The Laird's Choice

by Amanda Scott

  Galbraith’s gaze shifted from Andrena to Mag, but Mag met it with ease. It was a long time since anyone had leaped to defend him. And, although he could speak for himself, he—

  “Furthermore,” Andrena went on, “had Magnus escaped any sooner, he would not have learned about the wicked conspiracy against his grace.”

  “What?” Galbraith demanded harshly, looking from one to the other. “What madness is this? What conspiracy?”

  “There does seem to be something of the sort brewing, sir,” Mag replied.

  He’d have preferred to go slowly, to avoid risk by acquiring some notion of where his father stood with regard to Jamie Stewart before mentioning the words plot or conspiracy. But it was too late for that now.

  Galbraith frowned heavily at him. “Just who do you think is brewing this so-called plot?” he demanded.

  Mag gazed back silently, determined to wait him out. He was certain that his agile-minded sire must easily surmise—if he did not already know—who the likeliest plotters were. Failure to do so, or prevarication, would suggest more than if Galbraith simply named Duke Murdoch, his sons, and Lennox.

  In the increasingly heavy silence that followed, the laird fixed his gaze on Andrena again. Mag kept his on Galbraith, and Andrena kept quiet.

  She did not even flick a glance Mag’s way, he noted peripherally.

  “Good lack, Mag,” Galbraith said at last. “I can easily imagine that you do believe in some plot against young Jamie. You ever had a soft spot for that lad.”

  Mag replied quietly, “With respect, my lord, he is no longer a lad. He is thirty years old and King of Scots. Moreover, sir, during the past year, he has proven himself both able and determined to rule this realm.”

  “He has held his own for a time and may continue to do so, aye,” Galbraith said. “In troth, I wish him well. But he is young and inexperienced. Forbye, he lived with English Harry and his son for too long to know much about Scotland.”

  “He seems to know what he is doing, nevertheless. And the conspirators—”

  “Don’t mince words, Mag. If you heard about this conspiracy at Arrochar, you obviously suspect that Pharlain is leading the conspirators. Pharlain?” His expression and tone both indicated utter disbelief.

  “This goes much higher than Pharlain, sir,” Mag replied calmly. “Of that I am certain. What I would like to know, if I still have the right to ask you, is where Clan Galbraith will stand if they do try to execute such a plot.”

  “I am loyal to the King of Scots as chief of chiefs,” Galbraith said stiffly. “I should think you would know that much about me, sir. I am also loyal to my liege, the Earl of Lennox, as you also should know but choose to forget when it suits you.”

  “I do not forget, my lord. But neither do I follow any man blindly, especially one who chooses politics and his own greed over the good of this realm.”

  “If you think this conspiracy of yours goes higher than Pharlain, you must be including Lennox as a party to it.”

  “I am,” Mag said. “I also include Murdoch and his sons. I’ll grant that I’ve not been out and about much in past months. But as I see it, Lennox has consistently followed Murdoch. And Murdoch is foolish enough to think Jamie will let him play Governor of the Realm whenever he chooses to do so. He doubtless still consults with his sons and lets Alexander and his men continue to terrorize the country with his wicked lawlessness as both he and Walter did before Walter’s arrest.”

  “I ken nowt of any plot. But…” Galbraith hesitated.

  This time, the glance that he cast Andrena told Mag that Galbraith wished she were not there. But Mag was not going to send her away or, if he could prevent it, allow his father to do so. Her presence had a more quelling effect on their tempers than anything else he could imagine. The last thing he wanted was to lose control of his temper again or inflame Galbraith’s.

  The silence grew heavier.

  The gillies had gone and would keep themselves out of the line of fire. Hector would likewise stay away until someone shouted for him. Meantime, the jug of claret sat between them. Mag lifted it and poured claret into Andrena’s goblet.

  Shooting a quizzical look at Galbraith, he received a curt nod in reply and filled his goblet, too. He filled his own nearly to the brim. Then, gently setting down the jug, he raised his goblet and took a sip.

  “The claret is excellent, sir,” Mag said, setting down the goblet but keeping his fingers curled round the stem. “You’ve not lost your skill at selecting wines.”

  “This is a good one,” Galbraith agreed. “You seem to have a high opinion of Jamie for a man who’s been chained up since his return. I should think that…”

  He paused when Mag shook his head.

  Mag said, “We met his grace at Paisley Abbey two days ago, sir. Sithee, after I realized they were plotting against him, I escaped during last Sunday’s storm and washed up at Tùr Meiloach. When I told Andrew they were scheming, he agreed that I must warn his grace. We were fortunate to find him so quickly.”

  “Jamie visits Paisley often. His father lies buried in the abbey kirk.”

  “Before the altar, aye,” Mag said. “I saw how confident Jamie is, sir, and how determined he is to bring a rule of law to Scotland. That may sound like an English notion. But we have long had laws and rules that we all should obey—not that everyone did. Sakes, Borderers and Highlanders, in particular, did not.”

  Galbraith’s mouth twisted wryly. “You don’t mean to tell me that the first Duke of Albany followed the law, do you?”

  “Nay, but he did acknowledge that laws exist—aye, and applied them, too, when it suited him. I hope you won’t deny that the lawlessness has greatly increased since Murdoch succeeded his father as Governor.”

  “Nay, because it’s true. In troth, I would welcome sound laws that apply to all, as well as the restoration of a semblance of order in this kingdom. If Jamie can do that, I will hail his return and support him strongly. But only if I can do so without endangering our clan, our lands, or our family’s safety.”

  “So you want Jamie to prove himself before you will support him. Is that what you are telling me?”

  “I am telling you that I will support him if I can safely do so. But I won’t risk infuriating Lennox, Murdoch, or Murdoch’s vicious sons if I can avoid it. In troth, lad, I fear that our rebellious nobles are too powerful for Jamie to tame. If they are plotting to assassinate him, they will likely succeed.”

  “They must not,” Andrena said. Then, when both Mag and Galbraith frowned at her, she said, “Prithee, forgive me if you expected me to sit here in silence. But I believe in Jamie Stewart. He means what he says, so he does mean to impose law and order. God knows that we all need peace and protection from those who would terrorize us. But Jamie needs help from other strong leaders, just as my father does if he is to win back his lands and title. See you, I believe in my father, too. I ken fine that he will not weigh the prospect of success against that of failure. Nor will he worry about vexing Lennox or Murdoch, let alone Pharlain. My father has great courage. But he cannot win his fight alone any more than his grace can, and he understands that. Forbye, he will support the King, because the King is liege lord over all of us, including the Earl of Lennox and Murdoch Stewart.”

  Silence fell again, like a rock. Mag could feel the fury that her words stirred in his father. A younger Mag would have trembled, not only for Andrena but for himself, as well, for having inflicted her irrepressible candor on Galbraith. The grown-up Mag did not tremble. But he did watch his father carefully for several moments before he allowed his gaze to shift to his outspoken little wife.

  She, however, was still gazing calmly at Galbraith.

  That fact startled Mag. He had been certain that she must be worried about his father’s reaction to her blunt speech and afraid she had angered him. Instead, she seemed unaware that she had poked the Galbraith tiger right in his pride.

  Andrena marveled at how much more easily she could sense Gal
braith’s emotions than she could sense his son’s.

  She had heard enough from Mag and seen enough for herself to deduce that father and son were much alike. But Mag’s internal control was much stronger than his father’s. Because it was, she realized now, Mag’s emotions rarely stirred his features or his body to reflect them in any way.

  Galbraith’s tension was palpable. So, too, was his pride, and she suspected that her words had touched his sense of honor. She could feel Mag’s steady gaze on her and could even sense his concern. Doubtless he feared that his father would lash out at her. But she knew that Galbraith would not.

  When the laird drew a long breath and let it out slowly, she shifted her gaze to Mag and said, “I think you should tell him what his grace asked you to do, sir.”

  Mag continued to look at her long enough to make her squirm a little before he said, “I think that first you should apologize for speaking to him as you did.”

  “That is unnecessary,” Galbraith said gruffly.

  Mag continued to look at Andrena.

  “Magnus is right, my lord,” she said to Galbraith. “I let my passion rule my tongue, and I should not have done that. My father would say I had no business spouting my opinions at you as I did. You were generous enough to apologize to me before, for what you said. I can do no less, for I am sorry I spoke so fiercely. I hope that you can forgive me, too, because I do not want to cause more strife.”

  “I do forgive ye, lass,” Galbraith said. “In troth, I admire courage when I meet with it and sometimes must look hard to find mine own. Ye’ve given me cause to think.” To Mag, he said, “What did his grace ask ye to do?”

  Seeing no reason for further caution, Mag said, “To learn where your loyalty lies, sir. Jamie wants to know who stands with him and who will not. He is concerned especially about the Loch Lomond lairds.”

  “About all who answer to Lennox, you mean.”

  “I do, aye. He is sure that Lennox stands with Murdoch and his sons. Because Lennox’s daughter, Isabella—”

  “—is married to Murdoch,” Galbraith said testily. “I ken that fine, lad, as who does not? A man is expected to support his good-sons, is he not?”

  “One hopes that such a powerful man in his own right might seek to guide a wayward good-son,” Mag said. “I believe the earl has decided to reject his rightful King for a villain who would rape the people of this realm, wreak terror in their midst, and seize properties to which he has no right.”

  Grimacing, Galbraith said, “You blame Murdoch for what his sons have done. He is too lazy to have done all that. Forbye, I have said I will aid Jamie as much as I can. I could not reconcile it with my conscience, though, to risk all we have—all that Clan Galbraith has—to support what is likely a lost cause.”

  “The fact is that there are too many leaders in the conspiracy they brew,” Mag said. “Who is in charge? Lennox, who is doddering through his eightieth year? Or Murdoch, who is both lazy and a fool? They both want Walter Stewart to take the throne, and he is as ruthless as his grandfather, the first Albany, was. But Walter is in prison. I discount Pharlain as one who could plot such a coup, but does he support the witless, the prisoner, or the dodderer? We are missing something here. I’ve little time left to figure out what it may be, though. Meantime, I must tell his grace all that you have said, sir. You would not have me lie to him.”

  “No, I would not. I’ll trust ye to relay my words as I said them.”

  “I will,” Mag promised.

  “Ye should ken one thing more, then. Pharlain sent out word that Lennox expects him to leave for Perth at next week’s end. He is to take the rest of Lennox’s supporters with him, in force, so they will all be at hand when Parliament meets.”

  “There are rules about how many men a nobleman may take in his tail,” Mag said. “If everyone rides with Pharlain, they will look like an army.”

  “In troth, lad, Pharlain expects us to ignore those rules. He sent out word that his grace will want everyone there.”

  “You should tell his grace that yourself, sir,” Mag said.

  “Nay, then,” Galbraith said. “Ye’ll suppose I lack the courage I commended in your lady wife, but I’m not ready yet to defy Murdoch or Lennox. Nor should ye forget for a moment, as ye proceed on this path, that Murdoch and his wretched sons stand next in line for the throne if aught happens to Jamie.”

  “I must tell his grace what you’ve told me and that you are the one who did.”

  “I expected nae more nor less than that,” Galbraith said. “I hope ye will not be off at dawn though, lad. I would have more discourse with ye. Forbye, your lady must be tired after her long walk today. Ye canna mean to inflict another such journey on her tomorrow.”

  “Andrena is accustomed to long walks,” Mag said. “But I will confer with her before I make that decision. His grace may still be at Paisley, so I could get a message to him quickly if I take a boat to Balloch and ride from there.”

  Having heard enough, Andrena stood, and both men did as well. Making her curtsy to Galbraith, she said, “If you will ask Hector or one of his gillies to escort me to our bedchamber, sir, I will leave you two to talk as long as you like. If I might request a bath…” She paused, smiling at the laird.

  “Aye, sure,” he said. “Hector!”

  “M’lord?” Hector said, appearing again in the archway.

  “Her ladyship wants a bath,” Galbraith said.

  “I ha’ put a tub in the room already, m’lord. If her ladyship be fain tae go up now, I’ll tell the lads tae begin filling it.”

  This course being acceptable, Andrena turned to follow the old man.

  “I’ll go with you, lass,” Mag said quietly.

  “You would prefer to talk more with your father, sir,” she replied. “Hector will look after me, I’m sure. I won’t go to sleep before you come up.”

  “Aye, then, I won’t be long,” he said.

  Mag watched her go, knowing he would much rather be going with her than staying to talk with his father. If Galbraith brought up Will’s death or the ambush against them, even if he reminded Mag that he had warned him he would get his brother killed, Mag would willingly listen to all he said.

  But if Galbraith was expecting him to introduce those subjects, he would expect in vain. Mag understood the task that Jamie Stewart had set for him, and confronting his father about past arguments was no part of it. Not only might that set off Galbraith’s temper, or Mag’s, but it would do naught to bring the Chief of Clan Galbraith to Jamie’s support. It might well have the opposite effect.

  Accordingly, when Galbraith continued to stare at the archway until Andrena had vanished through it, Mag said casually, “What do you hear from Mina and Jonetta, sir? And what have you done with Lizzie? Has she married yet?”

  “Nay, but I’m hopeful,” Galbraith said, turning to him with distinct relief.

  They talked of family matters until Mag was sure that Andrena must have finished her bath and be getting ready for bed. At the next natural pause, he said, “I should excuse myself, sir. My lady will be wondering what’s become of me.”

  “Aye, she might,” Galbraith said. “She’s a beauty, your lass. I’d not have expected to approve a match between our family and that of Andrew Dubh, but I think you did well for yourself.” Pausing, he added, “You may tell Andrew for me that if he believes we can stop Pharlain—defeat him, that is—I’ll do all that I can to help him. You might think of that as a gift on your marriage, if you like.”

  “I’ll tell him, and ’tis more than a gift, sir. I thank you.”

  But, as Mag went upstairs, he knew that much as he wanted to believe his father, he had little confidence in his pledge. There was also, now that he thought about it, one tiny but hugely important detail that neither he nor Andrena had yet mentioned to Galbraith: the fact that Mag had agreed to take the MacFarlan name.

  Andrena was alone, wearing her green silk robe and brushing her hair. She felt warm from her bath and was wond
ering how much longer Mag would be when the door opened and he walked in.

  Without preamble, he said, “Would you mind if we did not go to bed yet?”

  “What did you have in mind, sir?” she asked demurely.

  He was looking around the room as if he had not seen it before, but he turned abruptly then with humor lighting his eyes.

  “I would fain do as you suggest, lass. But you did say that you want to know me all through, so I thought I might show you my favorite place here.”

  “Then I don’t mind at all. Must I dress again?”

  He chuckled. “I would not care if you went naked, as long as you wear a long cloak until we are away from the castle. But I warrant you’d be more comfortable in warm clothing.”

  “The warmest clothes I brought are my deerskin breeks and jack,” she said with a mocking grin. “Will it outrage your father or Hector if I wear them?”

  “It might, for it astonished me to see you in them on the cliff that day,” he said. “I thought at first that you were a lad. Do you often wear such garments?”

  “Only on solitary rambles,” she said. As she spoke, she realized that despite her experience with him, she still anticipated knowing how he would receive what she said, as if she could read him. This time, when she felt nothing but saw a slight frown, wariness stirred. “On such terrain as ours is,” she explained, “it is easier to walk in breeks than to have to beware constantly of one’s skirts.”

  “I should perhaps tell you that I disapprove of solitary rambles, as you call them, at any time. Pluff assured me that Old Bess is the only companion you need. But we both know that you often don’t bother to take her along.”

  His tone was calm, revealing naught beyond the censure in his words. She could not tell how determined he was or if he was warning her that she must not walk alone again. If that was the case…