The Knight's Temptress (Lairds of the Loch)

by Amanda Scott

  “Unless one counts the leaders who lost their heads shortly thereafter.”

  “I don’t,” Ian said. “So tell me what you think we might do unless you mean to suggest tact or conciliation. If that’s what you think, talk to my father.”

  Chapter 5

  I do think this is daft,” Lizzie said that afternoon. She sat on her stool by the window, despite the drizzle outside, carefully pulling individual threads from the length, or warp, of one of the shirts as Lina had shown her. “You may hope we can sneak out of here by disguising ourselves with those so-called cloaks you are fashioning. But that door is locked, Lina. And, no matter how much MacCowan or anyone else here might sympathize with our predicament, they dare not help us.”

  “Mayhap I am daft,” Lina said equably as she threaded her needle with a fresh length of thread. “In troth, I just need to do something, to…” She hesitated, unable to put her strange feeling into words that would make any sense.

  To her surprise, Lizzie laughed. “I used to think, before I met you, that the MacFarlan sisters were all daft,” she said. “Don’t people say that Andrena knows what one is thinking and that Murie remembers all that she hears or sees?”

  “I cannot know what people say about us unless they say it to me,” Lina said. “But they don’t say such things to me. What else do they say?”

  Lizzie cocked her head thoughtfully. Then she said, “They say that you know potions and cures, like an herb woman. Also, that you can cast and read runes. Such things sound wise and interesting, though. Many folks do seem to be in awe of you, but that may be because you are kind and try to help them with what you know.”

  “What else do you think about us?”

  “I scarcely exchanged three sentences with Andrena before she and Mag left for Ayrshire. But she seemed nice. And I like you and Muriella. I realize now that people meant only that Murie remembers the stories she hears. She just has a good memory. But Andrena, knowing people’s thoughts…”

  “Did you ask Magnus if Dree can tell what other people are thinking?”

  Grimacing reminiscently, Lizzie said, “I did, aye. He told me that if I were wise, I’d have no thoughts that did not bear revealing.”

  Lina chuckled. “That sounds like him. But I don’t think Dree knows anyone’s thoughts save her own. She is gey observant, though. Sithee, she can tell much from the way a person acts, speaks, or moves. My mother says that Dree just has keener instincts about such things than most people.”

  “They say that Lady Aubrey is a Seer,” Lizzie said.

  “Aye, well, people do believe the strangest things, don’t they?”

  Saturday and Sunday, the rain continued intermittently, which was normal for a Scottish summer. Clouds gathered near the western or northwestern horizon each morning and moved eastward. Scattered clouds came later from all directions to collide in a mass when they met, and afternoon thunderstorms resulted. Some were severe, even vicious, with bolts of lightning threatening the land. Both days saw brief, heavy downpours of rain mixed with hail.

  Despite the weather, messages flew from Dumbarton to Dunglass and back. Running gillies delivered them when lightning threatened, and mounted riders when it did not. The people at Dunglass learned no more about the captives.

  On Monday, Ian endured a late-morning shower while he supervised mopping up after the previous day’s storm. Soaked through, he retired to his chamber shortly after noon to dry off and change his clothes for the midday meal.

  To his surprise, Hak was not waiting for him. Having no wish to annoy Colquhoun by being late to the meal, Ian peeled off his sodden clothes and dried himself with a towel from the washstand rack.

  Donning a fresh tunic, he left his wet clothes on the floor for Hak and had just taken his favorite plaid from its hook when the door opened and Hak walked in.

  “Where the devil have you been?” Ian demanded.

  Shutting the door, Hak said, “I ha’ a message for ye, sir, from Dumbarton.”

  Draping the plaid over a shoulder and taking his belt from the hook, Ian handed Hak the belt to hold. “How did you receive such a message?” he asked, using both hands to arrange the length of blue-and-gray wool.

  “A rider brung word from James Mòr for the laird,” Hak said, handing Ian the belt when he reached for it. “When the rider went inside, a lad he’d brung wi’ him tae watch the horses asked for me. He said Gorry MacCowan said tae tell ye that the deevil’s spawn… I dinna ken who that be, sir. Nor did the lad.”

  “I do,” Ian said grimly, recognizing his own words to Gorry at Dumbarton. “It is Dougal MacPharlain.”

  “Aye, well, the lad said that the deevil’s spawn asked the lord tae let him keep the elder o’ the two pawns he’d captured. I dinna think he meant the Almighty when he said ‘lord,’ Master Ian.”

  “No,” Ian said. “He meant James Mòr. The man fancies himself still a great lord despite the fall of his whole House of Albany. Go on.”

  “Lemme think,” Hak said, frowning. “Aye, then the deevil’s spawn said the younger pawn be the important one o’ the two, because the lord could use her tae keep her sire in check. I dinna ken what that means, neither. But the lad said he tellt me just what he’d clapped in tae his memory, as Gorry bade him tae do.”

  “I understand it,” Ian said. It meant that Dougal thought holding Lizzie hostage would keep Galbraith in check and thus made her more valuable to James Mòr than Lina would be. However, it might mean that Dougal wanted James Mòr to believe that because Dougal wanted Lina. Ian did not share these thoughts with Hak. Nor would he until he had pondered them more. “Is that all?”

  “Nay, master. Forbye, Gorry said that this be the most important part. But he said tae tell ye the other first, lest ye fail tae heed aught save this bit.”

  Tension gripped Ian. “Well?”

  Hak gave him a wary, speculative look. His news wasn’t good.

  “Hak?”

  Swallowing visibly, Hak said. “See you, sir, the lad said that the lord—James Mòr, that would be—declared he would keep both o’ them.” He paused.

  “Go on, damn you.”

  “He said he could do nae bargaining if the young one faced ruin, by having nae female tae speak for her innocence after being captive in a castleful of men.”

  “What else did your messenger say?” Ian asked grimly.

  “That afterward, the deevil’s spawn were in a rare tirrivee. That Gorry fears the man will just take the pawn he wants.”

  Hak stopped, less wary now, his curiosity nearly palpable.

  “Hak, I’ll explain it all to you, because I’m going to need your—” Ian broke off at a sharp rap on the door followed by his father’s entrance.

  “Leave us, Hak,” Colquhoun said so curtly that Ian wondered how much he had overheard or if something else had stirred the paternal wrath.

  Since he had been treading lightly to avoid aught that might imperil his own plans—when he had some—the chance that he had angered Colquhoun was small. Moreover, the door to his room was thick, solid, and well-hung. So his father had overheard only a word or two as he entered the room.

  So far, Ian had shared none of the wild ideas he had considered and rejected for rescuing the girls. Not with Rob MacAulay or any other man who had arrived at Dunglass since Ian’s visit to Dumbarton, including Sir Alex Buchanan, who was a close cousin of Rob’s, a friend of Ian’s, and a fellow knight of the realm.

  Hak was on his way out with the bundle of wet clothing, so Ian said, “Come back when the laird has gone, Hak. I have more to say to you.”

  When the door had shut again, Ian faced his father.

  Without preamble, Colquhoun said urgently, “James Mòr demands that I go to him at once, lad. This very afternoon or not at all.”

  Lina could hear Lizzie’s soft breathing as the younger girl concentrated on her stitches. The rain had stopped temporarily, allowing them to open the shutters and proceed with altering the old blankets into rough cloaks.

/>   Glancing out the window, Lina saw that dark clouds still hung low over the landscape. The stillness seemed ominous. It was going to rain again and would doubtless rain hard. Nevertheless, she could hear a bird whistling somewhere.

  Against that eerie, prestorm stillness, she also heard a murmur of male voices in the stableyard below. From her stool near the window, she could see the eastern wall. The long, narrow thatched roof that jutted from it barely covered the restless backsides of the few ponies in open stalls facing the wall.

  Distant, hasty footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  “Lizzie, put that cloak aside and take up a shirt,” Lina said. Pushing her own drab wool aside, she snatched up one of Dougal MacPharlain’s shirts in its place.

  “I don’t hear anything,” Lizzie said.

  “Quick!” Lina said. The footsteps had neared their landing. “Do it!”

  As a key scraped in the lock, Lizzie dropped the end of her blanket so that the cloth draped over her knees. Snatching up a linen shirt from the round table beside her, she thrust her needle through its fabric near one of the rents in it just as the door opened and Dougal strode in, leaving the door open.

  Having had the foresight to use one of her own needles as a second one and to thread them both, Lina calmly finished a stitch and looked up at him. Fearing that he might notice something amiss, especially if Lizzie tried to pull her thread through and revealed that it would bring the blanket on her knees with it, Lina said quietly, “What is it, sir?”

  He regarded her silently, looked outside, then back at her. “It is going to storm,” he said. “Is the cloak ye wore here on Wednesday a thick, warm one?”

  “The weather is warm enough without it,” she said, wondering guiltily what demon had turned his thoughts to cloaks.

  “Is it warm enough to wear outside if it grows colder?”

  Sensing Lizzie’s immediate, joyful reaction to his words and feeling an icy chill that had naught to do with cloaks, Lina said hastily, to silence Lizzie, “On most days, aye. But if you mean would it keep me dry on a day like today—”

  “I do, aye,” he said.

  “I knew I did not misjudge you!” Lizzie cried. “You mean to take us home!”

  “Not ye, lass,” he replied harshly. “Ye’re too important to James Mòr.”

  Lina did not need to see the stricken look on Lizzie’s face to say flatly, “Then I cannot go either, sir. You must know how wrong that would be.”

  “Ye’ll do as I bid ye,” he retorted.

  Hearing footsteps again on the stairs, Lina said, “No, sir. I won’t leave her.”

  Ignoring the relief he felt at hearing that James Mòr and not he had irked Colquhoun, Ian said, “He does not again demand that you go alone, does he?”

  “Nay, nay, we settled it in the second round of messages that I’ll take my usual tail. But he does say we must go afoot and my men must stay in the yard whilst I go inside. I can take one man in with me, though. That will be ye, lad. But neither of us may enter James Mòr’s presence armed.”

  “I see,” Ian said, mentally rejecting the idea that he be the one to accompany Colquhoun. To be sure, it was his right. And the last thing he wanted to discuss with his father was any still-amorphous plan of his own. Even so, everything in him screamed that being closed up in an audience chamber with James Mòr and Colquhoun would be fatal to any plan of his that might present itself.

  To his delight, as that thought formed, so did the possible outline for a plan. Needing time to think, he said, “We’d be wise to consider just what options we have, sir, before we set out. I ken fine that you must have done so already. Mayhap, though, if you will permit me to think aloud…”

  At Colquhoun’s nod, Ian said, “First, despite what James Mòr commanded, I believe we must take horses. The weather has been so treacherous of late that if we walk all the way, we’ll be drenched and muddy to the waist when we arrive. That would put us at an immediate disadvantage in any discussion.”

  “Aye, but we’d wear oiled cloaks, lad, as we always do.”

  “Even so, sir, we’ll be in better shape if we ride at least through the forest to the edge of the river plain.”

  “What if James Mòr has set watchers there?”

  “Even if he has, I suspect that you still have not mentioned the ladies Lina or Lizzie in your messages to him.”

  “Ye ken fine that I have not. I want to be facing the man when I do that.”

  “Aye, sure,” Ian said. “So, if James Mòr learns that you rode as far as the plain and objects, tell him you stopped there in deference to his wishes. Add that, due to his known chivalry—a gey tactful phrase, I think, however untruthful—you believed that he would agree to release the women, and they would need horses.”

  “Now, that is a good notion,” Colquhoun agreed, ignoring the digressive comment. “I warrant I’d have thought of that myself, had I taken the trouble.”

  “Then, I’ll dare to offer a second suggestion.” Watching his father’s face carefully, Ian said, “I think you should take Rob MacAulay in my stead. Before you command me, sir,” he added hastily, recognizing signs of Colquhoun’s doing just that, “I would suggest that the less anyone else knows of my whereabouts now, the better. ’Tis possible that James Mòr knows I’ve returned to Dunglass. But, unless he has spies here, he won’t know more than that. I’d like to keep it that way, especially with others arriving every day to take part in our meeting.”

  “Won’t he think it odd if he does know ye’re here and ye don’t go with me?”

  “I am your heir, sir,” Ian said solemnly. “James Mòr will think only that you protect the Colquhoun succession against possible mishap. I’ll wager he’d do the same in a similar situation. However, since I know that fact will not weigh heavily enough to persuade you, I will add that I’ll feel better if Rob goes with you.”

  “Good sakes, lad, why?”

  “Because I distrust James Mòr,” Ian said frankly. “I believe that, whether he lets you have their ladyships or not, you will be in danger. And Rob is an excellent man to have at one’s side if aught goes amiss.”

  “Better than you?”

  “I am gey skilled with weapons and on horseback,” Ian said. “And I can outfight most enemies. But, although I’m grateful for your confidence, sir, Rob has a knack for hand-to-hand combat without weapons that I cannot match. Your own tactfulness will doubtless see you both safely away. But if tact should fail…”

  Having already said enough to land himself in the suds later if he acted on the plan rapidly hatching in his fertile mind, he let his father’s imagination fill in the rest.

  Colquhoun was quiet long enough to give Ian another qualm. Then he said, “Again you speak sensibly, lad. I’m leaving Adam here, too. I mean to take only men with proven ability to wait patiently, without complaint.” With a slight smile, he added, “Your brother will thank me, I know. He loathes standing in the rain. And everyone I leave in the castle yard will be soaked through.”

  “True, sir,” Ian said, returning his smile. “How soon must you leave?”

  “I’ve already sent orders to the men. I’ll order the horses now, and we’ll leave as soon as we’ve eaten.”

  “Order at least two extra horses for their ladyships,” Ian said. “In troth, you might take four or five extra in a string. If thunder and lightning erupt whilst you’re inside, some of those ponies could startle and injure themselves.”

  “Unlikely, since we’ll take lads to stay with them,” Colquhoun said. “But I agree that we should be prepared for aught that comes. I’ll see you at the table.”

  Hak returned fast enough to tell Ian that he had quickly disposed of the wet clothing and then waited nearby for Colquhoun to leave.

  After briefly explaining what was going on, Ian said, “Find Rob MacAulay and Alex Buchanan, and tell them to meet me here before we eat. They’ll have to hurry, so assure them I won’t keep them long. Tell them it’s urgent.”

  Dougal had taken a
step toward Lina, his evident intent to shake her or worse, before he, too, heard the footsteps. Looking over his shoulder, he saw, as Lina did, that Gorry MacCowan stood at the open doorway with his minion and their midday meal. MacCowan paused at the threshold, the lad just behind him with the tray.

  “Beg pardon, sir,” MacCowan said. “Was ye meaning tae take your meal wi’ the ladies? Nae one told me. But I can see tae—”

  “Never mind,” Dougal said. To Lina, he added, “We’ll discuss this anon.”

  “If you wish, sir. But I will not change my mind.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he snapped. Pushing past MacCowan and the lad, nearly upsetting the tray that the boy carried, Dougal left.

  “Lina,” Lizzie said urgently, “promise me—”

  “Hush, Liz. Not now.”

  “Shut that door, lad,” MacCowan said. “I’ll take that tray whilst ye stand wi’ your ear tae the door. Tell me if ye hear aught o’ footsteps or voices a-coming up.”

  When the boy had obeyed, MacCowan set the tray on the table. As he did, he said quietly to Lina, “I’d be fain tae ken what that were aboot, if ye’d be inclined tae confide in me, m’lady.”

  Lina nodded. “You have looked after us well, Gorry MacCowan. You also aided the person who came here that first night.”

  Glancing at the boy, who had pressed his left ear to the door, he murmured, “Aye, m’lady, and that person wants ken of aught that might endanger ye.”

  “Then he should know that Dougal MacPharlain wants to take me away but means to leave the lady Elizabeth here. I refused to go. So now he is angry.”

  MacCowan winced. “Ha’ courage, m’lady,” he murmured. “I did hear that he had hopes o’ such. But the lord James Mòr did tell him nay. James Mòr would keep ye both here.” Whispering, he added, “I did send word o’ that tae—”