Even Effie’s color returned by the time they were helped down the gangplank, although she mumbled something about how being on a boat was near as bad as being close to a horse.
“’Tis nae far now,” Jamie said as one of the wharf workers led a horse and sleigh out from the small building that served as a boarding stable for those who travelled by sea and back. “Ye might find this a bit more to yer liking,” he said to Effie as he helped her and Mari into the rear of the sleigh where furs were heaped in a pile. In no time, he had both of them covered to their chins. To Mari’s delight, warm bricks lined the bottom of the sleigh and she sighed in bliss. Her toes felt half-frozen since the thin leather half-boots had been little protection from the water that sluiced over the decks.
Jamie climbed onto the driver’s seat and Mari frowned. Why wasn’t he sitting beside her? There was room, and he would be much warmer. Sharing the plaid on board ship had proved how important it was to share body heat. Really, he could catch a quite a chill up there exposed to the wind and mist that seemed to hang like a veil over the water’s edge. “Would you not be more comfortable back here?” she blurted as Effie gave her a poke.
Jamie turned to look down at her, his eyes changing from gold to amber. “Aye, lass, I would, but this is Ian’s sled. He left it here so we will nae be needing a mon to drive us home.” With that, he tapped the reins to the horse’s rump and the animal took off at a trot. Mari thought it probably knew it was headed for its own warm stable and a good portion of oats.
Home. For Jamie, though his own isle was even farther north, this was home. Mari looked at the passing landscape covered in white velvet with crystal icicles hanging from brown branches. To their left, the slate-colored water of the estuary shone silver in the weak, wintery sunlight, while to the right Ben Nevis rose majestically, green conifers gracing its steep hillside, its summit lost in the misty clouds.
This was also Jillian’s home now. She had written about how much she loved the mountains and glens and ruggedness of the Highlands, and how she looked forward to spring and seeing the heather on the moors. Mari took a deep breath.
Did Jillian still live to enjoy the spring?
Chapter Nineteen
They had been climbing a narrow mountain road—or at least Mari thought it was a road, but there was really too much snow to tell. She hoped the horse knew where it was going. Several times she averted her eyes when they came dangerously close to what looked like deadly drops. Far below, she could see the glistening waters of Loch Shiel, the sun reflecting off the ice crusting its edges. It couldn’t be too much farther. She wrung her hands nervously. What would she find?
A short time later, Jamie stopped the sleigh just outside the old curtain wall that remained standing in front of the medieval castle that was Ian’s home. A stable boy came running to take charge of the horse as Jamie jumped off the driver’s seat to help Effie and Mari down. “The sled canna go farther since Ian keeps the courtyard cleared, but ’tis nae a far walk.”
Mari stood rooted to the spot, feeling like she had stepped backward in time. This was where Jillian lived? In front of them was an actual portcullis, its iron gate raised, and she could see the cobblestoned courtyard. Beyond that, a massive stone structure rose four stories high, a turreted tower on each end. She half expected to see archers appear between the merlons and embrasures that linked the two towers. “It’s like something out of the King Arthur legends,” she said as they began to walk toward the castle.
“I dinnae think Arthur ever rode this far north,” Jamie answered, “but Norman knights did under the banner of the Earl of Sinclair.”
“How old is this place?”
“It goes back to the 1300s.”
“Oh, my,” Mari exclaimed and then froze in her tracks again. Ian was walking toward them, his face grim. Mari’s heart fell to her feet. Was Jillian…
Jamie reached for her hand and wrapped his big one around hers, his fingers warm and strong. For once, she was grateful for his strength. She swallowed hard. “Is Jillian all right?”
“Nae,” Ian answered, and Mari felt the blood drain from her face. Only Jamie’s arm around her waist kept her from falling.
“She is nae well.”
Relief flooded Mari, dizzying her. She collapsed against Jamie. At least Jillian was alive.
Jamie glared at his brother. “Ye are frightening the lass to death. Can ye nae explain yerself?”
“Aye,” Ian replied as he turned to lead them to the massive oak doors of the keep. “Infection set in from a cut Jillie got—’tis a long story—and she was fevered for a fortnight. Bridget said the Crone of the Hills brought poultices to draw it out, and that was what kept Jillie from death.”
“Crone of the Hills?” Mari asked.
“I will explain it to ye later, lass,” Jamie said. “So why is Jillian nae well then?”
“’Tis the bairn,” Ian answered.
Mari felt lightheaded again. Jamie must have noticed because he put a reassuring arm around her waist once more. “Did she lose the babe?”
“The bairn lives according to Bridget, but Jillie has nae recovered. She is weak and lies abed when she should be walking about, gathering her strength for what lies ahead.”
Beside them, Effie snorted, and everyone paused to look at her. “Just goes to show what a man knows about child birthing. If Jillian lost a lot of blood, it would be dangerous for her to move about. The babe could be harmed.”
Ian appraised her, his dark eyes growing darker. “Ye are a midwife?”
It was an intimidating look, but Effie held her own. Mari almost smiled. Perhaps being accustomed to one bossy MacLeod had given Effie courage, for she returned Ian’s look.
“I have done my share in helping with births. I will take care of Jillian.”
“Ye will have to fight Jillie’s maid, Darcy, to do that.”
Effie sniffed. “That silly Irish girl is here?”
Ian’s face softened, and Mari thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch. “Aye, she is.”
This time, Mari did smile. Darcy was Effie’s nemesis, not that she meant to be. The girl was only two years older than Mari and a bit of a free spirit who liked having fun, especially if involved members of the opposite sex—and she didn’t mind expressing her thoughts any more than Effie did.
“But ye will have to get past Bridget first,” Ian added, “and that isna always easy.”
Jamie laughed. “Ye are putting it rather mildly, brother.” He turned to Effie. “Our sister would make a good warrior. She gives no quarter.”
Effie eyed the front door and lifted her chin. “Hmmph!” she said.
Darcy gave Mari a cheeky grin and helped Jillian to a sitting position in her bed before leaving the bedchamber. Mari pulled a chair near Jillian and managed a smile that she did not feel. Never in her entire life had she seen her sister look so frail and weak. And, save for the bruises she’d suffered from the old marquess, Mari couldn’t really remember a time when Jillian had even been ill.
“I do not look so good, do I?” Jillian asked, her voice a mere whisper of her normal self.
“You look fine,” Mari lied and picked up Jillian’s hand. “You will be fine.”
Jillian attempted a smile. “I could always tell when you were lying.”
Mari felt tears sting her eyes. “You are alive, that is what matters—and the babe too.”
“Yes, there is that,” Jillian replied and placed her hand on her extended belly. “I do not think I could have forgiven myself if the babe had died.”
“Ian told us what happened. It was not your fault you fell.”
“Brodie—Bridget’s husband—told me I should have waited for him to return and not gone after their uncle and his brother, but I had to know what they were planning.” She paused, collected her breath and managed to speak a bit louder. “You have no idea how much those two hate the English. Please be careful.”
“I will. Surely they would not dare hurt either of u
s?”
“Not directly. Ian would have their heads. They are conniving, though.” She paused again, gathering her strength. “I am not so sure Duncan and Broc did not intend for me to overhear them talking about the plans to attack Countess Sutherland’s escort to lure me out in the dark of night. They knew both Shane and Brodie were gone.”
Mari felt shocked. “You carry Ian’s child. The heir to the clan, if that is the right term to use.”
Jillian nodded. “Precisely. An heir that would be half English.”
“But that…that is murder.”
“Someone would have to prove that. It was their luck that I managed to stumble and fall on my own. Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”
“Why hasn’t Ian made them leave?”
“He wanted to. I told him it was wiser pretending we did not suspect anything. The blizzard was a blessing because the passes were blocked and the countess turned back to London. However, if we keep Duncan and Broc here, we can know if they make any other plans that would put Ian’s lands in jeopardy.”
“But you may be in jeopardy.”
Jillian managed a genuine smile. “I take it you have not met Bridget yet?”
Mari shook her head. “Jamie directed me straight here.”
Her sister eyed her curiously for a moment but merely said, “Bridget keeps a close eye on who comes near the stairs. I am never left alone. If Ian is not here, Darcy is. She can scream bloody murder louder than anyone I know.”
Mari laughed, beginning to finally relax. “I remember. It always makes Effie cringe.”
“Did Effie come with you?”
“Of course. I could not have stopped her even if I had wanted to.”
Jillian lay back on the pillows. “Things are going to get interesting around here.”
Mari was beginning to see what Jillian meant when she descended the stairs and headed for the sound of loud conversation coming from down the hall. She entered an open door to a room that was probably as close to a parlor as a medieval Scottish castle got. Flames of blue, red and orange burned brightly in the huge hearth along one side of the room. Various animal furs were scattered on the stone floor in front of the fire and several large, comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs were in close proximity. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes lined the walls, probably to keep the damp cold of the stone out as much as for the artistry of the weavers.
Effie and Darcy stood glaring at each other, both of them with their hands on their hips while two identical-looking girls with strawberry hair sat on a horsehair sofa watching them with huge, green eyes.
“I’ll not be letting ye take over the care of me mistress,” Darcy proclaimed loudly. “I am doing just fine.”
“Yet Jillian lies ill,” Effie retorted.
“’Tis no’ my fault.”
“I did not say it was,” Effie replied, “but I know how distracted you get when there are men about—”
“Nary a man has distracted me,” Darcy sputtered.
“Ladies.” Mari moved closer, hoping she could interject some sort of peace. “I have just talked with Jillian. While she is weak, the worst seems to be over.” She turned to smile at the twins, who were staring at her. “My sister seems to be well taken of.”
The girls looked at each other and both of them nodded. “Aye,” one of them answered, “the Crone o’ the Hills healed her.”
“Who?” Effie asked.
“Our faerie,” the other twin said.
“Your what?”
“Our faerie,” the second twin repeated earnestly.
“Hmmph!” Effie folded her arms across her chest. “Children should not be told such stories. Faeries do not exist.”
Both twins’ eyes rounded. “But she takes care of the MacLeods when one is in need,” the first twin said.
“Cousin Jillian has seen her,” the other one added. “Ye can ask her.”
“Perhaps we can wait with that,” said a female voice from the doorway. “Our guests are probably quite tired from the journey. Why don’t the two of ye go find Jamie?”
“But—” one of the twins started to say before the other gave her a poke in the ribs with her elbow. The first one frowned, about to return the gesture when the woman in the doorway cleared her throat. Both girls jumped up and hurried out without another word.
The woman who entered the room was about ten years older than Mari, with hair as red as a country sunset. Although she had a smile on her lips, her brown eyes appraised Effie. Mari had a feeling the woman had probably already summed up the potential spat between the maids. Things were not off to a particularly good start.
“I am Jillian’s sister, Mari,” she said.
“Aye. Jamie informed me when ye went up the stairs.” She gave Mari the same appraising look she’d given Effie.
Mari tried not to squirm under the scrutiny. She felt as though she were being considered by the patronesses of Almack’s for the spring voucher, which was ridiculous since she was in the middle of the wild and forsaken Highlands.
The woman extended her hand. “I am Bridget. I bid you welcome to our home.”
“Thank you. That is very kind.” Mari shook her hand, thinking how strange the gesture was considering only men shook hands in London. Bridget’s hold had a strength to it that surprised Mari and reminded her of Jamie. And then she remembered that Jamie had told Highlanders were honor bound to offer hospitality to anyone who arrived at their door. Mari also remembered Jillian saying how the uncles hated the English.
Did Bridget mean those words of welcome or did she harbor her own dislike?
And what had Jillian meant about things getting interesting? Lord, if Bridget could control three MacLeod men who were used to issuing orders, things would be interesting indeed. Perhaps she could even learn a thing or two.
The first thing Mari learned when they were seated for dinner later that evening was the entire family adored Jamie, although it should not have surprised her since both Aunt Agnes and Effie practically gushed at his comments—and neither of those women was accustomed to gushing.
What was amazing, though, was how different each of the family members were from one another. From Jillian, Mari learned that Bridget, out of necessity, had taken over the care of her younger sisters when their stepmother ignored them. Ian and Jamie had supported her, since neither cared for the self-centered woman their father had chosen to marry. Mari wondered if that had something to do with the fact that Jamie did not seem particularly impressed with any of the debutantes in London.
Shauna, the middle sister, was the quiet one with auburn hair more brown than red. She had been polite when Bridget introduced them earlier, but had then retreated to the library in search of a book, reminding Mari a great deal of Abigail.
Fiona, the youngest, was the complete opposite. Her hair was as inky-black as Ian’s, but her eyes were a soft pearl grey that, along with the pale, porcelain perfection of her skin, gave her an ethereal look. However, any notion she was a mystical, otherworldly creature dissolved into mist once she started talking. Mari didn’t think she’d ever met anyone so animated. Fiona had a hundred questions about London and Society, none of which she’d given Mari time to answer.
And then there were the twins. They were twelve, and she’d learned their names were Caitlin and Caylin, although she still didn’t know which was which—a fact that brought sly little smiles to their faces. Mari suspected she’d be the subject of many a jest on their parts. They were actually Shane’s sisters, but since he spent so much of his time at sea, they lived with Ian rather than in Edinburgh.
The whole lot of them sat enthralled, listening to Jamie regale them with stories of training an inept household staff to use weapons. The twins, in particular, thought it hysterically humorous that grown men could not handle swords.
“Even we practice with blunted swords,” Caitlin—or Caylin—said.
“And we practice archery too,” Caylin—or Caitlin—said. “Can the English nae shoot a
n arrow either?”
The question seemed to dispose both of them to fits of giggles, but it did give Mari some insight into Jamie’s penchant for carrying weapons on various parts of his body. Goodness gracious, if young girls were trained for battle…
“I would rather know if the English lads are good-looking,” Fiona interjected.
Jamie gave her a sharp look. “Ye need nae concern yerself about that, little sister.”
Fiona remained unfazed. “Why nae? My sister-by-marriage is English. I expect to visit the estates there. ’Tis natural I ken what to expect.”
“Ye will expect naught. Besides, since I manage the estates, I will be the one to decide when—or if—ye visit them.”
There was the Jamie MacLeod Mari knew. Bossy, arrogant…
But Fiona just smiled at him. “Ye ken I will, big brother.” Then she turned to Mari. “Mayhap ye can tell me what I want to ken about the lads. Do they like to—”
“Mari will tell ye nothing!”
Bossy man. Mari held back a sharp retort, deciding to take a lesson from his sister, whom she was already feeling might be a kindred spirit. She smiled sweetly at Jamie instead and then turned to Fiona. “I should be happy to answer any questions you wish to ask.”
And she deliberately ignored the glower on Jamie MacLeod’s face.
Chapter Twenty
Heaven help him if Fiona decided to aid and abet Mari in defying him, Jamie thought as he entered the library after dinner and poured a wee dram of the Scot uisge-beatha he had missed while in England. The lasses—both of them—had tendencies to blunder into situations from which they needed rescuing, even if they didn’t think they did. Fiona had always been strong-willed with an inquisitive nose for adventure that usually landed her in spots she should not be. Mari was also stubborn and had an equal inclination to head off in directions she should not take.
Unfortunately, he was still in charge of their welfare. Shane had already gone back to Edinburgh for his overdue trip to France, and Ian spent his available time with Jillian in their bedchamber. According to both the physician and the midwife whom Ian paid to stay in the castle, the bairn was due in a fortnight. Once the bairn was born and Jillian truly on the road to recovery, Ian would once again take over ruling the castle—and the lasses.
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