King of Storms

by Amanda Scott

  In general, finding even scant moments of privacy with a young lady was awkward, as trammeled about with concerned kinsmen as most of them were. And certainly, Lady Sidony Macleod possessed a host of concerned kinfolk. To be sure, Rob’s apparent recognition of his intent had produced only amusement, but Hugo would fume, and Giff decided it would amuse him to get another rise out of Hugo.

  Ten minutes later, he saw riders ahead and muttered a curse, remembering Hugo’s confidence in his steward and the steward’s fretting over her escort. The last thing Giff wanted was half a dozen men-at-arms who reported to Hugo watching his every move and straining to hear every word while he chatted with her ladyship.

  Accordingly, he fell in alongside the group leader.

  Noting with approval that Lady Sidony and her two lads were far enough ahead not to hear him, he said cheerfully, “Good day again. Doubtless, you recall seeing me with Sir Hugo and Lestalric this morning, do you not?”

  “Aye, Sir Giffard,” the leader acknowledged with a friendly nod. “I recall your presence well.”

  “Then you shall have cause to thank me, too, because I mean to relieve you of your duty to her ladyship. I am riding to Sinclair House and will see her safely restored to the lady Isobel. Her two lads and I will be sufficient escort for the main road, which, as we can see, lies little more than a half mile ahead.”

  “Aye, sir, but Sir Hugo might expect us to go all the way to town wi’ her.”

  “You may present Sir Hugo with my compliments and tell him I commanded you to obey me,” Giff said with a smile. “He has known me from my childhood and will readily cast all blame on me. Sithee, we trained together as knights.”

  The man nodded. “I did hear that, sir.”

  “Then there is no more to be said.”

  The leader hesitated, but when Giff spurred his mount forward, it was with satisfaction that he heard the other order his men to turn back.

  He had noticed that each of the lads with her ladyship glanced frequently over a shoulder but that she did not, so either she was hard of hearing or determined to show no interest in who rode behind her. If she was afraid of Hugo coming after her in a temper, surely she’d have looked back to see if he had.

  The two young gillies rode just behind her.

  When Giff caught up to them, he said in the tone that customarily gained him instant obedience, “Fall well back, lads. I would speak privately with her ladyship.”

  Neither questioned his right to be private with her. Although he had expected as much in issuing the order, it confirmed his judgment as to the value of the two as protection for her. Hugo had been right to be annoyed.

  He saw her stiffen and knew she had heard his command to the gillies, but she continued to stare straight ahead. The only sign she gave that she was aware of his presence was to lift her chin higher.

  Composing his features into a mask of sternness, he urged his pony alongside hers and said, “What manner of madness is this, my lass?”

  Still staring straight ahead, she said, “I am no such connection to you.”

  “And a good thing it is for you that you are not,” he said.

  She bit her lower lip, but he could not tell whether she did so because she realized she was escaping deserved retribution or to suppress a smile.

  “What demon possessed you to do such a thing, and so soon after your escapade in the abbey woods? You must know that you’ve angered Hugo.”

  “Sakes,” she said, turning to look at him, “do you think to scold me? You have no right to do so, and I shan’t listen to a word of it.”

  “There is no reason that you should,” he acknowledged. “But you cannot blame me for being curious about this. Do you frequently invite Hugo’s wrath?”

  “I don’t care a fig for Hugo or his wrath,” she said, raising her chin higher.

  “Well said, but take care, lass. If it comes on to rain with your nose tilted so high, you may drown before you know it.”

  She turned away, biting her lip again. But this time he had no doubt as to the reason, because a gurgle of laughter escaped as she did.

  “That’s better,” he said. “But I prefer it when you look at me.”

  She did, and her lips twitched irresistibly as she fought to suppress a smile.

  “Why did you ride all this way today?”

  She hesitated, and he saw that dignified words hovered on her tongue, but then she licked her lips, met his gaze, and said, “To see you.”

  Sidony could not believe she had said the words she was thinking rather than the carefully planned words she had meant to produce for him. The truth had spilled out without permission, as if the demon he had mentioned earlier had taken control of her tongue.

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and no wonder. What he must think of her! So forward, so unladylike—not that he was at all gentlemanly. An image of Countess Isabella stirred in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut at the sight, which only made Isabella’s presence loom larger within.

  Sidony’s eyes flew open to see him grinning at her.

  Relaxing, she said with a sigh, “I don’t know what induced me to say that.”

  “Mayhap you merely spoke the truth.”

  “What arrogance!” She looked behind her at last then and saw with relief that the Hawthornden men had gone, and her lads were too far back to hear them.

  “Did you send those other men away?”

  “I did.”

  “But they are Hugo’s men. Why would they obey you?”

  “Men generally do obey me when I give an order. ’Tis a required skill for the captain of a boat.” Mischievously, he added, “Only women flout such commands.”

  “But why did you send them back?” she asked, determined not to flirt with him—not, at any event, before he answered her questions.

  “Honesty deserves honesty,” he said. “I wanted to speak privately with you, and I feared they would persist in riding close enough to overhear us, and would report every word back to Hugo.”

  “He’ll be as wroth with you as he will be with me, you know,” she said.

  “Worse,” he said.

  “I keep thinking that any sensible person must fear a man who had knocked him down, but you clearly don’t fear Hugo.”

  “I don’t think you do, either,” he said.

  “Well, no, although I do not like him to be angry. But I doubt he’d strike me, and even if I were somehow to infuriate him to such a course, he would not do me any real harm. The only person who might punish me severely is not in Lothian.”

  “You must mean your father.”

  “Aye, for he can be fierce, but his true wrath was always reserved for Sorcha or Isobel. They did try his temper, but I can recall his striking me only once, when I sauced him. Usually, he pays me no heed, and most of the time, Hugo is the same.”

  “I noticed that, but I find it hard to credit,” he said. “When you slipped out into the garden the other night, I expected him to notice straightaway. I did.”

  She shrugged. “It is always like that for me, with everyone.”

  “Why?”

  She hesitated, wondering if she knew the answer.

  “Well?”

  She looked at him. “I’m thinking. It is not a question I can answer without thinking a little first, so you must be patient.”

  “I am never patient. That is the first thing most people learn about me.”

  “Then you should practice to be more so,” she said.

  “I am being very patient right now,” he said.

  She looked at him, saw the truth, and said, “I cannot put it better than to say it’s as if they stop seeing me. I don’t understand it myself, but I expect it is because I tend to be quiet when others are about. My sisters are all more outspoken. Even the two who are not fractious are strong-minded, and they all speak their minds. I’ve learned from childhood that if I keep silent, I am less likely to draw their anger or become embroiled in their disagreements.”

  “Do the
y have many disagreements?”

  “Not now that everyone is grown,” she said. “And everyone else is married, too, except me. Before, someone was always telling me what to do, what to think, and what to say. They are all very kind, but when one has six elder sisters, unless one is cursed with a combative nature, one soon stops asserting oneself. I quit trying to do things my own way years ago. Until today,” she added with a quick smile.

  “I suspect you decided to make that change the day we met,” he said.

  “Oh, no, for I did not make any decision then. The whole notion simply presented itself—to walk in the woods, that is—and I made no objection.”

  “But today you made a decision?” He sounded amused, and it rankled.

  Still, he was the only man she had ever met who’d expressed a desire to know what she thought, and she wanted to be honest with him.

  Accordingly, she tried to explain. “I don’t really ever make decisions,” she said. “I expect I tried to when I was small, but others always changed them for me, so I fell out of the habit.”

  “I see.”

  She looked more closely at him to see if she could tell what he was thinking.

  “Faith, you are laughing at me,” she said, feeling a surge of disappointment greater and more painful than she had ever felt with anyone before. Turning to look straight ahead again, she said in a rigidly controlled voice, “The main road lies just yonder, sir. It won’t be too much longer now.”

  Chapter 7

  Giff’s amusement vanished in a flood of remorse. He felt as if he had kicked a puppy—or as he was sure he would feel were he ever so cruel as to kick one. If Hugo did knock him on his backside again, it would be less than he deserved.

  So forlorn did she look that he had to bite his tongue to keep from assuring her at once that he had not been laughing at her. But her honesty with him made him want to be equally honest. He doubted that she would accept less from him, and he knew she would not believe a flat denial even if it were the truth.

  It certainly was not true. The notion of any woman believing she could not make a decision definitely amused him. Sakes, but they made them all day long and raised an unholy ruckus if a man overrode even one. He had seen that for himself many times since his childhood. His own mother and sisters were prime examples.

  Highland women were neither submissive nor particularly biddable. Even female Borderers were more so. And heaven knew that compared to Border lasses, English and French women were as anxious sheep scurrying to obey nipping dogs.

  As he continued to watch her rigid little face with its stubbornly jutting chin, he could not doubt he had upset her, but she continued to ride as easily as before, her mount clearly unaware of her emotional turmoil. Her willowy body, softly and beautifully padded in all the right places, moved easily with the horse’s motion, and her slim, gloved hands, though gripping the reins firmly, employed them lightly.

  His remorse eased, and he had begun to enjoy just watching her when he heard a catch in her breathing and noted a tear welling in the only eye he could see.

  Reaching out to touch her arm, he said quietly, “Don’t, lassie. I’m a beast to have made you feel so. I’ll admit that your words amused me, because I have never met a woman who could not make decisions, or one who would admit such a thing if it were true. But I do believe you speak the truth as you know it. As I think about that,” he added, “I wonder what it must feel like, always to do what others bid you and never to decide for yourself what you will do.”

  “It doesn’t feel like anything,” she muttered, making no move to keep the tear from spilling down her cheek. “It is just how it is. It is not difficult, you know.”

  “But what if two people press you to do different things?”

  She shrugged. “That rarely has happened. Sorcha is the one closest to me in age, and she and I were nearly always together before she married Sir Hugo. She produced thoughts and decisions aplenty for the two of us. Adela, too, was still at home then, and she usually issued commands to both of us because we always did things together. If Sorcha did not want to obey, we didn’t. And if Adela complained to our father, he usually punished Sorcha more severely than me.”

  “So there are benefits, too,” he murmured provocatively.

  As he had hoped, she looked at him then, even brushed the tear away.

  “I told you it was not difficult,” she said. “But perhaps you understand now why the others tend not to think of me much even when I am by myself. They only think of me when they would like me to do something. The rest of the time, they assume I am doing whatever they’ve told me to do.”

  He nodded, realizing that was possible, at least where her sisters were concerned. But it was still hard for him to imagine how any man could be in her presence without fixing his attention on her to the exclusion of everything else.

  They had turned onto the main road to Edinburgh and increased their pace on the firmer surface before he returned to a detail that had puzzled him earlier.

  “Surely the lady Isobel must know as well as you do that your riding alone for such a distance would annoy Hugo. I’m surprised that she allowed it.”

  Unmistakable guilt turned her face crimson, telling him plainly that Lady Isobel was unaware of what she had done.

  Instead of replying to his remark, however, she turned, looked straight at him, and said, “Why were you and the others so far down the gorge? I thought everyone would be helping the countess prepare for her journey to town.”

  “Everyone does seem much involved in that,” he admitted, deciding to allow her a change of subject, albeit not to one that would include a discussion of his activities. “In troth, I see little need for such concern. She is a countess in her own right accustomed to a retinue and outriders to match her vast power. But this journey is no more than eight or ten miles. It seems much ado for such a short distance.”

  “Aye, sure, but you have not seen yet how she travels,” she said with a smile.

  He was glad to see it, for it had been absent too long. “How does she travel?”

  “With so many of her own goods and furniture that if she were anyone else, one would think she must be removing all she owned to a new house.”

  He looked to see if she could be jesting, but she was sincere. “Why would she do such a thing?” he demanded. “Surely, Prince Henry keeps Sinclair House well maintained and finely furnished.”

  She chuckled. “It is magnificent, but she likes her own sheets and the table that stands by her bed at Roslin, and numerous other items. I will say she is making a gift to Adela and Rob of a wonderful inlaid coffer that Rob covets for Lestalric. Also, Lady Clendenen says she is bringing other items to give to the abbey.”

  “It sounds as if her progress will provide a sight worth seeing,” he said.

  “Aye, sure, it always does,” she agreed. “But you still have not said what the three of you were doing in the gorge.”

  “We were attending to some business of Hugo’s,” he said glibly. “I left him and Rob at Roslin, seeing to more of the same.”

  “Adela will be disappointed that Rob is not returning with you.”

  “Nay she won’t, for he returns tonight. Sithee, he is going to help me find a ship,” he added, certain such news ought to divert her from her interest in the gorge.

  “Why do you want a ship?”

  “’Tis the primary reason I came here,” he said. “I’m a boatman by both interest and training. When I find the one I want, I’ll sail her home to the west.”

  “Oh.”

  He saw that he had disappointed her again but felt no remorse this time. His business, especially his present business, was none of hers.

  Sidony rallied quickly, and as their conversation continued casually with intermittent periods of easy silence, her thoughts focused more and more on her companion and her own unpredictable reactions to him.

  How, for example, she wondered, had she dared to question his business in the gorge, let alone
Hugo’s and Rob’s? Admittedly, her knowledge of men was sadly limited, but if she knew anything about the creatures, she knew they did not like discussing their business affairs with women. Heaven knew, if one wanted to pitch her father into a rage, one had only to question his actions in any regard.

  But she wanted to ask Giff why he had not mentioned before that he wanted a ship and seemed so eager now to leave Edinburgh. As that thought occurred to her, another followed. Until just days ago, she would have accepted any opportunity herself to do the same, to return home to the Highlands.

  Stifling a sigh, uncertain if it was for herself or because of his impending departure, she realized he was pointing out the royal burgh in the distance.

  Vowing to enjoy what time remained of their illicit ride, she said lightly, “You know, sir, thanks to Lady Clendenen’s habit of talking more than she listens, and the ease with which new topics divert her, you still have not told us where in Kintail your home lies. Do you mean to keep that a secret?”

  “Nay,” he said, with a smile that warmed her all through. “I own, though, I don’t seem to think of it so much as home these days, which may be why it is easy to let the subject pass without comment whenever possible.”

  “But where is it?”

  “Duncraig.”

  “Oh, then I do know it,” she said, remembering a formidable dark gray stone curtain wall that looked as if it were an extension of the high seagirt cliff on which it sat. “It sits atop the Kintail coastal cliffs north of Kyle Akin, does it not? Faith, it is as imposing as Dunstaffnage, only higher up and perhaps not as big.”

  “My father would approve of that description,” he said. “He likes to think that Duncraig is impregnable.”

  “Faith, I should imagine it must be.”

  “It has suffered its share of attackers, as most of its ilk have. But if we are now to answer unanswered questions, suppose you tell me if Lady Isobel does know where you have been today. I’d hate to reveal something I should not.”