Noting a gleam of humor in Malcolm’s eyes before he lowered them to the dais step, Àdham relaxed.
Atholl had composed himself, too, for he said, “Jamie may ha’ said some such thing tae me. But the man be so full o’ whimsical notions that one loses track o’ them all. I didna mean tae offend ye, lad.”
Feeling his teeth clamp together at the dismissive “lad,” Àdham forced a smile and said, “Art ready to depart, my lady? Or must you finish packing things?”
“I do have some things—”
“Good morrow,” Malcolm said in Scots behind them, silencing her. “I heard when I awoke that ye were here at table, Walter,” he added when Atholl whipped around to face him. “So I hied me doon tae thank ye again for your hospitality. ’Tis a rare treat tae see how fine ye be keepin’ yer place here.”
“I expect ye must also ha’ been party tae this marriage,” Atholl said.
“Nae, then, I had nowt tae do with it. Jamie and Ormiston fixed it all up betwixt ’em. Then Sir Àdham agreed tae it and thereby won hisself a rare prize, as ye ha’ seen for yourself, Walter.”
“Aye, aye,” Atholl said, patting Fiona’s right hand, which she had rested on the table as she prepared to rise from it.
Àdham moved to stand beside her, ready to pull her back-stool out of her way as he extended a hand to assist her to her feet.
Slipping her right hand out from under Atholl’s with a smile, she accepted Àdham’s hand and arose with her usual fascinating grace.
The earl stood and smiled down at her from his loftier height. “Ye be always welcome, my lady,” he said. “I dinna ken your father well, but if he decides tae visit ye in the Highlands, prithee tell him that he, too, should bide here on his way.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Fiona said, bobbing a slight curtsy and thereby irking her husband. “I shall send word to him of your invitation at my first opportunity.”
The Mackintosh engaged Atholl in conversation then, allowing Àdham to whisk his wife off the dais and out of the hall.
Chapter 13
“You still look angry,” Fiona said when they reached their bedchamber. “Was it something that I said or did?”
“Nae, lass, although I did not like to see you curtsy to that churlish man. We Highlanders bend only to his grace the King or to a Lord of the Isles if we swear fealty to one. We do not bow to each other or to other men without good cause.”
“I should think that not irking a man like Atholl would be cause enough.”
His brow relaxed. “Doubtless, you have the right of it,” he said. “Have you much more to do? Malcolm is eager to be away, and so am I.”
“Do you think Atholl’s invitation to my father was sincere?”
“Aye, sure, it was. He’d like naught better than to sit Ormiston at his table and try to wean him away from his grace.”
“He would fail,” she said. “I fear that he might harm Father, though. Joanna says Atholl is an evil man and never to be trusted.”
“Not evil, precisely, just arrogant enough to think James owes him gratitude because Atholl helped bring him home from his English captivity. But Atholl’s notion of gratitude is that James should behave as Atholl commands.”
“You told me you had only just met Atholl,” Fiona said from the washstand. “How do you know so much about him and how he thinks?”
“Malcolm knows him, and we hear of him from the few mendicant friars that visit Finlagh. Also, Caithness confides in me.”
“How did you meet him?” she asked as she dried her hands.
“Sithee, the northeasternmost part of Scotland is the Earldom of Caithness. So, when Alan has had enough of his father, he travels to Nairn, where he keeps a boat, and sails on to Caithness. I met him in Nairn, and he visits us two or three times a year. But we’re keeping the others waiting, lass. We must go.”
They left soon afterward and followed the increasingly steep path westward along the river Garry.
Some distance behind Malcolm’s party, six men followed, two on horseback and four afoot.
“Just four men tae aid us, Hew?” Dae Comyn said, shaking his head. “And nae more horses? Ye must be daft tae think four lads will be any use tae us.”
“Ye Lowlanders all think a man needs a horse tae do aught,” Hew replied quietly enough so that the men following on foot would not hear him. “Atholl’s men will keep up, just as them following the Mackintosh do. Also, that lot will be less likely tae heed a party o’ six than they would a score o’ men or more.”
“Even so—”
“Once we get intae the mountains,” Hew interjected, “we’ll likely ha’ tae follow afoot ourselves if we’re tae catch MacFinlagh off his guard. We’ll ha’ time enough afore then, though, tae see what’s what. But we canna follow too close.”
“What if they elude us?”
“There be only one way intae the Highlands from here as be safe for horses. Come tae that, I’m thinking we’d best slip past ’em when they stop for the night and seek out the best place tae wait ahead. I’ve a notion about that, too.”
That afternoon, Àdham rode beside Fiona, giving her hope that she might learn more about his kinship to Atholl and Caithness. But with others close behind them, she was content for a time to let him point out sights and identify birds and flowers when he could. She saw no hint of his earlier annoyance.
He was evidently a man who could shed his anger and not let it simmer.
That night, they stopped at Loch Ericht, a long, slender body of water, where the men slept on the ground. Fiona and Donsie did not, because Lady Marsi knew a nearby laird’s family and had arranged beforehand to bide the night with them. She insisted that Fiona stay with her and her woman, saying that even with Àdham to guard her, it was unseemly for a knight’s lady to sleep on the ground with so many men.
Fiona did not object, and when Àdham looked as if he might do so, she gave him a look that told him what she would think of him if he did. He grinned at her then, which made her chuckle and blow him a kiss.
Early the next morning, they set out again, heading northward. Though the trail was no longer steep, it was still rugged, so Àdham kept an eye on Fiona. But she was a fine horsewoman and her mount was nimble and steady.
Midafternoon, they stopped to rest the horses at the head of Loch Insh. When they were ready to ride on, Fiona mounted and Àdham held the cat up to her, but the little beast surprised them both by darting up his arm to his shoulder instead.
Grinning, he said, “I’ll keep her for a time if she’ll stay put when I mount.”
Donsie apparently liked riding high above the ground, for she settled on Àdham’s shoulder with her head tucked against his neck and purred.
He said to Fiona, “We should reach Loch an Eilein by nightfall.”
“We’ve seven or eight miles yet to go, Àdham-lad,” Malcolm said in the Gaelic, looking back at them. “And we’ll have nae moon tonight. I’ll feel better an we get these womenfolk safely withindoors afore dark.”
Urging his horse up beside Malcolm’s, Àdham replied in the same tongue, “With as many armed men as we have, sir, I doubt we need worry about an attack.”
Malcolm grimaced. “I’d not put one past the damnable Comyns, could they manage it in the midst of Mackintosh country. Besides, this road be treacherous after dark.”
Àdham could not deny that statement. Moreover, a thick Scottish mist was ever likely to surprise unwary travelers in the darkness.
He glanced back at Fiona and saw that she was watching them closely and had taken young Rory up behind her. When Àdham’s gaze met hers, she smiled but raised her eyebrows as if she thought he might have something to say.
Smiling back, he returned his attention to Malcolm.
“Could you hear what they were saying over the sound of the river?” Fiona asked the boy, who had accepted her
invitation to climb up behind her on her horse.
“Aye, sure,” he said. “The Mackintosh be worried about darkness coming on, ’cause he says there willna be a moon tonight. And he says this track be treacherous. He wants you womenfolk all safe inside afore dark.”
Trepidation stirred strongly in her. “Does he fear an attack, Rory?”
“He’s more worried that the road gets treacherous after dark,” the boy said. “But he did say he wouldna put an attack past them damnable Comyns.”
“You should not use that word to me, you know,” Fiona said, hiding a smile.
“Why not? Ha’ ye no heard it afore?”
“I have heard it, aye,” she said, grinning. “I have also seen my brothers well skelped if my father heard them using it where I or another lady might hear them.”
“Well, it be what the Mackintosh and them say when they talk o’ the thievin’ Comyns,” the boy said grimly. “Nae one at Castle Finlagh trusts ’em.”
“Have you not always lived at Castle Finlagh with Sir Fin and Sir Àdham?”
“Nae, for Sir Àdham plucked me out o’ a fierce battle two years ago and brung me home tae Finlagh tae live wi’ them.”
“But what were you doing in a battle? You cannot be more than ten years old now.”
“I dinna ken how old I be,” he admitted. “But I were no in it. Two villains caught me in some woods and forced me tae fetch and carry for them.”
“You poor bairn!”
“Nae, I’m no a bairn,” he said grimly. “I ha’ seen too much tae be still a bairn. D’ye want tae learn more words in the Gaelic the noo?”
Fiona agreed. For the next half hour, he pointed to things and told her the Gaelic word for each one, and Fiona did her best to repeat what he said.
The glen steepened and its walls grew higher, for as Rory explained, they now had the treacherous Cairngorms to the east and the equally dangerous Monadhliath Mountains to the west. The slopes were forested, with intervening spreads of boulders and scree, and she thought the area was beautiful. She had never seen anything like it before, certainly not in the rolling hills of the Scottish Borders, which held a different beauty all their own.
Here, rivulets, rills, and waterfalls rushed to join the Spey. Fiona’s horse picked its way nervously, wary of the swift-flowing water below to their left.
Fiona felt wary, too, doubtful that anyone could survive long in such a river.
On the steep, forested east slope above the riders, with his other lads concealed in nearby foliage, Hew Comyn watched them through the trees, frowning. “D’ye see that bairn a-riding wi’ her ladyship, Dae?”
“Aye, sure, I do,” Dae said. “What of ’im?”
“I’m thinking I ken that bairn, is all. He’s taller now ’n older. But if he be the one as went missing at Lochaber two years ago and he be a-travelin’ wi’ these folks now, I’m thinking that Sir Àdham MacFinlagh may ha’ much more tae answer for than just a-snatching Ormiston’s daughter away from us.”
Reminding Malcolm that he was but newly wed, Àdham excused himself, reined in his horse, and waited for Fiona and Rory to catch up with him.
“I see that Donsie is keeping your neck warm now, sir,” Fiona said lightly. The cat had stretched itself right around his nape and fallen asleep.
“She seems content,” he said. “You may dismount now, Rory, and help Duff with the garrons. We’ll reach Loch an Eilein in another hour, but the road to the stable lies this side of the loch, and Duff will need your help.”
“I know that, I do, but I’m guessing ye want tae talk wi’ your lady and dinna need me tae help ye do that,” Rory said, slipping off Fiona’s horse to the ground.
“You will keep such impudent comments to yourself if you are wise,” Àdham told him sternly.
“Och, aye then, I’m mum,” the boy said, as he turned and darted back down the line of men behind them to find Duff.
“I wish I could believe he’d stay mum,” Àdham said as he urged his horse alongside Fiona’s. “The pair of you seemed to be engaged in serious conversation.”
“He is teaching me to speak the Gaelic,” Fiona said with a too-innocent smile.
“He also has excellent hearing,” Àdham said. “Was Rory kind enough to translate our conversation for you?”
“Only part of it. He told me that the Comyns are damnable men,” she added, eyeing Àdham speculatively, as if to see how he would receive her use of such a word.
He chuckled.
She cocked her head. “I thought you would say I should not use that word.”
“I expect you know that you should not. I would be displeased to hear you say it to anyone else, but you may say what you choose to me when we’re alone.”
Her smile widened. “I have felt as if I could do that almost from the moment we met. Do you not think that is strange?”
“It may be gey strange, lassie. But I have felt that way, too.”
An hour later, they dismounted and left the horses and most of the men-at-arms—including MacNab, Duff, and Rory—at the path to the Rothiemurchus stables and walked. Carrying Donsie, Fiona soon saw Loch an Eilein and the castle that covered much of an otherwise wooded islet in the northwestern part of the loch.
Her breath stopped for a moment at the serene beauty of that scene.
The sun had dropped behind hills to their left, but its light still gleamed on the castle ramparts, as well as on the trees and water of the loch’s opposite shore.
“So what think you of Rothiemurchus?” Àdham asked when he and Fiona stopped near the water’s edge. The breeze stirred ripples on its surface.
She drew a deep breath and smiled. “’Tis as beautiful as Marsi said it was.”
Marsi, Kate, Malcolm, Sir Ivor, and the other men, Fiona noted, had found boulders or logs to sit on while they waited for boats from the islet to fetch them.
“How will we collect our clothing and such?” she asked Àdham.
“Duff and the others will bring everything here,” he said.
“’Tis a beautiful place,” she said.
“Aye,” he said. “Malcolm’s father, William, and his wife lived here. So did his older brother Lachlan before he moved his family to Loch Moigh. After the great Clan Battle of Perth, Lachlan resigned the castle to Shaw Mòr for his fine leadership of Clan Chattan at the battle. It still belongs to Shaw and his family.”
“We talked of that great battle before, and even I have heard of the legendary Shaw Mòr,” Fiona said. “It all happened years before we were born, though.”
“Aye, and few people hereabouts talk about it anymore,” he said. “Clan Chattan and Clan Cameron have been friendlier for some time now.”
“If your father is a Cameron chieftain, you must belong to both clans, aye?”
He was still for a moment, then looked away.
“What is it?” she asked.
“There, yonder,” he said, pointing. “See the boats setting out?”
“Aye, but you looked as if you did not want to answer me. And, although you did tell me that you pledged your fealty to Clan Chattan, you did not explain why you did when your own father is a Cameron.”
As the words spilled out, she wished she had been more tactful and hoped he would not be irked. Despite his assurance that she could speak her mind to him, she realized that, on certain subjects, her courage lacked the strength of her curiosity.
Àdham grimaced, but he did not want to keep such matters to himself any longer, not from Fiona. She had a right to know how and where his roots had planted themselves.
Accordingly, he said, “My father is Ewan MacGillony, a Cameron chieftain, and I was born at Tor Castle, a half day’s march above the south end of Glen Mòr on the western side. I did tell you that my mam died when I was small. I was eight then, the youngest of my mother’s four sons by six years. M
y da soon remarried, and when his second wife began increasing, she wanted me out of her way.”
“How horrid of her! How old were you then?”
“Nine years and some months.”
In the dusky light, he saw tears well in her eyes. “Had your father naught to say about that?”
“I don’t know, lass. By the time I learned what she had demanded, he’d agreed that I must go and live with Fin and Catriona.”
She shook her head and wiped the dampness from her eyes with a sleeve.
“Da said I’d be happier with them,” Àdham said. “I believe he was right.”
“You told me that the lady Catriona is a Mackintosh, though. So, if Sir Finlagh is your uncle, he must be Sir Finlagh MacGillony Cameron.”
“I’ve never heard anyone call him so. Ewan does identify himself as a Cameron now that he’s a chieftain. But most people near Finlagh call Uncle Fin ‘Sir Fin.’ Men who come looking for him ask for ‘Fin of the Battles.’ He rarely speaks of his MacGillony or Cameron kinsmen, although he and my father are friendly. But here is our boat now.”
As he strode forward to catch the boat’s bow painter and help pull it ashore, he felt a lightness of spirit that he had not known for years and wondered if it had resulted from sharing a small part of his complicated heritage with Fiona or from her easy acceptance of it. Perhaps, he decided, it was both.
In the back of his mind another thought stirred. Perhaps her obvious anger at his father’s allowing a second wife to banish his youngest son from their home had provided much of what had stirred that warm feeling.
Whatever it was, when others began getting into the first boat, Àdham gave her upper arm a gentle squeeze and urged her to join them. “Have you been in such boats on your own river, lass? Or will this be your first experience in one?”
“I have been in boats many times,” she said. “I can row one, too.”
Even when she smirked, she was beautiful, he thought, smiling at her.
The second boat arrived, and they all sorted themselves into the two of them. When they had settled, men remaining on shore shoved them off.
The Reluctant Highlander Page 20
