“Is that all you wanted to tell me?”
“Aye, sure. What else would there be? I have no liking for the man.”
“Perhaps not, but that night at Blair, I heard Atholl call Caithness your cousin. I’ve been trying since then to think how to ask you about that. It never seemed the right time until now.”
When he did not reply at once, she added softly, “I doubt that you would betray James, Àdham. But might not others who learn of such connections think such a thing? Come to that, why did you not admit your kinship to Caithness at once when you introduced him to me?”
Resisting an urge to grind his teeth but aware that, under the circumstances, her concern was reasonable, Àdham said with forced calm, “Because the connection is too slight for me to claim Alan as a cousin. Do not forget who his father is, lass. I am not a member of the royal family.”
“But the lady Elizabeth Graham of your mother’s family is the Earl of Atholl’s wife. Does that not make you cousin to Caithness?”
“Lass, she is Atholl’s second wife. His first was Alan’s mother, so Alan and I have no blood kinship. He did laughingly name me ‘cousin’ when first we met, so if Atholl called me so that night, he was being derisive. Lady Elizabeth is my grandaunt, but she has no blood kinship to Caithness, so neither do I.”
She regarded him silently for a long minute. Then, with a sigh, she said, “You should have told me about Robert Graham when I asked you.”
“Aye,” he agreed. “I should have.” He waited, wondering if she had more surprises in store for him or expected a full apology.
Then they topped the slight rise beside Fin’s weir, and he saw her smile as she gazed at the expanse of water beyond. “Is that Fin’s pool?” she asked.
“It is,” he said, relieved. “Would you like to swim?”
She hunkered down to test the water. “It may be colder than the Tay, but I think it is warm enough. Is it safe to do so without my shift?”
“People do wander about,” he said. As he quickly folded his plaid and laid it atop one shrub, then tugged off his tunic and draped it over another, he added, “Also, we have men near the hilltops, watching for stray Comyns who might wander this way, so you might want to keep your smock on for now. But I’ll help you doff your kirtle,” he added, grinning as he reached to untie her laces.
Fiona welcomed his touch and marveled at his splendid body while he helped her find the easiest path into the water. As she submerged, using her hands to keep her full-skirted shift from rising to float on the surface as she sank, she looked at Àdham and was delighted to see him watching her closely.
Soon gathering knowledge of the pond’s contours, she submerged and began to swim away from him. When he grabbed an ankle and tugged her back toward him, she reached out to him and let him pull her upright and into his arms. Moments later, her shift was gone, cast to the shore.
Laughing, she said, “Fiend, you’re the one who said to keep it on!”
“I was recalling your shyness,” he said, grinning back as he began to stroke her body from her shoulders to her hips and back to linger at her breasts. “As long as any lad who sees you is not daft enough to tell the world that he has, I’ll feel only my pride and his envy at seeing what a treasure I have in you. Now, lass, kiss me.”
She did, and matters progressed from playfulness in the water to passion ashore that might well have let such a lad see more of them both than Àdham had intended.
By then, though, thoroughly sated, Fiona did not much care if he had.
Having thoroughly enjoyed himself that afternoon, Àdham expected Fiona would reject other such activity for a day or so. To his surprise and delight, though, when he suggested retiring soon after supper, her reply was just a seductive smile.
“You won’t need anyone to aid you tonight,” he murmured against her right ear. “I want to do that, myself.”
When she was naked, he swept her up and carried her to the bed. Eager for her, he undressed himself in record time and got in beside her, and she snuggled just as eagerly into his arms. Leaving the candle alight until it guttered on its stand, they explored each other’s bodies thoroughly, and she enchanted him again with her passion. Now that his conscience was clear again, he looked forward to learning as much as he could about his lady wife.
However, he had no sooner left their bed the next morning than MacNab informed him that Lady Catriona wanted to discuss the intended cèilidh with him, and he recalled that, upon their arrival, Cat had said that she planned to celebrate.
She would likely have to put it off for a time, though, since he intended to begin seeking the information James had requested as soon as possible.
But when he said as much to Cat, she said, “Blethers. I have told everyone to come for a cèilidh tomorrow night and to bring food and an instrument or a tale with which to entertain the company, just as we always do on such occasions. So, you will miss only a day’s travel, my laddie. Even the King—nae, his grace especially, since he treasures his own lady wife as he does—would not expect you to abandon your bride on our doorstep the minute you return home.”
“Nae one would accuse me of doing any such thing,” Àdham protested.
“Aye, someone would, because I will accuse you, myself,” she said flatly. “You may do all that you must do to plan your route and decide what you need to take with you and who else must go. Talk to Fin about that. But you will stay for your cèilidh if you want your handsome head to remain on your thick neck.”
“Aye, sure, my lady,” Àdham said, kissing her cheek. “But if aught delays this cèilidh or if Ivor comes for me—”
“Then my so-esteemed brother can either sing a song whilst Fiona plays her lute for him or strum one on his bowstring for someone else to sing,” she retorted.
Knowing when he had lost a battle, Àdham grinned cheekily at her and went to find Fin, who likewise had no sympathy to offer him. “You would be wise to decide what entertainment you will provide for this celebration, my lad.”
So Àdham, who secretly enjoyed singing, sought out his lady wife and explained that guests and hosts alike at a Highland cèilidh had to aid in the entertainment. “Cat said you play the lute, and I do recall that you brought one with you. So, mayhap you know a song that we can sing together. You need not fret if your singing does not match your skill on the lute,” he added hastily when she looked stunned. “Everyone who knows the song will sing with us.”
Fiona had no objection to playing her lute to aid the entertainment, and finding a song that they both knew proved easier than expected. But the following night, her jaw dropped in amazement at how large a party Catriona had managed to gather in so little time. “How can we possibly have enough food to feed them?” she asked.
“Sakes, Fiona,” her hostess replied with a laugh. “Hereabouts, a man can be at home one minute and gone for weeks, even months, the next. All Highland social gatherings include an expectation that one may entertain a few guests or a host of them. ’Tis why everyone takes part, providing both food and entertainment.”
The cèilidh proved to be a merry one, with pipers piping, fiddlers fiddling, jugglers juggling, whistlers with and without tin whistles, storytellers, poets, ring dances, and dances where men showed off their dexterity with swords or other weapons.
Although many social events that Fiona had experienced were more formal, she was beginning to believe that life in the Highlands was less different from life in the Borders or even in Lowland towns than she had feared. This was fun!
However, the next morning, when MacNab rapped on their door, she quickly learned that it was not just to wake Àdham but also to inform him in the Gaelic that Sir Ivor had arrived with a retinue of men and desired to see him straightaway.
Recognizing Ivor’s name, even in MacNab’s Gaelic accents, and guessing the gist of his message from his urgency, she barely waited for the two men
to leave before scrambling out of bed. Pulling on her kirtle over her shift, she hurried after them barefoot. When MacNab went on downstairs, she followed Àdham into the great hall, where they found Sir Ivor Mackintosh impatiently awaiting him.
Pausing at the threshold, Fiona waited to see if either man would try to send her away. But Ivor smiled when he saw her and said in Scots, “I’m for Lochindorb, Àdham. I want you to go with me, so you can tell Mar’s people about that attack on you and see if they ken who it may have been. We can discuss chiefs or chieftains we think may be less willing to support his grace, too. Those are the ones with whom you’ll need to talk privily and persuasively.”
“I’ll want to ask them if they’ve heard aught from Mar about Donal Balloch’s progress, too,” Àdham said.
“How long must you be away?” Fiona asked them.
“Only a night or two for Àdham, as it’s just twenty miles,” Ivor said. Turning back to Àdham, he added, “I’ll head east from Lochindorb. I need the same information that James does from our chiefs in the Confederation.”
“Member clans east of us are all loyal to James, are they not?”
“Aye, but as war leader, I need to know who is ready to fight at once if we need them. If Balloch means to win the north for Alexander, when Jamie does need us, I’ll want everyone ready to ride as soon after our signal fires are lit as possible.”
“I’ll head west from here, then, when I return,” Àdham said. “I can learn the same things from Confederation clans between here and Inverness, and along the west side of Glen Mòr. They may also ken more about Balloch’s activities.”
“Good, then,” Ivor said. “How soon can we be away?”
“As soon as I can break my fast.”
Following Àdham’s departure, Fiona and cheerful, dark-eyed Bridgett spent some of the morning assessing the garments that Fiona had brought with her and the rest of it with the other women, doing much as Fiona had done at Ormiston or as a maid of honor. That morning, Fiona helped Bridgett and Katy take stock of supplies and check linens for damage, while Clydia tended her herbs in the kitchen garden.
That afternoon, Catriona, Fiona, and the twins visited two families who had missed the cèilidh to see if either needed aught that they could provide. After supper, until bedtime, they discussed ways that Fiona might simplify her garments.
Àdham returned two days later, as promised, but had time only to couple with his wife and sleep before he left again to talk with clansmen.
The next morning, the women attended to plain stitchery, for no household ever lacked mending to do. But they also began stripping fur, jewels, furbelows, and other such ornamentation from Fiona’s court dresses.
Catriona soon arranged for a walk into Nairn, to purchase ribbons and other necessities. Bruce Lochan, the square-built captain of Finlagh’s guard, sent an armed escort with them, because they would pass near Raitt Castle land.
“The laird is unreliable about the public road to Nairn,” Catriona explained. “He harbors his right to pit and gallows as if he had inherited rather than stolen it.”
The seamstress they visited asked if the rumors of possible war scared them.
“Not yet,” Cat replied. Other townsfolk asked similar questions.
Fiona bought a trinket or two but longed for her favorite things from home. James and Joanna would remain at Blackfriars for some time longer, though, so it could be weeks before Ormiston returned to Ormiston Mains.
Chapter 17
Although Àdham got home as often as he could, for a day or two, July was nearly over before he was home long enough to relax any longer than that. Wanting time alone with Fiona and certain she would welcome it, he took her near the top of the shorter, southeastern crag, high enough above the castle on that cloudless, clear day to see a long stretch of the river Nairn, flowing north to the Moray coast.
In the distant southwest, snow-capped crags much higher than theirs were visible. Fiona stared at them, her jaw agape. She seemed to have stopped breathing.
Understanding her reaction, Àdham said quietly, “Beautiful, aye?”
She just nodded, still staring at the spectacular view. “We have nothing like that in the Borders. I have never seen . . .” She paused, shaking her head.
“The Cairngorms, miles behind us eastward, are similar. But those yonder are higher. Fin says they stand sixty miles from here. But afoot, due to rough terrain, ’tis nearer a hundred. The tallest one, Ben Nevis, is the highest peak in Scotland.”
They sat quietly on a pair of boulders for a time before she looked around and said, “Raitt Castle lies somewhere beyond that higher hilltop yonder, aye?”
“On the northeast slope of a hill below that tor. But we’re safe here, lass.”
She looked at him. “I’m not as fearful as I was before. I’ve been out walking almost every day with Catriona and the twins, and even on my own, with the dogs.”
“Art learning to speak the Gaelic yet?”
“Tha, beagan,” she said, still staring at the distant mountains.
“Aye, a little,” he said, nodding. “What else can you say?”
“Is mise Fiona.”
He chuckled. “I know your name is Fiona. What more?”
“Don’t ask me,” she said with a grimace. “I am beginning to understand much more than I know how to say. Everyone is helping me learn, especially Rory and the twins, but I cannot form sensible sentences longer than three words.”
“You will learn,” he said confidently.
“I will,” she agreed. “But how did so many at Finlagh and Rothiemurchus come to speak Scots?”
“Fin and Ivor learned at St. Andrews as students of the bishop, and Ivor’s Marsi spoke both languages from birth, because her parents owned land in Perth and the Highlands. The twins and their brothers learned from Fin and Catriona, and others here learn from hearing phrases repeated at table and elsewhere.”
Putting an arm around her shoulders, he urged her back the way they had come. “I know some other things you can learn when we get home, mo bhilis.”
“What does ‘ma villus’ mean?”
Realizing that the phrase had slipped out because he habitually used the term of endearment with the twins, he felt heat surge to his cheeks. “’Tis just a friendly endearment, akin to calling you a sweet lass.”
“Oh.”
“Shall we go?” he said, getting to his feet.
Fiona knew that mo meant “my,” and suspected from his tone that the phrase was more personal than he had admitted. But when he suggested going back, she felt wary of asking if it meant “my sweet,” lest she learn that it meant only “my wife.” The way he’d said it had given her a warm feeling. The thought that he might call her merely “my wife” did not.
She had yet to spend much time with him, for she had learned that the Clan Chattan Confederation contained not only Mackintoshes but numerous other clans, some of which were themselves divided and distant from each other. When he was home, he usually spent his days with the men, ate meals with the family, coupled with her, and went right to sleep. Then, he rose early the next day without waking her, either to repeat that pattern or to leave again and continue his travels for James.
Despite her initial shyness, she had found their first few couplings interesting and mostly pleasant, even stimulating. Àdham had seemed to enjoy teaching her and revealing her body’s secret sensitivities. After their first days at Castle Finlagh, however, she had scarcely seen him, let alone talked at any length with him.
Their walk today was a welcome exception, but the intimacy she had shared with him at Blackfriars and at Fin’s pool was gone. He seemed distracted. He also seemed to assume that Fin, Catriona, and the twins had eased all of her fears about living in the Highlands. But thanks to the rumors of increasing enmity and possible renewal of war, with Islesmen threatening to reclaim te
rritory the imprisoned Lord of the Isles apparently now insisted was an inheritance from his mother, she was not fully comfortable yet in her new home.
A twinge of guilt stirred, because she could almost hear her brother Davy saying, “Poor Fee, and what have you said or done to let him know how you feel?” Because that was Davy’s way, and she suspected he would be right.
In truth, Àdham’s casual belief that her fears had gone troubled her less than the proof she had recently received that her fear was reasonable.
Drawing a breath, she said, “Did Catriona or Fin tell you that we received a message at last from my father?”
“Nae, and neither did you until now. What was his message?”
“That he will likely not visit us for months yet,” she said, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat that threatened to smother anything else she tried to say.
“Did his messenger relay his cause for the delay?”
“Aye,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Good sakes, sir, because travel in the Highlands has become too dangerous! Many insist that we will soon be at war. Is that not the very reason that you have traveled hither and yon these past many weeks on his grace’s behalf?”
“I have been doing so to ensure that if trouble does come, men will be ready to meet and defeat it. Moreover, if the Islesmen attack, they will do so nearly eighty miles southwest of here, at the lower end of Glen Mòr. And, if they do, the Earl of Mar will settle it from the royal castle of Inverlochy, which guards that end of the Glen. Trouble there should deter no one in the Lowlands from visiting Finlagh.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “My father is no feardie. Yet he and Lady Rosalie have not even set a date for their wedding, because they hope to arrange matters so that we can attend. If he believes the Highlands are too dangerous to travel, it must be so. Perhaps he also thinks men might attack Tantallon to free Alexander.”
The Reluctant Highlander Page 24