Angel of Skye (18 page)

Lord Alec Macpherson was laird.

“I am ready to go,” she whispered.

“Before we do, I have something for you.”

“For me?” she asked, surprised.

“Aye. A wanderer like you—determined to go off on her own—needs something to defend herself.”

From the pouch that hung by his long sword, Alec drew out a small dagger in a leather sheath. Crossing the room he held it out to her. Its handle of brown wood was polished until it shone. On the hilt there was a steel circle, and Fiona could see from where she stood an embossed family crest. His family crest.

“M’lord, I could not accept a gift.”

“It is not a gift,” he said, thinking quickly. Of course she would not accept a gift. What could he have been thinking? “It’s for my own peace of mind. For protection. There are other maidens, Fiona, who wear these all the time.”

“I do not require protection, m’lord,” she said firmly. “Though I am certain those other maidens would cherish such a weapon, especially coming from someone of your stature.”

Immediately she regretted the sound of her own words. She herself heard uncalled-for notes of jealousy.

“I am not interested in other maidens,” Alec responded, his face stern. He reached out and took her hand, placing the dirk in it. Before letting go of her hand, his voice softened. “It is your safety I am concerned with right now. Only yours.”

“I still cannot...” she began softly, shaking her head.

“Fiona, wait. Let me explain,” he said, pausing, his eyes looking earnestly into hers. “You told me that a man and a woman must learn from one another. I am learning. The thought of you roaming those woods alone angered me at first; now it worries me to no end. But I am learning that I cannot stop you. And I should not try to mold you into something you are not. All I want is to help you and to keep you safe. Or rather, help you keep yourself safe. Now, you take this from me or I’ll have you followed wherever you go. So which is it?”

Fiona closed her fingers around the dagger. On the insignia at the hilt, a cat was sitting above the depiction of a ship on a shield. It claws were outstretched, threatening. “But you don’t understand. I could never use this on another human being. That is simply not my way.”

“When the need arises, we all do what is necessary.” Alec looked at the young woman contemplating the weapon in her hand. “And besides, you may need it to protect yourself from overly passionate lairds.”

Unexpectedly, Fiona smiled up at Alec and tucked the dirk into the cord that encircled her waist.

“You have convinced me.”

“I have?” he responded, astonished.

“Aye, m’lord. Overly passionate lairds seem to be a growing threat on this island.”

“Well, I suppose I should be glad you’ve accepted this,” Alec replied, his smiling face suddenly showing potential misgivings. “But considering what’s persuaded you, I believe I already regret the whole thing.”

Malcolm was indeed excited about their outing. Astride his new pony, he was waiting with David in the open area in front of the stable yard. A stable boy held Ebon, and David was holding another saddled mount for Fiona.

“Do you like my new pony, Fiona?” the lad blurted before Fiona and Alec had even reached them. “Alec gave him to me! His name’s Rogue, and he likes me.”

Fiona’s eyes traveled from Malcolm’s thrilled expression to the restless pony beneath him. She thought his life had been so complete here at the Priory, before all this. Before Lord Macpherson had stepped into his life. But now, looking at the excited young boy, Fiona knew she had been wrong...as she may even have been wrong about her own life.

“How could he not like you?” she agreed, glancing up at the laird. “He is a lovely beast, is he not?”

“Since you three have some distance to go, I thought perhaps you would want to ride, as well, today,” David suggested, looking at Fiona pointedly. “After all, while slowness is needed for ripening, it also brings rot, you know.”

This had been a sore subject between Fiona and David for as long as she could remember. She liked walking. David hated it. Walking offered her the freedom to use back trails and to come and go unnoticed. David never felt comfortable with that. So he had taught her how to ride. And Fiona excelled at it just like everything else, but she continued to avoid it. He, in turn, continued to insist that she use a horse going back and forth, for safety’s sake. But, of course, Fiona always refused.

“Very well.” She sighed without agreeing, noting David’s raised eyebrows. Fiona was not going to dampen Malcolm’s excitement over the pony. “Though we have perfectly good legs for walking.” She mumbled the last words under her breath.

Alec watched as Fiona easily mounted her horse and straightened the skirts of her dress. He could not help but feel disappointed that she was not going to ride with him.

Alec mounted his horse and followed behind the two.

As the trio headed for the Priory gate, the ancient porter, James, unexpectedly scuttled toward them, his long staff held to block their way.

“Nay, lass, ye cannot go today,” he cried, clearly worked up over something. “Take the lad back.”

Fiona slid off her horse, moving quickly to her distraught friend. Alec looked on, feeling uncomfortably as if he had witnessed this scene before. The porter’s blue robe hung open, and his old shirt showed the signs of wear.

“What is it, James?” she asked, putting a hand on the old man’s shoulder.

“My mother has sent me to warn ye. Do not do what ye are intending to do, for ye will not fare well, I tell ye!”

“Your mother, James?” Fiona asked. She glanced quickly at Alec. The old porter had to be close to eighty years old and lived alone with his son, the village smith.

“Aye, lassie!” James lowered his voice confidentially. “It is the rain. It will be a deluge. Loch Dunvegan will be flooding o’er the strand.”

“But the sun is shining, James,” Malcolm piped up. He did not want this excursion put off.

Fiona never took her face off the porter. Her kindly hazel eyes showed her concern as she comforted him, trying to soothe his anxiety.

“Thank you, James. But we are going south—away from Loch Dunvegan—to the bluffs that look out over those little islands.”

“MacLeod’s Maidens,” Malcolm chirped in cheerfully.

“We will not be far from you if it...when it starts to rain.”

The porter’s troubled look was hardly diminished as he glanced up into Fiona’s eyes.

“Very well, lass, if you think so,” he muttered unhappily, turning and working his way slowly toward his place by the gate. “But my mother, she...”

As the old man moved off, Fiona listened until his voice trailed off in the space between them.

“Could we please go, Fiona?” Malcolm pleaded.

With a last look at James, Fiona mounted again, watching the ancient porter, who now sat shaking his head sadly.

“We will watch for the clouds, James,” she said reassuringly as they rode past him.

“There is not a cloud in the sky, Fiona,” the lad whispered, looking hopefully at Alec.

“We will be fine, Malcolm,” she replied quietly. “James is just getting...well...he is just concerned about us, that’s all.”

They rode out of the village in silence, Fiona and Alec each watching Malcolm as he sat proudly on his mount. His eyes were taking in everything around him as if this were his first time out and about.

“This porter...James, I mean,” Alec broke in. Something was gnawing at the laird. Something about that old man.

“He’s strange!” Malcolm chirped in.

“That is no way to talk, Malcolm,” Fiona corrected sternly. “He is an aging man. And there is nothing strange about him.”

“Is he always like this?” Alec asked. “So worried about the weather, I mean.”

“Not always,” Fiona said, looking up at the clear blue sky. “He says he dreams of things and the crofters believe him. There are some who believe he can see into your soul. That he has the second sight.”

“And there are some who believe in the fairy maid. Are these the same folk?”

“Aye, more or less,” she whispered quietly.

“Do you believe him? In what he says?” Alec asked, looking at Fiona. “In what he sees?”

“It is difficult to understand dreams and warnings. But we’d be fools not to believe in things just because we do not understand them. So I suppose I believe anything is possible.”

“Aye, everything is possible.”

Fiona felt Alec’s eyes bore into hers, and she felt her resistance to him again begin to crumble.

She pushed her horse ahead of the two. Everything is possible! Yes, for dreamers and fools, she thought. But what was she doing allowing herself these feelings for a laird? When they had left her workroom, she had felt as though everyone’s eyes had been on them. As though everyone knew what she and Alec had been doing behind the closed door. She was terribly embarrassed.

But this is no dream, she thought. It is plain and simple. It is flesh and blood. It is passion and desire and disaster. Old James can see it, and I cannot. What a fool!

And the porter’s words were echoing in her mind. ‘You will not fare well.’ That is what he’d said, and she knew he was right. For she was the one who was feeling so helpless. She was the one who would suffer in the end. As Malcolm’s mother had. But even knowing this, she could not seem to resist his attentions nor rebuff his shows of affection.

She simply couldn’t stop thinking of him. She felt his presence everywhere, all the time. She had already let this go too far. Fiona knew that. But now her curiosity, her attraction to him, were pushing her, driving her on. And somehow, she just didn’t mind.

Well, whatever is going to become of me, so be it, she thought decisively. She couldn’t stop now. She knew she wouldn’t.

Behind her the two were chatting away like old chums.

“And just think of it, Alec,” Malcolm said excitedly. “If we are lucky today, I will have my own hawk to take home. Then I’ll have a mistress just like you!”

Fiona turned on her mount and cocked an eyebrow at the laird.

In the rolling meadow to the right of the path, a flock of gulls were settling into the pink-blossomed heather and the grass. The boy turned his attention to them.

“Fiona, is it all right if I take Rogue off the trail for a bit?”

She looked at the lad’s excited face. “Of course, but don’t go too far off.”

With a whoop and a slap of the reins, Malcolm urged his new pony into a dash across the field. Shouting and waving his hand, the boy galloped straight into the flock of birds, scattering them into a feathery and squawking cloud.

“A mistress? One of the new comforts at Dunvegan, m’lord?” she teased.

Alec looked at her with amused surprise. “There is nothing but steel and cold stone at Dunvegan, Fiona.”

“What, nothing warm? Nothing to help you wile away an hour there?”

“Nothing but some ugly dogs and even uglier warriors,” he responded in a confidential tone. “However, if you’re offering to visit...”

Fiona looked away toward where Malcolm was racing across the meadow. Just when she thought he’d gone too far, she saw him rein in abruptly, wheel the pony, and spur him full speed back across the ground they’d just covered.

“I’ve never seen Dunvegan Castle...other than at a distance,” she said. “Neither the prioress nor David would let me go anywhere near it while I was growing up.”

“Well, it surely wasn’t the safest of places for a young woman to visit.”

Fiona glanced at him slyly. “I’m not sure it’s the safest of places for a young woman now, m’lord.”

Alec laughed as Malcolm galloped up to them.

“Rogue is fast, Fiona,” the lad panted. “Did you see us, Alec? Did you see us charge those filthy English soldiers?”

“Malcolm!” Fiona remonstrated, her voice rising and falling in exaggerated shock. She turned to Alec. “I see what kind of influence you are: falcons and mistresses, seagulls and English soldiers.”

“A growing Scottish lad needs to know these things.” Alec shrugged good-naturedly.

“We will catch a hawk today, won’t we, Alec?”

“Not if I have my way,” Fiona threatened. “Just when you think you’ve got the poor thing, I’ll—”

“Aye, Malcolm. We may find one,” Alec answered, reaching over and playfully putting his hand across Fiona’s mouth. “You might not be able to take her home the first day, though. We may need to keep her at Dunvegan for a time.”

“But why, Alec?” Malcolm asked.

“Aye, tell us why, m’lord,” she prompted wryly, slapping his paw away.

“You have to be patient, lad. You have to woo her. You have to gentle her. And that may take some time.”

“I’m not very patient,” the young boy admitted.

“What man is?” Fiona remarked sardonically.

“Patience always has its limits, Malcolm,” Alec said, eyeing Fiona meaningfully. “But I’ve been told I’m a patient man.”

“The prioress tells me that patience is the virtue of asses,” she put in casually.

“Not always,” Alec responded, stifling a laugh and turning to the boy. “It’s important to remember, Malcolm, that in hawking you are dealing with a free bird. One that has never been touched by a man before.”

“By any man, Malcolm,” Fiona interjected quietly. “It’s important to remember.”

Alec’s eyes bore into the beautiful creature riding beside him. He had to admit it gave him great pleasure knowing he was the first man ever to touch her. He could still envision the glow of her skin, the perfect fullness of her breast. He could still taste the sweetness of her on his lips.

It had never mattered before whether the women that he’d been with had had other men. It didn’t matter, not with any of them. Certainly not with Kathryn. But for some reason it mattered here. With Fiona. When he thought of her, a protectiveness raked through his soul. He wanted her to be his. Only his.

“I just want to know when we can roam the fields and hunt together.” Malcolm’s voice broke into Alec’s thoughts. “When I can take my bird into my room with me at night.”

Fiona and Alec looked up at each other in unison.

“Well”—Alec smiled—“as soon as she is used to you. But I do not suppose the Priory dormitory is the place for that.”