Fin told her bluntly not to worry, adding that Àdham knew what he was doing and had little control over where he might have to go next. And Catriona said just as bluntly one afternoon that women had worried forever about their fighting men without aiding their men or themselves by doing so.
“Go for a walk,” she added. “You and I gain benefit from the peaceful woods.”
Knowing that such solitary walks did raise her spirits, Fiona set out with Argus and Eos less than an hour later. Following the forested course of the burn southeast of the castle uphill, she soon came to Fin’s pool nestled between the heather-clad slopes. For a time, she sat on a conveniently flat boulder and listened to songbirds and the music of the swift-moving water as it spilled over Fin’s dam.
Eos and Argus snoozed nearby, the occasional twitch of an ear the only sign that neither was deeply asleep. She had visited the pool only twice since Àdham had brought her, once with the twins and again with Catriona. Each time, they had stayed only long enough to dabble their feet in the water before turning back.
Nearby woodland abloom with bluebells and other wildflowers invited exploration. Knowing that she was near Finlagh and had only to retrace her steps to return, she walked further up the hill to see what she could see from there. The woods were enchanting. A cool breeze wafted through them, making leaves whisper greetings as she meandered among the trees with her two furry companions.
At last, she came to a path she felt sure was one she’d followed before. Coming on an unexpected fork a short time later, where both paths led downhill, she chose the more inviting, narrower, and shadier one to her right because it offered more solitude. It was also less steep, providing fewer places where one might slip if one failed to pay close heed.
Hearing a distant trickling of water, she realized she must again be near the burn that tumbled down Finlagh’s hillside and flowed northwestward for a time before turning due north to the Moray Firth. She was still going downhill and, thus, she assumed westward because the hill rose eastward behind the castle’s knoll. To be sure, she had wandered up as well as down. But she had not topped any crest.
Sunlight still peeped through the thick canopy, its mischievous rays dancing through the shadowed greenery like streaks of playful lightning, making it hard in such dense woods to tell just where the sun was. The forest seemed darker than she remembered it and the path narrower. A squirrel chattered from a nearby evergreen tree. Tail atwitch, it scolded as if protesting her invasion of its territory.
Argus and Eos ignored the squirrel. But the little beast followed them, leaping from tree to tree, shrieking raucous threats and warnings as it did.
Amused, Fiona watched and followed until the squirrel disappeared.
The birds’ chirps and other squirrels’ chatter enhanced the peacefulness. Increasingly wary of where her chosen fork was taking her, she nonetheless savored the sense of privacy, so unusual for her in daylight hours. Before coming to Finlagh, serving the royal court or at Ormiston, she had rarely been beyond sight of others.
Only her nighttime rambles had provided such solitude.
She smiled then, recalling one particular evening by the river Tay that had proven otherwise. That memory, however, revived her concern for Àdham’s safety.
A more noticeable rustling of leaves warned her of the dogs’ return just before Argus’s head poked through shrubbery ahead of her. She was nearly certain that his eyebrows lifted in query.
“I’m coming,” she assured him, and grinned when the big dog turned back.
But she noticed then that the colors of the flowers had faded and realized that the sun had not merely passed behind a cloud. The sky was darkening.
“Mercy, I’ve walked into evening,” she muttered. “I wonder how far I have come.” Recalling that the days had begun to shorten, and where the sun had been when last she had seen it, she felt a quiver of unease.
She had done nothing yet to displease her new kinsmen. But she suspected that Fin would disapprove of today’s so extensive, solitary ramble. She had clearly gone beyond view of the castle ramparts and had taken an unfamiliar turning.
At least no one was looking for her yet, because surely she would hear shouts if anyone were. Peering through the foliage, trying to identify a hill or rock formation as a landmark, she saw none. The woods were darker and denser here.
Nevertheless, she assured herself, she was not lost. She had only to tell the dogs that she wanted to go home.
Argus appeared as if she had summoned him, this time with Eos at his side.
“Let’s go home, lad,” she said, as Catriona had said that she should.
To her surprise, instead of heading back along the narrow path, Argus’s head rose sharply, and he looked back over his shoulder. Eos did likewise. Then Argus nosed Eos out of his way and stepped past her with a barely audible growl.
Having never heard either dog growl before, Fiona froze where she stood.
Through the silence, she heard a feminine voice in the distance ahead. Her fear evaporated as rampant curiosity replaced it.
Unfortunately, the dogs stayed where they were, barring the path ahead.
Easing as calmly and silently as possible into the shrubbery then, she told herself she was just taking precaution, that if necessary, the bushes would conceal her. As she eased branches aside here and there, aware that the dogs’ attention remained fixed on whatever or whoever approached, she sought an opening that might let her catch a glimpse of the female who had spoken.
A man’s voice sounded then, a bit louder and carrying a note of familiarity that Fiona could not place. His voice was loud enough for her to tell that he spoke the Gaelic but not loud enough to discern his words. Not that it mattered, she decided, because she was unlikely to understand most of them at any volume.
She did detect a tone of command, though, with urgency in it.
Murmurs followed, then silence. The dogs were so quiet that she peeked out to make sure they were still there and alert.
Argus bristled, staring straight ahead. His growl sounded again, menacingly.
When that growl faded to silence, Fiona distinctly heard someone coming toward her through the shrubbery.
Àdham moved swiftly but silently through the woods, eager to reach Finlagh before the fast-fading daylight failed him. He knew exactly where he was and was aware of his deep fatigue but ignored it. He was determined to reach the castle and tell Fin all that he had learned. Having sent MacNab back to Moigh with messages for Malcolm from himself, Mar, and others, he had hoped to reach Finlagh earlier.
Meeting a chap with whom he had fought at Lochaber had delayed him so that he still had nearly a half hour’s walk to go.
Fiona’s nerves tautened nearly to snapping despite her stern attempt to persuade herself that she was safe with the two wolf dogs. The effort failed. So, when a lanky young man emerged from the shadows, it took her a moment to note his red hair and jutting nose and chin, and yet another moment to recognize him.
“Gillichallum Roy!”
Clearly taken aback, Gilli recovered swiftly enough to say in Scots, “Sakes, m’lady, what be ye doing here? Ye’ve nae cause tae stir so far from home.”
“Have I come so far, then?” Fiona asked.
“Aye, ye must be a mile or more north o’ Finlagh.”
“North! I knew I’d taken a different path when it became flatter than the one I had followed up the hill. But I was sure that this one was taking me westward!”
“Ye’d be right only in that ye be skirting the west flank o’ these hills,” he said grimly. “But ye’ve turned northeastward the noo. Had ye gone much further”—he gestured behind him with a thumb—“ye’d be stepping nigh intae Comyn country.”
“Then, what are you doing here? You are much farther from home than I am. And who was that woman whose voice I heard along with yours?”
&nb
sp; “Just a woman,” he said. “She were lost and looking for Cawdor land, so I told her she’s but a half hour east of it from here and put her on her way. Sithee, I were in Nairn,” he added glibly. “I go there now and now, for ’tis one o’ the nearest towns tae Moigh. I’ll bide a night or two at Finlagh afore I make me way home.”
“Are you alone, then? Surely, you travel with an attendant or two.”
“I like tae be alone. Ye must like it, too, since ye’re on your ownsome now.”
Fiona frowned. “Àdham told me that Loch Moigh lies nearly twenty-five miles southwest of Finlagh, and that Nairn lies nearly four miles north of it. Surely, you do not walk thirty miles in a day across such rugged terrain as Àdham has described to me. Come to that, is not Moigh closer to Inverness than to Nairn?”
Shrugging as if such distances were naught to him, he said, “I like Nairn. Sakes, a man goes where he must and thinks nowt of a few hills in his path.”
“But you carry only your plaid and your sword. What took you to Nairn?”
“I had errands tae do for me father,” Gilli Roy said, taking a pouch from his belt. Untying it, he withdrew a rolled strip of pink fabric. “I got ribbons for me cousins and earbobs for me mam.” Glancing warily at Argus, who stood implacably between him and Fiona, he added, “I’ll show ye the rest when we reach Finlagh.”
“If you make the journey often, why did the dogs not know you as a friend?”
“I dinna ken why,” he said, shrugging again. “They be friendly enough, though,” he added, laying a hand gently on Argus’s head.
The big dog stepped back and gave its head a shake.
Fiona chuckled. “I don’t think I would deem his behavior welcoming. But he does seem willing to tolerate you. We must not tarry, though. It will soon be dark.”
“We have time enough,” he said, restoring the ribbon to the pouch and the pouch to his belt. “I’ll lead, since I ken the way better that ye do.”
“You must have walked dangerously near Comyn country, coming from Nairn,” she said. “Were you not worried that you might meet some of them?”
“I was not. Nor did I meet any men.”
“But is not traveling alone so near Comyn territory dangerous?”
“I be a peaceable man,” Gilli Roy declared smugly. “Others, even Comyns, ken me as such and leave me be. ’Tis me own opinion that if more men behaved so, tae set the example, we might all soon live peaceably together.”
“That may be true,” Fiona said. “But, since—”
“Since others want war, I’m talking blethers,” he interjected with a sigh. “I ken that fine. Have I no heard such from me brothers, me father, and most o’ me male cousins? Sakes, the King hisself talks o’ forcing men tae behave, declaring that there shall be peace, as if he thinks ordering it will make it so.”
His frustration and sense of rectitude were clear. But although his opinions were such that her father and brothers might agree with some of them, his words and tone were those of an angry, discouraged young man.
Curious to see how he would react to frankness, she said, “You seem angry.”
“Aye, well, ’tis nowt.” He shrugged again. Likely, she decided, such shrugs had become habitual whenever someone questioned or challenged him.
More gently, she said, “I would be angry if my father or brothers told me that an opinion I’d shared in sincerity was blethers. Did they truly say that to you?”
“Aye, they did,” he said, glancing back at her. “D’ye agree wi’ me, then?”
Unable to bring herself to go that far but hoping to learn more about him, she said, “I do not know enough about such matters yet to form an opinion.”
“Sakes, ye served the Queen! Ye should ken better than I do how the King treats his nobles. If he behaves so tae them, ’tis certain he mistreats everyone.”
“But he does not,” Fiona protested. “His grace expects much of his nobles, but he is kind to lesser folk. Why, when one of his sheriffs condemned a widow to have horseshoes nailed to her feet because she’d threatened to report his wickedness, the King ordered that sheriff made shorter by a head.”
“I never heard that,” Gilli Roy said. “But I tell ye, James goes too far when he tries tae deprive his rightful lairds and clan chiefs o’ their heritable rights.”
Feeling unequal to defending his grace’s position on that or any other topic, Fiona felt only relief when Argus, ranging ahead now, stopped, raised his snout, and began wagging his tail. Behind him, Gilli Roy, perforce, also came to a halt.
“Someone must be in the woods ahead of us,” Fiona said.
“Aye, likely,” he said. “This path meets one just ahead that goes below Finlagh toward the Nairn. I expect ye thought ye were following that ’un and got off tae this one by mistake. Mayhap someone from Finlagh has come in search o’ ye.”
Argus uttered a sharp bark then and moved forward at a lope.
“’Tis a friend, at least,” Gilli Roy added unnecessarily.
Fiona, silent, recalled that the intersection with the track Gilli Roy mentioned was not only farther north of the castle than any of her other solitary rambles had taken her but also well beyond the limits of what Àdham, and Fin, had set for her.
“I must have got turned around more than once,” she muttered.
Argus had vanished around a bend in the trail.
As she noted that fact, a large figure replaced the dog, a heavily bearded one that gladdened her heart until her sense of self-preservation leaped sharply to life.
Àdham’s gaze captured hers with a flash of delight swiftly followed by a scowl so menacing that her spine tingled and her breath caught in her throat.
“I think he be displeased tae see ye here,” Gilli Roy said sagely.
Staring in shock at them, Àdham shifted his focus to his cousin and said grimly in Scots, “What the devil are the two of you doing here?”
Evidently, Argus sensed his emotions, because the dog stepped in front of him and turned as if to keep him from moving closer to Fiona.
Gilli had the temerity then to meet his gaze and say with a wry smile, “Cool your temper, cousin. I ha’ just come from Nairn on me way back tae Loch Moigh.”
“That does not explain what you are doing so far from Finlagh,” Àdham snapped. “Or in these woods with my lady wife!”
Gilli looked at Fiona, clearly expecting her to dampen Àdham’s anger.
“Well, madam?” Àdham said dourly.
Nervously, she licked her lips. The movement of her tongue stirred sensations that reminded him of how long he had been away and threatened to quench his anger. Grimly, he waited to hear what she would say.
Taking a breath deep enough to draw his attention from her lips to her bosom, she exhaled before she said, “It was such a fine day that I came out for a walk with the dogs. I did not mean to come so far from the castle. But I—”
“You shouldn’t have come this way at all. How long ago did you meet him?”
“Just moments ago,” she said, visibly wary. “He also said that I had come too far. We were on our way back when Argus caught your scent.”
Shifting his gaze back to Gilli Roy, Àdham said, “Take yourself on ahead of us and warn them at the castle that I’ll be there for supper.”
To his astonishment, Gilli Roy held his ground, saying, “Mayhap her ladyship would liefer we all walk together.”
With fists clamped now to his thighs, Àdham said with forced calm, “Do not irk me further, Gillichallum. I would be privy with my lady wife after a long and tiresome journey. You are much in our way.”
Gilli eyed him long enough to make Àdham wonder if he would defy him further. Pressing his lips together, he narrowed his gaze until Gilli turned to Fiona.
“D’ye fear him, m’lady?” Gilli asked.
“No,” she said firmly, looking
at Àdham.
Although Àdham yearned to smack his cousin, he restrained himself and continued to hold his tongue until Gilli nodded and moved to pass Argus.
The dog glanced at Àdham, shifting as it did, so that Gilli could pass but also so that it kept itself between the two men. Eos stayed at Fiona’s side.
Sakes, Àdham thought, the dogs were more leery of his temper than his hitherto foppish cousin was. Or his wife.
“I’ll deliver your message, cousin,” Gilli said quietly as he left them.
Torn between telling him to see that he did or just growling and continuing to hold Fiona’s gaze with his own, Àdham missed his optimal moment to speak.
When the sounds of Gilli’s footsteps faded in the distance and Argus moved to stand with Eos between Àdham and Fiona, Àdham said softly, and still without taking his eyes from his wife, “Argus, suidh!”
Argus sat.
Fiona stiffened and raised her chin.
She could feel Àdham’s anger radiating from him. His rigid posture, heavier beard, sleeveless tunic, and weapons made him look fiercer than usual, too.
But she had not lied to Gilli Roy. She felt no fear of her husband—wariness, yes, but not fear that he might hurt her, even though she could tell from his rigidity, the red in what she could see of his cheeks, and his twitching hands that he was restraining his temper with near brute force.
When the silence lengthened beyond what she felt she should tolerate, she said, “When you told Argus to sit just now, why did you not use the hand sign?”
He inhaled deeply and exhaled hard, blowing air from his mouth. Then, speaking almost ruefully, he said, “I knew he would obey a spoken command.”
“And you doubted that he would obey the silent gesture?”
He nodded.
“Because he was protecting me and thus Gillichallum, too—even from you?” When Àdham did not reply, she said, “You told Argus to guard me, did you not?”
Grimacing, he said, “I did, aye. But, to my knowledge, he has never taken such a command to mean that he should protect a person or an object from me.”
The Reluctant Highlander Page 26