Amanda Scott (6 page)

“She came to find me, Matthias,” Isobel said. “We were hoping you would lend us the use of your coble to get us across the Kyle. We mean to ask his grace’s kinsmen at Kyle Rhea to take us to the Isle of Mull, where we’ll be safe.”

“Aye, ye would be safe there,” he agreed. “The wind be picking up, though, so I’m thinking ye’ll do better wi’ two strong oarsmen than one.”

“Do you mean to send Ian with us then?” Isobel asked. “I own, I was wondering how we’d get the boat back to you.”

“Och, lass, ye needna ha’ fretted about that, because Gowrie o’ Kyle Rhea would send it back t’ me,” Matthias said. “Still, I’m thinking I’ll go m’self an ye’ll allow it. I’ve another suggestion as well,” he added, twinkling again. “We’ve extra clothes in yon kist. Ian should ha’ given ye a shirt,” he said to Michael, “but ye can take one o’ mine. And if her ladyship willna be vexed, I’m thinking she’ll draw less notice on the water an she covers that hair o’ hers and dons a pair o’ Ian’s breeks.”

“Isobel, you’ll do no such scandalous thing!” Adela exclaimed.

Had Isobel required encouragement, those words provided it.

“Don’t be a noddy,” she said. “’Tis an excellent suggestion.”

“Aye, sure, I ken fine it’ll no be the first time,” Matthias said, grinning.

She grinned back at him. “You ken too much, old man. That kist?” she added, pointing to a wicker chest against the wall opposite the doorway.

“Aye,” he said, “and dinna forget t’ take out a shirt for your friend.”

Michael extended a hand to Matthias. “I’m Michael,” he said, “and I am most grateful for your help.”

The shepherd wiped his own hand on his thigh and gripped Michael’s.

Smiling, Michael said, “I’ll not forget this, Matthias MacCaig, nor what young Ian did for us, either.”

“Lady Adela should bide here wi’ the lad until we’re well away,” the older man said. “We’ll see her home again safely, the two of us, when I return.”

“My man, Hugo, is at Eilean Donan,” Michael said. “I must get word to him that I’m safe, and let him know where to find me.”

“First, we’ll get the pair o’ ye beyond the strangers’ reach,” Matthias said.

Michael nodded, took the shirt Isobel handed him from the kist, and put it on. Matthias found a leather jerkin for him, and the two of them went outside so that Isobel could have privacy to change her clothes.

Tight-lipped, Adela helped her. “I do not know what you deserve for this,” she said. “You will never get a husband, Isobel, if you continue to behave so.”

“I don’t want a husband, as you know perfectly well,” Isobel said. “I mean to play Aunt Euphemia to your children when you finally have some, Adela.”

Adela had knelt to tie the breeks’ lacings for her, but at these words she looked up, bit her lip, and then burst out laughing.

Pretending outrage, Isobel said, “What? You do not think I’ll make them a good aunt? I’ll have you know that my nieces and nephews think I’m splendid.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Adela said, gasping. “But that you could compare yourself to our meek, even scholarly aunt in such an absurd way . . .” Still chuckling, she shook her head and bundled Isobel’s skirts and bodice into an untidy roll, tying it with twine from a ball she found on the floor.

Isobel was glad to hear Adela’s laughter and wished she might hear more of it. Having borne the burden of managing the household at Chalamine since Cristina had married Hector, Adela had aged beyond her years. Her laughter reminded Isobel that Adela was only four years older than she was.

“You must go to Kirkwall, Adela,” she said firmly. “I mean to, I promise you, for we shall never see such an event again in our lives. The King of Scots has said that a Norse prince, even one Scottish by birth, cannot demand royal treatment in Scotland, that here he will be just another earl. But in Orkney, he will be a prince, so I want to see that ceremony, and you must not miss it. Moreover, think of all the men who will be there, excellent prospects for husbands, every one of them! Except the married ones, of course,” she added conscientiously.

“I thought you didn’t want a husband.”

“I don’t,” Isobel said. “But you do, and you shall have one. You will make some man an excellent wife—a fine mother for his children, too.”

“Bless you, no man will want me. I’ve no looks left, and few social graces.”

Isobel made a rude noise. “You are as much one of Macleod’s beautiful daughters as the rest of us, my dear, and as to social graces, you lack practice, that’s all. Hector and Cristina are going to Kirkwall, as are Lachlan, Mairi, and Father. And you may be sure that Aunt Euphemia will go, too, for she says it is to be a grand historic event. Sakes, even Ian Dubh Maclean may go, because he will think the same as Aunt Euphemia, and he is quite mad about history.”

“Ian Dubh is Hector’s father, is he not?”

“Aye, and although he must be nearly as old as his grace, he is not decrepit. We shall make a grand party, I warrant, and travel in a most imposing flotilla!”

“We’d best be on our way, m’lady,” Matthias called from outside.

“We’re coming,” Isobel said, giving Adela a quick hug.

Michael hid a smile when Lady Isobel strode from the hut in Ian’s leather breeks and a shirt that looked several sizes too big for her. She had belted it with cording and had wisely retained her own well-worn boots. She carried her cloak over one arm and the rest of her clothing in a bundle tied up with twine.

He and Matthias had decided that for Adela’s safety and that of Michael and Isobel, Adela should retreat with Ian, the flock, and the dogs to the high pasture. Later Matthias and Ian would escort her home or to Eilean Donan when they delivered his message to Hugo.

Informing Adela of this decision, Michael added gently before she could refuse, “You’ll be safer with Ian, my lady. None will seek you there, and few will know you if they stumble upon you, particularly if you plait your hair and strive to act like a common lass. You must know how much you resemble your sister. I noticed it straightaway, and the ones who seek us may do so as well. I believe them capable of anything, and you must not risk your safety.”

“Then I should go with you!”

“Two men and a lad in a fishing boat crossing the Kyle will draw little notice,” Matthias said. “’Twould be a different matter an they see a woman wi’ us. Moreover, ye dinna want t’ go to Mull, and your father would be vexed if ye did.”

“But I could come back with you. Isn’t it just as dangerous for Isobel?”

“Not as dangerous as it would be with four in our boat,” Michael said. “We’ll make better speed with only three, my lady, and the men after us are inlanders. I doubt their skills can match Matthias’s against a strong current.”

“But what of your skills?” Adela demanded. “Do you ken aught of boats?”

“Enough, my lady, to do as Matthias bids me,” Michael said evenly.

She glowered at him but said no more about it. Nevertheless, she was still visibly fuming a short time later when Michael and Isobel left her with Ian and followed Matthias, who had slung Isobel’s untidy bundle over his shoulder.

Michael was surprised at the older man’s rapid pace. He seemed to make no allowance for the lass, nor did she seem to expect him to.

That she had not complained the day before about losing her horse and having to walk had impressed him. She seemed to view the whole situation as an adventure, and he realized that had she been more like her darker-blonde sister, he would not have considered anything more than finding somewhere safe to leave her while he took to the hills to hide until he could arrange to meet Hugo.

That Isobel had been willing to help him and able to suggest alternative plans had made things easier. Indeed, had he been alone, cut off from Eilean Donan, he might soon have found himself at a standstill, but now she was determined to see it through and seemed eminently capable, so he was willing to let her take the lead. In fact, he would be reluctant to part with her, although he was fairly certain that his reception at Lochbuie would not be what she expected.

He was grateful that Matthias asked no questions about his identity. Having accepted the man’s help, he was reluctant to lie to him but likewise reluctant to share information unnecessarily. Having learned discretion from birth, he found it hard to break the habit at the best of times, which this certainly was not.

They had been walking for some time when Matthias slowed and muttered, “Four below, riding south, where this track meets the one along the water.”

“Keep walking,” Isobel said. “If they have seen us, our stopping will alert them. Can you tell who they are, Matthias? They may be Macleod men.”

“Nay, they carry twa banners, my lady, such as them the lad told me about.”

“Two?”

“Aye, he said he didna ken either o’ them. One bears a white cross.”

Isobel looked over her shoulder, her gaze meeting Michael’s. He said nothing, and the riders had disappeared toward Glenelg by the time their small party reached the shore. Turning toward the north end of the Kyle, they found Matthias’s boat beached under trees where the lush woodland met the high-water mark.

Across the water and to their left, the village of Kyle Rhea lay peacefully in the midday sunlight, no more than a few scattered cottages near the shore.

Tossing Isobel’s bundle into the bow of the coble, Matthias said in the same voice he used when he spoke to Ian, “Get ye in, lad, and be ready t’ hoist yon sail as soon as we launch her. Ye’ll ha’ t’ be quick, ye ken.”

Nodding, she obeyed without a word, moving agilely to the mast at the center of the boat. Noting Michael’s look of astonishment as he watched her, she grinned at him, pulling knots free on the furled sail as she said, “I’ve been out in boats since I learned to walk, sir, so don’t look so amazed. You can trust me to know what I’m doing.”

“’Tis a gey stiff breeze,” he said. “Blowing from the northeast, too.”

“Aye, but a strong wind is what we need,” she said, still smiling. “The current flows hard from the south, so a north wind will help us fight it as we row. Since we need go less than half a mile, I doubt we’ll be swept into Loch Alsh.”

“Keep your voice down, m’lady,” Matthias warned quietly. “Ready, sir?”

“Aye,” Michael said. “Let’s away with her.”

With that, they shoved the boat onto the water and jumped in, grabbing oars and using them to turn it toward the opposite shore as Isobel quickly hoisted the sail and whipped its line around the cleat. Getting in position to row was a scramble, but both men managed deftly and soon were pulling hard for the opposite shore. Each manned a pair of oars and put his back into his strokes, making Isobel wonder how Michael could stand such exertion when his body must still be fiery with pain.

She crouched between them by the mast in case the wind shifted and she had to turn the sail. The canvas billowed one moment and flapped noisily the next as the little boat tossed and rolled on the turbulent water, but they made steady headway.

Gripping the mast to keep from being thrown into the water, and despite the icy spray and seawater that spilled over the gunwales, soaking her each time the boat pitched, Isobel inhaled the fresh sea air and grinned wider than ever. She loved being on the water, danger or no danger. Moreover, she mused, if the outlanders were watching, she could be confident that they would not suspect any “lad” who had hoisted a lug sail so neatly of being anyone they sought.

The coble boasted a stern rudder, but without a fourth person to man it, it was not much use, although Matthias took the first opportunity to fix it to its peg and tie it in position. With the wind and current so strong, and both men clearly experienced oarsmen, the sail was more useful than the rudder for such a short journey.

The current was fierce indeed, pushing north harder than the wind pushed south, but it was nevertheless not long before they beached on the opposite shore.

Michael was first out and extended a hand to Isobel. As she grasped it and stepped onto the thwart to jump out, Matthias exclaimed, “Look yonder!”

Looking over her shoulder, she saw a boat coming toward them at speed from Glenelg Bay with at least four oarsmen rowing hard.

Chapter 5

J
erking her hand from Michael’s as she jumped, Isobel exclaimed, “If they saw you helping me, they’ll guess I’m female!”

Matthias scrambled ashore to help Michael drag the coble onto the shingle, saying dryly, “They’ll be sure of it now, seeing ye pull away like that. But, as few boats as there be on the water, I’m guessing they’ll want a close look at each one.”

“They’re coming this way, and at a speed considerably greater than ours was,” Michael said, eyeing the approaching boat with concern.

Matthias glanced narrow-eyed at it again. “Dinna fret, sir. If ye make haste t’ the village, ’tis my guess they’ll no catch ye there afore ye find help.”

Isobel watched the oncoming boat. “By heaven,” she exclaimed. “I believe they’ve misjudged the current or failed to consider the additional momentum of a boat carrying so much weight.”

Complacently, Matthias said, “Aye, sure, I thought they would.”

“Still, they’re already coming about, so they won’t be swept into Loch Alsh. We must hurry. Matthias is right, sir,” she added. “The village will provide safety.”

“Matthias had better come with us,” Michael said.

“I will then, as far as the village,” Matthias said. “I’ve a kinsman there who will row back wi’ me, and the men in the village will tell those villains the boat belongs to the laird. I doubt they’ll demand any answers from him.”

Accordingly, they hurried along the shingle to the village, where Isobel requested an armed escort for herself and Michael to the home of MacDonald’s kinsman, Donald Mòr Gowrie. Matthias made his own arrangements, and knowing they could trust the villagers to delay their pursuers, Isobel thanked him for his help and went confidently up Glen Kylerhea with Michael and their escort.

Michael watched Isobel stride up the narrow track with her bundle of female clothing slung jauntily over one shoulder, apparently perfectly at ease in her unfeminine garb. Ian’s breeks fit tightly across her hips, and he found himself imagining what she would look like without them. Mentally taking himself to task for allowing his mind to wander, even down so enticing a path, he fixed it instead on what course they might take should this kinsman of MacDonald’s refuse them assistance.

He soon learned that she had placed her confidence well, however. The journey up the glen to a square tower looming over the river took only thirty minutes, and their host received them in his hall. Donald Mòr Gowrie was a lean, salt-and-pepper-haired man of fifty summers with a long face and eyebrows so thick they jutted out over his eyes. He greeted Isobel with the warmth he might have accorded one of his own kinswomen, and she explained the situation to him briefly, showing a gift for glibness and a lack of detail that Michael appreciated more than she could know.

Gowrie remained silent as he looked from Isobel to Michael. Then, with a twinkle in his blue eyes, he said, “I warrant ye’ve no told me the whole tale, lass, and I’d supposed ye’d share our midday meal, but wi’ such men after ye, ye’ll no want to wait. I’ll ha’ ponies saddled and food packed, and take ye to me harbor at Loch Eishort. Ha’ your pursuers their own boats, lad?”

“No, sir,” Michael said. “That is, if they do, I am unaware of it.”

“Well, no matter. First they’ll ha’ to learn where ye be, and folks here will say nowt to them, nor will the villagers.” His eyes narrowed, and Michael knew he had let his skepticism show. “What makes ye think someone might speak o’ ye?”

“The men following me have no scruples, sir. They are extremely dangerous.”

“Even so, I’m guessing they willna want to anger the Lord of the Isles,” Gowrie said. “I’m thinking, too, that they dinna ken who fosters our lass here.”

Michael nodded but did not comment, aware that Macleod might have told Waldron about Hector but uncertain that it would make much difference if he had. To be sure, a foster daughter of Hector the Ferocious held value for Waldron only if he controlled her. That same foster daughter free of his clutches, protected, and traveling under the golden banner of the Lord of the Isles with its familiar little-black-ship device was another matter. However, her escape, not to mention Michael’s own, would infuriate Waldron and thus make him more dangerous than ever.

“We should make speed, sir,” Isobel said to Gowrie. “Our journey to Mull could easily take us twelve hours or more.”

“Aye, lass, I’m willing,” he replied, “but it’ll take me lads a few minutes yet to saddle the ponies. Meanwhile, I’d suggest ye pay your respects to me lady wife and let her assist ye to change into more feminine garb for the journey if ye ha’ some, unless o’ course, ye mean to travel all the way home in them breeks.”

Michael was astonished to see the lass redden and nibble her lower lip, but she rallied quickly.

“Thank you, sir,” she said to Gowrie. “I’ll do so at once.”

Less than twenty minutes later, the cavalcade proceeded at a good pace up the glen. Gowrie rode with them, and a large contingent of armed men followed. The journey to the gray waters of Loch Eishort took less than thirty minutes, but when Michael noted aloud that the tide had not yet finished turning, Gowrie said curtly, “Ye’ll no want t’ be dawdling, lad. Me captains and oarsmen be always ready, lest his grace needs them, so they’ll be off wi’ ye at once, and God speed.”

Seeing at least a dozen galleys and longboats in the harbor, Michael held his peace, and soon they were aboard one with three dozen well-armed oarsmen. Another with a similar number of men aboard was making ready nearby.

As Gowrie took leave of them, he said to Isobel, “I’m sending two boats to make sure ye arrive safely, lass. Shall I tell them to make for Duart or Lochbuie?”

She hesitated, then said, “Lochbuie is farther, but—”

“Sakes, twenty miles willna matter. Wi’ the wind from the northeast, and as strong as it be, me lads will get plenty o’ rest, and I’ll ha’ them break their return journey at Ardtornish to see if his grace has commands for them.”

“Then tell them to make for Lochbuie if you please, sir. I’d as lief not have to explain all this to Lachlan Lubanach and then again to Hector.”

“I warrant ye would not,” he agreed, laughing. “Ye’re a braw lassie, m’lady. I’d be that proud to ha’ ye for me own daughter. ‘Gainsay who dare!’”

They got underway then, and as the galleys neared the mouth of the loch and the open sea, the helmsman’s beat increased their speed.

Michael faced Isobel in the bow, his seat on the port side of the stem post, hers on the steerboard side. He still wore Matthias’s jerkin and shirt, but she wore her blue riding dress and gray cloak again. He did not try to talk to her, because with the noise of the helmsman’s gong, the wind rattling the sail against its mast, and the rhythmic slap and splash of the oars, conversation would be difficult at best.

As their journey progressed, Isobel huddled in her cloak, clearly unable to sleep, and Michael recalled that by the time they had beached near Kyle Rhea village, she had been wetter than either he or Matthias. His protective instincts stirred, and he wondered if her sister’s warnings echoed in her ears as they did in his.

Isobel pulled her cloak tight around her, wishing she had worn a warmer gown than her old blue stuff one for her ride the previous morning. The galley’s high bow offered some protection, but the chill of the northeast wind came from behind them.

She was so tired that even the chilly sea air could not keep her awake. Her head kept falling to one side, waking her when it struck the gunwale or when fear that it might startled her awake. At last, though, exhaustion claimed her.

When she stirred to wakefulness again, her head seemed to have found a comfortable spot, and she felt warmer, so doubtless someone had draped an extra sail or heavy cloak over her. Drowsily, she realized that the cacophony of splashing, flapping, and clanging had ended. All she heard now was the wind, intermittent creaking of the mast, and the hushing sound of waves breaking around the galley.

Without opening her eyes, she knew that the oarsmen had shipped their oars, letting the strong wind blow the boat along while they rested.

A gull’s cry sounded as if it came from only a few feet away.

Blearily, she opened one eye, expecting to see Michael sitting across from her as he had been when she fell asleep, but he was not there. Instead, she saw two gulls flying alongside the galley, hopeful of food. She stirred more, and the object she leaned against stirred as well. Startled, she sat up with a jerk.

Michael smiled drowsily at her. She had been sleeping with her head against his broad chest, his right arm around her shoulders.

“Close your mouth, lass,” he murmured. “Did you enjoy your nap?”

“Faith, sir, what are you doing?” she demanded. “I hardly know you!”

“You did not let that disturb you last night,” he said.

Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“You curled up next to me and slept like a kitten,” he said.

“I did not!”

“Aye, you did. I awoke before you and got up when I heard your sister approaching the hut. Had I not, she would have been able to tell you so herself.”

Isobel shuddered at the thought and glanced warily at the oarsmen. Michael had spoken quietly, however, and with their backs to the bow, none of the men paid them any heed. If the helmsman had seen them, he showed no sign of it.

“I was afraid you’d topple off the bench in your sleep,” Michael went on. “If you had, you might have hurt yourself, so I decided that only a villain would allow that to happen when he could so easily prevent it.”

“Aye, by waking me!” She glanced at the oarsmen again, then the helmsman. The latter’s apparent lack of interest no longer fooled her. He had undoubtedly taken notice when Michael switched seats to hold her, and might easily tell the others. “Only think of what they will say about this!” she exclaimed, gesturing toward the men.

“Nay, for Gowrie told me his men are discreet,” he said. “You trust him. Why should I not?”

“Even so,” she muttered.

He turned her to face him, looking directly into her eyes. “Tell the truth now, lass,” he said. “Do you really know so little of me?”

“How can you think otherwise? We met only yesterday. I do not even know your whole name.”

“Nonetheless, you do know me,” he said. “And I know you. I feel as comfortable with you after these two days as I would if I’d known you all my life.”

Oddly, she felt the same, but it was daft to feel so about a man she scarcely knew and one, moreover, who had required constant direction—until now. At the moment, though, the way he held her, making her look at him, stirred unfamiliar sensations that she could not define. But she did not try to pull away.

“What can you know of me besides my name?” she asked, wondering why she sounded breathless even to her own ears, and why his smile—faith, just his voice—stirred her senses so.

“I know that you are a beautiful woman with an adventurous spirit, that you face life boldly, and that you don’t let adversity daunt you. I would have us be friends, lass. I have not so many that I cannot use one more.”

“I suppose we could be friends,” she said, relaxing and wondering how a person could feel relief and disappointment at the same time.

He pulled her closer, murmuring, “I have wanted to do this since I awoke this morning, and now that we have agreed to be friends . . .”

Although a voice in the back of her mind shouted at her to resist, she did not. She did nothing to encourage him either, staring into his eyes as his face came closer and closer until he kissed her.

With a moan, she melted against him, letting him embrace her as his lips explored hers, tasting them softly, gently, until she could think of nothing else. His arms tightened around her, and her awareness of the other men vanished as she savored the sensations that his touch stirred throughout her body.

Never before had she felt so free of authority. That sensation alone was heady, encouraging her to press harder against him, to put her arms around him.

The tip of his tongue stroked first her upper lip, then the lower one. One of his hands slipped beneath her cloak and began gently stroking her back. When her lips parted, his tongue darted inside, and the moan that escaped her then sounded loud to her. She stiffened, certain that at least some of the others must have heard.

“Gently, sweetheart,” he murmured against her lips. “Don’t leap out of your skin, or they’ll think I’m forcing you, and that would not do at all.”

She wanted to say that he
was
forcing her, that somehow he had rendered her both witless and unable to defend herself. It was certainly not the first stolen kiss she had enjoyed, but none of the quick pecks on a cheek or friendly busses on her lips had stimulated her senses the way this one did.

Without looking away, he released her gently and straightened her hood, retying the ribbons at the neck of her cloak as if that were the only reason he had turned her to face him, as if such movements would fool for one minute any of the men supposedly not watching them. Trying to glower at him, to let him and them, too, know that she disapproved of his methods, she discovered when she saw the twinkle in his eyes that she wanted to laugh instead.

“Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart, unless you want me to do it again,” he murmured, his eyes still dancing.

Straightening, she struggled to regain her dignity, saying sternly—at least, she hoped she sounded stern—“You have taken a great liberty, sir. I would warn you to have a care. And you must certainly
not
call me ‘sweetheart.’ ”

“You are right to warn me, lass, but you do invite such liberties, you know.”

She opened her mouth to tell him he was daft to think such a thing, but when his eyes narrowed as if he welcomed the chance to argue with her, she shut it without saying a word. He was right, and she knew it.

She knew, too, what Hector and her sister would say about the risk she had run by interfering in the scene at the cave, particularly since she had been alone. Despite Cristina’s habit of taking solitary rides before she married Hector, both she and her formidable husband would surely agree that Isobel should never do such a thing. The freedom she constantly sought, and often demanded for herself, was not common to young women of her station in life. Indeed, at Lochbuie, she never rode alone. She did so at Chalamine only because she could safely ignore her father’s commands. She dared not ignore Hector Reaganach’s.