Authors: Highland Princess
At least Lachlan Lubanach had not taken her to task for covering her hair.
The minstrels had changed their tune, and it occurred to her that normally she would not have noticed. Today, it reminded her of her few moments with Lachlan in the gallery. She knew that had the gillies not interrupted their mood, she might have let him have his way. And she knew, too, that if she were such a goose as to meet him at Compline, she would not return to her bed afterward as a maiden.
He said something, pulling her from her thoughts.
Fixing her gaze on her bread as she tore off a piece, she said airily, “Forgive me, sir. I was not attending to you.”
“Nay, lass, you were not. Are you always so rude to your dinner companions? For if you are, you will have to mend your ways after we are wed.”
He spoke in a tone that might easily have carried to Lady Margaret’s ears, and nearly choking on the bit of bread she had just put in her mouth, Mairi looked at him at last to see him grinning with delight at having made her do so.
As soon as she could talk properly, she muttered severely, “You, sir, should be well smacked for such insolent behavior at this table.”
“Should I? You may punish me later if you still wish to, sweetheart.”
This time, to her relief, he lowered his voice, but she fixed her attention on her dinner from then on, determined to ignore him. Even so, her awareness of him was palpable. She did not have to look at him to know every move he made, and when his near hand brushed her thigh, she nearly jumped out of her chair.
The meal was over at last, however, and the men did not linger. To her further relief, Lachlan accompanied the others back to Council Isle.
Walking with Hector and the other men, Lachlan smiled as he recalled Mairi’s reaction to his teasing during the meal. Hector gave him a quizzical look, but not wanting to stir his brother’s displeasure again, he said nothing until they approached the causeway to Council Isle.
Then, under his breath, he said, “Hold here a moment. Fix your shoe or something.” As the others moved onto the causeway, two abreast, he said, “Elma MacCoun apparently liked men other than Mellis.”
“Who can blame her?” Hector said. “Although if Mellis was the tyrant everyone paints him, she took her life in her hands if she smiled at anyone else.”
“Aye, sure, but see if you can discover who she favored.”
“I’m a step ahead this time,” Hector said, “but it avails us little. By what I’m hearing, the lass favored anyone who fancied her. A bit of a hizzie, that one was.”
MacDonald had taken his place at the great stone table, leaving them no more time for discussion. “Keep listening,” Lachlan said as they hurried to join the others.
Having noted that Agnes Beton had not been at dinner, Mairi’s sense of duty sent her to the kitchen to collect manchet loaves and soup again, and she hurried to the Betons’ cottage, determined to keep her mind on her duties. Finding Agnes much recovered, she asked her if Ewan had been looking after her.
“I did not see him at dinner either,” she added with a smile as she put the bread and soup on the table.
“Nay, mistress, bless ye,” Agnes said. “Ewan ha’ gone back t’ Kilchoman t’ help wi’ the work there. He’ll no return until just afore we depart for the north.”
Remembering that Lachlan had said they should find out more about Shim MacVey, Fin MacHugh, and Gil Dowell, she asked Agnes if she knew any of the men well. “Are they particular friends of Ewan’s?”
“I wouldna think it, my lady, but in troth I dinna ken. I’m thinking ye should ask the high steward, since like our Ewan, they mostly work for him. They went wi’ Ewan t’ Kilchoman today,” she added. “Mellis went again, too.”
“Did they all go with Lord Godfrey that day, then?”
“I dinna ken that, but they do be always the ones the steward sends out and about. Likely, he’ll do the same when we go north, too. Ewan ha’ said there be work aplenty at Aros and Mingary and at Ardtornish, too.”
But Mairi decided not to ask Niall, certain he would not approve of her interest in so sordid a crime, and might not agree with her conclusion that it even was a crime. Nor could she tell him that Lachlan supported that conclusion.
The rest of the afternoon passed in a haze. She spent much of it in the solar with Lady Margaret, her waiting women, and Elizabeth, but if she took part in any sensible conversation, she retained no memory of it later. As Meg was helping her change for supper, Elizabeth entered, took one look at her, and said, “Mercy, but why are you putting on your best velvet tunic when we are all to sup
en famille
?
“Are we?” A surge of disappointment washed over her.
Elizabeth’s fair eyebrows shot upward. “You know we are. Our lady mother told us not an hour ago that his grace had decided we should.”
“Of course,” Mairi said, adding for Meg’s benefit, “I was woolgathering at the time, I expect. I am glad you reminded me, Elizabeth.”
“His grace will join his guests in the great hall for amusement afterward, but I fear we’re condemned to a peaceful evening. ’Tis a pity, too, because Hector Reaganach has promised to sing the Crusade song again, and he is most amusing.”
“Aye, but I recall only the vulgar songs he sang,” Mairi said, certain that she must have been outside with Lachlan when Hector sang that particular song.
Elizabeth chuckled. “You would remember the lewd ones. Sometimes I think you must be quite wanton, Mairi. What would our lady mother say?”
Mairi said lightly, “They make me laugh, that’s all.”
She did not suspect that Elizabeth meant anything more by her words than what she had said, or that she suspected the burgeoning relationship between Mairi and Lachlan Lubanach. Her sister was not guileful or capable of subtlety. Had she suspected that Mairi hid a growing interest in any man, she would have said so.
Nor did Mairi worry that Elizabeth might be forming an affection for Hector Reaganach. Her sister’s destiny was as set as their half sister Marjory’s or her own, because eventually Elizabeth would marry Black Angus Mackay of Strathnaver, destined like Marjory’s Macleod to be chief of his clan. His support was of great importance, because the huge district of Strathnaver comprised the northwestern corner of mainland Scotland from Loch Naver and the Naver Forest all the way to Cape Wrath. Elizabeth was MacDonald’s means of solidifying that support, just as Mairi was his means of reinforcing his connection to the Scottish Crown.
That evening, the sisters enjoyed an even quieter meal with their mother and her women than they had anticipated.
When Mairi inquired about MacDonald’s absence, Margaret said, “His grace decided to sup with his councilors. They mean to continue their discussion of how he should most properly reply to the King of Scots’ demand for payment of that dreadful ransom, as well as his complete submission to David as his liege lord.”
“But how can David ask such a thing?” Elizabeth asked shyly.
“He should not,” Mairi said flatly. “The King is not his grace’s liege, and that stupid ransom is naught to do with us. Cousin David should be glad his grace helped to negotiate it, when he might as easily have left him in England.”
Elizabeth sighed. “It is all very complicated, is it not, madam?”
Margaret smiled. “For us, perhaps, but a woman learns to have faith in her husband, my dear. Men understand these things better than we ever could.”
Mairi’s hands clenched, but she dared say nothing. Although she was willing to believe that many men, especially powerful ones directly involved in great events such as the French war with England, were better positioned than most women to know and to understand political strategy, she would never agree that any man knew more about anything, simply by virtue of his gender, than a woman did.
Recalling the easy way that Lachlan the Wily had commanded her to wear her hair unconfined and to meet him at Compline, she hoped he did not expect to call every tune for her dancing if he should manage to persuade her father to let them marry. He’d get a big surprise if that
was
his expectation.
M
airi felt edgy and unsettled after their meal, and had no desire to engage in polite conversation. As servants cleared away the table, Elizabeth took up her embroidery and asked Mairi if she wanted hers as well, but she shook her head. She desperately needed to think, but her thoughts refused to order themselves.
It was not long before her fidgeting attracted Lady Margaret’s attention.
“My dear one,” she said, “have you no task with which to occupy yourself?”
Before Mairi could reply, Elizabeth said, “I warrant she would prefer to be in the great hall instead of sitting quietly here, madam. I certainly would.”
“Take care lest others think you frivolous,” Margaret said sternly. “With Lent still upon us, you should be reflecting on piety, not on worldly pleasures.”
“Yes, madam.” But Elizabeth’s tone was doubtful.
“Be patient,” Mairi said. “Lent will soon be over, the men will bring their ladies to Ardtornish, and—” Catching her mother’s stern eye, she broke off, adding hastily, “—and John Og will have his son at last, and we can celebrate his birth.”
“When you say your prayers tonight,” Lady Margaret said dryly, “you might both take a moment to pray that John Og’s child is born healthy and that our guests do not descend upon Ardtornish all at once or linger too long. We shall all have a more pleasant spring if the garderobe towers do not fill as fast as they did two years ago and force us to leave before your father has enjoyed his customary stay there.”
“He won’t let that happen again,” Mairi said confidently.
The conversation meandered desultorily then until Mairi decided she could excuse herself without rebuke. As she hurried to her bedchamber, however, she knew Elizabeth would not be far behind.
Wondering at herself for being concerned about her sister, she wondered too how Lachlan had imagined for a moment that she could easily slip away to meet him. “Why am I even thinking such thoughts?” she muttered to the ambient air. “I am
not
going to meet him. ’Twould be utter madness.”
She half expected to find Meg awaiting her, but it was early and she was not there. Without pausing to think about what she was doing, or why, she stepped into the adjoining wardrobe chamber where Meg slept and tended their clothing. Finding an old black cloak she wore as an extra garment when the weather was particularly cold, she hurried back into the bedchamber, and then stood holding it as she glanced around, her ears fairly twitching as she listened for Elizabeth’s or Meg’s approach.
Aside from a stool and washstand, the curtained bed built against the wall facing the wardrobe chamber and the candlestand beside it were the only furniture.
The blue velvet bed curtains fell short of the floor, revealing the stout legs of the bed’s frame. Bending to see if she could push the cloak underneath without its being seen by anyone else in the room, she realized that as her mind was insisting she could not slip out later, her hands and body were preparing to do just that.
“But how?” she asked as her traitorous hands bundled the cloak under the bed. “What if Meg chooses tonight to see if the floor underneath has been swept?”
But by the time Meg and Elizabeth arrived, she had lighted candles and knew she would submit to her impulses. It was all she could do to avoid glancing toward the bed every minute to see if she had pushed the cloak far enough underneath.
Meg helped her out of her tunic and kirtle and, giving her a bed robe to wear, turned to assist Elizabeth.
Mairi cleaned her teeth at the washstand and washed her face, but her attention was on Meg. She could scarcely believe the woman did not suspect what she was about to do. Her tension seemed as if it should be noticeable to anyone.
Since everyone slept nude and she dared not enter the wardrobe after Meg had retired there, she could only hope she would hang the clothes they had removed on pegs outside the wardrobe door to air overnight, as usual, before stowing them in their chests the next day. Sometimes Meg did not go to bed when they did but stayed up to mend a tear or dab away a stain by the kitchen fire while she chatted with a friend, but only when she believed it was necessary to attend to such things at once, since she could see better by daylight.
The Rose and the Weed slept on pallets in the great chamber, outside the adjoining inner chamber where Lady Margaret slept with her lord. To get to the forecourt, Mairi would have to pass the great chamber, but since she knew from experience that both women slept like the dead, there remained only the small detail of her father and her brothers, all of whom would still be up.
Any one of them might decide at any time to return to the residence. However, none would seek her in her bedchamber, so she need only take care that she did not meet one on the stairs or outside in the forecourt.
Surely, she told herself as Meg brushed her hair, Lachlan would not want to linger in the forecourt. He had said danger lent spice to adventure, but foolhardiness would not, and he seemed sensible about most things, if a trifle overconfident.
She would just have to trust him to have a plan, but what it might be defied her imagination and made her body quiver with tremulous anticipation.
He would not take her to his room, because although Finlaggan boasted a number of guest chambers, there were not so many that the sons of Gillean would have rooms to themselves. The two would more likely share one, and might even share it with one or two other gentlemen.
She had had nothing to do with the accommodations for his grace’s councilors, because that task fell within Niall Mackinnon’s purview. And she knew that Niall would not have given special consideration to Lachlan or Hector.
“Mairi, where are your wits roaming?” Elizabeth demanded. “Meg has twice asked what you want to wear tomorrow.”
Apologizing hastily, Mairi pushed all thought of trysting out of her head, told Meg what she would wear, and obediently shrugged off her robe and got into bed, giving thanks that her sister preferred the inner side near the wall. She would not have to creep over or around her to get out.