Snow Raven

by Patricia McAllister

  Cullen shifted under Ranald’s cold stare. Merry wondered if Hertha was right, if Blair’s brother might be responsible for the betrayal at Badanloch that led to the deaths stoking the old clan feud. But surely even Black Cullen would not be so bold as to murder an innocent old man, then linger about and strut through the keep as he pleased. He must know Ran disliked him; none could be so dense as to not sense the waves of hostility emanating from The Wolf.

  “Nay, Ran, I dinna hear a thing. I sleep verra deeply. Blair always said me snore could wake the dead.”

  Ranald did not look amused, either by Cullen’s poor attempt at humor or the reference to his wife. “Too bad your snores cannot wake poor Duncan, too. Somebody apparently has little respect for life around here. There’s no excuse for slaughtering an innocent old man.”

  Merry saw Ranald’s garb was damp, his dark-brown hair glistening from remnants of wet snow. Yet something else besides the search for Duncan’s killer made him taut with anger now, and she met his gaze with a wariness that was becoming all too familiar.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “His Majesty has forwarded a missive from your Virgin Queen.”

  Merry was startled by the venom in his voice. She stared at Ran blankly a moment, unable to grasp what this might mean. The Lindsay holdings at Badanloch had been forfeited to Macleans after the treachery there, and her first thought was perhaps the king had reconsidered his punishment. But nay, it was nothing so benign, and besides Ran should have been grinning rather than glowering if that was the case.

  “’Twould seem your regal Gloriana has hit upon the perfect solution to your predicament, Merry.” Ran reached inside his damp breccan and withdrew a parchment, which he thrust unceremoniously at his younger brother. “Go ahead, Gil, read it aloud for everyone’s enlightenment. We must not let Darra’s fine tutors go to waste.” He folded his arms and stood there like a fierce sentinel, expressionless.

  Hesitantly Gil pulled the string and unrolled the parchment, licking dry lips as a pall of anticipation settled over the hall.

  To His Royal Majesty James VI of Scotland and the Earl of Crawford Ranald Lindsay ‘For His Majesties’ Service:’

  In the matter of Mistress Meredith Tanner, you are hereby ordered that the presence and honor of such maid shall be preserved at all cost and hence Lord Lindsay is hereby commanded to amend with the Tudor Crown by and with such actions as mend reputation with the decree of sanctified and holy union prescribed in the Church.

  Gilbert paused and drew a deep breath, no less shaky than Merry’s own. Her head whirled as the words pounded against her temples:

  Such matters attend to Her Majesty’s noble kin His Majesty James VI of Scotland, to have special care that The Wolf and his actions do upon no account escape due merit. This union to be sealed in the Church by the proper Authority and necessary witnesses, to wit: and you are to secure all the avenues, that Lord Lindsay does not elude justice. This you are to put into execution by Martinmas, and by that time, or very shortly after it, Lord and Lady Lindsay commanded herein to appear before Her Majesty Elizabeth Tudor I of England. This is by the queen’s special command, for the good will of both countries. See that this be put into execution without feud or favor, else the Earl of Crawford shall forfeit his title and adjoining lands herein. Expecting His Majesty will not fail in the fulfilling hereof as he loves his country, I subscribe these orders with my hand,

  Sir Robert Cecil, Minister to the Crown Whitehall, 1 November, 1599

  The hall was deathly silent as Gilbert finished reading the royal decree. Even Merry could not summon a gasp, for the shock roiling throughout her now went far deeper than such mere expressions could attest. It was a royal command … to wed The Wolf of Badanloch.

  Chapter Twenty

  MERRY SLOWLY SANK BACK down into her chair, gazing at Ran in a helpless sort of appeal for answers he could not provide. He did not look angry with her, but was unable to keep the terseness from his voice when he spoke.

  “Aye, Merry,” he said, his dark glare pinning the parchment Gilbert held. “King James had no choice but to agree to his royal kin’s decree. He tastes a Tudor inheritance all too keenly now. Gloriana could ask him to crawl to Kindrogan on his knees and he’d do it without the bat of a lash. The seat of Lindsay is forfeit unless you and I wed before Martinmas.”

  “But… ’tis utter madness,” Merry said at last, very faintly, still stunned by the news and obviously uncertain how to react. Ran nodded curtly at her words.

  “The prospect is an unpleasant one, to be certain.” She stayed silent, and a moment later he heaved a weary sigh and changed the subject. “’Tis snowing like a blizzard in Hades again. We lost the trail of Duncan’s killer on the other side of the pass. More clues are unlikely to surface before spring.”

  After a moment of tense silence, Cullen cleared his throat. “With yer permission, Ran?”

  Ranald looked at him again, and was pleased to see the other man fidget under his cool regard. “Aye, ’tis over late. Get some sleep. But in the morning, speak with Rob Byers. He’s in charge of the search. You get some rest, too, Gil. I believe Darra is expecting a report from the tutor on your progress tomorrow. ’Twould not do to disappoint.”

  The younger man frowned, setting the parchment on a nearby table when Ran made no move to take it back. “Books are the last thing on my mind right now.”

  “Well, I suggest you renew interest in them right quick. I for one do not wish to be the one who informs Lady Deuchar you have abandoned your studies. ’Twas part of the agreement with her and Ross so you might be allowed to stay on at Auchmull.”

  “I know.” Gilbert heaved an exaggerated sigh but was bright enough to realize Ran wished to speak to Merry alone. He nodded at them both, trailed Cullen out of the hall.

  Left alone with Ran, Merry raised her gaze from the clasped hands in her lap and met his regard with a distinct challenge in her eyes. She couldn’t resist tossing a barb at him.

  “’Twould appear the queen’s sentence is one worse than death. Or is it the gown that displeases you this time? Mayhap my hair?”

  “I’m sorry, lass. You don’t deserve a scowl, to be certain.” Ran sighed and ran a hand through his own hair, exasperated. “None of this is your fault. Except perhaps for a fleeting moment of poor judgment when you chose to travel without proper escort.”

  “Aye,” she snapped back, “’tis of a certainty ample excuse for the fate that befell me, sirrah. A folly I shall pay for with a lifetime of regrets.”

  He turned away. Not in rage this time, but hurt. He couldn’t let her see how her words pained him. He wasn’t entirely sure why they did himself.

  “We could appeal to Her Majesty. Beg her mercy. Mayhap by now her pique of temper has passed and she is in a more reasonable frame of mind.”

  “D’you truly believe that, Merry?” He slowly pivoted and faced her again. Her beautiful gray-green eyes were filled with emotion, but of what sort, he could not guess and dared not try. “Besides, what alternative do you face? Banishment from Court, disgrace among your peers. Humiliation is what I intended for Wickham, not you.”

  “Be as that may, the cards have been turned,” she whispered. “My fate may not be fair, but ’tis final.”

  “I’m sorry, lass. I never expected Wickham to abandon you to it. I thought he would rush to your side, assume responsibility like a man, and that I might even restore Lindsay lands by regaining title to Badanloch.”

  “Perhaps a reasonable man of conscience would have. Sir Jasper displays neither trait.”

  Ran chuckled at her matter-of-fact remark. “Aye, is that not the truth. Regardless, I regret my hasty decision, Merry. You should not be forced to suffer for it.”

  He watched her carefully. He longed to know what she was thinking, what depth of dismay she felt upon hearing the royal decree. Jesu knew he deserved to be loathed, yet somehow the notion of Merry Tanner hating him did not rest easy with his conscience. He heaved a si
gh. “What shall we do, lass?”

  She looked at him expressionlessly. “It does not appear we have much choice in the matter, does it?”

  “There is always a choice. A Lindsay defying a royal decree would not be a first.”

  Despite her upset, Merry smiled. “Aye, I imagine not.”

  Ran crossed over to the sideboard, availed himself of a spiced wine Hertha had placed there. He offered her a glass as well but she shook her head, and he drank in silence, occasionally glancing at Merry over the rim. She picked up her embroidery again and he thought the wall hanging looked vaguely familiar. Then he saw the whole picture when she spread it on her lap, the tower with its battlements, the words she was embroidering in gold thread. Virtue mine honour. The Maclean motto.

  A jagged bolt of emotion coursed through him. He had never seen something of Blair’s clutched in Merry’s hands before now. His first impulse was to yank the embroidery from her hands, berate her for daring to touch his wife’s things. Yet the unfinished hanging had tormented him these past months, reminding him of ends hanging loose, of things left unsaid. What troubled Ran the most was not being there when Blair died, not being able to tell her he loved her one last time. That would haunt him forever.

  Yet Merry was finishing what Blair had begun. The significance of this slowly sank in as Ran watched her little hand plying the needle with swift, if not calm, accuracy.

  For a moment, it was easy to imagine himself sitting before a cozy hearth, enjoying a glass of spiced wine and visiting idly with his wife while she worked on such homey tasks. Suddenly the prospect of being thus disposed was not so unpleasant.

  He took a deep breath. “Merry,” he began, and her auburn head rose, firelight glinting off the burnished curls. “I am not unwilling to obey Her Majesty’s decree.”

  She regarded him, head tilted, questioning. “Certainly you do not wish Gilbert to lose his inheritance, or the Lindsays their lands. ’Tis understandable.”

  “Nay, quite apart from all that, I simply do not find the prospect of wedding you … distasteful.”

  Her eyes widened. She appeared stunned, then even a trifle embarrassed. She played with the threads in her lap. “Not dismayed by the thought of being shackled to a … what did you call me once, a ‘spoiled little Sassenach bitch’?” she murmured.

  Ran nodded. “Aye, I was angry then. Lashing out. I have never had opportunity to tell you, but I admire your courage and resourcefulness in the face of darkened odds.”

  “Thank you.”

  He understood her cautious reply quite well. She had no reason to trust anything he said after the events of the past days. He sighed. “Tell me, Merry, what you plan to do. If I released you today, where would you go?”

  “England, I suppose.”

  “After defying the queen’s order, you would appear at her Court?” He shook his head. “I think ’twould be the height of foolishness to toy with Her Majesty’s temper. Especially in view of the goings-on with Essex in Ireland. She is sorely vexed and lashing out left and right.”

  “Well, my Uncle Kit would not turn me away, I am certain. He has an estate there outside of London.”

  “Where he, too, would cross the queen and pay the price in the end. You do not seem to grasp the serious nature of this decree. To punish me and placate Wickham, Elizabeth Tudor is willing to sacrifice you to The Wolf of Badanloch.”

  Merry drew a shaky little breath. “Aye, ’twould appear so.”

  “She must know of my reputation from Wickham, yet she does not hesitate to offer you up to an uncouth Scot in the name of the Crown. A noble sacrifice for your country.”

  Ran could not keep the bitter note from his voice. Merry looked at him, and he was surprised to see a tender light in her gray-green eyes for the first time he could recall.

  “If Her Grace thought so little of me in the end, mayhap I am well quit of Court,” she said. “I was Elizabeth Tudor’s goddaughter, my family and me served her loyally for years. If my sole purpose is to be a pawn, then perhaps my own loyalty was misplaced.”

  Ran arched an eyebrow. “What are you saying, lass?”

  She straightened proudly. “I am saying … I suppose … I should not be wholly averse to the role of Lady Lindsay, either.”

  Their gazes met, and Ran nodded slightly. “If that is the case, I must speak frankly with you. I do not deny I find you attractive as a woman …” He trailed off, noting her faint blush at his words. “However, lest there be any misunderstanding, I must stress that I loved my late wife … beyond anything …”

  Merry nodded, eyes shadowed with some emotion he could not read, but she did not interrupt as he forced out the words in a sudden rush.

  “There will never be another who can replace Blair, and I could never let any woman ever assume so. All I can offer is a hearth and home, and my respect. Perhaps the respect of a title is enough, to some, but I wished there to be no mistake about it. I can care for you, Merry, and already feel a tender regard of sorts, a responsibility, if you would, both for your plight and to see things put right, but beyond that … I am sorry.”

  She nodded again. “A loveless match is what I would have had with Wickham, at any rate.”

  He was relieved by her practicality. “Aye. Marriages of convenience are both sensible and sane, contrasted with the reckless and tragic results of … love.” He remembered what he had risked, and lost, in loving Blair, and felt suddenly weary.

  Merry set the embroidery aside and rose. Her skirts unfurled about her ankles, and the ebony silk contrasted with the fairness of her skin. Ran was touched by the fact she wore mourning in Duncan’s honor, when she had not even known the stable master. There was a sweet nature behind this redhead’s fiery temper; he caught glimpses of it now and again.

  She went to him, and in a surprising gesture, stood up on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “A truce then, milord, if you think we can begin again.”

  He smiled. “Aye. At least one truce in my life would be very welcome.”

  Merry laughed softly.

  “By the by, lass, I already responded to the queen’s order. I informed both her and King James we would honor the royal command and wed by Martinmas.”

  “What!” she exclaimed, taking a step backward. Her eyes were wide with shock.

  “I knew, in the end, you had little choice. And in light of the events in the Rose Tower the other day …”

  Merry flushed as deep a rose as Blair’s flowers, and he chuckled low. “Let me finish, Merry. I knew then the physical attraction was enough to sustain that portion of a marriage for us both. ’Tis important to have a meeting of the bodies as well as minds. To set your mind at ease, know any issue we have will be acknowledged and inherit accordingly.”

  His sweeping gesture encompassed the keep. “Auchmull is but a portion of my inheritance, lass. I would as lief give it to Gilbert, and the greater Edzell to our firstborn lad. There is also Invermark, though it has weathered the feuds and fierce winters less successfully than the others. If there are no sons, any daughter of ours may hold title and lands by right of primogeniture. I would petition King James to honor her claim.”

  “You would truly do that for her?” Merry whispered.

  There was a long silence. “Nay. I would do it for Lady Lindsay.” When her wide-eyed gaze met his, Ran added quietly, “’Tis the least I can do after all that has happened. I cannot bear the thought of you hating me, Merry.”

  His words shattered her last reserve. She opened her arms to him. Ran’s eyes burned into hers, fierce with longing, fiercer yet with pride. He didn’t move. She realized then he would not come to her. It was entirely up to her, this first move.

  Merry stepped closer, raising her hand to tentatively touch his jaw. “Thank you,” she said again, softly.

  With a single swift movement, Ran drew her into the circle of his arms. Merry laid her head against his chest, and he gently stroked her back with ever-widening circular motions, like ripples in a lake. She trembled as
if she might cry. For she realized as he already knew, they might be lovers, but never in love.

  “Why?” she whispered, mostly to herself.

  “My heart was lost to Blair and I never found it again, lass. It does not mean we cannot live comfortably as man and wife, for already I bear affection for you. We can raise bairns, even, and be content … as happy as possible without the complications of love, which may in fact be preferable.”

  She brushed her cheek against the soft wool as she tilted her head to look up at him. “Y’are certain this is what you wish to do? Wed an impertinent Sassenach wench?”

  “Aye, lass. You? Can you endure the reputation of the murderous Wolf of Badanloch?”

  She gave a shaky little laugh and removed herself from the circle of his arms. “Yea. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve little choice.”

  Ran was silent a moment, searching her eyes as if he could possibly find answers there. Maybe he only wished he could. “Aye,” he said simply.

  His gaze dropped to the gleaming red-gold amulet resting just below her ivory throat, and he traced the outline of the raven thoughtfully.

  “D’you remember Mother MacDougall’s words at Goldielands?”

  Merry frowned. “Not precisely. Something about a wolf’s den?”

  “Aye. ‘At Wolfen Den, if ye should be, A corby hert you there may see.’ Hert means heart. A corby is a raven, lass.”

  Merry’s eyes widened.

  “Beitris MacDougall is the seventh child of a seventh child. I never doubted she had the Sight, I simply did not care for the evidence of it or her timing. She foresaw the tragedy of Blair’s death and announced it at our wedding feast. This would seem a less ominous prediction. Except I cannot accept your heart, lass. Keep it safe, here …” His fingers trailed down, coming to rest upon the sweet curve of her upper bosom. “We will both be the better for it.”

  “Will we?” she asked softly.

  He had no answer for that. Neither did she.