by Amanda Scott
“Then I say ye dinna want peace at all,” Maggie declared. “There be many Highland clans rooted snug in the Borders. D’ye truly want our folk tae move tae the Highlands tae look after any o’ our mortals that mix or marry wi’ yours? How will ye like it when there be more o’ us throughout your land than there be o’ ye? And, too, will ye send your folk tae the Borders when your mortals mix or marry there? Mind, we dinna ask your folk tae come, nor do we want ye there.”
Silence reigned until a new voice growled, “Do we no be getting off the subject?” The speaker scowled fiercely. His large head emerged from his cloak like a shaggy plant from an odd black pot, revealing twisted ropes of dark unkempt hair that framed a high, leathery brow, piercing dark eyes, a bulbous nose, and thick red lips. “We ha’ gathered to reprimand this woman for breaking our rules, ha’ we not? Did we no banish Jonah Bonewits for the same crime? I say Red Annis be right. Maggie Malloch must suffer banishment or the Clan’s rules mean nowt.”
The chief said, “Can ye resolve the dispute then, Grogan Capelthwaite?”
“He canna do it,” Maggie snapped. “Nor could any o’ ye.”
“Hold your whisst, ye venomous woman!” Grogan Capelthwaite snarled. “Ha’ ye no done enough damage, causing Jonah Bonewits to forfeit his place here?”
“He forfeited it by his own actions,” Maggie said.
“Silence,” snapped the chief. “I ha’ heard enough.”
“But we ha’ witnesses yet to question,” Red Annis protested.
“I ken well enough what they will say, and I dinna need tae hear them. This be my decision, and any who fails tae keep faith with it will suffer the gravest punishment.” He glowered from one to another, daring them to defy him.
No one spoke.
Satisfied, he said quietly, “I decree that Maggie Malloch shall settle a peace betwixt the Merry Folk and the Helping Hands afore our next meeting, and do so without breaking any rules or face banishment equal tae that o’ Jonah Bonewits.”
“Now that’s good, that is,” Red Annis said shrilly.
“Aye, well, I’m glad ye approve,” the chief said.
“I, too,” Maggie said. “I accept your challenge, and I set one in return. As I must render service tae the hill tribes, Catriona should ha’ tae render service tae a clan wi’ its roots in the Borders. Since ye named the Chisholms earlier and there be trouble brewing up for them o’ Glen Affric, I say Catriona must render them a true service, and without getting up tae any o’ her usual mischief.”
“Here now, I dinna answer to you,” Catriona exclaimed. “What’s more, ’tis your own Good Neighbor tribe that must look after Gordons and their ilk, and that includes yon Chisholms o’ Glen Affric!”
Maggie added steadily, “If she refuses, she should also face punishment, for if I am tae resolve the strife betwixt the tribes, my judgment in associated matters must be accepted. That were agreed afore and should stand now.”
“Aye, it does stand,” the chief said. “And so shall it be.”
Outraged, Catriona opened her mouth to protest again, but Fir Darrig placed a quelling hand on her shoulder.
“One moment,” he said. “I’d remind ye all that in settling the dispute Maggie Malloch be rendering service to both sides equally. Therefore, if Catriona must render service for which Maggie’s tribe is responsible, then someone from that tribe must serve a hill clan and face the same consequence for failure.”
“Fair enough,” the chief said, turning to Maggie. “A good notion, in fact. I further decree that your son Claud shall render an equal service tae a Mackenzie or a MacRae and that he shall suffer the same punishment as Catriona if he fails.”
“Agreed,” Maggie said. “But I must retain the right tae intervene if one or the other makes a muck o’ things, lest the peacemaking process suffer as a result.”
As she said the last word, the golden light went out, and with a bright flash of lightning that filled the chamber, a deep, thundering voice roared, “Ye’ll fail, Mag! I’ll see to it, lass!” Then all went black and still.
Tension filled the darkness until the golden glow slowly returned, revealing the figures of the High Circle, slightly shaken but still in their places.
“There be only one wha’ could ha’ done that,” Maggie Malloch muttered. “That were Jonah Bonewits, and he ha’ dared tae challenge me afore ye all.”
The chief frowned, saying, “Aye, he has, but me decree stands, Maggie. Still, I agree ye must ha’ the right tae intervene if aught goes amiss. If ye do, however, ye must give equal attention tae both sides, and only if ye believe there be mischief afoot. As tae punishment if Claud or Catriona fails, we’ll determine that in the event. But if the pair o’ them dare tae create even half as much mischief as they did last time,” he added grimly, “I’ll give them both over tae the Evil Host.”
Claud stared, horror-stricken. He had done nothing but sit quietly and watch, and now his fate depended upon completing a task about which he knew nothing and with which he could apparently request no help. Moreover, for his own sake, he would have to stay away from Catriona.
Since all she had to do was crook her little finger at him to make him forget everything else, he was certainly doomed to failure and thus doomed to fly with the wicked Host until all his sins were expiated, which effectively meant that he would fly with them to the end of time.
“I hope you do not find life at Dundreggan too tedious, Barbara,” Lady Chisholm said with a smile when they were comfortably settled in her bower that evening. “It sounds to me as if you are accustomed to a more active life than I am.”
“I am sure I shall not find it tedious, madam,” Bab said politely. She already had, but one simply did not admit such things to one’s hostess.
“I did not realize that the women of Kintail hunted with their menfolk. Surely, your mother does not.”
“No, madam,” Bab said, smiling at the thought of the eccentric Lady MacRae riding out with a hawk or falcon on her fist. “I believe she did enjoy such activities in her youth, but as you must have seen for yourself at Stirling, she has not behaved in her customary manner since my father’s death two years ago.”
“One could not help but notice that she had altered considerably,” Lady Chisholm agreed, “but one supposed that since she had not attended court for some years she had simply mislaid the gift of social converse. One does that, you know.”
“In truth, madam, my mother converses more with herself or with imaginary wee folk than with anyone else these days,” Bab said. “I own, it worries me.”
“You will forgive me then if I speak plainly, my dear. It surprises me that she did exert herself to such an extent as to journey to Stirling.”
“Oh, she enjoyed herself, I believe,” Bab said lightly, feeling a twinge of guilt as she recalled how hard she had fought to persuade her mother to make the journey. “I think it did her a great deal of good to get away from Ardintoul even for a short time, to reacquaint herself with old friends.”
“It certainly was a short time,” Lady Chisholm agreed. “ ’Twas but a sennight before she returned to Ardintoul. It surprised me, too, that she left without you.”
“I expect her actions surprised many people,” Bab admitted, “but—”
“Doubtless Lady MacRae, knowing she was leaving her daughter in Kintail’s capable hands, believed it was safe to do so,” Sir Alex drawled from the doorway, where he leaned gracefully with one hand against the jamb, the other resting on his sword hilt. “She could thus enjoy a respite from Mistress Bab’s lively presence.”
“Do join us, my dear,” Lady Chisholm said with a smile. “I feared you might spend the whole evening conversing with your father and quite wear him out.”
“No, for he is still vexed with me, and when he discovered that my chess game has not improved since the last time we played, he decided to retire early.”
“Oh, that was clever of you,” Lady Chisholm exclaimed. “If you had beaten him, he would have insisted on
staying up until he won. This way, he will enjoy an excellent night’s repose.”
“Do you suggest, sir, that my mother gets on better without my company?” Bab asked evenly.
“Faith, how you do take a fellow up,” he said, moving forward gracefully when his mother patted the sofa beside her invitingly. “I meant only to suggest that her ladyship’s generosity in allowing you to extend your visit to court was soundly based.” As he adjusted his sword so it would not interfere with the elegant folds of his fashionably puffed trunk hose when he sat, he added, “But mayhap I misjudge you, mistress, and you are more a restful person at Ardintoul than in other settings.”
She made a face at him.
Lady Chisholm looked sternly at her son. “You should not speak so to our guest, Alex. Surely, if Sir Patrick and Lady MacRae saw nothing amiss in Barbara’s remaining at Stirling, it can be no business of yours to criticize her.”
“I criticize no one,” he said. “Tolerance is easier on one’s temperament.”
Bab snorted.
In the same amiable tone, he said, “I came only to ask what time you would like to depart in the morning, mistress. If you hope to be off by first light, you should doubtless retire soon. I shall certainly do so.”
She would have liked to contradict him, to tell him that she required little sleep, but the truth was otherwise. She knew that to enjoy the hunt the next day, she would be wise to retire earlier than usual. Nevertheless, she would not allow him to send her to bed like a child.
“I do think we should leave early, sir,” she said. “But although I know that you have had a tiring day today, I have scarcely exerted myself at all. I shall sit with your mother a little longer, I think, for if I were to go up so soon after supper I doubt that I should fall asleep. Shall we meet at six o’clock?”
He yawned. “ ’Tis a devilish early hour,” he complained. “Mayhap half past six would be better. That will give us both a chance to break our fast before we go.”
“I require only an apple and some salted beef to take with me,” she said, “but I will meet you in the stables at half past six if that plan will suit you better.”
“Then I will bid you both goodnight,” he said, kissing her ladyship’s cheek and adding lightly, “I think you have worried about my father more than you need, madam. He wasted no time in taking me to task, as you saw, and that must always be a sign of returning energy. Sleep well.”
Lady Chisholm smiled. “ ’Tis good to have you home again, my dear.”
He bowed with his customary grace and left them, but Bab made a point of staying another half hour. Her ladyship enjoyed talking about friends she had seen at Stirling and others from the Highlands, but Bab had heard many of her anecdotes during the journey from Stirling to Dundreggan, and to work up enthusiasm about people whom one barely knew or did not know at all was difficult. Her mother was the same, though, talking with eagerness about times gone by when she deigned to talk sensibly at all, and Bab did not mind lending an ear now, particularly since she liked Lady Chisholm and deeply appreciated her kindness.
At last, however, she bade her hostess an affectionate goodnight and retired to her bedchamber, realizing only as she approached the room that she had not sent word to Giorsal of her intent to retire early. Doubtless the woman was still below, gossiping with the household servants, and would not come until her usual time unless Bab went to fetch her. It would be easier, she decided, to undress herself.
Pushing the bedchamber door open, she realized only as she stepped into the room that Giorsal had apparently closed the curtains already but had neglected to light candles or the ready-laid fire. It was not long after dusk, but still the woman ought not to have left her mistress to enter a dark room by performing the one task without properly seeing to the others.
As these thoughts crossed her mind, the door swung shut behind her, a warm hand clapped over her mouth, and a familiar deep masculine voice murmured in her ear, “Dinna shriek, lass. ’Tis only me.”
Though she had stiffened with shock, at the sound of his voice she relaxed.
The Fox released her, and she heard him step toward the dark fireplace. Next, she heard coals settling, saw a spark, and moments later, flames leaped. When he stood and turned to face her, he held a lighted taper in one hand.
“Where is your maid?” he asked, his deep voice stirring coals inside her, too.
“Downstairs with the other servants, I think,” she said, her voice sounding strained and rather hoarse. “You should not be here. Someone might see you!”
“No one will see me,” he said, stepping toward her. “They do say the witches be abroad tonight, and the wee folk, too. I wanted to see for myself that ye be safe.”
Her skin tingled, but her limbs seemed frozen in place. She licked suddenly dry lips and forced herself to draw a long breath, hoping it would steady her. It did not. His presence in her bedchamber overwhelmed her ordinary calm. It was scandalous behavior. Her reputation would be ruined if anyone should walk in and find him with her.
He was so large, especially with the long cloak swirling about him and outlined as he was by the golden glow of the fire behind him.
Involuntarily, she stepped backward, not even realizing she had done so until she bumped against the door.
“You should not be in here,” she repeated.
“Art afraid of me, sweetheart?”
“N-no, of course I am not afraid. You saved my life. I cannot believe you would harm me now. But—”
She broke off when he reached out to stroke her cheek with his knuckles, his leather glove soft against her skin.
Had she noticed the glove when his hand clapped against her mouth? She could not remember, and somehow the trivial point seemed important, but she could not focus her mind. The rest of her body was too aware of how near he was. Even through the glove, his hand felt warm against her cheek.
Her breath was ragged. He was bending toward her, his lips only inches away. Already her body sang in response to his, and she felt as if the energy in his were drawing her irresistibly closer to him. She raised her chin and parted her lips, and the door bumped into her, startling her nearly out of her wits.
“Mistress?”
“Giorsal!”
In a heartbeat, he thrust the candle into her hand, crossed the room in three long strides, and disappeared behind the curtains. The door bumped against her again, and she stepped aside to let the woman into the room, saying, “What a start you gave me, Giorsal! I nearly dropped my candle.”
“Why were ye standing against the door?”
She had not thought of a reason, but the candle’s glow illuminated an object that gave her one. “I wanted to light that cresset,” she said, indicating the iron basketlike holder suspended from its jutting hook on the wall by the door. “I did not think you would come upstairs so early since I did not send for you.”
“Her ladyship sent for Clarice and the gilly who came for her said ye had already gone up. Ye should ha’ sent someone for me straightaway, mistress.”
“One does not like to order other people’s servants about so casually.”
Giorsal looked at her in astonishment, and no wonder, Bab thought, since she had rarely hesitated to make her wishes known in any other household. One learned from childhood how to do so without giving offense to one’s host. She gazed limpidly back nonetheless, content to keep Giorsal’s attention fixed on her lest the woman realize that someone else was in the room with them.
“I’ll light that cresset, and then I’ll fetch out your night clothes,” Giorsal said, taking the candle from her.
As soon as Giorsal’s attention shifted to the cresset, Bab looked toward the window and felt some relief when she saw nothing to indicate his presence behind the curtains. She knew he must still be there, because the room was nearly three stories above the graveled bailey. Somehow, she would have to get Giorsal out of the room long enough for him to escape.
What, she wondered, had he been thinki
ng? His daring but foolhardy act appalled her, because the first person to enter might as easily have been Giorsal as herself—more easily, in fact. The man was clearly a lunatic but a fascinating one. Whatever would he dare next?
“I can fetch my nightdress myself if you will go and tell a gilly to bring me some hot water,” she said casually.
Giorsal had managed to light the wick in the oil-filled cresset. The flame flared up brightly, casting more shadows on the walls and giving her face a yellowish cast reminiscent of the witches the Fox had said were abroad, as she turned and said bluntly, “I kent well that ye’d want hot water, mistress. I’ve already given the order. Indeed, and do I no be mistaken, that’ll be the lad with it now.”
Bab heard him, too, and the clumping footsteps made her wonder why she had not heard Giorsal’s approach. When the gilly entered, however, and she saw the contrast between his heavy boots and Giorsal’s light slippers, she realized how fortunate it was that she and the Fox had not spoken for several moments before the woman’s arrival. Surely, she would have heard them as easily through the door as Bab had heard the gilly’s approach.
“Pour that out for us, an ye please,” Giorsal said to the lad, following in his wake and watching critically as he poured hot water from the pail he carried, first into the basin on the washstand and then into the ewer beside it.
Giorsal dipped a testing finger into the basin, nodded dismissal to the lad, and then, to Bab’s horror, walked to the curtains as the lad strode to the door. Before Bab could think of a way to stop her, Giorsal swept aside one curtain and looked askance at the open window beyond it.
“This room be gey cold, and nae wonder,” she said, leaning out, yanking the shutter closed, and firmly latching it. “Surely, ye didna open that, mistress.”
“The room was just like this when I came in,” Bab said truthfully. She could scarcely breathe and hoped fervently that Giorsal would not touch the other curtain.