Angel of Skye (19 page)

“No, indeed,” Fiona agreed tentatively, smiling inwardly at the irony of the exchange.

“But you will show me how, Alec? I have never really handled a falcon.”

“Aye, lad,” he said, looking meaningfully at Fiona. “The first touches of a man and a falcon are a wondrous thing.”

Fiona felt her pulse quicken.

“There is a slow and sure breaking down of a barrier.”

She watched Alec’s eyes travel caressingly down her body.

“And when that barrier is gone,” the giant continued, “the pleasure you will bring to one another is incredible to the point of being heaven-sent.”

Fiona shivered involuntarily in the warm sun.

Alec knew he had better put some space between them, before he pulled her off her horse and onto his lap. What an interesting thought. He smiled. Oh, well. Another time. He turned to Malcolm.

“Come on, lad. I’ll race you to where the brook passes that big tree.”

“You’re on!” the boy shouted, taking off like a shot.

The two tore across the field toward the meandering stream on the far side. Fiona watched them happily as Malcolm eased up at the bank while Alec charged splashing across the shallow water. A brightly colored duck flew up and settled back into the brook a stone’s throw downstream.

The boy followed the warlord across, and sat watching as Alec dismounted on the other side. They were too far away for Fiona to see what the blonde giant was doing, but as they cantered back, side by side, she could see Malcolm had something hidden behind his back.

“Daisies!” she exclaimed, taking them from the beaming boy.

“Alec says bringing flowers might take your mind off my hawk.”

“Oh, he did?”

“Lad, you’re not supposed to tell her that,” Alec murmured loud enough for her to hear. “Malcolm, I’ll race you to that boulder jutting out up ahead.”

The boy was off before Alec finished speaking, and the two watched the lad fly across the ground.

Directing his horse alongside hers, Alec took two of the daisies from the bunch in her hand.

“M’lord, you’re about to lose that race.”

Alec leaned across and placed one of the flowers in her hair.

“But I have the prize right here.”

Fiona looked at him as he offered the remaining daisy. As she took it, his hand came up and took hold of her chin. Leaning toward her again, he pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was hard, unyielding, warm, and it ended all too quickly. Then, releasing her chin slowly, Alec looked affectionately into her beautiful eyes. He realized they were nearly blue, reflecting the azure sky. Smiling, he turned and took off after Malcolm.

The two raced around like madmen. Sometimes they were behind Fiona, sometimes ahead. But watching them, she felt happy, free. She closed her mind to the worries, the nightmares, the wrongs and the rights, and the future.

And then, listening to them cavort, she knew the sound of Malcolm’s laugh, his happiness, was just further affirmation that she was doing the right thing. She looked around at the beauty that surrounded her. The rocky outcroppings, the heather-covered hills, the blue sky, the waterfowl and the seabirds.

“Well, that must be one of MacLeod’s Maidens.”

Fiona started in her saddle, but then, looking ahead, realized Alec was talking about the top of the island just coming into their vision above the slight knoll that signaled the sheer drop of the bluffs. The two had just pulled in behind her.

“The other one does not come up so high out of the sea,” Malcolm affirmed.

The rolling meadows that ended at the bluffs were dotted with groves of trees, and a herd of wild cattle could be seen grazing in the distance. To their left a line of woods ran down to the sea at a point where the bluffs were not so high. A stony beach curved away along the shore.

“Well, we certainly do have a beautiful day for finding you a hawk, lad,” Alec said, breathing in the salty summer air. He looked over at Fiona. She was sitting high on her mount. Strands of her hair had escaped their braid and were framing her lovely face in ringlets of red gold.

Fairy or angel, I love that face, he thought. Alec watched her as she took a deep breath of fresh air. His gaze fell on her body, and he felt a stirring in his loins again. She was looking about her, totally unaware of his gaze, of his desires, of what her nearness was doing to him. She was so truly innocent, so magnificently beautiful.

“How should we start, Alec?” Malcolm chirped.

Alec tore his eyes from her and directed his attention to the young boy.

“First we need to look for a nest. It is a good time to find a young fal—”

The sound of a horse approaching rapidly from behind them stopped Alec mid-sentence. Wheeling his charger, the warlord spurred his horse to the top of the rise. Before he reached the summit, however, he heard Malcolm’s pony following and Fiona’s voice calling after the boy. Drawing his sword, Alec immediately spotted a lone rider pounding furiously across the meadow. Squinting his eyes against the bright sunshine, he recognized the flying elbows of his beanpole of a squire, Robert. But as he sheathed his sword, Alec’s smile of relief was quickly replaced by a frown at the thought of the lad’s great haste. Malcolm trotted his pony up beside him.

“Who is it, Alec?” the boy asked excitedly.

“Malcolm!” Fiona exclaimed, coming quickly up beside them. “You should not ride off.”

“Lord Alec!” Robert called breathlessly, reining his froth-covered steed to a halt. “Sir Ambrose...he sent me...trouble...”

“Catch your breath first, Robert,” Alec commanded, lines of concentration marking his handsome features. “Now, tell me what’s happened.”

“Neil MacLeod,” Robert said, still panting for air as he eyed Fiona and Malcolm. “He has killed one of his own men.”

“Killed! Why, for God’s sake?” Alec disliked the MacLeod leader, but killing a man...a MacLeod man! What could have pushed a man like Neil to kill one of his own clan? “Who was the man?”

“Iain, m’lord,” the squire responded. “You know him. The tall blond-haired one with the missing fingers on his hand. He has a Spanish sword from Toledo and a—”

“Aye, I remember him. What else did Ambrose say? Why did Neil kill the man?”

“I don’t know, m’lord. But Sir Ambrose said to come quickly. He said to tell you the man was killed down by the falcons’ mews. And there might be trouble.”

“What kind of trouble? More than what just happened?”

“Aye, the rest of them...the MacLeods are angry at Neil. He has betrayed one of his own.”

It took Alec only a split second for the message to register. If Neil had truly done as he had been asked to do, then Alec owed him. It must have been very difficult to punish one of his own clan, even if the man was truly the one guilty of riding down Walter. There was only one way to find out. He turned to Malcolm and Fiona.

“I must return to Dunvegan Castle,” he said grimly.

“Walter’s attacker?” Fiona asked quietly.

“Perhaps,” Alec replied steadily. “I’ll send or bring you word. But right now we must get you back to the Priory.”

“Could we stay?” Malcolm pleaded. “Fiona and I.”

“I am sorry, lad, but no,” Alec said, looking at the disappointed boy. “I must go back to the castle. We’ll do this another—”

“We’ll be fine, m’lord,” Fiona interrupted. “As long as we are here, Malcolm and I will comb the beach.”

“Nay, Fiona,” Alec exploded, glaring fiercely. “I’ll not leave you here.”

“On Priory lands, m’lord?” she challenged. “This is our land. We live and work here. This is our home.”

“Fiona,” he snapped. “The last thing I need right now is to be worrying about you and Malcolm out here alone.”

“Before you arrived, m’lord, Malcolm and I spent a great deal of time out alone,” she pressed, matching his glare. “The trouble at Dunvegan has nothing to do with us here. There’s no reason for us to return to the Priory.”

Alec looked at the hotly resolute face of the beauty and at the anxious face of the lad. He had to go now, and he did not have time to physically drag them back to the Priory. He turned and glanced at Robert, whose face reflected the shock he undoubtedly was feeling seeing his master argued with. Discipline be damned, there was no getting around it. Commanding Fiona to go would do no good whatsoever, and Alec knew it.

“Very well, Fiona,” the laird conceded. “But Robert will stay with you.”

“It will not be necessary.” She glowered at Alec, then turned in the direction of the young squire and gave him a gentle smile.

“Fiona, then you are going back with me.” Alec’s scowl this time was threatening.

“Nay. I won’t.”

Alec moved forward, taking hold of the bridle of her horse. On second thought, he would force her if that was the way she wanted it.

“Fiona, if you stay, Robert stays.”

She slapped his hand with the loose end of the reins. They glared at one another until suddenly her expression softened.

“Really, you worry too much, m’lord. But this time, I’ll do as you wish,” she responded, her tone as soft as the summer breeze. “I believe David has enough lunch in this saddlebag for five people, at least.”

“One of these days, Fiona,” Alec growled.

Fiona smiled in response.

Wheeling on Robert, Alec scowled at the squire. “Robert, you make sure Mistress Fiona and Lord Malcolm get back to the Priory or I’ll have your hide hanging on the sea gate at Dunvegan.”

He turned back to Fiona. “I’ll bring word, you troublesome kelpie.”

With a wave to Malcolm, the warlord spurred Ebon into motion and galloped north along the route they’d just traveled.

She had a way of driving him crazy. And this wasn’t the first time, either. Fiona knew exactly how far to push him. How much to test him. And then always, at the last minute, she would back down. But by then Alec, already worked up, knew that he had lost the battle. He did not now how, but it was lost all the same. The more time Alec spent with her, the more he had to admire the prioress’ patience. The elder nun was a saint after all.

But he also knew that such a fate was what he wanted for himself, as well. He might never achieve sainthood, but just the challenge sounded heavenly. And Alec knew he would cherish every moment of it.

Alec worked his way through the meadows and along the Priory lanes. Feeling the increasing breeze, he glanced up at the darkening sky. Overhead, dark clouds were rolling in from the west, transforming the rolling hills into gray and forbidding shadows. Slowing his pace, he thought of those he left at the bluffs.

Perhaps the old man was right after all, he thought with concern. How easy it is to disregard the warnings we receive.

His mind wandered back to a rain-soaked day in the borderlands between Scotland and England, to the fields at Flodden where a king had been destroyed on a hill slick with blood and rain. He, too, had received a warning.

The time was 1513. They were being pulled into war, and King James knew it. Negotiations on several fronts had not gone well. And then the news arrived that the English king, Henry Tudor, had invaded France. The Scottish king was not about to turn his back on Scotland’s Auld Alliance with France. He was not happy about it, but he would fight. He had said he would invade England if Henry invaded France, and by God, he would.

Then, only weeks before the battle at Flodden, in the church at Linlithgow, the king was sitting with his closest friends at prayer when a stranger suddenly appeared to him.

“King,” the stranger rasped. “Do not pass at this time where you are proposing to go, for if you do, you will not fare well in your journey. Do not go. Heed this, King.”

The king stood and placed an arm gently on the old man’s shoulder, and his words of response were soothing. For months he had been listening to the fears of his people. Fears for his welfare. King James had been nearly overwhelmed by the loving support of his own Scottish people. How could they not fare well? Indeed, he was certain that even God was with them.

After saying his piece, the wraithlike figure simply walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the chapel nave. In a moment, he was gone. Like a blink of the sun. Like a whip of a whirlwind.

But the king had been warned. Warned of the annihilation of ten thousand of Scotland’s finest warriors. Warned of his own death.

Only the king, Alec, and two others had seen the harmless-looking stranger. Just a thin, harmless old man in a blue robe.

A blue robe.

The old porter stepped into the lane in front of Alec’s horse. Alec reined Ebon in fiercely, and the charger reared up in response. James’s tattered blue robe was flapping in the strong wind, and Alec could see that his eyes were peering wildly down the lane past the wheeling animal.

“I warned her!” he croaked hoarsely.

“What is it, James?” Alec shouted. His blood ran cold at the sight of the decrepit seer. James raised his staff, shaking it at the sky.

“The king wouldn’t listen,” James moaned. “And they all died.”

“You were there, weren’t you? It was you!” Alec stared in awe.

“The rain’s already begun. Can ye feel it? It’s started!”

There was no rain falling, but the wind was swirling around them in gusts. Alec stared at the wild-eyed figure moaning in the path before him. Then James straightened his old body and looked directly into the warlord’s eyes.

“Can ye feel it, Laird? Do ye remember the rain?”

Alec’s eyes swept the sky. The clouds were ominous, gray, and full.

He remembered.

They call me Death, in truth I declare,

Calling all men and women to their biers

Whenever I please, what time, what place, or where.

None is so strong, so fresh, nor yet so fair,

So young...

—Robert Henryson

“
The Reasoning between Death and Man”

The scream cut through the wind like the shriek of a gull.

“Help me!” Robert cried.

“You move and you’re finished,” Fiona said through clenched teeth. She had done all she could to coax him up the cliff edge. Encouragement had not worked, so maybe threats were what he needed.