Amanda Scott (4 page)

“So ye say,” Macleod said. “However, I ha’ never heard that any Maclean walked aboard Noah’s Ark.”

“Noah’s Ark?” Hector said, raising his eyebrows. “Faith, we’d no need of Noah’s Ark. Whoever heard of a Maclean that had not a good boat of his own?”

A heavy silence fell, as if everyone in the chamber had stopped breathing. Then Macleod uttered a bark of laughter, and Hector grinned at him.

“Truly, sir,” he said, “I meant no disrespect, but you ken my history well enough, and my present position in the Isles as well. Surely, you must agree that an alliance betwixt our two families would serve us both well.”

“’Tis true ye’ve acquired a deal o’ power,” Macleod admitted. “Leastways, that wily brother o’ yours has, and ye’ve acquired a respectable amount o’ land, too, thanks to his canny ways.”

“Is it true they call your brother Lachlan the Wily?” Isobel asked.

“Aye, lass,” Hector said, smiling at her. “He is Lord High Admiral of the Isles and also serves as master of his grace’s household.”

“I’ve heard of him,” she said. “Is it true that he abducted his grace and—?”

“That will do, Isobel,” Macleod said harshly. “I dinna want to hear your voice again, or things will go very unpleasantly for ye.”

Grimacing, the little girl muttered, “Yes, sir.”

Macleod glowered next at his guest. “We see what the world has come to when bairns ken as much about the doings o’ the powerful as that wee one does. Your brother—aye, and ye, too—should be ashamed o’ some of the things ye’ve done to gain your positions.”

“My brother would respectfully disagree with you, sir, for he believes that in a good cause, even wrongdoing can be virtuous.”

“But no man should serve as judge in his own case,” Lady Euphemia said.

Clearly startled, Hector said with his charming smile, “You have read the Maxims of Publilius Syrus, madam?”

“Oh, goodness no,” Lady Euphemia said, shooting a nervous look at her brother, who was frowning again. “Mercy me, sir, how very strange that you should mistake me for a Latin scholar, when I promise you I am no such thing. Why, everyone knows that only the sterner sex can benefit from education, and so it doubtless astonishes you that I, a mere female, should have had any at all, but my father, although not as learned a man as your own, was generous with his daughters and allowed us to sit with our brothers if we liked, whilst they took lessons with their tutors. You, I am sure, have a far greater acquaintance with the Roman masters than I, but I do find some of their notions quite fascinating. I confess, though, that I admire Sextus Propertius more than Publilius Syrus, for it was Sextus, was it not, who said, ‘There is something beyond the grave; death does not end all, and the pale ghost escapes from the vanquished pyre.’ So comforting, don’t you agree?”

“I own, madam, that I am not familiar with that particular quotation,” he said with what Cristina believed was commendable, and extremely civil, restraint.

“Oh, but one cannot be surprised at that, can one?” Lady Euphemia said. “For like many educated gentlemen, you have doubtless acquired much learning, sir, so one cannot wonder at your having forgotten a few things, whilst it must astonish you that I should have dared to speak so forwardly as I did. But to be telling the children, particularly such an outspoken child as our Isobel, that doing wrong can ever be virtuous—”

“Be silent, woman,” Macleod snapped. “He doesna want to hear it. Nor do I.”

“Oh, certainly, Murdo . . . That is, certainly not! Pray forgive me, my lord,” she added to Hector. “I cannot imagine what prompted me to speak so to you.”

“That rattling tongue o’ yours needs nae prompting,” Macleod said sourly.

“Her ladyship clearly has a curious nature,” Hector said, smiling again.

Cristina smiled, too, in approval of his chivalrous attempt to soothe Macleod’s temper, although he might as well have saved his breath.

“Aye, Euphemia’s a curious woman,” Macleod said. “Listened at doors as a child, and may still do so, since Isobel has apparently picked up the habit.”

“She did not learn such habits from me,” Lady Euphemia said, indignantly. Catching her brother’s eye, she modulated her tone, saying earnestly, “Truly, you must know I would never do such a thing in your house, Murdo. I only listened as a child because I thought the stories your tutors told were as good as the seanachies’ tales. And even when they were not, they still fascinated me.”

“Foolishness,” Macleod declared. “A man doesna build estates and wealth by studying. That takes hard work, a strong sword arm, and powerful friends.”

“You have certainly accomplished much, sir,” Hector said. “The Macleods have grown to be one of the most powerful clans in the Isles.”

“’Tis true,” Macleod agreed, nodding. “Ye’ll ken fine that Macleod o’ Lewis be me kinsman, and he’s done well for himself, aye. He’s wedded to his grace’s eldest daughter, Marjory, ye ken, by his first wife, Amy Macruari.”

“Just as my brother Lachlan married his eldest daughter by the Princess Margaret Stewart,” Hector said gently.

“Ah, bah, she’s nae princess yet, me lad, and may never be, regardless o’ what them fools in Edinburgh did say. I’m thinking Robert the Steward be a poor choice to replace the present King o’ Scots.”

“I know many who agree with you, sir,” Hector said equably. “I cannot deny that there are men in Scotland from older families who—”

“Aye, well, if the sons o’ Gillean be upstarts, only think what that makes a man who produces bairns like a rabbit, calls them all Stewart after the position he holds, and claims the throne through his kinship to Robert the Bruce’s sister, without possessing half o’ Bruce’s brains or skill wi’ a sword.”

“You may be right, but Robert the Steward is nonetheless the man the Scottish Parliament has designated heir to the throne, and we cannot alter that unless you mean to incite civil war,” Hector said.

When his host frowned, he added, “I would submit, sir, that an alliance with Clan Gillean, such as the one I propose, would vastly increase your power after Robert does succeed, by binding you and your kinsmen even closer to the throne of Scotland and to the Lordship of the Isles.”

To Cristina’s surprise, her father did not reject the notion outright this time.

As the unexpected silence lengthened, Mariota said curiously, “How would our marriage do that, my lord?”

“Because my brother and I are trusted henchmen of the Lord of the Isles,” he said. “Doubtless, you would become friends with my brother’s wife, Mairi, who is his grace’s daughter.”

Mariota looked thoughtful before she said, “But as one of his grace’s councilors, my father is well acquainted with the Steward, are you not, sir?”

Macleod gave a curt nod, saying to Hector, “As I said afore, once Cristina’s off me hands, Mariota can look as high as she chooses for her husband, so I’ve nae need for closer connection to MacDonald or the Steward. Indeed, the Steward might add to his consequence an he allies himself wi’ the Macleods. If he ever does come to wear the crown, I’d no turn down his offer to make our Mariota a princess.”

Cristina glanced at Mariota, who looked thoughtful again.

“Oh, how exciting that would be!” Lady Euphemia exclaimed. “Would it not, my dear? Only think of seeing all the other ladies bow before you—well, except for the Queen, of course. But that would mean Alasdair Stewart, would it not, Murdo? I own, I have heard disturbing things about that young man. Do they not call him by some horrid name—Wolf, or some such? But the others are all either married already or are far too young to suit our Mariota, are they not?”

“I don’t want to marry a bad man or a child, Father,” Mariota said quickly.

Ignoring both of them, Macleod said to Hector, “I mentioned that possibility only to point out how high the lass may look. She is no for ye, Hector Reaganach, but I admit I’d let ye ha’ Cristina in a twink, not only to reinforce me connection to MacDonald, but to see the lass wedded so the others may be so as well.”

Hector met Cristina’s steady gaze and said quietly, “As I said before, sir, I’ve no wish to offend Lady Cristina—”

“Oh, you won’t do that,” Lady Euphemia interjected. “Our Cristina never takes offense, do you, love? Why, Cristina is our rock. Nothing disturbs her.”

“That is true,” Sidony agreed, speaking for the first time and smiling at her eldest sister. “Cristina never has moods like Mariota or Adela. She is just Cristina.”

Cristina thanked the little girl, adding matter-of-factly, “I know you mean that as a compliment, Sidony. But now, if you girls have finished eating, we will excuse ourselves to the gentlemen. It is time you were all getting ready for bed.”

Not even Isobel argued with her, so she excused herself to the two men and ushered her sisters from the hall.

Impressed despite himself at the ease with which Lady Cristina shepherded her seven sisters from the chamber, Hector deduced nonetheless that, despite her words to little Sidony, she had not taken her aunt’s comment as a compliment.

Had anyone asked what had stirred this deduction, he could not have explained, but he knew as well as if she had told him herself that she did not enjoy hearing her aunt describe her as the “rock” on whom everyone else depended.

Perhaps it had been the glint in her golden eyes or the slight tension in her jaw that had given her thoughts away, perhaps the stiff way she held her body.

He found himself wondering what manner of men her father had introduced to her that none had yet offered for her. Her figure was quite pleasing and her lips eminently kissable. Of course, once any man clapped his eyes on Mariota . . . But surely, Macleod had had better sense than to parade his prize about while he attempted to marry off her sister. In truth, all eight of the Macleod sisters were beautiful, and despite his earlier comment to Mariota, he could not imagine that Macleod would have difficulty finding husbands for any of them.

He was vaguely aware that Lady Euphemia was dithering on again about something, but he paid her no heed until she said, “Really, my lord, Cristina would make you much happier in the years to come.”

“I beg your pardon, my lady,” he said. “My wits must have wandered.”

“And nae wonder, either,” Macleod growled. “Should ye no be helping Cristina wi’ the bairns, Euphemia?”

“Oh, yes, of course, and so I shall at once,” she said. “I was just saying that good people so rarely understand because they simply cannot imagine . . . Well, not when they wouldn’t themselves, you know. And so often they simply accept things rather than questioning . . . But you need not concern yourself, sir, for I can see that my dear brother—so wise, always—will easily persuade you to marry our dearest Cristina, and she will make you ever so much happier, don’t you see?”

Not having the slightest idea what she was talking about, Hector just smiled, but Macleod said indignantly, “Whatever are ye nattering about, woman? Never mind,” he added hastily when she opened her mouth to explain. “We dinna want to hear it, so run along now wi’ the others. We ha’ important matters to discuss.”

She fled, and silence settled over the two men while gillies hurriedly cleared the rest of the food away, leaving only a large jug of brogac and two pewter mugs.

Lifting his mug, Macleod said, “Here’s to arranging this business betwixt us. But first ye’ll tell me what MacDonald’s up to, that he’s sent ye out and about to see folks? It canna be simple diplomacy when he sends ye and that battle-axe they say ye always carry wi’ ye.”

Hector took a sip of his mug’s heady contents as he gathered his thoughts, then set it down and said, “You’ll recall that MacDonald traveled to Inverness several months ago to meet with the King.”

“Aye, sure, they say he bent the knee to our Davy at last, for all that he swore over and over he’d never do it,” Macleod said. “Always said that as a sovereign prince himself, he’d nae call to submit to David Bruce. It just shows ye.”

Choosing his words with care, aware that Macleod was no strong supporter of either MacDonald or the Steward, and had as low an opinion of the reigning King of Scots as anyone in Scotland, Hector said, “MacDonald met with David at the Steward’s behest, to make amends in hopes of forestalling future unpleasantness.”

“In other words, the Steward wanted our Davy to ken fine that MacDonald be aligned wi’ him and thereby prevent Davy’s trying to shift the crown o’ Scotland to an English prince’s head, as he did afore. Och, well, I dinna like the man, but I never said he were stupid. Still, what has that to do wi’ ye being out in yon fury tonight?”

As if to punctuate his question, another clap of thunder rattled the castle.

“The Steward means to spend Shrove Tuesday and the first week of Lent with his daughter and her family,” Hector said.

“Does he, indeed? At Ardtornish or Finlaggan?”

“Ardtornish,” Hector replied. “As you know, MacDonald moved the annual Council of the Isles at Finlaggan forward this year. A fortnight afterward, however, he desires everyone to meet at Ardtornish, as we usually do.”

“Does the Steward intend then to take part in our Council at Finlaggan?”

“Nay, his party will travel from Stirling directly to Ardtornish. My mission is to inform as many of the great Isles’ families as possible of his visit, so that any who wish to pay their respects may do so.”

“And MacDonald ha’ sent ye about to make this suggestion? ’Tis my understanding that both he and your brother send ye out only when they want to make plain their strong desire for compliance wi’ their wishes.”

“I am but one of several messengers,” Hector said blandly.

“But he ha’ sent ye to me.”

“No, sir,” Hector said. “As I explained earlier, the storm caught me returning from Glen Shiel, and I did but seek shelter here. You may be sure that his grace would not intentionally send anyone else to invite you to take part in such an important occasion. Knowing that you would certainly attend the Council, he means to invite you himself.”

Macleod gave him a sharp look, but Hector met it easily. Although MacDonald had indeed sent him to make plain to many of the great families his strong desire that they send their representatives to pay respects to the Steward, Macleod’s name had not been on that list because MacDonald had known the old curmudgeon would not reject a personal invitation and would resent anything less.