The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  The goshawk seemed to glower at all it surveyed, but Fin knew it was merely seeking and would soon spy its prey. Its tension stemmed from hunger and anticipation, not from nerves.

  He could hear distant twittering in the woods, but nearer at hand, the denizens of the meadow apparently had the good sense to lie low and keep still.

  On the far side, a coppery grouse broke cover, clacking wildly, the rapid flapping of its wings making a noisy whirr as it hurled itself skyward.

  Fin released Smoke’s jesses, and in the same instant the goshawk’s great wings unfurled and her powerful thighs thrust her into the air. Her wings’ strong, slow beat belied her startling speed from the fist. Already nearing the target, her wings flattened into a glide, tips pointed, edges trailing.

  The grouse, belatedly recognizing its danger, shrieked and tried madly to take evasive action.

  A split second before the goshawk struck, a long yellow shaft streaked through the air ahead of it, and the grouse plunged to the ground, still flapping wildly in its death throes, its shrieking stilled.

  “What the devil?” Fin exclaimed. “Some fool shot an arrow from the woods!” Patrick shouted.

  “Yonder,” cried Tam, pointing.

  Following the gesture, Fin saw a saffron-colored flash through the trees. Tossing the goshawk’s hood to Tam, he wheeled his horse, saying, “Fetch Smoke, Tam. I’m going to have words with that villain. He nearly killed my hawk!”

  Urging the gray into the woods, he watched for movement that would again reveal his quarry’s direction, and immediately glimpsed another flash of saffron, a figure darting swiftly through the trees.

  Digging his heels into the gray’s flanks, he felt its muscles tense as it leaped forward. Highland-bred, the horse took the rugged woodland terrain in stride, and just ahead, the darting runner was flagging. Flat ground lay between them, and Fin leaned over the horse’s neck, urging it to a greater speed.

  Riding alongside the running figure, he reached down, grabbed a fistful of saffron-colored fabric, and hauled the struggling villain—bow, quiver, and all—facedown over his saddlebow, losing one of the fellow’s shoes in the process. Holding him there with one hand while he reined in the gray with the other, and deducing from the size of the figure he held that it was only a lad, Fin gave the backside so temptingly presented a couple of angry, hard smacks.

  The shrieks he evoked were decidedly unmasculine in nature, and his captive began to struggle more wildly than before. The blue cap fell off, and a massive cloud of curly red-gold hair tumbled free. Seeing those familiar silken tresses, Fin clenched his jaw in a flash of raw fury and smacked again, even harder.

  “Stop that, you villain!” she screamed.

  He smacked again. “If you don’t want more, be silent and keep still,” he ordered grimly. “You nearly killed my hawk! What the devil were you thinking? Where did you get those dreadful clothes, and what in the name of all that’s holy are you doing outside the castle walls?”

  Molly gritted her teeth. No one had laid a hand on her at Dunakin, and it had not occurred to her that anyone might ever dare do so again. Her backside felt like it was on fire, and although she could remember her mother and nurse spanking her when she was small, she did not remember that it had hurt so much.

  She had no acceptable answers for Kintail’s questions, either, reasonable though they were. She had not expected the hawk to fly so fast to its target, but she did not think that telling him so would help much.

  She had been watching the men from the woods, and having heard Kintail boast that his bird could outfly anything, she had decided to deprive it of its prey, showing him that an arrow could certainly fly faster. The thought that the fiendish bolt might have harmed as much as a feather of the magnificent hawk both sickened and appalled her, so she could not blame Kintail for his fury. She was glad, though, that he had stopped smacking her, and she did not want him to do so again.

  “Well?” The grim note in his voice was not encouraging.

  She drew a ragged breath to steady her nerves, and as if the gray sensed her unease, it sidled, then steadied again at a slight movement of its master.

  She said with careful calm, “May I get down?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “On what you say to me beforehand.”

  “What if I have nothing to say?”

  “Then you must think of something.” His hand came to rest on her backside. The powerful fingers twitched ominously.

  She swallowed. What did he want her to say? Would he settle for a simple apology, or did he want more? Surely, he did not expect her to agree to marry him just to keep him from smacking her.

  The fingers twitched again, then the hand lifted.

  “I’m sorry!” she said hastily. “If you want me to say more than that, you’ll have to tell me what I am to say. I… I don’t know what you want!”

  Two strong hands gripped her waist, and he lifted her to sit sideways before him. Since her backside still ached, the position was less than comfortable, but she did not think that complaining or reminding him that she wanted to get down would do her any good. Besides, she had lost one of her shoes.

  When the horse sidled again, she felt his thighs tense as he steadied it.

  Gazing blindly into the distance, she waited for him to speak, but before he did, approaching riders diverted his attention, and she heard him mutter a curse.

  The riders were Sir Patrick and another man she did not recognize.

  Patrick shouted, “Ho, Fin, what have you caught?” As usual, laughter tinged his voice, but Molly felt no appreciation just then for his sense of humor.

  “Where are the others?” Kintail asked.

  “Yonder,” Patrick said, gesturing toward the meadow. “Smoke took to a tree after the grouse fell. She perched there and glowered down at it for a time, as if she wondered why it was flapping around like a beheaded chicken. But when the flapping ceased and nothing else of a disturbing nature occurred, she flew down intending to feast. She responded to Tam’s whistle as prettily as you please, however, so I told the others to wait there and came to see what you’d caught.” He bowed gallantly from the waist. “Mistress, ’tis a pleasure, as always, to see you.”

  Molly glowered at him.

  Directing his attention to the second man, Kintail said sternly, “Talk of this incident goes no further. Do you understand me?”

  “Aye, laird. I’ll say naught.”

  “Good. You and the others go on ahead. Patrick, you ride with me.”

  The second man turned back the way they had come, and Molly was relieved to see him go, but if she hoped that Sir Patrick’s presence would spare her from Kintail’s anger, Kintail quickly disabused her of that hope.

  As the two men turned their mounts toward home, he said in the same stern tone he had used earlier, “Now, mistress, I want an explanation, and it had better be a good one if you do not want more of what I gave you before.”

  Shooting a glance at Patrick to see if he realized from these words what Kintail had done, she saw that he was looking straight ahead, his normally expressive countenance now wooden. She would find no ally in him.

  Deciding that since nothing she could say would appease Kintail she might as well say what she was thinking, she said tartly (but without looking at him), “Do you frequently beat females, sir? Because if you do, I must tell you that I do not approve. Nor do I think such violence is necessary. As large as you are, you probably frighten most people witless simply by bellowing at them.”

  Heavy silence greeted this observation.

  Then Kintail said abruptly, “Did you intend to shoot the hawk?”

  “Don’t be daft,” she snapped. “I never miss my aim.”

  Patrick, surprised, said, “Never?”

  She hesitated, knowing that neither man would believe her if she spoke the truth. “Rarely,” she said, prevaricating.

  “Well, it was a fine shot, and I am an excellent j
udge of such matters. Who taught you to shoot?”

  “Never mind that,” Kintail said sharply. “You keep silent, Patrick. She doesn’t need encouragement. You had no business even to be there, mistress.”

  But Molly had had enough. “Sir Patrick,” she said firmly, “would you please ride on ahead of us? I would speak privately with your laird.”

  Patrick shot her a look of astonishment, then glanced at Kintail.

  “Go,” he said, gesturing.

  Without another word, but likewise without disguising his relief, Patrick gave spur to his horse and disappeared into the woodland ahead.

  Fearing that Kintail might begin scolding again, she said swiftly, “I was wrong to shoot. I had no idea that your hawk could cross the meadow so quickly, and I’d heard you say that nothing could outfly it. That challenged me, I’m afraid, to show you that an arrow could take the grouse before your hawk could.”

  He did not reply at once, and in the interval, she felt unnaturally aware of his nearness and size. His body felt too warm against hers, his muscles too hard. She could feel him breathing, could feel his heart beating. He was too large for comfort.

  At last, quietly, he said, “You were not running away.”

  “Only from you, just now,” she muttered. “You had reason for that.”

  “Aye.” Her backside still ached.

  “How did you come here?”

  She remembered the rowboat, having forgotten it until that moment. “I slipped out through the tower door and took one of the boats.”

  “You left that door unbarred?”

  She nodded, not looking at him.

  “For that alone, you deserved beating,” he growled.

  To divert him from that painful thought, she blurted the first thing that came to mind: “Do you still intend to marry me?”

  “I’ll not force you into a marriage you do not want.”

  Strangely, considering how hard she had fought the notion, his response disappointed her.

  “But you still believe it is the right thing to do,” she persisted, “even though you despise me. Mackinnon told me that you had no wish to marry at all.”

  Seeing his lips twitch into a near smile, she breathed more easily.

  He said, “First of all, I do not despise you. As for marriage, whilst ’tis true that I resisted my father’s efforts to marry me to one suitable female after another, I thought I had years ahead of me before I need worry about an heir. I learned differently when he was killed. Life can end abruptly, lass, and I care deeply about my people. I take my duties seriously, to them and to the castle. Were I to fall suddenly as my father did, I would leave them bereft of more than their laird.”

  “So you want me just to get heirs.” The thought brought an ache to her throat strong enough to make her forget her earlier pains.

  “Also to get your fortune,” he said dryly. “Do not forget that.”

  She knew he was teasing her, but truth underscored the teasing. Because her fortune and her woman’s ability to produce children would be useful to him, he wanted to keep her even if it meant marrying her.

  His hand moved slightly where it touched her hip, and yearning shot through her, frightening her with its strength. He had more power over her than he knew, but if she submitted, she was in danger of losing her soul to him. And if he should decide, as others had, that she would prove more useful elsewhere… But that thought did not bear completing.

  She could not speak, and he said no more for a time. They reached a hard-packed trail along the shore, and he turned the gray toward the head of the loch.

  “The boat,” she muttered.

  “I’ll send someone to fetch it later,” he said.

  The silence between them continued until they had crossed the plank bridge over the tumbling burn at the head of the loch. The thudding of the horse’s hooves on the planks above the rush of water beneath them seemed very loud. On the far side, when even the water sounds had faded behind them, the silence seemed heavier than before. There was less foliage, and halfway between them and the castle, Molly could see the other riders on the track above the cliffs.

  “I am not generally defiant by nature,” she said then, looking at him.

  “Indeed,” he said, his mocking disbelief plain. “In sooth, sir, I am not accustomed to having orders hurled at me,” she said. “I am accustomed to discussing things, to knowing that others heed my opinions. You treat me as if I were a halfwit. If we were to marry, I would not like that.”

  He looked into her eyes, his gaze searching hers.

  Her body seemed more alive than usual, unnaturally aware of every movement of his horse, even more aware of Kintail, his woodland scent, his steady breathing, his dark gaze and stern countenance. When he dampened his lips with his tongue, it was as if he touched his lips to hers. The moment lengthened.

  Then he said gently, “If I hurl orders, lass, I do so because you challenge my authority at every turn. Is that not what you did today?”

  “You make me feel like a prisoner,” she said. “I went out with my bow, because I often did so on Skye and because I enjoy the solitude of the hunt. I understand about the danger, though—particularly now,” she added hastily, seeing his quick frown. “But I took care. I was not raised as most girls are, you know.”

  His lips pressed hard together, and at first, she thought she had angered him again, but then she saw that he was struggling to suppress laughter.

  “I said nothing humorous,” she said indignantly.

  “You certainly spoke the truth,” he said, chuckling.

  He sobered then, saying, “Forgive me if I mistake the matter, but it appears to me that you have begun to think favorably on a possible marriage between us. Given your earlier distaste…” He let the words hang in the air.

  She nibbled her lower lip, trying to think how to explain her tumbled feelings when she did not understand them herself.

  “It was not distaste, exactly,” she said at last. “I know that I must marry someday. Indeed, Lady Mackinnon often said it was a miracle Donald had not forced me into an advantageous marriage. I am in my eighteenth year, after all, and many women marry much earlier, particularly heiresses.”

  “Then your dislike is merely for me,” he said evenly.

  “For the circumstance and… and for your treatment of me,” she said. “If you were more—”

  “More like Mackinnon?”

  “Aye, perhaps,” she said, wrinkling her brow, unable to imagine herself married to the hearty but carefully neutral Mackinnon or to anyone like him.

  “Lass, I am not like Mackinnon, nor will I ever be. I am my own man. I can protect you, which is something that you should consider, and I can provide for you even without your fortune—albeit not so well as with it, I’ll admit. It is, in any event, my duty to find you a suitable husband, and in this present circumstance, I can think of no one better suited than myself to protect you from Sleat, certainly no one to whom I can arrange your marriage in the little time we have.”

  Frustrated, as averse to his thinking that she would marry him for protection as she was to his wanting her only for her fortune and womb, she nonetheless found it impossible to declare again that she did not want to marry him. But neither could she confess outright that she did.

  “I—I do not want to go back to Donald,” she said at last. “I should warn you,” he said, his eyes narrowing in a way that belied his gentle tone, “that if you hope a pretense of submission will spare you from punishment for your defiance today—for it was no more, say what you may—you will find that you have misjudged me.”

  Heat flooded her cheeks, and she said angrily, “I would not do that!”

  “Then I apologize for mistrusting you. I will send for Dougal Maclennan, the priest, straightaway. Shall I send for Mackinnon and his lady, as well?”

  Wondering if she had lost her mind, she nodded. Then recalling his earlier words, she said, “What will you do to me—for this… for what I did today?”r />
  “I told you what I would do,” he said. “You must learn to trust my word, lass. You will not ride for three months.”

  “But that was only if I took my horse out! I didn’t!”

  “I did not say that. I said that you were not to go out alone, ever.”

  “But we were talking about riding!”

  “You may have been talking about riding. I was perfectly plain. Also, you will not take your bow out again until I grant you leave to do so.”

  “I do not think I want to marry you, after all.”

  “If you refuse to keep your word because I am keeping mine, so be it,” he said. “But you should know that it will make no difference to your punishment. I am still your guardian, and you will not ride again until I say you may.”

  Her dignity had already suffered much, but now she felt small. “I do keep my word,” she muttered. “And if I must marry, I’d as lief marry a man who lives near Dunakin and… and one who keeps his word. But need we not call the banns?”

  “We have no time for that,” he said. “The priest will make all tidy.” When she did not speak, he added gently, “Shall I send for him then, and for Mackinnon?”

  She hesitated, her mind a whirl of conflicting images, not least of which was an unnerving image of herself in bed with Kintail. Reminding herself of Donald and how much worse it could be, she said quietly, “Aye, send for them.”

  “The day after tomorrow then, if Mackinnon and his lady can get here. I’ll send Patrick to fetch them as soon as we reach Eilean Donan.”

  “Very well,” she said, certain that she would come to regret her decision. A woman’s lot in life left her few choices, though, and at least she could feel that she had had some say in this one, however small.

  Chapter 13

  Fin saw that Molly was uncertain about the decision she had made, and he knew better than to press her further about her reasons. He wanted to say something to reassure her, but he had no idea what that might be. It would not do to express the feelings coursing through him now that he had persuaded her to marry him, even if he could have expressed them clearly.