by Amanda Scott
“Perhaps, but he was grown when last I saw him and had not changed. To be fair, I was trying to persuade him as well as Will that we should support his grace’s return to Scotland. But Patrick believed, and doubtless does to this day, that Jamie had become too English. He said that the rumors of Jamie’s intended marriage to an English noblewoman proved he was unfit to be King of Scots.”
“But Mam says that Queen Joanna is as much in love with Scotland as she is with his grace. Also, that she has done as much as he has to aid the common folk.”
“I doubt that Patrick cares about common folk.”
“What you are saying is that I am not going to like Patrick.”
Mag chuckled. “In troth, he has been more of an irritant than a brother to me. Nevertheless, he is my brother, and I’d fain see him quit of James Mòr.”
“Are you ever sorry you did not accept that knighthood?”
“Before my capture, I was disappointed that I had not earned one. Sithee, my goals were to win my spurs, gain a fortune, and find a suitable bride. Imprisonment changed those goals. When I escaped, all I wanted was to elude capture long enough to find his grace and warn him of his danger.”
“That’s all?”
Mag shrugged. “I hoped they’d not catch me again.”
Glancing at him, she said, “I asked you once to tell me how captivity affected you. I’m thinking that I should have asked how being captured made you feel.”
“I was furious with myself and grieving wildly over Will’s death. When I learned the MacFarlans had killed him, I wanted to kill every MacFarlan that lived.”
Her eyebrows shot upward. “One hopes you’ve got over that desire.”
“I have,” he said with a wry smile. “I still feel irritated with myself for falling into Pharlain’s clutches and more annoyed now that I failed to escape earlier. I seem unable to leave the past in the past.”
“Weren’t you afraid to try to escape?”
“It wasn’t fear, although I understood the consequences of failure. I just didn’t care enough to try. Nowt mattered after Will died. I knew my father must feel the same way, and he’d already disowned me. I knew he’d do nowt to help me.”
“That is his greatest crime, I think,” Andrena said flatly.
“Aye, perhaps. I must find a way to persuade him to help Jamie, but I have at least three marks against me to overcome before he might.”
“Three?”
“Aye, sure. First, I failed to keep Pharlain’s men from murdering Will. Second, I did not try to escape my imprisonment until now. Sithee, Will’s death and my capture will simply have proven to him that I was wrong to oppose Lennox and Murdoch. But my failure to escape will make him think worse of me. And third…” He paused and looked at her, wondering if he ought to tell her.
She grimaced. “Third is that you not only married me without seeking his permission but also agreed to adopt the MacFarlan name as your own.”
“Aye, so in troth, the count is four heavy marks against me withal.”
Andrena met Mag’s gaze again and was surprised to see that, despite his somber tone, his eyes were alight with amusement.
“You, sir, ought to be discussing how to meet that problem straight on,” she said sternly. “Not pretending that it is smaller than it is.”
“It isn’t larger than it is, either,” he said, putting an arm around her again. “My father did say once that he would leave me Inch Galbraith at his death, because he is building a larger, more modern seat at Culcreuch on east Lomondside. We have nobbut a gey ancient square tower there now.”
“Like Tùr Meiloach,” she said dryly.
“Just so,” he agreed. “In any event, Inch Galbraith is all that I might have inherited and thus the only property I’ve lost. Anything he has left after dowering three daughters, he will leave to Rory with doubtless some small bequest to Patrick, who didn’t want Inch Galbraith. As the youngest son, my prospects were dim before I stumbled into Tùr Meiloach. Life has been more interesting since then.”
They continued to talk as they trudged up the steep, rocky, barely discernible track to the snowy high pass known as Bealach an Duin. Winds had cleared the sky by then, and from the top of the pass, they looked down more than a thousand feet to the blue waters of Loch Lomond and its many wooded islands.
Across the loch, northward, the magnificent mountain known as Ben Lomond shot high, its sparkling snowy cap piercing the sky.
The wind increased as if to blow them on over the pass. Finding shelter on the downslope, they stopped to eat their midday meal.
Until they were beyond the snow, going downhill seemed more difficult than trudging up. One had to take much care not to slip.
The sun disappeared behind the ridge an hour before they emerged at the mouth of Glen Luss and turned south along the gently undulating west shore of Loch Lomond. As they passed through the sacred site of Luss, Andrena said that many of her ancestors lay buried there and learned that many of Mag’s were there, too.
Southward, the land as far as Glen Fruin was Galbraith land.
From Luss, Loch Lomond seemed small, because the eastern shore was closer there, and the view was mostly forest-covered islands. A quarter-hour later, they had their first clear view of Inch Galbraith, less than a half-mile ahead offshore. The loch widened, too, so one saw mostly water beyond the islet. But the travelers came first to a shore-side clachan, where Mag shouted for someone called Lippin Geordie.
When an elderly man strode out, glowering at first and then grinning broadly, Mag stepped forward with a hand out to greet him.
“God bethankit, Magnus Mòr!” the old man said with delight, gripping Mag’s hand with both of his own as he looked him up and down, “I feared I’d never clap me keekers on ye again. If Himself be expecting ye, though, I’ve heard nowt of it.”
“He is not expecting us, Geordie. I’ll need a boat to take us over and someone to look after this garron and our two lads here for as long as we stay.”
“Aye, sure, Magnus. Who might the lovely lady be, then?”
“She is my wife, Geordie,” Mag said.
Andrena waited for him to give her name and antecedents, but he did not.
Geordie looked from Mag to Andrena and back again, his rheumy eyes glinting with humor. “Is she now? I’m thinking Himself will be givin’ ye a muckle scauld if no a drubbing tae match what ye got for setting Master Will’s coat afire. Forbye, if the laird kens aught o’ bridals, I’ve heard nowt o’ that neither.”
“I mean to cast myself on his mercy,” Mag said lightly. “My lady’s beauty, charm, and good sense may help him forget his fury with me.”
“Aye, well, if that does pay the collops, be sure tae tell me, lad. I’ll pass it on tae some others wha’ might like tae ken how tae placate Himself when he’s in his ire. But ye’ll no want tae stand talking wi’ me when ye can be home again. I’ll roust out our Dolf tae tak’ ye across.”
“Why did you not explain who I am, other than your wife?” Andrena asked Mag when Lippin Geordie had walked away shouting for Dolf.
“Because I hope to be the first to tell my father,” Mag said. “The way news travels hereabouts, if I say the words aloud, they might fly to him on the wind.”
Andrena had suffered experiences that made her think the same thing about her own father, so she accepted Mag’s reasoning without comment.
Geordie soon returned with a lanky man so like him in figure and twinkle that she was sure Dolf was his son. They unloaded everything from the garron into a small longboat with four oarsmen. Mag helped Andrena in, stepped in himself, and the oarsmen pulled hard for Inch Galbraith.
She could see its square tower looming above the trees. When she saw that Mag was gazing at it and had begun to look wary, she said, “Might someone on the ramparts recognize you from there?”
“Perhaps,” he said. “More likely, they’ll shout down to my father that a boat is coming. Then he’ll go up to see for himself who it is.”
> “It is dusky, though, and will soon be dark. Would he know you in this light?”
He did not reply, and she realized that it did not matter if the Laird of Galbraith had warning or not. They would learn what he thought soon enough.
Mag felt his tension building but realized rather quickly that it was not fear for himself. It was fear that his father might say something to hurt Andrena.
The thought steadied him. By the time the boat reached the landing on the islet, he was in command of himself.
It was not Galbraith who hurried down to meet them, however, but old Hector. And Hector was smiling. Even so, as the old man shook Mag’s hand, he said hastily, “We must not tarry, laddie. Himself be waiting in the great hall. And he’s told everyone else to take themselves off, so you’ll be alone with him.”
“Thank you, Hector.” Mag drew Andrena forward. “This is my father’s steward, Hector Galbraith, madam. This lady, Hector, is my wife, Andrena.”
“It is an honor, my lady,” Hector said, with a polite nod. “I hope you will be comfortable here. If aught displeases you, pray tell me at once.”
“Thank you, Hector,” Andrena said. “It is beautiful here.”
The old man smiled and then shouted at Dolf to help him take their things in.
Mag urged Andrena off the end of the pier and onto a pebbled path. “We’ll go right to my father,” he said. “Hector will stay away until he shouts for him.”
The tower was smaller than Tùr Meiloach and four stories tall. Since it sat on an islet, it lacked a barmkin wall and trees grew close to the tower walls. In the evening silence, she heard chickens settling and the soft lowing of a cow.
“You have beasts on this islet? It looked so small.”
“It is small by comparison with Inchconnal and the others. But we have dogs and a cow, chickens, ducks, and two pigs that produce piglets regularly. But come now. Or do you want to wash and refresh yourself before we see him?”
“We won’t make ourselves more welcome by keeping him waiting, sir.”
“Then take my arm,” he said, extending it for her. “Give it a good pinch if he begins bellowing at me as Lippin Geordie suggested he would.”
She pinched him.
“What the devil was that for?”
“Just a test,” she said. “I like to test things out before I need to use them.”
“Take care that you don’t earn yourself a skelping just so I can decide whether one will prove salutary or not. We agreed there would be no more tests.”
She grinned at him, and he smiled. But the smile faded when they crossed the threshold and saw his father standing by the fireplace.
Two years had not changed the Laird of Galbraith. He still stood straight, tall, and broad-shouldered. His dark hair and well-trimmed beard might boast a bit more silver, but that was all. He wore a hip-length black robe embroidered with silver slashing at wrists and neckline, over black leggings and short black boots.
“So you have returned at last, Magnus,” he said evenly.
Suddenly tempted to remind him that he’d said he never wanted to see him again, Mag focused instead on the slender hand that rested on his forearm. Taking a breath, he said, “As you see, my lord. I hope you won’t turn us from the door.”
Andrena held her breath until Galbraith said, “You may stay the night at least. We will see what comes of that.”
She wondered if the laird would begin bellowing or maintain his stiffly stern demeanor. He was a man in rigid control of himself, but an ordinary man, not one who had suppressed his feelings in the name of survival, as Mag had. Despite Galbraith’s stern look, she sensed deeper emotions in him.
Mag’s posture and visible tension told her much about his feelings, too. She had come to realize that he cared deeply for his family, even his demon brother Patrick. But she saw now that he cared even more about his father than she had guessed and wanted desperately to regain his approval.
Mag said, “I did not think you would welcome us, sir. I am grateful.”
“I had expected to see you long before now,” Galbraith said. “Prithee, do not tell me you remained a captive of that lout Pharlain all this time.”
“I fear so,” Mag said. “But I’m free now. I have come because I have urgent business to lay before you.”
“Indeed?”
“Aye, sir. First I must present to you my wife, the lady Andrena.”
Releasing Mag’s forearm, Andrena curtsied as low as she had to the King of Scots and waited with head bent for Galbraith to speak.
When he did not, she looked up to see that he was staring at Mag.
Deciding then that she had behaved meekly enough, she rose from her curtsy and stood quietly, waiting for Galbraith to acknowledge her.
Looking rather startled, he said, “I beg your pardon, madam. But if I am not mistaken… That is, I know of only one lady in these parts bearing that name.”
“I am Andrena MacFarlan, my lord. My father is Andrew Dubh MacFarlan of Tùr Meiloach, the true Chief of Clan Farlan. My mother is the lady Aubrey Comyn, a kinswoman of your late wife. When Magnus flung himself off Cousin Parlan’s galley into that vicious storm last—”
Mag’s hand touched her arm, silencing her before he said, “It is enough to say that I escaped, my lord, and found refuge with Andrew Dubh and his family. He persuaded me to marry Andrena for reasons of his own that you and I can discuss later. I married her of my own will, however, and expect to be as happy in my marriage as you and my lady mother were in yours.”
“I hope you will be,” Galbraith said. His tone was civil, not hopeful. But again Andrena sensed deeper emotion. She was uncertain what it was, but it was not anger. Nor was Galbraith indifferent to his son in any way.
“It does surprise me that it took you so long to escape,” Galbraith said.
Without hesitation, Andrena said, “Had he not waited, my lord, the results might have been catastrophic. In troth, they still may be.”
For the first time, she drew his full attention. “How so, madam?”
Her gaze met Mag’s. “You must tell him, sir. He will hear you.”
“A strange thing to say, lass,” Galbraith said. “I am standing right here, and my hearing is as acute as ever it was.”
“She meant no disrespect, sir,” Mag said. “But she is right to say that I must explain. Dare I hope, though, that we have come in time to get some supper?”
A hint of the twinkle that she saw so often in Mag’s eyes appeared in his father’s eyes then and Andrena relaxed a little more.
Chapter 16
Glancing toward the archway through which they had entered the hall, Galbraith bellowed, “Hector!”
“Aye, m’lord,” that worthy said, appearing in the archway so fast that no one, least of all Mag, could doubt that Hector had been standing just to one side of it and had heard every word they had spoken.
“Order food for our guests,” Galbraith said. “They have had a long and arduous journey today. Also, order Rory’s bedchamber set to rights for them.” To Mag, he added, “Rory now uses the one that was Will’s. But he rarely brings Alana with him, because she complains of dampness. Alana is Rory’s wife,” he explained to Andrena, who nodded.”
“Where is Alana living then?” Mag asked.
“Culcreuch, of course, in the old tower. She takes interest in our building.”
“She should, since it will one day be their home,” Mag said. “It is warmer there, too, I expect, and perhaps not so damp.”
“Shall we move to the dais?” Galbraith said, gesturing toward it.
They sat comfortably at the fireplace end of the high table. Galbraith faced the lower hall and Mag and Andrena, side by side, faced him.
While gillies scurried about, putting food and wine on the table under Hector’s supervision, Mag and his father chatted about the weather. They agreed that more rain would come and that the windy afternoons portended storms ahead.
Andrena remained quiet, but Mag was c
onscious of her presence and wondered what she thought about his father.
At last, Galbraith dismissed Hector and his minions with orders to keep the hall clear until told to do otherwise. Then, turning to Andrena, he said, “How does your father fare, lass? And your lady mother?”
“They are well, thank you, my lord,” she said.
“I do not mean any offense to you by aught that I say, lass. But I do wonder how Andrew Dubh persuaded my son to marry you.”
“Do you, sir?” she asked, looking right at him. “I should think that almost any bride would find it hard not to take offense at such a remark. So mayhap it will surprise you to know that I do not. I quite understand that our union may irk you, especially since Magnus was unable to seek your permission beforehand.”
To Mag’s surprise, his father did not immediately reply to her, let alone do so as sharply as Mag had expected he would. He was even more astonished when the proud Chief of Clan Galbraith’s expression softened ruefully.
“I should not have said that, my lady,” he said. “You are right to point out that merely saying that I did not mean to offend did nowt to stop the offensive words from leaving my tongue. I hope you will accept my apology.”
“Aye, sure, I will, and right gladly, sir,” Andrena said. “I ken fine that this meeting is difficult for both of you. See you, Magnus has told me how you parted. I suspect that that argument hurt you as much as it hurt him.”
Mag wished he could silence her but could think of no way to do so that would not make matters worse. In truth, his father seemed to agree with her, for he was nodding. Then Galbraith said, “It does puzzle me, though, that Mag stayed at Arrochar for as long as he did. It is a hard thing to believe that a son of mine could not outwit a man like Pharlain long before now.”
Mag pressed his lips together, but Andrena’s chin came up sharply, and she said, “Does it, sir? Mayhap you have never been the prisoner of a man as ruthless as Pharlain is. Why, I heard that when one man tried to escape, Pharlain cut off his foot. He has hanged others for naught save his own cruel whim. Moreover, he keeps his oarsmen in chains, his largest and strongest men, especially.”