Angel of Skye Page 10

  My reputation will suffer tenfold, Alec thought, if anyone, including Ambrose, ever discovers that I sat next to a beauty such as this and let her escape without so much as yielding a kiss.

  “You have nothing to say about it?”

  “About what, Fiona?”

  “Your poor reputation.”

  “Until a moment ago, I had no idea that my reputation was even in jeopardy. Now it sounds as if my honor has been called into question. Has it?”

  “It certainly has in my mind.”

  “Fiona, I am truly shocked to think you would feel this way about me,” he complained smilingly. “What have I done to deserve such low opinion?”

  Shifting his position on the bench, Alec moved toward her slightly, taking hold of Fiona’s hand.

  She looked at him with mischief and let him hold her hand in his. “You can be assured that I have no opinion of you whatsoever, high or low. It is merely your reputation that I am concerned about—a reputation, m’lord, which has preceded you.”

  “Wait!” he cried, feigning a deep wound to the chest. “Now you have no opinion whatsoever?”

  “None, m’lord,” she responded innocently. “But seriously, going back to where we started, you have not answered my question.

  “Your question?” He ran his thumb over the silky skin on the back of her hand.

  “Regarding your interest in Malcolm, m’lord.” Fiona shivered at his caress, but still did not withdraw her hand.

  “I like Malcolm,” Alec replied earnestly. “But you are correct. That is not the only reason.”

  She gently withdrew her hand from his grip.

  Alec looked at the young woman whose direct gaze spoke volumes about her affection and concern for her young charge.

  “I do not want Dunvegan forever.”

  “But you are the laird,” she exclaimed, stunned by his comment. “The Stuarts gave these lands to you.”

  “Only because they needed to secure Skye and the Outer Islands. But they belong to the MacLeods and to the other clans that have lived here from the beginning.”

  “So, how does Malcolm play into this?”

  “Malcolm is the rightful heir. He is the future laird.”

  “Malcolm is a child,” Fiona said. “You do not know what happened before.”

  “Then why not tell me,” Alec suggested.

  Fiona started uncomfortably at first. But then, as more of the events of the past flashed in her mind, the more she realized how important it was for this laird to know about Malcolm and his experience with Dunvegan Castle.

  Fiona talked, and as Alec listened, his own revulsion at those first glimpses of Torquil’s dungeon sprang to mind. Upon their arrival, they’d found a tangle of skeletons in the manhole that had been carved deep in the rock beneath the castle’s dungeon. To think that a mere child had been exposed to that made him even more determined to help Malcolm in every way possible.

  “So what if Malcolm is not the kind of leader that is needed?” Fiona concluded. “He has seen brutality, but he has been raised by people who preach gentleness and peace. He’s been raised in a convent. He is smart, do not mistake my words, but he is not a fighter.”

  “Leaders are what Scotland needs for the future, not fighters. And leaders must have much more than a strong arm and a quick sword.” Alec looked at the woman before him. “But don’t shortchange Malcolm. He has spirit, even if Torquil couldn’t see it.”

  “Aye, I know he has spirit, but—”

  “As his teacher does,” he interrupted, placing his hand momentarily over hers.

  Flustered, Fiona lost her train of thought. Even after he removed his great hand, she could feel the imprint scorching her skin. The man had a way of distracting her. Of sweeping her up on some unseen current. Like a rolling ocean wave. Like the wind.

  “I just don’t want to see him hurt. Disappointed,” she continued after a pause. “He obviously likes you and wants to spend time with you. I think that is wonderful. He has never had someone like you to look up to. But do not give him promises that cannot be.”

  “Cannot be?”

  “Aye. I know how easily promises are made and how easily they are broken. I do not want Malcolm become a fool, dining on hope.”

  The warlord’s tone changed abruptly. “You are talking of my word, Fiona. A promise is a promise, and my promise will not be broken or tampered with.”

  Fiona heard the irritation in the warrior’s voice. She had not meant to be offensive. She had not meant to be disrespectful. But she was the only voice that Malcolm had right now. Rather than have Malcolm hurt later, she was more than willing to take the heat from Lord Macpherson now. “But what of your own heir? Are you not making decisions now that might be changed later? Will your future heir be so generous? Are you not giving away things today that you might regret not having tomorrow?”

  Alec felt the tension charge his body. Memories of broken promises still ruled his life. He looked up at the sky above. The stars scowled down upon them.

  When he finally spoke, Fiona saw a face that had hardened, and there was no hint of softness in his voice. “These lands will be Malcolm’s. That is my final word.”

  Fiona watched as the laird stood, ready to take his leave. She had wrought a change in him with just a few careless words. She had questioned his honor. And perhaps unjustly so. As they walked back beneath a cold moon toward the nun’s quarters, she felt a gnawing regret over what she had said...and about the short-lived friendship that seemed to have wilted as quickly as it blossomed.

  It is true; there is much I have to learn about people. So much I do not know, she thought. A knot was forming in Fiona’s throat, and she dared not look up from the path. So much I will never know about Alec Macpherson.

  Chapter 6

  He that is without pain or strife

  And lives a lusty, pleasing life,

  But then with marriage he does mell

  And binds himself to a wicked wife...

  —William Dunbar

  “He Brings the Sorrow to Himself”

  She wanted Alec Macpherson.

  Everyone at court knew Kathryn Gray had set her cap for the heir to the Macpherson lands.

  He was everything she wanted. He was of noble blood. He was handsome. He was charming. He was rich. He had been the favorite hunting companion of King James, and he was now celebrated for his role in saving the life of the new infant king. He had all the finest qualities of the courtly gentleman.

  And, after all, how could he refuse?

  She was of the noblest blood in Scotland. She was beautiful. She had grown up in the courts at Paris and Avignon. She was also rich...but not rich enough. She had power...but not enough. Never enough. Not as much as Alec Macpherson could give her.

  And she was the mistress of seduction.

  The court buzzed with activity when the news of their intended betrothal was made known. They were seen everywhere together, and all the ladies at court pined at the loss of such a dashing and eligible bachelor. But all the gentlemen at court smiled into their cups and exchanged knowing looks. The lady would soon tire of this one. After all, she had tired of all the others.

  And she soon did.

  But there was too much to gain through marriage to this man for her to let him go. She was the model of propriety in his company. But she was infidelity personified when his back was turned. Whenever his back was turned.

  But Alec Macpherson was not long fooled.

  “She is a faithless whore,” Alec muttered, pounding his fist on the table. “And if she is anywhere near Benmore when you go home, Ambrose, throw her and her whole filthy lot out in the moat.”

  A messenger had just come to Dunvegan with word of Kathryn Gray’s visit to Benmore Castle. She had stayed a few days before continuing her journey through Highlands. From all that could be gathered, she was heading for Kildalton Castle and the Western Isles.

  “Well, it is clear she has not yet given up on you, big brother,” Ambr
ose offered tactfully. He knew this to be a dangerous subject for discussion. “Do you think she will come to Skye?”

  “If she does, I will drown her with my own hands.” He’d thought he loved her. He had tried to be what she wanted. But now the only feeling left was disgust.

  It was truly over between them. Her own conduct had nailed that coffin shut. But even before Alec had found out the truth about her, she had made clear to him that the sparkling courts of Europe were the places she wanted to be. She had called the life at Skye barbaric, devoid of culture. She had said she never had any intention of living in a place so far beneath her. Journey through the Highlands? Whom was she trying to fool?

  After he’d discovered her with her latest conquest at Drummond Castle, Alec had wanted nothing more to do with Kathryn. So Lord Gray had tried to intervene on his daughter’s behalf. The betrothal agreement was nearly finalized, and he made sure they knew that the damage in breaking off the relationship at such a late date would be costly and extensive for everyone concerned—especially for Alec. Or so he thought.

  But then the Macphersons—backed by the Campbells and Lord Huntly—had stood together, and the contract had crumbled to dust.

  “Our parents obviously did not abide her company for long,” Ambrose suggested. “I am surprised that she would be so bold as to stop there at all.”

  “Bold?” Alec asked, facing his brother across the table. “She will do anything that she thinks will profit her. I learned a great deal about her once my eyes were opened, and I know she has absolutely no conception of right or wrong.”

  What was it that Fiona had said the night before? About learning from each other? About trust? That beautiful young woman was living in the shelter of a convent. How could she know about life in the real world? Indeed, he had been that naive once. He wished he could even now draw on her idealism. But it seemed to Alec that he was living in another world. Perhaps it was a world that Fiona could not even exist in—a world that included such creatures as Kathryn Gray. Fiona dwelled far above them, he thought, like an angel.

  And yet, etched so clearly in his memory, the recollection of that final confrontation still smoldered within him. After Kathryn’s lover had scrambled out the high window to save his own hide, she had stood there, confronting him, as if nothing were amiss. She told him of her physical desires and how they had nothing to do with their marriage. With their union she would have his name, but she would accept no “chains.” She would be independent, and she would soar free as she pleased.

  “I recommend you do the same,” she said, her voice and her eyes as cold as ice.

  Their coming marriage would be an excellent move—politically—for both families, and she suggested that Alec accept it as such.

  “What do you think she is hoping to gain by this little excursion of hers?” Ambrose asked, breaking in on Alec’s thoughts.

  “Sympathy, perhaps. The hope of gaining allies among the parents and others who know me in the Highlands. She’s very good at playing the pathetic, misunderstood martyr when she wants to.”

  “That would explain her next move to Kildalton,” Ambrose suggested.

  “She’ll be in for a cool reception there, though. With Colin and Celia at Sterling, Lord Hugh Campbell and Agnes will not give her the time of the day.” There was some satisfaction in the thought of Kathryn being treated as she deserved. “But one thing is for sure, the slut is not accustomed to being dumped.”

  That day Alec had walked out, disgusted and shaken by the hollowness of the life she envisioned. A life of deception. But his inner strength had soon burst to the surface. He never looked upon her again.

  “I’ll tell you one thing. Because of her own web of false friends,” Ambrose added, “the outcome of her bad luck made for a noisy affair at court.”

  “Court!” Alec spat with contempt. A place he had no desire ever to return to. “I was blind not seeing her cronies as the worthless parasites they are.”

  “We all make mistakes, Alec,” Ambrose responded. “But look at the bright side. In the end you made some worthless parasites’ lives very miserable.”

  “I just hope that was the end.” Alec paused, standing and looking over the pile of work that awaited him. “I would be happy if I never had to step foot in that court again.”

  “Come, Alec, it is not really the court that is to blame,” Ambrose suggested. “At least there is something to do there—besides work!”

  “Work?” the warlord exploded with a laugh, looking over at the younger man sitting comfortably in the chair. “What do you know about work? You have not yet done a good day’s work in your entire life, you lazy beast. One scar in one battle and you figure your future is secure. When I heard you telling Malcolm how you...”

  “If you are going to slander me,” Ambrose cut in, his face the very picture of the tragically wounded, “I am not going to tell you what I have accomplished this morning.”

  “You mean other than sleeping the morning away and lazing around?” he nearly laughed at the shocked look on the younger warrior’s face. After a pause, Alec sighed with comic gravity. “Very well, at least I know this should not take very long.”

  “I think I may have learned of a way to get the MacDonald clan to work with us.”

  Alec sat up again, his attention riveted on his brother’s now smiling face. Alec had seen that the time was right for Scotland to develop a new industry in the west. News of the riches of the New World had swept through a Europe that was bursting at the seams. But Alec knew that to explore and to develop these new lands, great new ships would be needed.

  After arriving here, the new laird realized Skye offered opportunity for such a venture. The island had timber and pitch for hulls and masts, and stone for ballast. It was well situated on the west coast of Scotland, with a number of ideal inlets and coves to choose from for a shipyard. That was when he had asked Ambrose to join him. The younger Macpherson’s knowledge of ships and shipbuilding was well respected across the land. Ambrose brought the expertise that Alec was in search of.

  The only thing Alec lacked was labor. The MacLeod clan had a tradition of fishing as well as farming, but there were simply not enough available workers.

  Half of Skye, however, was populated with MacDonalds, an old and proud clan that had been subjugated by Torquil and his immediate predecessor. There were many available men, but when Alec had approached their ancient clan chief at Dunscaith Castle on the southern tip of Skye, MacDonald had liked the idea, telling him, though, that his clan would never work with either the MacLeods or their new mainland overlord. The people had lived too many years in fear of them just to come out and get involved in this venture. And even though the chief himself saw good in the new laird’s plans, he knew he would be ineffective in convincing his people. After all, he was no longer seen by the clan as either counselor or leader. So Alec’s efforts had been stymied, for the time being.

  “How do we get the MacDonalds to work with us?” Alec asked, quite interested in Ambrose’s discovery.

  “While I was lazing around this morning, riding up the coast and working with the fishermen, one of them mentioned a possibility we were unaware of.”

  “Aye? What, Ambrose?” Alec fired at his brother, who was definitely taking his time.

  Ambrose became serious, leaning on his elbows and looking directly at Alec. “There is an old priest on the island. His name is John. Father Jack, they all call him. He is a hermit, of sorts, but he lives not far from here. Inland, by the edge of the great forest.”

  “Aye,” Alec responded, musing. “I believe I may have seen him on my way to hunt. The fields by the wood are wonderful for hawking. I have never been able to stop and speak to him.”

  “The fishermen tell me he is the way to reach the people of both clans. He is a good man, they say. A man who is not impressed by either violence or wealth. They say he treats all God’s creatures the same. The clan folk listen to him...more than they do to their own chieftains.” />
  “Can he convince the islanders to work together?”

  “It seems if anyone can, he’s the one to do it.”

  “You just made my day quite productive, Ambrose.”

  “What? Why do you say that?”

  “Because I was just about to ride over to see this Father Jack.”

  “You already knew about him?” Ambrose asked, surprised by his brother’s revelation.

  “Aye. Of course. A good laird knows everything.”

  “This is Ambrose you are talking to, Alec.”

  “Very well,” Alec admitted. “He sent a message that he would like to talk with me on an urgent matter.”

  “Why is the priest not coming here?” Ambrose asked. “Alec, part of being laird is having people come to you!”

  “Ambrose, this is one laird who will go where he is needed.” Alec stood and called for Robert.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “Then you’d better get off your buttocks, my hard-working little brother. I’m leaving now.”

  “Why he is not coming today?” Malcolm asked Fiona. Alec’s squire had just left the warlord’s message with David, who brought word into the lesson room.

  Fiona had kept Malcolm close to her all morning. She had hoped to see Lord Alec and explain her words of the night before. As tired as she had been last night, Fiona had lain in bed going over their discussion again and again. She had thought back over the words said and had tried to remember why and when he had taken her words wrongly. It was important to her to try to undo what had been said.

  After all, she didn’t want Lord Macpherson to think her a wisecracking ingrate. Even if she had acted like one.

  “Fiona, why?” the boy’s voice cut into the young woman’s thoughts.

  “He is a busy man, Malcolm.”

  As the words left her mouth, Fiona felt a chill spread rapidly through her body. She did not remember much about her past, about her life before the Priory. But she already knew that was partly by choice. Thinking back had always been painful. Her memories were filled with the rough cries of a woman, wind so strong that it seemed to bite into you, so intense that it forced your eyes closed. Then water. Cold, cold water. And being alone. That was all she remembered. That was all she allowed herself to remember.