Chapter 10

A bruptly recalling that her father had arranged Mag’s marriage to Andrena just as Murie had suggested he might urge Ian’s to her, Lina fought to recover her composure. Remembering the previous evening on the stairs was bad enough.

His kisses had burned into her hand, because she could still feel the warm pressure of his lips on it everywhere they had touched it. She knew that he saw her resistance as just another challenge to conquer. Moreover, he was a knight of the realm. His primary duty was to his King, so he would have little time for a family.

Galbraith’s announcing from the archway that the boats were at the wharf and their baggage loaded helped her recover her dignity.

“We have a thick, low mist to conceal your trip across the water,” he added. “But ye’ll likely find yourselves above it by the time ye’re halfway up Glen Luss.”

Lina hastily swallowed the last morsel of her bread and stood when her mother and Lady Margaret did.

Ian was talking with Galbraith by then, and she overheard the laird say, “Hector packed food for the day, and Peter Wylie, your own man, and Lady Aubrey’s Tibby will be with ye to serve it. I sent most of your baggage across earlier so the men could load the garrons. Your cloaks await ye in the entry hall.”

Despite Galbraith’s efficiency, the usual delays for last-minute needs occurred. An hour later, though, their party was on the west-loch shore, mounted and bidding farewell to Lippin Geordie, his kinsmen, Sir Alex, and his men.

“Tell my father and the others I’ll return as soon as I can,” she heard Ian tell Sir Alex. “Urge them to discuss any plans they have devised. I don’t want to return and find that every man-jack of them still has a pet plan he’s sticking to against any other. Sort out the impossible from the perhaps before then if you can.”

“I’ll do my best,” Sir Alex promised, waving as he and his men rode away.

Lina watched them go, then turned back to see that the other four ladies had paired off—Lady Aubrey with Lady Margaret and Murie with Lizzie.

Tibby was well behind them, riding with her brother, Peter.

As Lina urged her horse in behind Lizzie and Muriella, she could barely discern the dark shape of Inch Galbraith through the fog to her right. The nearby water was dark and eerily still. Mist clung to shrubbery and dripped from the trees.

She heard Ian directing the captain of his tail and three others to lead the way and to ask Peter Wylie to guide them if it became necessary later. Then he told Rob MacAulay to take charge of his other four men and Hak.

As the leaders headed northward on the shore path and Lina urged her mount to follow them, she heard Ian’s voice again, behind her: “Ye’ll follow us, Rob, so tell the lads to keep their eyes and ears open, especially to the rear.”

“As much as this fog permits, aye,” Rob replied.

For a time after they left the clachan, the only sounds she heard were the soft thuds of horses’ hooves and the murmuring voices of Lizzie and Muriella.

Lina was sorry that the mist cloaked the larger, forested islands nearby and hid the magnificent snow-capped peak of Ben Lomond in the northeastern distance. The men behind her were too far back for her to pay them heed.

She became aware of Sir Ian’s approach before she detected the more rapid pace of his horse above the slower hoofbeats of the others behind them. Something in the air still changed noticeably whenever he came near her.

The closer he got, the more aware of him she grew. Determined to conceal how easily he affected her, she gazed—she hoped musingly—into the mist to her right and deftly eased her mount that way so he could pass by her easily. She assumed that he would ride on to take charge at the head of their party.

Instead, he drew in beside her and said more loudly than she thought necessary, “I was glad to see you breaking your fast at the high table, my lady. The way you ran up those stairs yestereve, I feared you might have injured yourself.”

Only too aware of younger, eagerly listening ears just ahead and the doubtless equally interested ones of her mother and Lady Margaret beyond them, Lina gave him a look and said bluntly, “I would thank you to talk sensibly, sir.”

“Would you?” he asked with that mischievous gleam in his eyes. “In troth, lass, I have seen little of your gratitude. Of late, I meet only resistant disapproval.”

“Prithee, sir,” she murmured, “I ken fine that you are teasing. But you must know that you’ve said enough to land me in the suds. If that was your intent—”

“Nay, it was not,” he said in a lower tone, slowing his mount. “I want to talk with you, so let us let give those ahead of us more space. We’ll meet with no danger here, because Galbraith has men keeping watch over all of this area. Forbye, we will soon be riding up the Glen Luss track. And if your father does not have as many watchers there as Galbraith does, I shall own myself astonished.”

“I do not know as much about my father’s practices as Andrena does,” Lina confessed. “She rambles all over, whilst I spend much of my time inside.”

“Tell me more about yourself,” he said. “How do you spend your days?”

Willingly, she described her weaving and her fascination with plants and potions. He was an able listener. That he showed interest in all she said was an unexpected and heady experience. She had never known another man to do that. Magnus had thanked her sincerely for making him a tunic and shirt and weaving him a new plaid. But Ian’s interest in her abilities and pastimes was different, and most attractive.

So engrossed were they in their conversation that she was amazed to realize that they had left the loch path and started up the Glen Luss trail. The steep banks on either side were thick with trees turned ghostly in the mist.

Ian enjoyed watching Lina while she talked. It did not matter what subject she chose, her expressive face revealed more of her thoughts and feelings than her words did. He realized that he had misjudged her when her sister Andrena was with her. Dree was a stunning beauty and so animated that she commanded notice in any room. By contrast, Lina had been the quiet, dependable, capable sister, not to mention the one who so frequently disapproved of him.

Now, as she described her days, he found her fascinating, although he could not have said why. Perhaps he was seeing how lovely she was in a different, more comfortable, quieter way. Or perhaps it was only that he noticed how clear her eyes were, how deeply into them a man could look, and how kissable her lips were, especially that plumper, lower one.

They talked of many things as they rode. It seemed no time at all before they were above the mist with blue sky and drifting clouds overhead. Behind them in the distance rose Ben Lomond, spectacular and still wearing its snowy cap.

Everything ahead and behind seemed peaceful. There were fewer trees now.

Lina had fallen silent. Her attention had shifted to the precipitous crags above.

Feeling the old, irresistible urge to see if he could ruffle her, he said, “It occurs to me, lass, that I saved you from a much worse fate than I knew by rescuing you from Dumbarton and from Dougal. He would have made you a terrible husband.”

“No worse than most, I expect,” she said, still eyeing the crags.

“Nonsense, even I would make a better husband than Dougal, had I any wish yet to marry. You might at least admit that much.”

She stiffened, thrusting her plump bosom out enticingly. “I have no desire to marry Dougal, as you ken fine,” she said. “Nor do I want to marry you. You are both, albeit in different ways, equally objectionable to me as husbands.”

“Now I am stung,” he declared, affecting great indignation. “You have made your disapproval of me clear since you were eight years old. But, other than a too-frequent accusation of recklessness, which I dispute, what fault do you find in me?”

So sorely tempted was Lina to list his faults for him that she had to bite her tongue to keep the words from flying off it. Everyone had faults. She certainly did. Ian himself doubtless thought her too critical, too disapproving. He was just testing her, and she would not lower her dignity by rising to such obvious bait.

He raised his chin, jutting it as if he were still indignant. But she saw his old, boyish look of speculation, too, as if to judge whether he had irked her or not. “Do you think I cannot take criticism?” he demanded. “I thought you knew my father.”

“Your father loves you as much as your lady mother does,” she said confidently. “He is filled with pride in your accomplishments. You know he is.”

“That does not stop him from verbally flaying me when we disagree.”

“Nor should it.”

“You don’t even like me,” he said. “So what stops the words I see dancing on your tongue? Art being cowardly again, as you were last night?”

“I was not cowardly,” she retorted. Grimacing but incurably honest, she said, “If you must know, I was gey astonished at myself then for doing what I did. Faith, but your teasing is one of your greatest faults, sir. Not as great as your recklessness, though, because…” She paused, knowing she had already said too much.

“Don’t stop there. What else is wrong with me?”

Unable to resist a blatant invitation, she said, “Aye, then, you are not merely reckless but dangerously so, because you don’t think things through before you act. I ken fine what disasters can result from such lack of thought, because Andrena has the same fault. Although I should not say so to you,” she added conscientiously.

“Just as you would not reveal your opinion of me to her, I expect.”

She bit her lower lip.

“Aha,” he said. “So you have already shared that opinion with her.”

Feeling guilty but doubting that she had true cause, she said, “I did say to her that a knight should never tell lies. That is true. And you did tell lies. You do!”

“Doubtless, you refer to the journey that Mag and Dree took with me a few months ago on my galley, when Dougal MacPharlain stopped us on the loch.”

“You told him that Dree was your sister Alvia and soon to be betrothed. So you lied not only about Dree but about Alvie, as well. A gey dangerous course, sir.”

“I view it as being creative under pressure. I had a greater necessity at the time to avoid danger, lass. Do you not recall what Dougal would have done to Mag had he caught him then? Since Mag was in plain sight, Dougal would likely have seen him, had his gaze not been fixed on Dree the whole time.”

Swallowing hard, as memory of that fact rushed back, she said, “I do recall that, aye. And I’ll admit it had slipped my mind. Likely, I thought of the occasion when I mentioned lying, only because that’s also when Mag threw you in the loch.”

“But you must see now that I was not as much at fault as you had thought.”

Dignity required that she simply nod and change the subject. Something deeper within her rebelled at such a tame course, though, and the challenging, expectant way Ian watched her made speaking the brutal truth to him more palatable. Accordingly, she said, “You have many other faults.”

Before he could protest, she went on, “I have seen how quick and hot your temper can be. Also, you take a sadly careless attitude toward rules, any rules. In fact, you seem to think you can break them at will and suffer no pains for it, strict father or none. Even when Colquhoun is with you as he was at Dumbarton, you take matters into your own hands whenever it suits you, whether it is wise or not.”

“Sakes, lass, you are glad enough to be here now rather than there.”

“I am, aye. But surely other courses of action existed that did not include casting your father’s needs to the winds. Treating for our release cannot have been the sole purpose for his meeting with James Mòr. Did he not also hope to persuade him eventually to release the royal burgh, castle, and harbor of Dumbarton?”

Annoyed with himself for raising the subject, Ian said, “Aye, he did hope to do that in time. However, his only goal yesterday was to free you and Lizzie. He thought he could do it by talking, but I knew James Mòr would not let you go.”

“Had you given your father time to apply to his better nature—”

“James Mòr hasn’t got a better nature.”

“Aye, sure, he does,” she insisted. “Everyone has a conscience, sir. If one—”

Feeling impatience stir again, he fought it back, saying, “Lass, you should have this discussion with my father. He would agree with you. I have seen and heard of too much evil in my life not to know that a man can be sick in his soul. Sithee, I told you Dougal wanted to take you and leave Lizzie to whatever fate might befall her in that castle of vipers. I’m telling you now that he meant to do it at once.”

“How can you know that?”

“When I arrived, Gorry said that Dougal had gone down to the harbor. If he did that with so much going on, he went down to make sure his boat would be ready when he was. I’d be surprised if he meant to wait overnight. More likely, he hoped my father would keep James Mòr talking long enough for him to whisk you away.”

“I see,” she said, glancing at Lizzie, who was, Ian saw, chatting away with Muriella, both of them oblivious to his conversation with Lina or anything else.

Turning back to him, Lina said, “We should not talk about that here, sir.”

“Perhaps not,” he said, adding virtuously, “What’s past cannot be mended, lass. So there can be no reason to talk more about my faults, either.”

Lina raised her eyebrows, wondering if he believed that. How could one learn from past mistakes if one did not reconsider actions that had led to them?

“Don’t say it,” he said with a smile. “You’ve nae need to. I resist reflecting on the past, because my actions rarely look as brilliant afterward as they did at the time. They never do when the reflection hits me from my father’s perspective.”

She chuckled. “I think you fib about the dimming of your brilliance in your own mind, sir. But the rest is true, as I know for myself. Sithee, if Mam heard what you said to me earlier, I’ll soon hear her views about young ladies who linger with gentlemen on stairways after they’ve been ordered off to bed.”

His lips twitched. When he bit hard on the lower one, the echo of her own words returned, and the unintended image they had created enflamed her cheeks.

“You know that I meant after I had been ordered to bed,” she muttered.

He grinned. “Do I?”

She shook her head at him and fell silent, hoping he would stop teasing long enough for her to recover her equanimity.

Watching her blushes deepen, Ian decided that it was as well that Rob rode some distance behind them with the lads. The thought made him think again, ruefully. He would not have teased her in such a way had Rob been near enough to hear him.

Just thinking of Rob served to remind Ian that he did have a conscience. He had wanted to ruffle Lina’s dignity ever since he had seen that she could retain it even as a captive in Dumbarton Castle. But now that he could congratulate himself that he had, somehow satisfaction eluded him.

They had left the forest behind for granite slopes. The crags loomed nearer.

With little if any thought for his motives, Ian exerted himself to coax Lina into chuckling again if not laughing out loud. He got his first smile by describing an amusing incident that had occurred at his sister Susanna’s wedding.

When he concluded his tale by describing his good-brother’s head awash in punch that Susanna had flung at him, Lina eyed him thoughtfully and said, “Susanna and Birdie are happy in their marriages, are they not?”

“Aye, sure. Why should they not be?”

“I just wondered because you said earlier that you had no wish to marry.”

“I do want to someday,” he said. “At present, though, I like my life as a knight of the realm. Sakes, I’m too busy with my duties to his grace to think of marrying yet, and thanks to my brothers, the Colquhoun succession is safe enough.”

“That would be the most important thing, aye,” she said, watching him.

Since he had not spared the Colquhoun succession much thought, he knew that it was not as important to him as his other duties. He had simply thought that Lina might wonder about it because her father had for so long fixed his attention on securing his own succession.

He had not wanted her to imagine that he was unfeeling toward his family. Now, however, he felt not only as if she had caught him in another lie but as if she had reminded him that his father did care about the Colquhoun succession.

Colquhoun also expected him to be the one who secured it.

Searching for a change of subject, Ian saw that they were nearing the crest of the ridge between Loch Lomond and Andrew Dubh’s sanctuary.

A rattle of stones some distance ahead near the top of the talus-and-scree-filled hillside to his right diverted his attention. His breath caught at the sight of a magnificent stag, poised majestically, perfectly still, staring right at him.

The beast was awe-inspiring, fourteen points at least to its antlers.

The others had seen it, too. They drew rein to watch.

The stag looked down at them, silent, unmoving.

“How splendid he is,” Lina murmured softly.

Ian nodded. “Superb. I have a sudden yearning to go deer hunting.”

A hastily stifled gurgle of laughter made him glance at her. “What?”

She was still smiling, looking toward the stag. “You sounded so sure of yourself, that’s all,” she said. “By the look of that chappie and his impressive antlers, he has outsmarted any number of hunters as cocksure as you are.”

So she thought he was cocksure, did she? He looked back and saw that the stag had vanished. “Which way did he go?”

“North,” she said. Pointing, she added, “Through that dip yonder.”

“We should stop soon to eat our midday meal,” he said, still staring at the empty hillside.

Lina reached out and touched his arm, giving him an odd start. Looking at her, he noted first that her eyes looked blue, rather than their usual gray, as if they reflected the color of the sky. And although her expression remained calm, he felt definite warmth emanating from her before she said quietly, “I know that you care deeply about many things, sir, even if you do not like to talk about them. Your family and clan are but two of them. I should not have spoken as I did before.”

Seeing the stag had put their earlier exchange out of his mind. But the feelings she had evoked with her scornful comment rushed back. Did she know that she had made him recall the duty he owed to Clan Colquhoun and his father?

He had heard many rumors about the MacFarlan sisters. And he knew that Andrena could sense more things about a person than most people could. But this with Lina was different. Not until she had blinked and looked away did he feel able to speak again… if he could just think of something to say.

Watching him, Lina reflected on how easily he revealed the boyish side of his nature. While charming, it also exposed vulnerability, and at times she sensed a kind of fear in him. She told herself she was being presumptuous, that knights of the realm, especially Ian, feared nothing. Things that terrified most people were but challenges to him. Yet, fear or something akin to it lurked deep within him.

They stopped shortly afterward to eat. When they rode on again, they went single file, wending their way up the east side of the ridge to the narrow pass. Peter Wylie led the way. Ian and the three men who had led before followed him.

Before long, the path narrowed considerably, making the footing more treacherous for the horses. Lady Aubrey reined in and declared that the women would dismount and lead theirs. Ian sent Peter and two others to help them.

Lina dismounted with Ian watching her, but then he shifted his gaze to Lady Margaret just ahead of her, sitting determinedly on her large, rawboned horse.

Ian’s gaze shifted again, this time to a point behind Lina, to Rob MacAulay.

Without a word exchanged between them, Rob dismounted, handed his reins to one of the other men, and strode past Lina to Lady Margaret.

Smiling at her, Rob said, “I ken fine that you can manage any beast, my lady. But if you will allow—”

“Indeed, I can, sir,” she interjected in a firm, haughty tone. “Forbye, this beast is mine own. I do not require any man to look after me, I promise you.”

“I ken that fine, madam,” Rob replied equably. “I would count it a great honor, though, if you would permit me to walk beside you for a time. I believe you knew my grandmother MacAulay, did you not, my lady?”

“I did.”

“I know little about her. But my da tells me she was kind and generous.”

“I suppose she was,” Lady Margaret agreed.

Then, to Lina’s surprise—and doubtless that of anyone else who had seen her rise in the midst of a conversation, brusquely excuse herself, and abandon a room without further ceremony—she chatted amiably with Rob MacAulay right up through the pass and down the precipitous west side of the ridge.

When they had passed the worst parts, Peter and one of Ian’s men helped the other women remount, and Ian rode past to see if anyone needed additional help.

Rob told Lady Margaret then he ought to make sure all was well with the men behind them. She graciously excused him, and he rode back to them with Ian.

“Did you see that?” Muriella demanded some minutes later, having changed places to ride beside Lina as soon as the trail widened enough to accommodate pairs again. “Why, she talked to him like a normal person.”

Lady Margaret having rejoined Lady Aubrey, the two rode just ahead.

“Keep your voice down, Murie,” Lina murmured.

The nearby air seemed to take on energy of its own just before Ian said from right behind them, “Aye, you ill-contrived bairn. Show some discretion.”

Turning, Murie made a face at him but lowered her voice. “I’ve never heard her speak so kindly before. She does not talk much at all about others, come to that. Although she does sniff when one mentions certain family names.”

“Then do not mention them,” Ian said.

“Was Rob MacAulay’s grandmother a great friend of hers?” Lina asked him.

“Sakes, lass, I don’t know. I didn’t know Rob had a grandmother.”

Murie laughed. “That’s daft. Everyone has a grandmother. Two, in fact.”

Ian laughed then but warned her again to mind her tongue.

Lina wondered if he still worried about Tùr Meiloach’s ability to protect its own. She believed the tales were mostly products of her father’s fertile imagination but saw no reason to explain that to Ian. He would likely disbelieve her.

Andrew’s ability to plant seeds of stories that had grown to full-blown legends had protected them. As for other events that had contributed to those legends and were not mythical, she said naught of them, either.

She realized that Ian was watching her and that Murie was watching him.

Abruptly and appraisingly, Murie shifted her gaze to Lina.

Lina was doing it again, Ian decided.

Muriella cleared her throat. When he looked at her, she grinned as knowingly as ever Andrena had. What was it about the MacFarlan women, he wondered, that produced such notions in him? He’d be wiser to stay with his men.

He was seeking some other place to fix his gaze when it collided with Rob’s. Excusing himself, he slowed his horse and motioned for Rob to join him.

When he did, Ian said, “What’s amiss?”

“Nowt,” Rob said. “Was just wondering the same about you.”

“Aye, well, that’s nowt, too,” Ian said. “Let’s ride on ahead for a time. This trail through the woods is a good one. We’ll let the horses stretch their legs.”

Accordingly, they set their mounts to a gentle lope until they had passed the forward party. Slowing then, they continued to ride silently until Ian began to feel as if the very leaves of the trees and shrubbery watched them.

“What do you know about this place?” he asked abruptly.

Rob shrugged. “Pharlain wants to own it. Andrew Dubh wants to keep it. He also wants to win back the ancient MacFarlan lands of Arrochar.”

“Do you think he can?”

Another shrug.

Knowing Rob well, Ian waited.

Rob glanced at him. “I do not like Pharlain, and Andrew’s a good man.”

Ian nodded. “Just what I think myself,” he said.

A quarter-hour later, MacFarlan’s tower loomed through the trees ahead. Soon afterward, they could see the high wall that surrounded it, and shortly after that, they watched the timber gates open and their host step out to greet them.

Andrew Dubh looked just as he had the last time Ian had seen him. He wore a Highlander’s plain saffron tunic beneath a green-and-golden plaid. And, like most men at that time of year, he was barefoot. His dark brown hair, free of gray, hung loose to his shoulders. His dark eyes lit with pleasure at the sight of his family.

Despite his nearly fifty years of life, Andrew looked fit and strong.

Recognizing Ian, he nodded at him.

“You’ll remember Rob MacAulay, I think, sir,” Ian said.

“Aye, sure, I do. How fares your father, lad?”

“He is well, sir, thank you,” Rob said.

“Well, dinna be dawdling here, ye two. Ye’re welcome inside. Your lads can camp in the woods if they prefer it, without fearing for their lives.” Smiling then, he waved them through the gates and strode to meet his wife and daughters.

They were no sooner all inside with the gates shut behind them and heavily barred, however, than a sentry on the lochside wall walk shouted, “Galley below, laird! They’ve flung anchors out, and they be flying Pharlain’s banner!”

Lina dismounted as Andrew acknowledged the warning. He hugged her, saying, “I’m glad ye’re home safe, lass. Ye, too, my lady,” he said to his wife, who deftly caught hold of her horse’s mane and dismounted. “And ye, Murie-lass,” he added. Take Lizzie on in wi’ ye, and tell Malcolm she’ll be staying for a time.”

His lack of surprise at seeing Lizzie told Lina that he had heard from one of his watchers that she was with them.

He turned then to Lady Margaret and said with a polite nod, “Ye’re welcome, too, m’lady, for as long as ye like. Ye dinna seem to have aged a month since last I saw ye, though it must be a score o’ years or more.”

She gave him a wary smile but let him help her dismount.

Lady Aubrey said, “The news that Lina and the Galbraith ladies are here must not go beyond our wall, sir. James Mòr will be searching for Lina and Lizzie.”

Andrew looked at Ian, saying, “Might Pharlain ken aught o’ what happened?”

“He may know that they were prisoners, sir, but not much more, unless—”

“Laird, laird!” the sentry shouted. “It be Dougal MacPharlain in yon galley, and he’s a-shouting summat. One o’ our lads be a-coming up the noo!”

“Pluff!” Andrew shouted to the boy at the postern gate, “Let him in when the man above ye tells ye it be safe. Aubrey, take the women inside.”

Lina said to Ian, “You must come, too, sir. Dougal must not see you here—or Master MacAulay, either, since he was at Dumbarton with your father.”

“We’ll join you shortly, my lady,” Ian said. “I want to learn more first. You go along in, though, and don’t fret. We won’t let Dougal see us.”

“Go in now, all of ye,” Andrew said. “ ’Tis best if the lad coming up doesna see ye, either. That road, he canna tell anyone aught that we’d liefer keep from them.”

Despite her distrust of Dougal’s motives, Lina had no choice but to obey.

Pluff was at the gate, and the man on the wall was waving for him to open it.

Ian watched her go inside. But when the skinny, red-headed boy by the gate reached to open it, Andrew said, “Hold there, Pluff.”

The boy stopped with his hand at the latch, and Andrew said to Ian, “Take MacAulay and your lads, and get on inside. If you and he stand by the door, ye’ll hear what the lad has to say, but dinna let him see ye. He may remember ye, and neither Pharlain nor Dougal has ever done this afore.”

Ian, Rob, and Ian’s men went in through the door that the women had used and found themselves in an entryway that was little more than a stair landing. “The hall is on the next level,” Ian said. “You lads go up there, and we’ll join you anon.”

He cracked the door open enough then to hear. The narrow postern gate opened, and a man hurried in, talking. “Laird, Dougal MacPharlain demands speech wi’ ye. He’s promised tae come up alone. Says he has an offer tae make ye.”