by Amanda Scott
Molly was savoring the sounds and scent of the sea and the caress of the breeze on her cheeks. Curlews and gulls overhead called to one another, and she heard a seal barking in the distance. The breeze was warm, and it smelled wonderfully fresh and clean, with a salty tang.
“Yonder lies Glas Eilean,” Kintail said abruptly a half hour later with easily detectable relief.
Molly kept her eyes shut, not yet ready to relinquish her peaceful reveries.
“ ’Tis just a wee bit o’ land barely showing itself in the water,” Doreen said.
“Aye,” Kintail agreed, “but Eilean Donan lies not far beyond it.”
Molly slitted her eyes open to see that he had twisted around to look ahead and was gazing toward a small, nearly flat islet in the water ahead. She opened her eyes completely then and began to keep watch. As he had promised, the castle soon came into view.
After the steep, towering hills that faced Dunakin across the strait and the impressive sharp-pointed Cuillin of Skye, her first impression of Eilean Donan was that it sat low on a bit of land of singular flatness. The setting was picturesque, though, for Highland hills and mountains jutted up around it on three sides, framing the castle magnificently, and snow-capped peaks in the distance looked even higher than the Cuillin. Still, the small, rocky islet was unimpressive, not much larger than the base of the castle.
The pinkish brown stone castle was more impressive. At its northwestern corner, a square tower—undoubtedly part of the keep—anchored a high curtain wall dotted with arrow loops. From Molly’s vantage point, the tower appeared to be five stories tall. The main portion of the keep was a story lower but also possessed its share of loops. Crenellated battlements punctuated with bartizans encircled the structure at a level even with the top floor of the keep, indicating a walkway there.
For some time their oarsmen had been rowing intermittently, leaving more work to the ever-stronger wind, but they took up the sweeps again when the four boats began wending their way around to the south and east shores of the islet.
The castle’s architecture became more intriguing as more of it came into view. Its entrance appeared on the east side, which Molly saw also had room enough on the shore to land the four boats. Others were beached or anchored nearby— two galleys the size of Mackinnon’s and a smaller, twelve-oared birlinn.
Men hurried to help them land, and Kintail greeted his people heartily.
She noted how eager they were to welcome him home. They welcomed Sir Patrick MacRae, too, and soon both Kintail and Sir Patrick were laughing and chatting with their men as they pitched in to unload the boats.
Left to climb out of the coble by herself, with only Doreen to help, Molly watched the others with increasing annoyance. The newcomers shot her curious glances and eyed Doreen, too, but no one seemed in any hurry to welcome her to Eilean Donan. Thus, she stood where she was with Doreen at her side, waiting, uncertain for the first time in years about how to act or what to do next.
Although many of the men milling around the boats were men she knew from Dunakin, she could not be certain that they would obey her commands as willingly here as they had there—not when they knew that she was now Kintail’s ward. Her courage, normally strong, wilted considerably.
“You lot, down there! What be ye at, then?”
Looking up, Molly beheld a plump, redheaded woman standing at the top of the rocky slope, halfway between the boats and the castle entrance. She was perhaps ten years older than Molly. The wind, assailing her from both sides as it swept around the castle walls behind her, tangled her long hair wildly around her face, but she ignored it, standing with her hands on her hips, glaring down at the men.
They all looked toward her. Then, bewildered, they looked at each other.
Kintail shouted, “What manner of welcome is that to your master, Mauri MacRae? Is our dinner awaiting us?”
“Aye, it is,” she shouted back. “Thanks to one o’ the lads seeing your boats and recognizing from your banner that ’twere yourself. And plenty o’ food there be, too. But what are ye about, amusing yourselves—the whole lot o’ ye— whilst them ladies ye brought wi’ ye stand like posts? ’Tis like heathens ye’re behaving, every last one o’ ye. Ye should be ashamed, offering them such poor welcome!”
Molly hid a smile, thinking that perhaps she would like at least one person at Eilean Donan. She looked at Kintail to see how he would respond.
He was still gazing at the woman above them, and he was frowning.
She remembered then that they called him Wild Fin, and a hope flitted through her mind that he would not react too harshly to the woman’s scolding.
He did not. Instead, he shifted his fierce gaze to Molly.
“Why do you stand there?” he demanded. “Everything in these boats must go up to the castle, and Mackinnon’s men are here merely to protect us until we unload and they can leave. Both of you should be helping.”
Doreen stepped forward before he stopped speaking, but hearing his last statement, she paused and glanced back at her mistress, clearly shocked.
Utterly astonished, Molly stared at him. “Help?” she demanded. “Is it as I suspected, then, Kintail? Do you mean to turn me into a common servant?”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” he snapped. “Do you not see that I am carrying things, myself? Do you think that I consider myself a servant here?”
“But it is the business of servants—”
He cut her off, saying sharply, “Unfortunately, we do not always have time to observe such formality, exposed as we are to attack when we are outside the wall. ’Tis best you understand as much from the outset, so come and help carry these things up unless you want to debate the matter further with me here.”
Appalled by such ill grace when, by rights, he should be guiding her up the rugged slope and welcoming her properly to his home, Molly felt sorely tempted to refuse. A tiny voice in the back of her mind suggested, however, that a man so lost to the proprieties as Kintail was might react unhappily to such defiance.
Unwilling to test him before such a large, unknown audience, she resorted to chilly dignity instead. Making her way carefully to the nearest of three laden boats, she accepted a small bundle from Thomas MacMorran and turned to walk up to the castle. As she did, she saw Kintail turn abruptly toward a grinning Sir Patrick MacRae at the far end of the line of boats, as if the other man had spoken to him.
Sir Patrick stood with his feet apart, his thumbs hooked over his belt, and his back to the inflowing tide where it swept through the channel between islet and mainland. Still grinning, he spoke again to Kintail, and Molly heard chuckles from the men nearest them.
The chuckles ceased when Kintail’s fist flashed out and caught Sir Patrick solidly on one shoulder, knocking him off balance. Shouting curses, arms waving wildly, he fell backward with a great splash, into the current and under.
The other men burst into howls of laughter, but quick as thought, Kintail bent and snatched up a rope, flinging one end of it to Sir Patrick and hauling him back to shore, where he extended a hand to help him to his feet.
As Patrick bent over, hands on his knees, dripping, gasping, and coughing, Kintail clapped him on one wet shoulder with a blow that nearly sent him back into the water, and said in a tone clear enough for them all to hear, “Is that insolence of yours dampened yet, or does it require another ducking?”
For a moment, Sir Patrick’s eyes flashed dangerously, but meeting Kintail’s cool, intense gaze, he shrugged and a wry, rueful smile touched his lips.
“Pax,” he said. “I’ll mind my tongue.”
“See that you do,” Kintail said.
No one was laughing now, and when Kintail’s gaze flicked toward Molly, she looked away quickly and began to hurry toward the castle, followed by Doreen, who carried a bundle much larger than her own.
When they reached the top of the slope, the redheaded woman reached to take Molly’s bundle, saying with a wide, gap-toothed grin, “Welcome, Mistress Gordon. I
be Mauri MacRae.” Tucking Molly’s bundle under her arm as she made an awkward curtsy, she added lightly, “Will ye come inside now?”
“I will, indeed,” Molly said. Although she was certain that Kintail expected her to carry more than one small bundle, she followed Mauri MacRae and did not look back. Prickling between her shoulder blades warned her he was watching, doubtless with disapproval, and with every step, she expected to hear him shout.
He did not, however, and when she and her two companions reached the tall arched portcullis entrance to the castle, she dared at last to glance back.
Led by the still dripping Sir Patrick, a line of men bearing goods from the boats snaked its way up the short slope. The Mackinnon men-at-arms were helping the others carry her belongings.
Beside her, Doreen chuckled and said, “I gave my Thomas a look, mistress, and I’ll warrant he had no trouble comprehending it. If those Dunakin men mean to dine here, they can be earning their bread, and that’s all I’ll say about it.”
Mauri MacRae put back her head and laughed. “ Come along, ye two,” she said, still chuckling. “I’ll show ye where ye’re to sleep.”
“You are very kind, Mistress MacRae,” Molly said gratefully as they followed her across a courtyard lined with shedlike outbuildings.
“Aye, sure, I am that,” the woman said cheerfully. “But ye’d best be calling me Mauri, the way everyone else does, Mistress Gordon. There be so many MacRaes hereabouts that we’ll none of us ken who ye’re wanting, else.”
“I am Molly to my friends,” Molly said impulsively, “and this is Doreen.”
“Ye’re both welcome,” Mauri said, leading the way up a wooden stairway that led into the second level of the keep. “We can always use extra hands, Doreen.”
“I serve Mistress Molly,” Doreen said with a smile. “But whenever she has nae need o’ me, I’ll be glad enough to oblige ye.”
Passing a stout iron yett, or gate, they followed their guide through a short archway, and entered what was clearly the great hall of the castle. Clan banners fluttered from poles set at an angle high on the walls, just as they had at Dunakin. Mauri did not pause but crossed the hall and stepped through another archway, where a twisting stone stairway took them up two flights to a landing. A pair of doors faced each other there. Mauri paused and turned to face Molly and Doreen.
“I’m thinking that I should tell ye I heard what the laird shouted at ye below, mistress, and whilst I dinna hold wi’ ladies dirtying their hands without there be a need for it, I’d be fashed wi’ m’self did I no warn ye that ye’ll find little to do here if ye dinna help wi’ the chores. The laird will be holding a baron court now he’s home, and we ha’ much to do to prepare for it.”
Molly knew about such courts, because Mackinnon held them, too, but she had never had anything to do with their preparations. “Are there no maidservants to attend to such things?” she asked.
“Faith, mistress, although we’ve a garrison of men here, besides yourself and your Doreen, ye’ll find few other women most days.” She held up fingers as she added, “Altogether, there’s me, my husband, Malcolm, my uncle Ian Dubh, who’s away now but who acts as constable of Eilean Donan when he’s here, and our wee bairn Morag, though she’s nobbut four months old. Then there’s my cousin, Tam Matheson, who looks after the master’s clothing and such. We ha’ two daily women, too—wives o’ garrison men—who come in to help me most days, and more o’ the same to help when the master holds a justice court. We’ll ha’ a few visitors then, too. As to the rest here, there be only the master, our Patrick, and lads who look after Patrick, Ian Dubh, and my Malcolm.”
“Sir Patrick MacRae cannot be your son!”
“Nay,” Mauri said, laughing again. “He is my husband’s elder brother and the laird’s closest friend besides.” Sobering, she added, “Patrick and Malcolm’s father, Sir Gilchrist MacRae, were ambushed wi’ the laird’s father on the way to Kinlochewe. Likely, ye’ll meet Patrick’s mother and sister when the laird holds his court. They dwell at Ardintoul, a point that juts into Loch Alsh just beyond Glas Eilean. The south shore o’ Loch Alsh be part o’ Kintail, too, ye ken.”
“I’ve heard men call the MacRaes ‘the Mackenzies’ shirt of mail,’ ” Molly said. “Is that true? Do they always protect the Mackenzies?”
“Aye, it be ever the MacRaes’ duty, that. But we’d best hurry,” she added, moving to open the door on the right of the landing as a thudding of booted feet echoed below on the stairway. “Those men be coming up straightaway wi’ your things, mistress, and this be your bedchamber. We’ll pitch out a pallet in the wee chamber across the way for your Doreen to sleep on, so ye’ll no ha’ to share this room.”
The room was not large and seemed smaller when the men arrived with Molly’s things. When they put their burdens down and retreated down the stairs, Molly was dismayed to see how much she had brought. It had not seemed so much at Dunakin, or piled in the boats, but here in this small chamber, she had trouble believing all her things would fit.
“I hope you brought enough to make yourself comfortable,” Kintail said sardonically from the doorway as his critical gaze swept the crowded room.
“We’ll help her see to everything, laird,” Mauri told him confidently.
“Not now, you won’t,” he retorted. “Mackinnon’s men want their dinner, because they want to be off, since they’ll be sailing against wind and tide, going back. You run on down now and see to them, and take Doreen with you. I want a private word with Mistress Gordon.”
The stern note in his voice sent a shiver up Molly’s spine, and she was not surprised when Doreen and Mauri departed without a word of protest. She would have liked to go with them.
When he shut the door behind them, she stiffened warily, remembering what he had done a short time earlier to his “closest friend” with but small provocation.
He said, “I spoke sharply to you on the shore, mistress. I said naught that was not true, but I ought to have conducted myself with better grace.”
Astonished, she said, “Then I need not act as a servant here?”
“You put more meaning into my words than I intended,” he said ruefully. “You are no servant, but neither are you a guest. Eilean Donan is your home now until I find you a suitable husband, and since we are not overburdened with people to do the chores, I’ll expect you to do your share.”
“My home,” she repeated, unable to suppress a sigh at the thought that this place was no more a real home than Dunakin had been. And at least Dunakin’s master was predictable. That thought brought another on its heels. “Do you frequently knock people who displease you into the water, sir?”
“Patrick was impertinent,” he replied.
Since he had called her the same, and more than once, the blunt statement was not reassuring. She would have liked to ask just what it was that Sir Patrick had said, but as she tried to find the words, Kintail said with a smile that softened his expression considerably, “Tidy yourself now and come downstairs to eat.”
Without another word, he left the room and shut the door behind him.
Molly stared at the door, uncertain about what had just happened, until a voice behind her said tartly, “Dinna stand like a stock, lass. He is what he is, Mackenzie o’ Kintail, and there be nowt ye can do tae change the man.”
With a surge of delight, she turned and exclaimed, “Maggie, you’re here!”
“Aye, and where else would I be?” Maggie Malloch demanded.
“But— Oh, there you are,” Molly said when she located the little woman atop the tallest pile of stuff. “Faith, but you’re smaller now, no bigger than my fist!”
“Aye, well, it takes less energy for me tae stay visible tae ye at this size,” Maggie explained, grimly surveying the cluttered chamber from her perch. Gesturing with her pipe, she added tartly, “I tell ye, this isna the sort o’ place tae which I ha’ grown accustomed. Does the wretched man expect a fine lass like yourself tae live in this drab wee hole?”
“I expect I shall find it adequate once we’ve managed to put all these things away,” Molly said. “I don’t suppose you have the power to make the room larger, do you?” she added wistfully.
“Nay,” the tiny woman replied. “That I canna do. However, I can help ye find places for your things when the time comes, and I can help ye tidy yourself now. Ye’d best stir your stumps, too, else that Kintail be like tae return in a temper and carry ye downstairs over his shoulder.”
The thought of Kintail picking her up and carrying her being more than she wanted to consider right then, Molly turned her attention to her appearance.
Fin’s mood had improved, but the reality of his position had struck him hard, nearly as hard as he had struck Patrick. He had reacted swiftly to Patrick’s teasing, all the more so, he was sure, because what his friend had suggested was no more than what his own unruly imagination had suggested. He could not strike back at his thoughts, but Patrick was not so elusive.
On the other hand, Patrick would not repeat his mistake, but his imagination was not so trustworthy. If his mind continued to fill itself with tantalizing images of Mistress Gordon’s body—usually unclothed—he would have to keep his distance from her. He owed her protection, and if that included protection from his baser instincts, so be it.
Chapter 9
Mackinnon’s men-at-arms departed shortly after their meal, and for the next few days, Molly saw little of Kintail or his men, for they were out and about passing word of the justice court he would hold in the great hall at the beginning of the week. The castle buzzed with activity, as its inmates prepared for the event.
