“Give me your hand, Marsali.”
He tried to catch her as she darted higher up the path; it was a game to her now, wielding her power, but he himself was caught in the howling tail of the wind that rose in her wake. Salty foam and sand blew in his face, blinding him. When the air finally cleared, she was gone.
The sea grew calm. The wind died to a teasing whisper. If there was any consolation in the fact she had escaped him, it was only that MacFay would probably not be able to catch her either.
Cursing the helplessness that was intolerable to his nature, he stalked up the path to his horse. Where would she go? If this weird scene was magic, and he doubted it, what would happen between them now? Was she as powerful as she seemed? The thought was as intriguing as it was frightening.
Chapter
22
Duncan was roused from the depths of his dream by the sound of loud snorting in his ear.
He opened his eyes, wincing at the light that poured through the unshuttered window like a waterfall. A wet whiskery nose nuzzled his unshaven jaw.
He swallowed, afraid to look. After several moments he turned his head on the pillow. God help him. He wasn’t alone.
It wasn’t a wet nose. It was a porker’s snout. He was sleeping with a pig.
“What the bloody hell!”
The raspy tenor of his roar sent blood pulsing into the constricted blood vessels of his brain. The brandy bottle , that had nursed him to sleep rolled off his naked chest. As he bolted upright in his bed, Effie’s girl piglet, Ailis, wearing a frilly maid’s lace cap, scrambled under his legs for protection. The boy piglet, Alan, went off to sniff at the bottle that had fallen to the floor.
Duncan stared down at the twitching snout that poked between his feet, then he roared again. Ailis scrambled out from between the chieftain’s legs in terror. Alan squeezed his plump belly to the floor. The twins hated it when people yelled.
The door burst open, Edwina and Effie bumping shoulders in a contest to see who could enter first. The room reeked of brandy fumes. The chieftain sat in the middle of his bed wearing nothing but his trousers and roaring like a wounded lion. Ailis cowered under the coverlet.
Edwina tutted under her breath. Effie whisked the bottle away from Alan’s snout, her voice maternally reprimanding. “And you only a babbie,” she said as she straightened. “The chieftain ought to be ashamed of himself for corrupting an innocent wee beastie.”
Duncan groaned and lifted a pillow to his head. Her strident voice raked like a fingernail across raw nerve endings.
“This room smells like a distillery,” Edwina said, her nose twitching in distaste. “I wouldn’t dare light the fire for fear of an explosion.”
Duncan lifted Ailis from the bed and deposited her on the floor, ignoring her squeals of protest. “Did Marsali come back this morning?” he asked in a voice that sounded like it came from the depths of a dry, dusty well.
“Marsali isn’t coming back,” Effie said cheerfully. “She’s going to live on the moor with the men forever. Ye’ve offended her good and proper this time, my lord.”
Edwina leaned up against the wall. “By the way, Major Darling is waiting for you downstairs, Duncan. He wants your official permission to raze—how did he put it?—‘a few of the eyesore cottages and trees that stand in the way of his road.’ ”
“The bastard!” Effie exclaimed, standing in the doorway with a wriggling piglet hooked under each arm. “Ye’re going to stop him, aren’t ye, my lord? You willna let him destroy homes?”
Duncan frowned, lowering the pillow. He wasn’t listening to them. He thought he heard Marsali’s voice in the courtyard. He rose stiffly and went to the window, squinting his bloodshot eyes to make out the figures below. No. It was only a kitchen maid scolding Lachlan for stealing her fresh oatcakes.
He cursed under his breath. Well, they’d finally come full circle, he and Marsali. She was the little outlaw again, back on the moor with his clansmen, and he was a prisoner of his heritage and hating himself. He put his hand to his temples, massaging the tension that smoldered behind his eyes.
“You are going to stop them, aren’t ye, my lord?” Effie asked, watching him closely.
He turned and gave her a blank look. “Stop who from what?” he said hoarsely. “And why does everyone make himself at home in my bedchamber?”
“Stop the British soldiers.” Edwina frowned in disapproval. “You know, you really did make quite a mess of things last night. And Major Darling has been waiting over two hours for you to get up.”
Duncan headed for the washstand and quaffed the contents of the water jug in one greedy swallow. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror. He’d been hoping that last night hadn’t really happened. Disjointed images flashed through his mind and made no more sense in the light of morning than they had in the wee gray hours.
Marsali, a maelstrom of unleashed emotion. Marsali, hurt and humiliated in the hall, flirting with MacFay. Raising the wind and the sea. Running away with that hawk. Fragile and furious, finally testing her wings.
She was gone. He could feel the castle slipping back under its spell of darkness, and he was slipping too, returning to the cold crypt of self-control. How the hell had he allowed it to happen?
He backed away from the mirror, staring morosely across the room. She held the upper hand now, and it didn’t make him very happy. Still, while he’d never meant to hurt her, he couldn’t let her run around openly defying him. He should never have let his emotions override his better judgment.
“I’ve never seen him like this before,” Edwina told Effie in concern. “I hope to God he pulls himself together before he goes to London. No one would believe he was the ‘Merciless Marquess of Minorca.’ ”
Duncan turned stiffly and walked to the door like one of his lead soldiers. “What did you say this captain’s name was?”
Edwina and Effie shared worried glances. “He isn’t a captain, Duncan,” Edwina answered. “The man is a major, but no matter his rank, you can’t greet him—”
“A major. Well, bring out the French brandy then. Find that ass Abercrombie while you’re at it.” He glanced down at himself with a frown. “What the hell happened to my shirt?”
“Ye threw it off the watchtower last night when the ghosts started to fight,” Effie said, grinning in enjoyment. “Would ye like to borrow my plaid?”
Marsali was driving everyone mad by midmorning. Now that she’d discovered magic, she couldn’t resist experimenting with her power. No cow, cairn, or clansman escaped her determined attempts at enchantment.
At first the clan sought her out in the moorland cave she claimed as her own, encouraging her efforts. She tried to change Donovan’s calf into a bull, but the calf ran away.
She tried to grow hair on Lachlan’s thinning scalp, and that didn’t work.
She even tried to remove the birthmark on Owen’s neck, and he swore she’d made it grow larger.
“Oh, well.” Lachlan leaned back against a boulder outside the cave, rubbing the sore spot where she’d banged her uncle’s wand repeatedly on his pate in an effort to sprout hair. “Ye’ve done yer best, lass. Perhaps what happened last night was a freak of nature.”
Marsali frowned. “I wish that were true, Lachlan, but I’m afraid I’m cursed with my power, and if I were speaking to Fiona and my uncle, I’d ask for their advice on how to summon it at will.”
“Do ye really have the power, Marsali?”
She lifted her shoulders in a wan shrug. “I suppose so. I mean, I raised the sea a bit, and there was a fair wind blowing. But I don’t know that I’d care to do it every day. It takes something out of a body. You should have seen the chieftain when he tried to grab me on the cliffs. It was the first time I’ve ever seen him look frightened.”
Marsali was quiet for a moment. She told herself it felt like heaven to be away from that dank, confining castle. No nasty chieftain to order her about, to criticize her clothes, her behavior, her beliefs. No one to s
cowl at her and tell her to put out her chest. What a relief to have escaped the dark spell of his power.
But the truth was that she felt miserable; she hadn’t slept a wink, convincing herself all was well in her world. For one thing, her body had kept her awake, thrumming like a harp as the residue of last night’s emotional storm faded away.
For another, Duncan’s dark face haunted her every time she closed her eyes.
I care for you, lass.
He cared for her. She cared for him. You’d think it would be a simple enough situation. But the trouble was that the chieftain complicated everything with his twisted outlook on life.
He was hurting, and because of it he had hurt her too. Well, now they were both unhappy, and what did it prove?
“Put a spell on the chieftain, Marsali,” someone suggested. “Make him go away fer good, lass.”
“I tried to have Uncle Colum put a spell on him,” she explained glumly. “That’s what’s gotten me into so much trouble in the first place. Magic is conspiring with my own human weaknesses to throw me into the man’s arms.”
Owen looked alarmed. “What do you mean, Marsali?”
She drew a stick figure of Duncan in the dirt with her wand, sighing wistfully. “Uncle Colum cast a spell to make the chieftain and I fall in love with each other, but only my half is working. The MacElgin is a horrible tangle of human emotion that even magic cannot touch.”
Lachlan and Owen traded troubled looks as she sank down onto her knees, staring at the crude drawing of the chieftain. “But we thought ye wanted to marry Jamie MacFay,” Lachlan said.
“Aye.” Owen nodded in agreement. “Ye were angry as hell when the chieftain denied the betrothal last night.”
Marsali sighed again, frustrated by her inability to make them understand. “But I didn’t really want to marry Jamie, don’t you see? I only pretended to because the chieftain wanted me to, and I was tired of obeying his orders and it… it just seemed easier than admitting I had true feelings for him, which of course I didn’t realize until he looked at me like that in the hall after he caught Jamie with that woman. It was that look of his that did it.”
Lachlan folded his wiry frame down onto the dirt, his bushy eyebrows drawn into a frown.
Owen made a fuss of picking bits of gorse from his plaid.
Neither man could make out a word of sense in anything she’d said, but they did understand that their Marsali was unhappy, and that somehow it was the chieftain’s fault.
She rose, shaking her head. “There’s nothing you can do to help. I’ve brought this all on myself, and now I’ve the burden to bear of knowing magic, which you would think would be a nice thing.”
“Aye, a helpful thing,” Owen murmured cautiously.
Lachlan nodded. “Ye would think so.”
Marsali stood at the mouth of the cave, staring out across the moor at the castle. “Even magic couldn’t make the chieftain fall in love with me, not that I wanted him to, mind you. But it just goes to prove that I was right: If something is meant to be, it will happen anyway. Magic or not.”
A few minutes later, Marsali’s young nephew came bursting into the cave to summon her. Her sister-in-law, Bride, had gone into hard labor. Gavin, as usual, was useless, and could Marsali lend a helping hand? Better yet, Bride wondered if Marsali could bring her magic and get the whole damned business over with fast.
Marsali had gone off like a martyr, carrying her wand and praying that she didn’t end up changing Bride’s baby into a goat. Clearly her life was no longer her own. Power carried grave responsibilities with it. No wonder Uncle Colum had taken to months of self-isolation in his secret hideaways.
Lachlan and Owen watched her leave in silence, not voicing their concern until she was riding across the moor into the woods.
“Dear, dear,” Owen said, shaking his head in sympathy. “Puir lassie, to have fallen in love wi’ the chieftain. What a wretched fate.”
Lachlan scowled. “She’s no in love wi’ him, ye nitwit. ’Tis the MacFay the lass is pining for.”
“The MacFay?” Owen blinked in surprise. “But she said—”
“Aye, and when does a woman ever speak the truth when it comes to love? Anyway, the question is, are we going to help Marsali?”
“Help Marsali what?” a gruff voice demanded from the mouth of the cave.
Owen glanced up as Johnnie joined their circle, his weathered face tired and unsmiling. “We’re tryin’ to help Marsali win back the MacFay.”
Johnnie brushed off the oatcake he’d found outside. “And why would she want to be winning the MacFay? He’s a pig.”
“She’s in love wi’ the pig,” Lachlan explained morosely.
Johnnie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Aye? And I’d have sworn she loved the chieftain.”
“P’rhaps she’s in love wi’ them both,” Owen offered shyly.
Johnnie whistled through his teeth. “What a mess.”
“Aye,” Lachlan said. “ ’Tis why I never fell in love, thanks be to the good Lord for tender mercies. Damn, I wish she could have fallen in love with the chieftain instead of Jamie.” Johnnie bit into the oatcake, crunching in agreement. “The chieftain intends to leave us in a month,” Lachlan continued, “and like it or not, our lives have changed for the better since his return.”
“They have?” Owen asked, incredulous.
“Aye,” Lachlan said. “For one thing, the bairns don’t shoot me in the bum every time I run to the stables. And for another, no one has died from Cook’s potage in almost two months.”
“He loses his temper a lot though,” Johnnie said. “Especially at Marsali. Where is the lass anyway? I have something important to discuss wi’ her.”
“She’s off to the cottages,” Lachlan answered.
Johnnie frowned, lowering his voice. “The Sassenachs are threatening to tear down more homes for their road, my ma’s cottage, old Tynan’s the tanner, and even Marsali’s brother’s place. The time has come for a show of strength.”
Lachlan appeared to ponder this at length. “I dinna think strippin’ them naked is going to stop them this time, Johnnie. There’s too many of ’em for a start.”
“That’s what we need Marsali for,” Johnnie said in a tension-fraught undertone. “I’m thinkin’ we make our move tonight. Marsali will know how to take care of it. She’ll keep us safe from the Sassenachs.”
Owen’s eyes widened. “Perhaps we should let the chieftain handle this.”
“The chieftain has other problems to worry about,” Johnnie said with a sly grin. “Besides, it’s time to prove to the man we’re no the helpless idiots he thinks we are.”
Chapter
23
“I apologize again for leaving you waiting in the castle, Major Darling,” Duncan said as he followed the stout, distinguished Englishman on horseback along the coastal road.
Actually, he hadn’t left the man waiting at all. He’d completely forgotten Major Darling in his obsessive anxiety to reassure himself that Marsali had not run off with Jamie MacFay during the night. He scanned the cove for the hundredth time in an hour. Not a trace of the swaggering ass.
“I understand from the charming Lady Edwina that your Highlanders are proving to be a handful, MacElgin.”
“Well…”
“Not that I mean to insult your heritage. It’s just that I forget sometimes you’re a native yourself.” Major Darling gave rein to a raucous snort of laughter that sent a flock of sea gulls flying. “A chieftain—isn’t that what they call you? By God, you’d look damn sweet in one of those skirts with those big hairy legs of yours.”
Duncan pretended to smile. “My clan is very concerned that you’re going to tear down their homes for your road, sir.”
The major wheeled his horse around to face Duncan. “We’re not in the business of tearing down homes, MacElgin. But if a few abandoned huts or stones stand in our way, well, that’s a different matter. The truth is we’d never disturb your Highlands at all if
it weren’t for your damned Jacobites trying to put that pretender on the throne.”
“My Jacobites?” Duncan said, frowning.
“No one is questioning your loyalty, my lord,” the major said, his ruddy face conciliatory. “If there were more sensible Scotsmen like you in the area to keep control, I wouldn’t be here garrisoning this blasted fortress. I’ve nothing personal against your people.”
“Some of those stones you want to knock down are sacred. The Scots believe they’re even imbued with magical powers.”
The major sighed. “You’ve always had my admiration, sir, and I don’t mind admitting that we’re both being wasted in these Highland wilds. Ah, well. Another month or so, and we’ll be back on the battlefield where we belong. But don’t worry. The surveyor told me this morning we won’t need to knock down a single cottage. As for the mystical stones… I’ll do my best.”
“That’s good of you,” Duncan said. Relieved to have the problem solved, he wondered how long it would take him to run back to the castle for a spyglass. He had just noticed a sturdy little sloop anchored at the end of the cove. It could be Jamie, lying in wait. He should have taken care of him last night when he had the chance.
“Well, I’m back off to my fortress,” the major said, oblivious to Duncan’s lapse in attention. “Keep them under control, that’s all I ask. I’d hate to arrest one of your relatives, but then orders are orders, and following them is what I’m paid for. I hear you’re up for a cabinet position, by the way. Remember me, won’t you, my lord.”
His clansmen averted their faces as Duncan rode slowly across the castle yard toward the stable. No, there was no love lost between them. After the humiliation he had dealt their precious princess last night, the chieftain loomed in their minds as more the black demon than ever before. It didn’t matter that his motive had been to protect Marsali. No one wanted to believe the best of him.
Fairy Tale Page 24
