by Amanda Scott
Glancing toward the horizon, where the only sign of a setting sun was a dull orange glow behind low, still dark clouds, she shrugged and turned toward the path.
He walked beside her, but she kept her head down, apparently watching the pathway ahead, so he kept his counsel but glanced at Scáthach.
The lean, shaggy, gray dog was trotting through shrubbery a short distance away, more interested in what might lie within that shrubbery than in aught else. Such behavior being proof that no intruder had entered the woods, Rob looked again at his beautiful companion.
She was thoughtfully chewing a fingernail, or what was left of one.
Noting that the other fingers of that hand had suffered similar fates, his own fingers itched to remove that one from her mouth. He resisted the temptation. The last thing he wanted was to involve himself with the saucy lass in any way.
Muriella was lost in a fantasy, wherein tiny devils flew at, poked, and pinched the arrogant brute beside her. The man deserved even worse punishment.
However, when a contrary voice from one of her imaginary devils demanded to know why she disliked their victim so, she could think of no answer.
In truth, she did not dislike him. She disliked the fact that he seemed determined to dislike her. He had said he did not, but to have rejected her as quickly and completely as he had, he must have believed or at least heard something about her that caused him to do so, so absolutely. That was only logical.
Remembering that he had used the word himself, she felt rather pleased to think that even he would have to agree that her reasoning was logical.
His hand on her arm, although gentle this time, startled her into stopping.
Looking up at him, she said, “Why did you do that?”
With a nod, he indicated the low branch ahead of her. Another step and she would have walked into it headfirst.
“Do you not walk here often?” he asked solemnly.
Knowing exactly what he would say if she admitted that she did, and not wanting to hear it, she shook her head and said, “Not very often.”
“Then you should watch where you are going, should you not?”
An admonitory note in his voice made her think she would be wiser not to look at him. She said lightly, “You are right. I was thinking about a story.”
“And are now telling me one, I think.”
Stiffening, gritting her teeth, she knew nevertheless that she would be foolish to lie again. Looking at him from under her lashes, she smiled ruefully and said, “I was lost in my imagination, sir. But I did mislead you about how often I walk here.”
“You lied to me, in fact,” he said. “Don’t do it again, lass.”
His demeanor and tone remained as calmly unrevealing as ever. But a shiver shot through Muriella’s body, spreading its chill from her core to every other cell.
Something deep within her sensed that she had just stirred a devil deep inside him and was warning her that she did not want it to come fully awake.
Her face had paled, and Rob decided that, for once, he had made his position clear to her. He hoped she would not lie to him again but thought that the hope was likely misplaced. Not only had she lied by omission in not telling Andrew where she had been when she reported Dougal’s trespassing, but if she had lied once, she would lie again.
She seemed to live in a world that belied reality and to have created much of that world for herself. That she might have done such a thing was both maddening and strangely intriguing. But, for the moment, she was taking his words to heart.
They reached the tower a short time later, and the smell of roasting meat reassured him that she had been right about suppertime.
She thanked him politely when they met her maidservant on the stairs. After watching her disappear upward with the wench, he went in search of Andrew and found him in his privy chamber, ready for his supper.
“My lady went down to confer with Annie Wylie about summat or other,” Andrew said. “So ye can come into me bedchamber and ready yourself to sup with us. Did ye enjoy your walk?”
“We walked out to the cliffs,” Rob said as they crossed the landing. “The clouds in the west have thickened, so I think we’ll soon have more rain.”
“Aye, and if it does rain, ye’ll no want to be seeking Pharlain out until it passes. Looking like a drowned man when ye reach Arrochar will do ye nae good, but we’ll talk more later about how ye’ll want to approach him.”
“I’d prefer to talk more tomorrow if that will suit you, sir. I’m both willing and grateful to sup with you, but I’d liefer not impose myself longer than that, because we’ll have no moon tonight. Moreover, I want to ponder the things we discussed earlier, and I’ll sleep better at Mag’s cottage than I will here.”
“He did tell me ye’re fond of your solitude.”
“Sometimes aye, sometimes nay,” Rob admitted.
“Ye’ve said nowt yet about your walk with our Muriella.”
Rob met the older man’s gaze and said quietly, “I have not changed my mind, sir. You would do well to accept that.”
“Sakes, I dinna ken what ye be nattering about,” Andrew said. “I’ve done nowt save ask how ye enjoyed your walk on the cliffs.”
Perhaps, Rob told himself with a sigh, her ladyship had come by her vivid imagination naturally.
Grateful for the two cressets that Tibby had lit in her bedchamber, Muriella resisted the urge to ask the maidservant to fetch a more becoming kirtle for her than the yellow one she wore. Her discomfort after MacAulay warned her not to lie to him again had passed, but her thoughts had returned to him nevertheless. Talking with him had stimulated her in a way that she had not experienced with anyone else.
The truth was that she enjoyed talking with him when he did not contradict her or talk about things she did not want to discuss. Even on those subjects, though, she felt a kind of eagerness, even excitement, when they talked.
One moment she wanted to kill him, the next to say something outrageous to see how he would react.
He was, in fact, an intriguing man, if only because she could not tell from one minute to the next what he might do or say. When he had grabbed her…
It would be wiser not to think about that.
“Ye must make haste, m’lady,” Tibby said. “Your mam isna so pleased with ye that ye’ll want tae vex her again by going late tae the table.”
Wishing again that Tibby were a newcomer and not someone who had known her forever, but aware that she was right, Murie pushed her thoughts aside. Then, after attending quickly to her ablutions, she hurried down to supper.
MacAulay wasn’t at the table yet, but Lady Aubrey was.
Murie went to her and said sincerely, “I know I was wrong this morning, Mam. I hope you are not too displeased with me.”
Giving her a steady, rather speculative look, Lady Aubrey said quietly, “You must take care, my love, not to give your family or friends reason to distrust you. Sithee, when you lose someone’s trust, it is gey difficult to win it back again.”
Murie’s throat closed with an ache that brought tears to her eyes. Her mother had said much the same thing to her before. This time, though, for some reason, it struck her with greater impact.
Noise from the privy stair diverted Lady Aubrey’s attention.
Andrew and MacAulay had arrived.
In the usual ritual that accompanied the serving, Murie had little time to think. Her mother introduced topics of conversation, and she responded, but her attention drifted more than once to the two men seated beyond Lady Aubrey.
Andrew and MacAulay were chatting too quietly to hear what they said, but she judged it unlikely that MacAulay had said aught about their conversation on the clifftop to her father. If he had, she would sense Andrew’s disapproval.
“Art ready for us to excuse ourselves, Muriella?” Lady Aubrey asked.
“Aye, Mam,” Murie said, despite a sudden reluctance to go. MacAulay would return to the cottage when he finished eating, and she was cu
rious to know when he would come back. She could hardly ask, though, without sounding as if she were interested in the man, which of course she was not.
As they passed Andrew’s wee chamber, she wished she might slip inside and use the squint again to see if MacAulay was already preparing to depart.
“You will retire early tonight, Muriella,” Lady Aubrey said when they reached the next landing. “Your father has asked me to see that you keep to the solar or your bedchamber until Friday morning, except for such times—if any more occur—when Robert MacAulay agrees to walk with you.”
It was only Monday, so three more whole days and nights! “Mam, you must know that Father hopes MacAulay will change his mind and offer for me.”
“If that is so, it is your father’s business to discuss it with you, not mine.”
“But, Mam—”
“Goodnight, Muriella.”
Stifling a sigh, Murie turned toward her door, only to turn back again and hug Lady Aubrey. “I’m sorry, Mam. I seem to make one mistake after another.”
“Doubtless, you miss your sisters, love. Andrena will soon return, and Lina will come here to stay with you both whilst your father and I journey to Inverness for his grace’s Parliament there. That won’t be too long now.”
Bidding her goodnight again, Murie entered her bedchamber to find that Tibby had put out a fresh shift for her to wear in the morning. Wondering how she might spend the time until she was tired enough to sleep, she did what she usually did when she was bored and let her imagination roam free.
Deciding to lose herself in folk tales and not think a single thought about Robert MacAulay, she went to bed and tried to imagine what her sisters might be doing. The only thing she sensed about them was that each was safe and in good health. Whatever her father might think about her abilities, the instinct that warned her if either Lina or Dree met trouble or danger was as keen as ever it had been.
Rob took his leave of Andrew as soon as he could politely do so. With Scáthach at his heels, he collected his sword, bow, and quiver and strode out to the postern gate, where he found young Pluff standing guard.
“So you are also the keeper of the gate, are you,” Rob said lightly.
“Aye, sure, when naebody else wants tae stand here. I dinna mind. It be good practice for when I grow big enough tae be a warrior. They stand guard, too, aye?”
“They do, indeed,” Rob said, tousling the boy’s wild curls.
“When be ye a-coming back then?” Pluff asked as he lifted the latch.
“Oh, tomorrow or the next day. It may rain tonight, and if it does, I’d liefer stay close by the cottage fire.”
“Mayhap I’ll visit ye, then, if ye’ll let me,” Pluff said. “I’ve a mind tae learn more about being a warrior, and MacNur said I might ask ye aboot it.”
“You may if MacNur or the laird says you may,” Rob said. “But I’ll wager you’ve asked Sir Ian and Sir Magnus most of the questions you want to ask me.”
“I have, aye,” Pluff admitted. “But men I’ve asked give different answers tae me questions, so I learn summat from each one I ask. Also, even Sir Ian said ye ken more aboot fighting hand-tae-hand than he or Sir Mag. He said ye’re gey strong, too, and that ye might teach me how tae grow stronger.”
“You have a keen mind in that fiery head of yours, lad. You come and talk to me whenever you like. But mind you get permission first.”
“I will, aye,” Pluff assured him. Then, patting Scáthach’s head, the boy opened the postern gate and shut it again when Rob and Scáthach were outside it.
Rob made haste, because the air was heavy with rain, ready to begin at any minute. He had left a fire banked in the cottage, so it would take little to stir it to life, but it would be wise to get there before he got soaked.
She was flying through the air, her favorite blue-green kirtle billowing around her legs and her hooded, fur-lined cloak draped over her shoulders. She was doing naught to make herself fly, but she had only to think about going in a certain direction to do so. In truth, she had found a quite magical place, yet she had no memory of coming here.
In the distance ahead a man appeared, flying toward her. Although he was as far from her as Dree’s cottage was from the tower gate, his golden-brown hair and vivid green eyes were clearly visible.
So, where was Scáthach if Robert MacAulay was with her in this strange world where people could fly as easily as birds? More easily, come to that, since she didn’t have to flap wings here to fly and, apparently, neither did MacAulay.
Without any sense of time passing, he was right in front of her, catching hold of her as he had before but kissing her this time. Strangely, she wanted him to keep doing it. His lips felt warm and his breath tasted of smoke and whisky.
He vanished, and the taste in her mouth changed to something bitterly sour. To her horror and dismay, Dougal MacPharlain had taken his place.
She tried to shove Dougal away, but she couldn’t. He was flying off with her! With every shove, he went faster and faster until they were flying at breakneck speed. Suddenly, they plunged downward, then deeper and deeper into that strange, unnatural world.
More abruptly than Dougal’s appearance came a flashing sense of light between them. Just as she recognized MacAulay and saw him grab Dougal, MacAulay flung him into the clouds and caught her instead. She struggled both to thank him and to free herself, but no words would come. She tried harder…
… and heard herself say clearly, “I could have flung him away myself.”
Blinking rapidly, trying to reorient herself, Muriella realized that she was sitting up in her own bed. Familiar gray dawn light spilled through a crack in one of the window shutters. She could hear wind and pelting rain outside.
Wondering what MacAulay might have to say about such a strange dream, she wondered, too, if she would dare to tell him about it. Deciding that she would, she hoped he would brave the rain and return to the tower soon so that she could.
The rain continued all day Tuesday, and although any number of their own people sought shelter inside the castle and great hall, Robert MacAulay did not.
Wednesday and Thursday passed in much the same way, although the rain did stop for a time Thursday afternoon, and Andrew went outside. When Muriella learned at supper than he had visited MacAulay at the cottage, the surge of envy and irritation she felt astonished her. She nearly asked Andrew why he had not taken her with him but fortunately recalled before she did that he would hear such a question in a much different way than she would mean it.
He would certainly decide that she was attracted to MacAulay.
That the three days of confinement Andrew had ordered had ended cheered her. When the fact dawned on her that her parents would have forbidden her to venture out in such rain, punishment or none, she felt even better.
She was thoroughly tired of the rain, so when she awoke Friday morning to blessed silence and then heard birds begin to sing, she arose, dressed in her warm pink kirtle, and pulled on her rawhide boots without waiting for Tibby.
Noting that what she could see of the sky was clear, Murie hurried down to the dais to break her fast, hoping to find Andrew in the hall. However, he had gone out and her mother had eaten and gone to the kitchen to confer with the cook.
With a sigh, Murie helped herself to cold sliced beef and a manchet roll and began to eat, wondering if anyone else even remembered that her days of confinement were over.
She was finishing her meal when Lady Aubrey entered and said, “I’m glad that you are up, my love. Doubtless you intend to finish spinning the yarn you mean to give Annie Wylie, but first I have some other chores for you.”
“Aye, sure, Mam,” Murie said, that being the only acceptable response.
Rushing through her chores with her usual efficiency, she thought briefly of looking for Andrew again, to ask if she might now walk outside the wall. If he refused, she would ask him if MacAulay meant to visit that day.
Knowing that Andrew was likely still bus
y and that he would surely ask if she had tasks left to do before permitting anything else, she went to the ladies’ solar and finished spinning the last bobbin of yarn for Annie Wylie. Tucking the four balls she already had for her into a cloth sack with the fifth one, Murie went down to the hall, found it empty, and continued downstairs to the postern door.
Her fur-lined, hooded cloak hung on a hook by the door.
Glancing at the cloak, she nearly passed it by but took the precaution of looking outside first. The sky that had looked wonderfully clear earlier had acquired a host of scattered clouds in the meantime. The air was ice cold.
Setting the sack with Annie’s yarn on the floor, Murie donned her cloak, left the sack of yarn where it was, and hurried out to seek her father. Seeing Pluff at his favorite post near the postern gate, she asked him if he had seen Andrew.
“Aye, sure, he went out a whiles back, m’lady,” the boy said, turning toward the gate. “I think he were a-heading tae Sir Mag’s cottage tae visit MacAulay, but he’ll no ha’ got far yet. If ye follow yon path, likely ye’ll fine him gey quick.”
Lifting the latch, Pluff opened the gate for her.
Chapter 5
For some time, Rob had been pleasantly sitting with his back against a warm granite slab a half-mile southeast of Mag’s cottage, idly watching a flock of drifting clouds in the cerulean sky overhead, while Scáthach dozed at his feet.
The clouds were gathering slowly, as if collie angels nipped at their heels, herding them eastward. Rob watched two clouds in particular as they drifted nearer and nearer to each other, kissed, and separated. They drifted close again, then apart and close once more, as if yearning to become lovers but uncertain of the risk.
The smaller cloud, to his right, drifted farther away toward another wee one. When it did, the larger one darkened, as if angry, holding its lover at fault.
Rob grinned at the odd flight his imagination had taken. He had not thought in such a way since he was a laddie seeking animal shapes in the clouds. Nor had he thought of clouds as lovers then, potential or otherwise.