Angel of Skye Page 18

  To Robert Henryson, Schoolmaster at the Abbey at Dunfermline.

  I am sending you my daughter. Her life is in danger. Please, my good friend, keep her hidden and safe. Fiona is the daughter of the King, and His Majesty will come for her. Trust no one. God bless you.

  Margaret Drummond.

  Stunned, Fiona’s eyes read over the words again and again, trying to make sense of them. She could hear the prioress’ words coming from someplace far away, and she tried to understand them, as well.

  “....a letter...Margaret Drummond...the daughter of King James.”

  Alec stared at the prioress, and then at Fiona. He thought he’d always known her. Indeed, he had. She was the very image of her father. How could he have been so blind?

  “My mother!” Fiona blurted out, the letter still clenched in her hands. “M’lady prioress, what happened to my mother?”

  The prioress and Alec exchanged glances. They both knew what had happened to Margaret Drummond. All of Scotland knew.

  “The night that you were taken away.” The prioress paused. She didn’t know how to soften the blow that Fiona was about to receive. “Word had it that Margaret Drummond took her own life. She poisoned herself and died that very same night.”

  She was dead. Fiona stood up and walked to the window. She looked out into the grounds, but her eyes saw nothing. Dead. Her chest heaved once as she tried to fill her lungs with air. Dead. Somehow she had always known that. Somehow she’d always known that she was alone. Her mother was dead. Dead.

  But now...poisoned? And by her own hand? Suicide?

  “No! That’s not the truth,” Fiona asserted, looking down at the letter. They were going to hurt her mother. She remembered their threats. In fact, there was more coming back to her. A pouch...the hidden pouch...the evil man in the castle whom she never saw.

  “Fiona,” the prioress called. “There are some things you should know.”

  Fiona turned around and faced the old nun. “They murdered her. She never committed suicide.”

  The room rang with the conviction in her words. The prioress and Alec were silent for a long moment as Fiona looked from one to the other.

  “How do you know that?” Alec asked, standing and moving to the fireplace.

  “Because she wouldn’t. She was their captive,” Fiona retorted. She tried to remember, still searching for details of that faraway night. “And those men...they said things.”

  “What things?” Alec pressed. “Try to remember what was said.”

  Fiona looked at Alec across the room. “I am trying! But I know they were going to hurt her.”

  “Who do you mean, ‘they’?”

  “The same men that took me away.”

  “But you said earlier that your mother was alive then.”

  “She was. But they did not all leave with us.” Fiona gnawed at her lip, wracking her brain for more clues to what happened that night. “The leader, he was a giant. His eyes were cruel. He was like some madman. He stayed behind with some of them.”

  “What else do you remember?” Alec questioned.

  “They were Highlanders.”

  “Highlanders? What else? What clan did they belong to? Could you narrow it down?”

  Fiona looked at him wide-eyed. “I was five years old, for God’s sake!”

  Silence reigned momentarily as Fiona glared at Alec. She noticed his cool exterior. Something was different in his face. His compassionate and concerned look had been replaced by the businesslike demeanor of the warlord in search of answers.

  “You were such a wee thing.” The prioress’ soft words broke into the silence. Fiona and Alec disengaged their gazes and turned to the older nun. Fiona walked to the prioress and sat beside her. The older woman looked into her eyes.

  “I have to tell you why I kept you here.”

  “Aye.” Fiona nodded, taking the prioress’ hand. “Why didn’t you send me to Dunfermline? You must have known you were risking your life keeping me here.”

  “Hmmph!” The prioress grunted. “At first, you were so frail. So quiet and hurting inside. And I didn’t have anyone to whom I could entrust you.” She took the letter out of Fiona’s hand. “She said to trust no one. I considered waiting until I could send a message directly to the king.”

  The prioress’ voice had a vagueness to it, as if her mind were on something else, on some other time. Her attention suddenly riveted again on the present, and her tone recovered its directness. “But I also thought that if I couldn’t get word to the king, then perhaps I should somehow send you to the Schoolmaster at Dunfermline, to the poet Robert Henryson.”

  She placed a wrinkled hand against Fiona’s smooth silky cheek. “You were just a wee innocent bairn, Fiona. But the Lord had other ideas about that, lass. Henryson may have been a man of learning, a poet renowned as a makar, but he was still just a mortal man. Just before the winter set in, we got word that the great poet had died of the flux. So that road was closed to us.

  “And then when spring arrived, David went to Sterling and brought back news that the king was going to marry the English King Henry VII’s daughter, Margaret Tudor. King James had resisted marrying for the sake of diplomacy, but after your mother died, some of his nobles convinced him that a marital union with England would be in Scotland’s best interest. David was not able to get anywhere near the king.”

  “I can understand that he would not want an illegitimate daughter around when he was marrying a princess,” Fiona said, fighting to keep out the note of bitterness that was edging its way into her voice. All these years he had never come for her. He had never searched for her.

  “Nay, Fiona. That’s not the truth,” the nun protested. “You see, they thought you dead. They all did. The nobles, the court, your mother’s family, even your father. We heard later that he was like a lost soul. That is, after your mother’s death. And he looked everywhere for you. But I suppose he never thought that your fate would bring you all the way to Skye, to our doorstep. And then, after that great storm, the king simply gave up.”

  Fiona looked at her hands silently. There was a deepening emptiness in her chest. She never knew her father.

  “After that,” the prioress continued, “I never had a clear opportunity to get you back to the court. You know that shortly after the king’s marriage, the Western Isles rebelled against the king. We couldn’t correspond with those who were allied with him. I certainly couldn’t go to him directly. But honestly, I wouldn’t have if it had been possible.”

  Fiona looked up questioningly at the older woman.

  “There were rumors circulating that substantiate what you’ve said, Fiona. The word was that Margaret Drummond had been killed to clear the way for the king to marry the English princess. With Margaret Tudor’s circle at court, I feared for your life.”

  The prioress stopped and gazed at the red-haired beauty she’d come to see as a daughter. What comforts she had not dared provide for Fiona, she had made up for in another way. She had given her the best education she could give. It had been an education befitting a princess.

  “What made you decide to tell me now, m’lady?” Fiona asked, taking the prioress’ hand in hers.

  The old nun looked warmly at the young woman and then turned her gaze to the silent warlord who stood attentively by the hearth.

  “I received my answer at last.”

  Standing up, she went to her worktable. From beneath a ledger book, the prioress retrieved another folded missive. Holding it up, she turned to Alec.

  “I believe there is a messenger waiting for you at Dunvegan Castle with a message, as well, m’lord.”

  Alec looked at Fiona sitting expectantly on the chair. He savored this sight, but this was the last of her innocence. No, she was not yet aware of the impact of this news. Of the life that awaited her. An hour ago, he’d felt the love within him, felt his own strength. He had been ready to move mountains to make Fiona his forever.

  But now, everything was different.

/>   The nun returned to Fiona.

  “You are at an age when your future must be decided. Now that Torquil is gone and Lord Alec is here, the Isle of Skye is once again part of Scotland. So I sent a message to Lord Huntly and the nobles on the Council of Regents governing with him during the infant king’s minority. Lord Huntly is known to be a good man, and he was always loyal to your father, so I told him that you are with us, and of the proofs that identify you. He has written back to say that he has been able to negotiate two things in your interest.”

  She handed the letter to Fiona. This was so much to burden the young woman with in one day, but Fiona had to know.

  “But do I have any family left? Other than the infant king, I mean,” Fiona asked. Truthfully, she was not sure if she cared for this new identity. With her parents both dead, what purpose would all this trouble serve? Unless there was someone else. Family.

  “Your last direct relation was your grandfather, John, Lord Drummond, but he died at Flodden. Your mother had two sisters, but they passed away before your grandfather. Since his death, everything has been held by Lord Gray, your great-uncle, with the condition that you would inherit everything if you were to reappear. Your grandfather never gave up hope, Fiona. I believe he must have felt some guilt about your mother’s death. I suppose he truly hoped that the Lord would take some pity on him and restore you to him one day. People often want to make amends the most when they feel they’ve lost their best chance. At any rate, Lord Huntly has now spoken with Lord Gray, who has agreed to accept you ‘with open arms’ when you arrive, should the proofs be valid in the eyes of the governing nobles. And should that be the case, he will restore Drummond Castle and all its lands to you. In fact, Lord Huntly sends word from Lord Gray that his daughter Kathryn is looking forward to greeting her ‘newfound cousin’ en route from Skye.”

  Alec’s thoughts wandered disgustedly back to Kathryn. Fiona’s cousin. Now he knew why she had suddenly appeared at the Macpherson’s Benmore Castle. Why she was stopping at Kildalton. She had heard the bad news. What she had thought to be hers would now belong to her long-lost cousin. Greeting...ha!

  “Lord Huntly has also communicated with Queen Margaret,” the prioress continued. “And she has agreed that should you renounce any claims regarding the ‘crown, crown lands, or rights of succession for any of your issue,’ she would acknowledge you as the daughter of the late king and formally welcome you in court.”

  The prioress sat beside Fiona and took the young woman’s hand.

  “I know it is not much compensation for the loss of a mother and a father, but what Lord Huntly has done is far more than we might have expected.”

  Fiona sighed, looking down at the letter in her lap. She was not sure she was quite ready for all this. But there was one thing she was certain of: she had no interest in any of those things which were so important to the queen.

  “And there is one more thing. Huntly has conveyed the queen’s wish that you go immediately to Sterling Castle.”

  “She wants to be certain that you take a vow of allegiance to her son, King James, immediately,” Alec said from across the room. Before you get caught up in the politics of court, he thought to himself. And before you fall into the hands of such grasping courtiers as your uncle, Lord Gray.

  Fiona looked up, startled at the news. Go? To the queen? Leave the Priory? Leave Skye? It’s impossible, she thought, getting up and crossing to the window. How can I?

  “M’lady prioress,” she blurted out, whirling to face the woman who had crossed the room after her. “What of my work here? Malcolm and—”

  “Fiona,” the prioress soothed, taking her hand. “We will survive. Some of the young nuns are quite capable of dividing up your duties.”

  “But m’lady, I want to take my vows!”

  “Fiona, my child, that is impossible.” Though the prioress’ wrinkled face was kindly, the quiet authority in her voice was unmistakable. “You are a lady, Fiona. Half-sister to the king. You have responsibilities that you cannot deny. Duties that take you beyond the walls of this Priory. We love you, child, and this has been your home, but you have another world that awaits you—a world we have, all along, been preparing you for.”

  Fiona looked into the confident eyes of the prioress. For a moment she could almost feel the old woman’s strength and will flowing into her.

  A world so different from her world here. A world where her mother had lived.

  Fiona considered that world. A place where a young mother’s life could be snuffed out like a candle. Where her murderers could go free while the world would think she had committed suicide.

  Fiona thought back on that night. Her mind swirled with the images of blood and men, of her mother rushing about the room.

  And then suddenly she remembered the leather pouch and the loose stone beside the fireplace.

  The prioress had mentioned rumors about her mother’s innocence. If she left the Priory at all, it would be for one thing: to prove the truth.

  The only chance Fiona had lay hidden at Drummond Castle. She had to get there, and if the route took her first to the court at Sterling, so be it.

  “But m’lady prioress, how do I get there?”

  “That has been taken care of, my dear.” The nun looked over at a thoughtful Alec, who stood quietly, his arms folded across his massive chest. “Lord Huntly has asked Lord Macpherson to convey you to Sterling.”

  Fiona turned her gaze to Alec, who quickly averted his eyes. He stared straight at the prioress.

  She’ll need all the protection she can get, Alec thought. It would not be long before the entire country buzzed with news of her discovery. There was every possibility of someone trying to snatch her away for good as they crossed the Highlands. Every power-hungry laird in Scotland would want to have Fiona tucked away in his own castle. Royal blood is royal blood; and power and fortune would belong to the nobleman who could capture her, impregnate her with an heir, and keep her from giving up her claims on the Crown wealth at Sterling.

  “Do you have any objection to that, m’lord?” Fiona asked, her eyes searching his steely face questioningly.

  “No, m’lady, I know what I must do.” He straightened. “Please send word when you are ready to go. I’ll prepare my men.”

  Alec strode toward the door and, without so much as a backward glance, disappeared into the dark corridor beyond the door.

  Chapter 11

  What has marred thee in thy mood,

  Makyne, that to me thou show?

  And what rules love, or being loved?

  That law I’d like to know.

  —Robert Henryson “Robene and Makyne”

  “Why does Alec hate me so much?” Fiona asked.

  Ambrose stood momentarily speechless, unsure of how to answer such openness. Seeing Fiona here at Dunvegan had delighted him to no end. Truly, in spite of the fact that he had taken an immediate liking to her, she had more sense and spirit than Ambrose had given her credit for. And the late king’s daughter besides. Imagine that.

  But Alec’s sulking was becoming difficult to bear, and Ambrose was certain that his brother could go on like this for quite a while. Because of his past mistake with Kathryn Gray, Alec would perhaps never be ready to talk to Fiona and bring his concerns out in open. In Alec’s mind, Fiona had finally discovered family, people who she never knew she had. He was not going to spoil it all by telling her the truth about the kind of people they were. And besides, he could only speak from his own experience with them.

  But aside from all of this, she was entering a life of glamour and attention. A life Alec had run away from. He could just see it. With her beauty and wit, she would be the toast of the court in no time. This was not for him. He would not make the same mistake twice.

  “I’m quite certain that Alec doesn’t hate you,” Ambrose assured Fiona.

  “Then why is he behaving like such a boor?” Fiona paced back and forth before the small fire that was burning in the fireplace of D
unvegan Castle’s Great Hall. Outside, the gray day was damp and chilly, but Fiona had hardly noticed as she and David rode up from the Priory. She had told David that she wanted to be there to take Malcolm back after his day’s hunting with Alec, but her old friend knew better. She was angry, and when she went directly to Ambrose upon arriving at the castle, the prioress’ brother had discreetly excused himself with the pretense of wanting to look after their horses.

  “Is he, Fiona?” Ambrose smiled. “I hadn’t noticed any change.”

  Fiona stopped and looked directly at him.

  “You know that’s not true, Ambrose,” she said with quiet authority. “Since we received word from Lord Huntly, he hasn’t come to see me even once. I sent him messages, told him that I needed to see him. But he hasn’t responded. Not a word.”

  She resumed her pacing.

  “At first I just thought he’s been busy preparing for our departure and all.”

  He’s been busy, all right, Ambrose thought. Busy tearing Dunvegan Castle and its people apart for the smallest reasons. The men had practically hidden themselves away from him in order to stay clear of his wrath.

  “Then I thought, he must be upset with Lord Huntly for making such a request.”

  That was true, but a definite understatement. Alec’s mood has been the foulest that Ambrose could ever remember.

  “But all in all, I was blind to the fact,” Fiona said bluntly.

  “To what fact?”

  “It is me. He hates me.”

  Ambrose held back his laughter. Between her and Alec, the two of them needed help.

  “Fiona.”

  “It’s true! You didn’t see the look he gave me when he came for Malcolm this morning. I told him I was coming with them, but he just glared at me and said that he wanted to spend time alone with Malcolm before he had to leave Skye. You had to see him, his look. It as if I were nonexistent. His cold stare told me to stay away. To leave him alone. He hates me.”

  Ambrose listened with some surprise as Fiona continued to vent her frustrations. Pacing back and forth, she told him of a wasted day, waiting, fuming over Alec’s unfeeling rejection. Whenever she glared up at him, Ambrose nodded gravely and compassionately. As she talked, he had a sense that she had come to him as an ally, though not against a common enemy. She had come seeking his support. Somehow, he was certain he would give it.