The Reluctant Highlander

by Scott, Amanda

  The four of them found places at the trestle near the ladies’ end of the dais, where Fiona and the other maids of honor had sat before. Choosing a place from which she could see most of the lower hall, Fiona looked around while they awaited the grace-before-meat. Disappointed not to see Sir Àdham, she reminded herself that no matter how well spoken or intriguing the man was, his absence, not to mention its cause, was no business of hers.

  Had he not ignored her suggestion that, before attending that first assembly, he furbish himself up a trifle by trimming his beard and arranging his unruly hair more stylishly? To be fair, he had explained that, as a warrior, he must keep his hair long enough to tie back, but he could at least have curled the ends a bit.

  When she tried to imagine what he might look like so, she realized that without his untidy hair and beard, she had no idea how the man might look.

  Her sense of humor stirred at the thought.

  “Would you like to share what amuses you, Fiona?” Lady Huntly asked.

  “I am merely pleased to be here, madam. I enjoy the music and look forward to seeing the dancing.” Her foot tapped in time to the music.

  “We must hope to witness only such diversions tonight,” her ladyship said grimly. “Her grace sent two of us to attend today’s session, and a near-insurrection occurred there. Horrid men rushed in, shouting for release of the Lord of the Isles. When others tried to put them out, chaos ensued.”

  A frisson of fear shot through Fiona. She had not seen Sir Àdham or Ormiston for days. Rational thought swiftly reassured her that Àdham was unlikely to attend Parliament. But she knew that her father had been there.

  Lady Sutherland said ruefully, “Lady Huntly didna mean tae give ye a fright, Fiona-lass. She should ha’ told ye nae one were harmed. ’Twas but a nuisance, his grace did say, and worse that two men tried tae get a message tae Alexander. James ordered them all arrested and thrown into the Tolbooth.”

  Having heard that many western Highlanders supported the Lord of the Isles and demanded an end to his year-long imprisonment, and recalling Sir Àdham’s allegiance to the King, Fiona’s alarm for him surged.

  Moments later, with deep relief, she saw her father enter with Buccleuch, only to feel new alarm sweep in at the sight of Lady Rosalie walking proudly between them, her right hand resting on Ormiston’s left forearm. The two of them, she decided with a sigh, might as well have had a royal herald preceding them, announcing his lordship’s intention to marry her.

  When Buccleuch turned as if to speak to one or both of them, his gaze met Fiona’s. He smiled, but only as if he were glad to see her, not as if he wondered how she might feel about the couple beside him. Politely, she returned his smile while she tried to decide how she did feel about them as a couple.

  She had often thought that her widowed father ought to remarry. But . . .

  Deciding to think about that later, she turned her attention to her supper.

  She had barely finished eating when Lady Malvina said lightly, “I see my Geddes cousins yonder, Fiona. Mayhap you would like to walk over and greet them with me. Lay brothers are clearing the center area for the entertainment, so we should go now, or we shall have to walk all the way round it.”

  “Aye, sure, I’ll go . . . if you will excuse us, my ladies.”

  Lady Sutherland assured them that they were to enjoy themselves and that she and Lady Huntly would await them as long as necessary. “Although not past midnight, me dearlings. Ye must attend tae your morning duties, as usual.”

  “We know, madam,” Malvina said. “Come, Fiona. My cousin Hamish is talking with a gey handsome young man, whom I do not yet know.”

  Chuckling, Fiona said, “You see every handsome man as a future husband, Malvina. But the value of a husband depends on more than his looks, you know.”

  Grimacing, Malvina said, “If ye think I want tae spend the rest of my life with a man who makes me think of an ogre or a toadstool rather than a charming gentleman, ye’re much mistaken. Only imagine having tae break fast every morning with such a man, let alone tae sleep with him.”

  “Mercy, hush,” Fiona said on a gurgle of laughter. “You do not want to hear someone repeating that declaration tomorrow to all and sundry.”

  Blushing, Malvina agreed that she would not like that, and they hurried on to her kinsmen. The handsome young man speaking to Hamish proved to be another cousin who showed more interest in Fiona than in Malvina. But Fiona, finding the discussion tiresome, let her gaze drift to other parts of the room.

  The young man said, “I fear that you find my remarks tedious, my lady.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” she replied, flushing hotly. “I was thinking that we should return to our table before Lady Sutherland sends someone to fetch us.”

  “Go ahead, Fiona,” Malvina said. “Say that I’ll return afore midnight and that one o’ my kinsmen will escort me tae the residence if they have retired.”

  Believing that Lady Sutherland was more likely to send her back to insist that Malvina return at once, Fiona nearly said so. But aware that that might make them persuade her to stay longer, she bade them good night and began to wend her way amid entertainers and spectators, trying to do so without irking anyone.

  She had nearly reached the halfway point when someone grasped her elbow from behind and a cheerful masculine voice said, “One moment, my lady. Are you not Ormiston’s daughter, the lady Fiona?”

  Turning abruptly and with annoyance, she saw blue-and-­purple particolored hose; a short, dagged, matching cote-hardie hugging a narrow waist; a broad chest, and broader shoulders before the upper part of that body jerked back and spun away as a fist flashed hard to its chin. The unknown man collapsed at her feet.

  Looking with amazement at Sir Àdham MacFinlagh’s equally astonished profile, she was about to demand what he thought he was doing, knocking people down, when she realized that his astonishment had focused wholly on his victim.

  Leaning down, he grabbed the other man by both arms and hauled him to his feet. “Caithness!” he exclaimed, giving him an angry shake. “What the devil do you mean by dressing yourself up like a popinjay and accosting her ladyship in such a churlish way?”

  Chapter 6

  Shocked by his own actions and tone of voice, Àdham released thirty-three-year-old Alan, Earl of Caithness, but he continued to hold his gaze as he waited to discover how Caithness would react. That nearly everyone around them was staring at them did not trouble him. He was concerned only about Caithness.

  To his relief, Caithness turned to Lady Fiona and said ruefully, “I beg your pardon, your ladyship. I should not have put my hand on ye, but ye slipped away just as I was coming to tell ye that your lord father has left for the evening.”

  Without so much as acknowledging Àdham’s presence, he added, “Ormiston asked me to tell ye that the lady Rosalie is longing for her bed. So, he and Buccleuch are escorting her to the house Buccleuch has taken in South Street.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Fiona said. “I confess, I do not know who you are.” Turning to Sir Àdham, she said, “Perhaps you will present him to me properly, sir.”

  Grimacing, as rueful now as Caithness was, Àdham said, “I wish I could claim that I do so with pleasure, my lady. However, since he likely wants my head for clouting him just now, I will say as politely as possible that this gentleman is Alan, Earl of Caithness. He is also, I am even sorrier to say, his grace’s close cousin and the younger son of Walter Stewart, Earl of Atholl and Strathearn.”

  “Mercy!” Fiona exclaimed as she swept the handsome earl a deep curtsy. “But, surely, you do not mean to demand Sir Àdham’s head, my lord.”

  “I do not,” Caithness said, laughing as he rubbed his jaw. “I’m only glad he recognized me soon enough to slow his punch, Lady Fiona, or I’d be seeking my teeth on the floor. As for the aspersions he cast on my apparel . . .” He glowered at
Àdham. “I’d wager my hose, jacket, and cap cost more than your entire wardrobe.”

  “Then you wasted your gelt,” Àdham retorted. “Moreover, that clothing makes you resemble the lout who accosted her ladyship here three nights ago. Had I known you were in town, I might have recognized you. I cannot say that even then I’d have been certain. When did you acquire such curly hair?”

  “Sakes, Àdham, ye must have seen that it has become the fashion. Ye look as if ye’ve just come in from the wild, though. We must polish ye up, I think.”

  Well aware that she was part of a scene that both Lady Sutherland and Lady Huntly were sure to condemn, and grateful that her father had left the hall, Fiona was nonetheless, albeit secretly, pleased that Sir Àdham had leaped so swiftly and vigorously to her defense. Watching him hastily straighten the blue-green plaid he still wore, wondering how he might react to Caithness’s suggestion that he needed polish, she discerned a surprising glint of amusement when he began shaking his head at his friend.

  Then Sir Àdham looked at her and smiled. The smile was still a bit rueful, but it reminded her of how reassuring it could be and how white and even his teeth were. He was definitely of finer character than many of the men she had met with the court. So far, he seemed to be a man of his word, too. Just then, his smile widened, alerting her to the fact that she was staring at him.

  With a flutter of unease, she looked to see if anyone else had taken notice and realized that, although any number of people had seen Sir Àdham knock Caithness down, most of them had returned their attention to the entertainers. The crowd around them was so thick that she could not see the ladies’ table, let alone Lady Sutherland or Lady Huntly.

  However, from the raised dais, the King of Scots was looking right at her.

  Beside him, Douglas of Dalkeith, another of the King’s trusted advisers and a close friend of Ormiston’s and Buccleuch’s, also watched them.

  Clearing her throat, Fiona said as calmly as she could to Sir Àdham, “We have drawn his grace’s eye, sir. I must return to Lady Sutherland and Lady Huntly.”

  Sir Àdham and Caithness stared at her and then at each other.

  “If Jamie witnessed that scene, he’ll be gey wroth with both of us if we tell him the truth of it,” Caithness said. “We must concoct a nobler tale.”

  Astonished and without thinking, Fiona said, “You would lie to the King?”

  “Aye, sure,” Caithness said. “Jamie is nobbut three years older than I am, after all. And truth is but one man’s view of an event, nae matter how many have seen it. None of these others watches us now, so we can forget them. What d’ye say, Àdham? I expect we must escort her ladyship back to her table afore we conspire.”

  Sir Àdham said evenly, “We will see her ladyship restored to her table, Alan, but we will not make up a tale to tell his grace. If he demands an explanation, we’ll tell him the truth. Since he is deep in conversation with Dalkeith, I think we would be wise to await such a summons and not interrupt him now.”

  “Art afeard that our Jamie will rebuke ye, Àdham? Ye’ve likely never met him, but I ken him fine. Dinna fear that I’ll abandon ye.”

  “Your lordship is mistaken on all points,” Àdham said in the same even tone. “I fear naught, for it was his grace himself who knighted me after Lochaber.”

  “Mayhap ye told me that, but I wasna even there, m’self,” Caithness said with a sigh as he gestured for two men ahead of them to stand aside. Then, moving past Fiona and Àdham to clear the way, he added over his shoulder, “I was fain to go, but my lord father forbade it. I think he resigned the Caithness earldom to me as his apology for keeping me from taking part in that splendid victory.”

  Àdham touched Fiona’s shoulder, urging her forward through the now courteously parting crowd, as he said to Caithness, “It was not so splendid, sir. More accurately, it resulted in vile and bloody carnage.”

  “Perhaps,” Caithness replied over Fiona’s head. “But I’m nae feardie. And I must prove myself if I’m ever to win my knighthood. An earldom that one’s blood-royal father resigns to one out of his many titles is as nowt to winning one’s spurs.”

  “I am sure that you will win yours, my lord,” Fiona said with a smile, deciding that she liked the charming young earl.

  Àdham noted with amusement the sudden blush in Caithness’s cheeks but said naught to suggest his belief that her ladyship was just being polite.

  The crowd parted enough to reveal that two of her grace’s older ladies sat alone at the ladies’ table. Àdham was relieved to see them, but Caithness said abruptly, “If I’m not to tell tales, Àdham, I must leave ye here. The younger of those two is Lady Sutherland, Joanna’s mistress of robes, and I do not want to hear what she’ll say if she saw me accost Lady Fiona afore ye knocked me down.”

  “I doubt that she was able to see that, my lord,” Lady Fiona said.

  “I agree with that, Alan,” Àdham said. “Moreover, I should tell you that I borrowed your horse to come here from Blair, but I’ve kept it safe.”

  “I ken fine that ye’ve got him, and welcome,” Caithness said, casting another look around. “But, I’m away. I willna give Lady Sutherland my head for washing.”

  “What a thing to say!” Fiona said to Àdham with a chuckle as Caithness melted into the crowd. “I think he is perfectly charming, though, and gey handsome. Would Lady Sutherland dare to scold him?”

  “She would more likely warn you that he does not always behave himself, even with powerful noblemen’s daughters,” he replied with a wry smile and a barely discernible edge to his voice.

  Cocking her head slightly, she raised her eyebrows and said, “Indeed, sir? Methinks that my noting his lordship’s charms has irked you. But, prithee, do not frown at me, for I do know that I owe you my thanks for coming so swiftly and chivalrously to my rescue. You have done so now twice, and although I did not require your aid either time, I— Faith,” she added when he began slowly shaking his head, “do you dispute my word?”

  “You know I do not,” he said, extending an arm to her. “Would you like me to restore you to your guardian ladies now, or—”

  “Mercy,” Fiona interjected, “I can see Lady Huntly, and she is irked. I must go at once, sir. I do thank you, but I still think Caithness is charming.”

  Looking over her shoulder as Lady Huntly whisked her away, she saw that Sir Àdham still watched her, looking a bit dazed. She grinned at him.

  Having no further interest in the evening’s festivities, Àdham decided to return to the alehouse. Emerging from Parliament Close into the High Street, he nearly bumped into Gilli Roy, who was apparently also heading that way. He wore his particolored hose and linen shirt again, along with a plumed, light-colored hat atop his smartly curled red hair.

  “I want a word with you, lad,” Àdham said.

  “I saw you talking with Ormiston’s daughter,” Gilli retorted. “I hoped you might sleep again at Ormiston House.”

  Feeling his temper stir, Àdham tamped it down and said quietly, “How do you come to recognize Ormiston’s daughter?”

  Even in the dim light of the flambeaux that lit the walkway, he saw color suffuse Gilli Roy’s cheeks. But the lad shrugged again, saying, “She is pretty. Also, you told me yourself that she serves her grace, so men do talk about her.”

  “And accost her,” Àdham said, giving him a stern look. “What more can you tell me about that churl who approached her so rudely Tuesday night?”

  “I told you all that I know! His name is Hew and he speaks the Gaelic and Scots.” Before Àdham could reply, he added, “You must care about that lass, aye?”

  “That lady’s father is one of the King’s close advisers, so I suggest that you speak respectfully of her or not at all.”

  “Aye, Ormiston of Ormiston. Did he present her to you?”

  “I met him the night I arrived, on the Inch ne
ar town,” Àdham said glibly. “When I told him I was meeting kinsmen here at the alehouse, he invited me to take wine with him first at his house. Later, he told me that the alehouse was noisy and invited me to spend the night. It was a kindness. What else did you see tonight?”

  “I saw you hit Caithness, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I mistook him for your uncivil friend,” Àdham said, mentally cursing that act again. “Caithness will expect you to keep the incident to yourself, and so do I.”

  Staring upward, Gilli said, “I heard people cry out when they saw it, so I expect the whole town will know of it by morning.”

  “Perhaps,” Àdham said, although he did not recall any outcry. His attention had fixed first on the hand gripping Lady Fiona’s arm and then on his having floored Caithness instead of the lout from Tuesday night. “You had better hope that I don’t hear about it from anyone you have told.”

  Gilli shrugged. “I just want to go home.”

  Accustomed to his uncertain moods, Àdham changed the subject, but Gilli’s comment about people crying out when he’d floored Caithness echoed disturbingly.

  Having experience enough with the royal court to know that everything occurring within or near it fueled hearsay, rumor, and gossip that spread fast, Fiona had slept fitfully. Awaking reluctantly Saturday morning to the sound of her door shutting and quick steps to the bed, she blinked.

  “Were there a fight over ye yestereve, m’lady, during the entertainment?”

  “Good sakes,” Fiona murmured, blinking again, as the last remnants of sleep fled and she saw Leah hovering over her, awaiting an answer.

  Irritated but scarcely astonished, Fiona drew a breath to cool her temper, then sat up, saying, “There was no fight, Leah. If you heard such a thing, someone has evidently tried to build a trifling incident into a shocking event. That is all.”