Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Having slept poorly and awakened far too early, Isobel arose and dressed without troubling to send for a maid. It occurred to her to wonder how her woman would manage to return from Chalamine to Lochbuie and to hope Adela would somehow persuade Macleod to send her, but she knew she would be wise to find someone else to tend her needs for a while.

These thoughts and others of their ilk soured her mood to the point that she had no wish to inflict her company on any other person, let alone on the multitude of those who were currently disappointed in her. So after she donned her shift and an old gown that fastened up the front, she put on boots stout enough for a long walk, took her cloak from its hook, and set off to seek the morning sun and solitude.

Half expecting to meet Hector or Cristina, especially since the latter frequently arose early when Lochbuie entertained visitors, she was grateful to escape the confines of the castle unnoticed by anyone except a gillie or two, one guard on the ramparts, and the solitary sentinel at the postern gate. To the sentinel, she explained that she was going to walk along the shore near the harbor. Since she frequently did so, and since guardsmen on the ramparts commanded a wide view of the area, the gate guard made no objection.

Breathing deeply of the freedom she felt outside the curtain wall, she hurried down the path to the bay. MacDonald's galleys were gone, and the tide on the turn, so the water was at its lowest point, and the muddy, rock-strewn shore stretched into the bay halfway to the far end of the long pier that began at the bottom of the path. Galleys, longships, and smaller craft rocked gently on incoming waves.

At this time of year, the morning twilight that began not long after midnight lasted hours, just as dusk did. Thus, land and sea were as visible as on any overcast day, although the sun's first rays were peeking over the eastern hills. Puffy pale-pink-and-gold clouds drifted overhead in what promised soon to be a bright azure sky.

A lad coiled rope on the pier. Another fished from a rocky outcrop on the sharp eastern point at the mouth of the bay, but Isobel saw no one else about.

Catching up her skirts, she hurried along the shore toward the bay's western knolls, scattering shore birds as she went. A streaky-brown curlew that had been contentedly probing the mud with his long, curved beak in search of breakfast screamed a curt "kvi, kvi, kvi," as he took flight in protest at the intrusion and as warning to his fellow scavengers.

As she smiled at the bird's outrage, her mood lightened, and she remembered why she loved the sea with its ever-changing moods. Breathing deeply of the salty air, she felt a stir of pleasure at sight of nearly hidden pink blossoms of thrift and sea spurge peeping from the short-cropped, grassy foliage of the knoll ahead. At this time of year, even the sandy, nearly barren shore exploded with color.

Avoiding sprawling, gray-green clumps of spiny sea holly, she climbed the knoll and paused at the top to watch a gray seal swimming just off shore. A moment later, a colony of puffins floated into view, their triangular orange bills as large as their faces. Moving carefully, so as not to startle them into flight, she found a flat rock and sat to watch them.

Michael will most likely leave today.

The thought entered her head unbidden, and with it memory of his warm smile, the twinkle in his eyes whenever she said something that amused him, his calm acceptance of all that had occurred, and the way his sensual, honey-smooth voice could arouse physical sensations deep within her body that she had never felt before meeting him. If he left, she would never see him again or learn his secrets, for surely it was not only his relationship to the future Prince of Orkney that made men want to flog information out of him. There were other mysteries to solve, too, not least of which was the effect he had on her after such short acquaintance.

What was it about the man, she wondered, that brought thoughts of him to fill her mind so often and so completely? At least once during her restless slumber the previous night, she had dreamed she slept beside him, so close that his body enveloped her with a fiery warmth that had all but consumed her, making her want to touch him, even to caress him, and to beg him to do the same to her.

Not that she would ever beg any man for anything.

In any event, as she had reached for him, Lady Euphemia had loomed before her, demanding—in a voice exactly like the shrill, raucous piping of an indignant oystercatcher guarding its supper—to know if she had lost her mind. Rather than answer that question, Isobel had awakened.

After that, she had lain in bed, sternly fixing her thoughts on the walk she would take as soon as the day brightened enough so that she could go outside without causing anyone to wonder at her doing so. She had carefully avoided contemplating this second suggestion of her aunt's, albeit dream-inspired this time, that she had gone mad. And she did not want to consider madness now.

Nor had she changed her mind about Michael or about marriage.

A deep groan, almost a growl, startled her out of her reverie.

Blinking at the fat little puffin that had strolled up to inspect her, followed by two of his chums, she marveled as she had many times before at how unbirdlike the chubby little creatures sounded and how human they looked, as if they wore white shirt fronts with black jerkins and breeks, and red or yellow stockings. Their eyelids opened and closed as human eyes did, giving them a most comical expression.

More clouds were gathering in the west, promising rain squalls by afternoon, and she saw that other puffins from their colony had come ashore. They stood about now, very upright on their sturdy legs, looking like a group of plump, dignified courtiers enjoying a social conversation.

When the one closest to her cocked its head as if to ask what she was thinking, she said, "You look as if you would offer me advice, sir, just as everyone else does. But at least you will not urge me to marry Sir Michael."

The bird tilted its head the other way, as if it would hear more.

"Who are the St. Clairs, anyway?" she asked him. "I warrant you know no more about them than I do. To be sure, his brother is to be a prince, but what manner of Scotsman would be a Norse prince? And although Sir Michael is refreshingly un-domineering, I have discovered that his inability to think for himself is nearly as maddening as is the propensity of other men to make every decision without regard for one's wishes. Well, not maddening," she muttered. "Annoying, though, and who'd ever have thought that it could be?"

Her audience was no longer listening if, indeed, it ever had been. The chief puffin ruffled its glossy feathers and wandered off with its chums to join the others, their unhurried, rolling gait making them look no less humanlike from behind.

As she turned away, distant movement to the east caught her eye, and a large galley with exceptionally graceful lines, looking golden in the sunlight, hove into view around the eastern point of the bay. Spray from its flashing oars danced in the sunlight like tiny jewels. A flapping banner waved from its mast.

The distance was too great to discern the banner's device, but she suspected that Michael's men had arrived. If so, they had wasted no time, because certainly Ian MacCaig could not have reached Eilean Donan before sundown the previous day, if not later, to deliver his message.

Glancing toward the castle ramparts, she observed increased activity there and knew that if Hector Reaganach were not already astir, he soon would be, and others as well. With a sigh, she stood and shook her skirts free of sand or grit they might have picked up. An impulse stirred to run away as fast and as far as she could go, but curiosity stirred, too, to see what Michael's man was like. Moreover, she told herself, courtesy demanded that she at least bid Sir Michael a polite farewell.

Walking back down the knoll, she reached the muddy shore again and was picking her way through various bits of flotsam washed up by the tide when she noticed a figure striding down the path toward the pier. Easily recognizing Michael, she stopped where she was, thinking he had not seen her.

If he was in such a hurry to leave that he rushed to meet his men, she decided that she did not care that he had failed to notice her. The galley approached the pier at speed and in grand style. Every helmsman and oarsman took pride in his skills and loved to show them off, but she could not deny that it made a fine picture.

She heard the helmsman shout for his rowers to "hold water!" and then to "weigh enough!" The oars plunged into the water, sharply curtailing the galley's speed. Then, while the nearside oars stayed in—sculling powerfully, she knew—the bank of oars on the pier side flashed straight up and the boat drifted in until it gently touched the wood pilings and lads rushed to catch its lines and make it fast.

Expecting to see Michael hurrying along the pier, she looked for him.

Footsteps crunching on shingle nearby warned her that he had turned along the shore instead and was nearly upon her.

"Good morning, lass," he said.

"And to you, sir."

"You are up early."

"Aye." She eyed him warily, wondering if he would say, as so many men would have, that she ought not to have come down to the shore alone.

"'Tis a splendid morning, is it not?"

She nodded, feeling strangely shy. Then, damping suddenly dry lips, she said, "I thought that must be your boat, but I suppose it is too soon for it to be here."

"That's the Raven, sure enough," he said. "But I saw you walking over here and wanted to speak to you before you meet Hugo."

"Is Hugo your man, the one who was staying with you at Eilean Donan?"

"Aye, in a manner of speaking," he said with a warm smile. "But here he comes now, nearly on the run, so I expect we should go to meet him."

The man striding toward them along the pier did not resemble any manservant Isobel had ever seen. He was as tall as Michael and looked a lot like him. With the rising sun behind him, his light-brown hair danced with red-gold highlights, and as he drew near, she saw that his eyes were the same cerulean blue as Michael's.

She looked up at the latter, noting that a muscle twitched near the right corner of his mouth as if something had disturbed his usual calm. Although he did not look at her, she sensed that he knew she was looking at him.

"Michael, lad!" the other man exclaimed. "How fortunate you are that I find you safe! Whatever were you thinking, to disappear like that?"

Not a manservant then. Menservants did not address their masters in such a familiar way. Clearly, she had been wise to refuse marriage to a man who evaded the truth as Michael so clearly had.

"Well met, Hugo," he said, reaching to grip the man's outstretched hand and to clap him on a shoulder as well. "I'm sorry to have put such a fright into you, but I collect that our courier reached Eilean Donan in good time."

"What courier? If you mean that young scamp Ian MacCaig, we met him in Glen Mòr along with a lovely young lass who was arguing with him about which direction they should take. Ian would have whisked her off the path at our approach, but the lass stood her ground as if she owned the place."

Isobel pressed her lips together at hearing this disrespectful description of her elder sister. She said nothing, though, curious to see how far the man's sense of humor would take him.

Michael said calmly, "Take care how you speak, Hugo. My lady, I hope you will forgive my cousin's bad manners and allow me to present him to you." Without waiting for yea or nay, he went on, "Little though he has recommended himself, this is my cousin Sir Hugo Robison of Strathearn."

"I'm pleased to meet you, sir," Isobel said. "I did not know Sir Michael had a kinsman hereabouts. He told me only that he'd left a manservant at Eilean Donan."

Sir Hugo raised his eyebrows and said with a mocking look at Michael, "Manservant, eh? You overstep the mark, lad, if you think I'll serve you with anything but what you deserve for such an impudence."

To Isobel's surprise, Michael chuckled. "You may try, of course. But I do sincerely apologize to you, my lady, for my prevarication."

"I am sure it is of no consequence, sir," Isobel said with the same politeness she had shown his cousin. "You had no reason to confide in me. Indeed," she added, gathering dignity close so her true feelings would not reveal themselves, "I am sure you must have private matters to discuss. I will take my leave of you."

"Wait, lass," Michael said, putting a gentle hand on her arm as she turned away. "Tell me first if you are still of the same mind as you were last night."

"Indeed I am," she said. "You have merely given me further reason to believe I chose the right course."

"Very well," he said. "Then we'll depart as soon as the tide turns again, for I see no reason now to delay sailing to Kirkwall. However," he added when she started to pull away, "you need not hurry on ahead. We'll escort you properly."

"Indeed, Lady Isobel," Sir Hugo said when she hesitated, "you must not run away, because I am charged with all manner of messages from Lady Adela. I should have realized from your strong resemblance that you were her sister." His eyes danced. "I do hope you will forgive me. I vow, I meant no disrespect."

Smiling flirtatiously at him and ignoring Michael, Isobel said, "If you met Ian and Adela in Glen Mòr, sir, I assume that you were there searching for your cousin. That also explains how you managed to arrive here so quickly. I'm only sorry that you could not arrange to bring my maidservant with you."

"Lady Adela did suggest such a course," Sir Hugo said with a reminiscent gleam. "And practically handed me my head in my lap when I told her I could not delay even the single hour she insisted it would take me to fetch the lass, because I knew that Michael would expect me to lose no time catching up with him. Had I known he was enjoying himself and not keeping nervous watch lest his seekers find him before I did, I might have dallied longer."

"You chose the wiser course," Michael said dryly. "Come now, let us go up. Doubtless, the men on the wall have already announced your arrival and the fact that I came down to meet you. We do not want to annoy Hector Reaganach again."

Hugo's eyebrows shot up again. "Faith, have you annoyed him? I own, I'm eager to meet him, for although I've often been in his presence, it has always been in a crush at court or some like occasion, so I have never been presented to him."

"Well, you shall soon have that honor," Michael told him. "Doubtless, he will also present you to his lady wife, who is another of Lady Isobel's sisters, as well as to Princess Margaret Stewart, her daughter Mairi of the Isles, and to Lachlan Lubanach Maclean, Lord High Admiral of the Isles."

"You find yourself in most exalted company, do you not?" Sir Hugo exclaimed. Grinning at Isobel, he added impudently, "My lady, you do not know what you have done by introducing this rascal to your family. They should instantly have consigned him to perdition."

"Well, they did not," she retorted. "Indeed, they want me to marry him."

She was not sure what demon had impelled her to blurt out the last bit, but Hugo did not exclaim or even look surprised.

He merely regarded her more narrowly as he said, "Do you mean to say that you have been wise enough to elude that fate? Pray tell me that the reason he means to leave Lochbuie at once is that you had the good sense to reject him."

"Well, I did," she said. "But in truth, sir, I do not know that sense had much to do with it. I don't want to marry any man, and my kinsmen want me to marry him only because they think he has somehow compromised my reputation."

"Oh, I doubt that is the sole reason, my lady. If I think a moment, I should be able to come up with at least one or two others to explain their position. But since you had the wisdom to spurn him, I shall hold my peace."

His twinkle was difficult to ignore. Conscious of Michael's sudden oppressive silence beside her, she grinned at Sir Hugo, and when he offered his arm, she accepted it and allowed him to escort her through the gate and upstairs to the hall.

Michael made no comment regarding his irrepressible cousin's notion of humor, letting the two go ahead of him and wondering only why Hugo's reflexive flirtation with Lady Isobel did not annoy him more. From their earliest years, he and his cousin had competed against each other in everything, particularly when it came to their flirtations. They were as close as brothers, and in some ways closer, for at times they seemed almost to read each other's minds.

They had nearly come to blows over women in the past, but now he felt only gratitude to Hugo for making Isobel smile again. If he was irritated with anyone, it was with her for flirting back, but he had no right to feel irritated about that.

She was a mystery to him. He had never known a woman whose thoughts morning and night were for anything other than marriage, household, social events, or children. Women who did not marry were generally thought to be sad creatures, but Isobel clearly was not, and she was already well past the age that most fathers insisted on finding husbands for their daughters. Lady Adela was older yet.

If he recalled correctly, Isobel had said there were eight of them and that she and three others were still unwed, so he had assumed that Macleod had managed to find husbands for only half of his daughters, perhaps because he lacked wealth enough to endower them all well. But if they were all as beautiful as Isobel and Adela, the man would have to be a fool to assume they would require large tochers.

As he followed Hugo and Isobel into the hall, he saw that the others had gathered there, evidently to break their fast. He had been in the process of dressing when he chanced to see Isobel outside, and had finished quickly and hurried down the spiral stone stairway that led from his small bedchamber to the kitchens on the first level, below the hall, without entering that chamber. No sooner had he stepped outside the wall than he had had a clear view of the Raven rounding the point into the bay. Realizing that he had little time remaining to explain Hugo to Isobel before she would meet him, he had hurried to intercept her, but the galley had arrived too quickly to allow a detailed explanation.

Hector Reaganach was on his feet. "More guests, Isobel?"

"This gentleman is Sir Michael's cousin, who has come to fetch him," she said, taking her hand from Sir Hugo's arm and stepping back.

When Hector shifted his gaze to Michael, he took the hint and went forward, saying, "He is indeed my cousin, my lord, Sir Hugo Robison of Strathearn."

"You are welcome at Lochbuie, Robison," Hector said. "I believe you must be a connection of Isabella, Countess of Strathearn and Caithness, are you not?"

"I have that honor, my lord," Hugo said, making his bow.

Hector made the other introductions, formally presenting Sir Hugo to Princess Margaret before inviting the two men to join the family at table.

As they accepted the invitation, Hector added, "I trust your men will join us. Doubtless, our people have already told them they are welcome."

"Aye, my lord, they will be eager to do so," Sir Hugo said. "They won't enjoy much rest, however, as Michael informs me that he wishes to depart with the afternoon tide. Doubtless, they had hoped—"

"Mercy me," Lady Euphemia exclaimed, "your men should rest, sir, after such a long journey. Sir Michael, surely, you do not mean to leave so soon!"

"You are kind to concern yourself, my lady," he said. "But I must not linger. Had circumstances been different …" He fell silent, looking for Isobel to be sure she had caught his meaning.

But Isobel was not where she had been only moments before. He saw but a glimpse of her skirt as it whisked out of the great hall to the stairway.

Realizing that she would be unwise to sit down at the table with her sister and aunt, not to mention Princess Margaret, in the old, rather shabby gown she had donned to walk on the shore, Isobel opted to break her fast later and took the opportunity afforded by Hector's conversation with Sir Hugo to slip away.

Since no one had objected, she doubted that anyone had seen her go or would miss her if she did not return. Indeed, Cristina had given her a sharp look, warning her that she must at least change her clothing before she did return.

Meeting a maidservant coming down the stairs, she asked the girl to bring bread and ale to her bedchamber.

"Aye, m'lady, straightaway."

"I'll want your help to dress, too, Ada. In this dress, I dared not stop to break my fast with the princess Margaret."

"Och, nay, m'lady," the girl said, twinkling. "Ye've sand on them boots, and your hair's in such a tangle, it looks as if demons ha' been dancing through it."

Isobel had not spared a thought for her hair. If it was in a tangle, it was partly because she had not bothered to do anything more than to smooth the thick plaits with her fingers before going outside. The plaits themselves had loosened in the stiff breeze, however, and she could not doubt Ada's evaluation. No wonder Cristina had given her such a look.

Ada soon joined her in her bedchamber, bringing sliced ham as well as the bread and ale, and quickly made her presentable while Isobel ate.

"The hall be full o' men now," Ada confided. "They do say they willna be staying, though," she added with a sigh of disappointment.

Isobel realized that she shared Ada's regret and tried to tell herself that it was only because she found Sir Hugo amusing and wanted to know him better. That thought, however, led only to remembering that she would have little opportunity to enjoy socializing with young men in the future, because she would be ruined and therefore unable to take part in all the social events she had enjoyed in the past.

Although she told herself that it would not matter in the least, that such events were unimportant, and that she would enjoy the solitude, those arguments were less convincing than they had been before that fate loomed so largely before her.

"Be Sir Michael truly a prince, then?" Ada asked.

"He is not," Isobel said.

"But I heard that his brother be one, and if one brother be a prince, be they not all princes?"

"You should not be gossiping about the laird's guests," Isobel said sternly. "In any event, even his brother is not a prince yet."

"Aye, sure, but when he does become one, will not—?"

"Enough, Ada. That will do."

She did not want to talk of Michael or the man about to become Prince of Orkney, but she wished that she had paid more heed when Hector and Lachlan, and even their father, Ian Dubh Maclean, had discussed the ceremonies that would soon take place in the far north. She had cared only that they would see a Scotsman who had become a Norse prince, not about more trivial details. And she wished now, more than she had thought she would, that she would see that ceremony.

Since she had already decided that she would not rejoin the others, she was not as happy as she might otherwise have been when her sister entered the room a few minutes after Ada had left it. It occurred then to Isobel that she might have been wiser to seek her solitude elsewhere.

"Good morning, love," Cristina said, moving to embrace her. "I would have come to you last night, but Hector said he was sure you wanted time to think."

"His way of saying he wanted me to have time to think," Isobel said.

"Aye, but I did want to talk with you, and I was certain from the way you slipped away just now that you would not return. I was right, was I not?"

"Aye," Isobel admitted. "I realized I must look a fright, and then once I was away …" She spread her hands. "I hope you do not mean to try to persuade me to marry him."

"No, of course not," Cristina said, moving to gaze out the narrow window overlooking the courtyard.

"Good," Isobel said. "Because I have not changed my mind."

"Have you not, dearling? Are you perfectly certain that you could not be happy as his wife? They say the St. Clair family is enormously wealthy, you know."

"Are they? Then doubtless that is one of the reasons his cousin thinks Hector wants me to marry Michael," Isobel said with a sigh. "Sir Hugo said he could think of reasons other than to prevent my ruination."

"Did he?" Cristina sighed. "But the fact that Sir Michael could make you more comfortable than most men could is hardly a bad thing."

"Well, I don't think Michael has so much," Isobel said. "He does not look like a rich man, or act like one. Moreover, I should think all the money belongs to his brother. He is to be a prince, after all, and princes should be wealthy."

"Mairi says the entire family lives more royally than her mother's family does," Cristina said. "The St. Clairs have at least three castles, she said. A liaison like that would benefit more than just you, Isobel. You might think about Adela, Sorcha, and Sidony. Just imagine what such a connection could mean to them."

"Let one of them marry Michael then," Isobel said tartly.

When Cristina gave her a look, she said with a sigh, "I ought not to have said that, but I'm not going to sacrifice myself, for I am not noble, Cristina, nor do I want to be. I was afraid of this, although I did not know that wealth entered into it."

"What do you mean?"

"I expect that everyone, not just Hector, you, and Aunt Euphemia, but also Mairi, Lachlan, her grace the princess Margaret, and doubtless even Ian Dubh, will try to talk me into marrying that man. Not to mention our father," she added, as she realized what Macleod's likely reaction would be to learning that a man of wealth was willing to marry her. "Faith, I'll have to enter a nunnery to find any peace."

"I'll be happy to leave you to your peace," Cristina said, walking to the doorway. She turned as she reached it, adding, "But you should know that we care about you, Isobel, all of us. If we express our concern about your future, you should know that is but one of the consequences awaiting you if you continue in this stubborn refusal to understand the life that you are creating for yourself."

When she had gone, shutting the door with a snap behind her, Isobel stared at that door for a few moments before following. The last thing she wanted was to spend the day entertaining a string of well-intentioned advisers. Only to Cristina did she dare speak her mind freely. To the others she would have to be more respectful, and she knew she could not endure many such conversations before erupting.

Accordingly, with the intention of resuming her interrupted walk, she avoided the great hall by taking the service stairway that led to the kitchens, only to stop on the landing above them when she heard voices below and realized that Michael was talking with his cousin.

Although she could not see them, their voices floated clearly up to her through the narrow, spiral stairwell.

She turned swiftly, thinking they must be on their way up, but Sir Hugo's next words stopped her with her right foot on one step, her left on the step below.

"So you've told the lass naught of your quest, have you?"

Isobel could not have stirred another step then if her life had depended on it. Good manners were one thing, overriding curiosity quite another.