by Amanda Scott
“Perhaps someone else can accompany me,” she suggested, turning to Mackinnon. “I know that her ladyship would say it is unsuitable for me to travel amidst all these men without at least one other female to bear me company.”
Kintail said quietly, “Since you travel with your lawful guardian, lass, it is perfectly suitable. I’ll let no harm befall you. My men would not cause you grief in any event, and certainly not whilst I am at your side.”
She did not look at him, unable to say aloud that she was beginning to fear that his being at her side might prove to be the most dangerous thing that threatened her. Instead, she watched Mackinnon, but that gentleman looked doubtful, and she realized then that few women at Dunakin would be willing to move to Eilean Donan. All were loyal to the laird and would obey if he ordered them to go, but it occurred to her that although she had lived among them for years, she was not a Mackinnon and had little claim on the members of that clan.
“An ye wish it, lassie,” Mackinnon said gently, “I’ll ask about and see who else may be willing.”
“No,” Molly said, gathering her dignity. “I hope that you and her ladyship will visit me, though. I shall be glad to see you both.”
“Aye, we’ll do that, and right soon,” Mackinnon replied, shooting a look at Kintail that dared him to refuse them permission.
He did not. “You will be welcome,” he said. “And ’tis not far, after all, only eight or ten miles by boat—two hours with a good westerly breeze.”
Nodding agreement, Mackinnon signed to a nearby gilly, who held Molly’s cloak over one arm. The lad handed it to him, and facing her, Mackinnon draped it over her shoulders and tenderly fastened the clasp under her chin.
One of his fingertips gently stroked the line of her jaw, and tears glistened in his eyes. “We’ll miss ye, lass, and that be plain fact,” he said.
“Aye,” she said, astonished to see him display his emotion before such an audience. She found herself unable to say more and glad that Lady Mackinnon had declared it too difficult to bid farewell to her.
Had her ladyship been present, too, and perhaps dissolved in tears, Molly would not have been able to keep her composure. As it was, she felt a strange mixture of relief and gratitude when Kintail offered his arm in a clear indication that it was time to depart. Indeed, the casually domineering gesture gave her the impetus she needed to collect her wits.
Ignoring the outstretched arm, she gently touched Mackinnon’s and said, “Do you not mean to accompany me down to the boats, sir?”
“Aye, of course I do,” he said, taking her hand in his and leading her from the hall, leaving Kintail no option but to follow.
Responding warmly to members of the household who had lingered to bid her farewell, Molly took care to avoid turning her head far enough to see the two men following in their wake. She was nearly certain that she had heard Sir Patrick MacRae chuckle, and if he had, she did not doubt that a cloud of bad temper had engulfed Kintail. The thought added a touch of delight to her smile.
Outside, mist still hung heavy in the air, concealing the sharp peaks of the Cuillin from view and revealing the hilly mainland opposite Skye as only a dense, eerie, dark shadow.
The mist muffled the sound of their footsteps on the track, and other ordinary island sounds. Only the lapping of the water against the shore seemed normal. No one shouted, although folks from the hamlet stepped out of their cottages to bid her farewell. Every face was familiar, every man, woman, and child a dear friend. She would miss them all.
To her surprise and gratitude, Doreen stood near a Mackinnon boat, waiting for her. Since Molly had expected the maidservant to accompany her—had not imagined earlier that it could be otherwise—they had not yet said their goodbyes.
Stepping away from Mackinnon, she held out both hands, saying, “How glad I am to see you, Doreen! I expected you to come with me, you see, but I own, I never thought to ask. I just assumed that you would.”
“Aye, and so I would, mistress,” Doreen said firmly, casting a speaking look at a stalwart, grim-faced young man-at-arms standing nearby. “Thomas did say that ’twere the master’s decision that I canna go—because ye’ll no ha’ need o’ me at Eilean Donan, he said—but it be in me mind that these menfolk ha’ decided it all betwixt them. And so I came to tell ye that I’ll go if ye want me—unless the master himself forbids it,” she added with a quick, wary glance at Mackinnon.
Molly, too, looked at him. “Well, sir?”
Mackinnon, however, looked at Kintail.
That gentleman hesitated, and Molly sighed, certain that she knew what his answer would be.
Wanting to make plain her gratitude for Doreen’s bravery in standing up to them all, she said to her, “It is kind of you to offer to do this, Doreen. Indeed, I wish that you could go, but I am afraid that you must stay here.”
Abruptly Kintail said, “I have heard it said, lass, that you want to marry.”
Molly looked at him in surprise. Had he really meant that he would let Doreen accompany her had it not been for the maid’s marriage plans?
Doreen bobbed a curtsy. “It be true that I did agree to marry Thomas MacMorran, sir,” she said. “But I ha’ told him that my duty lies wi’ my mistress. I ha’ served her since we were bairns together. So if Mistress Molly wants me and if the laird will permit it—and… and ye,” she added belatedly, “why, then, Thomas will just ha’ to wait until the mistress requires me service nae longer.”
Kintail exchanged a glance with Sir Patrick MacRae and then looked speculatively at the young man-at-arms standing in grim silence near Doreen. “Would you be Thomas MacMorran?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“What say you about this?”
MacMorran’s annoyance with his intended was plain in the black look he cast her. “We be promised, sir, and the laird ha’ agreed to our wedding.”
If the black look fazed Doreen, she gave no sign. Fixing her intense gaze on Kintail, she made her determination clear to everyone.
Molly waited for Kintail to dash their hopes, but to her astonishment, he turned to Mackinnon and said, “Have you dire need of MacMorran?”
Mackinnon’s bushy eyebrows shot upward, but he said only, “I ha’ need o’ every man who serves me. Why d’ye ask such a thing?”
“Because I could manage to accommodate another woman if she were to come with an experienced man-at-arms. What say you to losing them both, sir?”
Mackinnon smiled at Molly. “I say aye, then, but only if the lad himself be willing. MacMorran’s a skilled swordsman, and I would gladly keep him here.”
Every eye turned toward Thomas MacMorran, causing that stout fellow to turn fiery red and look at the ground. Then swiftly, searchingly, he looked at his beloved. And in reply to his clear, unspoken question, she nodded.
“What say you, MacMorran?” Kintail asked. “Will you swear fealty to me and serve me as loyally as you have served Mackinnon?”
MacMorran straightened, looked him in the eye, and said calmly, “Aye, sir, I’ll swear—if the wicked lass will agree to behave herself an I do.”
The light that shone from Doreen’s eyes told Molly just how much that young woman had offered her. Tears welled into her eyes, and finding it hard to swallow, she was thankful that everyone else watched Doreen, waiting for her to speak. Then her peripheral vision caught movement that drew her attention to Kintail, and warmth rushed to her cheeks when she saw that he was watching her rather than Doreen.
Determined not to let him see how much he had discomposed her, she looked directly at him and said sincerely, “Thank you, sir. I am grateful.”
Curtly, he said, “I do not want your gratitude, mistress, but if it will help you to recall this moment the next time it crosses your mind to defy me, mayhap the memory will encourage you to obey me instead.”
Since it had made her feel agreeably noble to express gratitude to him when she had really wanted nothing more than to spit in his eye, the imperious response infuriated he
r. Knowing, however, that no good purpose would be served by revealing her anger, she continued to return look for look and held her peace. Indeed, she could think of no adequate response to his nonsensical suggestion. Only a fool would promise always to obey another person’s commands.
Mackinnon, either assuming that things now were settled to everyone’s satisfaction or recognizing that no good could come of further delay, said heartily, “I feel a breeze stirring, lad. The oarsmen must be glad o’ that, because a stout breeze means ye’ll be putting up your sails afore the morning’s done.”
Sir Patrick MacRae put a finger in his mouth to wet it and held it up, saying cheerfully, “Quite right, sir. I reckon we’ll be home before Eilean Donan’s bell rings for the noonday meal. That is, we will if we get onto the water soon,” he added with a quizzical look at his master.
Molly turned from Kintail to link arms with Doreen. “I am delighted that you are going with me,” she said. “I felt sad just thinking about being alone in a new place, but now perhaps it will not be so bad.”
“Aye, mistress,” Doreen said.
Molly heard a note of doubt in the other’s voice and saw that she was looking from MacMorran to Kintail. The former had turned to help launch the two boats that held most of the baggage, but the latter was still watching Molly.
“Come along then,” she said, forcing a light laugh as she moved toward Kintail’s coble at the water’s edge, her arm still linked with Doreen’s. “Let us choose our seats at once, or I warrant these horrid men will make us row. But stay,” she exclaimed. “What about your clothing and such?”
The maidservant grinned. “Dinna fash yourself, mistress. I didna doubt that I’d be going, so I brought what I need wi’ me, and it be already stowed in one o’ them galleys. Howsomever, I doubt that Thomas has any clothes but them what he stands in. We’ll just see how the braw laddie copes wi’ that wee predicament!”
Finding Doreen’s good humor contagious, Molly stepped ahead of her into Kintail’s boat. Two of the oarsmen and Sir Patrick, who would man the tiller, were already in place, and so with the prow still resting on the shingle, out of the water, it was necessary to make her way carefully toward the narrow central thwart that supported the mast, but her heart felt lighter than it had for days.
That feeling lasted only until Kintail and the other two oarsmen joined them. The latter got in first. Then Kintail took his place in the bow of the coble. All three men faced Molly and Doreen, but only Kintail dared to fix his stern gaze on Molly.
She had not thought about where he would sit, but if she had, she would have expected him to sit as she was, facing the direction they would travel. She saw then that his long legs would not fit comfortably in the small space in front of the bow seat. He would therefore face her for the duration of their journey, and since the stout breeze that Mackinnon had promised had yet to materialize, heaven alone knew how long that would be.
Chapter 8
The slowly stiffening breeze did not help them much until they had passed the easternmost point of the Isle of Skye, but Molly had not been off the island since her arrival and scarcely noticed the lack. She had never been in a boat on such a misty day before, and she was fascinated to see what was generally familiar territory from this eerie, new perspective.
Kintail’s boat was much smaller than the Mackinnon galleys, but they were heavily laden, making the speed of all four boats nearly equal. They moved steadily along, but because of the poor visibility, they stayed just far enough from the Skye shoreline to avoid dangerous rocks until the mist began to clear.
Molly enjoyed being on the water, and when the oarsmen shipped their sweeps and two of them moved with care to put up the square lugsail at last, she watched to see how they did it. Men in the other boats were doing the same thing in much the same fashion, and the process looked easy enough, making her wonder if she could learn to do it by herself or with Doreen’s help. Doubtless Kintail would refuse to teach them, just as Mackinnon had refused to teach her to swim when she had asked him to do so years ago. She had found her own teacher then, and if she decided to learn to sail, she would find a way to do that, too.
Expecting the breeze to carry them along briskly now, she was surprised when the men in all four boats began rowing again as soon as the sails were set.
As if he read her mind, Kintail said, “The wind is not strong enough yet to do aught but ease the job of the oarsmen. Still, it should soon clear away this mist.”
Tempted to ignore him, she found that curiosity made that impossible. Raising her voice to make it heard over the still flapping sail and the knocking of the oars against their rowlocks, she said with a gesture, “That point of land yonder is still part of Skye, is it not?”
“Aye,” he replied, glancing in the direction she indicated. “The island extends farther to the east than you can see from here. That point is where Kylerhea joins the loch. It’s the strait leading south from Loch Alsh, where we are, through the Sound of Sleat to the Atlantic Ocean. When we reach the far side of the strait’s mouth, we’ll be almost halfway to Eilean Donan.”
“Mistress Molly said that your Eilean Donan sits on an island,” Doreen said.
He smiled. “ ’Tis more islet than island, and it sits in the mouth of Loch Duich, near the mouth of Loch Long. If you can imagine all the water ahead of us as a forked stick with Loch Alsh as the end one might hold, we are sailing toward the stick’s fork. A boat cannot sail into Loch Duich or Loch Long without being seen from Eilean Donan’s ramparts.”
“Are there horses at Eilean Donan?” Molly asked casually.
The shrewd look he shot her spoke volumes, but he said, “We keep several inside the wall but most of our stock stays on the mainland. When the tide is at its ebb one can ride across the channel that separates us from the mainland and Dornie village, but we usually row a boat to shore and take horses from there.” Turning to Doreen, he added, “A number of my men-at-arms and their families live in Dornie.”
“Thomas and I ha’ no need of a cottage yet, sir,” Doreen said. “An ye dinna forbid it, I’ll bide wi’ my mistress whilst she has need o’ me.”
He nodded and Molly gazed in astonishment at Doreen, never having suspected that the maidservant possessed such temerity.
No one spoke again for some time, during which the only sounds were the thumping of oars, the occasional fluttering of their still fitful sail, the waves lapping against the sides of the boat, and the stertorous breathing of the oarsmen. Molly found the lack of conversation peaceful, however, and was glad that it lasted until they were well past the wide opening into the strait called Kylerhea.
The breeze stiffened then, and the lingering mist cleared rapidly to reveal an azure sky with a few puffy white clouds skimming along. A lone, streaky-brown curlew soared lazily above the boat, commenting occasionally with its musical, bubbling trill as it sought a suitable landing place on the nearby shore. When it found what it sought, a squabble of black-and-white, orange-billed oystercatchers in its path took wing, their shrill cries shattering the peace.
Seeing them, Molly smiled, remembering, as she often did when she saw oystercatchers, the day in her childhood when one had first caught her eye as it industriously jerked a fat lugworm from a freshly turned garden. Demanding to know what sort of bird it was, and hearing its name, she had been astonished to learn that oystercatchers did not always eat oysters. To find one eating a worm still struck her as odd and tickled her sense of humor.
Fin wondered what had brought the soft, secret little smile to the Maid’s face and marveled at how so small a change of expression could transform her from the chilly, stiff-featured lass he usually saw. The smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, however. Had he not been watching, he would have missed it.
She was staring into the distance now, and he wondered if she felt lonely. One could not wonder at it if she did. As Mackinnon had pointed out, anyone leaving one home for an unknown one was bound to feel unsettled. Doubtless he had
felt so himself the day he left Eilean Donan for university at St. Andrews.
Recalling that day, however, he knew that he had not felt lonely at all, because he and Patrick both had looked forward to university life as a huge adventure. If they had missed familiar things after they reached the bustling university town, any small ache was overshadowed by all the new and fascinating experiences they had shared. Perhaps he misjudged the Maid and she, too, looked forward to some sort of adventure. He could not imagine that she would find much at Eilean Donan, but neither could he doubt that she would come to love the place as he did. Of course, he told himself firmly, before long, she would be off to a new home somewhere, married to someone who could do him some good.
He shifted on the hard seat, trying to get comfortable. They had been out for little more than an hour, and he had endured much longer journeys, but the coble was not intended for more than short jaunts, certainly not for a man of his length. Even sitting in the bow, behind the oarsmen, he could not stretch out his legs.
Glancing at the other boats, and seeing that their sails were not full, he knew that the men in them were probably cursing the coble’s slower pace. They probably knew, too, that he could have left it for someone else to return to Kyle, but he had not wanted Mackinnon to deliver him and his new charge to Eilean Donan.
He began fidgeting again. This was a snail’s pace, and he had already tarried too long away from home. He had work to do, his baron’s court to prepare.
How could women sit still for so long, he wondered.
The Maid’s eyes were closed. Had she fallen asleep? She looked childlike, vulnerable, her beauty tender now, alluring. She had better take care, he thought, lest she tumble into the water. Not that there was much fear of that, for she was small and Doreen or one of the oarsmen would grab her if she began to topple. Besides, if he warned her to take care, would she not simply ignore him? Or, as likely as not, she’d fling herself into the water just to defy him and create trouble.