The Secret Clan: The Complete Series

by Amanda Scott

  She found a chance at last to pinch herself, but although she felt the pain, it did nothing to banish the sense of unreality. She could remember her dream of marrying the Fox as vividly as if it had been real, but looking at Alex, she felt more as if she were dreaming now than when she had watched pixies, elves, and gauzy green fairies swooping over the greensward on bits of ragwort and grass.

  That sense of dreamlike unreality clung to her as she ate her wedding breakfast—called so despite the fact that the hour was rapidly approaching one o’clock—and continued to cling while she responded to the numerous well-wishers who had attended the festivities.

  The musicians played for dancing after the meal, and she and Alex led the dancers onto the floor as soon as the trestles were dismantled and a space cleared for them. She had nearly forgotten how skilled a dancer he was, but the steps came easily to her again, and she soon found herself laughing and enjoying herself as much as any other bride.

  The festivities continued through supper, and although she was finding it harder and harder to smile, the feeling was familiar and had nothing to do with fading spirits. It was simply the weariness one always felt after entertaining myriad guests for an extended period. Her face ached from smiling. Her throat was dry and sore from talking too much. Her feet hurt from dancing, and her store of pleasantries was nearly spent, but she knew her duty and made no complaint.

  Putting an arm around her shoulders, Alex bent so that his lips nearly touched her ear as he murmured, “Art tired, lass? ’Tis been a long day.”

  “A little,” she admitted, “but in truth I have enjoyed myself immensely.”

  Even as she wondered where the words had come from, she realized that she spoke only the truth. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself.

  “We’ll leave in a few moments,” he said.

  Suddenly her thoughts were wholly her own again, and panic surged through her. Tonight was her wedding night!

  “Claud!” a familiar voice exclaimed. “At last! I thought ye’d never come.”

  “Catriona!” He was delighted to see her, and relieved. After Lady MacRae bade him a cheerful hello in passing, nearly startling him out of his wits, he had slipped away from the wedding festivities to try and find his mother, but Catriona intercepted him just before he reached Maggie’s parlor. “Where ha’ ye been, lass?” he demanded, keeping an eye out for Maggie. “I ha’ searched for ye everywhere.”

  “Did ye? Didst miss me, Claud?” She reached to stroke his cheek.

  He forgot about Maggie, as his gaze drifted downward. Catriona looked as enticing as she always did, her low-cut, gauzy green gown clinging to every delicious curve of her body. He remembered the magic in her fingers and yearned to feel them touch him everywhere.

  His voice hoarse, he said, “Aye, lass, I ha’ missed ye summat fierce.”

  “I’ve been busy, Claud, but I managed to slip away for a bit, ’cause I ha’ missed ye, too. That gap-toothed butter whore threatened me! She said—”

  “Who?”

  “That viperous schemer, Lucy Fittletrot, o’ course! I’ll give her goat’s feet!”

  Involuntarily, his gaze shot to Catriona’s feet, concealed by her gauzy gown.

  She gasped. “See there! She’s even persuaded ye that I’m a Glaistig!”

  “Show me your feet, lass.”

  “I won’t! Ye should ken well that I’m no half woman, half goat.”

  “Mayhap ye’d like tae be, however,” hissed an angry voice behind them.

  Whirling, Claud beheld Lucy, her dark eyes gleaming, her golden hair practically standing on end. “Ye leave her be, Lucy,” he snapped.

  Turning back, determined to protect Catriona although not certain what that would entail, he saw to his consternation that she had already vanished.

  “What ha’ ye done wi’ her, Lucy?”

  “It be time tae go back tae the feast, Claud,” Lucy said as she touched his shoulder. “They’ll soon be bedding the bridal couple. We missed that part the last time, ye’ll recall, and I want tae see what they do. Mayhap we’ll learn summat.”

  The hiss in her voice was gone, leaving it gentle and seductive, and as she drew him toward her, her hands slid over his body before she entwined her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to kiss him. But for once, her touch stirred only irritation, and he drew back, his anger with her too strong to be so easily overcome.

  With an angry look, she flitted away, and reluctantly, he followed her.

  Aboard the Marion Ogilvy

  The winds had continued fierce and steady from the south even after they had left Spain and France behind, speeding them north toward Ireland. Kit knew they would stay to the west of it, keeping as much distance as possible between themselves and Henry’s England.

  The winds defied understanding, so favorable had they been. Older men who had sailed the seas from childhood said they had never seen the like.

  Kit had done his work and kept to himself, speaking little to anyone other than Tam and Willie, while keeping clear of both Gibson and Sir Kenneth Lindsay. He believed strongly that the less he was seen with the ambassador’s nephew the less Gibson would make him account for later. He had seen the latter eyeing him, and he knew well that there would eventually be a reckoning between them.

  Long before they sighted the Irish coast, the wind eased off and shifted so that it blew from the west. It strengthened then, slowing their progress considerably.

  Gibson sent him with the others into the rigging to adjust the sails, and as he scrambled to the foretop, someone above him on the main shouted, “Sails ho!”

  He could see them now too, dead ahead, three huge ships of war coming straight toward them, their speed terrifying.

  Gibson bellowed orders to man the gun ports, and riggers leaped to man the sheets and change the angle of the sails, turning the ship, but as quick as they were, the oncoming ships were faster, and no sooner could they make out the English flags flying from their mastheads than they heard the enemy cannons fire. Their first volley splashed short, but the Marion Ogilvy was broadside to them now, and the warships came on swiftly.

  When the next volley exploded, he was in his usual place on the foretopmast, his view of the main clear, and he saw a ball hit the main masthead. Men screamed, wood flew in all directions, and the mast and its rigging began to crumple.

  It was a solid hit. Everything above the strike point, two-thirds of the huge mainmast, began to topple toward him.

  Chapter 17

  Bab saw her mother and Mauri MacRae moving toward her with purposeful looks in their eyes. As they came, she saw others moving to follow them.

  “What is it, madam?” she asked Lady MacRae. “Is aught amiss?”

  “Nay, my dearling, ’tis but time for your bedding.”

  Bab’s knees felt suddenly unlikely to continue supporting her, but she forced calm into her voice as she said, “What must I do?”

  Beside her, Alex said with equal calm, “We will go up with them, my lady. Look to your bride laces, and keep close to me.”

  Remembering that the long ribbons on her sleeves were considered prizes that the men who had attended her wedding had the right to claim as she left for her bedding, Bab swallowed hard. She had heard of brides being stripped naked when they bore too few ribbons to suit the guests. She remembered something else, too.

  “Will all these people attend our bedding?”

  Her mother frowned, glancing around. Some of the men had been drinking freely of Chisholm’s claret, ale, and an even more intoxicating drink common to the Isle of Skye called brogac, and they were clearly feeling sportive.

  “No man in my father’s house with my father at hand will step out of line,” Alex said. “What ceremony there is will be simple. Your mother and the other married women will help you prepare for bed. Once you are in your bedgown and tucked in, I will enter with Eric and the other male guests. The priest will bless the bed, we’ll take a cup of claret with him, and then he will shoo everyo
ne else out of the room. It will be over before you know it, and I’ll not let anyone embarrass you.”

  She looked at him searchingly, but he seemed sincere and the lazy drawl was absent. Still, she could not help thinking that the others were not what she worried about. She worried more about what would happen after they left.

  “Hurry, Claud, I want a good place!” Lucy exclaimed, tugging his sleeve as if there had never been a moment’s anger between them.

  “Her ladyship will see us,” Claud warned her.

  “No matter if she does,” Lucy retorted with a grin. “She may ha’ the gift tae see us, but she has nae power tae keep us out.”

  “But if she chats wi’ me mam, ye ken well what will happen.”

  “Pish tush, your mam wants ye tae keep watch over your lass, and how can ye do that an ye dinna stay wi’ her?” When Claud hesitated, she said with a sigh, “Come on, Claud! If it makes ye happier, we’ll just keep out o’ their sight.”

  “D’ye think ye can keep us out o’ me mam’s sight?”

  “Ye ken well that I can, laddie,” she said with a wink. “I ha’ done it afore.”

  He had suspected as much at least once, and he wondered again what magic Lucy had that seemed to protect her against Maggie’s vast powers.

  As she turned to follow the bridal couple and he moved to follow her, one of the guests who had enjoyed his brogac a trifle more freely than the others chose that moment to cast the remaining contents of his mug carelessly over his shoulder as he shouted for claret to toast the bride. Lucy was just passing by, and the potent brew nearly caught her in its path. With a deft move, she managed to avoid it but turned with an angry shriek and raised her hands menacingly.

  “Lucy!” Claud bellowed. “No!”

  She turned to him, her fury swiftly turning to impishness. “I were just going tae let him enjoy the rest o’ the night as a wee frog,” she said demurely.

  “Ye ken fine that we canna do such things,” Claud scolded. “If ye turn him into a frog, others will see him vanish. Moreover, I’ll ha’ tae take the blame for it, and I’m meant tae settle this affair without doing aught tae make known our presence here. I dinna want tae face the Circle again, lass, until I succeed.”

  “Aye, well, I dinna like getting wet, and that villain well nigh drowned me.”

  “I thought ye were in a hurry tae see the bedding,” Claud reminded her.

  “I am,” she said, disappearing up the stairs and leaving him again to follow.

  This time it was with a sigh of profound relief that he did.

  Aboard the Marion Ogilvy

  He had thought he was about to die, for the mast appeared to be toppling straight toward him and he had nowhere to go, but as he gritted his teeth and clung tightly to the foretopmast, he felt and heard the sounds of a great wind blowing up. It had shifted direction again and now filled every sail, so that suddenly they were running with the wind to the northeast, and it blew so powerfully that it seemed even to right the falling mast. Or perhaps he had only imagined the mast was falling toward him. Confused, his mind sought reasonable answers for what he had seen.

  Perhaps the wind had picked up moments before and so quickly that the entire ship had tilted with increasing wave action, and all before he had noticed.

  In any event, he was not going to question it. He could tell by the reactions of other riggers that many had seen what he had seen and feared what he had feared. Nonetheless, they hastened now to check the mainmast shrouds, those heavy, paired ropes, chained and dead-eyed to the rigging rail that held the mast in place.

  They were off course and heading into the Irish Sea, between Ireland and England, but they were easily outrunning the English ships. With luck, oncoming darkness would keep them safe and allow them to reach the North Channel between Scotland and Ireland before dawn. And then, thanks to the shorter distance to Dumbarton, they would get there faster than anyone had anticipated.

  He looked skyward and sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving to the ancient gods who watched over sailors on the high seas. The ones responsible for the Marion Ogilvy had apparently forgotten her for a while, but someone had remembered them in time, and he was grateful.

  The women hustled Bab upstairs to Sir Alex’s bedchamber ahead of him, with the other gentlemen following. It had been easy for them to separate her from Alex. They had merely urged her onto the spiral stairway ahead of him and then eased in between, so she now had a solid wall of wide skirts protecting her as she hurried up the stairs, following Lady MacRae with Mauri right behind her.

  The procession was merry, accompanied by much boisterous laughter and a few ribald remarks, but the latter were few and generally tame, owing to Chisholm and his lady trailing behind the rest of the merrymakers.

  When they reached the landing near Alex’s bedchamber, Mauri bustled ahead, clearly having acquainted herself earlier with the room’s location. She pushed open the door, looked inside, and gestured for Bab to precede her.

  While Mauri paused at the door to see that only the ladies entered, Bab stared around the room with interest.

  Alex’s bedchamber was not what she had expected. His deep interest in his attire, and in fabrics and colors, had led her to expect a far more elaborately decorated chamber. By comparison with what she had imagined, the room was nearly Spartan. The dark blue-velvet bed hangings and window curtains, corded back with ordinary twisted and tasseled white cotton rope, were simple and plain, lacking even modest embroidery. The room was nonetheless comfortable, for a cheerful fire crackled on the hearth, and myriad candles and oil-burning cressets on the walls provided a rich golden light throughout.

  Bab’s bedgown and wrapper lay ready on the high bed, which stood against the wall opposite the fireplace and was both wider and longer than the one she had been sleeping in. Giorsal and Ada MacReedy stood waiting by it to assist her.

  The clamor outside the door grew louder and then was muted when Mauri firmly shut it, leaving the gentlemen outside.

  The room was spacious, but teeming with chattering women as it was now, it seemed to be far too small for the purpose at hand. Lady Chisholm’s voice quelled the clamor as she said in a quiet but nonetheless carrying tone, “Hush now, ladies, lest we deafen poor Bab.”

  Someone suggested that it would be a pity for her not to hear Sir Alex’s words of love when the time came, but Bab had no need to comment, for Giorsal was guiding her to the washstand, where a towel and warm water awaited her, along with other amenities that were supposed to render her pleasing to her husband.

  It seemed almost natural then to let herself be divested of her wedding dress and prepared for bed. Her face and hands were soon washed, her teeth cleaned, and while her assistants dabbed fresh perfume behind her ears, on her wrists, between her breasts, and in other places where she had never thought to put perfume, she chewed a bit of mint to freshen her breath. Then they helped her into the soft lawn bedgown and the voluminous red velvet wrapper that had been wedding gifts from her mother. Somehow, in the crush of completing her pink gown, Giorsal and Ada had found time to make them, too.

  Someone had removed her bridal headdress and someone else had loosened her hair from its plaits. Now Giorsal brushed it out quickly, knowing that the men outside the door would be growing impatient.

  Fiona Mackintosh folded down the coverlet and quilt and stood aside.

  “Climb you in, my dearling,” Lady MacRae said quietly at Bab’s side. “I trust you know what will happen tonight.”

  Bab stared, wondering why her mother would have such trust. “In truth, madam,” she murmured with fire in her cheeks, “I have but the vaguest notion.”

  “Why, you simply do your duty and submit to your husband’s will.” With a smile, Lady MacRae kissed her cheek and stepped back, adding, “You may let the gentlemen in as soon as her ladyship has climbed into the bed, Mauri.”

  Automatically, Bab glanced at Lady Chisholm before she realized the title was her own. Then, obediently, she used the
bed steps to climb into the high bed and scooted to the inside where pillows had been piled for her to rest against, so that she could sit up comfortably for the forthcoming proceedings.

  The women arranged the quilt over her, drawing it to her waist, and as Mauri MacRae admitted Sir Alex and the other men, the women stood aside to give Alex an unimpeded view of his bride.

  To Bab’s surprise, he had already changed his clothing, or his friends had changed it for him. In place of the elegant doublet and hose he had worn for their wedding, he wore a dressing gown of blue brocade with gold cording and tassels.

  Glowering at the rowdy men who had followed Alex, the priest stepped up beside him. Alex smiled at Bab, and she felt her tension ease, for whatever else anyone might say about him, he was kind and gentle, and he would not harm her.

  When at last the priest could make himself heard, he said formally, “We must bless this bed before Sir Alex can be permitted to join his bride and consummate this marriage.” Then, in a harsher tone, he added, “Ye’ll be quiet, the lot o’ ye men, or I’ll put a curse on ye that’ll make your eyes rot in your heads!”

  Exchanging muttered comments and grins, the men in the company nonetheless grew quiet enough to allow him to continue with the blessing. As soon as he finished, Eric Mackintosh, who had served as Alex’s best man, produced a jug of claret and four goblets, which he proceeded at once to fill.

  Passing one to the priest, two to Alex for Bab and himself, and keeping one, Eric raised his and said with a grin, “I offer a toast to the beautiful young Lady Chisholm and to her ugly husband. It is our fond hope that they may be happy together for the rest of their days, although how she can be with such a pawky dunderclunk for a husband is more than I can say.”

  Laughter broke out again, and everyone cheered.

  Alex raised his goblet to the company, grinned, and took a sip. “You must drink the toast, lass,” he said.

  “But they are toasting us,” she protested. “I did not think one—”