Amanda Scott (9 page)

As she tried to think how best to answer him, several servants entered from the buttery behind the dais, carrying trays, and with a frowning glance at them, Hector said, “We will discuss that journey further after the lads have served Isobel and Michael their supper. Then, I think, we will let them begin at the beginning so that we can hear the whole tale.”

He waited only until Isobel and Michael had trenchers, platters of meat and vegetables, and goblets of claret before them. Then, dismissing the servants, he said, “The hour grows late, so I would ask that we begin now, and with you, Sir Michael, since doubtless you ken more about what happened than the lass does.”

“Aye, sir, somewhat more, but I can tell you only that I was visiting a friend in Kintail, who told me of a cavern in the vicinity. I have long had an interest in such places, so when I awoke betimes yesterday morning, I went in search of it. I had just come upon its entrance when six men descended upon me, took me captive, and demanded that I give them certain information that I do not possess. They were expressing their disbelief of that fact when Lady Isobel providentially intervened.”

“What information?” Mairi asked.

“Just one moment,” Hector said. “How did you come to intervene, Isobel?”

A silence fell, and Isobel stared at the trencher of food before her, wishing that Michael had taken longer to reach her part in their adventure.

Lady Euphemia said with a sigh, “You know perfectly well how that came about, my lord. Out riding alone, she was, I’ll warrant, just as she always does at Chalamine—aye, and as you did, too, Cristina. Do not claim that you did not.”

“No, Aunt Euphemia, I shan’t deny it,” Cristina said. “Usually it is perfectly safe. What happened, Isobel?”

Sending a grateful look her way, Isobel said with feeling, “They were whipping him! They had tied him by his arms, stretched him between two trees, and torn off his shirt. His screams drew me to them. They were horrid, all six of them!”

“Merciful heavens,” Mairi exclaimed. “You confronted six men by yourself?”

“Aye, sure, for they were on Macleod land,” Isobel said. “But when I ordered them to stop, they hustled us both deep into that dreadful cave, tied us up, and left us there whilst they went to see if I’d left a party of armed men anywhere nearby.”

“You certainly should have had an escort,” Lachlan said sternly.

“Let her get on with her tale,” Mairi said. “Obviously, you escaped them.”

Michael smiled. “We did indeed, madam, thanks to her ladyship.”

“Thanks to Hector,” Isobel said, smiling at that gentleman. “I had the dirk you gave me, sir, when I turned thirteen—in its sheath on my leg. The only difficulty lay in getting my hands on it with my arms bound behind me and my ankles tied.”

“Faith, how did you accomplish such a feat?” Lachlan demanded.

Cristina laughed. “Do not tell me you can still contort yourself as you did years ago when you startled poor Kate out of her liver and lights!”

Isobel smiled at Michael and received a smile in return when she said, “It is astonishing what one can do when fear drives her. I thought I heard them returning.”

Between the two of them they related nearly all that had happened, including the tale Isobel had told Donald Mòr Gowrie, omitting only the interlude between them on the ship. “So you see,” she concluded as she came to the end, “anyone would understand that we did only what necessity demanded. Therefore, no good reason exists for me to marry Michael even if I did travel with him.”

“
Sir
Michael,” Hector reminded her gently.

She saw Cristina grimace and exchange a look with Mairi.

Princess Margaret had not said a word beyond an occasional exclamation of astonishment or horror, but it was she who said now, “You must know that is not the case, Isobel. Word travels with amazing speed here in the Isles, my dear, and you can be sure that everyone will soon hear of your adventures if only because news having anything to do with the new Prince of Orkney simply leaps from every tongue.”

“But Gowrie’s men will say nothing! They won’t, not even about—”

Realizing she had allowed herself to say more than she had intended, she stopped abruptly. Glancing toward Michael, she was not surprised to see him tilt his head down and put a hand over his eyes. He appeared to be biting his lower lip.

“About what?” Hector prompted.

“Nothing,” she muttered. “It was nothing.”

“I do not agree,” Michael said gently. “Not at all.”

“I see,” Hector said.

“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Isobel said grimly. “I won’t be made to marry anyone. I am sorry, madam,” she said hastily to Margaret. “I do not mean any disrespect to you, but the law of the Isles will support me. No one can force a woman to marry if she does not want to do so.”

“That is true throughout Scotland, my dear,” Margaret said. “But you are not thinking clearly, because brutal reality is quite another matter. If people believe, as they will—and, everyone, pray forgive me for putting this so bluntly—if they learn that you have spent time alone with Sir Michael, not just in that galley, coming here, but also in the wee hut you spoke so casually about . . .” She paused, then added in a rush, “In plain words, you have admitted spending the night with this young man, sleeping in the same bed with him for all we know, and as a result, no other reputable man will want you, because your reputation for chastity will be shattered.”

“But I don’t want a man,” Isobel protested.

“Oh, but that is not all that the loss of one’s reputation means,” Cristina said. “You do enjoy going to court, Isobel, and taking part in other social activities. But if we allowed you to do so after this particular adventure of yours, people would be shocked and offended. They would say horrible things to you, and to us.”

“Then I won’t go anywhere,” Isobel declared. “I’d rather be ruined than married, and that’s the plain truth of the matter. I don’t want a husband forever telling me what to do, what to say, and how to think!”

“Is that what you think husbands do?” Lachlan asked.

“Isn’t it what most of them
try
to do?” his wife asked demurely.

A look from him silenced her, but he, too, said no more.

Hector said, “You would have to miss the prince’s installation, Isobel.”

“I don’t care!”

Michael cleared his throat. “Forgive me, all of you, but I will have no part in forcing myself upon an unwilling bride. I am more than willing to marry Lady Isobel if she will agree to it, but I will not abet any scheme to force her agreement.”

Feeling tears prick her eyes, Isobel stood up, bobbed a curtsy in the general direction of Princess Margaret, and turned blindly toward the stairway, saying gruffly, “Since the matter is now settled, I will bid you all a good night.”

She got only a few steps away before Hector said sternly, “Not just yet, lass.”

She stopped but did not turn.

He was beside her the next moment. “We’re going to have a talk, you and I,” he said, urging her toward the same doorway through which he had taken Michael.

Michael watched her go, marveling at the gentleness in the huge man walking beside her. Although men throughout the Isles might fear Hector the Ferocious, plainly his women did not.

Michael’s own father would never have stood for a daughter of his speaking as forthrightly as Lady Isobel had, but neither Hector’s size nor his fierce temperament had intimidated her. Indeed, Michael wondered if anything did.

“You need not fear for her, sir,” Mairi of the Isles said. “He will do no more than try to make her understand what she faces if she does not marry you.”

“I do not fear for her safety, my lady,” he said. “I have seen that lass with a dagger in hand, calmly contemplating the murder of the villain who had captured her. She would not thank me for believing she required protection from any man.”

“Faith, sir,” Lady Cristina said with a wry smile. “I believe you understand my sister better than she understands herself.”

“I make no such claim, madam,” he said, smiling back. “Nor did I understate my position before,” he added with a direct look at Lachlan Lubanach. “If her ladyship does not come to me willingly, I will take my leave of you and head north as soon as my men arrive. My brother did ask me to join him several days before his ceremony, doubtless to lend additional consequence to that drab occasion.”

“Do you mock the honor your brother claims?” Princess Margaret asked.

“Nay, madam, although I own, I do not take it as seriously as he does. His grace, your royal father, has declared that no man outside the Scottish royal family may claim to be a prince within the Kingdom of Scotland. Therefore, Henry will hold the rank of Earl of Orkney here, although he will retain the princedom’s right to issue his own coins and to exercise judicial authority on his domains, including the powers of the pit and the gallows.”

“Will he insist that his brothers be addressed royally?” Margaret asked.

“Mercy,” Lady Euphemia exclaimed. “If he does, then our Isobel will be Princess Isobel. I warrant she has not thought about that. What an honor, indeed!”

“So it would be if that were so,” Michael said. “I stand as heir apparent now, but Henry’s wife expects a child soon, and in any event, after the earldom becomes official here, my title will be simply Lord Michael St. Clair of Roslin. If Lady Isobel does agree to marry me, she will still be no more than my lady wife, I’m afraid.”

His brief experience of her assured him that she would hold firm and that he would therefore be wise to accept her refusal with dignity and let her go. However, the notion of Isobel as his wife had taken a stronger hold on his imagination than he had realized, and he found himself wishing that she could bring herself more easily to submit to Hector Reaganach’s decree.

A vision slipped into his mind’s eye of Isabella of Strathearn’s likely reaction to such a union, especially if he presented it to her as a faît accompli at Kirkwall just before Henry’s installation ceremony. Even the fact that Isobel’s name was similar to his mother’s would not weigh with Isabella—not positively, at all events.

Maybe Isobel was wiser than she knew.

In the small chamber that Hector used to deal with unimportant visitors to Lochbuie, Isobel watched warily as he shut the door, closing out the rest of the world. Usually such discussions as the one about to take place filled her with trepidation, for he was a stern man when displeased, and thanks to her independent, freedom-loving nature, she had displeased him often over the years.

His scolds always left her feeling limp, because she loved him far more than she loved her father and hated to disappoint him. But an inner spirit often drove her to defend her need to be herself. She had defended it against five older sisters, two younger ones, and her father before coming to live at Lochbuie. To Hector’s credit, he had not tried to change her nature, only to teach her discipline and self-protection.

Thus, instead of always punishing her harshly when she taxed his patience, he had given her a dagger, taught her how to use and care for it properly, and had taught her many other, nearly as useful things, as well.

Nevertheless, he did not tolerate defiance from anyone, and she was certainly defying him now, so she knew she ought to be as nervous as she usually was, if not more so. Instead, she felt numb, as if nothing he said or did to her would matter.

To her surprise, he did not begin his tirade the moment the door was shut. Instead, he left her standing just inside while he walked around the table. Even then he did not speak but pulled out the back stool and straddled it, folding his arms across the top of its back and gazing silently, even speculatively, at her.

Grimacing, she looked down at the floor.

“Don’t look away, lass,” he said.

A tear trickled down her cheek, and her nose began to run. She sniffled and wiped her arm across her face, trying to deal with both details and to look casual about it as she forced herself to look up at him.

He continued to watch her, his gaze as uncomfortably penetrating as it always was. He knew her well, and she wondered if he knew what she was thinking, although she did not really know that herself.

She wished he would speak, would get it over with.

As if she had spoken the thought aloud, he said, “Your attempted departure from the hall just now was a trifle unmannerly, don’t you agree?”

Her throat ached, and more of the tears welling in her eyes threatened to spill over. She could not imagine why she wanted to cry. Hector rarely had that effect on her, at least not until he had thoroughly scolded her, or worse.

“What is it, lassie?” he asked gently. “What has upset you so?”

She swallowed hard, exerting herself not to look down again.

He remained silent, patiently waiting for her to speak.

At last, drawing a deep, quavering breath, she said, “I don’t know, sir. Maybe I’m just tired. I slept on a hard floor last night, but I also slept much of the way here, so . . .” Remembering how and where she had wakened, she left the sentence unfinished and, feeling heat in her cheeks, hoped he would not ask what memory was making her blush.

“Marriage is not such a dreadful thing, Isobel. I cannot imagine trying to get on in life without your sister at my side. ’Tis clear that the lad cares for you,” he added. “He made no objection to marriage. Indeed, had I not suggested it, I believe he would have done so himself. He clearly sees the wisdom of such a course.”

“I don’t believe he would have made an offer on his own,” she said. “I have found him most biddable, sir. Indeed, he accepts whatever course one suggests to him. For a man, he seems singularly inept at making decisions about what he must do. He always imagines that the worst will happen—always!”

“Does he? I own, I did not take such measure of him when we spoke. But if you believe that, I own I’m surprised that you object to marrying him. Not only do you make him sound the exact opposite of men you say you despise as husbands, but he said exceedingly complimentary things about you.”

“Did he?” That Michael had spoken well of her gave her a warm feeling, but she forced herself to ignore it. “He is a kind man, a gentle man,” she said. “But although I know you love Cristina, sir, I have seen little else to recommend marriage, and I do not want to marry a man merely because he thinks he has ruined me and must set things right. I know you believe others will shun me or be ashamed of me, but I won’t care. I am content here. The children will be delighted if I stay with them, so I won’t mind missing Sir Henry’s installation. Moreover, Adela has said that she would like to visit me. Perhaps you will say she cannot, but—”