“When are you going to marry Lady Rosalie?”
He smiled. “I have not even asked her yet. I do mean to do so anon, though.”
“I shall be gey sad to miss your wedding, but Rosalie must come with you when you visit us,” she said.
Although Fiona was loath to leave him, they parted at last with a final hug.
As she turned away, she saw Àdham awaiting her with Donsie in his arms, apparently content there, despite her erstwhile attack on him.
“Evidently, she thinks more of you than you think of her, my lady,” he said with a teasing smile. “Unless you want her to follow us all the way . . .”
“I don’t, and she might try to do that,” Fiona said. “If you truly do not object to having her with us, sir, I can wrap her in my shawl.” Ormiston helped her mount her horse, and she saw Àdham’s eyes widen as she did.
“You ride astride like a man?” he said with a slight frown.
“Aye, sure, sir, as most Border women do,” she said. “You must also have seen that I use a man’s flat saddle. Will Highlanders object to that?”
“I won’t,” he said firmly. “I wondered how you could cope with our rugged trails in one of those tipsy boxes I’ve seen that Lowland women call saddles.”
After mounting her horse, she took the little cat from Àdham, wondering how Donsie would adapt to riding, but the cat purred and arranged itself by making something of a nest between Fiona’s thighs.
Then, since they had said most of their farewells at the wedding feast, and everyone else was ready, they departed as the sun peeked above the eastern hills.
Their party was larger than she had expected, because Malcolm had a tail of a dozen men and Sir Ivor had nearly as many. As most of them walked, their pace was slow, but to Fiona’s delight, Àdham rode beside her. The morning was chilly but not cold, and she felt herself relaxing as they rode alongside the river.
“You said that Lady Marsaili would ride with us,” she reminded Àdham.
“Aye, she will. We’ll meet her in a few hours.”
A short time later, Rory rode up to them on one of the garrons and spoke to Àdham in Gaelic. Thanking him, Àdham said with a grin to Fiona, “Sir Ivor wants me, and he apparently told our Rory here to look after you. Can you bear it?”
“I shall enjoy his company,” she said, smiling at the boy.
When Àdham rode on ahead, Rory guided his smaller horse to ride beside her dappled gelding. Looking up at her, he said, “D’ye like t’ be married, m’lady?”
“So far, I do,” she said. “I did not know that you could speak Scots.”
“Aye, sure,” he said. “I keep me ears open tae learn new things. Also, at Finlagh, near everyone speaks Scots and the Gaelic, so I do, too. Can ye no speak the Gaelic?”
“No, I cannot, nor understand a word of it. Mayhap you can help me learn.”
“Aye, I can do that. I’ll do just what Sir Àdham and them did wi’ me.” He patted the garron. “Gearran,” he said.
“That I did know. I did not know that the word was Gaelic, though.”
“It is, aye, but ye dinna say it quite the same, though.” With a gesture toward her horse, he added, “that be each. The cat be caht, yon oak tree be darach, and . . .”
“Enough!” Fiona exclaimed, laughing. “I’ll never remember so many words at once.”
“Aye, but ye’ll learn if we keep a-doin’ it, though,” he assured her. “Ye must also learn how words go together and how they change now and now. But if a body can make hisself understood, he needna say it all just right.”
Their pace remained a steady, brisk walk or a trot, but Fiona was astonished to see that only the leaders rode. Most of the men-at-arms lacked even garrons and walked or jogged along the road.
To Rory, she said, “I can see that those men all carry weapons of one sort or another, but none seems to be carrying extra clothing or food.”
The boy shrugged. “Most o’ such men do ha’ extra tunics. So, if a man falls in a burn or damages his tunic past wearing, he can don another one. But we sleep wi’ our plaids wrapped round us, and we carry oatcakes and such, so we dinna need aught else. I’m only a-riding this garron tae bear ye company.”
They chatted desultorily then, the boy occasionally pointing to something and repeating the Gaelic word for her. Reaching the cathedral town of Dunkeld at midmorning, they found Lady Marsaili and her entourage awaiting them.
The entourage included six men-at-arms and a gray-haired woman somewhat older than her ladyship, whom Fiona supposed to be her attire woman. She was glad to see that both women rode, as did two of their men-at-arms. Lady Marsaili wore a stylish moss-green riding dress with a plaited circlet of matching fabric like a crown on her head. She appeared to be several years younger than Lady Rosalie.
Fiona saw Àdham then, riding toward the newcomers with Sir Ivor, Caithness, the Mackintosh—or Malcolm as he’d said to call him—and a young red-headed man. She recalled him as Gilli Roy Mackintosh, who had brought her the stool so Àdham could kiss her over their croquembouche. When they met, Sir Ivor kissed his lady, and Àdham turned his horse and gestured for Fiona to join them.
When she did, Lady Marsaili smiled upon seeing the cat but said without waiting for Àdham to introduce her formally, “Fiona, I am as good as Àdham’s aunt, so prithee, call me Marsi as my other friends and family do.”
“Then I will also do so, my lady, thank you,” Fiona said, smiling. Up close, she could see lines at the corners of her ladyship’s eyes and others near her mouth. But she was a beautiful woman all the same, with an irresistible smile.
“We shall ride together and grow acquainted as we go,” Marsi said. “Where do we spend the night, Àdham? The others did not think to tell me, nor I to ask.”
“Blair Castle,” he said. “Caithness invited us and would not let me refuse. Also, he lent me this horse I’m riding, so I’m obliged to stop to return it.”
She tilted her head, giving him a searching look. “We must talk, sir.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said. “Malcolm is waving, though, so we had better be on our way. We still have nearly twenty miles to put behind us today.”
“Then I shall ride with you first.” Turning to Fiona, she added, “I shall leave my Kate with you now, my dear, but I will return shortly, I promise.”
More than stunned, Fiona watched the pair of them ride away and could tell that Marsi seemed to be annoyed with Àdham. Her auburn hair, in coiled plaits over her ears, glinted with flaming highlights where sunlight touched it, stirring Fiona to wonder if Lady Marsi might have a temper to match those flames.
“Àdham, I must know what you have told Fiona about yourself so that I do not speak of aught that I should keep to myself,” Marsi said, pushing a strand of hair that had escaped her net back into it.
“You may say anything you like to her,” he said.
“Then, since you say we’ll stay at Blair, she knows of your kinship to the Grahams and Atholl, and James does, too.”
“The subject did not arise with James. He did mention Atholl along with Sir Robert Graham in much the same breath, though. So he likely knows of my connection to them. I have not explained the exact connections to Fiona, although she did meet Caithness.”
“So I heard. But is it not unwise to let her think that you and he are just friends?”
“Sakes, madam, this marriage came as a surprise to us both. To try to explain the complexities of my more awkward, not to mention distant, kinships at once. . . .” He gave her a direct look. “Would that not also have been unwise?”
“Perhaps. You do plan to stay at Rothiemurchus, do you not?”
“Just overnight,” he said, feeling his tension ease with the change in subject. “Malcolm and Gilli Roy want to get home, and I must reach Finlagh before anyone there learns about my wedding. Catriona will want my head for i
t as it is. If she should hear about it from a mendicant friar or anyone else . . .”
“She will torture you first, and you’d deserve it,” Marsi said with a laugh. “What demon possessed you to wed in such haste?”
“We were given little choice. But in troth, I am content,” he said lightly.
“Then I am gey pleased for you, Àdham. But I must rejoin Fiona now, and you must be frank with her as soon as you can. You do not want her to learn that you are closer to Sir Robert or to Atholl than you have admitted. She will think you purposefully kept that from her, and that is never good in any marriage.”
Chapter 12
On a hillside northwest of Dunkeld, two horsemen watched the converging parties below with differing degrees of dismay. “Sakes, there be too many o’ them!” Dae Comyn exclaimed. “We canna do nowt agin so many.”
“They willna all go tae Finlagh wi’ Sir Àdham, ’cause he went alone tae St. John’s Town,” Hew said, suppressing his own concerns. Dae must not fear that he lacked confidence. “Them others be the Mackintosh’s men and Sir Ivor’s,” he added. “They will soon part wi’ Àdham and the lass tae go their own ways.”
“Even so,” Dae said, “he has men o’ his own, does he no? If your da wants that lass so bad, he should ha’ sent some o’ his own men with us.”
“He’ll need them hisself when he returns from town, but he did tell us where tae get more. We Comyns have kin all over Scotland, after all.”
Dae looked less than persuaded but nodded and turned his attention back to the long line of travelers below.
Fiona found Lady Marsi an edifying companion. More important, her stylish appearance revealed that Highland women were not all barbaric, even if some of their men likely were.
“Do you like living in the Highlands?” Fiona asked her bluntly.
“I would live wherever Ivor wanted to live,” Marsi said with a warm smile. “I love Rothiemurchus, though. ’Tis gey beautiful there, as you will see.”
“Is Castle Finlagh also beautiful?”
Marsi hesitated, looking thoughtful. “It is not as large as Rothiemurchus or Raitt, which was Fin and Catriona’s first home together. But they have made Finlagh exceedingly comfortable, and its ramparts enjoy splendid views.”
“Why did they move to a smaller place?”
“They did not do so by choice,” Marsi said with a grimace. “Nearly twenty years ago, Alexander of the Isles quarreled with the Duke of Albany, who governed the kingdom in Jamie’s stead whilst Jamie was captive in England. . . .”
“I know what happened then,” Fiona said. “That was the Battle of Harlaw, which Alexander and his Islesmen lost and the Earl of Mar won—like Lochaber. But what had Harlaw to do with Sir Finlagh leaving Raitt Castle?”
“Harlaw is days away from where we live, and Fin rode with Clan Chattan. Whilst he was away, the Comyns seized Raitt. That is why Fin and my good-father stayed at home this time. The men leave now only if both castles are well guarded.”
“Why did they not band together to storm Raitt and take it back?”
Marsi grimaced. “Because our cousin Alex Stewart, by then Earl of Mar and Lord of the North, decided that peace was more important and matters should stay as they were for a time. Then, Jamie came home, and he craved peace, especially in the Highlands, which are more difficult than other parts of the realm for any King to control. Hence, he left control to Alex where he could. But Alexander of the Isles, who, as you know, is also our cousin, does not want peace. He believes he is—”
“Equal to James, I know,” Fiona said with a sigh. “I heard him say so at Holyrood when he submitted to his grace. He has often irked James since by sending and receiving messages plotting his escape from Tantallon. Someone usually intercepts them, but his grace cannot be sure that none travels as intended.”
“Aye, and likely some do. But tell me about yourself now.”
Fiona complied, and the time passed swiftly. Stopping only at midday for a meal of bread, cheese, and ale, they reached Blair Castle just before sundown.
Situated a half mile north of the road and the river Garry, the castle loomed amid flower-bedecked shrubbery and tall larch, beech, and fir trees. The area beyond its parklike setting was a wild and beautiful landscape of forest-clad hills and mountains.
Caithness had sent a man ahead to warn his people that they were coming, and he assured the others that supper would soon be ready.
As Àdham helped Fiona dismount, the young earl approached, saying, “I’ve told my people to put ye in my sister Elspeth’s room. Her bed should hold ye both.” Shouting for a lad to carry up whatever they might need overnight, he moved on to bid Malcolm, Sir Ivor, and Lady Marsi welcome and relay similar news to them.
Àdham handed Donsie to young Rory with orders to look after her carefully. “If you think you cannot,” he added, “find a basket and leave her shut in our room.”
“I’ll tend tae her, aye, sir. And I’ll keep her safe, too, m’lady,” he added.
After supper in the great hall, Malcolm declared that the members of his party needed a good rest and should retire as soon as they had eaten.
Fiona, hoping to see more of Blair Castle, was reluctant to retire so early, but Àdham distracted her thoughts by teaching her more delights of the marriage bed.
He treated her gently, but she was still tender inside and was glad when he reached his culmination. Soon, his deep, even breathing told her that he slept.
Caithness had been wrong about one thing, though. The bed was not big enough for them both to sleep comfortably. Àdham had tucked his legs up to fit and lay on his side, facing away from her. His position put her against the wall, and it was cold despite a bed curtain that prevented direct contact. At last, she dozed, only to waken sometime later, sprawled across the otherwise empty bed, shivering.
Àdham was gone. But she heard a distant murmur of male voices.
Uncomfortably confined in the too-small bed and fearful of rolling onto Fiona, Àdham dozed fitfully until frustration won. Then, cautiously, wary of waking her, he had slipped out of the room. Aided by lighted cressets at each end of the gallery overlooking a dark and apparently empty great hall, he found a nearby service stair, descended to the ground floor, and emerged in the castle scullery.
A door next to the sink led to a dark alley that opened onto the stableyard.
Everything was silent, telling him that the hour was well past midnight.
The chilly, fresh air was a relief after the stale, smoky interior of the castle, and the waning moon above shone brightly. Drawing a deep breath, he realized that such profound silence was unnatural and wondered if something had disturbed the night creatures.
A rattle of pebbles drew his eye to movement near the stables—two men, if his night vision was as reliable as usual. Both moved confidently. Deciding they must be Blair men, he turned quietly toward the grassy area where the Clan Chattan men slept. Approaching silently on turf, he heard whispers, then a contented purr, and then saw a small head pop up.
“It’s me, Rory,” Àdham murmured in the Gaelic. “Naught to trouble ye.”
The boy kept silent. One of two larger figures beside him rose to its feet with the singular grace that told Àdham who it was before MacNab stepped toward him.
He murmured, “Caithness has unexpected visitors, sir.”
Creeping to the bedchamber door, her ears aprick for Àdham’s return, Fiona cautiously opened the door and tried to imagine where he had gone. The great hall, below the gallery rail, was dark. With her door open, the voices sounded louder and seemed to come from the castle’s vast entry hall, at the foot of the main stairway.
Moving to that end of the gallery, trying to think of what she could say to Àdham if she met him on those stairs, she recognized one of the voices as Caithness. Another silkier, more honeyed voice seemed familiar, too.
&n
bsp; On tiptoe, she moved to the spiral stone stairs and down to the small landing at the first turn. The voices were clearer. They were speaking Scots.
“ . . . and it doesna concern ye, Alan.” The speaker sounded as old as Malcolm, who had achieved his sixtieth year two or three years before, according to Àdham.
Caithness said, “Why do you cavil, sir? What brought you here like this?”
The silkier voice said, “Ye heard your da, lad. Take yourself off to bed now, afore ye hear summat as may cost ye dear.”
It was the mellifluous voice of the “eloquent scoundrel,” as she had heard his grace describe the man. So, what was Sir Robert Graham doing at Blair Castle? And why had he arrived at what had to be sometime between midnight and dawn?
Stepping down a stair, hoping she could see them without their seeing her, she dared to peek around the stair’s central post.
A larger landing, ten or twelve feet square, separated the bottom portion of her stairs from the stretch of wider steps that swept to the floor below. Near the foot of those wider stairs, she saw what looked like Caithness’s broad-shouldered back.
He said, “I can tell that ye’re up to nae good, the pair o’ ye.” As he turned his head, jaw clenched, his profile revealed the effort he exerted to control his temper.
“I do not understand ye, sir,” he added. “I ken that ye fear Jamie will weaken your authority whilst he tries to make Scottish laws fair for all. What I don’t know is why ye now support our cousin Alexander, whom I’ve oft heard ye disparage.”
“I’ve nae liking for Alexander, Alan,” the elderly voice said. “But he is the rightful Lord o’ the Isles, and Jamie has nae right tae keep him locked up at Tantallon! Aye, and come to that, what business did ye have tae be inviting the whole o’ Clan Chattan here, as ye and your cousin Àdham seem tae ha’ done?”
A noise on the stairs above Fiona sent shivers up her spine. But she could not have stopped listening to step back up and look even if her life had depended on it.
“They are returning to the Highlands, sir,” Caithness said. “The Mackintosh is leading them. Surely, you would not have had me refuse them hospitality.”
The Reluctant Highlander Page 18
