“I understand why you hesitated to disturb her then, lad. But if you do not want your head handed to you upon your return . . .” He paused, eyes still atwinkle.
Taking a breath and holding his tongue until the gillie had set his food before him and departed, Àdham said, “She is gey displeased with me, I fear.”
“I did notice that,” Fin said.
When Àdham grimaced, Fin added, “Sakes, lad, anyone of normal acumen must have noted the tension between you two at supper last night. Moreover, I doubt that she was still awake when you went to bed.”
“She was not. Nor did I wake her.”
“I won’t ask what caused the strife between you. But personal experience has made it plain to me that a man is ever unwise to leave his lady without explaining his departure and giving her some notion of when he means to return. You would also do well to mend matters, if you can, before you leave.”
“I don’t know that I can,” Àdham said bleakly. “Ormiston told me that she does not fratch, that she’ll more likely stop speaking, and that she often fails to speak her mind when she should. He was wrong about that last part.”
Fin was silent long enough that Àdham looked at him and saw that the twinkle had deepened. “I’d call that a good thing,” Fin said at last. “If she flew out at you, she is comfortable enough to do so. But you need to talk with her before you go. To give yourself time to think, you might ask Lochan or my man to trim your beard for you. Your aunt Marsi will complain of it if Fiona does not.”
Àdham nodded, reached for an egg, and knocked it too hard against the table, cracking the shell into such tiny pieces that it took longer than usual to peel.
Avoiding Fin’s gaze, he focused on his breakfast.
Fiona had wakened to find Àdham gone, and Bridgett had entered shortly thereafter to help her dress in a simple blue kirtle. She was brushing Fiona’s hair when Àdham entered the chamber without ceremony.
Donsie, curled on the bed, raised her head and lowered it when she saw him.
Someone had trimmed his beard, which nearly made Fiona smile.
Noting his frown, she said quietly instead, “Just twist my hair in a knot and stuff it into the blue net, Bridgett. I shan’t wear a veil, so when you finish, you may go. You can attend to this chamber when Sir Àdham and I go downstairs.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Bridgett said, setting the brush on the dressing table. Taking a light blue woolen net from its box, she set it beside the hairbrush. Then, with a deft twist of her right wrist, she created a knot of Fiona’s hair around her left hand, eased the knot into the netting, and tied the net with a matching blue ribbon threaded through it, at Fiona’s nape.
When the bedchamber door shut silently behind Bridgett, Fiona felt too vulnerable on her stool while Àdham loomed over her, so she stood and faced him.
“Have you broken your fast?” she asked.
“I have,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Art still angry with me this morning?”
Briefly catching her lower lip between her teeth, she let it go, shook her head, and gave him a wry smile. “I feared that you were still angry with me.”
“Nae, lass, just trying to think how to make you understand how frightened I was to find you so near Comyn country after what happened near Lochindorb.”
“You were furious,” she said flatly.
“Aye, I was,” he admitted. “’Tis how I oft react to such fear. But,” he added firmly, as if he had thought she might protest, “I must also apologize for speaking as I did about your father. That was ill-done of me.”
“Thank you,” she said, still wary. “Did you tell Sir Finlagh that I am never to go outside the wall alone again?”
Àdham’s eyes crinkled then at the corners, and his lips twitched almost to a smile. But his voice remained solemn as he said, “I did not. Sithee, lass, if the Islesmen attack, it will happen some four or five days’ march from here. And, although some Comyns will stay at Raitt, many will go to aid the Islesmen. They are already on the move, so they likely have more news about Balloch than we do. I must go to Rothiemurchus today . . . a short journey only, I hope,” he added when she frowned. “Ivor and Shaw Mòr will want the news I’ve gleaned these past weeks.”
“I wish you were not leaving again so soon,” she admitted. “Or that I could go with you,” she added hopefully.
“I, too, lassie mine,” he said, resting his hands lightly on her shoulders. “But you cannot go this time, because I must travel fast. I hope to be gone no more than three days, though. And I do want you to make me one promise before I go.”
Grimacing, certain that he would tell her to stay inside the wall but not wanting to be at odds with him again so soon, she said only, “What?”
“That you will remember always to take both dogs when you walk out, and that you will take good care to stay both south and west of the castle knoll where our people will always be near enough to aid you if you shout for help.”
Relaxing, Fiona said, “I do promise that. I know I let myself grow careless yesterday. I get curious and I like to explore. But truly, sir, I had no idea that I had wandered near Comyn land. Before you begin scolding again,” she added, meeting his gaze, “I know that it was my own fault. It will not happen again.”
Smiling, he gripped her shoulders as he said, “I am glad of that. But the fault does not lie only with you, mo bhilis. Although my duties took me hither and yon, I do have a duty to you as your husband, to aid you in learning to feel at home here.”
“But everyone has made me feel so, not just the family but Granny Rosel and many others.” She smiled. “Even that attack at Lochindorb helped in an odd way.”
He frowned. “How can that be?”
“It was over so quickly, and I freed myself from that beast who grabbed me by the hair! Not that I was ungrateful for Rory’s aid, or Donsie’s,” she added hastily when his frown deepened. “I am not so foolish as to think I needed no help or that I need not fear them. But it did ease my fears about the Highlands overall. Sithee, the Borders are gey dangerous, too. But one learns to adapt and not live in fear.”
“I am glad of that, although I do not fully understand your thinking.”
“Just call me mo bhilis again. Catriona told me that it means ‘my sweet.’”
“Aye, it does, and you are, mo bhilis,” he said softly. Pulling her closer, he put two fingers beneath her chin, tilted it up, and gently kissed her.
She could feel the silkiness of his beard against her chin and did not mind that it was still longer than she liked and already a bit unruly.
When a low moan escaped her throat, his lips softened against hers and his tongue pressed between them. His left hand cupped the back of her head as if he feared she might pull away. But he need not have worried about that.
Although she had only just got dressed, she made no objection when his other hand moved to her kirtle’s lacing or when he stripped the garment and the shift beneath it from her body with a deftness that might have argued much practice.
By then, his clothing had somehow disappeared, too.
Her body aflame, she wanted only to feel him inside her and discover how long she could keep him with her before duty dragged him away again.
He picked her up and carried her to the bed, the skin of her body against the hardened muscles of his, and she marveled yet again at how strong he was and how light he made her feel, as if she were floating across the sunlit room. Her head rested against his shoulder, her cheek against his upper chest. Then he laid her gently on the bed and kissed her deeply, climbing onto it beside her as he did.
His hands stroked her body, arousing delicious tremors wherever they touched her, making her feel stirrings inside that she had never felt before. It was, she thought, as if he were playing a tune that thrilled its way delightfully into her blood, warming it as it flowed throughout her, until it th
reatened to burn beyond bearing.
Soon his lips followed where his hands led, until she was squirming, crying out, begging him to come into her.
“Aye, then,” he groaned when she reached for him. “I had expected to take more time with you, but mine own eagerness is no match for yours.”
With that, he claimed her swiftly at first but then more slowly, tantalizing her again. When, replete, they lay in each other’s arms, he murmured, “I’ll miss you.”
“Three days is a long time, my dearling sir. You have become most essential to my happiness, so promise me that you will hurry back.”
“I will,” he said, eyes twinkling. “Else I’d fear to stir that temper of yours again.” Even as he said it, he held her tight and murmured, “Ah, lassie mine . . .”
Later, she watched from the ramparts until he vanished into the distance.
Àdham and his men made good time to the ridge above Lochindorb. Noting that someone had removed the four bodies and scattered the rocks under which they had lain, he pressed on and made camp that night shortly after reaching the Spey.
Waking early, they arrived at Loch an Eilein by noon without incident.
No sooner had the boatmen delivered them to the islet, where Ivor awaited them, than Àdham saw two men waving from the distant loch shore. “Look yonder,” he said to Ivor. “Is that taller chap not waving Caithness’s banner?”
“He is, aye,” Ivor agreed, gesturing for his boatmen to return and collect the newcomers. “We’ll await them here.”
“I doubt they bring good news,” Àdham said. “I came to warn you that Donal Balloch has gathered his army faster than anyone thought possible.”
Raising his eyebrows, Ivor turned and gestured for a man-at-arms who stood on the upper part of the slope between them and the castle wall to join them. When the man was near enough, Ivor said, “I want to hear what those two have to say, Tadhg. So take Sir Àdham’s men to the hall and see them settled at a table. Tell Shaw Mòr and the lady Ealga that we will be along directly but no more than that.”
“Aye, sir,” Tadhg said, gesturing for Àdham’s eight men to follow him.
The boat soon returned, and the man with the banner stepped out and strode toward them. “My Lord o’ Caithness sends greetings, Sir Ivor,” he said. “We left him at Loch Ericht early this morning, intending tae head on west with his men tae Inverlochy. See you, men in Edinburgh intercepted a messenger from Donal Balloch tae the imprisoned Lord of the Isles, claiming that Balloch will take back all land from this side o’ the Great Glen tae the Irish Sea for him by mid-September. His grace desires all loyal Highland chiefs tae raise their clans and prepare tae stop Balloch where he makes landfall. Lord Caithness therefore asks that Clan Chattan make speed tae join him at Inverlochy but says not tae light fires. Opposing clans, he warns, may see your smoke, mayhap even the flames, and intercept your forces.”
“What of the King?” Sir Ivor asked. “Will he lead his own army again?”
“Lowland chiefs who formed his royal army two years ago have sent their men into Perth and thence tae join Lord Caithness. However, her grace being close tae her time and wanting him near, his grace said that since a child of his could suddenly inherit the throne—in the event of his own death on the field—he would not risk the danger for the country that a battle over who should control a Regency would create.”
Recalling the impact that the King’s own presence on the field at Lochaber had made there, Àdham’s heart sank, and he looked with dismay at Sir Ivor, but that gentleman’s expression remained stoic.
Bruce MacNab returned to Finlagh the day after Àdham had left and said that Malcolm was ordering all clans of the Confederation to meet him at Inverlochy, prepared to fight with him under the Earl of Mar’s standard for his grace, the King.
The next morning, a running gillie from Rothiemurchus arrived with a message to help spread the word. Terrified for Àdham, Fiona fled to Catriona.
“Prithee, what can we do? What can I do to stop thinking?” she demanded, fighting back tears. “I have barely had time to know him, Cat, and war terrifies me.”
Catriona took her by the shoulders, looked straight into her eyes, and said, “It is as I told you before, Fiona. A woman who would survive war must overcome her worries. Those worries cannot aid our menfolk, and they make the woman useless at home. If you would help Àdham and his men, do not show them the face you are showing me now. You are brave for yourself, love. You proved that at Lochindorb. Be brave for Àdham and our other menfolk now.”
MacNab behaved as if all were normal. He went about helping others prepare their gear and harrying those who were slow, as if he were wholly above the chaos that had ensued. He seemed, to Fiona, to have no feelings.
Although she tried hard to conceal her fears for Àdham, she realized that her ability to do so was not as strong as it had been when she had watched her brothers or her father prepare for battle. They had always seemed invulnerable to her.
Àdham did not, and he had become too precious for her to lose.
He returned late at night two days later. Arriving at the castle with his men, all exhausted from their hasty journey, he spoke briefly with MacNab, a bit longer with Fin, and then sought his bed.
Intending to aid him in his ablutions and talk with him about what she might expect, Fiona followed him upstairs and found him, still in his tunic, washing his face at the washstand.
When he turned and opened his arms to her, she nearly burst into tears.
Having taken Cat’s advice to heart, she stifled the urge, walked into his arms, and put her own tightly around him. Looking up at him, she said sternly, “I will be here, sir, awaiting your return. Don’t you dare let anyone kill you, or I swear that I will take my own life, follow you to heaven or hell, and snatch you baldheaded!”
He grinned. “Come to bed, mo chridhe. I may not be as tired as I thought.”
“I do know that phrase,” she said as he stripped off her kirtle and shift. “Am I truly your heart, Àdham, my love?”
“Aye, you are, lass. I will oft think of us here together, just as we are now.”
Chapter 20
Nearly a sennight later, Àdham and his men found the Earl of Mar’s army encamped on the east bank of the river Lochy a fast half-day’s march south of Loch Lochy’s outflow, where he had met his father and young Rory two years before. From their hilltop approach, Àdham saw men-at arms camped southward on the river’s banks as far as he could see. Although he knew that some of the area beyond the Lochy to the west was Cameron country, he had never come so far south before.
He also had a clear view of the spectacular snow-capped mountains south of him and easily picked out Ben Nevis, oft called “the mountain with its head in the clouds.” Instantly, he recalled Fiona’s awe at seeing those mountains at a distance. The view of them from where he stood now stopped the breath in his throat.
On nearby forested slopes, the colorful banners of Highland chiefs and chieftains flew, indicating where they and their lieutenants camped. Myriad tents and banners dotted the area, including Ewan MacGillony’s oak leaf on the opposite shore, clearly supporting the King, but Àdham had expected to see many more.
That scatter of tents and men continued as they walked on south toward the massive curtain wall and four projecting towers of a Norman-built stronghold surrounded by a moat. The Lochy’s confluence with a much wider expanse of water half a mile beyond, doubtless the narrow end of the great sea loch, Loch Linnhe, assured him that that stronghold was the royal castle of Inverlochy.
A short time later, he recognized the banner flying atop the primary tower as the Earl of Mar’s. That of the Earl of Caithness flew below it.
Telling MacNab to report to Malcolm and then get himself and the other men settled on one of the forested slopes, well above the flats, Àdham headed for the castle. Crossing the drawbridge t
o the entrance, he gave his name to a guard who allowed him to approach the tower keep, where he gave his name again.
“They be expecting ye, Sir Àdham.”
He found Mar and Caithness sitting opposite each other at the high table, casting dice for pebbles. No one announced him, but Caithness, facing the lower hall, saw him as he approached.
“So, ye’re here at last,” Caithness said, speaking Scots, his words echoing through the cavernous, nearly empty hall. “How many men did ye bring us?”
“Something over fifty, but Sir Ivor should have more than a hundred and the Mackintosh many more,” Àdham replied in the same language. “They left before my men and I could join them. I saw no sign of them as I came down from the hills, so I thought that one or both of them might be here with you.”
“They came two days ago,” Mar said, pushing a graying strand of auburn hair from his face. First cousin to the King and Alexander of the Isles, and bearing the same given name as the latter, Mar had similar Stewart looks but was taller and thinner than James or Alexander. “Finding food for so many is hard,” he added. “So Malcolm organized men tae find more and led them southward, seeking cattle tae drive back and slaughter. Ivor took archers into the hills for deer and small game.”
“Has Donal Balloch begun moving this way yet?”
Mar raised his eyebrows. “He dares not, although, with all the rumors, I ken fine why ye’d ask. None o’ his allies in Glen Mòr, including Lochiel, ha’ shown themselves. Ye dinna think your da will change his mind again and leave, do ye?”
“I doubt that Ewan would risk his friendship with Malcolm or their truce,” Àdham replied calmly. “Mayhap, if Ewan were suddenly to learn that his grace might treat Tor Castle as a pawn in some royal game . . .”
“He is a gey wily man, is our Jamie, but he does keep his word,” Mar replied with a slight smile when Àdham paused. “Moreover, Jamie isna here, and I have spoken tae Ewan. He promised me all the support he can give us.”
The Reluctant Highlander Page 28
