Across a Dark Highland Shore (Hot Highlands Romance Book 2) (13 page)

“About twenty years ago, when a useless war was brought on through the treachery of King James the First, the monarch summoned a parliament to meet him at Inverness. Highland chiefs were invited to attend, including my grandfather Lachlan. As the chiefs entered the hall where parliament was assembled, each was immediately arrested and placed in irons in different parts of the building. No one was permitted to communicate with any of the others. Some of the chiefs were beheaded swiftly. The rest were sent to various prisons. Some were liberated and the rest put to death. When my grandfather came back, having been liberated somehow, he was no’ the same man. My father saw it and knew it and was careful no’ to incite his rage. Rolph was no’. He deliberately provoked people.

“My grandfather Lachlan took Rolph under his wing and trained him in the arts of anger, hatred, and revenge. Rolph quarreled often with my father and after my grandfather died and my father became laird, for a time Rolph was sent away, first to fight in Ireland and then he took to the seas for a living. But the life of a sailor was no’ for him. He was captured and enslaved for a while on an English vessel, but he ne’er talks of it.

“Logan was closer to Rolph than I am. They often hunted together. No one was better with a bow and arrow than Logan. But something about my uncle makes me keep my distance from him, as much as is possible.” Leith had tired shadows beneath his eyes and he frowned.

“Some would say my uncle’s most outstanding quality is insolence. There are times when I want to seize him by the waistband of his trews and throw him out the door. But he is my uncle.”

“He is a vera angry man,” she said.

“Good night, Isobel. ‘Twas a brave thing ye did, standing up for that boy and that…plootering lout.”

The barest of smiles crested his lips and he returned to conversing with several of his men. Isobel climbed the shadowy stairs to the second floor, knowing that sleep would not come easy this night.

16

As Isobel lay in Logan’s bed, she reflected on the day and all that had happened.

She was thankful for the soft coverlet and the pillows beneath her head and yet she could not afford to get used to that luxury. She did not know how long she would be a guest of the Macleans, how long she would be useful to Leith. And she felt guilty for lying in a soft bed while Rory was chained in a dismal dungeon below.

She fought off the memory of Leith’s arms about her, of his large hand cradling her head, of his warm, masculine lips taking possession of hers. Rory’s kiss had been one of innocence, between a boy not yet a man and a young girl. Leith’s kiss had been the kiss of an experienced man, and she had ne’er known any touch like his.

She sat up in bed and placed her elbows on her knees, staring at the flames dancing in the hearth. She had not expected the Black Wolf, the new laird of the Macleans, to be cautious, just, or merciful. But he had been with the boy Tomas. He had been with Isobel. She could only hope he’d be likewise with Rory.

She smiled, thinking of the tales she’d heard about Leith Maclean over the years, before he’d stepped from the darkness and rescued her from flame—the dark warrior drank blood from his vanquished enemies’ skulls; at night, when he was hunting, he changed into a black wolf and silently stalked his prey; he chopped off the hands of any enemies attempting to board his seaworthy galleys. She’d also heard that he could cut a man’s beating heart from his chest with merely a jagged glance.

His was an enigma—a man descended from warriors who had fought Vikings and aided hapless victims of the plague.

The wind howled against the dark stone walls of the castle and Isobel could hear the waves crashing against the base of it, making a sound like thunder. She thought of Errol, and began to form a plan in her mind. She had not expected his support or agreement when it came to the MacKinnon prisoners. Errol had lost a son, she reminded herself. He knew how it felt.

Under his gruff exterior, had he been thinking of Tomas’s mother, of how she might feel to lose her son? Had he been thinking of his own son? Had Errol’s son lived, he would’ve gone on many a hunt and patrol with his father. Eventually he would’ve taken up axe and sword in battle, by his father’s side, to ever be together, foremost at the barriers to skirmish. Instead, Errol carried a lock of his babe’s hair with him into battle. She felt his loss keenly.

She’d learned something. Errol prized bravery in a person, even an enemy. On the morrow Isobel would seek him out with her proposal. And she would find a way to talk to Rory.

She was about to close her eyes when she saw the shadows shift subtly beneath the edge of her door. Someone was in the corridor outside; she had no doubt of it. Someone who did not carry a torch to light his way. Someone who was perhaps used to the corridors and knew them well, even in the dark. Was it Leith?

She thought of the figure she’d seen on the ground floor, the robed one wearing the Bird Man plague mask. Her heart started to thump, for whoever stood outside her door was still there, standing as still as a statute. Listening…for what? To see if Isobel was sleeping?

Fortunately, as she’d done every night, she’d latched the door shut.

She was about to call out when the shadows shifted once more and the figure moved silently away.

Isobel was being watched.

By whom?

She had any number of enemies here. But she’d started to make a few friends, too.

Dugald was not outside her door guarding her chamber when she’d gone to bed. He’d been given the task of watching over their new child prisoner. She did not think it had been Dugald standing there in the darkness, listening.

Had Leith forgotten to place a guard at her door? Was he no longer concerned with her safety here?

The door is securely latched
.

Isobel had not had a vision since Leith had rescued her. For the first time, she
hoped
she would dream tonight. She hoped she would see something that would help Leith, even if her dreams were frightening.

In the grey, dreary hours before first light, Isobel finally fell asleep to the sound of the howling wind, but her dreams were a senseless jumble of dark figures, hooded and beaked, of leaping flames crawling toward her bound feet, of Rolph’s cruel eyes, of shadowy figures swaying from the neck, hanging from bare tree limbs outside the Maclean keep.

She also dreamt she was wearing the beautiful peacock blue silk gown that Lady Katherine had given her and was dancing in the great hall, dancing with the Black Wolf himself. She could feel his arms about her, feel his warm breath on her neck, and he was whispering to her softly. And then she was walking barefoot across a riotous field of purple heather, and along the narrow path of a cliff, overlooking rocks and sea below, the pathway no wider than a sheep walk.

She walked where the hills slumbered on each other’s massive shoulders, and silvery waters lapped at their base. Across the loch, the wind sent dark scuds of waves breaking against the shore. The imposing Maclean keep was off in the distance, looking as if it had grown out of the cliffs like a living thing. And then everything was white, a layer of mist making it impossible to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. Leith stepped from the mist, but his face soon morphed into a fearful combination of his own and Rolph’s, and Lady Katherine appeared. She was striking-looking in a deep, blood-red gown, tall and willowy. Her reddish-brown hair was piled high on her head and her eyes were luminous, dark, and heavily lashed. He took her arm in his. They laughed at her, Leith saying, “It was always Lady Katherine for me,” before he pushed Isobel over the cliff and she was falling, falling, but this time there were no strong arms to catch and hold her. She awoke in a cold sweat.

Leith, shirtless, was sitting on the edge of her bed, watching her intently. A great, black dog that looked almost like a wolf sat at his feet. But how? The door had been latched! Alarmed, Isobel sat up and Leith and the dog disappeared into mist.
It was not Leith who had been watching her sleep; it was Logan! He’d chosen to reveal himself to her. He
knew
she had seen his spirit because he’d smiled right before he vanished.

But Isobel knew that Logan’s spirit was not at peace. He was wandering. Confused. Not sure why he was dead. She guessed he would not find peace until someone solved his murder.

Isobel had not seen many spirits during her short lifetime. She’d seen a few when she’d walked the sites of bloody battles after the fighting was over, men dragging ghostly battleaxes and swords, looking dazed, who had soon disappeared. She’d seen an old woman in a field of heather once. But the most powerful one had been the spirit of a village boy who’d been hung for the offense of whistling after having been clearly instructed not to do so. She had eventually helped him to find peace and move on to the spiritual realm where he belonged.

She felt a glimmer of hope and was eager to tell Leith she’d seen his twin brother’s spirit. If she could reach Logan somehow, he might be able to show her more of what had happened in the glen. Could she truly help Logan? This was quite a different situation. There were shadows here, and crawling menace, old secrets and hatreds in the Maclean keep. How long had they been festering? She would have to be very careful about trusting anyone.

She thought of Logan’s spirit and shivered, thought of how close he had seemed while he watched her sleep. But it was not the dead that Isobel feared.
It was the living.

17

It was forenoon by the time Isobel had dressed and washed and gone downstairs to the main hall.

She found Errol instructing a group of young lads in the arts of war, as they could not practice with their swords and targes outside. She watched as they completed an exercise where they ran back and forth numerous times, carrying heavy sacks of stones, until they very nearly collapsed. They did it again and again. Young women watched them as they went about their duties, occasionally whispering to each other and covering their mouths as they giggled.

As the boys finally disbanded, glistening with sweat from their exertions, they talked excitedly among themselves and headed toward the trestle tables for ale to quench their thirst.

“Curious,” she said. “Why do ye have them run about with bags of heavy stone until their arms quiver and nearly snap off?”

“They will be carrying heavy weapons with them when they ride into battle. If they canna lift their arms after the first quarter hour of striking blades with the foe, how will they continue to fight?” He gathered up some items. “Ye’ll no’ take my battle training secrets back to yer clan, will ye?”

“I told ye before,” she said sadly even though she knew Errol wasn’t serious, “they are no longer my clan.”

“I assume ye did no’ seek me out to talk of sacks of stones,” he said.

“I thought I might have a word with ye. ‘Tis important.”

A cup bearer brought him some whisky and he took a long draught of it before speaking. “I canna imagine what ye and I have to say to each other on any subject.”

“I’m sure ye canna. But please, a word, in private?”

“Vera well.” He finished his whisky and the cup bearer took his cup away. He carried a sword and a cloth and motioned toward one of the recesses on the south wall. He sat upon a bench but did not invite her to sit next to him. Isobel sat anyway.

“I was also hoping to speak with Leith this morning. Is he about?”

“He’s taken Lady Katherine riding. They left early this morning, along with several other men. Leith is making rounds, speaking to some of the villagers, checking on their well-being. ‘Tis the first time Lady Katherine has agreed to go with him. I dunna like it, given what happened to Logan in the glen, but he has taken appropriate precautions. Normally I go with him but he didna feel it necessary this morning, and the boys’ training must continue even in the depths of this hellish winter, for war ne’er sleeps.”

Isobel tried to ignore the stab of hurt she felt thinking about Leith taking Lady Katherine on his rounds. As mistress of the keep, and as Leith’s wife, it would become one of her duties to look in on the villagers. Yet Isobel could not imagine her doing so or caring about their well being, especially if it interfered with her own. Would Leith take her to the glen? To the chapel, where they’d danced?

Lady Katherine did not love Leith, but she would bask in his admiration. Perhaps she would let him hold her close, fantasizing it was Logan who held her. The thought made her angry for it was not fair to Leith. But Isobel had made a promise to Leith to help him win Lady Katherine’s hand, and she would find a way to honor it. “Lady Katherine is the reason I wish to speak to ye.”

A look of wariness came over Errol’s face.

“I know ye dunna like me,” Isobel said. “The sooner ye see me gone from here, the happier ye’ll be. I know ye think me a liar and as comely as a toad.’”

Errol began to polish his sword with a cloth as he listened. Bright splotches of red appeared on his cheeks. “I dunna deny it.”

“I also know ye have feelings for Lady Katherine. ‘Tis apparent to anyone who watches the two of ye together.”

“Lady Katherine has many admirers. She entices many a man but keeps all at an arm’s length. ‘Tis but a harmless flirtation. Does yer speech have a point?”

“Leith has asked me to help him win her hand.”

Errol grunted. “So?”

“The sooner I help him do that, the sooner I can leave here.”

Understanding began to dawn on Errol’s hard features.

“I know ye are sweet on her, Errol, but I dunna think ye fancy yerself married to her.”

He laughed. “Lady Katherine, married to the likes of me, a mere war councilor?”

“If, despite how ye feel for her, ye can help me bring her to her senses, help her to see that marriage to Leith would be…beneficial…if no’ romantic, I would be grateful.”

“What do ye expect me to do? I canna force her to agree to the match.”

“Nay. But she seems to trust ye and she does no’ trust anyone else here.”

“Ye want my help, yet ye think of me as a horse’s arse.”

“Errol,” Isobel said, frustration tinging her voice. “I am offering ye an olive branch. Will ye take it?”

He set the sword and cloth down and crossed his arms over his massive, muscled chest.

“What do ye propose?”

“Has she e’er sought yer advice?”

“Yea. But I did no’ feel fit to give advice about love and marriage. If she’d asked me about war and battle, well then I could provide adequate counsel.”

“Ye surprise me, Errol. Marriage
is
a battlefield. For some, it is a war of sorts. Words can be like the sharp points of arrows. There are advances and retreats and volleys. And when it is right, I imagine there are sweet surrenders. I imagine with a man like Leith, it would be exciting. Unpredictable. Warlike. But he would always protect her. If she could be made to see that…well, I can think of no one more qualified than ye to advise Lady Katherine on such matters.”

“Ye have a smooth, flattering tongue, witch.”

“My name is Isobel. I am no’ a witch. I simply ask that ye talk to Lady Katherine. I know ye do it often. Tell her that Leith is a good man, that it makes sense to go through with the match. That both clans will benefit greatly from peace. She may listen to yer words. Ye’ve been a good friend to Leith for many years. Tell her things about him that he is too proud to mention. Tell her…of his exploits on the battlefields, of his bravery, his prudent judgment. Tell her that he is a man such that she will no’ find, e’en if she searched the coasts of Scotland. He may no’ be Logan, but he is fair, just, merciful, wise, and compassionate to those who are less fortunate, and he would take care of all her needs.”

Errol was regarding her with curiosity. “Ye make him out to be a saint.”

Isobel blushed. “He is far from that. But he is no’ the blood-drinking savage that tales make him out to be.”

“So ye dunna believe those tales? That he drinks blood from his vanquished enemies’ skulls?”

“Of course no’.” She paused. “He did save my life.”

“And ye wish to leave here as soon as ye can.”

“Aye. Will ye help me?”             

Errol frowned. “What ye did last eve, standing up for the MacKinnon prisoners in front of an angry crowd of Macleans, was no small feat. In fact, it was vera brave. Ye showed more bravery than many of the men I’ve commanded in battle o’er the years. In fact, ye stand up to
me.
I have seasoned warriors who cower at the thought of doing so.”

“Perhaps if ye were no’ so prickly with everyone. Ye have a temper like a wild boar….” She smiled, for she couldna help it. Now she was teasing the war councilor of the Macleans. Why did she taunt him? Errol had suffered much hurt in his life and protected himself by his prickly demeanor. If he let down his guard once in a while, he might be a different man.

He continued to study her and there was a shrewdness in his silver-blue eyes as well as amusement. “Yer right, Isobel. I dunna like ye vera much, but that kind of bravery is the kind I admire. And e’en I, a big, fat horse’s arse, can see the wisdom of yer proposal. For ye are a MacKinnon, or were a MacKinnon, and ye dunna belong here. My wife and child died while I was away, fighting MacKinnons.”

Isobel quickly masked her surprise. No wonder Errol felt such hate for her clan. “I am sorry, vera sorry, for yer loss. I dunna condone….”

“I’d rather no’ speak of it. I will help ye mount this campaign with Lady Katherine. Truth be told, I dunna understand the Sight and I dunna like ye advising Leith. I think ‘tis dangerous for a laird to make decisions based on ‘visions’.” 

“I ne’er would have guessed.”

He arched a red eyebrow and she nodded, leaving him to the care and maintenance of his weapons, feeling as if she’d just won a minor skirmish. But she did not feel in any way elated. For the war was just beginning. And if she admitted it to herself, the thought of leaving this place, of not being in Leith’s company, of not matching wits with him, disturbed her, for the Highlander’s presence was exciting.

She thought of his blatant masculinity, the brilliance of his topaz eyes beneath his dark brows, the strong line of his jaw, and knew he was a man who would take what he wanted from life. There would be few to deny him. But when her usefulness here was at an end, where would she go? How would she live?

Leith was a fair man; perhaps he would continue to let her stay here, in the Maclean keep, even after he’d married Lady Katherine. The thought did not sit well. She could well imagine Lady Katherine’s treatment of her
then
, once she was the wife of an important laird. ‘Twould be far worse than it was now. And she would no doubt use her influence to sway the clan against her, mayhap one day even inciting them to lash her to a stake and finish the job her own clan started.

She’d just finished her breakfast alone at the great table when she became aware of someone standing quietly next to her. She’d felt strange sitting there by herself, but Leith had made it clear that was where she was to dine.

“Good morning, Mary Francis,” Isobel said.

The girl wore a dark tunic and her red, curly hair was vibrant. She had more pink in her cheeks since the last time Isobel had seen her and she was not coughing.

“The tea is helping with yer cough,” Isobel said.

Mary Francis nodded shyly. “It is, and I am grateful. I am sleeping well now.”

“I’m glad.”

“May we speak in private?” Mary Francis looked nervous.

“Aye.”

“I’ve been talking with some of the servants here. They like me more than they like Rowena, for Rowena is proud and arrogant and doesna curb her tongue. Let us first warm our hands by the fireplace.”

Isobel followed Mary Francis to the hearth. The girl held her hands in front of it and rubbed them. An old woman who had been attending the fire narrowed her eyes at Isobel and soon left. Mary Francis whispered, “Look closely at the wall above us. Do ye see the slight bulge beneath the tapestry to the right, near the marriage stone carved with the initials of Leith’s parents? ‘Tis barely noticeable.”

Isobel did. She had not noticed it before. “What is it?”

Mary Francis looked around once more, to make sure no one was within earshot.

“The wall contains a Laird’s Ear. Have ye heard of it?”

“Nay.”

“‘Tis a secret, small, barred window that allows the Laird to overhear conversations in the Great Hall from his bedchambers above. Conversations here, even whispered, can be perfectly heard from a mural chamber they say is off the laird’s bedroom. There may e’en be one in Logan’s room.”

Isobel felt her face flush, wondering if Leith was listening to them now. But when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that he sat at the great table where she’d just been, apparently having just come down from his room. Lady Katherine and Errol now flanked him, as usual. But Leith was staring at Isobel. She turned away and warmed her hands.

“Why are ye telling me this, Mary Francis?” she whispered quietly.

“We canna leave e’erything to chance or visions,” she said. “Ye helped me when no one else would. I figure one good turn deserves another. There are several such listening places in the keep. Some of the servants here know about them. There are also squints, or hidden peep holes, where one can spy on the people in the Great Hall. I’ve heard that people in France call the peeping hole a Judas. Many people have been betrayed by the peep holes, no’ knowing they were there, so it makes sense. Ye ne’er know when that might be useful. I know ye have enemies here, and I dunna believe yer enemies are aware of the Laird’s Ear or the peep holes. I have heard there is e’en a secret tunnel somewhere in this castle and I intend to find it and discover where it leads.”

Mary Francis frowned and sadness clouded her eyes. “People think I am shy and they are right. But I am no’ dumb. I ha’e learned to serve quietly and confidently. Do ye know, people threw pebbles and sticks at me when I was a child because I barely spoke? They hoped to make me cry out. They made fun. I used to walk about with bruises and scratches, dripping blood, but no matter how painful it was, no matter how much I bled, I ne’er cried out. I had the satisfaction of knowing they couldna make me do that. I e’en smiled to show them it didna hurt me.

“Isobel, I know how it feels to be taunted and misunderstood. I dunna wish to see ye suffer in this place. The things I’ve heard about Leith, it makes me shiver. Lady Katherine is a cold-hearted bitch and a perfect match for him. And she doesna like ye.”