The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  “Not unless he’d enjoy a corpse for a bride,” Molly snapped, adding as she moved toward the castle, “because I’d be dead first!”

  Mackinnon stepped out of her way, but Kintail did not.

  “Wait, lass,” he muttered, reaching for her.

  Dashing his hand aside, she swept past him, head high, practically daring him to lay a hand on her again, only to feel disappointed when he did not. Telling herself that she had just hoped he would give her an excuse to slap him, she continued miserably to the postern door and inside.

  “Now, that did not go well,” Catriona said, watching Molly’s stormy departure through narrowed eyes. She and Claud sat side by side on a bit of rock near Molly’s natural chair.

  “Dinna be vexed, lass,” he said. “I told ye they dinna fancy each other.”

  “What matters what they think of each other?” she replied lazily. “My laird requires your lady’s fortune, and she requires only firm management. Think, Claud! Can you not make her care more for him?”

  “Ye ken fine that I canna do any such thing,” Claud said. “Nae more can ye, unless ye o’ the Highlands ha’ more power than we do. And sakes, lass, I be in enough trouble already, wi’out doing what I’ve nae business doing.”

  She pouted. “I just want what is best for my laird, Claud.”

  “Aye sure, lassie, I ken fine what ye want.”

  “Moreover, my clever one, if they should marry, both of us will have done our duty, for you will have provided your Maid with a husband and I will have provided my laird with a proper fortune. Even the nay-sayers in the Circle will see then that making the King give her to Kintail was an excellent notion.”

  “Aye, perhaps,” Claud said. But recalling the Maid’s anger, he wondered if anyone wielded enough power to change her opinion of Kintail.

  He soon forgot about her, however, when Catriona diverted his thoughts in her own special way.

  Nell Percy was bored and growing frustrated, fearing that all her careful planning might come to naught.

  The company in the hall at Stirling was lively and loud that evening, and since Nell hoped to draw James’s attention again, she was exerting unnatural patience. That patience was weakening rapidly, however, due to the annoyingly talkative matron she had met her first night at Stirling.

  Surreptitiously watching the woman’s two homely, silent daughters while attempting to listen to the mother, it occurred to her that the girls’ silence was due to nothing more than knowing they could not get a word in if they tried.

  With bright enthusiasm, their aggravating mother said, “It is such a pleasure at last to be able to converse at length with you, Lady Percy.”

  “So you have said, madam,” Nell replied, but the woman was still talking and barely acknowledged Nell’s words with a gesture as she babbled on.

  “Your so charming brother Angus—so dreadful your being separated from him, madam, although I must own that I do not comprehend what all the fuss was about or why he has stayed in England all these years. In sooth, I believe his grace the King is jealous of the Douglas power.”

  She tittered behind one hand as she added, “I know I should not say so in such a place as this—the King’s own palace, and myself but a royal guest—but then, no man ever expects us poor females to understand these things, and I am not a Douglas by birth, thank heaven! One can only wonder at your nerve, madam, coming here so soon after your poor half sister’s unfortunate demise at the stake. My husband, who claims a slight connection, said he is persuaded that Janet Douglas had no acquaintance with the powers of darkness or with poison and that her husbands both died quite natural deaths. Her misfortune, Sir Hector said, was merely that she was a Douglas who had chanced to displease the King.”

  “You say your husband is a Douglas, madam?”

  “Well, not to say a Douglas, exactly,” the woman replied, apparently deciding that this query was worth heeding. “Sir Hector could claim cousins with your uncle of Kilspindie if he chose, but thankfully, under present circumstances, the connection is slight—through his mother, you see. Our Elspeth is more closely connected of course,” she added with a sly look, “but no one heeds a maidservant’s antecedents even in these days of unrest. I should not rattle on, though, when doubtless the less you hear about Elspeth, the happier you will be. She was not as fortunate as you, or course, her mother being of common stock, whilst yours was well born. Although,” she added thoughtfully, “in view of your half sister’s dire misfortune, perhaps you do not view the circumstance of your birth as unhappy. At all events, I am persuaded that Elspeth is happier with us than she would be if her father had taken her with him to serve in his English household.”

  Nell’s attention had wandered, but this statement reclaimed it, and noting the birdlike look of expectation on her companion’s plump face, she decided that the woman had intended to pique her interest.

  Gently, she said, “You need not mince words, madam. Do you suggest that a maidservant of yours is Angus’s natural child?”

  “I suggest nothing, madam. I speak plain fact. Our little scullery maid is your own niece, left with Sir Hector and me when your brother fled to England. Angus promised to send money for us to pay for her wages when she was old enough to earn wages, and he did—but, sadly, only for a short time. Since then, we have borne the cost, but perhaps my meeting you here is a sign of heavenly intervention. Perhaps you might see your way to…” She paused, showing delicacy for the first time since Nell had met her.

  Nell’s patience, however, was spent. She let the pause lengthen until the other woman fidgeted and looked as if she might speak again, perhaps to rephrase her suggestion in less spiteful terms.

  Without giving her a chance to do so, Nell said in a chilly voice, “I am sorry to disappoint you, madam, but Angus’s sexual accidents are not my concern. If you want something from him, you must tell him yourself. Doubtless one of your people is brave enough to risk carrying your message to England where he can easily learn Angus’s whereabouts. Whether Angus will deign to respond, I cannot say.”

  “Pray, Lady Percy—”

  But Nell cut her off, saying frostily, “Forgive me, but I see his grace the King beckoning to me.”

  James was doing no such thing, but when she strode toward him, he looked up and smiled. Taking the smile for an invitation, she approached, albeit slowing her angry pace to one of greater decorum.

  “Good evening, sire,” she said, curtsying low. “Faith, but you are just what I need this evening, madam,” he said with a grin. “These men have been boring me witless with tales of Donald the Grim—his damnable great army and his more damnable fleet of galleys. I want pleasuring instead, see you, and what with the Queen being at Linlithgow and sundry others of my wom—” He broke off, chuckling, and looked around as if to be sure that any courtiers who had heard him were joining in his mirth.

  They were, and Nell discovered that she was still capable of blushing. To divert him, she said, “Is Donald of Sleat behaving badly, sire?”

  “Aye, he is,” James said, his tone turning gruff. “The traitor has threatened to raise the entire Highland west against me.”

  One of the courtiers hovering at James’s side said condescendingly, “ ’Tis said that Sleat can command as many as fifteen thousand broadswords and over a hundred galleys. He may soon be marching south with his fleet escorting him.”

  “You are too solemn,” the King said grumpily to the man. “Mackenzie of Kintail and others who remain loyal will halt this Sleat.”

  He shot an enigmatic look at Nell, but she was at a loss to interpret it, for besides looking annoyed, he looked rueful. Unable to imagine an appropriate way to respond, she remained silent, hoping the men would continue to discuss Donald. Even if he were no longer Molly’s guardian, she had to learn where he was now and where she might find him later.

  The other men seemed happy to discuss Donald’s forthcoming rising, but James, looking more and more uncomfortable, suddenly stood, silencin
g them all.

  “Come, madam, I have had a surfeit of politics for one day. Surely you can think of something better calculated to amuse your king.”

  “Willingly, sire,” she said, resting her hand on the forearm he offered her and allowing him to lead her from the hall.

  He took her to his private chamber, and conversation lapsed for some time while he enjoyed his fill of her. Not until he lay back against the pillows, sated, did he say, “There is something you should know about your daughter.”

  “You told me she is no longer ward to Donald the Grim. Where is she, sire?”

  “Aye, that’s the rub, and I fear you will be wroth with me. You will perhaps recall my mentioning Mackenzie of Kintail earlier.”

  “Aye, sire, I remember. One of your loyal Highlanders.”

  “Kintail is the Maid’s new guardian. If Sleat passes through Kintail on his way south, as we expect, she sits directly in his path. You can be sure he wants her back or, at the least, that he wants to punish Kintail for taking her from him.”

  “But was it not you who warded her to Kintail?” Nell asked, turning this new information over in her mind in an attempt to see how it could aid her.

  “I did. My intent was to bolster Kintail’s loyalty by giving him control of an excellent Border estate and of the lass’s fortune if he can find it.”

  “I’ll wager you also desired to punish Donald,” Nell said dryly. “My daughter is still a pawn to be pushed about at will by whoever controls her.”

  James shrugged. “She and others of her ilk have always served so, madam, as you know from your own experience. Increasing one’s power requires position, wealth, and above all, connections to others of like and greater power.”

  He was telling Nell nothing she did not know. “I would see my daughter, sire,” she said. “Mayhap, if you permit, I can be of use to you.”

  “How so?”

  “With Donald’s army running rampant in the western Highlands, you might benefit from a safe means of communicating with this Mackenzie. I could take him a message from you and see my daughter, as well. Who would dare harm a lady of rank traveling with an armed escort?”

  “Royal messengers do risk interception,” James admitted. “Indeed, I sent word to Mackenzie a fortnight ago, when I first learned of Sleat’s increased activity. I’ve received no message in return.”

  Nell’s eavesdropping had told her as much. She waited.

  “I will consider your offer,” James said at last. “But, madam, do not think to fool your king. I have not forgotten that you are Angus’s sister or that you entered Scotland from England without first seeking my permission to do so. Also, it has been suggested that Henry of England may be supporting this madness of Sleat’s. If I find you have more reason for your journey than a mother’s natural wish to see her daughter, you will rue the day that you came to Stirling.”

  A shiver shot up Nell’s spine, but she looked him in the eye and smiled as she said, “I assure you, sire, I am only a mother in search of her long-lost child.”

  Chapter 11

  When Molly left Kintail and Mackinnon so abruptly on the shore, she had expected Kintail to follow her inside or to send a gilly with a command to present herself to him for further discussion, but he did neither. Instead, he returned to take command of his baron’s court, and for the next few days she saw little of him. Since Barbara, her mother, and Mackinnon departed along with the many who had attended the court, and since Maggie Malloch had not put in another appearance, she had no one except Doreen or Mauri with whom to discuss his irritating behavior.

  Throughout her childhood, she had confided in Doreen, but the habit had waned even before leaving Dunakin. To discuss Kintail with her at all seemed wrong, let alone to reveal that he had kissed her. Nor was she tempted to speak about anything so personal with Mauri, whom she scarcely knew.

  Oddly, the temptation was greater to confide in Sir Patrick—if only a little—when he introduced her to Eilean Donan’s account books the day after Kintail’s court. However, although Patrick behaved in his usual charming, cheerful way, she recalled his behavior that first night when Kintail had wanted to bed her, and she knew she could not speak frankly to him, either. His demeanor was unexceptionable as he explained how the accounts were organized and showed her how to enter MacVinish’s sheep and the cow sent to Ian MacMurchie, but she was glad he did not seem disposed to chat. Soon she was engulfed in household details, but by the lesson’s end, she knew nothing more of any consequence about Kintail.

  She did learn that he and Sir Patrick spent most mornings hunting or hawking and most afternoons dealing with tenants’ problems and attending to other duties of landowner-ship. She also learned from Mauri that Kintail had sent out running gillies to see what they could learn about Donald the Grim’s movements, but what those gillies reported to him on their return, she knew not.

  Thus, when Sir Patrick came to her in Mauri’s solar the fourth day after Mackinnon’s visit to tell her that Kintail wanted to see her, Molly felt both eager to confront him and wary of what he might say or do to her.

  “Where is he?” she asked Patrick, setting aside the needlework with which she had been pretending to occupy herself while she waited for Mauri to join her.

  “Below, in the hall,” he said.

  That did not sound as if Kintail intended to pick a quarrel, she decided, for surely he would have chosen a more private place. Nevertheless, she felt increasing tension when she entered the hall and saw him standing near the fireplace, talking with one of his men. The banners overhead stirred in the ever-present draft, but the fire, for once, was small. The days were growing warmer.

  Kintail’s stern gaze met hers. He dismissed the man with him but did not move, waiting for her to approach him, regarding her speculatively, as if he were judging her mood. He did not look as if he intended to kiss her again.

  Thinking about that kiss sent a surge of heat through her. She had to exert herself to sound dignified as she said, “You sent for me?”

  “Did you doubt Patrick’s word when he told you I had?”

  Ignoring what was obvious provocation, she said, “I hope you do not mean to press me again to marry you, for I have not changed my mind.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “I won’t beg you, lass, now or ever. If I decide that we’ll marry, then marry we will. I am lord here, in all things. I even beat Mackinnon at chess the night he stayed here,” he added with satisfaction.

  “I’m surprised to hear that,” she admitted. “I have never known him to lose, but even so, you are not lord of the world, sir. You may have the power of pit and gallows in Kintail, but I believe that even here you do not rule the Kirk. Micheil Love told me long ago that in Scotland a woman has the right to refuse marriage if the proposed union does not suit her.”

  Kintail shrugged. “Scotland has many laws, lass, but Edinburgh and Stirling are far from Eilean Donan. To whom will you make your complaint?”

  “The priest—”

  “—is my priest,” he interjected. “He depends upon me and my people of Kintail for his food and shelter, and therefore, he will not deny me what I want. His wife and children would suffer.”

  “He should not have a wife, let alone children,” she snapped. “Priests are suppose to be celibate.”

  “You see,” he said, as though she had proven his point for him. “As I told you, we are far from Edinburgh and Stirling, farther yet from Rome and the Pope. Now, do you want to know why I sent for you or not?”

  “Only if you do not mean to take more liberties and if we need not discuss marriage again.”

  “Would such a marriage be so distasteful to you?”

  To her surprise, she detected a wistful note in his voice as he asked the question, and she could not make herself reply with a flat negative. Instead, she said, “I have scarcely seen you for days. Why did you send for me now?”

  “Did you miss me?” His eyes twinkled. “You should be glad I gave my temper tim
e to cool before sending for you. Had I followed my inclination when you left Mackinnon and me the other day, I’d have made you regret your rudeness.”

  She could think of nothing to say. Remembering her disappointment when he let her go so easily, she felt flames in her cheeks, but she did not understand herself or her feelings where Kintail was concerned, and she could not read him at all. The twinkle in his eyes said he was not angry with her, but the reminder that she had given him cause to be made it hard to feel confident or to know how to deal with him. After a long moment, she forced herself to meet his gaze.

  “Why did you send for me?”

  “I thought you might be missing your horses,” he said gently.

  Delight instantly replaced bewilderment. “You will let me ride?”

  “I will take you riding,” he amended. “You are not to go out alone, mistress. Not now, not ever. If you do, you will not sit a horse again for three full months. Do you understand me?”

  Striving to conceal her annoyance at what sounded like intentional provocation, she said, “I am accustomed to having an escort, sir.”

  “Perhaps, on occasion,” he said. “But it strikes me that you also are far too accustomed to going your own road without consulting anyone. That must stop. On Skye, where everyone knew you, things were different from the way they are here, particularly with Sleat on the loose.”

  “Where is he, then? I collect that he is not presently in Kintail.”

  To her relief, he did not press his point but accepted the new subject. “I’m told he is still sailing amongst the Isles, gathering men,” he said, “but soon he’ll move south, and the easiest route for his army lies through Kintail and Glen Shiel. This may be our only chance for some time to ride safely. Will you come?”

  Delight at the thought of riding overcame any momentary annoyance with him. Nodding, she followed him down to the inlet where his boats lay. Fluffy clouds floated in a sunny blue sky, and a soft, light breeze blew from the northwest.

  Commanding her to get into the stern of a small rowboat beached on the shingle, Kintail pushed off, jumping into the craft as it slid into the water and deftly taking up the oars.