Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) Read online

  She shrugged. “The care that the nuns taught me at the priory. Wash the wound. Keep it clean. Try to close it to lessen the bleeding. Make the patient rest. You’re strong and healthy, Alexander. It was your own doing, not mine.”

  “You didn’t stitch up my side.”

  “I had no needle or thread. If I did, I would have sewn your mouth shut while I was at it.”

  “Then how did you close the wound? You stopped the bleeding.”

  “I pressed on it. Your body did the rest.”

  “And nothing else? No spells? No magic potions?”

  “If I had a potion, I would have turned you into a toad. And I wouldn’t keep you in my pocket.”

  She started walking. Kenna was troubled by more than withholding something from him that she herself didn’t understand. She’d thought Alexander was healed last night at the fishing hut. But today, he’d been in agony. She didn’t know what she was capable of or if she was using the stone correctly. Her memories of her mother visiting the sick failed to offer anything useful. Perhaps someone in her clan might know more. Someone close to her mother.

  Kenna had to go home. Her search for answers had to start there. When she knew, she’d tell him.

  “You shouldn’t have mended me if you planned to leave me behind.”

  Alexander was beside her, keeping pace. After the short time in the cave, he was a different man. Looking at him now, one would never guess what he’d gone through.

  “No more questions about how or why or what,” she ordered.

  “I’ll ask whatever I want.”

  “Earlier, you told me to leave and go on to Oban without you. I accept your order.”

  “Too late. That was this afternoon.”

  She walked faster, but his legs were longer.

  She was stuck with him for now and although she wouldn’t admit it, she was glad. It would soon be dark, and Kenna didn’t know these hills. It would be good to have him with her. She could act tough and fearless, but she wasn’t foolish.

  She searched for a distraction that might steer Alexander’s attention away from her gift.

  “Where do you think James is now?”

  “On the way back from Oban, searching for us.”

  “What has he done with my cousin?”

  “I know what he’d like to do with Emily.” He sent her a sideways glance. “But I’m certain he handed her over to the MacDougall in exchange for our ship. It’s worth more than any woman.”

  “Why do you try to be such a pig, when you don’t have to?”

  He had the audacity to flash a smile. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You just said that to rile me.”

  “Did I? Are you upset?”

  Kenna held her breath for a couple of moments before letting it out. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “Your brother Colin.”

  “What about Colin?”

  “He’s my favorite of all of you.”

  “He’s the devil’s spawn,” he sniffed. “He’s a troublemaker to his very core. He’s the blasted fool who caused the trouble on our wedding night! By ’sblood, how could he possibly be your favorite?”

  “He and his wife, Tess. I like both of them very much. He told me how they met on a deserted island. Tess fished him out of the sea after you threw him overboard off one of your precious ships. He said you were trying to drown him because he’s so much more handsome.”

  “He said that now, did he?”

  She nodded. In truth, Kenna had been fascinated by Tess’s tale of growing up without knowing who her parents were. Colin had been responsible for bringing her back from the Isle of May in the Firth of Forth and helping her claim her Lindsay legacy. The romance of their tale was enthralling.

  “You realize that the stories surrounding the Macphersons can be a bit daunting.”

  “Daunting?” he spat. “You find us daunting? You’re joking. No person walking the earth can intimidate you.”

  She realized that Alexander only saw her as she wanted to be seen. Tough. No-nonsense. A woman with an independent spirit.

  “Your mother is a bit daunting.”

  “My mother?” He looked at her as if she’d sprouted horns. “Fiona Drummond Macpherson? A woman you only met at our wedding?”

  Kenna had been in Fiona’s company barely long enough for a dozen formal sentences to pass between them. And that was when she was being welcomed into the Macpherson family. Fiona had done all the talking. Kenna had stared at her feet in guilt and nodded, knowing that she’d be running off that same night.

  “Your mother’s manners are perfect. She’s educated. She dresses and looks and speaks like a kindly queen. She’s respected, and not only in the Highlands. People know of her across Scotland. She’s a legend.”

  “Aye, but she’s also my mother. That should speak volumes on how flawed the woman is.”

  Kenna waved him off like a noisy fly. “That woman is the daughter of King James.”

  “And you find her daunting . . . an ancient, bastard daughter of a dead king?”

  “Ancient?” she sputtered.

  “Aye, the woman must be ninety years old.”

  Kenna punched him in the shoulder. “Your mother is not yet fifty, and she has the beauty of a lass!”

  “By ’sblood, she’s an ugly old crone. Are you certain you met the right woman during our wedding celebration?”

  “Why do you do this? You must think your mission in life is to rile me.”

  She saw the raised brow, the crooked smile that dimpled one cheek. She looked into his eyes and felt a kick deep in her belly. She was far from immune to his charms.

  Kenna looked away. The valley below now lay in deep shadow. Night was claiming the land.

  “How could I ever live up to your family’s expectations when you constantly strive to upset me?”

  “Expectations? There are no expectations when it comes to Macpherson wives.”

  “Aye, there is. I have none of the accomplishments that are required to be your wife,” she confessed. “You’re the next laird. You wife will be the laird’s right hand. For years I’ve heard stories about your mother and her intelligence and her virtue. Then I see her and find that all of them are absolutely true. She’s everything that I’m not. I could never—”

  Alexander took hold of her hand and flattened it against his chest, stopping her. “Kenna, my mother was spirited away to Isle of Skye to become a nun the night her own mother was murdered. Tess was a wild child before Colin met her. My uncle Ambrose’s wife, Elizabeth, dressed as a man and painted with Michelangelo in Italy for a decade before she married him. There is nothing traditional in the accomplishments of the Macpherson women.”

  Kenna lost her voice, feeling choked up. She’d revealed too much, said more than she’d intended to. Her father’s words never left her. Why did she do that? Why allow Alexander to see her as vulnerable? She tore her hand free and walked down the hill.

  He caught up to her. “Wait. Now I understand. You ran away on our wedding day because you thought you wouldn’t measure up in some way?”

  Kenna shook her head, walking faster. It was difficult to explain the education she’d lacked, the motherly advice that she’d never had. It was impossible to talk about her childhood and not break down. She would never forget how little her own family thought of her value.

  “Talk to me, woman. How can you expect me to trust you when you don’t trust me?”

  “I . . .” Kenna faltered.

  Suddenly, a crowd of people carrying torches appeared in the lower end of the meadow. Kenna stopped as Alexander moved in front of her, his hand on the sheathed sword.

  “Who are these people?” she asked in a whisper. “Friend or enemy?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  The mob of men and women climbed toward them, dirty sunburned faces flashing in the torchlight. Many were armed with stout sticks. Kenna’s mind raced with Alexander’s warning. She imagined murmu
rs becoming chants. Words like witch and sorcery and old religion danced in her head. She moved closer to Alexander, her heart racing with fear.

  A boy pushed his way through to the front of the mob.

  Alexander drew his sword.

  “That’s her,” Jock said, pointing at her.

  Craignock Castle burst with excitement when Emily, Kester, and the other MacDougall men rode up through the village to the gates. Children appeared from every direction, running alongside her as she passed shop windows and houses already decorated with banners and garlands of flowers—red and yellow and violet. The castle gate was open and jammed with carts laden with meat and fowl and vegetables for the wedding feasts, and lookouts called down greetings to her and to the others from the high walls.

  Inside the courtyard, the castle folk rushed forward with cries of delight. Women pressed in around her, wanting to carry her off and bathe and dress her. The cook appeared, covered with flour and soot, ready to drag her into the kitchens and feed her. Clan elders tried to push past the others, eagerly shouting questions. Amid this mayhem, Graeme MacDougall stood on the steps leading to the Great Hall, silent and calm. He’d always known she’d be back safe.

  Emily looked about her happily. Maggie the cobbler’s wife and her twin bairns on each hip, Molly the scullery maid with her red face and lisp, Robbie the stable boy with his shy smile. So many others. These people were her clan, her friends, her family. A warm feeling washed through her. The look of joy mixed with relief on their faces was not feigned. They cared about her, loved her as their own.

  And she cared about them. She always had. But as the daughter of the laird, she held a special place here, a position of responsibility. She would never do anything to endanger them, she thought, feeling a twinge of uncertainty gnawing at her.

  She shook off the feeling. She knew what she must do. And she was happy to be back, even if it were for a short time.

  Emily dismounted and handed off the reins of her mount. She turned and found Kester standing beside her. She looked up into his kindly gray eyes.

  “Aye, do it now, lass. Seize your moment. Speak your mind.”

  Emily nodded and gathered her courage. Smiling and greeting the crowd as she passed through, she climbed the stairs.

  “Father.” She halted a step below the laird. To everyone else, he was a man of business, cool and analytical. He was known as the one to call on for tricky problems, to offer suggestions on which course of action to take. For all of Emily’s life, Graeme MacDougall had been relied upon by both king and ministers, often called away from Craignock to negotiate something on behalf of the crown. But as busy as he was, he always had time for his daughter.

  Today, she thought, he looked tired. And when he was tired, her father was not always his most receptive.

  Emily inclined her head as he kissed her brow. “May I have a moment alone with you?”

  “Aye, my dove. You go with the women now. We’ll take a late supper in the hall and you can tell me and everyone about your travels with your cousin, Kenna.”

  He was speaking for the benefit of those around them, and Emily couldn’t miss the warning glance he sent her. She’d learned from Kester what people had been told about her whereabouts.

  “I need a moment alone with you . . . now,” she repeated in a lower tone.

  “You must be weary from your travels.”

  “Now, Papa.” She moved to his side and took his arm. She had to sway him, convince him that something that he’d done for the sake of the clan must be undone. In her entire life, she’d never tried to do that. Her father loved her, in his own way; she was his only child. But for Graeme MacDougall, the clan’s welfare would always come first. “Please. It’s urgent.”

  Emily was relieved when he nodded and they went inside. The MacDougall was a respected and reasonably even-tempered man in the eyes of other leaders at court and among the clans. Nearly all his life, he’d contended with others who claimed to be chief, and because of their rivalry, she had witnessed his occasional bouts of rage. She knew he was capable of it. But he’d never lost his temper with her. She never gave him any reason to. Today, she guessed, might be the first time.

  She waited until they were alone in the laird’s private chambers. His worktables, as usual, were strewn with sheets of parchment, bottles of ink, wax and quills that lent a smell to this room that Emily always associated with her father. On one wall, a French tapestry depicting a lady and a knight in a garden of trees. She had a rose in her hand and was holding it out to the knight. On the wall behind his favorite chair, another tapestry with the MacDougall crest. Above the image of the steel-encased arm flexed and clutching a cross, the clan motto: “Buaidh no Bàs.” Conquer or Die.

  She took a deep breath, embracing those words.

  “So what is so urgent?” he asked, going to a sideboard and picking up a pitcher of mead.

  “I need you to postpone my wedding by a month.”

  Her father stared at her, the color in his face rising.

  “What happened?” he demanded finally. “Did one of those Highlanders . . . ? Did they force you—”

  “Nothing happened,” she interrupted. “But don’t you think you might have thought of those possibilities before delivering me and Kenna into the hands of the Macphersons?”

  He poured himself a cup of mead, all calmness again. “I knew nothing would happen to either of you. I was helping the MacKays and the Macphersons, kinsmen and allies. So tell me, how does your cousin fare? Has she put all that foolishness behind her? Is she ready to return to her husband?”

  “I don’t know how she fares. She is missing. I don’t know where she is.”

  “Missing?”

  Emily wasn’t ready to drop the subject of her father’s participation in the scheme to get Kenna and Alexander together. Nor was she ready to forget about his willingness to keep her ignorant of it. But right now she needed him to focus on the impending date of her wedding.

  “In part, that’s why I need you to postpone my wedding.”

  “Rubbish. She’ll turn up tomorrow or the next day. We can’t postpone the wedding, Emily. Not after all these preparations. And what would I say to Sir Quentin?”

  “Father, we will postpone this wedding . . . or cancel it,” she said forcefully. “The choice is yours.”

  “What did you say?” He fixed his gaze on her, one brow raised. He was no longer the solicitous father; he was now the hard-dealing laird.

  “I’m giving you the choice out of respect,” she said. “I’ll not spend any more time preparing for this foolish affair. And you can tell Sir Quentin anything you like. Or you can lock me in the dungeon and drag me to the chapel and force me to marry against my will. But if that is your choice, you will end up with a far greater mess than you can possibly imagine.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “I’ll not marry right now. That decision is not yours to make. But you have the choice to postpone or cancel.”

  Her stomach was in a knot. She pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering.

  Her father slammed his cup on the sideboard, sloshing mead onto the dark polished wood. “You dare to tell me what I have a right to decide and not decide?”

  “Did you raise me to be bullied into decisions that affect my entire life?”

  “What do you know about life?” he bellowed. “You’re a mere chit of a lass.”

  “One who has no say in whom she marries? Am I a prize cow to be auctioned off?”

  “Enough! I’m laird here. I’m your father. You will do what I see fit for you and for the clan.”

  Emily took a step toward him and matched his glare.

  “I’ve been the perfect daughter. Submissive, agreeable, never a moment’s trouble. I’ve not demanded anything of you until now.”

  “By the devil, you ride out with Kenna MacKay and return more like her than—”

  “I’m not Kenna. I’m a thousand times worse.”

  �
��That’s nonsense.”

  It was now or never. Her hands fisted at her sides. “You’ll grant me my wish or I’ll walk out of here now, and you will never see me again.”

  “Go on. This is all talk.”

  “Talk? I will bring disgrace on this clan like you’d never imagined possible. Kenna escaped to a priory. I’ll move to a brothel in Glasgow where there will be more contenders to your laird’s seat in a year and every year after that. I will become mistress to your—”

  “Enough,” he shouted. “That’s enough.”

  “You can’t keep me in chains forever. Sir Quentin will recognize my insanity the moment you drag me to the kirk steps.”

  Kenna saw her father’s face change, as if he were seeing her in a new light.

  “What do you want?”

  “I already told you.”

  The descending sun was casting long beams of golden light through the narrow windows when Emily left the laird’s chambers and hurried up the stairwell to her own.

  She had a month. If she could not succeed, the marriage would proceed as planned.

  Servants were waiting for her, but she sent them out, directing one to find Kester and send him to her. She sat for a moment by the open window. She had a plan, but she needed to act now. The sea air wafting in seemed to carry a scent of promise.

  Her gaze fell on a small needlework pincushion her mother had made when Emily was just a child. She picked it up. An image of a shield divided in two. At the top, the motto of the MacDougall’s. On one side, the arm and cross. On the other, a blue sailing ship. Emily stared at the ship now, wondering what her mother was thinking when she devised the image.

  Buaidh no Bàs. Conquer or die.

  Chapter 14

  I have a good eye, uncle. I can see a church by daylight.

  Alexander followed the short, barrel-chested man called Peter to a heather-covered hill overlooking the loch. The red-bearded cousin of Jock lost half his hand only a few days ago in a fight with the marauders. The stitches that Kenna had used to close his wound glistened with oozing blood, but the man would live to use that hand again.