Angel of Skye (3 page)

Alec strapped his sword to his side and pulled open the thick oak door leading from his tower room. The musty smell of the interior stairway assaulted his nostrils. This old tower was said to be nearly three hundred years old. Dimly lit by a few narrow slits in the thick stone walls, it evoked the memory of childhood stories of fairies and sprites, kelpies and sorcerers. It was no surprise to Alec that the history of Skye was a brightly woven tapestry of fact and fantasy.

But the castle had a proud and well-known history within its walls. It had withstood the assaults of Vikings and Celtic kings from the water and from the land. It had been an outpost of civilization when the Christian faith had first taken hold in this wild land of fairies and those who believed in them. And it had been a center of rebellion against each of the four Stuart kings that had occupied the Scottish throne.

But that final part of Dunvegan’s history was over, Alec thought.

Descending the two flights of stone stairway, Alec consciously attempted to shake off the remnants of his troubling dream. This morning hunt was becoming a habit, but at least he knew it was one way to clear his head. Entering the dark Great Hall, he peered at the men who were sleeping on benches around the last glowing embers of the fire in the center of the room. It was all quiet, and the hounds hardly stirred as he strode across the floor.

“Going hunting, m’lord?”

“Robert!” Alec started. “How many times have I told you not to sneak up on me?”

“Just practicing the ways of the warrior, m’lord,” the squire responded in hushed tones. “Someday, m’lord, maybe someday when you find me ready to train with the warriors, I could prove to you that I’ve learned well all you’ve taught me. Remember? You told me that a warrior must be prepared at all times. You told me that stealth...”

“And I have also told you not to practice on me the things that I teach you.”

Alec had taken Robert to be his personal squire a year ago. The boy had proved himself eager and hardworking, and in the past year he had shot up like a beanstalk. Seeing how he had grown, Alec smiled to think how often he had been drawn back from the hard-edged world of Scottish politics by the confused and sometimes comical perceptions of the adolescent boy. Though he was often a thorn in Alec’s side, Robert was devoted to the warlord—and not in the least frightened by his moods.

“Aye, m’lord.” The young man nodded. “But you have also told me to use my judgment and to make decisions. Especially when it comes to the welfare of people that I care about.”

“That is true, Robert.”

“And so, m’lord, some of what you have told me I have to practice on you, because if I do not...then you might not be around to tell me more. And if you are not around—”

“Enough, Robert!” Alec growled, leading the young man through the Great Hall toward a small door on the far side. “It is too early for me to keep up with you. Go back to sleep.”

“But m’lord. I have your breakfast ready,” Robert responded with concern. “You have to eat something before you go. You don’t eat enough. Even Cook says so. And all this early morning hunting. Your brother Sir Ambrose says you are just looking...”

“I am fine, Robert,” Alec said, stopping on the iron mesh that covered the open well that provided air to the castle’s subterranean vault. “There is no need for any of you to worry about me.”

Alec glanced into the darkness of the well, thinking of the horrors that had occurred in that dungeon not so long ago. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. As he peered down into the darkness, he thought he saw a shadow move in the depths. A rat, he thought with disgust.

“But m’lord,” the lad continued. “Sir Ambrose thinks that with no ladies of quality to take your mind off your work here, you just—”

“Robert!” Alec turned his glare on the lanky youth standing beside him. Ambrose clearly needed something else to occupy his mind. But how could Alec even begin to explain what a refreshing change it was to be without those grasping women of the court? To be without Kathryn, his treacherous onetime fiancée. Alec was willing to admit to himself, anyway, that there was something missing in his life, but it was not the companionship of those he had deliberately turned his back on.

No, he could not explain it to Robert, but Alec would need to make that very clear to his brother before Ambrose arranged for any surprise arrivals at Dunvegan’s doorstep.

“But all I was saying, m’lord—”

“Will you shut up?” Alec growled menacingly.

“I will, m’lord.” The young man flushed, suddenly remembering the reason for his master’s sensitivity on this topic. “By the way, m’lord, I told Sir Ambrose that I would wake him up so that he could ride with you this morning. He is really quite worried about you. We are all worried about you. Why, I was just talking with Cook last night, and he says that...”

“Robert,” Alec rumbled menacingly. “I am warning you. Ambrose is going home soon. If you say even one more word, I will send you...and Cook...away with him.”

“Not another word, m’lord. I will not say another word. I promise. And I will stop Cook from talking, too. You will not hear anything. And if you do not want breakfast, it is up to you m’lord.” Robert stopped short, knowing from the laird’s threatening glare that he was doing it again. The last thing he wanted was to be sent back to Benmore Castle. The squire squirmed uncomfortably, thinking of Lord Alexander and how, in the past, he had so very often tried the patience of the old laird. And Robert liked Lady Elizabeth, his master’s mother, but he wanted to be a warrior someday, not a lady’s maid. He stood silently, his eyes riveted to the floor.

Alec shook his head and turned toward the door. This boy could certainly talk. In fact, his chatter had awakened everyone in the hall. Oh, the lad would pay for that, Alec thought with a smile.

“I will not starve, Robert. You don’t need to worry,” Alec called back over his shoulder. “I will eat something when I get back.”

The squire legged it quickly to the door and opened it for Alec as he reached it. Before going through, the warlord paused.

“Oh, one more thing, Robert,” the laird said, scowling fiercely. “Neil tells me you’ve been shirking your household duties and skulking around the training fields.”

Robert paled under his master’s withering glare. “Nay, m’lord. I’ve...I’ve kept up with my duties...I...It isn’t true! I mean, I have been going to the fields, but I’m...I’m—”

“Listen, Robert,” Alec said, taking the lanky lad roughly by the arm. “Starting today...I want you to train full-time with the warriors. Tell Cook to pass on the household duties to one of the younger lads.”

Robert stood, speechless, trying to fathom what he’d just heard and gawking through the open door after his departing master.

Alec smiled to himself as he strode out into the murky predawn light. He’d been looking for the right moment to reward Robert for his diligence and effort. Despite his adolescent ways and his gregarious nature, he was maturing into a fine young man. This change in his status would only reinforce his development in the ways of the warrior. Resourceful. Cool. Reserved. Quiet.

As Robert began to yelp in delight, Alec laughed openly at the gathering sound of curses the awakening warriors in the hall were uttering at the lad capering happily in the doorway.

A few moments later, the laird nodded to the gatekeeper and ducked his head as he steered his black charger through the ten-foot-thick curtain wall of Dunvegan Castle. Emerging from the gloom of the passage into the only slightly brighter predawn light, the warrior wheeled his horse to the right and galloped along the saltwater inlet dominated by the fortress walls.

On his left wrist Alec held his prize falcon, the snow-white peregrine, Swift. Hunting with the rare Welsh albino bird had become more than the warlord’s chief exercise and escape. It had become a morning ritual.

Pounding over the rolling moorland, Alec headed toward a thickly forested valley a mile inland. Surrounded by wild hills and jagged rock ridges, the land was rich with red deer and with the fat pheasant that Swift was so good at plucking from the air.

Descending into a small dip in the terrain, Alec found himself enshrouded in a pocket of morning mist. His vision was cut to a very short distance, but he knew that the path would rise in just a few short yards.

This was one of the things he liked best about Skye. Here he had the freedom to ride hard on his own land amid the unearthly rock formations and the heather-covered hills. Here he was free to enjoy the solitude of the morning air, free from the stifling closeness of the court, from its parasites, and from its women.

Alec entered the wood as the land began to rise, and with it the thick vaporous cloud gave way to patches of the mist. He looked around him in awe. Still, after so many days of riding the same path, he was amazed how the beauty and mystery of these woods touched him. The oak trees, hundreds of years old, entwined their branches into a canopy above him. He looked up as the first rays of the sun strained to gain access.

Suddenly Alec saw a dark shape form on the path before him. Jerking the steed’s head to the right, Alec saw a white arm flash up from the fold of a cloak. Swift shrieked, his fluttering wings obstructing the Alec’s vision momentarily. Then, as they flew past the diving shape, Alec yanked the horse’s reins tight, struggling to hold the plunging, rearing beast in check. He turned his head to the figure lying beside the path.

“You madman!” came the enraged voice of a woman.

The shock of hearing a woman’s voice stunned the warrior. The epithet she hurled at him was lost to the realization that he had nearly ridden down a defenseless peasant woman.

“It is one thing to break your own neck. But mine is another matter,” the voice scolded, the pitch rising with her anger. “You nearly trampled me!”

“Hold, there! I will help you,” Alec responded. “Whoa, Ebon!”

The steed continued to strain against Alec’s efforts to calm him, and Alec could not see the woman clearly, but he glimpsed brilliant red hair spilling out of the dark hood as she scrambled to gather up the contents strewn around a large brown satchel on the ground.

“Are you hurt, wom...” Alec tried to shout above the din of the shrieking bird. But the charger wheeled again, and when the warrior looked back down the path, the cloaked figure had disappeared. There was no movement of branches nearby. No shadows. No trace. One moment she had stood there—the next she was gone.

Fiona stood a few paces off the path, peering through the mist at the power struggle going on between horse, rider, and the strange white hawk. Three beasts, she thought angrily, rubbing a bruised shoulder. Three wild beasts. She quickly straightened the cloak around her, shoving her hair back under the veil she was wearing beneath the hood of the cloak. Her heart was slamming against her rib cage. She tried to take deep breaths to slow her pulse...and to cool her anger.

Finally, the giant warrior subdued the snorting black stallion, and the hawk’s cries ended. She watched as the rider looked questioningly about him. Fiona knew that she could not be seen and that she could escape easily through the thickly wooded grove behind her. She knew this area like the back of her hand.

The huge, golden-haired warrior trotted his horse down the path to where he had passed her. Looking around him in every direction, he stopped the horse and cocked an ear, listening for a sound. Rising from the saddle, he stood in his stirrups for a long moment without any movement. It seemed that horse and hawk were taking their signals from their master as they waited patiently, motionless.

Finally, pulling out his sword, he speared the string of wooden prayer beads that lay on the turf. Sheathing his sword, the rider looked at them curiously and then clenched them in his fist.

From where she stood, Fiona could not quite make out the expression on his face. The giant wheeled his horse in her direction. Now horse and rider faced her. She slid as quietly as she could behind the wide trunk of a gnarled oak. Oh, my Lord, did he see me? Her mind began to run wild. Can he hear me? She held her breath, wishing she could stop the pounding of her heart. Then she nearly laughed aloud at the silliness of the thought, considering the distance between them.

“Are you hurt?” the rider called out, his voice echoing in the wood. “You do not need to fear me.”

He paused, listening for a response, but getting none.

“If you are hurt, but can get to Dunvegan Castle, go there. They will care for you.”

He paused again, listening. Fiona could hear the hooves of the impatient horse stamping at the edge of the path. There was annoyance in the warrior’s tone when he called again. “Answer me! These woods are dangerous if you are hurt. There are all kinds of wild beasts out here.”

There certainly are, Fiona thought, chuckling softly to herself. My thoughts exactly.

“Now, listen,” he shouted, anger now apparent in his voice. “I am trying to help you. I don’t know why a woman would be out here roaming the woods alone at this hour, but speak, for God’s sake.”

Once again, Fiona peered cautiously from behind the tree and watched him as he waited for a response. She smiled at his evident anger and frustration. Good, she thought. He had some nerve, riding like a madman on trails honest peasants use to earn a livelihood.

The warlord just remained where he was for a long moment, clearly trying to make up his mind.

“If you will not answer, then...to hell with you!” he roared, and wheeling the horse nimbly, he thundered off down the path.

Fiona let out her breath as he disappeared into the mist. Then she stamped her foot hard in anger. “Well, Lord Macpherson, you certainly learned nothing from that!”

Fiona moved from her hiding place in the trees and onto the deer trail she had used each morning for the past few years. Since the new laird had arrived, Fiona had spent many days watching him gallop through the countryside, the white bird or some other falcon on his arm. Always riding like a madman, always pounding his horse full speed, as if running away from, or perhaps chasing after someone. Whatever it was, though, today he was early and had caught her off guard.