by Amanda Scott
“Aye, sure. But if the men are still down there, come back for me. And if Mam comes looking for you, do not expect me to tell her aught save the truth.”
Lina smiled. “When have I ever asked you to tell an untruth?”
Murie grinned saucily. “Never. But if you did, I would not.”
“How virtuous you are,” Lina said, shaking her head. “I shan’t be long.”
Nor did she mean to be. But as she rounded the last turn before the hall landing, she nearly collided with Sir Ian, carrying his mother’s shawl.
“Oh!” Lina exclaimed, coming to an abrupt halt a step above his.
“Rather careless of you to leave this behind,” he said.
He was too close.
“Aye, it was,” she agreed, stepping back up a step to gain more space.
His eyes danced. “Mayhap I should demand a penance before returning it.”
“You dare,” she said, stiffening and wishing he were not so fiendishly beguiling with that boyish gleam of mischief in his eyes. He was definitely not just a mischievous boy anymore, though. And, for a lady to encourage such behavior…
He looked up, as if to heaven, and murmured, “Just one wee ki—”
“Shame on you, Sir Ian Colquhoun,” she interjected, thinking she sounded just like her mother. “Galbraith cannot know that you are on this stairway.”
“Once again, you are wrong, lass,” he said, his eyes still alight. “He is still with Lizzie on the dais—giving her a well-deserved scolding, I trust. I saw that you had left the shawl and offered to find a maidservant to return it to you. But this is much better. I do think you should thank me prettily for taking so much trouble.”
“I will thank you. After you have returned it to me.”
Cocking his head, he held the shawl higher, so she’d have to reach for it.
When she did, he moved it back out of her reach.
Lina lowered her outstretched hand to her side and eyed him sternly from her slightly superior height. “I thought you sought my approval.”
He stepped up to the stair below hers, putting the shawl out of reach again. His face was now inches higher than hers and his body again much too close for comfort.
“I’d prefer something else just now,” he said softly, looking into her eyes.
Reaching with his left hand for her right wrist, he held it firmly. Apparently oblivious of her attempt to snatch it free, he pressed the shawl into her hand and let go of her wrist, his gaze never leaving hers.
She waited to see what he would do next.
He smiled then, wryly, as if he dared her to walk away.
His lips were tantalizingly close.
Lina shut her eyes.
“Coward,” Ian murmured, enjoying himself.
Her eyes flew open. Then, to his astonishment, she leaned forward, brushed her lips against his right cheek, and whirled, snatching up her skirts in her free hand as first her right foot and then her left blindly sought the next stair upward.
Reaching out, he easily caught her arm. “Not so fast,” he said, turning her back to face him. “You must not kiss and run, lass. That’s against the rules.”
“The lady makes the rules, sir. Let go of me.” She was two steps above his again, looking disdainfully down her nose at him. She did not try to pull away.
She was testing him, he knew. But she was right about who made the rules.
Even so, the urge was strong to seize her and teach her what kissing was all about. However, he also wanted to make her desire that kiss enough to abandon her disapproval. And that was the greater challenge.
Sakes, if he were seeking a wife and had no royal duty commanding him…
Shifting his grip to her hand, he drew it to his lips and slowly kissed each knuckle. Then he kissed the silky skin above them, turned her trembling hand palm up long enough to breathe gently into that tender palm… and released her.
With a barely discernible gasp, she turned away, her dignity apparently still—or again—intact. He enjoyed watching her move, so he stood where he was to savor the sight. His reward came when she stopped before vanishing around the next curve and looked back. Her lips parted softly, invitingly, in surprise.
He bowed and had the delight of seeing her whirl again and hurry away.
“I shall win this battle, I think,” he murmured to himself.
Pleased with the progress he believed he had made, he returned to the hall.
Crossing it, he saw that Galbraith and Lizzie were talking amiably and decided the evening was going well. Then he remembered that Alex—and likely Rob, too—still wanted to know more about his so-unexpected swim in the Loch of the Long Boats. Both men were indeed still up and eager to hear the tale.
Glibly, Ian explained that he and the lady Andrena had enjoyed a mild flirtation while sailing with Mag on a Colquhoun galley. “Sakes, we were never out of his sight,” Ian added. “I did not realize until he picked me up bodily and heaved me into the loch that he was the jealous sort.”
Alex laughed longer than Ian thought necessary.
Rob contented himself with a smile. But when Alex stopped laughing, Rob said, “You’ve known Mag since childhood, my lad. So you got what you should have expected. In his place, I’d have done more than dampen your impudence.”
Ian raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He was not a fool.
The three friends retired shortly thereafter, rose again soon after dawn, and entered the hall to break their fast less than a half-hour later.
Greeting them, Hector said, “The laird sent a lad across to the clachan, Sir Ian, to tell your men they should ready your horses. Sir Alex’s, too.”
“I did wonder about taking horses,” Ian said. “I’ve heard that the so-called pass at the top of Glen Luss is impassable for horses and nearly so for men.”
“So they say, aye. Most folks hereabouts use garrons tae carry baggage and anyone as canna walk the distance. But well-trained horses with experienced riders can survive the journey. In troth, ’tis the spells Andrew Dubh weaves wi’ his tales that stir men’s fears and thus their troubles. Since his lady welcomes you, you will be safe. Tae be sure, though, ye might just ask her ladyship about your horses.”
Ian did not think Andrew was more capable than any other man of weaving spells, but he decided to take Hector’s advice and put his question to Lady Aubrey as tactfully as he thought his father might. “I have heard that the terrain of Tùr Meiloach can be treacherous,” he said. “I hope my men and horses will be safe.”
“Aye, sure, they will,” she said, smiling. “We will be with you, after all.”
Muriella chuckled, her eyes dancing wickedly. “The only danger you might face, Sir Ian, is if my lord father decides to make you marry Lina.”
Ian stared at her in disbelief.
Then he remembered what had happened to Mag.
“Muriella, finish your breakfast,” Lady Aubrey said. Then, to Ian, she said, “We are most grateful to you for your escort, sir.”
Ian hoped that Andrew Dubh would be grateful enough to dismiss any such errant, nonsensical idea as his marrying Lady Lina. He was not ready yet to marry.
Noting the dismay on Lina’s face, he felt himself relax.
He—not his parents, and certainly not Andrew Dubh MacFarlan—would decide when and whom he would marry.
Meantime, he’d enjoy persuading Lady Disdain that she need never worry that such a marriage could happen, and then make her sadly regret that fact.
Chapter 10
Abruptly recalling that her father had arranged Mag’s marriage to Andrena just as Murie had suggested he might urge Ian’s to her, Lina fought to recover her composure. Remembering the previous evening on the stairs was bad enough.
His kisses had burned into her hand, because she could still feel the warm pressure of his lips on it everywhere they had touched it. She knew that he saw her resistance as just another challenge to conquer. Moreover, he was a knight of the realm. His primary duty was
to his King, so he would have little time for a family.
Galbraith’s announcing from the archway that the boats were at the wharf and their baggage loaded helped her recover her dignity.
“We have a thick, low mist to conceal your trip across the water,” he added. “But ye’ll likely find yourselves above it by the time ye’re halfway up Glen Luss.”
Lina hastily swallowed the last morsel of her bread and stood when her mother and Lady Margaret did.
Ian was talking with Galbraith by then, and she overheard the laird say, “Hector packed food for the day, and Peter Wylie, your own man, and Lady Aubrey’s Tibby will be with ye to serve it. I sent most of your baggage across earlier so the men could load the garrons. Your cloaks await ye in the entry hall.”
Despite Galbraith’s efficiency, the usual delays for last-minute needs occurred. An hour later, though, their party was on the west-loch shore, mounted and bidding farewell to Lippin Geordie, his kinsmen, Sir Alex, and his men.
“Tell my father and the others I’ll return as soon as I can,” she heard Ian tell Sir Alex. “Urge them to discuss any plans they have devised. I don’t want to return and find that every man-jack of them still has a pet plan he’s sticking to against any other. Sort out the impossible from the perhaps before then if you can.”
“I’ll do my best,” Sir Alex promised, waving as he and his men rode away.
Lina watched them go, then turned back to see that the other four ladies had paired off—Lady Aubrey with Lady Margaret and Murie with Lizzie.
Tibby was well behind them, riding with her brother, Peter.
As Lina urged her horse in behind Lizzie and Muriella, she could barely discern the dark shape of Inch Galbraith through the fog to her right. The nearby water was dark and eerily still. Mist clung to shrubbery and dripped from the trees.
She heard Ian directing the captain of his tail and three others to lead the way and to ask Peter Wylie to guide them if it became necessary later. Then he told Rob MacAulay to take charge of his other four men and Hak.
As the leaders headed northward on the shore path and Lina urged her mount to follow them, she heard Ian’s voice again, behind her: “Ye’ll follow us, Rob, so tell the lads to keep their eyes and ears open, especially to the rear.”
“As much as this fog permits, aye,” Rob replied.
For a time after they left the clachan, the only sounds she heard were the soft thuds of horses’ hooves and the murmuring voices of Lizzie and Muriella.
Lina was sorry that the mist cloaked the larger, forested islands nearby and hid the magnificent snow-capped peak of Ben Lomond in the northeastern distance. The men behind her were too far back for her to pay them heed.
She became aware of Sir Ian’s approach before she detected the more rapid pace of his horse above the slower hoofbeats of the others behind them. Something in the air still changed noticeably whenever he came near her.
The closer he got, the more aware of him she grew. Determined to conceal how easily he affected her, she gazed—she hoped musingly—into the mist to her right and deftly eased her mount that way so he could pass by her easily. She assumed that he would ride on to take charge at the head of their party.
Instead, he drew in beside her and said more loudly than she thought necessary, “I was glad to see you breaking your fast at the high table, my lady. The way you ran up those stairs yestereve, I feared you might have injured yourself.”
Only too aware of younger, eagerly listening ears just ahead and the doubtless equally interested ones of her mother and Lady Margaret beyond them, Lina gave him a look and said bluntly, “I would thank you to talk sensibly, sir.”
“Would you?” he asked with that mischievous gleam in his eyes. “In troth, lass, I have seen little of your gratitude. Of late, I meet only resistant disapproval.”
“Prithee, sir,” she murmured, “I ken fine that you are teasing. But you must know that you’ve said enough to land me in the suds. If that was your intent—”
“Nay, it was not,” he said in a lower tone, slowing his mount. “I want to talk with you, so let us let give those ahead of us more space. We’ll meet with no danger here, because Galbraith has men keeping watch over all of this area. Forbye, we will soon be riding up the Glen Luss track. And if your father does not have as many watchers there as Galbraith does, I shall own myself astonished.”
“I do not know as much about my father’s practices as Andrena does,” Lina confessed. “She rambles all over, whilst I spend much of my time inside.”
“Tell me more about yourself,” he said. “How do you spend your days?”
Willingly, she described her weaving and her fascination with plants and potions. He was an able listener. That he showed interest in all she said was an unexpected and heady experience. She had never known another man to do that. Magnus had thanked her sincerely for making him a tunic and shirt and weaving him a new plaid. But Ian’s interest in her abilities and pastimes was different, and most attractive.
So engrossed were they in their conversation that she was amazed to realize that they had left the loch path and started up the Glen Luss trail. The steep banks on either side were thick with trees turned ghostly in the mist.
Ian enjoyed watching Lina while she talked. It did not matter what subject she chose, her expressive face revealed more of her thoughts and feelings than her words did. He realized that he had misjudged her when her sister Andrena was with her. Dree was a stunning beauty and so animated that she commanded notice in any room. By contrast, Lina had been the quiet, dependable, capable sister, not to mention the one who so frequently disapproved of him.
Now, as she described her days, he found her fascinating, although he could not have said why. Perhaps he was seeing how lovely she was in a different, more comfortable, quieter way. Or perhaps it was only that he noticed how clear her eyes were, how deeply into them a man could look, and how kissable her lips were, especially that plumper, lower one.
They talked of many things as they rode. It seemed no time at all before they were above the mist with blue sky and drifting clouds overhead. Behind them in the distance rose Ben Lomond, spectacular and still wearing its snowy cap.
Everything ahead and behind seemed peaceful. There were fewer trees now.
Lina had fallen silent. Her attention had shifted to the precipitous crags above.
Feeling the old, irresistible urge to see if he could ruffle her, he said, “It occurs to me, lass, that I saved you from a much worse fate than I knew by rescuing you from Dumbarton and from Dougal. He would have made you a terrible husband.”
“No worse than most, I expect,” she said, still eyeing the crags.
“Nonsense, even I would make a better husband than Dougal, had I any wish yet to marry. You might at least admit that much.”
She stiffened, thrusting her plump bosom out enticingly. “I have no desire to marry Dougal, as you ken fine,” she said. “Nor do I want to marry you. You are both, albeit in different ways, equally objectionable to me as husbands.”
“Now I am stung,” he declared, affecting great indignation. “You have made your disapproval of me clear since you were eight years old. But, other than a too-frequent accusation of recklessness, which I dispute, what fault do you find in me?”
So sorely tempted was Lina to list his faults for him that she had to bite her tongue to keep the words from flying off it. Everyone had faults. She certainly did. Ian himself doubtless thought her too critical, too disapproving. He was just testing her, and she would not lower her dignity by rising to such obvious bait.
He raised his chin, jutting it as if he were still indignant. But she saw his old, boyish look of speculation, too, as if to judge whether he had irked her or not. “Do you think I cannot take criticism?” he demanded. “I thought you knew my father.”
“Your father loves you as much as your lady mother does,” she said confidently. “He is filled with pride in your accomplishments. You know he is.”
&nbs
p; “That does not stop him from verbally flaying me when we disagree.”
“Nor should it.”
“You don’t even like me,” he said. “So what stops the words I see dancing on your tongue? Art being cowardly again, as you were last night?”
“I was not cowardly,” she retorted. Grimacing but incurably honest, she said, “If you must know, I was gey astonished at myself then for doing what I did. Faith, but your teasing is one of your greatest faults, sir. Not as great as your recklessness, though, because…” She paused, knowing she had already said too much.
“Don’t stop there. What else is wrong with me?”
Unable to resist a blatant invitation, she said, “Aye, then, you are not merely reckless but dangerously so, because you don’t think things through before you act. I ken fine what disasters can result from such lack of thought, because Andrena has the same fault. Although I should not say so to you,” she added conscientiously.
“Just as you would not reveal your opinion of me to her, I expect.”
She bit her lower lip.
“Aha,” he said. “So you have already shared that opinion with her.”
Feeling guilty but doubting that she had true cause, she said, “I did say to her that a knight should never tell lies. That is true. And you did tell lies. You do!”
“Doubtless, you refer to the journey that Mag and Dree took with me a few months ago on my galley, when Dougal MacPharlain stopped us on the loch.”
“You told him that Dree was your sister Alvia and soon to be betrothed. So you lied not only about Dree but about Alvie, as well. A gey dangerous course, sir.”
“I view it as being creative under pressure. I had a greater necessity at the time to avoid danger, lass. Do you not recall what Dougal would have done to Mag had he caught him then? Since Mag was in plain sight, Dougal would likely have seen him, had his gaze not been fixed on Dree the whole time.”
