by Amanda Scott
“Nor will my memory ever match yours,” Andrena said. “Now that I think of it, though, weren’t you going to visit Annie Wylie today?”
“Aye, but after you went into the woods, I stayed to be sure that all was well with you. Annie will be as happy if I visit her tomorrow.”
“I asked Murie to stay,” Lina said. “I can sense your feelings, Dree, but only when your emotions are truly on end or when you are desperately sick.”
“I always know when you are getting angry,” Muriella said with a grin. “I learned even before I could talk to avoid getting near you at such times.”
“Was there ever a time when you did not talk?” Andrena asked her. “I am sure that I cannot remember such a peaceful time.”
“Aye, that faulty memory of yours would be the reason, I warrant.”
Lina burst into a peal of laughter.
As always when Lina laughed, Andrena laughed, too. “A point to you, Murie,” she said, still chuckling.
Knowing by Andrew’s expression that he had captured his full attention, Mag said, “I learned of a plot to assassinate the King, sir. I must warn him at once.”
“God have mercy,” Andrew muttered. Rallying, he said, “Ye’ve nae cause to rush off, lad, even so, unless this plot be in motion now.”
“I don’t think it is,” Mag said. “I know only that Pharlain is involved in such a plot. The main beneficiary of its success would be Murdoch, Duke of Albany, so I assume that Murdoch and his sons are also involved. Pharlain mentioned a meeting of Parliament that will take place next month and which his grace will attend.”
“Aye, sure, for Jamie summoned the lords to meet in Perth on the twelfth day of March—less than a month from today—did he no?”
“If you say so, sir. I did not know the date. Nor do I know their plan. What I did hear is that his grace will not live beyond the last day of this Parliament.”
“Since the first Duke of Albany’s death five years ago, powerful nobles have got used to taking their own road,” Andrew said. “Albany kept them in line, but Murdoch is lazy. He let his sons and other nobles wreak lawlessness throughout the land. Then Jamie returned, arrested Murdoch’s eldest son, Lord Walter Stewart, and clapped him up on the Bass Rock, ignoring Murdoch’s indignant complaints. I say Murdoch should count himself lucky that Jamie didn’t clap him up, too.”
“Lennox is evidently still active, despite his arrest,” Mag said. “ ’Tis no surprise, though, when his daughter is Murdoch’s wife.”
“Nor is it anything new,” Andrew said. “He demanded that his Loch Lomond lairds support Albany when it meant going against the old King. Has it occurred to ye, lad, that your father is likely up to his chin in this conspiracy ye’ve uncovered?”
“That did cross my mind, sir,” Mag admitted. “But I reject the notion that he would act secretly against his King. It was my father, after all, who taught me that my loyalty must be first to our family and clan, next to Lennox as our liege lord, and last but nonetheless most strongly to the King of Scots as chief of chiefs.”
“I expect that noblemen are rediscovering their allegiance to his grace in numbers equal to the number of lords Jamie arrests and punishes,” Andrew said. “Forbye, if I were Jamie, I’d withhold my trust until each man had proven himself.”
“But you do see that I must warn him. And if Parliament is meeting so soon, I must lose no time. God knows how long it will take me to track his grace down.”
“It willna take as long as that,” Andrew replied. “News of his comings and goings flits across the country with the speed of birds in flight. Ye need only go to Dumbarton or Glasgow to learn where he is and where next he’ll be a-going. I can tell ye he stays at religious houses, rarely at royal fortresses. He said too many such English castles served as his prisons.”
“Even so, sir—”
“What better way to avoid Parlan’s men?” Andrew interjected. “To hide in plain sight be the best plan, and ye’re too big to hide long, any road. We’ll say ye be a cousin come to visit, one of me lady’s Galbraith kinsmen.”
“Is your lady a kinswoman of mine? I’ve no ken of such a connection.”
“Aye, for my lass be kin to the Comyns and nigh everyone in the Highlands and elsewhere, one way or another,” Andrew said glibly. “Nae one will question it. Now, then,” he added briskly. “It willna take long for me to find a priest, and ye seem willing enough to have the lass. As for Andrena, she’ll do as I bid her. But I’d have ye wedded afore ye leave. That road, if aught happens to ye in your travels, I’ll have good reason to request Clan Galbraith’s help against Parlan. Sithee, Arthur’s own grandchild would then stand to inherit at least a third of what I leave.”
Mag met his gaze and held it for a long moment before he said evenly, “I did say that I had no great objection to marrying. But I’ll not take an unwilling bride, sir. With all due respect to you, I’d have her tell me herself that she is willing.”
“Ye’ve already said she’s expecting me to arrange such a marriage.”
“She said she feared that you would urge one between us. I thought she jested and paid her words no heed. But I do know that she expressed no willingness to obey such urging. I’ll talk with her on my own, sir, and I’d like your promise not to speak to her about this until I’ve had a chance to do so.”
Andrew shrugged and said, “Ye should easily reach the King, wherever he is, within a sennight. If ye leave here Friday morning, say, ye’d reach the Firth of Clyde by midafternoon on Saturday. Ye could ride on, then, Sunday morning to wherever his grace may be. To reach Perth from Glasgow be a matter of but four days unless ye dawdle. And ye dinna seem to me like a man who does.”
Mag remained pointedly silent.
With an exaggerated sigh that turned quickly into an air of virtue, Andrew said, “I’ll see about finding that priest whilst ye arrange to have your talk with our Dree. It be nigh to suppertime, but whether ye talk now or in the morning, she will offer nae hindrance. Ye can wed when the priest arrives.”
Andrena and her sisters, likewise realizing that the supper hour was nearly upon them, had retired to the bedchamber they shared, to prepare for the meal before Magnus Mòr emerged from Andrew’s chamber.
Although Andrena was curious to know what was transpiring between the two men, her curiosity was as nothing to Muriella’s.
“What if Father does persuade Magnus to marry you, Dree?” she demanded before the bedchamber door had shut behind them. “What will you say?”
“Dree kens her duty,” Lachina said.
“Aye, sure, I do,” Andrena said. It was true. She had known from childhood that it would be her duty to marry in a way that would strengthen Andrew’s hand against Parlan.
“Duty,” Murie said scornfully as she began to loosen her flaxen plaits. “I want to know what you think of Magnus Mòr.”
“What should I think of him?” Andrena asked her, picking up a looking glass to tidy her own hair. “I met him only this afternoon and barely talked with him.”
“But what did you sense about him?” Muriella asked.
“Naught to tell me what sort of man he is,” Andrena said with a sigh. “I told you, I sensed nothing about his presence, let alone his character.”
“He was kind enough to see you safely home,” Lina said, taking her usual seat. Since she rarely seemed to have a hair out of place, she had little tidying to do but had taken off the apron she wore when sewing. “He looked rather shabby,” she added. “But one would expect that in an escaped prisoner from Arrochar. I like him, Dree. He is polite, and he lacks the arrogance we so often see in men we meet.”
“Wait and see what Mam thinks of him,” Murie suggested.
“Speaking of Mam,” Lina said, “we should decide how we mean to celebrate the anniversary of her birth next month. It will soon be upon us.”
“It will, aye, but we can talk about that later,” Murie said. “This is vital now, because if Mam takes against Magnus Mòr, Father will look el
sewhere for your husband, Dree. He rarely goes against Mam’s wishes, as we all ken fine.”
Andrena did know that her father respected the lady Aubrey’s opinion. She decided that she need not worry about Andrew urging Magnus to marry her until her lady mother had met him. That she could scarcely think of anything else while she finished preparing for supper was a fact that she did not share with her sisters.
It was just as well, too, because when they joined their parents at the high table in the great hall for the evening meal, she barely recognized Magnus in the handsome gentleman who stood on the dais beside Andrew. But for his size—and the plaid and a linen sark Lina had provided—she would not have known him.
In place of the scruffy erstwhile prisoner she had brought home was a well-scrubbed, neatly shaven gentleman four or five years older than she was. He was talking with her mother when the three sisters approached. As they stepped onto the dais, he finished what he was saying and turned toward them.
Only the amusement in his golden eyes was familiar.
Responding automatically with a smile, Andrena wondered at herself. She had meant to maintain an air of careful dignity. But his twinkle was irresistible.
Reminding herself hastily that she had not yet greeted her lady mother, she made her curtsy, saying, “Good evening, Mam. I hope you enjoyed a pleasant day.”
“I did, dearling, thank you,” Lady Aubrey said in her quiet way. “Not one as eventful as yours, though. I merely paid my customary visits to our people and found everyone well and busy. Naught of excitement amongst them. Then I came home to learn that you had brought us a most charming guest.”
Taking her place beside her mother, Andrena exchanged a glance with Lina and saw that her sister’s reaction matched her own.
Muriella nodded knowingly, but Andrena did not need the younger girl’s silent assurance to know that Lady Aubrey approved of Magnus Mòr.
At the end of the meal, Lady Aubrey said, “You men will excuse us, I know, for you doubtless have much to discuss. Come, my dearlings,” she added to her daughters. “We will adjourn to the solar.”
Whether by mutual consent or because Andrew rarely opposed his lady, Andrena knew that she would have no further conversation that day with Magnus. She thought it odd, though, that her father had said naught to her even to hint of nuptials and wondered if her mother would be the one to break the news to her.
In the solar, however, Lady Aubrey asked Muriella to entertain them with one of their favorite tales while they attended to their various domestic tasks.
Andrena resigned herself to her mending but soon found herself chuckling at Murie’s tale about a “wee, wee trickster” who outwitted a fairy queen. Murie had a nearly magical knack for telling a story. When she had finished, she took up her lute and began to play for them.
The men did not join them, and Lady Aubrey suggested their retirement at the usual hour.
Although Andrena lay awake for what seemed hours, trying to imagine marriage to a huge man with a decided twinkle in his eyes and little else yet to recommend him, she awoke the next morning at her usual early hour.
Gray dawn light peeked through the shutters. When she opened them to look out, fog blanketed the yard and everything beyond the wall. The outside world was therefore still and eerie, but fog would not dissuade her from her morning walk in the woods. She dressed quickly in her deerskin breeks, boots, and jack. She wanted to think, and to do so before the rest of the household awoke and began the new day.
Chapter 4
Mag had awakened early, too. Discovering that servants had set bread, meat, and ale on the dais table, he helped himself to some of each, ate his meal, and went out into the foggy yard. The first person he met there was a thin lad of eleven or twelve with freckles and a mop of red hair who introduced himself simply as Pluff.
Having taken a long, measuring look at Mag, the boy said. “Ye’ll be the one as be a-going tae marry the lady Andrena. I seen ye return wi’ her yesterday. I didna think the men would let ye in, but the lady Lina and the lady Murie did say it were right tae open the gate. So we did. Some say the wee folk did bring ye. But Lady Aubrey did tell her woman that ye be a friend and we should treat ye well.”
“Who is Lady Aubrey?”
“Pluff’s eyes widened. “Why, the laird’s lady, o’ course. She always kens friend from foe,” he added. “But I never heard tell o’ her picking husbands afore.”
“Then she may be mistaken this time,” Mag said, realizing that he ought to have guessed at once from “her woman” who Lady Aubrey was. But he’d thought of her as Lady MacFarlan and would address her so until she commanded otherwise.
“Nay, she’s never been mistook,” Pluff replied. “Men do say the lady Aubrey can see things that others do not.”
“Do you mean that she has the Sight, that she can see things in far places?”
“Nay, for that’d mean she sees faraway doings as they come tae pass. She only sometimes kens what will come tae pass later. See you, they say that her name means ruler o’ the elves. And elves be wee folk. So, likely they tell her things the wee folk ken. I’ll tell ye this much. I ha’ never known her tae be wrong when she speaks so.”
Ever resistant to notions of second sight, wee folk, and similar fantastic creations, Mag changed the subject. “What are your duties here, Pluff?”
“Mornings, I look after the dogs unless someone asks me tae do summat else,” the boy said. “I muck oot the byre and tend the postern gate, too. But at this hour, I need only tae let the lady Dree oot and in again after she’s had her walk.”
“Then your duties are lighter than usual today,” Mag said. “No lady would walk out in such a dense fog.”
The boy shrugged. “Lady Dree goes out in all weather, sir. She left nigh a half-hour ago. She says she can think better outside the wall.”
Mag frowned. “She went alone?”
“Nay, she took Old Bess wi’ her.”
“Old Bess?”
“Her collie. Lady Dree loves all the beasts, but Bess be her favorite.”
“A dog would be of little use if her ladyship suffers a mishap in the fog.”
“Aye, sure, Old Bess would. She be gey smart.”
“I think I’ll take a walk myself,” Mag said.
The boy gave him another measuring look. “Wi’ respect, sir, I’m thinking that Lady Dree kens our woods better nor any stranger could. I reckon ye’ve heard tales about bad things that befall strangers here at Tùr Meiloach.”
“I can look after myself,” Mag said with a reassuring smile.
The boy nodded. “Right then. I’ll let ye oot. But when ye lose yourself, dinna be telling the laird that I had aught tae do with it. D’ye want tae take one o’ them other dogs wi’ ye? Any one o’ them could lead ye home if need be.”
Mag shook his head and turned toward the gate. Its outline was barely discernible, but he had a nearly infallible sense of direction and a good memory for the location and layout of any place he had seen.
“Which way did her ladyship go?” he asked the boy.
“She doesna tell me,” Pluff said with another shrug as he opened the gate.
When it thudded shut behind Mag, he paused to get his bearings. The fog was thick enough to blanket both the sun and the landscape, but he could make out the darker area of woodland beyond the clearing easily enough.
Despite dense, swirling ground fog, he could see his feet and freshly made imprints of smaller ones heading back the way they had come the day before.
He followed them into the woods, where they disappeared on the damp pine duff. But he detected a narrow trail that seemed to lead toward the cliffs.
Except for ragged tatters of fog drifting eerily down through openings in the canopy and wispy shreds curling through shrubbery, it was clear enough in the woods to see his way. The creatures were silent, as was usual in such weather, and he could hear waves distantly hushing against the loch shore below.
He hoped Andrena had kep
t to the woods. But when the path continued to take him toward the cliffs, that hope faded. If his sister Lizzie were to behave in such a potentially dangerous way, he would have something stern to say to her.
The thought drew the hint of a smile to his lips. He had seen naught yet to suggest that the lady Andrena was anything like Lizzie. Andrena herself had said that her father expected her to know every rock and rill of Tùr Meiloach’s lands.
Doubtless, she believed that she did know every one.
The thought was not reassuring. He was nearing the edge of the woods and could see that the fog had drifted in farther there and was even denser than it had been in the yard and the clearing. Concern rippled through him.
Surely she would not have gone far beyond the safety of the trees.
Reaching the edge of the woodland and noting that what little he could see of the area beyond was damp, rockbound granite, covered with pebbles and gravelly sand, he paused to listen but heard only water lapping against the shore far below. He doubted that he had walked a half-mile from the tower. But when he had rowed on the loch, he had not studied the clifftops thereabouts with particular care.
He could see the ground before him well enough to know that he was not stepping into oblivion, so he began to make his way toward the precipice. He could sense open space ahead and sensed another human presence as well, sufficient to hope that if he kept going straight, he would find her. A faint extension of the woodland path did seem to lead that way.
When a shadowy figure took eerie form in the drifting gray mist ahead, its shape made him think he had mistaken the presence of some unknown lad for the lady Andrena. But when the figure shifted position slightly, he noted that its shape was too enticingly curvy to be masculine. Also, a shaggy dog sat silently beside her.
Mag’s heart nearly stopped beating at the realization that Andrena had to be standing dangerously near the edge of the cliff. Facing away from him, as she was, she was surely too near the edge to risk startling her by speaking her name.