Amanda Scott (22 page)

Watching her go, Isobel said, “Is Cristina really looking for her?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

She looked at him then.

In the same even tone, now beginning to grate on her nerves, he said, “Since you make a point of remembering what I say to you, madam wife, doubtless you will recall that I also said I do not easily tolerate fits of feminine temperament.”

“Then you had better stop hurling orders at me, sir. I don’t like it.”

The words leaped forth before she knew she was going to speak them, and she realized instantly that she ought to have held her tongue. Expecting the sort of tirade that usually followed impertinence on her part, she shut her eyes and waited for the flood of words to engulf her.

Again, Michael surprised her. Putting an arm around her shoulders, he touched a finger to her chin and tilted her face up.

Startled, she opened her eyes.

With a smile, he kissed her. He did so thoroughly, and when she relaxed and began to respond, he raised his head to murmur, “I don’t like fratching with you, sweetheart. Can we not declare a truce long enough to talk, mayhap even to sleep?”

“Aye,” she agreed with a rueful smile. “I have been bored all day, sir, except during the battle and talking with Adela. Fratching at least stirs the blood.”

“So it does,” he said, kissing her again and pressing his body against hers. Then, with a twinkle when she pressed back, he said, “Are you sure you’re hungry?”

“I’m famished,” she said firmly. “Moreover, we are going to talk first.”

“We’ll see,” he said. “I suppose we should eat before we do anything else.”

Isobel ground her teeth but said nothing more as they headed for the ring of cooking fires and the long boards set up on trestles nearby to serve as the high table.

When Michael stepped away to talk with Sir Hugo, Cristina moved nearer, saying in an undertone, “You must smile, dearling, lest you give rise to the sort of gossip that stirs scandal. You look like a thundercloud ready to storm, and whatever has vexed you surely cannot be as bad as that. Only think how fortunate we are that none of our men suffered grievous harm today. Only a few arrow cuts and one head lump from a sadly well-thrown rock. Our husbands suffered no injury at all, so you should be giving thanks, not frowning.”

“Aye, sure, but sithee, I never asked for a husband. Moreover, he is behaving exactly as I expected a husband to behave, and marriage is forever and ever, Cristina.” She sighed. “Forever is a
very
long time.”

Glancing around, Cristina said, “Keep your voice down, Isobel. Whatever else you do, you must not make a gift of your feelings to the whole world. What do you mean, he is behaving as you expected a husband to behave? Husbands are husbands, after all, and marriage is much the same for everyone.”

“But I thought he was different from other men,” Isobel said with another sigh. “He seemed much more reasonable, more willing to hear what I had to say, even to take my advice rather than dismissing it as woman’s talk. In fact,” she added, remembering, “at times I grew impatient with him, believing he did not bother to think for himself. But now he flings orders at me just as other men do.”

Cristina chuckled. “Men are men, Isobel. I do not know why Sir Michael behaved as he did before, but I would remind you that he comes from a powerful family and is therefore doubtless accustomed to command. He certainly has shown no inclination to let either Hector or Lachlan overwhelm him, and they are, as you know well, exceptionally intimidating men.”

“Aye, but you did not see him earlier. Even after we arrived at Lochbuie, he was content to let me say my say.”

Cristina pressed her lips together for a long moment as her eyes darted back and forth in the wary gaze that told Isobel she still feared their being overheard. Then she said quietly, “You should not be discussing this with me, dearling. If you do not understand Sir Michael, you must discuss that with him. He is your husband now, and as you say, he will remain so until death parts him from you.”

“Well, I don’t think I want him after all,” Isobel said. “What if I were to tell you that he has not yet consummated our marriage?”

Cristina gave a choking sound and quickly covered her mouth. “Isobel, you must not say such things where others might hear you! Moreover, if you were to tell me that tale, I would not believe you, because Brona saw evidence to the contrary with her own eyes. Did you think she would not tell me? Good evening, Father,” she added, hastily stepping past Isobel to greet Macleod.

It was as well that she did, because warmth had flooded Isobel’s cheeks at the thought of Brona telling Cristina that the newlyweds had successfully coupled. Knowing that Macleod would demand explanations if she did not quickly join them, she drew a long, steadying breath and did so.

He greeted her with a wide smile and open arms, and although she could not remember the last time he had hugged her, she went into them willingly.

“I feared you would be displeased, sir,” she said. “You had every right to expect an invitation to my wedding.”

“Aye, sure, but Hector Reaganach explained the sore need for haste, and a connection to a royal prince be nowt for any man to sneer at,” he said, releasing her. “Who’d ha’ thought ye’d be the one to do such a grand thing?”

“Sir Henry is not really royal,” she pointed out. “The King of Scots has declared that only members of the Scottish royal family may claim that honor, so Sir Henry will be only Earl of Orkney here in Scotland.”

“Aye, aye, and ’tis proper so,” Macleod agreed. “Still and all, though, the man be heir to a royal princedom, albeit a Norse one, and powerful into the bargain. The connection can do us nae harm. I willna deny, though, I were gey displeased when that villain Waldron o’ Edgelaw invaded Chalamine, looking for ye.”

“Invaded, sir? I heard that he spent one night and left the next day.”

“Aye, he did that, but whilst he were there, he accused your Sir Michael o’ criminal acts. He said, too, that he’d either abducted ye or ye’d run off wi’ him.”

“Michael did no such thing,” Isobel declared. “Nor did I. We had to flee, because Waldron wants something from Michael that he does not possess to give him. I warrant the villainous man did not tell you that.”

“Aye, well, ye’re out then,” Macleod said. “He did tell us that Sir Michael’s family had taken summat during the Crusades that the Holy Father in Rome wants them to return now to the Kirk. If that be so . . .”

“Sakes, sir, even if it were, the Crusades were over and done nearly a century ago. How could Michael know aught of such doings?”

Macleod shrugged. “I’m thinking it might be interesting to ask him.”

“Ask me what, sir?” Michael said as he came and put an arm around Isobel.

“We were talking of Waldron,” she said, wondering if she could attach a small bell to his hat to warn her of his approach. “He told my father that your family took something during the Crusades that he wants to return to the Kirk,” she added, hoping her expression would reveal nothing of what she knew about the matter to her father or Cristina.

“Did he?” Michael said, turning with a smile to Macleod. “I warrant, sir, that being clearly a man of insight, you saw straightaway that my cousin seeks only to enrich himself. Somehow he has come to believe that tale and prates it to anyone who will listen, but I give you my word that he is misinformed. To believe him, you would have to believe that my grandfather, best known for dying in his attempt to fulfill a promise to the Bruce, was a man of exceedingly bad character.”

“Aye,” Macleod said, frowning. “’Tis true I’d ha’ to believe the one thing to believe the other. Nobbut what I disbelieved it all from the outset, lad, and so I tell ye to your face. ’Tis welcome ye are at Chalamine whenever ye choose to visit.”

“Thank you; I am honored,” Michael said. “But if you will excuse us now, it has been a tiring day, and I would see my lady wife fed and well rested. I came only to tell her that I have arranged for us to enjoy a more private supper in a tent.”

He held out his arm to Isobel, and with her father beaming at her, and Cristina silently watching, she sighed and let him take her from the company.

As they walked along the narrow band of shingle, she saw that with the tide on the turn, the Kyle was as flat and calm as if it never swept boats into Loch Alsh.

“We’ll need to wait until it is calm like this again to get all these boats safely through the narrows,” she said.

“Aye, so the admiral said,” Michael told her. “We’ll be able to sleep the night through though, because he is waiting for word from men he left behind to question the captives we took today. Mayhap they will have learned something to help explain the reason for this morning’s battle.”

“Did you see Waldron?” she asked. “Was he in one of those other two boats?”

“Nay, and that worries me, as does the fact that those two boats turned back. I’m thinking that wee battle was no more than a diversion to slow us on our way, and I’m wondering why Waldron would arrange such a thing.”

“The boats that turned back may have been the Green Abbot’s,” she said.

“Aye, they were, but if Waldron sought his help, he had reason.”

“Mayhap he had no other way to acquire boats for his purpose. The Green Abbot is ever willing to make mischief for MacDonald and Clan Gillean.”

“Aye, perhaps.”

But she could tell he retained his doubts.

He guided her up the slope to a tent set well apart from the others. Nearby someone had turned a large, flat rock into a supper table complete with linen cloth.

Smiling, Michael said, “Our food is likely cold by now, because I told the lads we’d serve ourselves, but that way, we can talk.”

She gave him a wary look. “Does that mean you will really discuss things with me or that you mean to scold me for the way I spoke to you earlier?”

“Sit down, lass. I’m weary to the bone and in no mood for fratching. If I say we’ll talk, that is what I mean. I know you are angry that we did not do so before the wedding this morning, but if you can tell me what I might have done, or what we together might have done to alter that course of events, I’ll certainly listen.”

She grimaced as she took her seat on a rock that someone had thoughtfully padded with soft pelts. Squares of linen covered a bowl of apples and their bread trenchers, protecting the sliced mutton and beef on the latter from raiding flies and other insects. Mugs of claret and a manchet loaf likewise had protective coverlets.

Michael had thought of everything.

Spreading the linen square from her mug across her lap to protect her skirt from meat juices, she said, “When you put it so, I have to agree that neither of us could have done much to stop the proceedings—not when the others were so set on having their way, but still—”

“One of us might have stopped it,” he interjected. “But not I.”

She cocked her head. “Are you so easily led then, sir? I own, I once thought you were, but I have seen enough now to know you don’t follow anyone blindly.”

“At times, as you will see, I play certain roles that have served me in the past,” he said. “I may sometimes appear witless to you, but I am truly a man of peace, Isobel—at least, when I’m allowed to be—and I am not such a fool as to refuse to follow when I can trust my leader. I trusted you to know your own land better than I, and to know the best way for us to elude Waldron and his men there.”

She sipped her claret and set down the mug. Then, meeting his gaze, she said, “I thought you had no ideas of your own. I even grew impatient with you.”

“Aye,” he said, smiling. “I know.”

“How do you know? How is it that you can read what I am thinking when I can never read you?”

“Ah, but you could if you’d put your mind to it, sweetheart, and it will grow easier in time. I am not mysterious to those who know me well. ’Tis only that few know me, but I am confident that you will become one of those few.”

“How can you know that?”

“I just do.”

She thought about what he had said. “I misunderstood you when you said you could not stop the wedding, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he said. “Only think how I would have looked had I insisted on delaying those proceedings so that we could talk more. Hector Reaganach already knew of your reluctance to wed, but he likewise knew you had agreed to marry me, so any delay I requested would have looked as if I were the reluctant one. A gentleman simply cannot put off his wedding without looking like a scoundrel.”

“I suppose that’s true,” she admitted.

“Eat your supper, sweetheart. I grow impatient to claim my bride.”

Heat surged to her cheeks, and elsewhere, but there was more she wanted to know. “May I ask you something?”

“You may ask me anything you like—later,” he said. “I hope you will always speak your mind to me.”

She nibbled her lower lip thoughtfully, then grinned. “I doubt you will always like what I say to you.”

“I’m sure that is true, sweetheart, but I’ll always listen. Now, eat your supper.”

They ate silently, but Michael ate swiftly, and Isobel knew his thoughts were not on his food. He looked often at her, and often he smiled. As their meal progressed, his gaze tended to linger on her body, even to caress her, and her body began to respond to those looks until she could scarcely attend to her food.

She had picked up the remains of her mutton chop and was tearing the last bits of meat from the bone with her teeth when his gaze caught hers. With the bone still in her mouth, she hesitated, watching him, and then slowly drew the bone out again. Pausing with it inches from her mouth, she continued to watch him as she licked the meat juice from her lips.

Believing she must look demented, gaping at him as she was, she tore another piece of meat from the bone and chewed it, watching him watch her. Then she started when he reached out and took the bone from her hand.

“We’ll go now,” he said, his voice deeper, huskier than usual. Putting down the bone, he reached for a cloth and began to wipe each of her fingers with it.

“There’s a wee burn yonder,” she said, surprised to find her own voice unpredictable. “I . . . I can wash my hands there.”