In the middle of planning another raid on the Campbell's to regain some of his stolen cattle, he could afford little time to coddle some female from the saints knew where. He did not wish to waste the precious time he'd need to discover who she was, where she came from and send her back.
He sighed, his frustration evident to anyone who cared to look. Damn King James and his idiotic edict! After the battle of Glenfruin, and the unfortunate incident with the lads there, several of the widows from clan Colquhoun went to the king just before he'd left Scotland for England. Their complaint against the MacGregor's had resulted in the clan's latest troubles.
The king had proclaimed the name of MacGregor illegal. Being a MacGregor for the past several months could get a body killed. Of course, the bloody Campbells were only too willing to see to the carrying out of this proclamation.
The ale he tried to swallow stuck in his throat. The Campbell Laird, Archibald, the present Earl of Argyle, did nothing to help the MacGregor's as he should have, either. Instead, he used his position to take every opportunity he could to stir up the members of the Clan MacGregor, telling tales of theft, killings, and rapine in order to exact vengeance on any and all he saw as his perceived enemy. Or any who had the temerity to issue a complaint against him to the king.
In the process of all of this revenge, the Earl sought to decimate the MacGregor's and claim the rest of their lands. 'Twas all for greed and naught more.
Iain looked up as Raibert banged into the great Hall. He motioned to his captain to join him.
"And how is our visitor this fine morn?" Raibert asked as he helped himself to the ale.
"She saw me and swooned," Iain answered, his tone tense and clipped. He sensed the questioning stare of his friend. When Raibert threw back his head and burst into laughter, Iain shot him a foul look. "I find nothing to be so amused about."
"What did he do to frighten her so?" Raibert gasped when he could speak between guffaws.
"I did nothing!" Iain growled, which only caused Raibert to laugh harder. "Will ye cease with your laughter?"
"Ye must've done something." Raibert insisted, as he wiped the tears of mirth from his face.
"I tell you, I did nothing." Iain pinned his captain of the guard with a dark look. "I simply asked her who she was. She took one look at me, went as pale as one of Molly's freshly laundered sheets, and down she went."
"I cannae blame her. Just one look at your fierce countenance would be enough to scare any lass to nigh to death." Raibert nodded, even as another chuckle escaped.
"Wheesht, I dinnae kill her, ye wee fool, she merely fainted." Iain shot him another glare.
"Did ye discover nothing at all about where she came from or where she may have been traveling too then?" Raibert took a hearty gulp of his ale, looking at Iain over the rim of his goblet.
"Nay," Iain paused a moment, "ye said she carried some sort of bag with her?"
"Aye. I left it in my màthair's care."
Iain nodded. "I will have to speak with Elsie about it then. There may be something in it that will help me discover who the lass might be, and what she was doing in the woods in the middle of the night."
"She gave you no' e'en a hint of where she came from?"
"Nay, when she awoke from her swoon, your màthair wouldnae let me question her, just shooed me from the room like an annoying lad. I could only get her first name, Kristianna."
"No clan name?"
"Nay." Iain felt Raibert's gaze again. "What?"
"She's verra bonny."
Iain shrugged, but refused to comment.
"Do ye think she is a spy? Mayhap for the Campbell's?"
Iain looked at Raibert, knowing the shock showed plain on his face.
"'Tis possible the Campbell's planted her in the woods to discover our plans and defenses or mayhaps where we hide ourselves." Raibert raised a brow. "'Twould be a good idea to find out exactly how this lass came to be in our woods in the middle of the night, and why."
"I hadnae thought of it, but aye, I suppose she could be a spy." He rose from the table, "it isnae as if it hasnae happened before," he grimaced. "If she proves false, she'll rue the day she was found when I'm through with her."
"I didn't mean to put suspicions in your head," Raibert put a hand on Iain's arm, "'tis only that ye did wish to be reminded to be more wary in the future. I find it odd that this lass just appeared from nowhere. Just because she is bonny does nay mean she is deceitful or untrustworthy, though. Do not judge all women by that faithless, traitorous bitch ye were betrothed too. Not all women are like her."
"'Twas nay just one, and well ye know it. And 'tis well rid of Isobel and her ilk I am. I need no more entanglements with women. I've had a belly full of them." He finished his ale, "I think I shall speak to Elsbeth about that bag. And this lass had better hope I find no evidence of betrayal."
No matter how attractive he found her, he'd have no trouble hanging her.
That thought made him stop in his tracks. He shook his head to clear it. Nay! He would give no other woman the chance or the opportunity to betray him, no matter how pleasing she looked or how his gut clenched at the very thought of her dying at the end of a rope.
* * *
"Has Elsbeth been in here?" He asked the Cook, a short, thin woman of indiscriminate age. Though she was a tiny thing, she ruled her domain with a very large rolling pin and Iain often told her so. She always had a ready smile for Iain, though, and most often a sweet or two as well.
"She just left, Laird," she didn't look up, but continued to roll out her dough.
"Something smells good," he sniffed the air as he reached over her shoulder, to filch a piece of the filling for the meat pie.
Cook swatted his hand away, but offered him an almost toothless grin just the same. He nodded his thanks and left. If Elsie wasn't in the kitchens it could only mean one thing, she was with his màthair. Which meant his màthair now knew about the lass.
He raised his eyes heavenward. Could anything else happen this day? He headed for the stairs in the East wing of the keep where his màthair's apartments were located. He would have to face her eventually. It may as well be sooner rather than later.
He took the steps two at a time, anxious to retrieve that sack and discover what it might contain. The sooner he got this lass back to her clan, the better.
"Màthair," he called as he entered his màthair's spacious rooms after a quick rap on the door.
"She's in her bath, Iain." Elsbeth informed him, appearing in the bedchamber doorway. "Ye will have to come back later."
Iain sent up a quick prayer of thanks. "'Tis ye I wished to speak with first anyway, Elsie."
She grinned at his use of her nickname.
"Raibert told me that the lass he found wandering about the woods..."
"Kristianna."
"Aye, Kristianna," Iain nodded, "she had a bag of some sort with her. Raibert retrieved it after he brought the lass, ah, Kristianna here."
Elsbeth nodded, but did not reply.
"He said he gave it into your care?" He fought the urge to lower his gaze from her keen, ever observant eyes.
"Aye, that he did."
"I would like to know where it is." Iain gave her his best Laird's stare to no avail. He never could intimidate Elsbeth.
"Why?" Elsbeth put her hands on her ample hips.
"I thought," Iain cleared his throat and wondered to himself why she always made him feel like shuffling his feet like a wee lad, "mayhap it would help us discover who she is and where she came from. There may be something in it that could help us return her to her clan."
"Is that all ye wish to discover?" Elsbeth raised a doubtful brow at him.
"Aye. What else would I want with the lass's belongings?"
"Iain MacGregor, ye should know by now that ye cannae lie to me. Now tell me what it is you really wish to know."
"'Tis just what I said, Elsie," he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I must know what clan she belongs
to, whether they are allies or enemies. Then I must either return her or ransom her, depending on which they are."
"I dinnae think I should just hand it o'er to ye, Iain." She eyed him with skepticism but only shrugged. "'Tis nay your property after all and women can be most put out when someone rifles through their belongings wi' out their permission. If ye wish to know its contents, why doonae ye just ask Kristianna?" She turned away and began to tend the fire.
"I must know where she belongs." Iain's sigh was heavy and resigned. He supposed he'd get a lot farther if he told her his suspicions, otherwise he may never get any information from her about that sack. She could be very stubborn and close-mouthed at times.
"Raibert suggested she may be a spy for the Campbell's," he admitted in a low voice. "If she is, the clan could be in some danger again this time from an attack. I cannae let that happen."
"And ye believed him?" Elsbeth spun around so fast Iain thought she might fall on her face. Her wide grin deepened into a burst of laughter. When she caught her breath, she stared at him in disbelief for a moment.
"Bah!" She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "Raibert would think that cow in the field a spy for the Campbell's if it came wandering in of its own accord." She stared at the young Laird, brows raised and wagged her finger in his face, "and well ye know it."
"'Tis possible," Iain insisted. He would never use a woman to find out information about his enemies, they were too unpredictable, but the Campbell's had done so once already. He wouldn't put it past them to try again. The Campbell's had no scruples and even less morals when it came to gaining that which they desired. And that which they desired now just happened to be anything belonging to the MacGregors'.
Nevertheless, 'twas also true that Raibert had a very suspicious nature and didn't have much trust in anyone or anything, now more than ever with the events over the past half a year or more. He didn't believe in coincidences. Iain had learned over the past few years to trust Raibert's judgments as well as his own instincts. And his instincts said there was something not right about this lass, something he could not quite put his finger on, but it was there just the same.
Elsbeth turned, nose in the air, and returned to the bedchamber. Iain decided he would try again later, and headed for the door. Before he could make his escape, Elsbeth reappeared.
"Your màthair would like to speak with ye. Sit ye down whilst I help her to dress." She smiled at him and turned away.
"Why is it, Elsie, I seem to be able to command respect from every other soul in my clan and ye will nay give me an ounce?" Iain's question stopped her before she opened the door.
He was surprised when she chuckled.
"Ye most certainly have my respect, as ye have since the day he became Laird."
Iain humph.
"'Tis just I'm nay afraid of ye the way most are."
"And why is that?" Iain cocked eyebrow at her.
"'Tis a difficult thing to be afeared of a mon when ye changed his swaddling," Elsie walked over to him and patted his cheek, "and ha'e seen his wee bottom too many times to count."
Iain grunted and turned away from her, feeling an unaccustomed heat on his cheeks.
* * *
Iain tapped his fingers on the arm of the overstuffed chair in impatience. If he did not know better, he would suspect his màthair sought to annoy him by taking her time. 'Twould be just like her to keep him there for an entire afternoon.
He looked up at a noise from the other side of the room. His màthair stood in the doorway dressed in her finest gown, her tartan wrapped around her and pinned to her shoulder with the clan crest his father had given her on their wedding day. Her dark hair, pulled back in a chignon, showed her high cheekbones to their fullest.
"Màthair, ye look lovely as usual." He rose from his chair and leaned down to kiss her upturned cheek.
"Dinnae think to patronize me, Iain MacGregor, for all I will no' have it. And do not try to evade my questions either." Her blue eyes shone like cobalt, the set of her chin displayed her resolve. Sorcha MacGregor was indeed still a very beautiful woman. Underneath all that beauty, however, Iain knew she had the heart of a warrior. She would defend the MacGregor land from any spying Campbell's, even if it meant her life.
"I would ne'er dream of it, màthair."
"I hear we have a visitor," Sorcha sat in the chaise by the fire. "A female visitor, Elsbeth tells me. Do ye have any idea who she maybe?"
"Nay, Elsbeth will no' let me question her yet." He sounded like a petulant child denied a treat. He noticed his màthair's lips twitch, but ignored it, as well as the pah he heard from Elsbeth that came from his màthair's bedchamber.
"She has a bump on her head and must nay be disturbed at the moment," Elsie interjected from the doorway.
"Humph." Iain fidgeted in his chair, uncomfortable as usual of late in his màthair's presence. He knew where the conversation would end, and he didn't want to go there yet again. "Was that all he wished to speak to me about, màthair," he asked, beginning to rise. He prayed he could escape before she could question him on matters he had no answers for yet.
"Nay, and well you know it, Iain."
"I have no answers for ye about Caitlyn’s disappearance, màthair," he returned to his chair with great reluctance, knowing what was to come. He tried to stop it before she could go further "At least no' yet."
"What do ye intend to do about that?"
"I intend to keep doing what I've been doing for the past six months. I will keep looking for her." Would he never cease to feel guilt about his sister's disappearance? 'Twas doubtful.
Not that he could have been much help. He'd been sent by his father to speak with King James about the battle at Glenfruin. His father had gotten wind that the widows of some of the men killed were on their way to the king, bloody tunics in hand. Alistair had wanted someone from the MacGregor's there as well to tell their side of the tale. He'd been certain Iain could make King Jamie see reason if he had the entire tale and get him to forego further punishment upon the clan.
Bah! It had been a fool's errand from the start. By the time Iain had arrived, the king had already left for London and the proscription had been put into effect. He'd been lucky to make it home without losing his life.
"Caitlyn is more than likely off seeking another of her adventures. 'Tis no' as if she hasnae done the like before. The stubborn wench is fore'er running off on one risky venture or another. Ye of all people should know this and understand it. If I recall correctly, I ha'e heard a story or two from your own lips about the escapades ye were e'er looking for."
Sorcha nodded then sighed. From frustration, sadness, or both, Iain couldn't be sure.
"I know what ye say is true, Iain. But as a màthair, I cannot help but worry about her. And she has ne'er been gone this long before. I cannae help but think something terrible has befallen her, just because so much time has passed with not even a word from her."
"I know, Màthair," Iain reached over and awkwardly patted her hand. "and I promise ye I will continue to look for her. Ye must try not to worry o'ermuch."
"I'll do my best." Sorcha offered him a weak smile and tugged at the high neck of her gown. The high collars she insisted on covered the marks she still bore from being captured by several Campbell's and branded because she was a MacGregor.
Another stab of guilt tore at his heart as he remembered it as if it had been only yesterday. It wasn't as if he had been there to prevent it, but he still couldn't help the guilt that plagued him.
His father had not yet received word of the proscription and had been unaware of the danger facing any MacGregor, so had let her go outside the gates to collect herbs. Before she'd known what was about, she'd been surrounded by half a dozen men, held down, and branded like a piece of cattle. She had eventually been able to use her wits and her dagger to their full advantage, taking the men by surprise with her skill and finally escaping back to the keep with Elsie. She'd informed the clan of what had transpired and
of the kings edict upon anyone named MacGregor, not just the men, but the women and children as well.
Iain had arrived home from his wasted trip in the midst of the mayhem. Women and children yelled and scurried back and forth, while men saw to their horses and the packing of carts.
His father had made certain Iain was watched for and pulled him aside into the laird's study to speak in private.
"We must leave here as soon as it can be arranged, Iain." Alistair poured two goblets of ale, handing one too Iain. "Ye know of course, of the king's edict."
"Aye." It wasn't a question, but Iain answered it anyway, not able to keep the disgust from his voice. "I know of it. 'Tis why it took me so long to return home. I traveled mostly at night and on little used roads, avoiding the main roadways and villages as much as I could."
"'Twas wise to do. Otherwise ye might ha'e found yourself dangling at the end of a rope."
"I was verra careful, father. And when I could nay avoid people, I was careful to no' wear my own plaid, which would ha'e given me away to easily."
"Good," he clapped a hand on Iain's shoulder, "pilfered one from a Campbell I see." He smiled, "well done."
Pleasure washed over Iain at his father's praise, but he forced himself to pay attention. He was a score and eight for pity's sake, his father's approval should not be of such import to him, but it was nonetheless.
"As I said, we must leave here. We will head deeper into the highlands, into the hills and mountains where we will be able to use the incessant mists to help hide our whereabouts." He gave Iain a long look, "ye heard what happened to your màthair?"
"Aye, the scouts who met me told me of it. 'Tis lucky she escaped before they did anything worse to her."
"Aye, although being branded like an animal is bad enough."
"I hear tell she did a bit of damage herself, though." Iain couldn't help but smile as he envisioned his màthair in action.
"Oh, aye, that she did." Alistair nodded with pride then shook his head. "Marry a lass wi' spirit, Iain. Ye will ne'er regret it. Ye wouldnae appreciate some mild lass who knows only how to bow and scrape and do as she is told."
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