The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  Claud had found it difficult to guard Mistress Bab’s progress and search for Lucy at the same time, so he was glad when the former fell asleep and he knew she would stay put for a while.

  After that, finding Lucy was quick work, because she danced into view accompanied by her rippling, musical laughter.

  He loved to watch her dance. It was as if her own music accompanied her everywhere, and he remembered when he had first heard it for himself. She had told him then that the music was hers but not so fine as what her father could play on his fiddle, and then she had whirled him away to hear Tom Tit Tot play.

  He put the thought away with a shudder and made no objection when she danced up to him and snuggled at his side. Better that she should snuggle than that she should dance him away and make him forget all he had to remember if the Circle was not to make a gift of him to the Evil Host.

  Remembering what Maggie had said, he waited until Lucy was comfortable, struggling to ignore the tantalizing sensations her moving fingers created wherever they touched him. Then he said, “Lucy, what exactly did ye do tae Catriona?”

  Lucy chuckled. “So ye believe now that I did summat tae her, do ye?”

  “Aye, I do, so tell me what ye did.”

  “Let me show ye a wee thing first that I ha’ learned since the last time we played together, Claud.”

  As she spoke, she shrugged the soft lavender gown off her shoulders and let it fall to her waist. “Put your head down here, laddie. Ye’ll like it, I promise.”

  He did.

  The morning mist had dissipated and the day was clear, sunny, and peaceful when Kintail, his lady, Bab, and Giorsal set out across the loch in a flat-bottomed fishing coble rowed by two strong oarsmen. The only sounds to break the silence were cries of the birds overhead and someone hammering in Dornie village on the northern shore of the loch, across the tidal channel from Eilean Donan.

  Just enough wind blew to fill the lugsail, and although it blew from the northwest, the oarsmen’s skill guided the boat swiftly across the water. The four passengers, content to enjoy the peace, did not converse.

  Watching the soaring gulls and listening to the wind in the sail and the water lapping the sides of the boat, Bab soaked up sunlight and inhaled the fresh sea air, knowing she was home again and delighting in each familiar sound and sensation.

  Neither Fin nor Molly had asked yet about her journey to Dundreggan from Stirling, so she had begun to hope that Lady Chisholm, Sir Alex, or even Chisholm himself had explained what had happened and had asked them not to distress her by discussing it further. Such restraint seemed unusual for both Fin and Molly, but they had talked little on the journey, and Bab had no wish to initiate any discussion now.

  Fin had sent a gilly across in a boat the night before to warn Ardintoul that Mistress Bab was returning, with the result that a servant met them at the beach with horses. The journey from that point was little more than a mile along a woodland trail to the natural, easily defended approach to the castle itself.

  Ardintoul’s gray stone walls formed part of a precipitous outcropping of rock on the inside of a horseshoe-shaped ridge surrounded on the outside by dense woodland. The trough ran northeast to southwest with its opening at the southern end, its upper slopes steep enough to shield most of Ardintoul from the heavy winds that swept in from the north and frequently turned the waters of Loch Alsh into a maelstrom. Even so, from the heights of the tower battlements, one had a clear view northwest along the length of Loch Alsh, as well as southwest across Kyle Rhea to the Isle of Skye and northeast to Eilean Donan. From outside the trough, an enemy would face a steep pile of loose scree, impossible for horses to ascend and easily defended from above against men on foot. It also provided a natural escape route for the castle’s inhabitants, rendering it an unlikely target for siege. Ardintoul was, in fact, one of the most easily defended fortresses in the Highlands.

  To the south, high granite peaks and sharp, serrated ridges guarded the landscape, making it nearly impossible for any Macdonalds or Mackintoshes who might covet Mackenzie or MacRae lands to attack without warning. Gentler, thickly wooded ridges to the east blocked the view of Loch Duich from Ardintoul, but the Mackenzie of Kintail who had deeded land for the castle to his MacRae constable had done so not only because of MacRae loyalty but also because putting MacRaes on that strategic site added significantly to Eilean Donan’s security.

  Kintail’s seat occupied the islet at the mouth of Loch Duich where the loch met Loch Alsh to the west and Loch Long to the north. With the rugged Highlands to the east and south making access difficult from either direction, when Eilean Donan fell under attack, it most often came from Loch Alsh or Kyle Rhea. Located near the convergence of the two, Ardintoul made an excellent watchtower.

  As they approached its gates, Bab saw Kintail look around speculatively.

  “What’s amiss, Fin?” she asked. “You don’t expect trouble here, do you? No one has ever attacked Ardintoul.”

  “Nay, lass, I’m just wondering how many men I can take south for the King from here. This place is safe enough unless Eilean Donan itself falls, and presently any enemies of mine who might attack are busily making friends with Henry of England and adding their resources to his.”

  Bab nodded. She had heard as much from others. Most clans in the Highlands powerful enough to attack each other had allied themselves with either Henry or with James of Scotland to help him prevent the invasion that Henry so eagerly sought. The action would remain far south of Ardintoul though, so it did not worry her in the least, and in any event, the Scots would prevail. They always did, and with the Lordship of the Isles no longer in dispute, the likelihood seemed small at present that anyone would dispute the peace of Kintail.

  The iron gates guarding the entrance to Ardintoul swung open, and they rode through the arched gateway into the flagstone-paved yard. It was not nearly as busy or noisy there as in the graveled bailey at Dundreggan, so their horses’ hooves echoed hollowly on the flags. As she dismounted, Bab called a greeting to each of several servants who emerged to bid her welcome home.

  Crossing quickly to the wide stone steps leading to the entrance, she caught up her skirts and ran up them as a gilly opened the stout, ironbound door. The heavy yett, a massive iron-grill on heavy hinges that would reinforce the door at times of attack, rested against the wall behind the open door, as usual. The only time in Bab’s memory that Ardintoul had closed and bolted its yett had been the year her father died, after he and his master had left for Kinlochewe to fight the Macdonalds.

  Inside the great hall, all was tidy and a fire burned cheerfully, for despite the bright sunlight outside, the interior of the stone tower was nearly always chilly.

  “I want to speak to Duncan,” Fin said, referring to Patrick’s steward. “You go and find your mother, Bab. I am sure you must be eager to see her.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Molly said, smiling. “Giorsal can see to your things.”

  “Aye,” Bab said, adding, “You won’t take Duncan with you, will you, Fin?”

  “Nay, lass, he’s too far past the age mark to enjoy the journey, although I’m sure he’d disagree with me. In any event, he is more useful here. Patrick and I can trust him to look after you and your mother and to keep things running smoothly.”

  She nodded, satisfied, and went with Molly to look for Lady MacRae.

  Encountering Duncan’s wife Florrie, their housekeeper, on the way, Bab gave her a hug and asked where she would find Lady MacRae.

  “Bless ye, Mistress Bab, she’ll be up top o’ the tower like always.”

  “At the top of the tower?”

  “Aye, for she sits up there day in and day out, gazing out across Loch Alsh as if she expects to see them ships sailing up it again.”

  A chill shot up Bab’s spine as she caught Molly’s sympathetic gaze.

  Twelve ships had sailed up Loch Alsh in August of the previous year, carrying the High King of the Scots and Cardinal Beaton to Eilean Donan
, where the King had demanded that Kintail accompany him back to Stirling. Despite the MacRaes’ and Mackenzies’ unswerving loyalty to the Crown, James had decided that the Laird of Kintail should be one of his many Highland hostages, and had attacked Eilean Donan with cannon fire to force Fin’s surrender.

  Bab knew that the incident had sorely distressed Lady MacRae, as had Patrick’s leaving shortly afterward with Molly for Stirling, so that Molly could join her husband in confinement there. And although Lady MacRae had seen for herself that Kintail and Molly were safe at Stirling, and knew now that Patrick was safe too, her distress had eased but little with that knowledge. Bab knew too that at first, when the King’s ships had sailed into Loch Alsh, Lady MacRae had hoped briefly that one of them might be bringing Sir Gilchrist MacRae home again.

  From the day two years before, when Sir Gilchrist had ridden north with Fin’s father through lightly falling February snow, Lady MacRae had lived in constant hope of his homecoming and had refused to accept that his body had returned and lay buried in Ardintoul’s little cemetery in the woods outside the gate. Although she had stood shivering at the graveside with Bab and Patrick while the priest spoke solemn farewell prayers, she had not spoken, nor had she given the slightest sign then or afterward that she was aware of what had transpired there.

  Catching Molly’s gaze now, Bab said, “Perhaps I should go up to her first.”

  “I’m coming with you,” Molly said firmly, and Bab did not argue. She was glad to have her company.

  They went up the spiral stone stairway, past Patrick’s bedchamber and that of Lady MacRae, up more stairs past Bab’s chamber, and then up the final, steeper flight to the battlements. Pushing open the door at the top, Bab stepped onto the walkway, which at that point faced due south. Looking first to the west and then to the east, she saw no sign of her mother.

  The wind had increased, still blowing from the northwest and whipping around the corners of the ramparts. Feeling chilled despite the cheerful sunlight and the sheltering crenelated parapet, Bab wrapped her arms around herself, trying to keep warm, and saw Molly do the same.

  From each corner of the parapet jutted forth a rounded turret, or bartizan, that provided protection for the ever-present guards on the ramparts. Because the area had been peaceful for some time, a single man-at-arms patrolled now, and Bab did not see him until she had reached the southeast bartizan. From there, she saw him walking toward her along the eastern walkway.

  He smiled. “Welcome home, Mistress Bab,” he said. “Ye’ll be wanting her ladyship, I’ll wager.”

  “Aye,” Bab said. “Where is she?”

  “Yonder, mistress, working her stitchery.”

  Glancing back at Molly, Bab slipped past him into the next bartizan. From there, she could see her mother in the next one, sitting on the little stone bench, gazing through the angled gun loop at Loch Alsh with her needlework in her lap.

  About to call out a greeting, Bab changed her mind. Realizing that her mother had no idea she was there and fearing to startle her, she waited until she neared the bartizan before saying quietly, “Good morning, madam.”

  Lady MacRae turned her head and smiled. A slender, dark-haired woman, she wore a dark green day dress and had a gray cloak draped over her shoulders. When she smiled, she bore so striking a resemblance to her daughter that folks never had to guess from which parent Bab had inherited her beauty. Her ladyship’s dark hair showed streaks of silver, and her complexion was much paler than Bab’s, but the resemblance remained clear.

  “They have not come yet,” Lady MacRae said matter-of-factly as if in response to a question Bab had asked, “I warrant it will not be long now though. Certainly they will come before I have finished stitching this cushion cover.”

  Watching her ladyship slip the needle aimlessly into the fabric and pull it through again, Bab felt a lump in her throat when the blue thread came all the way through and she realized it had no knot. No matter how many stitches Lady MacRae took, she would never finish the cushion cover if she failed to knot her thread.

  “Madam, Kintail and his lady have returned from Stirling, and have come to pay their respects to you,” Bab said gently. “I pray you, descend to the hall with me now to receive them. You are blue with cold.”

  Although Lady MacRae did not acknowledge her concern, neither did she object when Bab put an arm under her elbow and urged her gently to her feet. Between them, she and Molly guided her safely downstairs to the hall and settled her comfortably in Sir Patrick’s armchair before the fire, where she continued her aimless stitching but stared into the flames.

  “Where is her woman?” Molly asked quietly.

  “I do not know, but I will find out,” Bab said. “She seems much worse, Molly. I had hoped that by persuading her to accompany me to Stirling, I could stir her from her lethargy, but I only caused more damage. It was horrid of me to let her come home alone.”

  “Don’t be foolish, Bab. Had she behaved like this then, do you think either Fin or I would have allowed you to stay with us when she returned, or that you would have been content to let her go?”

  “But you cannot deny she is worse,” Bab said.

  “No, nor can I deny that she behaved much more like her old self at Stirling. She was much as she has been any other time she had to appear at court, for as you know well, she has always disliked court life. You will recall that even your father had difficulty persuading her to attend court with him the few times he went.”

  That being undeniable, Bab said no more about the matter, ordering refreshment for them all instead and hoping that her return to Ardintoul would serve to stir her mother from her fantasies.

  She indulged that hope until a blunt conversation with Ada MacReedy, Lady MacRae’s waiting woman, dampened it considerably.

  “I dinna ken what be the trouble, mistress,” Ada said. “Time was, I thought she missed ye and Sir Patrick, but she doesna fret nor worry. She just watches the loch and stitches, and betimes, she talks to herself or to others nae one else can see.”

  Bab nodded. Lady MacRae had talked to herself even before Sir Gilchrist’s death, so that was nothing new. Bab had been about seven or eight the first time she had noticed that her mother often muttered to herself when no one else was about.

  “Who are you talking to?” she had once asked.

  “Why, to myself, dearling,” Lady MacRae had answered matter-of-factly.

  “But why?”

  “Well, from time to time, you see, one grows tired of talking to servants and children and likes to speak to someone who can be depended on to understand exactly what one is saying.”

  Suspecting mockery, Bab had nodded wisely and run away, but she remembered that conversation now and wondered sadly if Lady MacRae still believed that no one else understood her thoughts or feelings. To be sure, Bab had felt that way more than once in her life, but she feared that her mother had somehow left the real world and now inhabited some strange world of her own.

  From the ramparts, Bab watched the boat carrying Molly and Fin back across to Eilean Donan and felt bereft. They would not leave at once for Dunsithe, so she would see Molly again and be able to visit with her and seek her advice at least once or twice in the meantime. But it occurred to her that when they had gone, she would be in that position her mother had described to her so long ago of having no one in their right senses but servants and children with whom to talk, and that meant she would have no one with whom to talk about personal matters.

  It took less than two days for her to realize that if she had been bored at Dundreggan it was as nothing to what she faced in the coming months at Ardintoul. She was able to ride out those first days, as she had been accustomed to do all her life, because the weather remained sunny until midday Monday, but Chisholm’s sumpter ponies had no sooner arrived from Dundreggan with her baggage and Giorsal’s than a battering rainsquall swept in from the sea. By late that afternoon, the rain had diminished to a steady patter that threatened to continue for d
ays.

  Conferring with Florrie MacRae and Ada MacReedy, Bab found as expected that she had nothing to complain about in the running of the household. Both women were supremely capable and required no more assistance than they received from the maids and gillies who had long served Ardintoul. Thus, she found herself again with little to do but to bear her mother company and watch with sadness while Lady MacRae muttered to herself and continued her endless stitching.

  “Ye’ve more trouble brewing here than first meets the eye,” Maggie Malloch said sternly to her son. “What be ye doing about it?”

  Claud had sensed her presence for once before she spoke, so he was able to retain his dignity as he said, “Mam, d’ye no trust me tae look after yon lass?”

  “I do trust ye,” Maggie said. “But I canna be easy in mind until I ken what’s become o’ that idle weed, Catriona.”

  Claud rolled his eyes. “Ye ken right well where she be. She be looking after Chisholms like ye said. She doesna want tae face punishment any more than I do.”

  “Aye, well there be nae sign o’ her anywhere near Dundreggan, I can tell ye, and she’s needed there, Claud. There be grand mischief a-boilin’ up, ye see, and ’tis her business tae see that it all comes right in the end.”

  “D’ye want I should search for her?”

  “I dinna want nowt o’ the sort,” she snapped. “If I canna find her, ye won’t. Ye keep away from all the wenches, Claud, or ye’ll fall in lust again, and then we’ll all find ourselves in the suds.”

  Clearly, this was not the time to tell her that Lucy Fit-tletrot was back, although in truth he was surprised Maggie apparently did not know that she was. It was just plain luck that Lucy had flitted off earlier on business of her own. In any event, he would ask Lucy again about Catriona as soon as he had the chance. First, it was imperative to learn what Maggie’s plan was.