Amanda Scott (11 page)

Turning back into the chamber, he shut the door, and she saw that the object he had picked up was a wicker basket with a flat lid. A stubby willow peg thrust through loops in the wicker held it shut.

“With luck,” he said, “this contains bread and ale for our— What the devil!”

Cristina heard mewing as he unfastened the lid and spilled two fluffy kittens—one coal black with a red ribbon around its neck, the other ash gray with a white one—onto the floor of the bedchamber. The black one promptly attacked the gray one, and they rolled right over one of Hector’s feet.

“Isobel,” Cristina said confidently. “I recognize her red hair ribbon on the black one. She must have decided to present them to us as wedding gifts.”

Again, he surprised her, for instead of expressing anger or annoyance, he scooped up both kittens, one in each hand, and strode back across the room to hand the gray one to her.

“Cute little things,” he said, tickling the black one under the chin. “They look like ashes and soot. How old do you think they are?”

“I know exactly how old they are,” she said. “The kitchen cat produced six of them just two months ago. Our cook has complained ever since that he can scarcely move without tripping over them.”

“So your little sister decided to help him out by giving two of them away.”

“I warrant she thought I’d like to have something to remind me of home,” Cristina said. “But if you do not want them, we can leave them here.”

“Would you like them to go with us?”

She thought for a moment, wondering if it would annoy him if she said yes.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said, as if he had read her mind. “I don’t care one way or the other, although it would be churlish to refuse her gift, I suppose.”

“We’ll keep them both then, and call them Ashes and Soot,” Cristina said firmly as the gray one climbed onto her stomach, sat down, stared at her unblinkingly, and began to purr.

Chapter
6

H
alf the household was apparently still asleep, but Hector left Cristina with one of the women to dress and pack anything she still had to pack, while he sent his man to prepare their horses, and went to look for Macleod.

Finding that rascal in the great hall, already tucking into a large breakfast, Hector said with careful control, “We’ll not strain your hospitality, sir. My wife and I will be leaving for Lochbuie as soon as she is ready to depart.”

“I see ye’ve come to your senses then about which o’ me lasses will suit ye best,” Macleod said matter-of-factly. “I’d no taken ye for a man o’ much sense afore now, but I dinna mind admitting that ye’ve surprised me, lad.”

“We are not finished with this business,” Hector said grimly. “You have proven yourself a most untrustworthy man and not one who is ever likely to regain my respect, but neither will I humiliate your daughters, sir. Apparently, their feelings did not enter into your scheming.”

“Nay, then, why should they? They are but daughters and do as I bid. As for untrustworthy, faugh! We never spat on our thumbs to seal any bargain betwixt us, and ye got exactly what I promised ye from the outset—me firstborn daughter. Me clan’s good fortune must come afore aught else, and if ye dinna understand that, me daughters do. They’ll marry as daughters should, at their father’s will.”

“Legally, they have the right to refuse to marry,” Hector pointed out.

Macleod shrugged. “I ha’ raised them to be obedient, and I’m thinking ye’ll be one to thank me for that afore long. A disobedient wife be nowt but trouble to a man, as ye must ha’ seen for yourself a time or two. Ye should heed the lesson.”

Having no wish to engage the old scoundrel in a debate about women, Hector nodded curtly and said, “I’ll be thanking you for your hospitality, sir, and I’ll thank you even more if you’d be kind enough to send a lass to the lady Mairi’s chamber to tell her we’ll be leaving shortly.”

“Aye, I’ll do that, and I’ll see you at Finlaggan, I expect. Or will your esteemed parent deign to join us at the Council this year?”

“My brother and I will attend as we have these four years past, sir.”

“Then I expect you’ll be able to tell me then how well my lass adjusts herself to married life,” Macleod said with a smirk.

Wanting to throttle him, Hector held his peace, waiting only long enough to be sure he did send a maidservant to warn Mairi that they would be leaving at once.

He wondered where Mariota was but was glad not to encounter her since he could not imagine any conversation they could have that would not prove both awkward and, under the circumstances, improper.

To his astonishment and satisfaction, he found Cristina ready to depart when he returned to their room. Mairi and her woman, Meg Raith, met them in the hall moments later, and their horses were waiting when they went out into the yard.

Macleod, Lady Euphemia, and all seven of Cristina’s sisters hurried out to bid them farewell, and Hector smiled despite himself when twelve-year-old Isobel strode up to him and demanded to know if the kittens were safe.

He pointed to the wicker basket tied to his own saddle. “Ashes and Soot are as safe as they can be,” he said.

She smiled. “Those are good names for them, I think.”

“They were a thoughtful gift, lassie, sure to remind your sister of her home and all of you.”

Isobel nodded, serious again. “We will miss her, sir. See that you take good care of her.”

Cristina had been hugging her sisters in turn, Hector glanced her way as she moved to hug Mariota, and over her shoulder, Mariota stared at him. Her beautiful emerald eyes filled with tears as she did.

When he looked quickly away, Isobel said quietly, “You’ll be glad you married Cristina, sir. She will make you a better wife than Mariota would.”

Meeting her solemn gaze, he tugged one of her flaxen plaits. “You should not speak so of your sisters, lassie. Nor can you know whereof you speak.”

“I know,” she said. “You’ll see.”

He wondered how much the child knew about her father’s scheming, but Cristina came then and hugged her little sister, after which he helped her mount her horse. His two gillies had already assisted Mairi and Meg Raith with theirs, and so they were soon on their way. He waited only until they had ridden onto the ridge above Chalamine before ordering the two lads to ride on ahead and warn the ferry men of their coming. As soon as they had ridden beyond earshot, he said quietly to Cristina, “We must tell Mairi the truth, lass.”

“Aye, sir, I know that,” she said.

Mairi glanced from one to the other. “The truth, eh?” she said. “I thought something was amiss. I have never known you to take a drop over the mark, sir, but if I am not greatly mistaken, you were far from sober long before the bridal supper ended yestereve.”

“I don’t remember much about the ceremony, let alone that supper,” he admitted. “As to what followed . . .” He shrugged.

Mairi smiled at Cristina. “I hope he did not behave too badly, madam.”

Her eyes widened. “No one has called me ‘madam’ before now.”

“Many will now, my lady,” Mairi said.

“Please, madam, I hope you will call me Cristina.”

“I will, and you must call me Mairi, but you did not answer my question.”

“And a damned impertinent question it was,” Hector told her.

“Surely, you should not speak so to her ladyship, sir,” Cristina said.

He looked at her, surprised, but Mairi said sweetly, “No, he should not. Only think what my husband would have to say to you, sir, if he heard such insolence.”

He gave her a look, and Cristina said, “I see that the pair of you have become brother and sister in truth as well as in law. I have often wished for a brother, almost as much as my father wished for a son, but my mother produced only daughters.”

“Your mother died in childbed, did she not?” Mairi said.

“She did,” Cristina said so bleakly that Hector shot a curious look at her.

The expression on her face reminded him of his own mother’s death when he was fifteen, and stirred the grief that always lay just beneath the surface of his emotions, as the memory of that dreadful day always did.

“I was eleven when it happened,” Cristina added. “Mariota was nine.”

“And speaking of Mariota,” Hector said with a pointed look, wanting to get off the uncomfortable subject of deceased mothers as quickly as possible and also to explain matters to Mairi without further ado.

Cristina flushed. “Indeed, sir, you are quite right that I should be the one to tell her. To put it plainly, my lady, Hector Reaganach thought he was marrying my sister Mariota, but my father tricked him into marrying me instead.”

“Without your consent?” Mairi asked, raising her eyebrows as she gazed shrewdly at Hector.

He met that look with a grimace, but before he could speak, Cristina said ruefully, “You strike to the heart of the matter, madam. I am as guilty of the deception as my father was.”

To his surprise, Hector found himself saying, “She had little choice though, because the old scoundrel commanded her to do it. Do you think you would have defied your own father in such a case?”

Mairi looked at him again, and remembering how she and his twin had met, how quickly she had fallen under Lachlan’s spell and he under hers, Hector wished he had not asked the question. But Mairi was too kind to say anything that would mock the position in which Cristina found herself.

She said evenly, “When fathers command, most daughters obey. I warrant you had no choice in the matter.”

Cristina sighed. “I could have refused, but he threatened to beat not only me but also Mariota, saying that if I defied him, I would be doing so only because she wanted him and that therefore she would bear responsibility for my refusal.”

“Clearly, your father is a man who knows how to get his way, but did your sister truly want Hector?”

In a tone that should have warned her his patience was wearing thinner than usual, Hector said, “Mairi.”

She twinkled at him, but Cristina said, “Mariota did want him, and he wanted her. What my father did was dreadful, and I should not have helped him, whatever the consequence to me or—I suppose—to Mariota.”

“Well, the deed is done now, so we must all make the best of it,” Mairi said. “I, for one, am looking forward to having another woman on Mull with whom I can speak freely, or as freely as one person ever speaks to another,” she added with another twinkling look at Hector.

“I begin to think that I should have a serious talk with my twin about your impertinence,” Hector said.

Mairi chuckled, and when he glanced at Cristina, he saw that she was smiling. He was glad Mairi had not pursued any further the question of his treatment of his new bride on their wedding night, but the thought stirred a memory of how easily his bride’s voice had stimulated his body. He realized as she smiled that he had not noticed before how small, white, and even her teeth were.

Cristina saw him looking at her and wondered if she had got something stuck between her front teeth. Unable to find anything with her tongue, she turned her thoughts to Lady Mairi, who seemed to have decided to befriend her. She certainly liked Mairi and looked forward to having a new friend, even if she lived on the Isle of Mull for only a short time before Hector procured his annulment.

They crossed to Skye on the log ferry at Kyle Rhea and rode directly to the harbor where Hector had moored his longboats. The men in the two boats cheered when they saw them coming, and she saw that besides the Clan Gillean banner each one also flew the gold banner with the little black ship symbol of the Lord of the Isles. The sight reminded her of her new husband’s power, and she sighed again.

Leaving the ponies with the gillie from Skye, they boarded the lead boat and quickly took their places. The sun continued to shine, although fluffy white clouds scudded overhead, reminders that the weather could change before the day was out.

Hector left the women seated on benches facing each other near the high prow and made his way to the stern, where he sat beside his helmsman.

The sails were soon up, and the oarsmen began rowing to the helmsman’s beat. Before long, a stiff sea wind filled the sails, and their speed increased, reminding Cristina that men called such longboats and their big brothers, the Isles’ galleys, the greyhounds of the sea, because of their swift speed and agility.

The journey from Skye to the Sound of Mull was nearly fifty miles, she knew, and Duart Castle sat at the far end of the Sound, on the northeast tip of the Isle of Mull, with Lochbuie twenty miles beyond it on the south end of the island. So with each stroke of the oars she was leaving her family farther behind.

To divert her thoughts, she asked Mairi to tell her more about the isle that would be her new home, and Mairi willingly complied. That she loved Duart Castle and believed Cristina would feel the same love for Lochbuie was clear. But Cristina could not help thinking that Duart’s proximity to Ardtornish—the Lord of the Isles’ favorite seat and a mere five miles west of Duart—might contribute a good deal to her new friend’s love for Duart Castle and for the Isle of Mull.

They arrived at Duart some seven hours later, and seeing it high on its promontory, dominating the end of the Sound where it met the Firth of Lorn and Loch Linnhe, and doubtless providing spectacular views, Cristina could understand Mairi’s love for the castle. She rather hoped they would spend the night there, and in fact, Mairi invited them to do so, but Hector shook his head.

“It is still some hours till darkness,” he said. “I want to go home.”

Mairi gave him a look that Cristina could not interpret, but he only smiled and said, “He won’t be home from Colonsay yet, lass. Tell him or don’t, as you choose, and send him to see me or tell him to send for me when he wants me.”

Cristina looked from one to the other, catching Mairi’s eye. The older woman grinned at her and said, “You’ll soon learn that Lachlan, Hector, and I tend to speak in half sentences and glances, my dear, but if you are as quick as you seem to be, you’ll soon learn to read the messages as easily as we do. I was but asking him if he did not intend to tell my husband your news straightaway, but he reminds me that Lachlan is doubtless still in the midst of negotiating a truce between two clans warring over petrel oil.”