by Amanda Scott
When her mouth twisted in disappointment, Will said, “I’m here, lass. I wanted to be certain which one you were.”
“Art so sure you know?” she asked, grinning when he showed himself.
“I am,” he said, emerging from the bushes. “Your sister is more dignified.”
“Aye, she is,” Katy agreed. “Is Aly your only sister?”
“Aye, but I did not come here to discuss sisters. I came because you asked me to come. Is aught amiss?”
“Marry, sir, you must have heard that the wicked Comyns have seized the castle in Nairn. Comyn de Raite is now calling himself its constable and Sheriff of Nairnshire. My father even gave orders for us all to stay inside Finlagh’s walls until de Raite comes to his senses, but the men on our ramparts can see all the way to Nairn, and people have been coming and going from our castle to our west woods and back all day, so no one paid me heed. That was good, too, because I was in no mood for confinement just because of that man!”
Feeling instantly villainous himself, Will squirmed inside, but if he told her that “Comyn de Raite” was his father, she would walk away in anger. It would be much easier to explain things to her after matters settled down again.
“I did not hear about that,” he said, reflecting that the words were true, since no one had bothered to inform them at Raitt that the attack had succeeded.
Stepping closer to her, he added, “I expect that with the attackers four miles away you are safe enough at Finlagh. Since violence has erupted, though, it may spread. In troth, lass, you ought not to have come outside your walls alone.”
“As I said, our men are on the watch,” she repeated, avoiding his gaze as she did. “We will have good warning if any enemy heads this way,” she added lightly. “I wanted to see you, Will. I like talking with you. We have become good friends.”
“Sakes, lass, we have met only three times,” he said.
Smiling, she said, “Aye, but I feel as if I have known you much longer.”
Putting two fingers under her chin and tilting her face up, he said rather hoarsely, “When you look at me like that, I want …” He paused guiltily. “Nae, I should not say what I want. ’Twould be gey wrong of me.”
Her eyes twinkled. “Say it. If I were Bridgett—she’s the maidservant who looks after Clydia and me—I would say that you want to kiss me and that a person should just say what he or she wants. It saves time and avoids confusion, she says.”
“Is that what she says?” he asked, bending closer. His body urged him to take her at once and make her his own. Steeling himself, he resisted that urge.
“Well?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Will you or will you not?”
“By heaven,” he replied, cupping his hand to the back of her head, “I will.”
She did not resist, so he put his free arm around her, pulling her closer. She was so small, so slender, and just holding her so was lighting fires all through his body. Stroking her back and shoulders and moving himself gently against her, he moaned in his throat, raised her chin a bit more, and watched her expression as he kissed her.
His lips were warm against hers and Katy’s feelings threatened to overwhelm her. Certainly, nothing that Gilli Roy Mackintosh had ever said or done had stirred anything remotely akin to the fascinating sensations that Will’s kiss shot through her.
She pressed closer to him, on tiptoes now, wishing that the heated feelings racing through her body could last forever.
Will suddenly gripped both of her shoulders and set her back on her heels.
“This is madness,” he muttered. “Nae, lassie,” he added when she gaped at him in bewilderment. “I do not mean that the feelings you have or that I have are madness. In troth, you captivated me from the start. I’ve thought of little else since that day. Even so, this, now and here, is madness. Your father or one of his men could come along any moment and see us. We must not meet here again.”
“Do you mean that you do not want to meet again?”
“I do not mean that!” he retorted. “We must just think of a safer place, one that is safe for both of us but especially for you.”
“The gray stone,” she said without a thought. “It rises from Finlagh land well off the path to Nairn, and we both ken fine how to find it. I can even find it from the woods west of the castle knoll and avoid the Nairn path altogether. The woods there are dense, too, until one gets to the clearing below our knoll, within range of arrows from the castle. It should be safe for kissing,” she added with a wry look. “Of course if my cousin and your sister should return—”
“Nae,” he interjected, shaking his head. “My sister will not dare to return there, and your cousin had best not dare, either. So, leave your signal when you want to meet me, and I’ll see you there at midafternoon the next day. If you cannot linger, leave a cairn for me. If I get there first and cannot stay, I’ll do the same.”
“Then, if you want to meet me, you need only leave a cairn near the pail-and-smack stream, and I’ll know to meet you the next day at the stone.”
“Aye, then,” he said. “It would be as well, though, not to meet at all until the conflict within the town of Nairn ends and matters return to normal.”
“Aye, sure,” she agreed, wondering if matters would ever be normal again.
Friday, when de Raite, Hew, Liam, and Cousin Dae returned at midday, they were full of themselves and gloating over their success.
“Ye should ha’ been with us, Will,” Hew said, chortling. “Even ye, on your own, could ha’ taken yon castle. I vow, nae one in that great stone pile expected attack or had prepared tae defend against one.”
“Aye, that be so,” Dae said, shaking his head. “Cawdor’s men had grown so complacent after months of peace that we just marched in and your father informed them that he was taking over as rightful Constable of Nairn Castle.”
“So nae one was injured then,” Will said evenly.
“Almost nae one,” Dae said, casting a humorous look at Hew.
Liam chuckled. “Some dafty told us we couldna take the castle because it belonged tae the Thane of Cawdor. Hew knocked him flat, and that was the end of that, because our da made it clear he was not only the new constable but rightful Sheriff o’ Nairnshire, as well.”
Will looked at de Raite. “Then you will return straightaway, aye?”
De Raite shrugged. “I’ll move intae town in a few days, when it suits me. Raitt lies closer to town than Cawdor, and I left Colley and Jarvis wi’ a hundred men tae hold the place until Hew and Liam return Sunday or Monday tae aid them.”
“I thought your objection to Cawdor was that he does not live in town and keep a close eye on his castle.”
“Be ye daring tae question my decisions?”
“Nae, but what if Cawdor wants his town and castle back?”
“He kens fine no tae challenge me when I ha’ the upper hand,” de Raite growled. “Ye must ken that his father challenged me once, tae his regret.”
Will knew that de Raite had murdered Andrew, fourth Thane of Cawdor, but he had better sense than to engage him on that subject. Instead, he said, “Cawdor will send for reinforcements from Inverness and Loch Moigh, will he not?”
“Aye, sure, and the Malcolmtosh and others may come, but he’s twenty miles away and it’ll take time for them all tae raise men. Ye’ll take yourself tae yon ridge these next days, though, tae see what ye can see. Cawdor won’t move hisself without reinforcements, so nae one be likely tae enter Nairn afore Tuesday afternoon or Wednesday. I’ll be ensconced in Nairn Castle m’self long afore then, and our lads will spread out and about. So, we’ll ha’ warning if aught goes amiss.”
Dae said with a smile, “I heard that you killed Andrew Cawdor yourself, sir.”
Giving him a sour look, de Raite said, “If ye heard it were murder, it were nae such thing. ’Twas a fair fight.”
“I do.” De Raite watched Will, as if he were daring him to add his mite.
Will remained silent, knowing that if his father had persuaded himself the fight was fair, he was the only man in the north Highlands who believed it.
Will had heard the story from Granduncle Thomas, who expressed no doubt that Comyn of Raitt—as everyone had known de Raite at the time—had murdered the fourth Thane of Cawdor by drawing a dirk without warning and stabbing him to death. An armed man fighting one without a weapon in hand was not a fair fight.
As Granduncle Thomas had put it when describing the incident to Will, who was born four years after the incident, “Your sire possesses a thoughtless, impulsive nature. When his temper erupts, his good sense deserts him forthwith.”
Having met Cawdor’s son, Wilkin, while living with Granduncle Thomas, and liked him for his ready sense of humor—though Wilkin’s admittedly prankish nature had gotten the two of them into trouble more than once—Will would have liked to press de Raite to tell the truth. However, he knew that he himself could speak and act impulsively, too, especially in a rage, so he took advantage of Thomas’s stern lessons, paused to consider potential results, and stifled the urge.
De Raite rarely took time to think.
Will was certain that Cawdor and Wilkin would rouse their neighbors, including Fin of the Battles, and that the Mackintosh, as Captain of Clan Chattan, would surely view the seizure of Nairn as cause to take lawful vengeance. With two of his own sons at Nairn, de Raite ought to have considered that.
Will’s concern eased as they were finishing their meal and de Raite ordered Hew and Liam to return to Nairn the next day to take charge at the castle. De Raite would join them, he said, when he heard that Cawdor was raising an army.
During supper that evening, one of de Raite’s watchers arrived from the southwest mountains, exhausted, with a warning that the Mackintosh had gathered his men and would likely be heading north at dawn.
De Raite nodded. “’Tis as I expected then, lads. It will take them at least two days if it doesna rain, and they’ll need tae rest then afore any fight.”
Suppressing a sigh and thankful when Liam drew de Raite’s attention, Will quietly withdrew himself from all temptation to point out that de Raite was assuming too much, and went to bed.
Chapter 9
She was walking by herself in lush green woodland filled with violets and bluebells. She was alone because no one had ever wanted to marry her, and now her hands and body were dry and more wrinkled than Granny Rosel’s. She had given up the one offer of marriage she had ever had, just tossed it away on a gentle breeze, and now here she was, alone, lonely, and too old for any man to want.
The woodland flowers were beautiful, though, and she heard birds singing, distantly. But, nae, they were closer now, and there … a robin on a branch.
It was not chirping or tweeting that she heard, though, but whistling.
Looking into the shadowy woods ahead, she saw Will coming toward her as if her ancient mind had conjured him up out of the distant past, except that he was still young. Even so, when he smiled, her body reacted with odd thrills much as Bridgett had described how she felt when she was near Lochan. Doubtless, though, the oncoming chap was Will’s grandson, as stalwart as his grandsire, and how foolish she felt as an old hag to be responding in this strangely exciting way to such a handsome young man!
Sakes, she hungered for him. She wanted him to touch her, to kiss her, and not to stop wanting her as Will had. The younger version of him was closer now. A bouquet of violets appeared in his hand and grew larger as he came nearer. She was smiling and wondered at herself, but her body tingled youthfully, so she reached out to take the flowers.
Smiling himself now with delight, he extended the bouquet to her and said in very un-Will-like tones, “Lady Kate, for mercy’s sake …
… wake up!” Bridgett exclaimed. She stepped hastily back when Katy sat bolt upright in her bed and looked around in open-mouthed bewilderment.
“But it was so real,” Katy said, feeling absurdly disoriented to find herself in her bed. “What a strange dream!”
“What did ye dream then?” Bridgett asked.
“That I was an old woman in a greenwood, and no one except Gilli had ever offered for me. Then a man appeared … someone I … I knew … and … and I don’t recall the rest,” she added hastily, thinking she had already said too much.
“Did he give ye aught tae take away wi’ ye?” Bridgett asked archly.
“Aye, he was handing me a bouquet of violets when you woke me.”
“Then, I’m thinking me granny would say ye’re in love, m’lady.”
“Marry, how could I be?” Katy demanded. “I’m not in love with Gilli Roy! Nor have I known anyone else long enough to have such feelings for him.”
“Ye ha’ better sense than some, then. That big dafty Lochan did say he loved me almost the first time he talked tae me. I told him right then that he were daft.”
Katy stared at her. “Lochan said that? Sakes, I could never … One simply does not … cannot fall in love like that.”
“I dinna ken aboot that, but ye’re blushing. Also, if that dream laddie gave ye violets and ye do love him, me granny would say he’ll be faithful tae ye.”
Feeling enough heat in her cheeks to know she was blushing, Katy said defensively, “Whoever he might be, if I don’t meet him till I’m your granny’s age, I cannot see what good that will do me. Mayhap the dream was just warning me of how foolish I would be to turn down Gilli’s offer. If that was its meaning—”
“Nae, nae, for I had such a dream o’ bein’ an old lady when I were nae more than a bairn, and Granny laughed when I told her aboot it. She said it meant I’d ha’ good fortune, and that verra same day, I went intae Nairn wi’ me mam and Lady Catriona, and when we were just leaving the hall here, Sir Fin give me a farthing tae spend. So, dinna fear; ye’ll soon see that me granny has the right of it.”
“I doubt I shall enjoy good fortune, though,” Katy said. “The Mackintosh is likely to arrive before long, and …”
Pausing, she realized she had said nothing to Bridgett or anyone, except Clydia, about the decision she had made with Gilli. Clydia had understood why she wanted to refuse his offer but had doubted that Fin or Malcolm would let her do so.
When Katy had reminded her of the law making it illegal to force women into unwanted marriages, Clydia said, “Aye, but if Malcolm wants this betrothal as badly as Gil says he does, they will likely both press the two of you until you obey.”
“I shan’t let them do that, because I promised Gilli I would not,” Katy told her twin firmly. “Nor do I think Mam or Da will let Malcolm force me, because Da keeps his promises, and I will keep mine to Gilli.”
Nevertheless, Gilli Roy watched her uncertainly all day, in visible fear that she would not act as she had promised him she would. Neither of her parents mentioned the betrothal, so by the time Malcolm and his men arrived at suppertime, Katy’s nerves were taut and her courage had waned.
Malcolm entered, frowning, with two men-at-arms following him.
When he saw Katy, his frown vanished and he strode across the hall to her, smiling, his hands extended. He was a small man, barely a head taller than she was, with gray hair tied back at his nape and bright, twinkling blue eyes.
“I’m pleased tae see ye, lass,” he said, giving her a kiss on each cheek. “I vow, ye get prettier every time I clap eyes on ye.”
“I thank you, my lord,” Katy said, making her curtsy, conscious that Gilli was watching more nervously than ever and that Clydia had come downstairs. “Did not my parents meet you in the courtyard?”
“They did, aye, and will be in directly. But why is our Gillichallum Roy standing yonder by the fire when he should be beside ye, presenting ye tae me?�
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“He has no need to do that, sir. You know me well already.”
“Aye, sure, but I’m thinking that the pair o’ ye—”
“Forgive me for interrupting you, sir,” Katy said, squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze. “I fear we must disappoint you.”
“Nae, nae, lassie, ’tis a good match. I be gey pleased with it.”
“There is no match, my lord. I should more truthfully have said that I must disappoint you, because Gilli understands his duty and tried hard to persuade me. But, though I love him as a cousin, I do not want him for my husband.”
“Art promised tae someone else, lassie?”
“Nae, sir, but—”
“Then there be nae obstacle tae the match,” Malcolm said.
Katy’s temper stirred, but seeing her parents appear in the hall entryway behind Malcolm, she controlled herself enough to say firmly but civilly, “I do not think of my own feelings as an obstacle, my lord.”
“I warrant ye’ll do what your father tells ye tae do, even so,” Malcolm said tersely, “just as any other well-bred young woman must.”
Stiffening, with a surge of defiance struggling to leap from her tongue, Katy saw her mother, beyond Malcolm, shake her head and put a finger to her lips.
Tightening her own lips, Katy inhaled a shaky breath and let it out slowly. Though she could see that Malcolm was angry and was sure he understood Scottish law, she was not the one to remind him of it, and Fin had just come into the hall.
He joined them, saying, “I’ve told your lads outside that they and the rest of your men can bed down in here, in the courtyard, or in the clearing below the knoll, Malcolm. We have pallets to ease the hardness of the hall floor or the courtyard paving stones. And, if you like, you may have the solar to yourself.”
“I’d like that fine, lad, but most o’ me men will keep tae the forest west o’ here, near yon cottages, so as not tae alert any Comyns wha’ may be watching Finlagh from your east ridge tae the number o’ men we have.”