Authors: Prince of Danger
He did not look much steadier as he got to his feet, but after she peeked outside and decided no one would see them if they took care to keep to the shelter of the shrubbery, he followed her meekly. When they neared the swiftly flowing burn, he sat on a boulder and rested while she ripped a generous portion of her shift away and soaked it in the chilly water.
He remained stoic while she tended the cuts across his back, but his skin rippled from time to time in shudders that told her more than words that her ministrations were hurting him.
“The plaster I’ll make will help as you rest,” she said, gently dabbing the deepest of the cuts. “Sicklewort will help protect against putrefaction, too, but you may have trouble sleeping, especially if you often turn over in your sleep.”
“’Tis a pity I’ve no southernwood with me,” he murmured. “It makes a fine brew that sends one straight off to sleep.”
“I’ve chamomile at Chalamine,” she said. “It would make you drowsy, but I doubt that it would ease your pain. I do not know southernwood. Is it an herb?”
“Aye, and useful for dyeing, too, but ’tis rare in Britain,” he said. “One finds it more easily in Spain and . . . and elsewhere. I usually carry some with me.”
“Have you been to Spain, then?”
“Aye, because my foster father believes travel is educational.”
“I’m sure it is,” she agreed. “What color dye does southernwood produce?”
“Deep yellow. In some areas, its plants bear large flowers in great profusion, and the ancient Greeks and Romans thought it magical, especially as an aphrodisiac when placed under a mattress. I cannot vouch for its worth in that way,” he added with a smile. “But as a composer it is far more efficient than chamomile.”
Feeling heat in her cheeks at his casual mention of aphrodisiacs, she applied her attention to rinsing out her cloth in the burn. Then, realizing that she would not get all the blood out of it, she bent to tear another piece of cambric from her shift.
As she turned back to face him after soaking the second piece, he said gently, “I should not have said that about southernwood’s aphrodisiacal powers, lass, not to a maiden who clearly understands the meaning of such. Forgive me.”
“I have naught to forgive, sir. You made a learned observation, nothing more.”
“Faith, but you should not even be alone like this with me, and if that lad does not return before nightfall . . .” He left the rest unsaid.
She had not considered that detail while the necessity of escaping their captors and fears that her companion might expire had consumed her thoughts, and she dismissed it now. Michael’s recovery was more important. She did not want anything to happen to him, certainly not before he had done much more to satisfy her curiosity about himself and the men who had captured them.
Until he mentioned aphrodisiacs, she had thought of him only as a fellow victim of mysterious assailants, albeit a distractingly handsome one.
That last thought startled her, and in order to divert her imagination, she said abruptly, “We can go back inside now.”
He nodded, and when he stood and turned toward her with a smile that reminded her of how warm and sensual his voice had been in the darkness, she added hastily, “I have been wondering about something else, sir. How is it that those men were able to follow you all the way from Eilean Donan to that cave without your seeing them? The distance must be at least five miles.”
“Waldron is highly skilled at such things, and his men likewise,” he said, gently touching her arm to nudge her toward the hut. “Moreover, I failed to realize they might predict my visit to Kintail and was not as wary as I should have been.”
“But might they not simply have followed you to Eilean Donan? Indeed, if they did not, then how—?”
“Waldron would not have had to follow me. He knows of my friendship with Kintail and . . . and other details that might have led him to make the conjecture, but I do not think he has allies of his own in this area. As to whether he might have followed me, I am certain he did not, because I traveled by boat from Oban.”
“Is your home near Oban then?” she asked. Oban was not far from Lochbuie.
He smiled. “Nay, lass, but I do know the countryside thereabouts better than here. ’Tis how I ken Hector the Ferocious. Is the man really such a tyrant?”
She blinked at the abrupt transition. “What makes you think he is one at all?”
“You said that all husbands are, so I supposed that your experience living with him and your sister had produced that opinion. And, too, men do call him Hector the Ferocious with good cause, I’m told.”
That her words had stirred him to think such a thing of Hector startled her, and she paused to think just how she could most honestly reply.
Michael watched her as they strolled back to the hut, wondering how strongly she would cling to her harsh opinion of husbands—indeed, of men in general, if he was not mistaken. He hoped she would not prove intractable on the subject. So bonnie a lass should not go through life alone, not when she would so clearly make any man an excellent and delightfully stimulating partner.
She paused twice to gather herbs on the way but still had not replied to his question when they entered the hut, where the only light came from a narrow golden path of sunlight spilling through the open portion of the doorway.
“Why so quiet, lass?” he asked. “Is Hector Reaganach not tyrannical?”
“He is always kind to me unless I do something to displease him,” she said.
“Ah, but then he becomes tyrannical.”
“Nay. He knows how to make me sorry, to be sure, but he is a fair man. Certainly he has been kinder than my father, but both are exceedingly domineering men, sir, as is every other man I have met. That is simply the nature of men.”
“Is it? I expect you would know more than I about that,” he said.
“Aye, for my sisters’ husbands all expect the sun and moon to rise by their wants and desires, and my sisters to exert themselves at all times to please them, although those same husbands show small consideration for their wives.”
“Most vexatious, I agree.”
“Well, it is,” she said, giving him a look that told him she suspected him of mocking her. Instantly confirming his deduction, she said with a decisive nod, “You are teasing me, but do you not agree that life would be more pleasant and peaceful if men were not continually fighting each other as they do? Women’s lives certainly would be if men were not always making demands upon them, or making war with their neighbors, or dashing off to Spain or other foreign places where they might get themselves killed even more easily than at home.”
“And all the beasts should be at peace?”
Her eyes narrowed. “My aunt often quotes verses from the Bible, too, sir, when she wishes to make a point. ’Tis a most annoying habit.”
“Aye, well, I was more likely misquoting from it,” he said. “Do you compare our plight now to a war?”
“Is it not similar?” she asked, gesturing toward the door. “Those horrid men!”
Michael was adept at recognizing thin ice before he fell through it. If she linked Waldron’s quest with war, her assessment of the danger in which they stood was accurate enough. He would do naught to make it more so. Instead, he said, “Life and the simple need to survive creates conflicts, lass, and survival requires the ability to make good decisions quickly. That need produces men who do not always seek counsel with those they must protect, but I do not agree that that simple fact of life provides you with sufficient cause to avoid all men or the married state. ’Tis possible that you have simply not met the right person yet.”
“I do not intend to marry,” she said flatly.
She had shaken out the blanket folded atop the pallet as they talked, and now spread it wide so that half of it lay on the straw and the other half on the floor. She gestured for him to lie down on the portion that covered the pallet.
“Lie on your stomach,” she said as she reached through the slit in her skirt to take her dirk from its sheath. “I’m going to chop these herbs and mash them with water to make a plaster.”
“You don’t mean to rub that mess into my wounds, I hope,” he said as, with a sigh of relief, he lay facedown on the pallet.
She smiled. “You deserve that I should, mayhap even that I should add salt to the plaster, but I mean only to spread the mixture on the clean piece of cambric I ripped from my shift. With hot water I could make it into a true jelly that would spread more easily, but we don’t want to risk smoke from a fire.”
“No, we do not,” he agreed, turning his head to watch her sleepily, and resting his cheek on his folded forearms.
Isobel expected him to fall asleep the moment he lay down, but he continued to watch her as she prepared her plaster, putting the minced sicklewort leaves into a wooden bowl that she found hanging on one wall and mashing them to pulp with the dirk’s hilt. She had left the cleaner bit of cambric from her shift to drip dry over the lower half of the door, so she fetched it and wrung some of the remaining water into the cup, then continued to mash until the concoction resembled watery gruel.
“I’ll be as gentle as I know how to be, but I fear it will feel cold at first,” she said as she knelt to spread the damp cloth over his back. “Indeed, I do not know that it will do you the least bit of good, but I do not think it will do you any harm.”
“Stop fretting, lass,” he murmured drowsily. “Just be sure you wake me at once if you hear so much as a twig crack outside.”
“I will,” she promised. “It will get cold, though. Do you think it will be safe to build a fire in here later?”
“Nay,” he said. “Even if they cannot see the smoke, they may smell it. ’Tis better if the glen looks deserted.”
He fell silent then and did not stir as she carefully spread the cloth over his wounds, but when she moved to cover him with the second half of the blanket, he reached out and caught her hand.
“You need to rest, too,” he said. “If you leave the blanket spread, I can move over onto the floor and let you have the pallet. I’ve slept on the ground often, and I vow, nothing can keep me awake tonight, as tired as I am.”
“You’ll need warmth, sir,” she said, pulling her hand with reluctance from his. “Without good wool atop that cloth, you’ll feel only the chill, and the herbs will do you no good. With the blanket on you, your body heat will stir their vapors.”
Silence greeted her, and she said no more. When his breathing deepened to that of sleep, she covered him with the blanket and sat back on her heels. Wanting food more than sleep, she cut herself some cheese, glanced outside to find the glen gloomy with dusk and silent. Only the murmur of the burn and a distant night bird’s cry broke the stillness.
Knowing that at that time of year, the sky was unlikely to grow darker before midnight, and fearing that a watcher on the ridge might detect movement if she went for a walk, she sat down near the hut’s wall, ate her small meal, and leaned back to rest. She knew no more until she awoke with a start, shivering.
The temperature had dropped considerably, it was much darker than before, and a creeping dampness had settled around her.
Getting up carefully so as not to waken Michael, she tiptoed stiffly to the doorway and looked out into darkness nearly as dense as they had experienced in the cave. A deep breath and years of experience told her that a thick Highland mist had crept into the glen as they slept. Even if Ian MacCaig had reached Chalamine, he would bring no help tonight. By the same token, however, strangers to the area would not try to find them in such a mist. She could let herself relax and be fairly certain that, for a few hours at least, they were safe.
Making her way to the pallet, she felt for the blanket and made certain it covered him. Then, wrapping herself in her cloak, she lay down on the hard floor beside the pallet and fell asleep almost before she shut her eyes.
Reluctantly half-awake and vaguely aware of gentle warmth at his side, Michael gratefully moved closer to the source. When his movement stirred responsive movement beside him, his eyes snapped open.
The first thing he noticed was that the interior of the hut was lighter than it had been before he fell asleep. Mist seeped over the bottom half of the door, because apparently the lass had not thought to shut the top, and thus it was as chilly and damp inside as outside.
The warmth felt strongest along his right arm. Logic told him he had only to move his head to see the source, but something was in the way, something that tickled his chin. Realization came then to his brain and to his body, the latter reacting more swiftly than the former.
Shifting his right arm with care, he slipped it gently around her and drew her closer, hoping she would not waken and noting that although his back still felt stiff and sore, the previous day’s pain had eased considerably.
The lass did not wake but snuggled closer with a contented sigh.
Knowing the damage had already been done and that they would both deal with the consequences better if they were rested, he let himself drift back to sleep.
Hours later, the mist silently lifted, letting sunlight back into the high glen, but it was not the sun’s golden brilliance that awakened him. It was the sound of footsteps hurrying toward the hut.
Instantly alert, he moved to get up, easing his arm away from the still-sleeping lass. His ease of movement told him that he was in far better condition than the previous day. Even so, when he stood, he swayed with dizziness.
Ignoring the vertigo, he let the now-dry plaster slip from his back and stepped silently to the doorway, only to come face to face with an anxious-looking, slender woman in a hooded dark-green cloak.
“Who are you?” she demanded. “And where is my sister?”
I
sobel heard the familiar voice distantly and rose reluctantly to consciousness, blinking against the brightness spilling through the upper half of the doorway. “Adela, is that you?” she murmured.
“Isobel, what are you doing here, and who is this man?”
“Man?” Rubbing eyes sticky with sleep, and wholly disoriented, Isobel wondered why she was apparently lying on a hard-packed dirt floor.
Memory flooded back on a wave of dismay.
Sitting up so quickly it made her woozy, and peering groggily toward the doorway, she could discern the outline of a hooded figure—then a second, taller one—against the brilliant sunlight.
She heard Michael’s quiet voice saying, “Be at ease, my lady. No act worth your condemnation has occurred here. Lady Isobel took pity on an injured man and attempted to help him, little knowing that she risked danger to herself thereby.”
“But if she has put herself in danger, how can you say that naught has occurred to cause alarm?” Adela asked.
Wondering what Michael would say to that, Isobel pushed hair out of her eyes, knowing she must look as if someone had held her by her feet and shaken her, and knowing, too, from experience, that Adela would condemn her appearance if she condemned nothing else. Surreptitiously, she tried to straighten her skirts, but they had twisted around her legs, and her movements drew her sister’s attention.
“Bless me, Isobel, did you sleep with this man?” Adela demanded as she pushed open the lower half of the door and entered without further hesitation. “What Father will say to this start, I do not want to imagine!”
“Where is he?” Isobel asked. “And why are you here, Adela? You are the last person I expected to see this morning.”
“Two strangers came to Chalamine,” Adela said, her voice dripping disapproval. “They said they sought a man wanted for many crimes, and the man they described could easily be this fellow standing here,” she added, gesturing at Michael. “They did not mention, however, that he lacked even a shirt to his name. They did say he had run off with a woman claiming to be our father’s daughter.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I told them nothing. I am not one to speak to strangers when Father is home. Had it occurred after his departure, I should not have known
what
to say to such men.”
“Well, since you and the girls would have gone with him, you would not have had to say anything,” Isobel said. “You
are
going to Orkney, are you not?”
“I’ve not decided,” Adela said. “Sidony and Sorcha must go, of course, if Sorcha can manage
not
to infuriate Father before then, and I think that our aunt may go. If she does, then she can look after them. I thought I might visit you at Lochbuie instead, since you have not said yet what you mean to do, but we need not discuss that now. Indeed, if this business redounds as badly to all of us as I expect it will, both Father and Hector Reaganach will doubtless forbid me to visit you.”
Isobel’s eyes had adjusted to the light, and she saw that Ian MacCaig had stepped into the doorway to stand by Michael. Adela, she decided, was right about one thing. It was no time to discuss future events that would have no relevance if the villains found and murdered them first.
For Michael’s benefit, she said, “Many Islesmen are traveling to Kirkwall in the Orkney Islands next week to attend ceremonies at the great cathedral there for a Scotsman being installed to a Norse princedom. I believe that even the Lord of the Isles means to attend. But Adela is wise to remind us that we must deal with the present before we need worry about the future. What are we to do?”
Adela snapped, “Sakes, Isobel, would you ruin yourself? You will come home with me at once, of course!”
“I cannot,” Isobel said. “Did Ian not explain how we came to be here?”
“He sputtered some nonsense or other about men hunting you, and said that you wanted Father to send an armed escort to protect you. But then he said that the two strangers were doubtless your hunters and that we must do naught to draw their attention. Not only did an army seem excessive to protect you against two men but so many men leaving Chalamine at once would certainly have drawn notice, and since Ian would not answer any question I put to him—not sensibly, at all events—I made him bring me here to you.”
Deciding that her position on the floor put her at a distinct disadvantage, Isobel stood and shook out her skirts. But although she felt less vulnerable to Adela’s displeasure now that she was standing, she still had no idea what to do.
To Ian, she said, “Did the strangers take any interest in you?”
“Nay, m’lady. I wandered about looking like me dad does when he wants folks t’ think he’s daft, and they left me be. We—Lady Adela and me—slipped down t’ the loch gey early this morning whilst the mist were still in, then walked over the ridge, past Glenelg village, and came here. Nae one caught sight of us.”
Isobel looked at Michael, who had not said a word since telling Adela to rest easy, even to explain why she should.
He met her gaze silently.
“We certainly dare not go to Chalamine now,” she said.
He nodded.
“What about Mackenzie?” she asked. “We could go to Eilean Donan.”
“Aye, we’d be welcome, and my man is there,” he said. “But ’tis a fair distance without ponies, and the difficulties we discussed yestereve remain. Waldron is certain to have left men to challenge anyone approaching Eilean Donan. Lady Adela, you said two strangers visited Chalamine. Are you sure ’twas only two?”
“Two who came to the castle,” Adela said. “But one of our lads said two others had stayed behind to watch the track through Glen Mòr. That is why Ian and I slipped away as we did in the mist and chose the route we did.”
“If they learn that you left in such a sly way,” Isobel said, “they are bound to challenge you on your return and demand to know where you have been.”
“I’d not tell them anything if they were so insolent!”
“Sakes, Adela, they would see in a trice that you were hiding something, and they’d soon have it out of you.”
“They would not!”
Isobel shook her head, saying more gently, “You are wholly incapable of the simplest prevarication, my dear, let alone of uttering falsehoods.”
“But my business is none of theirs, and so I would tell them.”
Gesturing toward Michael, Isobel said, “When I first came upon them, they were beating him with a whip. What if they did that to you?”
Adela turned pale but muttered staunchly, “They wouldn’t dare.”
“You would do much better to avoid them, my lady,” Michael said. “They have small respect for the fair sex. She accounts for only four of them,” he reminded Isobel. “So of the ones we saw, two are missing. In truth, we don’t even know how many there are altogether, only that we have seen six.”
“If you think they might be waiting at Chalamine to challenge Adela, they’ll certainly have set one man or more to guard against your return to Eilean Donan.”
“Aye, and at least one to watch the . . . the place where they caught me.”
“But who are they?” Adela asked with a sharp look at him. “They told us only that they hunted a dangerous criminal. How am I to know they spoke falsely?”
He met her gaze with his usual calm. “I can offer you only my word for that, my lady. I have no idea how I could prove such a thing to you when I do not even know what charges they might lay against me. I have done naught.”
“But I do not even know your name! Why should I trust you?”
“Because he is a gentleman, a guest at Eilean Donan,” Isobel said. She had been thinking as they debated, and an idea took form while her sister digested the information that Mackenzie would speak for Michael. Softly, barely realizing that she spoke her thought aloud, she said, “We’ll go to Lochbuie.”
“How could you get there?” Adela demanded. “And how would you dare?”
“I do wish you would stop asking how I can do this or dare that, and predicting my ruin,” Isobel snapped. “Getting to safety is the only necessity now, and necessity acknowledges no law except to prevail.”
“I doubt that Hector Reaganach or our father would agree,” Adela said dryly. “But I know you, Isobel. You will do what you will.”
“Lady Adela does pose a good question,” Michael said. “How would we reach Lochbuie? The boat that carried me to Eilean Donan lies in harbor there, effectively unreachable, and I think the sooner we can elude them, the better.”
“A boat is the least of our difficulties,” Isobel said. “We have only to cross the Sound from Glenelg Bay to Kyle Rhea, where kinsmen of MacDonald’s, who are also friends of my father, will see us safely to Lochbuie. Adela can tell Father where we’ve gone, and mayhap Ian can go to Eilean Donan for you and tell them.”
“Aye, m’lady,” Ian said eagerly. “I can do that. Likely, me dad willna be back wi’ the beasts till this afternoon, though, and I shouldna leave here afore then.”
“That will be soon enough,” Michael said. “It would be as well, I think, if we create as little dust as possible, and Lady Adela must keep safe, too.”
“I left word for my father that I’d be away most of the day, visiting tenants,” Adela said. “I doubt that I would be in any real danger, in any event, since those men do not know me. When they arrived, they demanded to speak to Father. And when he told them Isobel had gone riding early and had not yet returned, they said they’d wait. They spent the night, but they must have gone by now.”
“I think we should leave at once,” Isobel said. “It must be well past the hour of Terce, so the morning is departing, and we still have to find a way across the Sound.”
“Beg pardon, m’lady,” Ian said. “I ha’ been thinking since ye said ye’d seek help from his grace’s kinfolk on Skye. Me dad’s got a wee fishing coble ye could use, wi’ four oars and a lug sail. ’Tis beached betwixt the bay and Ardintoul.”
“Do we not have to go through Glen Mòr to get there?” Michael asked.
“Nay, sir, for just north o’ here a rough track leads right down t’ the bay. ’Tis a bit steep but it be how me and me dad go, most times.”
“But surely they’ll be watching for us to cross the Kyle,” Michael said.
“They’re less likely to see us than if we traipse through Glen Mòr,” Isobel said impatiently. “We won’t be on the water long either, because we’ll cross at the narrows north of the bay. The current is vicious enough there to sweep us right into Loch Alsh if we don’t take care, but the wind is blowing as hard today as it did yesterday, and from the north, which will help.”
“But won’t they just follow us?” he asked.
“Matthias’s boat is beached near the narrows, so we should be able to get on the water without anyone noticing. They might see us and give chase, but they won’t have horses on Skye, and we will. We’ll also have his grace’s kinsmen to protect us.”
“Aye, but . . .”
“Faith, sir, those men cannot expect to continue riding all over the place unchallenged, particularly on Skye or on Macleod and Mackenzie lands. They’ll draw more attention than they can possibly want as soon as they leave Chalamine, and if only two are lying in wait for us there, they’ll not risk angering my father.”
He frowned, then nodded. “We’ll do as you suggest, lass. Ian, mayhap you can describe exactly where to find your coble. We don’t want to leave Lady Adela alone here whilst you take us there.”
Adela looked mutinous. “I’d be safe. No one would dare harm me.”
Michael’s frown deepened, making Isobel instantly recall the look that had reminded her so unnervingly of Hector Reaganach in a temper.
She gritted her teeth and strove to control her impatience as she said, “Adela, everything that we’ve said is true. We’re all in danger. Those men think Mich—”
“It may be better if she goes with us,” Michael interjected. “Or, perchance she’d not mind going with Ian to Eilean Donan. I’m thinking she looks a lot like you, Lady Isobel, and if the ones who’ve seen us should recognize her as your sister—”
“But, as you said, we’ve no horses here,” Isobel pointed out. “Adela would have to walk all that way and back again to Chalamine.”
“Now, lass, you cannot think Mackenzie would make her walk back,” he said with a smile. “She’d be safe there and would be more likely to pass watchers there unchallenged than any she meets returning to Chalamine from here.”
“It is still too far. Moreover, my father is going to think his daughters are all deserting him,” Isobel added with a wry smile.
“She is right about that, sir,” Adela said, clearly having not considered Macleod. Isobel noted, too, that her sister had unconsciously addressed Michael more formally, just as she herself had instinctively done from the start.
“Father will be angry,” Adela added unhappily.
“He’ll be angrier if anyone harms you,” Michael said.
A whistle sounded in the distance, and Ian turned alertly. “That be me dad wi’ the beasts,” he said, adding with a look at the sun, “He’s come afore his time.”
Isobel’s gaze met Michael’s.
“Matthias is trustworthy,” she said. “I have known him all my life.”
“I, too,” Adela said, clearly relieved. “Matthias will know what to do, and I doubt that he will approve of your going off anywhere with this man, Isobel.”
Isobel sighed, knowing that Adela was probably right.
A few minutes later, they saw the flock, two dogs dashing and wheeling along its flanks, and the wiry shepherd with them. He waved to Ian, who ran to meet him. Leaving the boy with sheep and dogs, Matthias strode toward them.
To Isobel’s astonishment, he did not seem surprised to see his visitors. “Bless us, my lady, I’m that glad t’ see ye safe,” he said, casting a curious glance at Adela and a more searching one at Michael.
“Sakes, Matthias, how could you know I was in danger?”
His pale blue eyes twinkled under bushy, grizzled brows. “Ye’ve lived here and about all your life, so ye shouldna ha’ to ask that question. I met a lad walking up from the glen as I were coming down from high pasture. He said he’d heard strangers be seeking Macleod’s daughter and another stranger in the glens. The only one o’ Macleod’s daughters as goes about by herself these days be yourself, m’lady, and I thought ye might ha’ come here t’ me shieling, did ye ken they was seeking ye. I own, though, I were that surprised t’ see Lady Adela. He didna speak o’ her.”