Amanda Scott (18 page)

Hector and Lachlan clearly hoped to stay, but MacDonald dismissed them with a gesture, and Michael found himself alone with him.

“Draw up that stool, lad,” MacDonald said. “I’ll wager Ian Dubh told you the pertinent facts of our history, since his message to me, although cryptic, made it clear that he wants me to speak to you of what the two of us saw that night.”

Michael obeyed the request to draw up a stool and sit but did not reply, seeing no sense in pointing out that, regardless of what message Ian Dubh had sent, the decision lay entirely with MacDonald as to whether he would speak.

“Both of us suffered for our sins that night,” MacDonald said with a small, reminiscent smile. “I’m guessing he told you all he knows of the matter, augmented by what little his prized documents have revealed of it since.”

“Aye, sir, he told me about the four ships he saw when he followed you to the shore below Castle Tarbert. He said they disappeared by morning and the two of you could learn no more about them.”

MacDonald chuckled. “I made the mistake of deciding when they vanished that I’d keep my tongue behind my teeth, but my daft wee cousin had less sense and suffered the same overweening curiosity then that plagues him to this day.”

And him not even a Macleod
, Michael mused.

“What makes you smile, lad?”

Recollecting himself, Michael said, “It has recently come to my notice, my lord, that such curiosity seems to abound in the Isles.”

“So it does,” MacDonald said, twinkling. “I know Isobel well. Indeed, I’d ask you to tell me how you met and all about your brief courtship, but I know you are aching to consummate your union, so I’ll not keep you. Doubtless you want to know anything I can tell you about those ships.”

“Aye, sir, an it please you.”

“I think that, with enemies threatening, you need to know at least as much as I do, but I may not know as much as you hope.” He was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. Then he said, “What I do know derives more from my long rule as Lord of the Isles than from direct knowledge of the facts.”

“I collect from what you said about Ian Dubh’s curiosity as a child that he spoke out of turn and thus drew attention to your disobedience.”

“Aye, that’s true, but that earned us naught but a fine skelping. In time, my father did come to explain some few things to me that may prove helpful now. I do not know what, if anything, you know about the Knights Templar.”

Since this time Michael had expected the reference, he did not react except to say, “I know that my grandfather was a member of the Order, your grace, as many other Scottish nobles were. I know that Pope Clement ordered their disbanding and the arrests of all members. Ian Dubh said Clement was a pawn of Philip of France.”

“Aye, and supposedly following Clement’s edict, Philip commanded the arrest of every Templar in France. We ignored the edict here, of course. Edward of England was creating nuisances throughout Scotland, particularly along our coasts—here in the west as far north as Isla, and along much of the west coast of Ireland, for that matter—but even Edward lacked the authority to enforce Clement’s edicts here. And of course Robert the Bruce had no inclination to do so.”

“But surely, in time, with such an edict in place . . .”

“Even now, the only one hereabouts who heeds the Pope is the Green Abbot of Iona, and he does so only when it suits his purpose, as I suspect it does now.”

“Then you, too, believe the abbot may be involved with my trouble.”

“I do,” MacDonald said. “He overstepped his mark years ago when he and some of his minions attempted to assassinate both me and the King of Scots in one traitorous act. The King ordered him to keep to the Holy Isle for the rest of his days, and for the most part, he has obeyed that command. But Fingon Mackinnnon is his own man, and should he ever show himself to you, I’d warn you to take great care. Your lady knows she must not trust him, but he knows her, as well.”

“What happened to those four ships?” Michael asked, believing MacDonald was rapidly tiring, and hoping to learn more before he had to let him rest.

“I cannot say for certain, because my father believed as I do that the fewer people to know such details, the safer it was for everyone,” MacDonald said. “He said men who wanted me to know they had been party to that affair would tell me themselves. None has, but I do know that the most likely places for those ships to have offloaded cargo were Castle Sween, Kilmory, and Kilmartin, all places where your grandfather and the Bruce wielded influence. I also know that the Templar fleet comprised more than four ships and that Sir William, and subsequently your father and brother, developed what amounts to a St. Clair navy that can match or surpass that of any ruler in Europe or Britain.”

“Aye, we do control a good many ships,” Michael agreed. “But surely, most of those that came here from France must be old or have fallen apart by now.”

“Perhaps,” MacDonald said. “But ships do not just crumble to dust, lad, not if they’re well cared for, and your family makes a practice of caring for theirs. Of course, their great wealth allows them to refit more than most shipowners can.”

Michael could not pretend to ignore the implication this time. “Faith, sir, do you think my grandfather took that treasure for himself? Because if you do—”

“Stand easy now,” MacDonald said. “I make no such accusation. I know your grandfather’s reputation for honesty and integrity, and I do not for a moment believe he’d have done such a thing. Moreover, I know that your family wealth derives primarily from your father’s marriage to Isabella of Strathearn.”

“But?”

“Aye, well, surely you’ve noted yourself that your family is even wealthier than hers, wealthier even than the Norse King, by most accounts. ’Tis one reason, I suspect, that that wily gentleman agreed to let your brother Henry assume what Henry chooses to call a princedom, and not just any princedom, I might add, but the highest in all of Scandinavia, save that of the Norse King himself.”

“Ian Dubh told me how much Henry is paying for it,” Michael admitted. “Nonetheless, there apparently were and still are other claimants to the title.”

“As there are other Templars who must know of the treasure’s existence, if not its exact contents.”

“But do not most people believe that the Templars no longer exist?” Michael asked, wondering if MacDonald would reply the same way as Ian Dubh had.

“Aye, sure, here in Scotland they became Knights of St. John instead,” MacDonald said, eyes twinkling again. “One thing my father told me is that nearly all Templars who fled arrest in their own countries—knights, sergeants, and minions alike—came to Scotland, even from Ireland, where none was arrested until seven years after the Paris incident. Thus, hundreds came to Scotland, and you must realize that they all knew their Order had controlled vast wealth, and most must have realized or learned at some time or other that the treasure had gone missing.”

“So Scotland offered refuge to all who would come,” Michael said.

“Aye, of course. By the time Philip tried to confiscate the Paris treasury, Robert the Bruce had been King of Scots for over a year, although he endured five more years of struggle to unite Scotland and rid it of Edward’s English army before our victory at Bannockburn finally settled things.”

“And the Templars played a part in that.”

“A large part,” MacDonald said, “because not only did Bruce welcome such finely trained soldiers, but most of them had managed to flee with their equipment and weapons. So as far as he was concerned,
they
were his treasure. My father was one of his closest friends, and between them, with your grandsire’s help, they made certain that Templars everywhere knew Scotland welcomed them. To be sure, they did not all come at once, but they came in large numbers and small for years after that awful Friday in Paris. And they turned the tide at Bannockburn.”

Michael nodded, saying, “Then what happened afterward?”

“I fear I know little more that can help you, for although I suspect a number of men of having played a part in guarding the treasure, as I said, none has admitted as much. However, if your grandfather controlled it, it lies safely hidden, and I’d warrant its hiding place is on St. Clair property—and property that has been in the family a long time, because such property is least likely to leave St. Clair control.”

“Then most likely it lies at Roslin, but Henry and I have searched the whole castle.”

“All the old Templar holdings are controlled by others, so I’d suggest that you search again. But meantime, lad, I’d advise you not to keep your bride waiting any longer. Our Isobel has a temper, you know, although she rarely indulges it.”

“I doubt she has displayed it to you, my lord.”

“Nay, but news travels with speed through the Isles, as you will see.”

“If one desires a rose, your grace, one must respect its thorns.”

MacDonald chuckled, looking ten years younger. “So I have been told, lad. Indeed, your father told me years ago that that is an ancient Persian proverb.”

“My father?”

“Aye, and as I recall, he recited it to me just before he married your mother. Now, go to your wife with my blessing, sir. I wish you both well.”

“Thank you, your grace,” Michael said sincerely as he bowed and left the old man to his rest. He liked MacDonald and could easily understand his popularity, but once outside the bedchamber, Michael’s thoughts were for no one but his bride.

Isobel had never felt more constrained than she did as she waited with Cristina, Mairi, their maids, and her aunt for Michael to claim her as his own. She had scant knowledge of what that meant, living as she had, first in the household at Chalamine, motherless from her third year, and then at Lochbuie, where the laird and his lady enjoyed the luxury of a private bedchamber.

She wished she dared command everyone to leave her and go about their business, but she knew that although the two maidservants might obey, Cristina, Lady Mairi, and Lady Euphemia would not. Moreover, lying naked beneath a blanket that was not even hers, she felt more vulnerable than usual.

At last, though, unable to keep silent any longer, she said, “I have only the vaguest notion of how men and women couple. Should I not know more about it?”

Cristina said guiltily, “I suppose I should have talked with you about what to expect, dearling, but everything happened so quickly that I didn’t think of it.”

“Nonsense,” Mairi said. “You will find that you know exactly what to do, Isobel, and if you have any doubts, Michael will show you.” With a grin, she added, “If my own experience was typical, you will enjoy it very much.”

The maidservants giggled, and Isobel wished she had not spoken. But then the latch clicked and the door opened almost before awareness set in that it was her husband who walked in so unceremoniously. On his heels came the priest.

Michael said, “I’d take it as a kindness if you would lose no time in blessing this bed, parson.”

The priest smiled indulgently. “All bridegrooms are impatient, sir, but you will want everything as it should be.” Nevertheless, he was efficient, and Hector and Lachlan appeared in the open doorway as he was finishing the brief ritual.

Michael observed their arrival with visible wariness. “I’m grateful for your assistance, my lords, but I would be alone with my lady wife if you please.”

The two men glanced at each other, eyes mutually atwinkle, and Isobel had a sudden fear that they would insist on bearing witness to her conquest, or at least on assisting Michael to prepare for bed, as she had heard was frequently the fate of bridegrooms. But Michael turned to Lady Mairi and said, “I warrant the princess Margaret would welcome your assistance with her preparations, madam, and that of the lady Cristina and your maidservants, as well.”

“Aye, sure, she will,” Mairi said, chuckling and taking firm hold of her husband’s arm. “Come along, you men, and let the happy couple get on with their important business, so that we may all depart for Kirkwall as soon as possible.”

Within moments, the chamber was empty, and Isobel watched with mixed relief and wariness as Michael barred the door.

He turned and smiled. “I have faith in them, but I believe you will feel more comfortable if you know that no one can walk in on us.”

“Comfort is not a word that springs to mind just now,” she muttered.

He strode to the tall window and yanked the curtains shut, dimming the light inside to what little could slip through the narrow opening where they met. Then, moving to the curtained bed, he seemed to loom over Isobel.

“You need not fear me, lass,” he said gently as he began to unfasten his doublet. “I will take the greatest care not to harm you.”

“Will it hurt?” she asked.

“It may hurt a little the first time,” he said.

“Will what you do give me a child?”

“Do you want a child?” he asked, smiling again.

Noting that the thought seemed to make him happy, she felt a prickle of concern but pressed the point nonetheless. “Will it?”

“I cannot say. It may.”

“Then we should wait until we can talk more about certain things,” she said.

“Nay, lass, it is my sacred duty to consummate our marriage quickly. I would see you protected as my wife, and to that end, I want to be sure that no one else can have any cause to contest our union.”

“We can just tell them that we consummated it,” she said reasonably.

“Could you tell such a lie to Hector and the others?”

The thought sent a shiver through her. Lying to Hector was never a good idea, but if such a lie were necessary, for Michael . . . “I think I could,” she said.

Even in the dim light she saw his eyebrows shoot upward. “Does that mean you would tell lies to me?”

“I don’t lie,” she said, squirming a little. “Sometimes, if it is necessary, I may shade the truth a little or neglect to tell the whole truth.”

He sat on the bed, and she started to ease a little away from him, but he stopped her with a light hand on her bare shoulder. His hand was warm, but the look in his eyes was cool. “Could you lie to a priest who asked if we had consummated our marriage, or to his grace?”