by Amanda Scott
Swallowing hard, as memory of that fact rushed back, she said, “I do recall that, aye. And I’ll admit it had slipped my mind. Likely, I thought of the occasion when I mentioned lying, only because that’s also when Mag threw you in the loch.”
“But you must see now that I was not as much at fault as you had thought.”
Dignity required that she simply nod and change the subject. Something deeper within her rebelled at such a tame course, though, and the challenging, expectant way Ian watched her made speaking the brutal truth to him more palatable. Accordingly, she said, “You have many other faults.”
Before he could protest, she went on, “I have seen how quick and hot your temper can be. Also, you take a sadly careless attitude toward rules, any rules. In fact, you seem to think you can break them at will and suffer no pains for it, strict father or none. Even when Colquhoun is with you as he was at Dumbarton, you take matters into your own hands whenever it suits you, whether it is wise or not.”
“Sakes, lass, you are glad enough to be here now rather than there.”
“I am, aye. But surely other courses of action existed that did not include casting your father’s needs to the winds. Treating for our release cannot have been the sole purpose for his meeting with James Mòr. Did he not also hope to persuade him eventually to release the royal burgh, castle, and harbor of Dumbarton?”
Annoyed with himself for raising the subject, Ian said, “Aye, he did hope to do that in time. However, his only goal yesterday was to free you and Lizzie. He thought he could do it by talking, but I knew James Mòr would not let you go.”
“Had you given your father time to apply to his better nature—”
“James Mòr hasn’t got a better nature.”
“Aye, sure, he does,” she insisted. “Everyone has a conscience, sir. If one—”
Feeling impatience stir again, he fought it back, saying, “Lass, you should have this discussion with my father. He would agree with you. I have seen and heard of too much evil in my life not to know that a man can be sick in his soul. Sithee, I told you Dougal wanted to take you and leave Lizzie to whatever fate might befall her in that castle of vipers. I’m telling you now that he meant to do it at once.”
“How can you know that?”
“When I arrived, Gorry said that Dougal had gone down to the harbor. If he did that with so much going on, he went down to make sure his boat would be ready when he was. I’d be surprised if he meant to wait overnight. More likely, he hoped my father would keep James Mòr talking long enough for him to whisk you away.”
“I see,” she said, glancing at Lizzie, who was, Ian saw, chatting away with Muriella, both of them oblivious to his conversation with Lina or anything else.
Turning back to him, Lina said, “We should not talk about that here, sir.”
“Perhaps not,” he said, adding virtuously, “What’s past cannot be mended, lass. So there can be no reason to talk more about my faults, either.”
Lina raised her eyebrows, wondering if he believed that. How could one learn from past mistakes if one did not reconsider actions that had led to them?
“Don’t say it,” he said with a smile. “You’ve nae need to. I resist reflecting on the past, because my actions rarely look as brilliant afterward as they did at the time. They never do when the reflection hits me from my father’s perspective.”
She chuckled. “I think you fib about the dimming of your brilliance in your own mind, sir. But the rest is true, as I know for myself. Sithee, if Mam heard what you said to me earlier, I’ll soon hear her views about young ladies who linger with gentlemen on stairways after they’ve been ordered off to bed.”
His lips twitched. When he bit hard on the lower one, the echo of her own words returned, and the unintended image they had created enflamed her cheeks.
“You know that I meant after I had been ordered to bed,” she muttered.
He grinned. “Do I?”
She shook her head at him and fell silent, hoping he would stop teasing long enough for her to recover her equanimity.
Watching her blushes deepen, Ian decided that it was as well that Rob rode some distance behind them with the lads. The thought made him think again, ruefully. He would not have teased her in such a way had Rob been near enough to hear him.
Just thinking of Rob served to remind Ian that he did have a conscience. He had wanted to ruffle Lina’s dignity ever since he had seen that she could retain it even as a captive in Dumbarton Castle. But now that he could congratulate himself that he had, somehow satisfaction eluded him.
They had left the forest behind for granite slopes. The crags loomed nearer.
With little if any thought for his motives, Ian exerted himself to coax Lina into chuckling again if not laughing out loud. He got his first smile by describing an amusing incident that had occurred at his sister Susanna’s wedding.
When he concluded his tale by describing his good-brother’s head awash in punch that Susanna had flung at him, Lina eyed him thoughtfully and said, “Susanna and Birdie are happy in their marriages, are they not?”
“Aye, sure. Why should they not be?”
“I just wondered because you said earlier that you had no wish to marry.”
“I do want to someday,” he said. “At present, though, I like my life as a knight of the realm. Sakes, I’m too busy with my duties to his grace to think of marrying yet, and thanks to my brothers, the Colquhoun succession is safe enough.”
“That would be the most important thing, aye,” she said, watching him.
Since he had not spared the Colquhoun succession much thought, he knew that it was not as important to him as his other duties. He had simply thought that Lina might wonder about it because her father had for so long fixed his attention on securing his own succession.
He had not wanted her to imagine that he was unfeeling toward his family. Now, however, he felt not only as if she had caught him in another lie but as if she had reminded him that his father did care about the Colquhoun succession.
Colquhoun also expected him to be the one who secured it.
Searching for a change of subject, Ian saw that they were nearing the crest of the ridge between Loch Lomond and Andrew Dubh’s sanctuary.
A rattle of stones some distance ahead near the top of the talus-and-scree-filled hillside to his right diverted his attention. His breath caught at the sight of a magnificent stag, poised majestically, perfectly still, staring right at him.
The beast was awe-inspiring, fourteen points at least to its antlers.
The others had seen it, too. They drew rein to watch.
The stag looked down at them, silent, unmoving.
“How splendid he is,” Lina murmured softly.
Ian nodded. “Superb. I have a sudden yearning to go deer hunting.”
A hastily stifled gurgle of laughter made him glance at her. “What?”
She was still smiling, looking toward the stag. “You sounded so sure of yourself, that’s all,” she said. “By the look of that chappie and his impressive antlers, he has outsmarted any number of hunters as cocksure as you are.”
So she thought he was cocksure, did she? He looked back and saw that the stag had vanished. “Which way did he go?”
“North,” she said. Pointing, she added, “Through that dip yonder.”
“We should stop soon to eat our midday meal,” he said, still staring at the empty hillside.
Lina reached out and touched his arm, giving him an odd start. Looking at her, he noted first that her eyes looked blue, rather than their usual gray, as if they reflected the color of the sky. And although her expression remained calm, he felt definite warmth emanating from her before she said quietly, “I know that you care deeply about many things, sir, even if you do not like to talk about them. Your family and clan are but two of them. I should not have spoken as I did before.”
Seeing the stag had put their earlier exchange out of his mind. But the feelings she had evoked with he
r scornful comment rushed back. Did she know that she had made him recall the duty he owed to Clan Colquhoun and his father?
He had heard many rumors about the MacFarlan sisters. And he knew that Andrena could sense more things about a person than most people could. But this with Lina was different. Not until she had blinked and looked away did he feel able to speak again… if he could just think of something to say.
Watching him, Lina reflected on how easily he revealed the boyish side of his nature. While charming, it also exposed vulnerability, and at times she sensed a kind of fear in him. She told herself she was being presumptuous, that knights of the realm, especially Ian, feared nothing. Things that terrified most people were but challenges to him. Yet, fear or something akin to it lurked deep within him.
They stopped shortly afterward to eat. When they rode on again, they went single file, wending their way up the east side of the ridge to the narrow pass. Peter Wylie led the way. Ian and the three men who had led before followed him.
Before long, the path narrowed considerably, making the footing more treacherous for the horses. Lady Aubrey reined in and declared that the women would dismount and lead theirs. Ian sent Peter and two others to help them.
Lina dismounted with Ian watching her, but then he shifted his gaze to Lady Margaret just ahead of her, sitting determinedly on her large, rawboned horse.
Ian’s gaze shifted again, this time to a point behind Lina, to Rob MacAulay.
Without a word exchanged between them, Rob dismounted, handed his reins to one of the other men, and strode past Lina to Lady Margaret.
Smiling at her, Rob said, “I ken fine that you can manage any beast, my lady. But if you will allow—”
“Indeed, I can, sir,” she interjected in a firm, haughty tone. “Forbye, this beast is mine own. I do not require any man to look after me, I promise you.”
“I ken that fine, madam,” Rob replied equably. “I would count it a great honor, though, if you would permit me to walk beside you for a time. I believe you knew my grandmother MacAulay, did you not, my lady?”
“I did.”
“I know little about her. But my da tells me she was kind and generous.”
“I suppose she was,” Lady Margaret agreed.
Then, to Lina’s surprise—and doubtless that of anyone else who had seen her rise in the midst of a conversation, brusquely excuse herself, and abandon a room without further ceremony—she chatted amiably with Rob MacAulay right up through the pass and down the precipitous west side of the ridge.
When they had passed the worst parts, Peter and one of Ian’s men helped the other women remount, and Ian rode past to see if anyone needed additional help.
Rob told Lady Margaret then he ought to make sure all was well with the men behind them. She graciously excused him, and he rode back to them with Ian.
“Did you see that?” Muriella demanded some minutes later, having changed places to ride beside Lina as soon as the trail widened enough to accommodate pairs again. “Why, she talked to him like a normal person.”
Lady Margaret having rejoined Lady Aubrey, the two rode just ahead.
“Keep your voice down, Murie,” Lina murmured.
The nearby air seemed to take on energy of its own just before Ian said from right behind them, “Aye, you ill-contrived bairn. Show some discretion.”
Turning, Murie made a face at him but lowered her voice. “I’ve never heard her speak so kindly before. She does not talk much at all about others, come to that. Although she does sniff when one mentions certain family names.”
“Then do not mention them,” Ian said.
“Was Rob MacAulay’s grandmother a great friend of hers?” Lina asked him.
“Sakes, lass, I don’t know. I didn’t know Rob had a grandmother.”
Murie laughed. “That’s daft. Everyone has a grandmother. Two, in fact.”
Ian laughed then but warned her again to mind her tongue.
Lina wondered if he still worried about Tùr Meiloach’s ability to protect its own. She believed the tales were mostly products of her father’s fertile imagination but saw no reason to explain that to Ian. He would likely disbelieve her.
Andrew’s ability to plant seeds of stories that had grown to full-blown legends had protected them. As for other events that had contributed to those legends and were not mythical, she said naught of them, either.
She realized that Ian was watching her and that Murie was watching him.
Abruptly and appraisingly, Murie shifted her gaze to Lina.
Lina was doing it again, Ian decided.
Muriella cleared her throat. When he looked at her, she grinned as knowingly as ever Andrena had. What was it about the MacFarlan women, he wondered, that produced such notions in him? He’d be wiser to stay with his men.
He was seeking some other place to fix his gaze when it collided with Rob’s. Excusing himself, he slowed his horse and motioned for Rob to join him.
When he did, Ian said, “What’s amiss?”
“Nowt,” Rob said. “Was just wondering the same about you.”
“Aye, well, that’s nowt, too,” Ian said. “Let’s ride on ahead for a time. This trail through the woods is a good one. We’ll let the horses stretch their legs.”
Accordingly, they set their mounts to a gentle lope until they had passed the forward party. Slowing then, they continued to ride silently until Ian began to feel as if the very leaves of the trees and shrubbery watched them.
“What do you know about this place?” he asked abruptly.
Rob shrugged. “Pharlain wants to own it. Andrew Dubh wants to keep it. He also wants to win back the ancient MacFarlan lands of Arrochar.”
“Do you think he can?”
Another shrug.
Knowing Rob well, Ian waited.
Rob glanced at him. “I do not like Pharlain, and Andrew’s a good man.”
Ian nodded. “Just what I think myself,” he said.
A quarter-hour later, MacFarlan’s tower loomed through the trees ahead. Soon afterward, they could see the high wall that surrounded it, and shortly after that, they watched the timber gates open and their host step out to greet them.
Andrew Dubh looked just as he had the last time Ian had seen him. He wore a Highlander’s plain saffron tunic beneath a green-and-golden plaid. And, like most men at that time of year, he was barefoot. His dark brown hair, free of gray, hung loose to his shoulders. His dark eyes lit with pleasure at the sight of his family.
Despite his nearly fifty years of life, Andrew looked fit and strong.
Recognizing Ian, he nodded at him.
“You’ll remember Rob MacAulay, I think, sir,” Ian said.
“Aye, sure, I do. How fares your father, lad?”
“He is well, sir, thank you,” Rob said.
“Well, dinna be dawdling here, ye two. Ye’re welcome inside. Your lads can camp in the woods if they prefer it, without fearing for their lives.” Smiling then, he waved them through the gates and strode to meet his wife and daughters.
They were no sooner all inside with the gates shut behind them and heavily barred, however, than a sentry on the lochside wall walk shouted, “Galley below, laird! They’ve flung anchors out, and they be flying Pharlain’s banner!”
Lina dismounted as Andrew acknowledged the warning. He hugged her, saying, “I’m glad ye’re home safe, lass. Ye, too, my lady,” he said to his wife, who deftly caught hold of her horse’s mane and dismounted. “And ye, Murie-lass,” he added. Take Lizzie on in wi’ ye, and tell Malcolm she’ll be staying for a time.”
His lack of surprise at seeing Lizzie told Lina that he had heard from one of his watchers that she was with them.
He turned then to Lady Margaret and said with a polite nod, “Ye’re welcome, too, m’lady, for as long as ye like. Ye dinna seem to have aged a month since last I saw ye, though it must be a score o’ years or more.”
She gave him a wary smile but let him help her dismount.
La
dy Aubrey said, “The news that Lina and the Galbraith ladies are here must not go beyond our wall, sir. James Mòr will be searching for Lina and Lizzie.”
Andrew looked at Ian, saying, “Might Pharlain ken aught o’ what happened?”
“He may know that they were prisoners, sir, but not much more, unless—”
“Laird, laird!” the sentry shouted. “It be Dougal MacPharlain in yon galley, and he’s a-shouting summat. One o’ our lads be a-coming up the noo!”
“Pluff!” Andrew shouted to the boy at the postern gate, “Let him in when the man above ye tells ye it be safe. Aubrey, take the women inside.”
Lina said to Ian, “You must come, too, sir. Dougal must not see you here—or Master MacAulay, either, since he was at Dumbarton with your father.”
“We’ll join you shortly, my lady,” Ian said. “I want to learn more first. You go along in, though, and don’t fret. We won’t let Dougal see us.”
“Go in now, all of ye,” Andrew said. “ ’Tis best if the lad coming up doesna see ye, either. That road, he canna tell anyone aught that we’d liefer keep from them.”
Despite her distrust of Dougal’s motives, Lina had no choice but to obey.
Pluff was at the gate, and the man on the wall was waving for him to open it.
Ian watched her go inside. But when the skinny, red-headed boy by the gate reached to open it, Andrew said, “Hold there, Pluff.”
The boy stopped with his hand at the latch, and Andrew said to Ian, “Take MacAulay and your lads, and get on inside. If you and he stand by the door, ye’ll hear what the lad has to say, but dinna let him see ye. He may remember ye, and neither Pharlain nor Dougal has ever done this afore.”
Ian, Rob, and Ian’s men went in through the door that the women had used and found themselves in an entryway that was little more than a stair landing. “The hall is on the next level,” Ian said. “You lads go up there, and we’ll join you anon.”
He cracked the door open enough then to hear. The narrow postern gate opened, and a man hurried in, talking. “Laird, Dougal MacPharlain demands speech wi’ ye. He’s promised tae come up alone. Says he has an offer tae make ye.”
