Amanda Scott (7 page)

“I only did what was right,” she said as one of Godfrey’s big hands wrapped around hers. Turning to receive his welcoming kiss, she saw her father emerge from the chamber behind the dais, flanked by the two sons of Gillean.

“Close your mouth, lass,” Godfrey murmured. “Ye’re gaping like a trout.”

“Welcome home, daughter,” MacDonald said as she hurriedly curtsied to him. “We’ve missed you. But before I forget my duty, it has come to my attention that no one has yet presented the sons of Ian Dubh, Chief of Clan Gillean, to you.”

He extended a hand to her, and she gave it a loving squeeze as she rose from her curtsy and said, “I am glad to be home again, your grace.” Meeting his gaze, she relaxed. She had been confident he would not deny her the right to speak or scold her for it afterward, but the warmth in his expression was nonetheless reassuring.

MacDonald continued to hold her hand as he said, “It is a pleasure for me to present two new ambassadors to my court to you, daughter. This gentleman is Lachlan, son of Ian Dubh, son of Gille Coluim, son of . . .”

He continued the formal introduction through six or seven more generations, but she had already shifted her gaze to Lachlan Lubanach. Her intent had been to display an air of condescending formality, even hauteur, but the wretched man caught her gaze and held it, his eyes alight with that wicked twinkle.

She nearly interrupted her father to demand of his guest if he dared to laugh at her, but well aware of what her brothers’ reaction would be to such a demand, not to mention her father’s to such an interruption, she held her tongue.

“. . . and this is his brother Hector,” MacDonald added at last. “The two of them serve as Ian Dubh’s ambassadors from Clan Gillean.”

“Welcome to Finlaggan,” Mairi said, striving for grace but too aware of that lingering twinkle to believe she sounded anything but dazed. Gratefully aware that Lady Margaret had led her two faithful attendants and Elizabeth away, and knowing that if she wanted to deal satisfactorily with the impudent man she first had to gain the upper hand, she said innocently, “Do men really call you Lachlan the Wily?”

His quick smile caught her by surprise, because she had been certain her comment would annoy him. His teeth flashed white, strong, and even as he said, “Aye, your ladyship, they do, especially those who envy my wiles, wishing they were as agile of mind. But one need not wonder long about who whispered such information into your beautiful ears.”

Feeling heat in her cheeks and struggling to ignore a temptation to cover ears that her headdress already covered, Mairi realized that her father had spoken.

“I beg your pardon, your grace,” she said. “I was not attending.”

“I asked who was so impertinent as to repeat such a thing to you,” MacDonald said, looking stern.

Although Niall had annoyed her, she knew he had warned her out of concern for her safety, and she did not want to betray him.

The awkward moment became more so when Hector said bluntly, “’Tis no great leap of thought, your grace, to guess that it was your Master of Household.”

The stern gaze snapped toward him, but he met it with easy calm.

Lachlan said with similar ease of manner, “I fear that Niall Mackinnon does not love us, your grace, or any man of Clan Gillean. As you know, my father holds property on the Isle of Mull, where Mackinnon aspires to control all.”

“Not all, I think,” MacDonald said dryly. “I control the Isle of Mull, so both Niall Mackinnon and Ian Dubh hold their properties only at my pleasure.”

“Aye, your grace,” Lachlan said. “But doubtless Lady Mairi grows bored with talk of property and hungry for her dinner.” Glancing at the high table, he added, “I warrant you would have Hector and me take our places below the dais today.”

“Nay, I would not,” MacDonald said with a relaxed smile. “Not only do you stand in your father’s place at my council, but I invited you to dine with me, and do not rescind my invitations so easily. Indeed, I enjoy your company and would that Mairi and her lady mother may enjoy it, too. Take your place between them if you like, for I mean to keep your brother by me to tell another of his amusing tales.”

Thus did Mairi find herself seated beside the man who rapidly was becoming something between an enigma and a nemesis to her.

A glance at the end of the table to her right revealed Elizabeth shooting dagger looks at her, but it was Mairi’s privilege as the elder to sit at her mother’s left, and with so many men at the high table, she was certain Lady Margaret had commanded Elizabeth to sit, well guarded, between the Rose and the Weed.

No sooner had the chaplain spoken the grace before meat than Lachlan Lubanach said ruefully, “I hope you are not too vexed with me, lass. I could see that my mentioning Niall Mackinnon displeased you.”

Turning her head with the firm intent of reminding him that he should address her properly, she encountered a boyishly rueful look that instantly caused her to reassess her first appraisal of the man.

The day outside still being decidedly gray, the iron candelabra in the hall had been lighted, including the pair hanging over the high table, and his eyes reflected the warmth of candle glow. She felt as if she were being drawn right into them.

“In this candlelight your eyes look like dark, bottomless pools,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” she retorted, as if she had not been staring into his and thinking similar thoughts. Wrenching her gaze away and striving to sound only casually interested, she said, “Why should you think I was vexed with you?”

“Do you deny it?”

“Nay, I do not, but you are an impudent man, Lachlan Lubanach.”

He grinned, and again she noted how his quick smile altered his features, warming and softening them. “Surely,” he said, “I have given you greater cause than that to think me impudent, lass.”

She surprised herself with a gurgle of laughter. “I warrant, sir, that if I should be so foolish as to deny that, you would soon
give
me greater cause.”

“Aye, I would,” he murmured, his smile growing more tantalizing.

“Mairi, lass, out of pity, unless you mean to starve the rest of us, let that gillie serve you your fish,” Godfrey commanded from her left, startling her.

Godfrey and Ranald both burst into laughter, but she caught a look from Lady Margaret that warned her to remember her manners, and a more speculative one from her father that caused her to turn quickly to the patient gillie behind her and ask for a small slice of salmon from the wooden tray he held.

Relieved when her father turned back to Hector, she allowed Lachlan to serve her an onion pasty from the platter before him on the table.

“Would you like claret, lass?” he asked as he held a saucepot for her with one hand and signed with the other to a second gillie to fill his wine goblet.

“No, thank you,” she said, spooning a small amount of mustard sauce onto her pasty. Then, drawing breath to steady her suddenly uncertain nerves as she returned the spoon to its pot, she said, “I should not have said that about giving me more cause to think you impudent.”

“Nor should you have flung that insolent name men call me in my teeth.”

“I wanted to annoy you,” she admitted. “I will apologize for that, too, however, because you are my father’s guest, and it was discourteous of me.”

“Nay, lass, don’t apologize. Your boldness gives me hope.”

“Hope?”

“Aye. I’m thinking the time has come to take a wife, you see.”

Swiftly she raised her eyes to look beyond him at her mother and father, but both appeared to be listening to Hector Reaganach.

Diverted, she said, “Does your brother truly tell such entertaining stories?”

“Aye, he does,” Lachlan said. “And ’tis a good one he’s telling now, and appropriate, too, about a contrary wife.”

“How can you know that?” she demanded. “You cannot possibly hear him.”

“I asked him to tell it,” he said. “I knew it would amuse your parents and keep them occupied so that I could talk to you.”

“You should not talk to me of wives though, sir, unless you only meant that you intend to tell me that tale yourself.”

“I’ll gladly tell it to you sometime, but not just now,” he said, smiling again.

“Then why did you tell me you are thinking of taking a wife?”

“Because I believe I may have found the one I want,” he said, still smiling.

“Pray, do not be nonsensical,” she said, guessing what he meant. Then, realizing that he might not be thinking what she assumed he was, she said quickly, “I am no one to advise you on such an important matter, sir.”

“Faith, I don’t want your advice,” he said, chuckling.

Knowing then that he had meant exactly what she had thought, she exclaimed, “But we’ve only just met. You do not even know me!”

“I know you live up to your legend,” he said. “You are every bit as beautiful as men say you are.”

“Pray, sir, cease prating absurdities to me. Legend, indeed! Surely, you want more in a wife than mere beauty.”

“There is nothing mere about your beauty, lass. Not only have you a lovely face and unmatched grace but I have never seen skin so unflawed or eyes so dark and mysterious. I thought at first they were black, but they are not.”

“No, merely blue,” she said. “Like your own.”

He shook his head, still smiling, and she realized that she was flirting with him. Oddly, the notion did not shock her, and that realization convinced her at last that Niall had been right. Lachlan Lubanach was a very dangerous man.

Chapter 4

L
achlan enjoyed that meal more than any other he could recall. He had long admired MacDonald of the Isles for his acumen and ability, but found that he liked him more than he had expected to like any man wielding such power. And he admired Lady Margaret for her gentle grace and unfailing courtesy.

But Lady Mairi stirred more than admiration.

Although her demeanor was cool, calm, even aloof, that little gurgle of laughter that had escaped her stirred a strong desire in him to hear her laugh again and with abandon. He sensed suppressed passion in every move she made, and a strong sensibility, which led him to wonder what delights she held in store for a man who could release those passions.

She was regarding him curiously, clearly wondering what outrageous thing he would say next, so he said, “I warrant Hector must have finished his tale by now, so if you will excuse me, I should converse with your lady mother, lest she believe me discourteous.”

Mairi nodded regally, instantly refilling the bubble of delight he had felt since their first meeting. Even so, as he turned to engage Lady Margaret in dutiful conversation, he wondered how the lass would display the temper that others had warned him about. If she threw things at him, such passion might amuse him until his own unpredictable temper took fire. Then only God knew what would happen unless he quickly broke her of the habit.

Mairi was annoyed. She would have liked to grab Lachlan Lubanach by the ears and force him to explain exactly what he had meant when he had so glibly spoken of taking a wife. To be even slightly concerned about such a thing in a man she barely knew seemed ridiculous, but even so, she could not stop wondering.

Godfrey engaged her in conversation as soon as she returned her attention to her trencher, and she discussed family matters with him, laughing when he said that their eldest brother, John Og, truly believed he could affect the gender of his child by hovering over his unfortunate wife until the babe arrived. But as they chatted, half of her attention remained fixed on the murmured conversation to her right. She heard little of what they said, but when Margaret laughed, she wondered what he had said to amuse her, and twice she lost the thread of what Godfrey was saying.

“You like him.”

Her breath caught, and her jaw dropped. “What?”

“You like him,” Godfrey repeated, his voice low. “I can see it in your eyes and feel your awareness of him even as you converse with me. It won’t do, lass.”

Grimacing, Mairi said, “I wish you would not tease me, Godfrey. I do not know what you are talking about.”

“I do not tease,” he said seriously. “He’s a charming fellow. Everyone says so. Even his grace likes him. Faith, he likes them both, for all that Hector the Ferocious has more the reputation of a predatory warrior than a courtier. I warrant that when his grace’s court gathers at Ardtornish, the ladies will like them both even better than their men do now. Only heed how hungrily Elizabeth eyes them.”

“Will those two be at Ardtornish, then?” Mairi asked, careful to include Hector, although she did not much care if he joined them at Ardtornish or not.

“Aye, they’ll be there, for I’m told that their father, Ian Dubh, has grown less interested in politics and is passing his candle to Lachlan. And Bellachuan being close to Ardtornish, they have both accepted his grace’s invitation to join us for his annual Easter hunt on the Isle of Mull.”

“There is at least one person who does not like him . . . them,” Mairi amended quickly.

Godfrey nodded. “I have noted for myself that Niall Mackinnon expresses no compliment for any son of Gillean. But Mackinnon is an excellent high steward, lass. He thinks only of our welfare and that of his grace.”

Knowing that in his own gentle way Godfrey was warning her, she changed the subject to Dunyvaig, because the mention of passing candles had reminded her that one of the men had accidentally started a fire in the garderobe tower there.

“I can guess how,” Godfrey said, laughing. “He took a candle in with him and it fell off the ledge into the pile of fresh hay they keep there for wiping.”

Mairi nodded, enjoying his merriment, although similar accidents happened frequently, sometimes with astonishing, even terrifying results.

A lock of the tawny hair that Godfrey had inherited from his mother Amy had fallen over one eye, and he brushed it aside, still grinning at Mairi. He was the largest of her half brothers, with the biggest hands and feet, but also the kindest.

Sobering, he said, “That was a brave thing you did, lass, standing up for Ian.”

“I knew he did not do it,” she said, “but I wonder now who did.”