Angel of Skye Page 26

  “Oh, Alec,” she breathed, her throat knotted as she raised her lips to his. As their lips met, tears spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. “Oh, I love you so much. Your words...are so beautiful, so...” She stopped, her tears taking over. There was nothing she could say that could describe the way she felt. But Alec knew. She looked into his deep blue eyes and she could see that Alec just knew.

  Softly, tenderly, he kissed the glistening beads away. He could feel on his lips the salty wetness of her emotion. He filled his great chest with air and continued.

  “Fiona, marry me,” Alec said, gathering her face in his hands. His eyes bored into the depth of hers. “Let’s not wait. I don’t want to wait. We could be married here at Benmore.”

  His words tugged at her with their promise. Here was happiness. A future of happiness that would eradicate the nightmares of her past. But she needed to think. She needed to do the right thing. Her duty, her promise to herself to find her mother’s killers could not be denied. Fiona stared blankly at Alec’s shoulders, trying to avoid his eyes. How could she explain? How could she give up all that he was offering?

  “Look at me, Fiona.”

  Fiona looked up into his eyes and searched for her answer.

  “I love you, Alec,” she whispered. “But I need to clear my mother’s name. My conscience will never let me rest until I have done all I can.”

  “Marry me, Fiona. Marry me now,” he coaxed. “I will go into the fires of hell itself for you. I’ll stand by you; and what we need to do, we’ll do together.”

  She reached up and cradled his face in her hand. “Alec, I can’t do that to you. That’s my battle, not yours. I can’t damage your reputation. What I’m after, what I might discover, the truth behind my mother’s death, will very likely involve others in your class. Perhaps even people you know well. I’ve thought about the things you told me, about what might have been the reasons behind my mother’s murder. I can see it already. I will become a social outcast in seeking the truth and in asking for justice. But you are Scotland’s hope, so important to our future. You cannot have a wife such as I. I’ll only disgrace you.”

  Alec started to speak, but Fiona hushed him with her slender fingers, with her words.

  “Alec, what you offer—just staying here and marrying you, trying to forget all the demons of the past—this is not an option. Not when it concerns my mother. My conscience will not allow that. So I suppose marriage...perhaps is not something meant to happen for us. Not yet, anyway.”

  Alec gathered her fingers in his hand and kissed them gently before starting to speak. “Fiona, staying apart is not an option. And that’s not my conscience speaking. My heart, my mind, my entire being cries out for you. And trust me, there is even more. Before we left Skye, I had to give my word to that little warrior of yours that I’d bring you back.”

  “Malcolm?”

  “Aye, Malcolm. You wouldn’t want to have his fearsome wrath come down on my head, would you?”

  Fiona smiled, thinking of her little friend. Of his smiling, gentle ways.

  “Just accept it, my love. The only question that is left unanswered is not if we were going to be married, the question is when. And now, after hearing your hesitation, your concerns, I am telling you that decision has been made.”

  “It has? And what might that decision be?”

  “We will be marrying before this week ends.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” she asked, dumbfounded. “Didn’t you hear a word I said?”

  “Every one of them!” Alec let go of her hand and went to the chest by her bed, opening the top and pawing through her things.

  “And that’s all you have to say? You don’t care in the least how I feel about this?” Fiona fumbled for some response. “And what happened to a betrothal and long engagements and hand festing? If I’m not mistaken, those are still traditions in the Highlands.”

  He came back to her with a shawl of silk, woven in the Macpherson plaid. She just stood and watched in awe as he wrapped the piece around her neck and arranged it so as to hide a portion of her exposed bosom.

  “Nay, lass. Highland engagements traditionally last as long as it takes to get from the horse to the house,” he said, eyeing his handiwork appreciatively. “And sometimes not even that long.”

  “Alec!” She drawled. “You know that’s not true.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do.”

  “But I might remind you,” Alec said, taking her chin gently in his hand, “you spent our engagement walking to the tower.”

  “We weren’t engaged then!” Fiona pushed his hand away with a playful glare.

  “We certainly were. And I’m planning to tell everyone at dinner tonight that we were.”

  “I won’t admit to such a thing,” she threatened mildly. “You can’t lie like that.”

  “Hmmm,” he responded. “You know, there is just no limit to how far I’ll go when I make up my mind I want something.”

  Alec lifted her unresisting body into his arms and crushed her lips with his own. Deeply, passionately, thoroughly, he kissed his beloved with a fervor that left her breathless. Standing her on her feet again, with a smile he began straightening her clothes once more.

  “Dinner is ready, my betrothed. The festivities have already begun. They are all expecting us.”

  “You are thick-headed, stubborn, and deaf, Alec Macpherson,” she breathed as he linked her arm in his. “I’ll not marry you. You can’t force me.”

  “Aye, I can.” He placed his hand over hers, pressing it into his muscular forearm as they started for the door. “It nearly slipped my mind.”

  “What has?” she asked cautiously.

  “You’ve forgotten our journey.”

  “What about our journey?” she asked, her eyes widening in bewilderment.

  “Well, so far I’ve been able to keep Robert from telling everyone...how worried he was the night—”

  “I’ll marry you.” She sighed, her face breaking into an ironic smile. “And now I know I’ll be marrying the most unscrupulous rogue in all the Highlands.”

  Chapter 16

  Be charitable and humble of estate,

  Yea, worldly honor outlasts not the cry.

  For your earthly troubles don’t be melancholy:

  Be rich in patience, if in goods you’re but poor;

  Who lives merrily, he lives lavishly: for

  Without gladness, no treasure avails.

  —William Dunbar “Without Gladness”

  Fiona was smiling brightly as they slipped into the festive hall.

  Around them the sounds of Midsummer’s Eve revelry filled the air. Pipers were wandering around the hall, and children from the village danced happily behind them. The woven rushes had been cleared from the very center of the huge room, and ale-drinking revelers were boisterously constructing a bonfire. From every side, laughter and merriment enveloped the latecomers, so that no one noticed their entrance.

  Fiona spotted David, sitting with Robert at the long table nearest the door, enjoying the company of some of the warriors they had traveled with, and their ladies. Extricating herself from Alec’s arm, she bent over David and whispered their news in his ear. Her old friend’s expression was one of pure joy upon hearing the news.

  By the time she straightened up, a hush had fallen over the entire hall. The musicians ceased playing, and all eyes were upon her. Alec took her arm as she nervously stepped back a pace. She glanced down at the Macpherson tartan that covered her shoulders and she suddenly wondered if the quiet was caused by an outsider wearing their plaid. She had not even stopped to consider the appropriateness of the tartan. Her mind raced to think of what else could have caused such a reaction.

  “Think of them as family, my love,” Alec whispered reassuringly. “They’ve been waiting for you, and none too patiently, from what I hear.”

  “Why are they so quiet?” she murmured back to him. “I’ve disappointed them somehow?”
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br />   “You’ve got them spellbound, from the looks of things. But how can you blame them?” Alec said, appraising the incredible beauty of the woman on his arm. It was no wonder that the very breathing of everyone in the hall seemed to come to a full stop. Fiona’s voice had wavered, but she stood beside him, her head high and her hazel eyes flashing. The smooth skin of her cheeks glowed in the light of the flaring lamps on the walls. No one but he would ever know the sensuous feel of her full and sculpted lips. Her silken mane cascaded in rolling waves of liquid fire over the tartan at her shoulders and onto the ivory gown that so brilliantly highlighted the perfect lines of her figure. She was a vision. And he proudly stood beside her.

  With a booming welcome, a silver-haired giant nimbly crossed the floor, Lady Elizabeth and another smaller man trailing behind.

  “At last!” he thundered. “At last the lowly laird gets to meet the fairy princess!”

  Fiona’s nervousness vanished instantly, a smile spreading across her face as Alec’s father approached them.

  “At last,” she responded with a low curtsy. “At last the humble convent lass is honored with a glimpse of the noblest chieftain in the Highlands.”

  “Ha!” Alexander laughed, offering his hand to her. “The lass has spirit to go with her beauty. The daughter of good King James owes no curtsy to this old mule.”

  Fiona graciously accepted his proffered hand as she straightened before him. As they exchanged greetings, those present in the hall seemed to be hanging on every word.

  “Before I am completely left out of this newfound friendship of yours, Father, I would like to introduce you to your future daughter,” Alec said, putting a possessive hand around her slender waist. “This is Fiona Drummond Stuart.”

  As Alec concluded, the room suddenly erupted with cheers, and the old man beamed with delight.

  The laird opened his arms, and, standing on her toes, Fiona placed a kiss on the chieftain’s cheek, only to find herself crushed in a bear hug as his powerful arms wrapped around her.

  “It’s my turn, Alexander,” Lady Elizabeth put in, separating the young woman from her husband and warmly welcoming her with a hearty embrace. Her eyes sparkled as she took both of Fiona’s hands and looked into her face. “This is wonderful news, my dear. My son is a very fortunate man to have you. And don’t you ever let him forget that.”

  “Don’t scare her off, Elizabeth,” the laird said. “Alec does have one or two good qualities.”

  “Aye, you old warhorse, but only if you call having a silver tongue and extremely handsome features qualities.” She smiled up at her husband, and turned back confidentially to Fiona. “Actually, Alec has more qualities than that, but those two definitely came from the Macpherson side.”

  Fiona did not have to look at the men to agree with what was said. Alec’s handsome features had been her undoing from the first moment they’d met.

  The pipers began to play again, and Fiona found herself surrounded by crowding faces of well-wishers. There were so many questions that these people had, so much they all seemed to want to know about her. And she answered what she could.

  Those who came close were delighted with the young woman’s responses. There was no falsehood, no haughtiness, no snobbish arrogance. This prospective bride was not at all like the last Macpherson fiancée. Fiona was just herself. Down to earth and matter of fact. And those qualities alone captured the hearts of all around her.

  When two little girls presented Fiona with a woven garland of daisies, she immediately knelt down between them, and with great merriment the giggling lasses arranged the crown in her hair, to the appreciative approval of the onlookers.

  Alec hovered over her, screening her from overly energetic clan members. John was one of the last Macpherson clan members to push his way through the circle to Fiona’s side. After kissing her on both cheeks, and noting Alec’s watchful gaze, John decided he could not pass up the opportunity of needling his love-struck brother.

  Pulling Fiona closer to his side, John whispered to her in confidential tones loud enough for all to hear, “You’re making a grave error, m’lady. There are stories of lunacy in the family. And if you have a moment, I’d like to explain—”

  “Move along, John,” Alec growled. “The only lunacy in our family, Fiona, is in the third son.”

  “Alec!” Fiona scolded laughingly.

  “As I was saying—” John continued, holding on to her hand.

  “Mother, why didn’t we drown him at birth?” Alec asked, pulling Fiona closer to him.

  “It’s never too late,” Alec’s father put in, stepping into the laughing group.

  Alec was firmly tugging at one of her hands, while John held fast to the other teasingly. With one swift movement, Alec pulled Fiona around to his other side, detaching his intended’s hand from the young scoundrel.

  Fiona looked about her, suddenly conscious of the happy glow that had crept into her body. The warmth she was feeling, the welcome, the cheerful banter, the loving feel of Alec’s hand on hers, all mingled within Fiona, producing a sense that she’d never really known before...a sense of family. Around them the party continued on boisterously, people laughing, shouting, and dancing. She looked up at Alec and their gazes locked. She was a part of this, a part of them. That was what Alec had promised.

  She had a family. And most important of all, she had him.

  In a few moments Fiona saw groups of revelers starting to work themselves back to their seats. Throughout the hall, serving folk were delivering food to the long trestle tables.

  Alec’s father started leading Fiona to the head table, and Alec and the rest of the family followed behind, still carrying on their animated conversation. As he reached the dais, Alexander halted abruptly.

  “Ah, lass,” he explained. “There is someone here that you haven’t met, I believe.” Just ahead of them, leaning against one of the tables, a handsome but stern-faced older man stood with his arms crossed against his massive chest, and the laird led Fiona toward the quiet figure.

  There was no question in Fiona’s mind that the balding man looking intently at her was a man of great power. Over his brilliantly white linen shirt and the tartan of black and white, a huge gold medallion hung from a heavy chain that encircled his neck. On it the rampant lion crest of Scotland, signifying his position as leader of the council of nobles, gleamed in the light of the lamps and torches. His expression never changed as they approached, and Fiona felt a sudden chill as the man’s blue eyes studied her face deliberately.

  Lord Huntly knew he was staring at the young woman, but he made no attempt to stop. After all these years, he thought. Face to face with the daughter that should have been mine. Margaret was there in her features, in the stunning beauty of her eyes, in the set of the mouth, the graceful line of the jaw. He had loved her, but she had chosen another. He had offered her everything, but she had chosen a path that had led to her own death. But he had never stopped loving her. Ever.

  As the two stood before him, Huntly straightened and bowed slightly from the waist in response to the young woman’s curtsy.

  “Fiona Drummond Stuart,” Lord Alexander said courteously, “I’d like you to meet one of your greatest benefactors. This is the earl of Huntly.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, m’lord. Finally, I have the opportunity to thank you for all you’ve done on my behalf.”

  Fiona took the cold outstretched hands of the man before her. Alexander towered over them, but she could feel the aura of control that exuded from the earl. He’d not stopped looking at her from the moment they’d started toward him, but she had yet to see a single identifiable expression register on his face. Like a mask, the man’s face showed no emotion, no pleasure, no disappointment. It was devoid of feeling. There was nothing but the cold blue eyes that peered searchingly into her own face.

  “I’ve only done what should have been done long ago,” he said in an even tone.

  “You’ve done far more than I could ever ha
ve expected, m’lord.”

  His gaze never wavered as his strong fingers gently tightened their grip on Fiona’s hands.

  “I was a friend of your mother’s, lass.”

  Fiona recalled the prioress’ words about unrequited love. She looked at the man who had vowed to someday win back her mother’s hand.

  “Why don’t you call me Andrew?” he added.

  Chapter 17

  Another kind of ravenous wolf

  Is the mighty man, having plenty enough...

  —Robert Henryson “The Wolf and the Lamb”

  Andrew.

  Fiona’s blood froze in her veins. Lord Andrew.

  Unable to move, she stood staring into Huntly’s eyes. As she did, memories of an evil night flooded her senses. Words began to pour into her brain, pounding her with the sounds and fears of that distant autumn night. Should I not be down with Lord Andrew? Sir Allan’s voice was right behind her. As in a dream, Fiona heard the echoes of the good knight’s words...with Lord Andrew...Lord Andrew...Andrew!

  The sights and sounds of the Macphersons’ Great Hall began to whirl in a liquid kaleidoscope of colors. Fiona felt herself falling, floating into a garish nightmare of flashing light and muffled voices. Andrew! Faces began to appear before her, weaving in and out between purple clouds that swept past in a funnels of windless storm.

  Andrew!

  Fiona felt her mother’s arm around her little body. She could feel her breath on her cheek. No! Take her far away. From him. From Andrew! Her room...full now, men looming over them. A pain in her arms. High in the air, the black eyes of an angry stranger. Torquil. Are you going to let this wee thing best you? Another man, his sneering mouth and death grip on her mother.

  Mama! Her mother’s eyes...wild with fear...despair. The flaring torches and then darkness...a blanket covering her...suffocating her. The horses. The rough hands. A grip of steel. Riding. Forever riding.