by Amanda Scott
“You don’t! You wouldn’t!”
“Thanks to your so-clever declaration back there, no one would deny me that privilege,” he snapped. “After what the Brehon said, they’ll more likely applaud.”
“Mayhap they would. But the truth is that you are not my husband. I told them you were only to make them let me go. You know I never meant it.”
“Under every marriage law of Scotland, your declaration was legal when I failed to contradict it,” he said more calmly. “You must know that as well as I do.”
“Then I will undeclare it as soon as we are away from here,” she retorted. “If you don’t contradict me then either, you can go about your business free and clear forever. You have made it plain enough that you don’t want me for your wife.”
Rob sighed. Heaven knew she was right about that. He had recalled only when she had mentioned it with her declaration that she was aware of Andrew’s offer and his rejection of it. Not that either of those things made any difference now.
“It is not that simple to end it, Muriella,” he said, striving for patience. “All I meant is that when you declared us married before witnesses and received no contradiction from me, you created a marriage as legal as any in the land.”
“But that’s—”
“The law,” he interjected flatly, urging her along the path. “The only way we can annul it is with the Kirk’s permission. I won’t embarrass you by putting such a request to any clergyman. Nor, I think, do you want to embarrass yourself so.”
She paled but did not deny that statement.
“Whatever possessed you to do it?” he demanded. “Nay, though, do not try to tell me now. Hold your tongue until we are safely aboard the galley. Where the devil is—Oh, there you are,” he added when Pluff ran up beside him. “You have Scáthach, too. Good lad, but don’t you say a word until we’re on that ship, either.”
“I think I should tell ye,” Pluff said, meeting Rob’s frustrated gaze, “that these two wi’ me must go home with us, too.”
The still fuming Rob eyed the woman and young girl in servants’ attire behind Pluff with near exasperation but nodded, easily guessing who they were.
Muriella’s temper had flared at MacAulay’s scolding. First a witless Brehon, she thought, now a witless and unwanted husband. But MacAulay was also still an unknown entity, so when Pluff spoke, she was fighting to curb her anger.
Having focused her attention so narrowly on trying to figure out what MacAulay was thinking and saying, she had been unaware that anyone followed them. Whirling when she heard Pluff speak, she beheld not only the boy and Scáthach but also Mae and a girl of fifteen or sixteen.
“Mae!” she exclaimed. “Oh, how glad I am to see you!”
“Aye, ’tis herself,” Pluff said, clearly delighted that Murie was pleased. “And Mae’s Annabel, too.”
Turning to MacAulay, now eyeing them all with unconcealed truculence, Murie said, “They must go with us. Oh, prithee, do not say that they cannot. Mae is the only one here who was kind to me, and Dougal swore to flog her if she said a word to me. She is terrified of him, sir. And one cannot wonder at that. Surely—”
To her surprise, he said, “They may come, aye.” To Mae, he said, “I ken fine that you are Euan MacNur’s wife and that Annabel is his daughter.”
“Aye,” Mae said in low-pitched, mellow tones. “I couldna stay, sir, and I dared not leave Annabel behind.”
“Nor will I, mistress, but I suggest that since people on those slopes can still see all of us, we should go faster. Take longer strides rather than quicker ones, though. It will look less as if we are suddenly eager to make all speed. Our galley lies over this rise, and whilst I doubt that anyone will think much of two women and a lad walking behind us, we’d be wise to give them no cause for curiosity.”
“I am glad you will come with us, Mae,” Murie said. “You cannot know how much I’ve yearned to hear your voice. Are you truly MacNur’s wife?”
“I am, m’lady. I’m sorry I couldna talk tae ye.”
“Faith, you need not apologize. I’d have been terrified to talk to anyone if Dougal had threatened to flog me for it.”
Mae bit her lip, and her gaze slid away.
“Good sakes!” Murie exclaimed. “Did he make such a threat?”
Nodding, Mae said, “I think he feared I might speak for your own sake, so he swore that if I did, before he whipped me, he’d whip ye and make me watch.”
“Good sakes, when I think how hard I tried to persuade you…” Tears sprang to Murie’s eyes at the thought of what might have happened to them both if she had persuaded Mae to talk and Dougal had heard them.
A sound beside her, as if Scáthach had growled, drew her attention to MacAulay. His jaw was set, his lips pressed tight, and he stared straight ahead.
“Sir?” Murie said. “Is aught amiss?”
Without looking at her, he said, “Pluff, glance back and make sure that no one is following us yet.”
“All’s clear, sir.”
“Right then, when we reach the top of the rise, I want you all to go—”
Breaking off with a frown, he said to Mae, “Will you likely know the men on guard at yonder wharf, mistress, and they you?”
“Aye, sir, they’ll be Pharlain’s men, and most do know me. But they willna ken her ladyship, and since she didna come wi’ ye, they may object tae ye taking her away wi’ ye. Ye might claim that the Brehon or Pharlain gave permission.”
A chill shot up Murie’s spine. Surely she had not finally made her escape only to have Pharlain’s minions at the wharf prevent it.
Rob’s thoughts were racing, too. His earlier plan of trying to persuade Pharlain to release Muriella had been a distant possibility. But he had not thought about taking her home without his agreement. Therefore, the possibility that he might have to fight their way clear had not dawned on him until now.
Even if it had occurred to him, before Pluff introduced himself and the other two females to their party, he would have assumed that he could handle anyone who objected to his taking Muriella with him on the galley.
Now he wanted to kick himself. A warrior, off the battlefield or on, ought to consider every possibility in any given situation, and he had failed to do so.
Striding faster, he reached the top of the rise and counted four guards near the wharf, including the chap he had talked with earlier. Just four.
The Colquhoun galley, although small, carried a captain, a helmsman, and sixteen oarsmen. And, since Sir Ian Colquhoun was now Governor of Dumbarton, all of the Colquhoun oarsmen carried arms.
Rob knew they would recognize him, even with his companions, and hoped they would also recognize that he might need assistance.
More confidently, he led the way and warned the others to keep close. For a wonder, her ladyship kept silent. He had expected questions, comments, even further debate. But perhaps she had understood from his demeanor that she would be unwise to press him further until they could talk privately.
Murie had been surprised to hear MacAulay tell the Brehon he had a galley at the wharf but had given it no more thought until he mentioned it to Mae.
Since Andrew did not keep a galley, and since she knew that MacAulay had walked from Ardincaple to Tùr Meiloach, she wondered whose boat it was.
One look at his grim expression had been enough to keep her from asking him, and now that she knew Pharlain’s men might object to Mae’s leaving with Annabel, she could think only of their safety.
She was nearly certain she had influenced Dougal to admit that MacAulay had had naught to do with any abduction. Dree could do such things easily, but Murie thought her own efforts had been closer to what Lina called quiet persuasion. Whatever it was, she had felt something happen. The feeling had been similar to what she felt when she knew that a friend or kinsman was approaching or that one of her sisters was in trouble or sick.
Thinking of that latter gift, one that all three of them shared, she realized with a start that
both Dree and Lina had likely worried about her. Perhaps, though, not as much as she and Dree had worried about Lina when Dougal captured her.
Lina’s terror had been strong then. Murie doubted that hers had matched it, even in the horrid, dark shed that first night with imaginary spiders.
The nearer they got to the loch shore, the more closely she watched the sole galley at the wharf. Oddly, for an Isles galley at rest, its banner still flew from its mast. Andrena would have known it, but Murie did not.
MacAulay was scanning the area. When his sweeping gaze paused, she looked to see why.
A score or more of men were emerging from woodland to the north.
Rob, too, saw the men coming from the woods but did not pause in his stride. Two men from the galley were walking along the wharf toward the wharf master. One of them was Colquhoun’s captain. Just then, he waved at the galley, and all but two of the oarsmen stood as if to disembark. Each one held his sword in hand.
Although Rob’s right hand automatically went to the dirk sheathed at his left hip, he did not draw it but watched to see what would happen next.
He had eighteen men, nineteen if he counted himself, against perhaps two or three more on Pharlain’s side. Good enough, he decided.
Pharlain’s men had surely expected anyone who came that day to have come for the laird’s court and therefore to honor the truce and be generally friendly. The men-at-arms from the woods should also know that they had small chance of defeating those they knew only as MacAulay men if it came to a fight. Galley oarsmen, in particular, were known to be fierce, unpredictable warriors.
However, Rob also knew that many of Pharlain’s oarsmen were men Pharlain had captured and kept as slaves. The man was certainly not the only Highlander or Islesman to keep slaves, but men who did, did not arm them. Therefore, at such times as this, Pharlain had fewer fighting men to rely on.
Moreover, he still sat beside his Brehon justice, possibly condemning more captured men to slavery.
Confident now that he and his charges were safe, Rob led the way to the wharf. He felt undeniable relief but little surprise when no one challenged them.
Pharlain’s wharf master looked uncertain, and some of his other men glowered at them, but none raised a weapon.
Running up beside Rob, Pluff asked, “Will they no try tae stop us then?”
Glancing at him, Rob saw that Muriella also looked anxious, as did Mae and Annabel. He said loudly enough for them all to hear, “They have better sense.”
“Who’d ha’ thought that o’ Pharlain’s lot?” Pluff said with a derisive snort.
“Don’t let them hear you say such things,” Rob replied. “We’ll just board our ship as if we ken fine that they will allow it. I want to get out of here.”
Colquhoun’s captain strode to meet him, saying, “All’s peaceful, sir.”
“You handled it well,” Rob said sincerely. “I trust that you invoked my lord father’s name, though, and not Colquhoun’s.”
“I invoked none save your own, sir. I told Pharlain’s wharf master ye’d likely arranged wi’ Pharlain tae provide transport for others here. I expect I made it… um… plain tae him that we’d take unkindly tae interference.”
“I see,” Rob said dryly. “Then we will depart straightaway.”
Escorting his charges along the wharf, where several Colquhoun men stood with swords drawn, they passed among them to the galley. Men aboard helped Lady Muriella and Mae, but Pluff, grinning now, jumped in by himself and extended a hand to the lass, Annabel.
The captain spoke to two of his men, who quickly untied the galley and boarded. The captain stepped aboard as it began to drift, and the helmsman ordered his oarsmen to push off and prepare to row. Seconds later, they were away.
Rob kept an eye sternward to be sure that no other boat followed them.
“Thank you, sir,” Muriella murmured from right behind him.
He turned to meet her wary gaze.
In a voice that sounded gruff even to his own ears, he replied, “I did nowt for which ye need be thankful, my lady.”
Easily sensing the anger that had surged within him but unable to discern its cause, Murie licked suddenly dry lips, drew a steadying breath, and said frankly, “You are angry, sir. Is it because I thanked you or because I contrived it so that you had little choice but”—she glanced at the nearest men—“to rescue me?”
“My lady,” he said more gently, “this is neither the time nor place to discuss my feelings. Forbye, I am not angry with you. I spoke only the truth. However, the less we say before these men about that laird’s court the better I shall like it.”
“Sir!” a man cried. “Yonder, another boat. Coming at speed, sir.”
When MacAulay turned, Murie could see the oncoming galley for herself. Its oars churned spray high into the air so that it sparkled in the sunlight.
They watched until the boat was near enough for her to make out its banner. “That banner looks just like the one we’re flying,” she said.
“Almost, aye,” MacAulay said. Then, to the captain and the lookout who had shouted, he called out, “It’s friendly!”
“Aye, sir,” the captain said. “I see now that it flies MacAulay’s banner.”
Trepidation stirred deep inside Muriella at hearing that news. “Mercy,” she said, “is your lord father aboard it, then?”
“ ’Tis likely,” MacAulay muttered, but she sensed only disquiet as he did.
Rob could not imagine why his father would have taken ship from Ardincaple all the way to Arrochar to find him. Lord MacAulay was not one who interfered with a man to whom he had entrusted a duty, least of all his son. Having known that Rob would stop at Tùr Meiloach, he would much more likely have stopped there for news of him. Had he done so, he’d have learned that Andrew expected Rob’s return by sundown and would have awaited him there.
A tickle of fear stirred. Rob tried to ignore it, to tell himself that worry without cause was wasted energy. But as the other galley drew nearer, his fear increased. Had Lord MacAulay been aboard, he’d have shown himself when the galleys drew near enough for each to recognize the other’s banner. MacAulay, of all people, would know that the only other one flying such a banner would be Rob.
Hearing the helmsman’s command to “weigh enough,” he watched the other galley’s oars feather above the water while its momentum carried it nearer. He also saw that the oarsmen, helmsman, and captain were the only ones aboard.
The latter two men eyed the women on the Colquhoun galley curiously. Their oarsmen looked sternward as they rowed, so they hadn’t seen them yet.
The captain’s gaze shifted to Rob and back to Muriella. He frowned.
In near unison, the helmsmen on both galleys roared, “Hold water!”
Every oarsman dug his oar into the water. The two galleys eased closer, then alongside each other, and stopped side-by-side.
Rob had not shifted his gaze from his father’s captain, a man he had known all his life but who seemed reluctant now to meet his gaze.
Instead, the captain looked from the bedraggled Lady Muriella to Mae and Annabel MacNur, then back to Muriella again.
At last, with visible effort, he met Rob’s gaze. “I am glad tae find ye, sir,” he said. “I bring news, but mayhap ye’ll prefer tae hear it more privately.”
“What is it, MacKell?” Rob demanded, unexpectedly irritated by the way the MacAulay oarsmen were now gaping at the lady beside him.
“Ye’re tae come home, Master Rob,” the captain said. “The laird…” He hesitated, the catch in his throat clearly audible. Then, rushing his words, he added, “The laird be a-dying m’lor—that is, sir.”
Distantly, as if from somewhere far away, Rob heard Muriella gasp.
He frowned at MacKell and said, “He was dying when you left? Are you sure of that? Did he send you to fetch me?”
The older man grimaced, looked away, and then gathered himself. Looking directly at Rob, he said bluntly, “In troth, m’l
ord, Lord MacAulay died gey early yestermorn. The mistress said I must tell ye that he still lived. I did tell her it rubbed sore against me heart tae lie tae ye, ’cause his death means ye’d be our laird now. I said I’d likely muck it, but she said I must let her break the news tae ye.”
Swallowing his fury and fighting to keep his grief at bay, knowing that the captain was not the right target for the fury and was suffering his own sorrow, Rob said with forced calm, “If my father is dead, MacKell, you have a new mistress now, although you do not see her at her best. This is the lady Muriella, youngest daughter of Andrew Dubh MacFarlan. She has become my lady wife.”
MacKell gaped but recovered swiftly and managed a polite nod to Muriella.
She said quietly, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, captain, despite the tragic news you bring. I hope we have time to stop at Tùr Meiloach,” she added, looking up at Rob. “I need a bath, sir, and fresh clothing. Also, we must decide what is to be done about this coil that I have created for you.”
“There is nowt to be done about that save explain matters to your father,” Rob said. “In troth, it may be wiser for me to leave you with him, whilst I go to Ardincaple and see to matters there.”
He saw relief in her eyes and could scarcely blame her, since she was likely more concerned about the Brehon’s orders than about Lord MacAulay’s death. Since he had given his word, though, he would have to think of a suitable punishment for her, one that the justice would approve.
However, the Brehon had not said that it had to take place straightaway.
For that matter, fretting about what it might be could serve as part of her punishment. Anticipation of forthcoming chastisement was often more worrisome than the event itself. In fact, as he recalled from boyhood experience, the punishment, when it did come, sometimes came as a relief.
Chapter 12
Murie felt a measure of relief to hear that MacAulay—faith but she would have to call him something else now—would likely leave her at Tùr Meiloach.
