The Warrior's Bride

by Amanda Scott

  She had not yet decided which it was when Tibby came in to help her dress.

  The maidservant, plump and cheerful, flung up her hands. “What ha’ ye done tae that sorry pink kirtle, m’lady? It looks as if ye rolled doon a mud hill in it.”

  “I’ll wear my yellow one with the white lacing, Tib,” Murie said. “Mam wants you to tidy my hair, too, if you will.”

  “I should think I will,” Tibby said. “Were there a windstorm outside that we didna hear inside?”

  Knowing it was useless to scold Tibby for speaking disrespectfully, since Tibby had known her from her infancy and would heed strictures only from the laird, his lady, or Tibby’s own mother, Annie Wylie, Murie said, “Just comb out my plaits, Tib, and put my hair in a net. We will have a visitor at the high table.”

  “Aye, sure, Master Robert MacAulay of Ardincaple. I took a wee peek at the man afore he and the laird left the hall. He were here last year, too, aye?”

  “I don’t want to talk about him. I just want to change my dress.”

  “Och, aye, then,” Tibby said with a knowing grin.

  Muriella clamped her teeth together and began to scrub her face. Even Tibby did not believe in her decision never to marry.

  “It may be true that an imposition of fees willna trouble the Colquhouns,” Andrew said. “But I’d wager they would take exception to Pharlain or the Campbells seizing control of yon peninsula. In troth, if Campbell of Lorne is involved, I begin to suspect the fine hand of the Lord of the Isles in this mischief, because it is to Alexander of the Isles, not to Jamie, that all Campbells submit.”

  The cat, Ansuz, still purring, pushed its head into Rob’s palm, and he stroked it idly as he considered Andrew’s suspicion. At last, he said, “I tend to agree, sir. However, my father has enjoyed peaceful relations with Argyll and rejects any suggestion that he might be party to such a conspiracy.”

  “Aye, he would,” Andrew said thoughtfully. “ ’Tis a pity, but—”

  He broke off at a light double-rap on the door, then said, “That means our dinner be ready to serve, lad. Ye’ll want to refresh yourself afore we join the ladies, so I’ll take ye across the landing to me bedchamber, where ye can use the basin and aught else ye might need. First, though,” he said as he stood. “I’m thinking that my lass went where she should no have gone this morning. If I be wrong…”

  Rob sighed. “You are not wrong, sir. I should have told you straightaway.”

  “Aye, well, I just want to see that the wee baggage keeps safe,” Andrew said.

  Chapter 3

  Muriella was taking her place beside her mother at the high table when Andrew stepped through the archway from the privy stairs at the northeast corner of the great hall, just beyond the ladies’ end of the dais.

  Robert MacAulay followed Andrew, and to her surprise, Ansuz padded at MacAulay’s heels. Glancing at Scáthach, who lay on the sprawling hearth near the crackling fire, Murie saw the big dog rise to its feet and begin to approach.

  Ansuz stopped to glower at it, but the dog continued undaunted, so the little cat arched high with its fur on end and hissed.

  Scáthach cocked her head and looked at Robert MacAulay, as if seeking his advice. Looking from one animal to the other, MacAulay made a small gesture, and Scáthach moved warily around the cat and lay down near the archway.

  “Ansuz rarely comes into the hall,” Lady Aubrey observed mildly. “He spends most of his time in the solar.”

  “That fool cat stays upstairs because it dislikes dogs, and there are nearly always some here,” Andrew said. “He must have taken a strong liking to ye, Rob.”

  “But not to Scáthach,” Murie said, noting that although the little cat had relaxed, it stayed right where it was and eyed the dog with disapproval.

  Lady Aubrey said to MacAulay, “Is that your dog’s name, sir?”

  “Aye, my lady,” he said as Andrew motioned him to the place at his right.

  Lady Aubrey’s eyes twinkled. Glancing at Murie, she said, “Then I suspect you have an interest in Highland folklore.”

  “Perhaps someone else named the dog,” Murie said lightly.

  Whether MacAulay might have risen to the lure, she’d never know, because Andrew held up a hand, silencing everyone before he said the grace before meat.

  Afterward, gesturing for all to sit, he took his seat and said to Lady Aubrey, “As ye see, my lady, I’ve invited the lad to dine with us. I told ye he’d be staying in Mag’s cottage, and I ken fine that ye’ll recall him from Lina and Ian’s wedding.”

  “I do, aye,” Lady Aubrey said, smiling across him at their guest. “I hope your parents are well, sir. It has been some time since last I saw them.”

  “They are both in excellent health and spirits, my lady,” he said. “My mother commanded me to extend her greetings and affection to you.”

  Murie kept her eyes on her trencher, trying to ignore the effect that MacAulay’s presence was having on her.

  When he was not annoyed with a person, he certainly had a pleasant voice, calming and melodious. She would have liked to hear him recite poetry or tell a story. Since he knew about the female warriors, he might know some of the other great tales of Scottish folklore and heroics. But it was more than just his voice that stirred her senses. She would be wiser to ignore him.

  Andrew’s carver had finished his carving, and the gillie Peter Wylie held the platter of sliced meat for Andrew to make his selection. After he had put two juicy-looking slices on Lady Aubrey’s trencher and chosen several for himself, Peter moved to serve their guest and then, at last, came to Muriella.

  As she selected her usual two slices, she heard Andrew say abruptly to Lady Aubrey, “Your daughter has been exploring farther from home than I would wish, madam. That displeases me.”

  Murie froze with a slice of meat dangling from the point of her knife. Over the platter, her gaze met Peter’s, but the gillie displayed his usual stolid expression.

  Whether he was aware that MacAulay must have betrayed her to Andrew or not, she knew that Peter was unlikely to sympathize with her.

  Recalling then that Pluff had also known where she’d gone, she looked at the boy, seated beside burly MacNur, whom he aided with the animals inside the wall.

  Pluff was interested only in his dinner, though, and experience reminded her that he did not carry tales to Andrew or to MacNur about anything she did.

  The traitor had to have been MacAulay. She would like to have seen how he reacted to Andrew’s words. But to see him at all she would have to lean forward and look past both of her parents. She decided it would be wiser to pretend she was unaffected by her father’s comments and could easily explain herself.

  “I have learned that this morning she went near the northeast pass,” Andrew went on. He chewed as he talked, but Murie understood him perfectly and sensed her mother’s stiffening annoyance beside her just as easily.

  The first question was which one of them would scold her? Then, how soon afterward would she be able to murder Robert MacAulay?

  Rob also heard Andrew’s comments to his lady. He might have been happier had the older man held his tongue at least until the meal was over, but what Andrew Dubh chose to do in his own house with his own family, or when he chose to do it, was no concern of Rob’s.

  He therefore kept his attention on his food. It was plain fare but cooked and roasted well. Although it lacked some of the variety that attended meals at Ardincaple or the royal strongholds with which he was familiar, Rob had a practical nature and was a good trencherman wherever he ate. Food supplied the energy a warrior needed to do his job properly. Therefore, one ate whatever one’s servers or hosts offered and did so without complaint.

  Rob also habitually studied his surroundings, so he looked up now and then to scan Andrew’s people at the trestles in the lower hall. He did so then, caught a glimpse of Lady Muriella’s beautiful profile, and knew in a blink that she was angry. He had no doubt that he was the focus of her anger and wonde
red if she would tell him so. From what he had seen of her so far, he decided she would not hesitate to tell him exactly what she thought, little good though it would do her.

  He returned his attention to his food only to note minutes later that gillies were putting up a privacy screen.

  “I want to talk with my lassie for a minute or two afore we talk, lad,” Andrew said quietly to him then.

  “Then, doubtless, you will excuse me, sir,” Rob said, reaching for the cloth provided to clean off his eating knife.

  “Nay, nay, lad,” Andrew said. “Finish your meal and pay me nae heed. Sithee, I needna say much. We’ll take our leave together when ye’re done.”

  Much as Rob would have liked to insist, he still needed advice from the man and did not want to offend him. So he turned back to his meal.

  No sooner had he done so than Andrew dismissed the gillies and said sternly to his daughter, “Ye’ve disobeyed me, Muriella, as I think ye ken fine. Ye should have told me where ye’d been and that ye’d seen Dougal MacPharlain for yourself.”

  “But I didn’t!”

  “Whisst now,” Andrew said. “I’ll hear nae backchat. Forbye, ye should ken fine that any argle-bargle will gain ye nobbut grief. Ye’ve gone your limit this time, lass, by wandering dangerously near that pass, and I mean to put a stop to such behavior. Ye’ll bide inside our gates now for a fortnight.”

  Rob heard Lady Muriella gasp and decided that such a punishment had likely not come her way before. She well-deserved it, though, and he felt not an ounce of pity for her.

  Glancing at her, he saw that words of protest hovered on her tongue.

  She looked at her mother, saw that no help would come from her, and then caught her lower lip in her teeth as if to lock the perilous words inside.

  Andrew evidently saw the same things. He said grimly, “Ye’re wise to hold your tongue, lass. I ken fine how much ye love your wanderings, so it should take only a few days of such confinement to bring ye to your senses.”

  Rob growled under his breath, thinking that Andrew had yielded to her ladyship’s distress. Still, it was no business of his.

  “Thank you, sir,” Muriella said on a note of profound relief.

  “Dinna be thanking me yet. Ye’ll take Peter Wylie with ye wherever ye go. I mean to give him strict instructions regarding your boundaries, too. Ye’ll go nae farther than Peter allows. Nor will ye plague him to give ye more freedom,” he added sternly. “If ye do, it will go much worse for ye. D’ye hear me, lass?”

  “Aye, but to put a gillie in charge of me, even Peter! To shame me so…” Tears welled in her eyes, and one trickled down a smooth, now pale cheek.

  “ ’Tis harsh punishment, I’ll grant ye,” Andrew said. “I expect I could do summat a wee bit more palatable. If ye agree… and,” he added when her tears ceased as if she had turned a tap and a tiny smile touched her lips, “… if he does.”

  Her eyes widened. “Peter?”

  “Nay, nay,” Andrew said. “I was thinking of Rob MacAulay here.” He turned to Rob with a guileless smile. “Since ye’ll likely bide with us here at Tùr Meiloach for several days more, until we sort out what ye mean to do, I’ve nae doot ye’ll agree to escort the lass now and now, will ye no? Sithee, ye’ve shown that ye can persuade her to mind what ye say, so she’ll give ye nae trouble at all.”

  Rob’s jaw dropped, and he stared aghast at his host.

  Muriella’s outrage ebbed when she saw the stricken look on MacAulay’s face, but it flooded back when he recovered enough to say evenly, “I am wholly at your service whilst I remain here, my lord.”

  “Good o’ ye! My lass will stay in the solar this afternoon and contemplate her sins whilst we continue our own discussion. I’m hoping ye’ll sup with us, and mayhap, if she behaves herself, ye’ll take her out for a wee stroll after supper. Ye’ve shown interest in the landscape here, and I’d have ye see as much as ye like. If ye take her with ye, she can answer any questions ye may have.”

  Seething with anger but aware of her mother sitting stiffly beside her and uncertain whether Lady Aubrey’s anger matched hers or Andrew’s, Murie kept quiet. Since her father had practically made her punishment public knowledge, protest would be useless anyway. It was possible that no one at the trestle tables in the lower hall had heard all that he had said. Still, in sending the gillies away as he had, he might as well have announced that his intent was to scold her.

  The worst thing, though, was that Robert MacAulay had carried tales of her to her father. Her first inclination when Andrew had said that MacAulay could escort her was to ignore the so-called easing of her punishment and stay inside, but walking with Peter was too humiliating to contemplate, and she knew that Andrew had meant it to be. He was truly angry with her.

  As always, though, her wily father had put his goals first. His primary aim was the same as it had been the year before, to marry her to MacAulay and thereby gain a third well-connected warrior as a good-son to help him win back the estates that his cousin Pharlain had usurped from him when Andrena was a newborn babe.

  She would go for that stroll with MacAulay, Murie decided. If she could not charm him into being sorry for rejecting her father’s offer the year before, she could at least tell him exactly what she thought of him for carrying tales to Andrew.

  Rob felt as if Andrew had drawn him into a maelstrom, and he could think of no civil way to swim out of it. For his host to involve him in what should have been a private matter of parental discipline was unconscionable, but Rob had heard enough about Andrew Dubh MacFarlan and seen enough of the man to know that Andrew’s conscience rarely interceded when he wanted something.

  Rob’s position was such that he’d have liked to excuse himself, not only from the high table but also from Tùr Meiloach. Nevertheless, having requested Andrew’s advice, he could hardly leave before learning what the man could tell him, at least about Pharlain. In truth, Rob admitted—if only to himself—he would welcome almost any plan that the crafty Andrew helped him devise.

  Rob’s own nature was forthright. However, his two best friends had warned him separately that trying to talk sense into Pharlain over something as lucrative as he and Campbell of Lorne believed collecting passage fees at Ardincaple would be, would prove futile at best.

  “Get yourself up to the ladies’ solar now, Muriella, and dinna show your face below stairs again until I send someone to fetch ye, unless ye would suffer my strongest displeasure,” Andrew said then, diverting Rob from his reverie.

  He stood when Andrew did but did not watch her ladyship’s departure. As the two men ascended the stairs after her, Rob was tempted to point out to his host that including him in her punishment was no treat for him.

  He held his tongue, though, and soon realized that courtesy was not what stopped the words on his tongue. Nor had the concern that someone, even the lady herself, might overhear him if he raised such a subject in the stairwell. The fact was that his irritation was gone, replaced by intriguing conjectures of how her ladyship might react when next they met.

  That thought struck him as illogical. His first reaction had been the realistic one or should have been, because it had been reasonable. He should be anticipating nothing save the sort of trouble that Andrew had assured him the lass would not create. Sakes, since Ian and Mag had warned him that talking to Pharlain without learning how to protect himself against the man would be sheer lunacy, what would they say to this?

  “Sit ye doon, lad,” Andrew said as they entered his chamber and he stepped around the table to his chair. “I’ve had some notions since we talked afore. Nowt that I’d recommend from the outset, mind ye, but some that do warrant discussion.”

  Rob nodded, took the back-stool again, and warned himself not to let his mind wander from the subject at hand. He had a feeling that if it did, his host would notice. And, rather than being offended, Andrew would be delighted.

  Muriella went obediently to the ladies’ solar and felt no surprise when her mother failed
to join her there. Not only would Lady Aubrey doubtless believe that Murie deserved solitude, but rarely did she spend any afternoon in the solar.

  She was more likely to visit people or make her presence felt in the tower, supervising the turning out of a chamber to clean it or another such wifely task.

  Murie took her customary seat with her back to the southeast-facing window, unshuttered now to let in the light and the crisp spring air. Preparing her leader, she attached it to her spindle. Then, with her left hand, she plucked a handful of lamb’s wool from the large basket beside her, overlapped it with her leader, and began gently turning her wheel with her right hand.

  Soon she was working with her usual rhythm and letting her imagination soar far from the solar into a flight of fancy. Robert MacAulay somehow became the central figure, a foolish one who suffered well-deserved trials and tribulations.

  The door opening after what seemed to be only minutes startled her so that she nearly snapped her thread.

  Seeing Tibby in the doorway, Muriella stopped the wheel.

  “What is it, Tib? You nearly startled me witless.”

  “The laird said ye should put on your cloak and take your walk now,” Tibby said, her tone carefully neutral. Nevertheless, Murie easily sensed the maidservant’s curiosity straining for satisfaction.

  Refusing to reveal more information than Tibby had doubtless gleaned since the midday meal, Murie said lightly, “I have not missed supper, have I?”

  “Nay, nay, though Himself did say ye might wonder,” Tibby admitted. “It be so cloudy that he feared it might begin tae rain, and he kent fine that ye’d no want tae miss your walk. Forbye, he said that they had nowt more tae discuss today.”

  “Thank you,” Muriella said absently, her thoughts speeding ahead to all that she still had to say to MacAulay. The imaginary punishments she had inflicted on him had eased her fury, but she could not allow him to imagine that Andrew expected him to control her every movement.