Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Michael said firmly, "Not here, Hugo."

"No one in the kitchen is paying us heed, Michael," Hugo said, "and we have privacy here that we might not have if we try to talk in your chamber. 'Tis why you wanted to take this stairway in the first place, is it not? You thought Hector Reaganach or one of the others might pursue us otherwise, to ask more questions. But 'tis only to me that you need give answers now. Whether you choose to talk about her ladyship or not, I want to know why you slipped away to that cave."

Michael sighed, wishing, and not for the first time, that Hugo would remember that although he was a year Michael's senior, he was neither his parent nor his older brother. Hugo had sworn fealty both to him and to Henry, and consistently displayed that loyalty by acting as a boon companion and even as a bodyguard when necessary. But that was all. He held no authority over Michael.

"Hugo," he said, "I know you are angry that I went to the cave without you, but at the time you didn't believe I'd meet danger in going, and nor did I. Moreover, you have shown no interest in my belief that a cave somehow figures in our family secrets, so I decided to let you sleep rather than argue any more with you."

"Aye, sure, you were ever the thoughtful one," Hugo said sardonically. "Did you likewise neglect to warn me that Waldron was in the vicinity?"

"Here at Lochbuie?"

"Don't push me too far, cousin."

"What makes you suspect that Waldron is involved?"

"Who else would be leading men to find you? Lady Adela said a number of men were hunting you. She said two of them called you criminal and accused you of abducting Lady Isobel. She also said they took a whip to you. Is any of that true?"

"It is all true," Michael said. "Nonetheless—"

"Faith, lad, what were you thinking to involve two innocent lasses in this?"

Michael chuckled. "You know nothing about it, cousin, or about Lady Isobel, who involved herself and is the only one concerned in this business. But if you will cease berating me as if you were my father, who was much better at it than you, I'll tell you all about our adventure. First, though, come upstairs with me. I do not like talking in stairwells, and I warrant I can protect you from Hector and his minions."

Hugo reached for him but stopped halfway, cocking his head to listen.

Michael had heard it, too, a soft footstep above. Putting a finger to his lips, he listened for further sound but heard none. "A servant most likely," he murmured. "There are small chambers off the stairs all the way up, which is why I'd prefer to talk in my chamber, so come."

He led the way, and Hugo followed without further protest.

Isobel made her way quickly but as silently as possible up the stairs until she reached her bedchamber. Being as certain as she could be that the two men would not follow her to a level known to be family quarters, she waited until she could be certain they had gone elsewhere before going downstairs again and outside.

Carefully avoiding family members, she slipped out through the postern gate again, telling its guardian that she was going for another walk. "The one I took this morning ended before its time when our visitors arrived."

"Aye, sure, m'lady, but they'll be off again by afternoon tide, they say. It'll be coming on to rain afore long, too," he warned. "Look yonder."

Noting the still-darkening clouds in the west, she nodded, saying with a smile, "I won't melt if it does rain." Then she hurried off down the path, having no wish to linger when it might mean being seen and called back to bid a proper, respectful farewell to their departing guests. Mairi, Lachlan, and Princess Margaret would doubtless be leaving on the afternoon tide, too.

Not that it was necessary to await the tide. Oarsmen could row a galley against its force and often did, but most captains would not begin a long journey by unnecessarily pitting their men's strength against an incoming flow. Hector would not, and neither, apparently, would Michael or Sir Hugo.

With curiosity burning a hole in her mind, she wasted no time communing with the few denizens of a shoreline considerably diminished since her earlier visit. Seawater now covered the mud, leaving only a strip of shingle between breaking waves and the high-water mark. Along this strip, she strode, keeping a wary eye out for more powerful waves as she tried to create order from her scattered thoughts.

The tide would begin turning before the castle folk sat down to their midday meal, and the men would want to be off soon after they dined. But she could not share that meal with Michael and Sir Hugo without attempting to elicit answers from them that she knew they would not give, so it was better that she walk.

Still, she could not go just anywhere on the island. There were rules against that, and she needed to think, which she could do more easily if she did not have to worry about inadvertently wandering beyond sight of the ramparts.

Topping the knoll where she had seen the fat little puffin and his friends, she walked on toward the low western promontory of the bay's mouth. The puffins had gone, but two otters played offshore and gulls wheeled overhead, shrieking. A stiffening breeze blew her from behind, whipping her cloak and skirts around her legs, but although she knew it was blowing the rain-dark clouds closer, she loved the sense it gave her of being at one with the elements.

She told herself she need not spare a thought for what was happening at the castle, that everyone would be glad not to have to concern themselves with her or with the trouble she had stirred. Only when she heard the bell clanging the hour did she stop and turn. Seeing nothing to make her think anyone was searching for her, she was about to turn back when she realized that except for a lad running toward the castle, doubtless fearful of missing his dinner, the pier was empty.

The golden galley awaited its master near the end, bobbing on the waves, and a smaller one that she recognized as Lachlan's bobbed near the landward end.

No one watched either boat.

Apparently, all the men had gone inside to eat, trusting those on the ramparts to keep watch. Even the ramparts looked deserted, although she knew they were not. Lochbuie was always carefully guarded.

She began walking back toward the castle without giving thought to why she did. Not until she glanced up as she walked along the shingle, and saw the lone guardsman pacing his course behind the castle parapet, did the thought form fully in her mind that she wanted a closer look at Michael's ship.

She looked up once, saw no one, and told herself that she need not look again, that she was doing nothing to which anyone could object. No one would mind in the least if she wanted to look more closely at a boat tied to Lochbuie's pier, and no one could be surprised that she might want to examine one that dared to be larger than the one belonging to his grace's Lord High Admiral of the Isles.

Accordingly, she strolled past dozens of oars standing blade-up in the racks down the center of the pier, straight to the golden galley with its banner waving in the breeze. She remembered that Michael had called it the Raven, but she could see its device now, and it was not a bird but a black cross on silver cloth. The thought flitted through her mind that, although the cross was black rather than white, the device was similar to what Matthias had described on the strangers' banner.

She counted fifteen highly-polished oarsmen's benches and realized that with the usual minimum of four men per bench, two to alternate rowing with each oar, Sir Hugo must have come with at least sixty oarsmen, and might have half again that many, since each bench looked as if it could seat six men, maybe even eight. Hebridean galleys normally boasted only thirteen benches and twenty-six oars. Hector rarely required more than fifty-two oarsmen even on long trips, but she knew that his lead galley could carry eighty.

A kittiwake's easily recognizable cry sounded right overhead, startling her, and she glanced at the castle again. The lone guard walked the parapet, but although he had surely seen her, she did not think her presence on the pier would concern him enough to report it. When he rounded the corner, she stepped over the gunwale onto a bench. Moving from bench to bench, she saw that the galley was as tidy as any of Hector's boats. Michael's men clearly knew their business well.

The high bow blocked the breeze, still blowing from the northeast, and the sun's rays were warm. She pushed her cloak off her shoulders to savor the warmth as she sat on the portside foremost bench, which served as one of two forward storage lockers for extra sail canvas, oiled raingear, and other equipment. Leaning against the oak planking of the galley's high bow, she shut her eyes, enjoying the movement of the boat as it rocked on the waves, and the warmth on her cheeks and eyelids.

Not until approaching voices and a steady thunder of footsteps on the pier startled her did she realize that her restless night after the exhausting previous day had tired her so that, in the seductive warmth, she had fallen into a doze. Recognizing Mairi's voice, and Lachlan's, she felt momentary panic and remembered Mairi's insistence on calling Michael her Michael. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain to either Mairi or Lachlan what she was doing on Michael's boat.

The thudding footsteps and murmur of men's voices told her that Lachlan's oarsmen accompanied them. They were going home to Duart Castle.

Mairi and Lachlan had no cause to walk any farther once they reached their galley, especially if Princess Margaret was with them, as surely she must be. But if the midday meal had ended, the others would soon be coming, too—if, indeed, Michael's men were not right behind Lachlan's.

Hoping that was not the case but determined to avoid teasing questions or worse if Lachlan took it upon himself to scold her for making free with another man's boat, she looked for somewhere to conceal herself. The only places showing the least promise were the storage locker on which she sat and its mate opposite.

Quickly opening the first, she saw that it would not do, for it was top-full with brass rowlocks and other heavy items. The second, however, held rolled canvas and was otherwise nearly empty, leaving plenty of room for her. Without another thought, she stepped in, curled up, and eased the lid shut.

Strolling behind the Lord High Admiral and his lady, Michael watched the far shoreline in hope of catching a glimpse of the lass. When she had not appeared at dinner, Hector Reaganach had sent a servant to look for her. But learning that she had gone outside the wall again to walk on the shore, he had merely nodded to the gillie who relayed that information, and had gone on eating his meal.

Michael admired the man's restraint. The lass had tested it a good deal since their unexpected arrival at Lochbuie, and he had rarely met a man of power who was able to withstand for long such blatant flouting of his wishes.

Bidding one's guests farewell when they departed was not merely a duty but a strict obligation of courtesy. Doubtless Isobel would face rebuke, if not stern reprimand, for her bad manners. That thought stirred mixed emotions.

On the one hand, he hoped Hector gave her all she deserved. On the other, he hoped he would not be too harsh. And whatever Hector did, Michael hoped he would change his mind about allowing her to attend Henry's ceremony.

Pausing only to bid the princess Margaret, Lachlan Lubanach, and his lady farewell and to see them aboard their boat, he left his host and hostess to finish their own farewells and returned to his musing as he moved on to board the Raven. He knew he was indulging in false hope by thinking Hector might change his mind. If the lass were to go, she would face not only scandal but the Countess of Strathearn, and Michael could not wish his mother's displeasure on anyone.

It struck him now that he, too, would face that displeasure if the scandal of his having spent a night alone with Isobel should spread to Orkney or Caithness, and he wondered if it had occurred to Isobel that if such a scandal did erupt, he would figure in it as the villain. He doubted that even that knowledge would change her mind about marrying him, however, and he found himself wondering, as Hugo took charge of the men, if anything could.

Although he had told himself it did not matter one way or the other—that he owed her his protection, but the decision to marry or not was hers to make—he had not realized how disappointed he would be at her refusal. Still, it was for the best, because marriage to him would make them both more vulnerable to Waldron's endless scheming, and he did not want her to become a pawn in that game.

His oarsmen boarded swiftly and took to their oars. Well fed if not rested, they would fare well enough until they put in somewhere for the night where they could hunt and fish for their supper. He had no reason to keep them at their stations through the night, nor did he want to. They could easily make Skye by dusk and could perhaps seek hospitality from Gowrie of Kyle Rhea.

He said as much to Hugo, who nodded and moved aft to inform Caird, the helmsman. Still thinking of Isobel, gazing at the far shore, hoping to spy her walking there, Michael noted with half an eye that the two men in the stern conversed longer than the simple relaying of his order would require.

Hugo explained when he returned, saying, "It occurred to me that if Waldron was able to commandeer a boat at Glenelg, he might also have acquired a galley or longboat. If he did, he will have managed by now to learn your direction."

Michael nodded, knowing it was pointless to mention that Gowrie had promised his men's discretion. If Waldron wanted information and knew where to come by it, he would have it. That his men had seen them crossing to Skye had surely provided him with sufficient information to lead him to the rest.

"What do you and Caird suggest?" he asked.

"That we head west rather than returning as we came through the Sound of Mull. We can sail near the coast of Ireland and miss anyone lying in wait for us at the west end of the Sound."

Michael nodded again and signaled his assent to the helmsman before taking his seat on the larboard storage locker.

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Hugo asked.

"Not much," Michael admitted. He had spent most of the night with images dancing through his head of Isobel lying next to him as she had the night before, kissing him as she had on the boat. His back still gave him a good deal of pain, too.

"I suspected as much," Hugo said. To an oarsman approaching with two satchels containing their extra clothing, he said, "Leave those. I think Sir Michael may want to use one as a pillow before long, and I may use the other one, myself."

"Aye, sir," the man said, setting them down and moving to take his station.

Waiting until their host and hostess had bade farewell to their other guests, and for Lachlan Lubanach's galley to pull away from the pier, Michael stood on the nearside locker to shake hands again with Hector, then moved aside for Hugo to do the same. With farewells over and the laird and his lady turning toward the castle, he sat down again on the offside locker.

The Raven headed for open water beyond the mouth of the bay.

Isobel scarcely dared to breathe. She hated the darkness and the confining space, but she was more frightened now of revealing her presence. She thought she could handle Michael easily enough, since he seemed consistently willing to submit to her lead. And perhaps she could manage Sir Hugo, who accepted Michael's authority to some degree, at least, and was after all only another flirtatious male such as those she was forever meeting at court and elsewhere. But managing Hector would be another matter, for if he should learn that she had left Lochbuie concealed in the Raven's storage locker … The thought made her shudder.

They were on open water, because the boat rocked more and she could hear wind in the sail. She had heard them say they would head west, that they thought Waldron might be following them. She could not imagine how he could be, since neither Gowrie nor Mackenzie was likely to lend him a galley and Michael had not suggested that Waldron knew anyone else in Kintail or Glenelg. Macleod certainly would not give him one.

The men continued to talk, but to her disappointment, they did not speak again of Michael's so-called quest or other secrets. Their comments grew briefer until only rhythmic sounds of the helmsman's gong, and slapping, splashing oars filled her ears.

Sometime later she startled awake to thumping movement and a curse from Hugo. "Rain, Michael! It's going to pour in a minute. Let's have that canvas out."

Even before Isobel had digested his words, the lid of her storage locker flew open and spatters of rain struck her cheek. She shut her eyes.

Ignoring the spattering rain, Michael stared at her in shock, then glanced at Hugo in an attempt to suppress the jolt of fury that threatened to overcome him.

The twinkle in Hugo's eyes did not help, and clearly sensing as much, he quickly looked over his shoulder, but Michael knew the oarsmen were pulling hard, their backs to them, unaware that anything was amiss. The rain would not disturb the men or chill them. Their minds and bodies concerned themselves solely with rowing, and so it would be until the helmsman issued new orders.

"Tell Caird to put in to shore," Michael snapped, wishing Hugo would turn that smirking look back toward him for just one little moment.

But Hugo had better sense. He took a step forward, ignoring the increasing downpour as he shouted the command to the helmsman.

Without further ado, Michael reached down and grabbed Isobel by an arm, hauling her out of the locker and onto her feet.

She straightened her shoulders, giving him look for look.

"I can explain," she said with a calm that he was certain she had to force.

"Not one word," he snapped. Putting his face close to hers, he added grimly, "I have much to say to you, my lass, but you may wait until we have privacy to hear it."

Isobel stared at Michael in dismay, putting her hood up against the rain and drawing her cloak more closely about her. She wished that she could recover her dignity as easily, but that was impossible, because when a man jerked a woman unceremoniously from his storage locker, she could scarcely put her chin in the air and insist that she had belonged there.

At least Michael had stopped glowering, had shifted that heart-poundingly dangerous, ice-filled gaze away from her, but he was undeniably furious, and she had not expected fury from him. Surprise, perhaps, even dismay—and worry, too, that Hector Reaganach might blame him for what she had done.

Michael did, after all, seem to make a habit of expecting the worst.

She had expected to have to explain that Hector would correctly blame her for the incident, and she had thought Michael's generally mild nature would let him accept her word about that. But now his anger swirled ominously around her, overpowering her senses and frightening her. She dared not move or speak, lest the result be something even worse.

"There," Michael said, pointing. "That beach yonder will do, Hugo."

Without looking at Hugo, Isobel knew he made some gesture of protest, because Michael's expression hardened more, sending a shiver up from the base of her spine and reminding her of the look he had shot her at the cave that first day. She did not like the idea of beaching the galley, but she knew that if they did not run too far onto the sand, the oarsmen could easily pull the boat off again.

Hugo gave the command, and several of the men glanced back, clearly sensing something amiss. Although more than one mouth dropped open, no man let his gaze linger.

"You'll want the towboat lowered," Hugo said.

"Just put out a plank," Michael said.

"It's too shallow here to get close enough. You'll get your feet wet."

Michael did not reply. The rain had settled into a steady gray drizzle.

"Do you want me to go ashore with you?" Hugo asked.

"Nay, only the lass."

"Sakes, sir," Isobel exclaimed, unable to keep silent a moment longer, "do you mean to put me ashore and make me walk back to Lochbuie?"

"You'd be well served if I did," he said curtly. "You deserve much more, but I'm not lost to my own responsibility in this business, believe me. Nonetheless, when I'm finished with you, you may wish that I'd thrown you overboard and let you swim back."

He said the last so calmly that another splinter of ice shot up her spine, and she realized that she had badly misjudged him, that she did not know him at all.

The boat ground onto sand and shingle, and without comment, ignoring Isobel's protest that she could easily walk, Michael lifted her and waited impatiently for them to put out the gangplank.

She felt small and defenseless in his arms as he walked down the plank with her but safe, too, which, considering that he was ready to murder her, seemed odd indeed. When the plank ended in knee-deep water, he began striding through it toward shore, and when she opened her mouth to speak, he cut her off, saying curtly, "My temper is on a tight rein, lass. I've had no sleep for two nights, these boots were new a fortnight ago, and I'm nigh to wringing your neck. So hold your damned tongue, or by heaven, I'll let impulse rule my next actions."

Isobel pressed her lips tightly together, but the temptation to tell him exactly what she thought nearly overpowered her. She had long felt pride in her ability to hold her own against anyone, even against Hector the Ferocious, most of the time. But to her surprise, she had no desire to test Michael St. Clair, at least not just now.

He carried her easily and swiftly to the shore, but he did not put her down until he had carried her a short distance into the beech wood above the high-water mark. When he did stand her on her feet, she felt no relief, only profound wariness.

That the men on the galley could no longer see them she thought both a blessing and a strong reason for her growing fear of what Michael meant to do. At least the thick canopy of leaves overhead protected them from the rain.

His hands clamped to her shoulders. "Are you mad?" he demanded. "You want no more to do with me, so what demon possessed you to hide on my boat?"

"I didn't!"

He gave her a shake. "Of all the useless lies you might utter, that is the most foolish. How can you say you did not when I found you hiding in that locker?"

"Please, Michael, let me explain."

"I'm listening," he said grimly, his fingers still gripping her shoulders so hard she knew they would leave bruises.

She swallowed hard, feeling tears well into her eyes. "It wasn't like that. I was just curious. I wasn't trying to hide from you, or even trying to hide on your boat. I wanted to look at it, because I love boats and the Raven is yours, and because it is even bigger than Lachlan's."

He did not speak, and she wondered if it pleased him at least a little bit that she had noticed the greater size of his boat. Men always took pride in their boats.

When his eyes narrowed ominously, she added hastily, "I didn't want Mairi to catch me there, because …"

"Why not?" he demanded when she hesitated. "If you were doing nothing wrong, why fear Lady Mairi?"

She nibbled her lip, recalling that Hector would say she had no business to be on Michael's boat, and that if Hector would say it, Lachlan would say it, and by the look of him, Michael believed the same thing.

She sighed. "I thought you would not mind if I looked at it, but I suppose I was wrong. I do know that Hector would say I should not have got aboard, and—"

"And you feared that Lachlan Lubanach or his lady would say the same."

His voice was gentler, his usual calm apparently restoring itself, and an impulse stirred to tell him that was exactly what she had feared. But even as she opened her mouth to say the words, they froze on her tongue and honesty prevailed.

"I … I did think that about Lachlan," she admitted. "He nearly always does agree with Hector, but if you must know, Mairi—last night—called you my Michael, and I knew she would tease me more if she saw me on your boat. I won't deny that I also feared that Lachlan would not approve and that I knew Hector would not. I did think you would not mind, but when I heard them coming, I just wanted to hide, so I did. Then you came aboard, and I could not—"

She broke off, biting her lip, trying to think how to explain those feelings.

"You could not trust my good nature enough, or that welcome you say I would have offered you, simply to tell me you were there," Michael said in a flat tone that made her wish she could deny his assessment. "Instead, you kept perfectly silent until we were well away from Lochbuie and I discovered you myself."

"I didn't think—"

"That much is true, lass. You didn't think," he said bluntly.

"You don't understand."

"That is true, too," he agreed, but his tone turned his agreement into yet another accusation. "I don't know what manner of game you are playing with me," he went on. "But whatever it is, I'd advise you to take greater care. You do not know enough about the business in which you meddle, or about me, to understand the danger, but you soon will if you play me any more such tricks."

"If you would just tell me—"

"Had you agreed to marry me, I would have told you all I could," he said. "But your refusal rendered that step unnecessary. In any event, we are not discussing me or my secrets now. You have already made it clear that your ruination is not of primary concern to you, so we need not consider that either. What did you expect me to do when you did finally emerge from that locker?"

She hesitated, trying to gauge his temper, wondering if his calm had reasserted itself sufficiently to let her speak freely.

He gazed back at her, waiting. His stillness in so isolated a place seemed more formidable than most men's anger, and she hesitated a moment longer.

"When did you mean to show yourself?" he asked in that oddly gentle way.

"I don't know," she said more abruptly than she had intended. "I did not have any idea what to do, if you must know. It is all very well for you to stand there, saying I should have told you I was there, but it did not occur to me. When you and Sir Hugo and all those oarsmen came aboard, I just froze where I was and hoped the earth would swallow me before I had to deal with the consequences."

"Then let me put my question this way," he said, his manner still as calm as if hers had matched it. "What do you expect me to do with you now?"

His hands remained on her shoulders but were no longer bruising her. His demeanor was respectful and calm. Taking courage in hand, she said, "I know you do not want to go all the way back to Lochbuie, sir, so perhaps you may find it more convenient just to take me north with you."

His fingers twitched on her shoulders, but he continued to look directly into her eyes, his gaze searching hers as he said, "Just what do you expect to happen, lass, if we should arrive at Kirkwall together?"

"Surely, Sir Henry would offer me his protection."

"Aye, sure, and why not, although 'tis the bishop's protection you should seek rather than Henry's, since we will all be staying at the bishop's palace. But doubtless, as a man of the cloth, his eminence will be generous, and doubtless, too, my mother will happily offer you her protection, as well."

"Do you think so?" she asked doubtfully.

"No, my dear, exasperating innocent, I do not think anything of the kind. My mother would eat you alive. What I do think is that you have lost your wits. Do you honestly think so little of me that you believe I would do more than I have already done to aid you in your own destruction? No, don't answer that, because I don't want to hear any more nonsense, and I have much more to say to you.

"It is my firm belief," he went on when she bit her lip, "that someone should have taken a stronger hand with you long ago to protect you from yourself. That your father did not do so does not amaze me, because he had eight daughters and no man could prevail against so many. That your foster father did not does surprise me, but it is nonetheless his duty now to try to rectify that omission. How do you think he would respond to finding you at Kirkwall? He'll soon be a guest of my brother himself, you know. Do you expect Henry to protect you from Hector?"

That thought was not one that she wanted to dwell on, nor did she think such a question deserved an answer. Nevertheless, his reproaches were beginning to make her squirm, and she wished he would stop.

"You seem to think that you may just do as you please," he went on in that same conversational tone. "And that is another thing that Hector Reaganach must deal with, because I do not have the right. If I did, you would find yourself across my knee right now, learning a hard lesson. As it is, you will return to Lochbuie."

"But I thought you would help me! You kissed me, so I thought—"

He caught her hard again, and when she looked up in surprise, he captured her mouth with his and kissed her hard, his arms sliding around her shoulders, holding her tight against him as he pressed his lips against hers and thrust his tongue between them into her mouth.

She sighed, put her arms around him, and kissed him back.

Roughly, he caught her by the shoulders again and set her back on her heels. Then, still holding her shoulders, he said sternly, "As you see, you can easily entice me to kiss you, lass, but kisses have nothing to do with the matter at hand."

"But you—"

"Did you think to change my mind with kisses? You won't do it. I do want to help you. Indeed, I have come to care more for you in two days than I thought I could care for any woman in a lifetime, although I swear I do not know why I should. But the fact that I do is what provides me now with a nearly overwhelming urge to beat you until you cry for mercy."

"But, then—"

He held up a hand, silencing her. "I won't make you walk back to Lochbuie, Isobel, but you are going to return and face Hector Reaganach. And because I do care deeply about what happens to you, it is my urgent hope that he will do what I am so fervently longing to do to you now."

"Do you think I hid aboard your boat just so that I could go to Kirkwall?" she demanded, her senses still whirling from both the kiss and his unexpected declaration. "I promise you, I did not. It all happened exactly as I said it did."

"How it happened matters not one whit," he said. "What matters is that you continued to conceal yourself long afterward, rather than do what was right, and thus we both find ourselves in this predicament. It is for that that you deserve punishment, my lass, but you may try your explanation on Hector Reaganach with my goodwill. Mayhap you will find him more understanding."