by Amanda Scott
“Aye, she told us everything is as it would have been had Donald died the day he and his men attacked Eilean Donan,” Molly explained. “Also, all the men believe that they came to Dunsithe only as our escort, that Kintail is merely inspecting the property he gained by marrying me.”
“But what of me? I remember perfectly well that Donald abducted me and held me prisoner at Dunsgaith and then that he and I were here with you.”
“You, too, will forget in time,” Molly said quietly. “As we will. But there is one thing that you will not forget, madam, and it is the most important thing of all. You will recall that my key did not open the second chest.”
“Aye,” Nell said. “Did you learn its secret from your Maggie?”
“We did, but it is not what we expected. Apparently, I am not heiress to the contents of that chest.”
“But if not you, then who?”
“Bessie.”
Nell stared at her, her face draining of color. Her chin trembled, and when she tried to speak, at first there was no sound. Then, at last, she spoke, her voice no more than a whisper. “Bessie is dead,” she said. “Angus told me so.”
“Angus lied,” Fin said. “I know how you must feel,” Molly told her quietly, touching her arm. “It was a great shock for me, too.”
“You cannot know how I feel,” Nell said, hugging herself as tears spilled down her cheeks. Then, eyes widening, she reached for Molly’s hand and clutched it tightly, drawing her close and hugging her. “I sound like a shrew, I know, but you are not yet a mother, nor have you ever lost a child. Faith, even I do not know how I feel!” Her hands shook, and her chin quivered. “H-how can this be? Are you sure?”
Molly nodded, and Fin said gently, “If Bessie were dead, Molly would be her heir, and her key would unlock the chest.”
Nell inhaled deeply, struggling visibly to control her emotions. “Too much has happened,” she said. “I cannot think, but I can well believe that Angus lied. He does so frequently, although he does not tolerate liars, himself.”
“Can you recall nothing that he might have said over the years to reveal what really happened to her?” Molly asked.
“No,” Nell said. “Nothing. We must find her, though.”
“Excuse me, my lady,” Doreen said from the doorway, “but Cook desired me to tell you that your dinner is ready to serve.”
“Doreen! I thought you were locked… that is…” Molly floundered, looking to Fin for help.
“She thought you were still attending to things in her bedchamber,” he said with a smile.
Doreen shook her head. “Nay, master, I finished there long ago, and I ha’ been helping in the kitchen just as I do at home. Be Lady Percy ill, sir?”
“No, no,” Molly said, surprised that Doreen knew Nell’s name. “She is just a little tired, I expect.”
“I’m famished,” Fin said heartily. “We will come at once. What of my lads?”
“They are to eat in the lower hall, sir, as they did yesterday.”
“Ah, of course,” he said. “Come along, ladies. There is naught to be gained by keeping good food waiting.”
Feeling dazed, Molly let him take her hand, and Nell followed silently behind him. Doreen helped serve the meal and seemed to remember nothing other than that they had arrived the day before after a tedious sea journey and that the only people they found in the castle had been looking after things until its new owner arrived. If she knew about the mystery regarding its contents, she said nothing to indicate as much.
Nell was quiet, but she revived a little as the meal progressed, touching one item after another as the magnificent serving dishes appeared, saying that she had believed she would never see them again and perhaps she would soon find Bessie.
Molly glanced at Fin more than once, wondering what he was thinking.
If Maggie’s words meant that the three of them would eventually forget everything that had happened, just as Fin’s men had already forgotten, what else might they forget?
His gaze met hers, and the warmth she saw in his eyes seemed to flow into her. When he tore a piece of roast chicken from its bone with his teeth and chewed it, still watching her, an unexpected bolt of yearning shot through her.
“Madam,” he said a moment later, turning to Nell, “I warrant you would like some time alone with your thoughts and to become reacquainted with Dunsithe, so if you have no objection, Molly and I will bid you good night now. We have much to talk about, and I confess, I have sorely missed my wife.”
“I believe you, sir,” Nell said with a wan smile, idly shredding a roll. “I will sit here for a time, I think. I am finding it hard to come to terms with all that has happened in these past few days.”
“You must do as you like,” he said gently. “Doreen can help you choose a bedchamber and help you prepare for bed. Molly will not need her tonight.”
Nell managed a smile for Molly. “I hope you want me to stay, love. Having waited so long to find you again, I shall be reluctant to curtail our reunion.”
“I want to know you better, too, madam,” Molly said, moving to hug her again. “I just wish you could remember something to help us learn where Bessie is. I want to find her.”
Fresh tears filled Nell’s eyes. “I can think of nothing,” she said, “but I will soon have to face Angus, and I dread it, for I know not what I will say to him. He frightens me witless when he is angry, and since I was supposed to carry messages back to him and to England’s Henry from Donald, Angus will be angry that I have failed. Still, I’m angry, too, and perhaps I can make him tell me what really happened to our Bessie.”
“Do not endanger yourself,” Molly said. “I do not want to lose you again.”
“You won’t, my love, but go now and be with your husband. I shall be quite all right here on my own.”
Needing no further urging, they bade her good night.
Conscious of Fin beside her, Molly suddenly felt much as she had on her wedding night. Her skin prickled, and her body felt warm and moist. Remembering the huge bathtub in his bedchamber at Eilean Donan, she smiled.
He put his arm around her and drew her close. “Art sleepy, lassie?”
“Nay, sir. I feel warm and… and…”
“… and lusty for your husband, I hope,” he said with a chuckle. “I spoke the truth, sweetheart. We’ve business to sort out, and although I warrant we may need assistance with the part that involves Dunsithe, the rest of it is ours alone to determine. What say you to the notion of naming Patrick constable here?”
“We cannot live at Dunsithe, can we.” She made it a statement, not a question, as she moved ahead of him to the spiral stairway leading to the upper floors.
“I must stay with my people, Molly. We can visit here as often as you like, but when we are away, we should have someone in residence whom we can trust to look after the place properly, to tend its lands and its people.”
“I like Sir Patrick.”
“I, too, and I will miss him, but I know no one in the Borders whom I would trust as I trust him, and Malcolm and Mauri can look after Eilean Donan whenever we come to Dunsithe to visit.”
“Will Patrick agree?”
“You know that he will agree to anything I ask of him. Moreover, he will make friends here far more quickly than I would.” They reached the landing at the next floor, and he opened the door to the first chamber they came to. “This will do,” he said, peering into the elegantly appointed room. Someone had lighted the fire, and its golden light played on the wall hangings and embroidered bed curtains.
“It is my parents’ room,” Molly said. “I remember it now that I see it again. What if my mother expects to sleep here?”
“She will not. It is the master’s chamber, and she is well aware of the proprieties of such. Moreover, I intend to lock the door. We want no interruptions tonight.” Suiting action to words, he shut the door and shot the bolt.
Then, turning, he drew Molly into his arms and kissed her. “I feared that I mig
ht have lost you,” he murmured.
“I, too,” she said. “That I had lost you, I mean.”
“Would that have distressed you, lass?”
“More than I could have guessed when I arrived at Eilean Donan,” she said.
His fingers touched her bodice where the rip had been. “Others may believe that Donald never was here, but I will never forget what he did, sweetheart, or what he threatened to do. It is not pleasant to be the means of another man’s death, but I confess that I feel a certain satisfaction in knowing I avenged both my father’s death and your abduction.”
“My second abduction,” she murmured, not caring much what he said, so long as he kept holding her.
He did not reply. His fingers toyed with her lacing, and she could feel the warmth of his hands through the material.
“It is my turn to undress you,” she reminded him.
“So it is.”
There were no difficult fastenings, since his shirt of mail had vanished, but she took her time, enjoying the chance to tease him for once. Unlacing his shirt, she slipped both hands inside it, stroking his chest lightly, then pulled the shirt free of his breeks. She would have played with it longer, but he caught hold of it by the hem and yanked it off over his head. When he would have thrust off his boots and breeks next, she stopped him.
“Be patient, sir,” she said, grinning.
“I am not a patient man,” he growled.
“Then you must practice to be more so.”
“Cheeky lass.”
He caught her shoulders and pulled her close, cupping her chin and raising it to kiss her. His lips were hot against hers, and for a moment, she forgot her appointed task and enjoyed the sensations his kisses stirred through her body. His hands moved to her breasts, and she realized that she was in danger of losing herself in the passions he was arousing.
Gently breaking off the kiss, she said, “Do you want to wear your boots and breeks to bed, impatient one, or will you let me help you take them off?”
His response was half groan, half chuckle, but he said, “If you think you can pull my boots off, go ahead.”
Knowing better than to give him a chance to begin kissing her again just then, she knelt swiftly to obey, and once his boots were off, she moved to unlace his breeks, taking her time, using her fingers, lips, and hands to good purpose until she heard him gasp with pleasure.
Looking up into his eyes, she smiled and said, “I believe I am learning how to serve you well, am I not?”
“You are,” he said, his voice catching on the words as if it were hard for him to breathe properly.
When he was naked, she began exploring his body with tiny, light kisses, moving slowly from his knees upward.
Expecting certain, inevitable distractions, Fin had intended to let her lead the way, to enjoy himself and the feelings she stirred in him. He kept reminding himself of that intention while her lips and hands busied themselves, but he had not counted on his body’s profound reaction to her slightest touch.
He wanted to see her naked, to watch the firelight play on her smooth skin. He wanted to touch her everywhere, and bend her to his will.
She was playing with him, teasing him, taunting his lust for her. Her lips were hot against his skin, her fingers stirred lust wherever they touched him. Those busy lips and fingers reached only his thighs, therefore, before he suddenly leaned over, scooped her up, and carried her to the high, curtained bed. His breathing was more ragged than ever, and his hands were urgent as they dealt with her clothing.
Molly stifled a bubble of laughter when Fin snatched her up and carried her to the bed, but soon, she was as naked as he, and he moved over her to claim her again as his wife. Her body leaped to his in response, and she was astonished by how easy it was to pace her actions with his and to stir him to even greater passion. Every move was instinctive, and every new sensation stirred pulsing fire through her, increasing her ardor until the final surge threatened to overwhelm them both.
Afterward, as she lay with her head on his shoulder, he stroked her gently, idly, for some moments before he murmured, “I noticed something else that is different, sweetheart.”
“What?”
“The mark of the key has nearly disappeared from your breast.”
She looked down and saw that he was right. Maggie had promised that the mark would fade, but it looked almost as if her breast had never been burned.
“All that has happened here seems strange,” she said, “but things are certainly better now than before. It will be wonderful if we can find Bessie.”
“We’ll find her,” he murmured. “I love you, Molly.”
A rapping at the door startled them, and at the same time, they heard Nell’s voice. “I’m sorry to disturb you,” she called, “but I thought you should know that I’ve found a box of Gordon’s documents concerning Dunsithe.”
“Excellent,” Fin shouted back. “I’ll study them carefully—tomorrow!”
“I’ve thought of something else, though,” she said, her voice low-pitched and tense. “I think I may know where we can find Bessie.”
Molly sat up, ready to let her in, but Fin held her and said, “Are you sure?”
“No, and I could be wrong. Indeed, I cannot even recall the name of the woman who may help us. I’m not sure Jamie will remember her either, but I met her at Stirling. She’s a horrid woman, so I do not know whether to hope or to pray.”
“Then that, too, can wait until morning,” Fin said. “Good night, madam.”
After a pause, Nell said, “Good night, my dear ones.”
They heard her quick footsteps fading into the distance as he said gently, “Did you want to discuss it all with her now?”
“She may forget everything by morning.”
“She won’t forget that,” he said. “Maggie Malloch said we’d remember that your sister is alive, and any memories Nell may have of her whereabouts have nothing to do with what happened today. Whatever she remembered tonight will linger and may even be clearer tomorrow, but we will do as you choose.” His hand stroked her belly lightly.
“We’ll wait,” she said. “We’re going to find Bessie, and despite what Maggie said earlier, I believe she will help us. She seemed angry to learn that someone had hidden the truth from her. She won’t let them get away with it.”
“Excellent; so where would you like me to touch you next?” he asked, his sensuous tone stirring the embers inside her.
“Here,” she said, showing him and stirring in languorous delight when he complied. Nevertheless, before long, an errant thought struck her.
“Did I hear you say that you love me?”
“I did. You are mine, Molly, my lass, and will remain so for all of our days.”
“I love you, too,” she said, “but just remember one thing, Fin Mackenzie.”
“What’s that?” he asked lazily, toying with the tip of her breast.
“You no longer have license to accost innocent maidens walking home on dark nights.”
“I’m still master here and at Eilean Donan,” he said.
“You’ll have to keep me happy if you want to prevent such events in future.”
“Recall my skill with a bow and arrow, sir. I can render you unequal to—”
“You win, sweetheart,” he interjected swiftly, wincing. “I promise, on my oath, to remain true to you forever. Now, go to sleep.”
Chuckling, she snuggled against him. When she heard his breathing slow and deepen, she sighed and snuggled closer, taking comfort from the warmth of his body, knowing she belonged with him and that she had found her true home at last.
Sleepily, she murmured, “Thank you, Maggie Malloch, wherever you are.”
Dear Reader:
I hope you enjoyed Abducted Heiress. When it was suggested that I include fairies and their ilk in Fin and Molly’s book, I studied many fairy and spirit legends from the Highlands and Borders of Scotland. Much of the information I’ve used comes from two sources: The Cl
ans of Darkness, edited by Peter Henning, and The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries by Walter Y. Evans-Wentz. I am also indebted to the latter for certain details of the crofters’ ceilidh at the beginning of the story.
After studying fairies, I looked for Scottish historical events that might plausibly have relied on “fairy intervention.” When I came upon the story of the 1539 attack on Eilean Donan, I knew I’d found what I wanted.
The versions differ drastically (especially those offered by the Macdonalds, Mackenzies, and MacRaes), but to take the widest extremes of each, imagine as many as fifty galleys full of Macdonalds (each galley holding approximately forty to fifty armed men) attacking a castle that contained only three men, who defended it successfully. Surely, fairies must have had something to do with it, especially when one takes into account the small size of Loch Duich and the area around the castle.
After discussing this attack with the present Laird of Kintail, I decided to use his version primarily and adjust it to suit my story. Citing an 1886 Edinburgh reprint of History of the MacRaes by Alexander MacRae of Kintail (1587–1634), he suggested a more probable number of three to four galleys. He also provided me with the names and ages of the five people in the castle during the attack: Mauri and Malcolm MacRae, their infant daughter Morag, Ian Dubh Matheson, and Duncan MacRae, who shot the famous arrow that killed Macdonald of Sleat. Sir Patrick MacRae is patterned on Duncan, who became constable of Eilean Donan in 1539 after the death of Ian Dubh Matheson Fernaig, who was killed during the attack.
For those of you who are purists when it comes to British titles, let me assure you that Fin Mackenzie is not Lord Mackenzie. In sixteenth-century Scotland, a barony, with all its rights and privileges, including the power of the pit and the gallows, did not necessarily mean the baron could call himself a lord. According to Sir Ian Moncrieffe of that Ilk (The Highland Clans, Barrie & Jenkins, Ltd., 1977) Kintail was erected into a barony in 1508. However, there was no “Lord Mackenzie of Kintail” until 1609, when the position was raised to the peerage, giving the holder of the title the right to sit in the Scottish Parliament and call himself a lord. To call Fin “Mackenzie of Kintail” is accurate and is the manner for equivalent titles of the period (various Douglases, Scotts, Macdonalds, etc.).
