Angel of Skye (33 page)

Fiona was smiling brightly as they slipped into the festive hall.

Around them the sounds of Midsummer’s Eve revelry filled the air. Pipers were wandering around the hall, and children from the village danced happily behind them. The woven rushes had been cleared from the very center of the huge room, and ale-drinking revelers were boisterously constructing a bonfire. From every side, laughter and merriment enveloped the latecomers, so that no one noticed their entrance.

Fiona spotted David, sitting with Robert at the long table nearest the door, enjoying the company of some of the warriors they had traveled with, and their ladies. Extricating herself from Alec’s arm, she bent over David and whispered their news in his ear. Her old friend’s expression was one of pure joy upon hearing the news.

By the time she straightened up, a hush had fallen over the entire hall. The musicians ceased playing, and all eyes were upon her. Alec took her arm as she nervously stepped back a pace. She glanced down at the Macpherson tartan that covered her shoulders and she suddenly wondered if the quiet was caused by an outsider wearing their plaid. She had not even stopped to consider the appropriateness of the tartan. Her mind raced to think of what else could have caused such a reaction.

“Think of them as family, my love,” Alec whispered reassuringly. “They’ve been waiting for you, and none too patiently, from what I hear.”

“Why are they so quiet?” she murmured back to him. “I’ve disappointed them somehow?”

“You’ve got them spellbound, from the looks of things. But how can you blame them?” Alec said, appraising the incredible beauty of the woman on his arm. It was no wonder that the very breathing of everyone in the hall seemed to come to a full stop. Fiona’s voice had wavered, but she stood beside him, her head high and her hazel eyes flashing. The smooth skin of her cheeks glowed in the light of the flaring lamps on the walls. No one but he would ever know the sensuous feel of her full and sculpted lips. Her silken mane cascaded in rolling waves of liquid fire over the tartan at her shoulders and onto the ivory gown that so brilliantly highlighted the perfect lines of her figure. She was a vision. And he proudly stood beside her.

With a booming welcome, a silver-haired giant nimbly crossed the floor, Lady Elizabeth and another smaller man trailing behind.

“At last!” he thundered. “At last the lowly laird gets to meet the fairy princess!”

Fiona’s nervousness vanished instantly, a smile spreading across her face as Alec’s father approached them.

“At last,” she responded with a low curtsy. “At last the humble convent lass is honored with a glimpse of the noblest chieftain in the Highlands.”

“Ha!” Alexander laughed, offering his hand to her. “The lass has spirit to go with her beauty. The daughter of good King James owes no curtsy to this old mule.”

Fiona graciously accepted his proffered hand as she straightened before him. As they exchanged greetings, those present in the hall seemed to be hanging on every word.

“Before I am completely left out of this newfound friendship of yours, Father, I would like to introduce you to your future daughter,” Alec said, putting a possessive hand around her slender waist. “This is Fiona Drummond Stuart.”

As Alec concluded, the room suddenly erupted with cheers, and the old man beamed with delight.

The laird opened his arms, and, standing on her toes, Fiona placed a kiss on the chieftain’s cheek, only to find herself crushed in a bear hug as his powerful arms wrapped around her.

“It’s my turn, Alexander,” Lady Elizabeth put in, separating the young woman from her husband and warmly welcoming her with a hearty embrace. Her eyes sparkled as she took both of Fiona’s hands and looked into her face. “This is wonderful news, my dear. My son is a very fortunate man to have you. And don’t you ever let him forget that.”

“Don’t scare her off, Elizabeth,” the laird said. “Alec does have one or two good qualities.”

“Aye, you old warhorse, but only if you call having a silver tongue and extremely handsome features qualities.” She smiled up at her husband, and turned back confidentially to Fiona. “Actually, Alec has more qualities than that, but those two definitely came from the Macpherson side.”

Fiona did not have to look at the men to agree with what was said. Alec’s handsome features had been her undoing from the first moment they’d met.

The pipers began to play again, and Fiona found herself surrounded by crowding faces of well-wishers. There were so many questions that these people had, so much they all seemed to want to know about her. And she answered what she could.

Those who came close were delighted with the young woman’s responses. There was no falsehood, no haughtiness, no snobbish arrogance. This prospective bride was not at all like the last Macpherson fiancée. Fiona was just herself. Down to earth and matter of fact. And those qualities alone captured the hearts of all around her.

When two little girls presented Fiona with a woven garland of daisies, she immediately knelt down between them, and with great merriment the giggling lasses arranged the crown in her hair, to the appreciative approval of the onlookers.

Alec hovered over her, screening her from overly energetic clan members. John was one of the last Macpherson clan members to push his way through the circle to Fiona’s side. After kissing her on both cheeks, and noting Alec’s watchful gaze, John decided he could not pass up the opportunity of needling his love-struck brother.

Pulling Fiona closer to his side, John whispered to her in confidential tones loud enough for all to hear, “You’re making a grave error, m’lady. There are stories of lunacy in the family. And if you have a moment, I’d like to explain—”

“Move along, John,” Alec growled. “The only lunacy in our family, Fiona, is in the third son.”

“Alec!” Fiona scolded laughingly.

“As I was saying—” John continued, holding on to her hand.

“Mother, why didn’t we drown him at birth?” Alec asked, pulling Fiona closer to him.

“It’s never too late,” Alec’s father put in, stepping into the laughing group.

Alec was firmly tugging at one of her hands, while John held fast to the other teasingly. With one swift movement, Alec pulled Fiona around to his other side, detaching his intended’s hand from the young scoundrel.

Fiona looked about her, suddenly conscious of the happy glow that had crept into her body. The warmth she was feeling, the welcome, the cheerful banter, the loving feel of Alec’s hand on hers, all mingled within Fiona, producing a sense that she’d never really known before...a sense of family. Around them the party continued on boisterously, people laughing, shouting, and dancing. She looked up at Alec and their gazes locked. She was a part of this, a part of them. That was what Alec had promised.

She had a family. And most important of all, she had him.

In a few moments Fiona saw groups of revelers starting to work themselves back to their seats. Throughout the hall, serving folk were delivering food to the long trestle tables.

Alec’s father started leading Fiona to the head table, and Alec and the rest of the family followed behind, still carrying on their animated conversation. As he reached the dais, Alexander halted abruptly.

“Ah, lass,” he explained. “There is someone here that you haven’t met, I believe.” Just ahead of them, leaning against one of the tables, a handsome but stern-faced older man stood with his arms crossed against his massive chest, and the laird led Fiona toward the quiet figure.

There was no question in Fiona’s mind that the balding man looking intently at her was a man of great power. Over his brilliantly white linen shirt and the tartan of black and white, a huge gold medallion hung from a heavy chain that encircled his neck. On it the rampant lion crest of Scotland, signifying his position as leader of the council of nobles, gleamed in the light of the lamps and torches. His expression never changed as they approached, and Fiona felt a sudden chill as the man’s blue eyes studied her face deliberately.

Lord Huntly knew he was staring at the young woman, but he made no attempt to stop. After all these years, he thought. Face to face with the daughter that should have been mine. Margaret was there in her features, in the stunning beauty of her eyes, in the set of the mouth, the graceful line of the jaw. He had loved her, but she had chosen another. He had offered her everything, but she had chosen a path that had led to her own death. But he had never stopped loving her. Ever.

As the two stood before him, Huntly straightened and bowed slightly from the waist in response to the young woman’s curtsy.

“Fiona Drummond Stuart,” Lord Alexander said courteously, “I’d like you to meet one of your greatest benefactors. This is the earl of Huntly.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, m’lord. Finally, I have the opportunity to thank you for all you’ve done on my behalf.”

Fiona took the cold outstretched hands of the man before her. Alexander towered over them, but she could feel the aura of control that exuded from the earl. He’d not stopped looking at her from the moment they’d started toward him, but she had yet to see a single identifiable expression register on his face. Like a mask, the man’s face showed no emotion, no pleasure, no disappointment. It was devoid of feeling. There was nothing but the cold blue eyes that peered searchingly into her own face.

“I’ve only done what should have been done long ago,” he said in an even tone.

“You’ve done far more than I could ever have expected, m’lord.”

His gaze never wavered as his strong fingers gently tightened their grip on Fiona’s hands.

“I was a friend of your mother’s, lass.”

Fiona recalled the prioress’ words about unrequited love. She looked at the man who had vowed to someday win back her mother’s hand.

“Why don’t you call me Andrew?” he added.

Another kind of ravenous wolf

Is the mighty man, having plenty enough...

—Robert Henryson “
The Wolf and the Lamb
”

Andrew.

Fiona’s blood froze in her veins. Lord Andrew.

Unable to move, she stood staring into Huntly’s eyes. As she did, memories of an evil night flooded her senses. Words began to pour into her brain, pounding her with the sounds and fears of that distant autumn night. Should I not be down with Lord Andrew? Sir Allan’s voice was right behind her. As in a dream, Fiona heard the echoes of the good knight’s words...with Lord Andrew...Lord Andrew...Andrew!

The sights and sounds of the Macphersons’ Great Hall began to whirl in a liquid kaleidoscope of colors. Fiona felt herself falling, floating into a garish nightmare of flashing light and muffled voices. Andrew! Faces began to appear before her, weaving in and out between purple clouds that swept past in a funnels of windless storm.

Andrew!

Fiona felt her mother’s arm around her little body. She could feel her breath on her cheek. No! Take her far away. From him. From Andrew! Her room...full now, men looming over them. A pain in her arms. High in the air, the black eyes of an angry stranger. Torquil. Are you going to let this wee thing best you? Another man, his sneering mouth and death grip on her mother.

Mama! Her mother’s eyes...wild with fear...despair. The flaring torches and then darkness...a blanket covering her...suffocating her. The horses. The rough hands. A grip of steel. Riding. Forever riding.

Andrew!

“Why don’t you call me Andrew?”

Stepping back, Fiona bumped into Alec as the earl released her hands.

“I see you two have already met.” Alec’s voice snapped Fiona’s head around. Looking into her face, he thought she looked suddenly pale, unsteady on her feet. He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “What’s wrong?”

She felt Alec’s strong hands around her waist and took strength from his touch. Looking up at him, she became aware of the numerous eyes that were upon her. Waiting for an answer. “Nothing,” she said quietly. “I’m fine.”

“You have to do a better job taking care of her, Alec,” Alexander scolded. He turned to Huntly. “Alec rushed the poor lass here from Skye in a week’s time.”

Fiona snuggled closer to Alec as she continued to study the earl. As the nobleman exchanged words with Alec’s father, Fiona saw his gaze continually travel back to her and to Alec. She saw him glance down at Alec’s encircling arm, at his hand holding her comfortably at the waist. She wondered what could be going through this man’s mind.

“I haven’t offered you both my congratulations, Alec,” Huntly said, his eyes darting from Fiona’s face to Alec’s. Never a smile. Not a glimmer of emotion in the man’s hard face.

“Well, here’s your opportunity,” Alec responded seriously. He wanted the earl’s approval of their marriage, but he’d be damned if he let Huntly’s cold ways dampen Fiona’s happiness this evening. Alec knew Huntly well enough to shrug off the earl’s lack of outward emotion, but he was afraid Fiona might construe it differently.

“You appear to be the luckiest man in Scotland, Alec.” Huntly paused, his gaze lingering once again on Fiona’s face. “I’ve only known one woman in my life whose beauty equaled the beauty of this young lady. Congratulations to you both.”

An awkward silence fell over the group, and Huntly stood motionless, the only one unaffected by it.

“I sincerely hope, Fiona,” he said finally, breaking the spell, “that you and I get an opportunity to get to know one another in the days ahead.”

“Well, Andrew, you can get started right now,” Lady Elizabeth broke in. “It’s time we all sat.”

“May I have the pleasure of sitting beside you at dinner, m’lady?” Huntly asked, offering Fiona his arm.

“Nay!” Alexander boomed. “You court-bred fox. You’ll not be stealing my new hatched chick!”

“Alexander!” Elizabeth scolded. “You’ll have a lifetime to sit beside our new daughter.”

“The hell I will,” the laird said as he escorted his wife ahead of the others to the table. “Don’t you think I know my own son? We’ll be lucky if he’ll let her visit us at Easter and Christmas.”

“Just because you were so keen in keeping me only to yourself, that doesn’t mean Alec will be like that,” Elizabeth whispered to her husband.