to the gillies. Walking beside her, he added, “The lads will follow us, but it doesn’t matter if they hear us or not. The first thing you should know is that your eating knife is a more effective weapon for you to carry than that dirk is.”
