Angel of Skye

by May McGoldrick

“Your angel awaits.”

  Alec turned and looked at the king. The old man stood with him. He followed their gaze to where the door was opening, beckoning. The light beyond was spilling through.

  “The evil is nigh, Alec Macpherson. Deliver her from the foe. The fiend is lurking.

  Alec looked at the two men, unsure of who spoke the words. But he ran. He ran.

  Drummond Castle loomed on the first and taller of two ridges, and the Macpherson entourage circled east from the little stone and thatch village, around the high gray walls to the imposing arched entrance. Craning her neck from her study of the warlike edifice, Fiona looked out at broad, rolling valley stretching out to the south, and at the blanket of gray mist that lay so heavily upon it.

  Here, on the ridge, the brilliant rays had burned through the fog, and the sky showed pale blue around a warm and hazy sun, but Fiona’s hands were clammy and cold. After all that had occurred, after all the waiting, she felt no thrill at returning to her childhood home, only the distress of facing the vague unknown, and a sharp burning sensation just below her heart that would not go away. Fiona gnawed at her lip as the horses labored up the hill toward the castle.

  For the past hour, she’d been hoping for some glimmer of recognition of the place of her early childhood, but nothing had struck her until this moment. There was a sense of familiarity in this view that swept through her, but Fiona still could not really say that she remembered any of it. She shifted in her saddle, restless and disconcerted, but she told herself things would be different once they were inside the keep’s gates.

  Coming up to the large, flat space between the castle and the heavily wooded ridge just beyond it, the travelers were met with the sight of tents and soldiers and the smoke of cooking fires. The area was alive with the activities of warriors at leisure, of men passing the time in friendly sport and competition, and the sounds of bagpipes and laughter mingled with the ringing sound of steel.

  Fiona looked at the loud and widespread festivities. All this just for turning over a place that only carried one memory. One very sad memory for a very young child.

  Turning away from the amiable shouts of greeting and challenge, the Macpherson retinue climbed the hill toward the gates. Gazing over at Fiona, Alec reached over and squeezed her damp and ice-cold hand. She looked up at him, a tinge of uncertainty flickering across her face.

  “Everything will be fine,” he said reassuringly, noting her discomfort.

  Together they rode across the dry moat over the heavy wooden drawbridge and into the castle close, their horses’ hooves clattering loudly as they entered the large open yard paved with cobblestones. The select number of Macpherson warriors who had been chosen to accompany them filled the space around them, and they all dismounted as a small group of men came out into the close to greet them.

  Fiona recognized no one but Lord Huntly. And then she spotted a tall well-built man with a shock of white hair who was crossing quickly to them. He smiled broadly and opened his arms to the newcomers. His tartan was clasped with a broach of gold: A double-headed eagle, surrounded by a circle of red rubies.

  Her uncle. This was her uncle.

  “Well, little Fiona with the fiery hair has returned home at last,” Lord Gray called out in a warm voice as he came directly to her and clasped her in his arms. “Well done. Watching you make your way up the ridge, I knew I would have recognized my beautiful niece—anywhere, anyplace, anytime. Do you remember me, little one?”

  Fiona stepped back and looked into the man’s rugged face. His eyes mirrored the light summer sky and sparkled as he looked on her.

  “I’m afraid...just too many years have passed.”

  “Don’t fear. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up on those long-lost years. Welcome again, my dear. Welcome to your new home.”

  “Thank you uncle,” she said, feeling Alec’s hands alight on her shoulders.

  “Like her mother, a truly beautiful woman,” Gray said softly, almost to himself. Looking up at Alec, he nodded, and his voice became cooler. “Well, Macpherson, like it or not, I guess this means you and I are kin after all. Welcome to Drummond Castle.”

  Alec nodded in response.

  From the side, Fiona felt the heat of Lord Huntly’s gaze upon her, and she turned to acknowledge him.

  “Hello, Fiona,” Huntly said, bowing stiffly with one hand on the long sword that hung at his side. “Well, Alec. I see marriage agrees with you. But we need to discuss some business, if Fiona wouldn’t mind sparing you for short time.”

  She looked at her husband reassuringly. She had to be cool and collected. They were here, at last. She could not afford to raise Huntly’s suspicions. Not yet. “Please go, Alec. I’ll wait for you inside.”

  “Are you—”

  “I’m certain.” Fiona spotted Nanna few steps behind them. “Nanna will look after me until you get back.”

  “She’s among family now, Macpherson,” Lord Gray said in a firm tone. “She’ll be safe. Rest assured.”

  Alec restrained himself from growling at the man. But knowing Huntly, Alec was sure he would not request such a meeting now unless it pertained to something of extreme importance, so he leaned down and kissed his wife’s cheek softly before following Huntly. But not before signaling his men to stay beside her in his absence.

  The remainder of the group moved toward the stone steps leading to the open door of the castle’s main building. Fiona gazed up at the building, but still nothing was coming back to her.

  Gray’s voice broke into her thoughts. “Things must look a bit different to you.”

  “They do,” she admitted as they went up the steps.

  “You shouldn’t be surprised,” he said. “The two buildings on either side of this main building were added about ten years ago. After the fire. But wait until you see the interior.”

  Fiona looked at him, startled. “Fire?” She glanced around, looking at Nanna.

  “Aye, lass,” the old woman put in, stepping beside her. “Your grandfather, rest his soul, was in residence here when it happened.”

  “Aye, and I give him credit,” Gray added. “He did a fine job renovating the place. Practically rebuilt the living areas from the ground up. You’ll like it. It’s quite elegant. Very comfortable.”

  In a daze, Fiona walked into the Great Hall of a Drummond Castle unrecognizable to its new mistress. Into a Drummond Castle that she had never known.

  And through the fog, Fiona knew that her quest was over. Whatever it was her mother had hidden away, whatever it was she had died for, it was gone.

  It was gone forever.

  Chapter 24

  Thy own fire, friend, though it be but a coal,

  It warms the best, and is worth gold to thee.

  —Robert Henryson “The Two Mice”

  “Please don’t fuss, Nanna.”

  “It’s my job, Fiona. And you’re not eating the way you should.” The old woman bustled toward the door at the far side of the sitting room. “You should listen more often to your husband, my dear.”

  “You want me to weigh as much as a boar and never leave the bed?” She grinned at her own words. Hearing about eating was becoming tiresome. But staying in bed...well, that was heaven, as long as Alec stayed there with her.

  “I know the cook has a fine stew brewing in the kitchen. It’ll be just about...” Nanna’s last words were lost as she disappeared out the open door.

  Fiona smiled after her. Laying down the ledger of farm accounts on the table beside the chair she was sitting in, she sat back and looked about her contentedly. After initially learning of the fire at Drummond, she’d not thought it possible wanting to stay at the place. But once again her fate had dictated otherwise.

  On their day of arrival, Alec had been summoned by the queen and the ruling nobles. All of them wanted him involved with the future guardianship of the infant king, Fiona’s half-brother. Queen Margaret was in a position of marrying again, so it was crucial that plans be cast in iron
for the safekeeping of the throne.

  So with the king little more than a day’s ride south at Sterling, Alec and Fiona had remained at Drummond Castle.

  During the past two months, the queen and her entourage had even made a number of excursions back to Drummond, so Fiona had gotten many chances to visit with and hold little Kit, her brother. They called him His Majesty James V, King of Scotland and the Western Isles. She called him the happy little toddler, and he was quite content to be held and loved.

  So she did just that. She’d even had Kit in here yesterday, running and playing happily in front of the fire. The queen had been extremely agreeable in allowing Fiona and her half-brother to strengthen the bonds between them. So all week long a constant line of messengers, courtiers, and nobles of the governing Council of Regents had been passing in and out of the castle’s gates.

  The sitting room was large and spacious, furnished with enough chairs and benches for a clan gathering. Her grandfather’s odd idea of installing long rows of shelves for books along the wall on either side of the fireplace was a stroke of real genius, she thought. Books were valuable things, but having them right at hand showed marvelous insight. Letting her eyes wander to the small fire crackling in the open hearth at the end of the long room, Fiona thought of how cozy and cheerful it would be here this winter.

  And then, to top everything off, this morning Alec had mentioned that he wanted Malcolm to spend the winter with them. Fiona had been so overjoyed by the news that she’d hardly felt her morning queasiness. Malcolm would be here.

  These days, Fiona glowed with feelings of maternal love. First Kit, and now in a few weeks Malcolm. She sighed and ran her hands over her still flat belly. She was more than a third of the way through the pregnancy, but still nothing showed. All the same, she loved this feeling. And she knew Alec did, too. Each night, after making love, the two of them would lay in bed and take turns talking to their bairn. She envisioned him as a boy, with deep blue eyes, and addressed him as such. Alec was sure she was a girl with fiery red hair, and called to her that way.

  Alec was due back soon. Her uncle, Lord Gray and the earl of Huntly were to arrive tonight for few days of discussions with Alec. Fiona had been pleased at her uncle’s attempt to befriend her husband. It seemed as though, in the absence of his daughter, the man had set his mind to capture the affection of his niece. Fiona respected her uncle for trying, but beyond that she still reserved her judgment. It was difficult to get used to family when you had never had any for most of your life.

  Dusk was descending, and the room was beginning to get dark. She hoped desperately for Alec to arrive before their guests. For try as she might, Fiona could not get over her discomfort with having the earl of Huntly as their guest. She could not put the past behind her. Ever.

  Fiona stood and moved to the open window. Though the day had turned out dry and fairly warm, the autumn had brought with it cold and wet weather. But it was nothing compared to the harsh autumn weather of Skye. She closed her eyes and breathed in the gentle evening air. The breeze carried with it a hint of dampness as it swept through her unbound locks. She turned away and again sat, closing her eyes and idly thinking of how she could tell Nanna she would wait for Alec to arrive before eating.

  The cold arm stole caressingly around her shoulders. Fiona’s body became rigid, frozen, and she could not so much as open her eyes when she felt the smooth skin of the icy cheek pressing tenderly against her forehead.

  And then she was gone.

  Stunned, Fiona sat, too shocked even to call out. But then the sound of horses’ hooves thundering across the open drawbridge made her blood run cold as her mother’s spirit never could.

  Fiona’s eyes snapped open, a terrible fear racing through her as her eyes swept the room. Gripping the carved wooden arms of the chair, she vaulted out of her seat and ran to the window. It was no longer the unglazed slit it had been in her childhood, but looking out the opening, she could see the horses stamping as the group of men hurriedly dismounted in the courtyard below. It was the same view.

  It happened here, she thought, a strange panic burning in her veins as she whirled and looked about the chamber.

  “Mother!” she cried out in the empty room. But she was alone.

  It’s here, she thought.

  Fiona pressed her fingers to her temples to ease the pounding in her head, but as her eyes scanned the room, clearly nothing was the same as she remembered. These rooms had been rebuilt. This sitting room was much larger than it had been so long ago, when it was her nursery. It was all different now.

  And then her glance fell on the fireplace. Surrounded by the long shelves of books, it looked so different. But it wasn’t different. Could it be? she thought. In her mind, she could see her mother counting over...pulling the stone...

  Scrambling to the open hearth, she began to pull the books from the shelves to the right of the fireplace. Feeling behind the books, Fiona’s fingers grazed the rough stone of the wall. Her haste turned nearly to frenzy, and the volumes fairly flew, dropping to the floor around her.

  With one shelf cleared from the fireplace over, Fiona hurriedly counted the stones. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Is this the right height? she wondered. Prying with her fingers, Fiona hurriedly pulled at one corner of the stone.

  It moved.

  Yanking the stone from the wall, she dropped it with a thud into an empty space among the books on the floor.

  Fiona’s heart was pounding as she stood, transfixed, before the open gap in the wall. All these years. All that had happened. To her mother. To her. To Scotland. To Drummond Castle itself. Here, buried behind a stone, lay the end of Fiona’s quest. Whether the leather pouch was there or not, Fiona knew her search was over.

  With a deep breath, she reached into the gloom of the wall.

  Andrew stood in the open doorway, watching her reach carefully into the hiding place. He’d known it was here. God knows, he’d looked. But the bitch had hidden it away well. There was no finding it then, no matter how hard he looked. After the fire and the rebuilding, he thought it was gone forever. But no, here she was, and she had known all along where it lay hidden.

  I had the right idea, he thought, paying Neil and those seagoing jackals to kill her. If they weren’t so inept... Well, the time had come to take care of this himself. The time had come to get what was his.

  And I will have my final revenge, he thought, his pale blue eyes glimmering with hate.

  Fiona twisted her body to gain better access to the opening. The space was deep, but she could just barely feel something with the tip of her fingers. She took a deep breath and pushed her hand in as far as she could, and then her fingers closed around it. The pouch.

  And then she saw him watching her.

  “I didn’t hear you come in!” she gasped with surprise.

  “I saw the door was open.” He took a leisurely step inside and closed the door behind him. “You could catch a chill standing in drafts. Your husband should do a better job taking care of you. Especially considering your condition.”

  “There is no need to be critical of Alec,” Fiona responded, drawing the packet gently from the wall. She held it out in front of her and watched his pale blue eyes focus on it. “I want peace between you two.”

  “Your husband is a fool to leave you alone like this.” His eyes roamed the room. The open windows drew his attention. The hard stone of the cobbled courtyard would provide a suitable landing for her broken body. “In fact, he reminds me of another fool whom I knew a long time ago. Your father.”

  Fiona gazed in shock at the ring and the broach sitting in her open palm. For a moment the world stopped turning and silence reigned in the universe, but the room was whirling in Fiona’s vision, and the pounding in her head thundered.

  “It was you!” she whispered, holding up the jeweled broach. The circle of red stones that enclosed the double-headed eagle still glinted in the light of the room. And they were identical to those on the broach ador
ning Lord Gray’s tartan as he stood before her.

  “Aye, Fiona. It was I,” her uncle sneered, moving toward where she stood, rather unsteadily, among the books. Leaning down, he picked up one of the books that lay strewn at her feet. Glancing at the title with affected indifference, he turned his cold gaze on the young woman, eyeing her every move.

  “But why?”

  Andrew threw the book to the floor and laughed, but without amusement. “She asks me why. Don’t bother yourself with the ways of men. After all, you’re just a fool as well, my dear.”

  Fiona took a step back toward the window. She would not let him have what she held. This was proof of a crime.

  “How?” She needed to buy time. If she moved to the window, perhaps she could call for help. “How could you do that? Your own niece. What evil could possess you that you could kill your own kin? That you could kill my mother?”

  The aging warrior pushed back his cloak, uncovering the hilt of his sword. “She had something that belonged to me.” Andrew held out his hand where he stood. He could already feel the snap of her neck between his fingers. His cold eyes locked on Fiona’s. They were like ice. And he used them as weapons of fear and intimidation. “You have it in your hand. Give it to me.”

  Fiona looked down at the ring as she stepped backward, away from him. The ring was ornate, even for a sealing ring. On it was a rampant lion over a cross. Above the lion was a crown.

  “Aye,” he rasped. “It is the ring of Robert the Bruce. The symbol of royal power. Only to be worn by the king of Scotland. Your mother stole it from me.”

  “My mother knew you were evil. She did the right thing.”

  “Evil is a necessary part of the universe, my dear. It is the source of power. It is what separates the rulers from the ruled, the great from the lowly, the strong from the weak. The predator from the prey.” Andrew dropped his gloves onto the account ledger. He wanted her to feel his strength when his fingers crushed the last vestige of life from her body.