by Amanda Scott
“Ye’ll no be going out in that yellow kirtle without a cloak, m’lady,” Tibby said. “Ye should put on a cap, too. We’ll fetch them from your bedchamber.”
Muriella went meekly, deciding to save her arguments for MacAulay.
Ten minutes later, she found him patiently waiting by the fireplace in the great hall with Scáthach.
Greeting MacAulay with a nod and the dog with a friendly pat on the head, she led the way silently to the stairs, outside, and across the yard to the postern gate.
Pluff dashed to open it for them, earning himself thanks from MacAulay.
Passing through the gateway, Murie hurried across the clearing and into the woods. When they were amid the trees, beyond view from the wall, she continued to stride ahead of him but said bluntly, “This is all your fault.”
“Is that so?”
The note of amusement in his voice swept her fury back again. She whirled to face him, determined to tell him exactly what she thought of him.
Seeing the color flood her ladyship’s cheeks, Rob waited to hear what she would say next, although he might have guessed. She did not disappoint him.
“It is your fault,” she insisted. “Did you not tell my father that I had gone too near the pass? Had you not done that—”
“Even if I did, how does that make your father’s reaction my fault?”
She rolled her eyes. “Faith, but you try to turn a simple fact into a puzzle. Had you not told him, he would have had no reaction.”
“What happened was a natural consequence of your own actions,” he replied calmly. “I warned you to tell Andrew before I, or Pluff, or anyone else did.”
“But why carry tales to my father at all? That was a vile thing to do. Pluff would not have done it.”
Still maddeningly calm, he said, “I did not carry that tale, lass. You did what you did. Then you told your father only that Pluff and I had said we’d seen Dougal. Because apparently you did not describe any of your own actions, Andrew asked me some pointed, quite logical questions. Would you have had me lie to him?”
He could tell from her expression that that was exactly what she had hoped. But when she looked angrily into his eyes and he continued to gaze steadily back at her, she expelled a frustrated breath and said, “I suppose you would not do that.”
“You are right; I could not. I don’t hold with lying in any event, and I came to Tùr Meiloach a-purpose to seek his advice. A fine turn I’d have served him, had I given him a lie in place of the honest information he requested.”
With a thoughtful frown, she looked searchingly at him. “He asked you where I had gone walking? That seems most unusual for him.”
“He was more specific than that,” Rob said. “He asked me where you were when I first saw you. Sithee, you evidently told him that we’d met near the northeast slope. You also told him that Pluff and I had both seen Dougal. Do you not think your father is canny enough to draw his own conclusions after that?”
She grimaced and turned away, heading toward the cliffs that overlooked the Loch of the Long Boats.
Andrew had said nowt to him about setting boundaries for her. Moreover, no matter how angry she was with them both, Rob doubted that she would fling herself into the icy water far below, so he followed without comment.
Scáthach glanced at him. Then, Rob having given no other command, she loped past her ladyship and began to range back and forth ahead of them.
Lady Muriella’s silence continued until they emerged from the woods near the clifftops. Then she turned, gave him a rueful smile, and said, “You do know that my father has done this because he still hopes you will agree to marry me.”
“There is no danger of that,” he said, taken aback by her candor.
Her fading smile turned sadly winsome, “I know,” she said. “But he hopes you will, even so.”
Discerning the likely implication of her phrasing with a sense of shock, and only after she had repeated the word “hopes,” he eyed her more warily. “Do you mean to say Andrew told you that he had suggested such a union to me?”
“Aye, sure,” she said with a shrug. “He offered me to you last year when you were here with Sir Ian, did he not?”
Rob hesitated, wondering how much more she knew about the day her sister Lachina had married Sir Ian Colquhoun.
Murie hoped she had put MacAulay on the defensive for once. If she had not, perhaps she had at least diverted his thoughts from what he called the consequences of her actions. His silence was encouraging.
Pressing further, she said sweetly, “You did say you don’t lie, did you not?”
“I was not tempted to lie to you, my lady,” he said, meeting her gaze with apparent ease. “I just wondered how Andrew came to tell you about that day. Did he tell you about it then or more recently?”
Uncertain if the truth would aid her or not, she caught her lower lip between her teeth and tried to think. He was harder for her to read than most men were.
“When did he tell you, lass?”
Sensing no annoyance in him, only determination, Murie shrugged again and said, “If you must know, he told me this morning. He also said that you informed him last year that you would not inflict yourself on any woman. Why is that?”
“If I were wooing you, I might be obliged to explain. But I am not wooing you, nor will I, Andrew’s hopes notwithstanding. Do you mean to stand talking, or would you liefer walk farther? Your father invited me to sup with him, so I’m in no hurry. However, I did not think to ask him what time your people serve supper.”
“We have an hour before we need return,” she said.
“Are you so certain of the time?”
“Aye, sure. Should I not be?”
“You did not even glance toward the sun, although with those clouds in the west, one cannot be sure of its exact location.”
“I don’t need the sun to tell me what time it is,” she said with a smile. “I just know. Lina always knows, too. We were born that way.”
He made no comment on that statement, making her hope he would accept that she spoke the truth. He would test her again, though, because people did that whenever she or Lina displayed their gifts for knowing the time and the tides.
“I have heard that the MacFarlan sisters have some unusual gifts,” he said. “Ian swears that your sister Andrena knows what men are thinking and that Lina can even foretell the future. I should perhaps tell you that I don’t believe in such abilities.”
“That is your right, sir, but I should perhaps tell you that they are real.”
“I do know that some people have a strong sense of time,” he went on as if she had not spoken. “Such people usually explain their ability by noting things that aid them, such as changing light or animal behavior. In troth, most people know by the extent of their own hunger that a mealtime is drawing near.”
“I expect that is all it is, then,” she said, although she knew it was not. To return him to the more interesting subject of his objection to marriage, she said wistfully, “Is it just that you think you would make any woman a dreadful husband or is it something wrong with me in particular?”
The flash of anger she sensed in him surprised her. She had seen nothing in his expression that she could describe as warning that such fury might ignite.
As surprised by the strength of his anger as he could see that her ladyship was, Rob quickly controlled it. He was not angry with her but with himself for making her think that he believed she had something wrong with her.
However, he also suspected that she was seeking change to a topic that might be more comfortable for her. Accordingly, he said, “I am not ready yet to marry, lass. That is all. I don’t intend to discuss my past with you or to bandy words on such subjects. You have two good-brothers who are warriors. I think you would agree with me that any man whose liege lord may summon him to battle at any moment is unlikely to make you a satisfactory husband.”
“Aye, well,” she said, looking thoughtful, “I would not h
ave married Ian or Mag. They are both too bossy to suit me. Come to that, I have yet to meet a man who is not domineering. Men are all much too apt to debate one’s decisions.”
“I can easily believe that the men in your life object to some of yours,” he said. “Having witnessed the result of one of them, I think you’d do better to consider the wisdom of your decisions before blaming Mag, Ian, or your father for objecting to them. These cliffs provide a fine view,” he added. “I saw that from your north river boundary this morning. But, from here, one sees nearly the full length of the loch.”
“The clouds are thinning, so the view will soon be better, and we’ll see a splendid sunset. But you are just trying to change the subject, are you not?”
“Nay, I thought you were.”
She shot him a wry smile. “I was,” she said. “I do not want to talk more about consequences.”
“Something tells me you don’t even like to think about consequences.”
“I don’t.”
“You should not only think about what they might be but also learn from them when they occur,” he said. “Experience comes more from consequences than from anything else. It is not only foolish but foolhardy to ignore them.”
“But, see you, I know what I want to do, so I dislike things—and men—that get in my way.”
“And now I am in your way,” he said, nodding.
“Now you are trying to make me feel guilty,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I do not dislike you. In troth, I am grateful that my father’s hope for our future stirred him to ask you to come with me. That saved me from days of confinement in my bedchamber or the ladies’ solar.”
“If that is all that Andrew had in store for you, you have reason to be even more grateful that I did not accept his offer of a marriage to you,” Rob said with more feeling than he had intended.
“Why?”
“Because if you were my wife and did aught as dangerous as what you did this morning, you would be feeling much less cheerful now and less able to sit.”
Chapter 4
Muriella felt a strange thrill shoot low through her midsection in reaction to MacAulay’s threat, but she recovered quickly. “If that is how you think,” she said, raising her chin, “then I think you are gey wise not to inflict yourself on a wife.”
As the words flew from her tongue, she wondered how he would react. Despite her strong friendship with her good-brothers, Ian and Mag, she was sure that if she dared speak so saucily to either one, he would seek swift retribution.
Again, MacAulay surprised her. He met her gaze as easily as he had before and without anger, incipient or otherwise.
“You may think what you like about me or aught else,” he said. “Everyone has that right. You might also recall what I said about consequences, though. Not everyone is as charitable as I am about tolerating other people’s beliefs.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “You don’t care what I think about you?”
“I did not say that. I said you have the right to think as you like.”
“Then what did you mean about consequences?”
To her annoyance, his lips twitched as if she had amused him again. He did not smile, though, and she realized that she had not yet seen an actual smile from him. Not that that mattered, she told herself. It mattered more that, despite his apparent success at suppressing his smiles, he did seem to be laughing at her.
Before she could tell him what she thought of such impudence, he said amiably, “Are you now more willing to discuss such consequences?”
“I just want to know what you meant.”
“I thought I had made myself clear,” he said, his casual tone making her wish again that she could read his true feelings. “Apparently I did not,” he added, “so I’ll try again. Surely, you know people—especially men—who would react differently than I did to what you said to me just now and the manner in which you said it.”
“Aye, sure, I do,” she agreed, wondering if this irritatingly unpredictable man realized that she had been thinking of Mag and Ian, and if he might tell them about this conversation. She sincerely hoped that he would not.
He was watching her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking and was giving her time to sort her thoughts. Then he said, “Since you do know such men, you must also know that there are many others who would also react badly.”
“But I can always tell if I’m making someone angry,” she said. “I would not speak so to—”
“Don’t be a dafty,” he interjected, his tone still calm despite the command. “I can tell when I make someone angry, too—especially people I know well. That does not mean that I would expect to know what a stranger is thinking. Few men wear their emotions plainly enough for others to see.”
“But I can—”
“No one can always know what someone else is thinking or how that person is reacting, or what he might do next,” he said, his tone still gallingly reasonable.
“Well, I can,” she retorted, feeling her temper rise and fighting to control it.
Without any change of expression, he caught hold of both her shoulders hard and pulled her close to him, looking down into her eyes as he did and lowering his face close enough to hers for her to feel his breath like a warm breeze on her lips.
“Can you, lass?” he asked, the tension in his voice plain for anyone to hear now, the look on his face indecipherable. “Then tell me what I’m about to do.”
She could scarcely breathe, let alone answer his question. Her anger had fled. Her heart thumped hard and fast in her chest.
Easily reading her astonishment and trepidation, Rob let the moment lengthen, hoping he had frightened her a little. If he had shown her something of what men were capable of, he was doing her a favor. As he held her, he realized that his grip was hard enough to bruise her soft flesh and eased it a little.
Her lips softened then. Her limpid gaze seemed to melt under his.
Abruptly, without a second thought, he released her and looked away. What had he been thinking to have touched her in such a possessive way? Had he forgotten so easily that Andrew Dubh had entrusted her safety to him?
Had the lass’s beauty and innocence bewitched him?
Forcing himself to meet her gaze again, he was on the brink of apologizing when he saw the shock on her face and realized that he might have accomplished his goal after all.
“You see?” he said then. “You did not know.”
Her right hand came up in a flash of anger with the full weight of her slender but so-curvaceous body behind it.
He caught her wrist easily and held it.
The villain was bruising her again. “Let go of me,” she said angrily.
“Certainly, just as soon as I know you won’t try that again.”
“I warrant it would be useless if I did.”
“It would, but there might be other consequences, as well, lass. Sithee, I want you to understand the importance of consequences. It seems likely that you have suffered few useful ones in your short life.”
“I am eighteen,” she said. “I cannot be much younger than you are.”
“I am four-and-twenty,” he said.
“That is much older, to be sure,” she agreed dryly. “But even being such a graybeard does not give you the right to issue orders to me.”
“Your father did give me that right, though,” he reminded her. “Not that I am issuing orders. I am just pointing out that the consequences of striking a man much larger than you are might be worse for you than for him.”
“A chivalrous man would let an irate lady strike him, knowing that he deserved such a consequence for angering her. He would then apologize.”
“You may believe that,” MacAulay said. “However, in this matter, your belief conflicts with mine.”
“Still, I am entitled to mine, am I not?”
“You are, but I should tell you that although I’ll apologize when I know I’m in the wrong, I don’t believe I did aught that should have angere
d you.”
“But—”
Interrupting without hesitation, he added, “You should be grateful to know the danger of striking someone so much larger and stronger than you—even someone as aged and decrepit as you pretend to believe I am. Sakes, if having a truth proven to you makes you irate instead of grateful, you have much to learn.”
“You’re the one who made such a point about being old,” she retorted.
Oddly irritated that she would think six years the chasm of a millennium, Rob nevertheless brushed his irritation aside to say honestly, “I meant only that, from what I have seen, you have lived a sheltered, even isolated life here at Tùr Meiloach. Your parents love you dearly, and I’d wager that your older sisters do, too. Therefore, I surmise that such consequences as you may have suffered have been too lenient to teach you due caution.”
“You are right to say that my parents love me,” she said, drawing herself up stiffly and apparently ignoring the rest of what he had said. “In fact, I think that when I tell my father how mistaken he was to place his trust in you, you will suffer some dire consequences of your own.”
“Do you?” he said, mildly amused again. “What will you tell him?”
“I shall tell him what you just did, that’s what.”
“I thought you disapproved of talebearers.”
“He is my father. He would want to know.”
“Know what?”
She glared at him. “I told you. What you did to me.”
“But what did I do, my lady?”
Hesitating only briefly, she said on a note of near triumph, “You grabbed me. I’ll wager you left bruises on both of my shoulders to prove it, too.”
“That would certainly make Andrew Dubh angry enough to demand to know why I had behaved so roughly,” Rob said, nodding. “What would you have me say in reply to such a demand?”
Her eyes widened, then grew thoughtful again. She remained silent.
While she thought, Rob gestured gently toward the forest path that had brought them to the cliffs. “I think we should start back, don’t you?” he said.
