The Knight's Temptress (Lairds of the Loch) (10 page)

The three younger men went to join him, and Ian shouted for ale on the way.

Thunder boomed outside as they took their seats. The two greyhounds raced across the hall, onto the dais, and dove under the table.

Ian laughed, but Colquhoun said, “Don’t laugh at them. They’re just showing the good sense to avoid unnecessary danger.”

Eyeing him speculatively, Ian decided his father had meant only what he had said, with no hidden meaning for a reckless son.

“I ken fine that you sent a messenger to Dumbarton yesterday, sir,” he said. “Dare we hope that James Mòr has sent a reply?”

“I know only that our gillie went, returned unmolested, and did deliver my message,” Colquhoun said. “The lad told me James Mòr promised to send a reply by evening today or tomorrow. So, you see, he has not refused to meet with me.”

“I doubt we’ll hear from him in this weather,” Ian said.

“Likely you’re right. But tact and conciliation take patience.”

After a quick glance at Ian, Adam said to Colquhoun, “Did you inquire about the well-being of the lady captives, sir?”

“I did not. I merely requested a meeting with him. In such ticklish matters, Adam lad, the less said, the better. One is less likely to cause friction.”

Ian held his tongue, with effort.

Then he remembered Lina’s startled look that first day and the speed with which she had composed herself. So quickly had her expression altered that he doubted Lizzie had noticed, let alone Patrick Galbraith. It would have been another matter had it been Mag rather than Patrick. Little escaped Mag’s eye.

Just thinking about Lina’s being able to recover so quickly in such a place at such a time calmed him. If she could do that, he could keep his contentious thoughts to himself and avoid unnecessary conflict with his father.

He had great respect for Colquhoun. Like most sons, he wanted to please his father. The last thing he wanted was to disappoint him.

One day, if the Fates willed it so, he would step into his father’s place as Laird of Colquhoun and chief of their clan. The position had long been a lofty one, carrying great power even now when factions divided the Scottish nobility.

Clans warred with clans and Highlander fought Lowlander. Both fought Borderers and the English. In the case of Clan Farlan and others, clans divided and fought amongst themselves. Meantime, Colquhoun kept the peace in Clan Colquhoun and with its neighbors. His skill in doing so demanded respect.

Even so, Ian thought as he nodded for a gillie to pour him more ale and watched Colquhoun sign the documents before him, at times only by daring could a man achieve a difficult goal. If one refused to take risks…

Colquhoun glanced up and met his gaze with a lifted eyebrow as if to ask if aught were amiss. When Ian replied a slight shake of his head, Colquhoun’s lips twitched, making Ian wonder if his father had somehow read his thoughts.

Shaking his head again, this time to clear it, he told himself that thinking of Lina MacFarlan must have led him to imagine that his father had magical powers. Many people believed the blethers that Andrew Dubh and others had spewed over the years about Tùr Meiloach being a magical place that protected its rightful residents, even suggesting and some of its residents possessed such powers.

Ian had visited Tùr Meiloach, and he disbelieved most of it. As for knowing what others thought, only the gods and perhaps the Fates could do that. Then he recalled certain events involving Mag’s wife, Andrena…

Rob cleared his throat loudly.

Giving him a look, Ian said, “Did you think I was ignoring you? My thoughts just went a-roving.”

“You said you wanted to discuss how to wrest Dumbarton from James Mòr.”

“In troth, I don’t have a plan yet,” Ian said frankly.
“Something will present itself, though. It always does. Recall how it was when Jamie told his cousin Alex Stewart to retake Stirling after the coup failed. Stirling is impregnable, too, after all. But Alex rode in with his lads, claiming that they were allies of the coup. They took Stirling without spilling a drop of blood.”

“Unless one counts the leaders who lost their heads shortly thereafter.”

“I don’t,” Ian said. “So tell me what you think we might do unless you mean to suggest tact or conciliation. If that’s what you think, talk to my father.”

Chapter 5
 

I
do think this is daft,” Lizzie said that afternoon. She sat on her stool by the window, despite the drizzle outside, carefully pulling individual threads from the length, or warp, of one of the shirts as Lina had shown her. “You may hope we can sneak out of here by disguising ourselves with those so-called cloaks you are fashioning. But that door is locked, Lina. And, no matter how much MacCowan or anyone else here might sympathize with our predicament, they dare not help us.”

“Mayhap I am daft,” Lina said equably as she threaded her needle with a fresh length of thread. “In troth, I just need to do something, to…” She hesitated, unable to put her strange feeling into words that would make any sense.

To her surprise, Lizzie laughed. “I used to think, before I met you, that the MacFarlan sisters were all daft,” she said. “Don’t people say that Andrena knows what one is thinking and that Murie remembers all that she hears or sees?”

“I cannot know what people say about us unless they say it to me,” Lina said. “But they don’t say such things to me. What else do they say?”

Lizzie cocked her head thoughtfully. Then she said, “They say that you know potions and cures, like an herb
woman. Also, that you can cast and read runes. Such things sound wise and interesting, though. Many folks do seem to be in awe of you, but that may be because you are kind and try to help them with what you know.”

“What else do
you
think about us?”

“I scarcely exchanged three sentences with Andrena before she and Mag left for Ayrshire. But she seemed nice. And I like you and Muriella. I realize now that people meant only that Murie remembers the stories she hears. She just has a good memory. But Andrena, knowing people’s thoughts…”

“Did you ask Magnus if Dree can tell what other people are thinking?”

Grimacing reminiscently, Lizzie said, “I did, aye. He told me that if I were wise, I’d
have
no thoughts that did not bear revealing.”

Lina chuckled. “That sounds like him. But I don’t think Dree knows anyone’s thoughts save her own. She is gey observant, though. Sithee, she can tell much from the way a person acts, speaks, or moves. My mother says that Dree just has keener instincts about such things than most people.”

“They say that Lady Aubrey is a Seer,” Lizzie said.

“Aye, well, people do believe the strangest things, don’t they?”

Saturday and Sunday, the rain continued intermittently, which was normal for a Scottish summer. Clouds gathered near the western or northwestern horizon each morning and moved eastward. Scattered clouds came later from all directions to collide in a mass when they met, and afternoon thunderstorms resulted. Some were severe, even
vicious, with bolts of lightning threatening the land. Both days saw brief, heavy downpours of rain mixed with hail.

Despite the weather, messages flew from Dumbarton to Dunglass and back. Running gillies delivered them when lightning threatened, and mounted riders when it did not. The people at Dunglass learned no more about the captives.

On Monday, Ian endured a late-morning shower while he supervised mopping up after the previous day’s storm. Soaked through, he retired to his chamber shortly after noon to dry off and change his clothes for the midday meal.

To his surprise, Hak was not waiting for him. Having no wish to annoy Colquhoun by being late to the meal, Ian peeled off his sodden clothes and dried himself with a towel from the washstand rack.

Donning a fresh tunic, he left his wet clothes on the floor for Hak and had just taken his favorite plaid from its hook when the door opened and Hak walked in.

“Where the devil have you been?” Ian demanded.

Shutting the door, Hak said, “I ha’ a message for ye, sir, from Dumbarton.”

Draping the plaid over a shoulder and taking his belt from the hook, Ian handed Hak the belt to hold. “How did you receive such a message?” he asked, using both hands to arrange the length of blue-and-gray wool.

“A rider brung word from James Mòr for the laird,” Hak said, handing Ian the belt when he reached for it. “When the rider went inside, a lad he’d brung wi’ him tae watch the horses asked for me. He said Gorry MacCowan said tae tell ye that the deevil’s spawn… I dinna ken who that be, sir. Nor did the lad.”

“I do,” Ian said grimly, recognizing his own words to Gorry at Dumbarton. “It is Dougal MacPharlain.”

“Aye, well, the lad said that the deevil’s spawn asked the lord tae let him keep the elder o’ the two pawns he’d captured. I dinna think he meant the Almighty when he said ‘lord,’ Master Ian.”

“No,” Ian said. “He meant James Mòr. The man fancies himself still a great lord despite the fall of his whole House of Albany. Go on.”

“Lemme think,” Hak said, frowning. “Aye, then the deevil’s spawn said the younger pawn be the important one o’ the two, because the lord could use her tae keep her sire in check. I dinna ken what that means, neither. But the lad said he tellt me just what he’d clapped in tae his memory, as Gorry bade him tae do.”

“I understand it,” Ian said. It meant that Dougal thought holding Lizzie hostage would keep Galbraith in check and thus made her more valuable to James Mòr than Lina would be. However, it might mean that Dougal wanted James Mòr to
believe
that because Dougal wanted Lina. Ian did not share these thoughts with Hak. Nor would he until he had pondered them more. “Is that all?”

“Nay, master. Forbye, Gorry said that this be the most important part. But he said tae tell ye the other first, lest ye fail tae heed aught save this bit.”

Tension gripped Ian. “Well?”

Hak gave him a wary, speculative look. His news wasn’t good.

“Hak?”

Swallowing visibly, Hak said. “See you, sir, the lad said that the lord—James Mòr, that would be—declared he would keep both o’ them.” He paused.

“Go on, damn you.”

“He said he could do nae bargaining if the young one
faced ruin, by having nae female tae speak for her innocence after being captive in a castleful of men.”

“What else did your messenger say?” Ian asked grimly.

“That afterward, the deevil’s spawn were in a rare tirrivee. That Gorry fears the man will just take the pawn he wants.”

Hak stopped, less wary now, his curiosity nearly palpable.

“Hak, I’ll explain it all to you, because I’m going to need your—” Ian broke off at a sharp rap on the door followed by his father’s entrance.

“Leave us, Hak,” Colquhoun said so curtly that Ian wondered how much he had overheard or if something else had stirred the paternal wrath.

Since he had been treading lightly to avoid aught that might imperil his own plans—when he had some—the chance that he had angered Colquhoun was small. Moreover, the door to his room was thick, solid, and well-hung. So his father had overheard only a word or two as he entered the room.

So far, Ian had shared none of the wild ideas he had considered and rejected for rescuing the girls. Not with Rob MacAulay or any other man who had arrived at Dunglass since Ian’s visit to Dumbarton, including Sir Alex Buchanan, who was a close cousin of Rob’s, a friend of Ian’s, and a fellow knight of the realm.

Hak was on his way out with the bundle of wet clothing, so Ian said, “Come back when the laird has gone, Hak. I have more to say to you.”

When the door had shut again, Ian faced his father.

Without preamble, Colquhoun said urgently, “James
Mòr demands that I go to him at once, lad. This very afternoon or not at all.”