Angel of Skye (15 page)

The hermit looked over at Fiona. She scowled at the old priest, shaking her head threateningly. She knew what was coming.

Alec turned and looked with amusement at the silent exchange of looks. This was sure to be good.

“As he said, that’s not where the story ends,” Walter put in. “Tell them, Father.”

“Nay, Father Jack,” Fiona broke in. “And you hush, Walter.”

“Ah, lass, we cannot change history,” the priest scolded wryly.

“This is not history,” she retorted, standing with her hands on her hips beside the straw bedding. “This is the result of you and Walter drinking too much ale together. All these foolish stories—really.”

Father Jack smiled and turned to Alec.

“Walter found this mild mannered lass half drowned by the Fairy Bridge one stormy night. Some folk around here think she’s an angel.” He looked slyly at her. “But there are others who just say she’s a fairy maid.”

“This is ridiculous,” Fiona admonished, her face flaming red. “And from a man of God, no less! It is...indecent. That is just what it is. Indecent!”

“Tis true,” Walter put in. “I found her on the wildest night I have ever known. Angel she might be, but the lass is our own fairy.”

“You see,” the priest started again, but this time matter-of-factly, “from the time she was a wee thing, Fiona has roamed these woods as if she knew them better than the back of her own hand. As if she’d been here before. She had no fear. She was invulnerable. And the lass was everywhere that help was needed. There are stories, lads. Once, not much more than a child herself, she carried a bairn from a hut ablaze with fire while everyone outside quailed with fear of stepping into the roaring inferno. No one even saw her go in. They say she appeared from nowhere. And there is another one of her swimming the loch in the midst of a storm to save a fisherman tangled in his own nets. And then there is the one about the cattle that—”

“Please stop, Father,” the young woman pleaded from where she stood.

Alec’s gaze had been riveted on her the whole time the priest had been speaking. He had seen the emotions darkening her fair features. It was obvious that Fiona was not comfortable with talk of her own exploits. But she denied none of it. She had tried to busy herself tending to Walter. But in the end she had not been able to take it any longer.

Alec thought back on his first encounter with her. Indeed, she had been like a fairy, appearing from nowhere in the path before him. There was so much about this woman that he wanted to know. So much more.

“But you must promise to keep our secret, lads,” Father Jack said, looking at the two warriors confidentially. “For no one—not those in the castle, anyway—knows for sure that our Fiona, who lives at the Priory, is the fairy—or rather, the angel—who watches over the island folk. So I need to ask you to keep our secret.”

“You have our word on it,” Alec declared solemnly. Then, with a serious expression, he turned to the young woman. “So where is your flag, Fiona?”

She threw her arms up in resignation and turned her back on the laughing group of men.

But she did not ignore them long, for soon the talk turned to serious issues of economic survival involving her island folk. Alec presented his plans for shipbuilding on the island and explained his need for workers. They spoke of the difficulties of raising cattle in a land that required hard work for self-sufficiency. They spoke of bartering and the past inability of the MacLeods and the MacDonalds to communicate effectively. Of how the two ancient enemies simply could not negotiate with one another. Of how neither clan had anything to offer that the mainlanders did not already have.

Alec argued that with a need for wood, and with the Macphersons and their allies, the Campbells, the Isle of Skye would be in a position to profit and grow stronger and healthier. Alec told them that royal trading charters would ensure the working people food and goods to meet their needs.

Fiona raised concerns regarding the incentives for people to put aside age-old feuds and to work alongside traditional enemies. But Father Jack responded that it is an empty stomach that causes a MacDonald to steal a MacLeod cow, and vice versa. With food in their bellies and honest work to occupy their hands and their minds, perhaps such foolish feuding would gradually disappear.

Father Jack saw the good the new laird’s plan could bring the people of Skye, and agreed to spread the word among the MacDonald and MacLeod clan folk.

As the discussion came to an end, Ambrose noted that the rain had let up for the time being.

“Lass,” Father Jack said, turning to Fiona. “This would be a good time for you to go back to the Priory.”

“I thought I would stay tonight, Father,” she replied, “and give you a chance to rest.”

“You need the rest more than I do. And besides, look at your patient. He is much improved.”

Walter looked up from his place. “I am feeling much better, lass. And perhaps, if the laird is traveling toward the Priory—”

“That will not be necessary, Walter,” she said, focusing on the injured man. “But are you in much pain now?”

“My leg is throbbing, lass, but it is nothing I cannot put up with. But you look quite weary, Fiona. And if our angel gets ill, who will watch over us?”

“Very well, Walter,” she conceded, turning to the others. “But I want you to send someone after me, Father, if Walter needs me.”

“Aye, Fiona. That I will do.”

The young woman took her cloak from the peg and wrapped it around her.

Alec and Ambrose stood to take their leave, as well.

“I would like to talk with Walter’s grandson about what he saw, Father.” Alec wanted to discover the identity of the assailant as soon as possible.

“Adrian is with the fishermen for a day or two,” the old priest said. “But when he returns, I will send him to you. In a few days, I will pursue your other matter, but that will not be a speedy process.”

“I understand,” Alec said as he followed Ambrose out the door.

Standing by their horses beneath the trees, Ambrose hesitated before mounting.

“I know you must be in a great hurry to get back to Dunvegan and get some answers about the attack, Alec.”

“I am,” the young warlord replied seriously. “But I know none of our men would attack this priest. What reason would they have for such treachery?”

“None,” Ambrose responded. “But on the other hand, there are so many MacLeods and MacDonalds in and out of Dunvegan Castle.”

“As soon as we get back, I think I’ll talk to Neil about the attack. It’s time we took a slightly closer look at our friends.”

“Aye,” Ambrose agreed. “Well, then, perhaps it would be better if I escorted your...uh...nun back to her convent.”

“She’s not a nun, Ambrose.”

“Ah, yes. That slipped my mind, big brother. Well, then, you have no objections to my taking...Fiona...back to the Priory?”

Alec knew it would be better if Ambrose took her back, but he just couldn’t bring himself to give up an opportunity for time alone with her.

“Every objection in the world, Ambrose, because I know when it comes to women, you are a base and scurvy dog.”

“Now, Alec,” he replied, looking hurt. “Must you exaggerate so? You know I am not ‘scurvy.’”

“I know just what you are, little brother. And that is why I am going to take Fiona back to the Priory. She would stand a better chance with a pack of wolves than she would with you.”

Ambrose grinned. He liked the possessiveness that Alec was exhibiting toward this woman. And a woman like Fiona would be the best thing that could happen to Alec right now. She has a freshness, an honest openness, he thought. She has the ability to bring back the old Alec.

But again there was something that was nagging at him. Fiona was a woman with a life of religious devotion ahead of her. As Ambrose gazed at his brother, he was certain Alec would respect that. But then what was their relationship to be? Friendship? That was the extent Ambrose could hope for. The last thing Ambrose wanted to see was Alec hurt again. But then, there was Fiona to consider as well.

“You have it wrong this time, Alec. After all, she is the fairy—we both heard it. Neither you nor I would let any harm come to this gentle creature.”

“I know, Ambrose. And I do trust you. But I will take her back.”

“Very well.” Ambrose sighed, mounting his horse. “I’ll ride by myself back to Dunvegan. With any luck, I won’t be attacked by wolves. Would you like me to leave a candle in the window for you?”

“That won’t be necessary.” Alec smiled. “I should be able to find my way home. But thank you, anyway.”

The younger Macpherson started to pull on the reins of his charger when Alec stopped him.

“Ambrose...”

“Aye, Alec?” he responded, noting the serious expression on his brother’s face.

“Do not say anything to Neil MacLeod about Walter’s accident until I get there. I don’t want you getting into a brawl with him over this until I get back.”

“Very well,” he said, wheeling his horse and grinning down at the laird. “But what will he and I talk about, then, over supper?”

And with a wave of his hand, Ambrose cantered off across the meadow.

When Fiona left the cottage a few moments later with Father Jack on her heels, Alec was standing alone beside his horse.

“You see, Fiona?” the old priest said. “I knew you would not be walking back to the Priory alone.”

As Fiona paused to look at the handsome warlord, the evening sun broke through the clouds. Beams of light streamed through breaks in the leaves behind Alec, and the charger standing behind him shook his head impatiently.

“I thought I would go by way of the Priory,” the warrior said casually. “I’ll take you back.”

“That really will not be necessary,” she objected mildly, standing firmly before the door.

“It will be dark soon, and I’ll feel better if I know you are safely home.”

“As I said before, I travel this way often. I will be—”

“Safe?” Alec interrupted. “Do you really believe the dangers in these woods cannot harm you?”

“Of course not. It’s just...”

“I believe we have been here before, Fiona,” Alec reminded her, raising his voice slightly. He knew his glare was worth a thousand words. And it seemed to become more effective as he aged; his men told him so. And now Alec directed it meaningfully at her. “You would do well not to forget that some of us have indeed had encounters with these dangers. Many of us, I might add.” If she was going to be so thick as to reject his offer to see her to safety, then he was more than prepared to tell the world of the encounter he had witnessed the first time they met.

Father Jack looked from one combatant to the other. This had all the makings of a good row.

“I suppose this is just the right moment to say good evening to you two,” he rumbled. He could monitor these events well enough from the window of the cottage. Starting back toward the hut, he paused to look at Alec. “Angels are notoriously argumentative creatures, my son. And don’t forget, this one is part fairy!”

Without another word, the priest turned his back and plodded off toward the hut.

Fiona and Alec stood looking at one another. She had been watching him in the cottage all afternoon. There was a tingling sensation that was running up her spine as it had all afternoon, every time he chanced to look at her. Fiona had been surprised, a bit embarrassed even, at how a simple turn of his head could make her heart pound faster in her chest. And now, truthfully, nothing would please her more than to spend an hour walking alone with him.

“Fiona, I do not care to argue with you about this any longer. Some folk may think you’re invulnerable. You may think you’re invulnerable. But you’re not. And your safety is my responsibility. I just heard in there that a madman is riding around this island trampling defenseless folk. If you think I’m going to let you—”

“Very well, m’lord,” she said simply.

“Very well what?”

“I will go with you to the Priory.”

“You will?” Alec paused, the string of additional arguments he’d been formulating withering away. “Why?”

“Why?” She laughed. “I thought you wanted me to.”

“I do.”

“Well, you certainly have an odd way of showing it.” She smiled at him from beneath her lashes.

“I do not. It’s you.”

“Well, m’lord, we do not seem to be getting anywhere just standing here.” She walked toward him until she came within a step. “I do have to get back. So, if you do not mind, we could continue this argument while we walk. How does that sound?”

Alec nodded in amusement, and Fiona adjusted the satchel on her shoulder. Quickly, she tied the cord of her cloak in a bow at her neck and pulled the hood over her head, looking up at him expectantly. “I am ready. But I have to warn you that I am a fast walker. So if at any time you feel you cannot keep pace, just let me know and—”

“Keep pace? Fiona, your step I can keep pace with. Your tongue, however...”

She smiled at him. But somehow she knew she had to keep talking. Somehow she knew that as long as she could sustain the dialogue, then she could keep hidden other feelings that were running through her, bubbling beneath the surface, searching for a quiet moment to burst through. Perhaps walking with this handsome laird was not the best of ideas. Perhaps walking alone was the best course, after all.

“If my talking is a problem, m’lord, I’m sure I can think of a simple remedy.”

“So can I,” Alec responded slowly, letting his gaze fall to her lips. He knew his meaning was unmistakable from the flush of color that highlighted her beautiful skin. “But we had better go.”

And then, before she could voice a complaint, the warrior stepped toward the young woman and lifted her easily onto the black charger. With a quick look at her surprised face, Alec swung up behind her.

“What do you think you are doing?”

“We are going to the Priory.”

“Aye, and we are walking,” she said, struggling to slide off the side of the horse.

Alec wrapped one arm firmly around her waist and drew her onto his lap and snugly against his chest.

“Ebon is walking. We are riding.”