Amanda Scott (7 page)

“I said it is a barbaric weapon,” Mariota said, wrinkling her nose. “It is.”

“Aye, well, axe or no axe, he’s no worthy o’ ye, lass,” Macleod said. “Ye can have any man ye want, right up to a royal prince, as I’ve told ye afore.”

“But if Hector wants me, why should Cristina have him?”

“Now, lassie, dinna go on about that,” Macleod said coaxingly. “Ye didna want the man, and ye were wise to reject him. Recall what men call him. He’d make ye a harsh husband, I’m thinking. But the plain fact be that a marriage betwixt our family and his—being as close as they be to the Lord of the Isles—can well benefit us all. He has only to marry the right one o’ ye.”

Mariota’s expression changed in a flash from perplexity to outrage, making Cristina’s stomach clench in an all-too-familiar way. Hoping to forestall the impending scene, she said quietly, “I am sure that Hector Reaganach will have something to say about all of this. Perhaps we should all wait to see what—”

“We ha’ nae need to wait,” Macleod interjected. “I mean to see that all runs smoothly. Ye’ll all do just as I bid ye, and it will be well.”

“Am I the only one who sees how unfair this is?” Mariota demanded furiously. “Hector Reaganach loves me! He wants me! And the pair of you, the two of you who are supposed to love me most of all, are instead conspiring against me to keep him from having me. You are cruel and unnatural, both of you, and I warrant he will slash you to pieces with his battle-axe when I tell him what you mean to do! And I
shall
tell him. You know I shall!”

“I forbid ye to say one word to the man,” Macleod snapped. “Ye’ll suffer me gravest displeasure, Mariota, an ye do any such thing.”

“Goodness me, do you think our dearest Mariota will care for that?” Lady Euphemia asked, looking agitatedly from one member of the family to another. “That is to say, I don’t think she truly gives a fig for . . . I mean, she has such an independence of spirit, sithee, that she scarcely ever thinks about what anyone else wants, and I’d venture to guess . . . Oh, dear, that is not what I mean to say, certainly not, but she never will, you know. I fear that if you want this scheme of yours to succeed, Murdo, you’ll simply have to lock her away until it’s done.”

“Faith, are you against me, too, Aunt? I should have known you would be, of course, because you always agree with Father. But you’re wide of the mark if you think he would ever lock me up. He could never be so cruel to me.”

“Did I say that he would?” Lady Euphemia asked. But she might as well have addressed the ambient air, for none of her audience responded.

“Nay, love, of course he would not be so cruel to you,” Cristina said soothingly to Mariota. “Nor would I let him do such a thing. Mayhap you should run away, though, and lie down to rest and recover your usual cheerful temperament, whilst I talk more with him. Your eyes are all reddened now, but a little nap will soon restore their sparkle.”

Lady Euphemia said nothing more until after Mariota had left the room, but when neither Cristina nor Macleod spoke, she said thoughtfully, “I do believe you will have to, you know—lock her up, that is.”

“Don’t talk daft, Euphemia,” Macleod snapped. “The lass will come around, for she kens fine that she canna wed until her sister does. I’ll no be the one who brings the Macleods’ good fortune down like rubble round our ears, all for a lack o’ resolution. Now, I’ve said all I’ll say on the subject, so let there be an end to it.”

Cristina exchanged a look with her aunt and sighed. He was being far more stubborn than usual, and she could see no safe path through the storm ahead, but she had to find one. That went without saying, because Mariota’s happiness was at stake. That her own seemed likewise in peril was not a subject on which to dwell. She simply had to put an end to her father’s mad, impossible scheme.

As a first step, she gave her aunt a slight but speaking nod, whereupon Lady Euphemia immediately invented an excuse to take herself out of the room. When she had gone, Cristina said, “Forgive me, Father, but I must protest the role you have set for me to play in this business.”

“What the devil are ye saying? Speak plainly if ye must speak at all!”

“Very well, I won’t do it,” she said bluntly. “That should be plain enough.”

Chapter
4

M
acleod stared at Cristina, his face turning red with fury. “What the devil d’ye mean, ye won’t? Ye’ll do as I bid ye, lass, and there’s an end to it.”

“I won’t marry a man who wants my sister, sir, nor do I believe he will agree to it. I was willing to submit to your command when I believed that Mariota had no interest in marrying him, but knowing she wants him, I cannot. You apparently agreed that he could marry her, and you must keep your word to the man.”

“Bah, nae bargain’s complete without ye spit on your thumbs and press them together, which we never did, so I’ll have nae backchat from ye or your sister. I’m doing what’s best for Clan Macleod, whilst I warrant she only wants the man because she fears ye’ll get him. She’ll soon see me own course will suit her better.”

Although Cristina did not doubt that her sister’s sudden interest in Hector was the result of her possessive nature, Mariota’s reasons did not matter.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said firmly. “I simply cannot support this mad scheme.”

Macleod slapped her then, but although the blow was hard enough to bring tears to her eyes and make her stumble a step backward, she did not cry out, giving him look for look as she raised a hand to her stinging cheek. “You may do as you please to me,” she said. “But I doubt that even your tame parson will help you force a union if both the bride and bridegroom refuse to take part.”

“Ye were willing enough to do it afore your foolish sister took it into her head to set up a fuss.”

Bluntly, Cristina said, “It would be more accurate to say that I saw no point in debating the matter, because I was and still am certain that Hector Reaganach will say all that I wanted to say and more.”

“And what if he does not object, lass? What then?”

“Perhaps the notion would appeal to me more if he did want it, sir,” she said honestly. “I’ll not deny that I like him. But the plain fact is that he does not want me. He wants Mariota, and she wants him.”

“Ah, bah, Mariota doesna ken what she wants,” Macleod said. “As for Hector Reaganach, what if I tell ye he’ll no speak a word in objection?”

Cristina’s heart did a little jump, making her bite her lower lip to suppress the feelings that stirred instantly at the thought of a Hector Reaganach who wanted her. But still she shook her head. “I’ll not help you disappoint Mariota,” she said. “She wants him now, sir, whatever her reason, and I am loath to figure as a woman who stole my sister’s intended husband.”

“Ye’ll figure as nae such thing,” he snapped. “I’ll sort out Mariota afore the day if I have to lay me whip about her sides. D’ye want to be responsible for that?”

“No, of course I don’t, but that would be most unfair,” Cristina said, knowing he was capable of doing whatever he believed was necessary to get his own way. “Punish me if you must, but do not punish her.”

His eyes gleamed, and she knew she had taken a misstep in the debate and that he sensed victory. “Ye’ll do as I bid ye,” he said gently. “For if ye defy me further, lass, I’ll ha’ nae choice but to believe ye do so because Mariota has set up a fuss, and for that I will punish her, I promise ye. D’ye go now and fetch the lass. ’Tis time and more that I make her understand her duty as a daughter o’ this household. By the time I’ve finished wi’ her, she’ll make nae further complaint about the matter. Go now.”

Cristina sighed, knowing she had lost the battle, because once he began proving his point, none of her sisters would be safe from his temper. He would punish Mariota and then, as angry with himself as with Cristina, he would punish the slightest infraction that any of them committed, for so it had happened many times in the past.

“Very well, sir,” she said, resigned. “I’ll do as you bid me.”

“Good lass,” he said. “I thought ye would.”

From that point, time passed too swiftly for Cristina. The weather remained uncertain, as if the weather gods could not decide which season of the year it should be. If the sky cleared, the winds howled around Chalamine as if, Cristina thought, they were also displeased with the recent turn of events. And Mariota was as unpredictable as the weather. One moment, she refused to speak to Cristina or to anyone else. The next she behaved as if nothing untoward were happening. Lady Euphemia told Cristina as they were counting linens for wedding guests who would remain overnight that they should be grateful for Mariota’s indecision.

“Because you know how it is when she goes into a rage,” she said earnestly. “I tell you, my dear, ’twas what I feared most when your father told her he had decided that you were to marry Hector Reaganach.”

“People do change their minds, Aunt,” Cristina replied. “That Mariota changed hers about Hector is not so strange. Moreover, she feels things deeply, as you know, for she always has.”

“Oh, my dear, I do know what you mean, although I should not say she feels things so much as that she dramatizes and exaggerates those emotions she chooses to display, but do you not think that our Mariota spends much more time than she should just
dwelling
upon her emotional state? Why, my mother—aye, and my grandmother, too—would have said that she ought to be thinking more about those around her than about herself, but if our dear Mariota spares a thought for anyone save herself, I do not think I have borne witness to the event. Have you?”

Cristina smiled. “Now, Aunt, I know that you enjoy her usually sunny temperament as much as the rest of us do, for when Mariota is happy, no one could be kinder or more thoughtful. I promise you, I shall miss her dreadfully when she marries and goes away to live with her husband, whoever he might prove to be.”

“But, my dear, you will be going away before Mariota, for your father is utterly determined that you shall marry Hector Reaganach.”

Suppressing a sigh, Cristina said, “I fear that my father has built a false scheme, and one that cannot prosper. You saw Hector Reaganach and have had plenty of time to judge his character. Do you think he is the sort of man who will let my father lead him about by the nose? I do not. Therefore, I do not believe I am going anywhere. Now, perhaps you can find a maidservant to take these linens to their proper chambers and see the beds made up. Our guests will begin arriving tomorrow, and come what may, we must proceed as if we believe that events will transpire exactly as my father intends.”

“Oh, yes, my dear, for in my experience, things nearly always do come off just as he plans. I have set aside a coin for Lord Hector’s shoe, because I fear he will need all the luck we can provide for him, do not you?”

Cristina did not reply, knowing that nothing she could politely say would express her feelings, particularly since she was not certain what she felt. Had the situation been normal and the marriage arrangements properly made betwixt her father and Hector Reaganach, with herself as the intended bride in both their minds, she knew she would be eagerly anticipating the ceremony. As it was, she felt anything but eager for the time to pass, because she could imagine no good coming from the inevitable clash between the two men.

Hector had spent the previous ten days in a flurry of activity. Having passed his first night on the Isle of Mull at Duart with Mairi and Lachlan, he had traveled the following day by boat from Lochbuie to Ardtornish Castle, some five miles up the Sound of Mull, to make his report to the Lord of the Isles.

MacDonald being well pleased with the news that nearly everyone he had invited to join his Shrove Tuesday feasting would attend, the two had spent an hour or so discussing other news that Hector and his men had gleaned in their travels. All in all, the Isles seemed peaceful, although MacDonald did express reservations with regard to certain clans that seemed particularly displeased with Robert the Steward as heir to the Scottish throne. Much had been accomplished in the nearly sixty years since the Bruce and William Wallace had united Scotland, but enmity between clans still existed and could, at any time, erupt into trouble.

Hector had not seen his father at Duart, because that gentleman had not deigned to join the others for supper. Therefore, having sat up late with Mairi and Lachlan, and risen early to make his report to MacDonald, he had expected upon his return to Duart to apprise Ian Dubh of his intention to marry. However, although he had spent only the one day at Ardtornish, he learned when he returned that his father had abruptly departed for Bellachuan.

“Did you tell him my news?” he asked his twin.

“I did not, nor should you have to ask me such a question,” Lachlan said, eyes twinkling. “It is your news, after all.”

“Coward,” Hector muttered.

“Not at all,” Lachlan retorted. “I would not steal the moment from you. He will be most interested in your chosen bride, I know, and since I have never met her, I could have told him only that she is a younger daughter of Macleod of Glenelg. That would scarcely recommend her to him, as you must know. But your enthusiasm for the connection will surely assuage any criticism he may have.”

Hector frowned. He had been eager to impart his news to his twin and Mairi, expecting no more than that they would be happy for him. Lachlan’s lukewarm reception of the news and Mairi’s continued requests to know more about Mariota’s thoughts and household skills had been somewhat daunting but had not diminished his delight in his choice. Reassuring himself that Lachlan’s competitive nature made that gentleman fear that Mariota’s beauty might put Mairi’s in the shade, he decided he was making too much of things. Shaking his head at his twin, he said, “I’m for Seil in the morning then. I would not have him learn of this from anyone else.”

“He will return here soon, if you want to put off the reckoning,” Lachlan said. “He discovered a trunk stuffed with documents that apparently originated in the days of Wallace and Bruce. I had thought we had returned all such things to MacDonald after he bestowed Duart upon us, but Father says he is certain that these documents will greatly interest his grace’s keeper of records. Naturally, though, he wishes to examine them carefully before he returns them.”