Page 4

Later that night, standing in the center of the stable with Dougal near to hand, Raeb studied the three horses he owned.

Several others, the dainty white palfrey included, occupied the stalls, but those steeds belonged to the MacKai knights and his betrothed.

He’d given up his own destrier years ago—the animal had been too expensive to care for and fetched a price high enough to keep the other Dungarob horses in feed through four winters.

The only decent horse he’d kept was Artis’s dappled gray courser, Aingeal-ceo.

She was greatly attached to the animal, and he’d not had the heart to sell it.

Since he couldn’t do his duty to his people and his holding without a sturdy mount, he’d made his use of the stallion a condition of its keeping and for not gelding the beast.

As for the other two horses, not one had borne a saddle in close to a year, and neither would be an easy mount for a lady.

’Twas the only reason he was glad Lady Du Grace had brought her own steed.

Pulling an apple from the barrel where they were kept, he walked over to the mare. Dougal followed.

There’d been a time when the MacKai stables had been famous for the strength and stamina of the steeds bred and trained at Dungarob and filled with fine horses. But that had been before his parents were murdered and the breeding stock stolen, when he’d been young as he had not been since.

“She’s small, but she’s verra pretty, and good natured, according to Angus,”

Dougal said.

“But is she strong enough? Despite what my master of horse thinks, this mare looks too fragile to handle our steep pathways.”

Dougal shrugged. “Who can tell until she tries?”

“Aye. Makes me wonder if her owner has any real riding skill or if she expects to be led ’round in a circle by a servant long enough to get bored.”

“I’ve no gotten the impression Lady Du Grace does anything that would cause her boredom.”

“You’re probably right.”

Raeb banished the image of her deep, sea-green eyes and curvaceous form before he could become distracted. “What was I thinking, Dougal? What will I do with that woman for an entire day?”

Other than suffer the tortures of the damned, given her effect on me.

“Aye, that’s a question for some concern. ’Tis no like you could offer to entertain her as you do the tabhairn maids you bed when the need strikes you. And the woman has the surprising ability to disturb your normal outward calm.”

“Of a certainty she does, and I will guard my thoughts more closely than ever. As for her entertainment, ’tis likely she’ll expect poetry and dancing. She’ll no find either at Dungarob. I’ve much too much to occupy me to be bothered amusing a woman whom I’ll be sending back to her father in little more than two months.”

“Nonetheless, showing your future bride the full extent of your holding makes sense. And done right, ’tis another opportunity to give her a disgust of you.”

“True, but a great waste of my time it shall be. I should be assuring my people the month-long peace between MacKai and Marr is real and deserving of their support. I should be preparing my men to take Edward’s ships and the soldiers they will carry, not playing suitor to Jessamyn Du Grace.”

“Speaking of Clan Marr, have you any word from Lady Sorcha?”

“Nae. I know she is only a month wed, but a short note now and then would be appreciated. She can be bothered to write to our sisters but no me.”

“How did you come to approve the marriage? They murdered your parents and crippled Lady Sorcha for no reason but greed, then stole the pride and livelihood of Clan MacKai. Peace and union with the Marrs is the last thing I expected.”

“Aye, ’tis amazing how things have turned out. After the old earl took an English wife with close ties to Edward I, our perpetual feud with Strathnaver seemed fated. However, Colin doesna share his father and brother’s regard for Longshanks and truly loves Sorcha. When she said she would wed Colin Marr will I or nil I, what could I do but give my blessing?”

Dougal nodded. “The peace is a godsend, for at least you need no worry about attack from your eastern border. A shame the problem of Lady Du Grace is proving less easy to resolve.”

“Aye,”

Raeb agreed. Getting Jessamyn Du Grace to break the betrothal was essential to restoring his clan’s fortunes and spoiling the English king’s plans to invade Scotland. Raeb might wish the lady to the farthest corner of the world, but he’d no choice. Until those English ships were taken, she must remain in his home. All the same, he’d rather not have dealt with this particular problem. Just look what havoc that woman had caused in the short time she’d been at Dungarob. His sisters and clan were close to revolt against his orders to give no courtesy to his betrothed. She caused his control to fray simply by existing. Whether ’twas a glance from those eyes or a twitch of her plush lips, did not seem to matter. She held his attention whenever she was present, and much of the time when she wasn’t—curse her pretty hide.

“What will you do tomorrow with your unwanted betrothed?”

Shaking his head, Raeb gave orders for selected mounts to be saddled and brought to the keep’s main entrance the following morning.

“I’m no certain. What I do know is that you, Maeve, and Artis shall accompany us. I’ll be damned if I must bear that woman’s company alone.”

***

The following morning, Jessamyn woke to bright sunlight streaming into the room and the sound of Margery’s voice.

“Put that trunk near the window, and that one at the foot of the bed.”

Sleepily, Jessamyn sat up, the coverlet clasped to her chest.

“Good morning, my lady.”

Margery gave a small curtsey then turned to the men who’d carried the trunks and were now staring at Jessamyn. “You may leave us.”

The maid waved the men from the room. “My lady, if you prefer to sleep more, I’ll draw the curtains and return later to unpack your things.”

“No, thank you. I slept very well knowing you were nearby.”

“’Twas a relief to me too, though I’ve been treated well enough.”

Jessamyn got out of bed. “I am to ride out with the baron this morning, but I wish to visit the stables first, so let us hurry.”

“I’ll get your short tunic and split skirt.”

Margery rummaged in one of Jess’s many chests.

While she washed, Jessamyn pondered the possible reasons for her betrothed’s insistence on this ride. She could find no ulterior motive. Spending time with her seemed counter to her suspicion that he wanted to make her reject the marriage. Regardless, she could gain much from a survey of the MacKai holding. Her godfather would no doubt appreciate a thorough report of the terrain and geographic features between the northwest coast and the interior of Scotland. She must be careful to learn as much as she could. Edward might even be so happy with her that he would not object her retirement to the nunnery. Then she’d never have to return to her father’s manipulative care. Perhaps she could pester Raeb MacKai with her questions. If she made them sound inane enough, he’d have no idea that she planned to report what she learned to King Edward.

Margery kept up a constant flow of talk while Jessamyn thought.

“Oh my lady, I was so overset to be separated from you that I completely forgot to be disdainful as you wished.”

Margery brought the clothes and helped her into them. “The servants all thought the baron’s failure to greet you or send anyone in his stead appalling. They said they had orders to be rude to you, but the baron said nothing about being rude to me. And after the help you gave to the baron’s sister, Lady Neilina, none wishes to obey his ridiculous order. They are exceeding kind to me, sharing their meals and making certain I have a comfortable place to sleep when you do not need me. This morning I had all the help I needed to bring up your trunks and wash water.”

Jessamyn let the maid help her into her riding boots. “After more than a week at sea and today’s ride, I’ll give the world for a bath. Do you think the MacKai servants would mind assisting you to provide one?”

“Certes, they will help, my lady. I discovered that the cook and I share a love of needlework. We could not stop talking, and I’m sure I’ve made a friend there. She’ll convince the rest of the staff to aid us whenever possible despite the horrible baron’s orders. Shall I arrange a tub for this afternoon?”

“That will be perfect.”

Jessamyn stood patiently while Margery found a short cloak to cover the tunic as she rode. “You said you had a comfortable place to sleep. Is the trunk with my dowry safe there, or should we bring it here?”

“’Tis well out of the way in my quarters, and I’ve the key on a chain under my kirtle.”

“Excellent. I think you should remain friendly with the other servants.”

Margery laid the cloak on the bed. “Since you gave aid to one of the baron’s sisters, have you changed you mind about being disdainful?”

“Save for keeping Baron MacKai at a distance, yes.”

Though she was still not certain of the best way to go about that, given the proper timing, she might not have to worry about it.

“’Tis a shame you must give up your dreams in order to marry a wild Scot,”

Margery said.

“If you are willing to help me, I need not sacrifice myself in such a way.”

“I am always at your service, my lady. Sit and tell me what you wish me to do while I arrange your hair.”

“Mind you, there is some risk, and I must warn you not to repeat anything I say. Baron MacKai, his sisters, and knights all speak English quite well. Do you understand?”

Jessamyn could not see her maid’s face, but she felt the slight tug on her hair when Margery’s grip tightened.

“Yes, Lady Jessamyn.”

“Good, now listen closely. First, the marriage vows will not be spoken before midsummer, close on two months from now. The baron himself actually suggested that, so I’ve no need to find an excuse for delay. That gives us plenty of time to allay any distrust by the Scots. We shall both be all that is courteous to everyone but the baron. ’Tis he who controls whether we stay or go, and I would have him happy to be rid of both of us.

“We’ll bide our time until a ship arrives, then you and I will pretend to argue. You must take coin from my dowry to hire passage to New Castle on a ship departing with the morning tide. The dowry already lies hidden in your trunk, and most of it shall go with you when you leave. I will retire to my chamber, pretending to be distraught. Under cover of dark I will join you, hiding in your quarters on board until the ship has sailed and it is too late to turn back. I’d like to bring Persia with me, but that may not be possible. I’ll retrieve her by claiming she was part of the dowry Baron MacKai lost all right to when he broke our betrothal.

“By the time King Edward or my father hears that I did not marry this churlish Scot, you will be safe at home, and I shall be secure behind the walls of St. Bartholomew’s nunnery in York. The church will protect me because of the dowry I bring. Your innocence will protect you. None can blame you for following your lady’s orders.”

“It sounds like a fine plan, Lady Jessamyn.”

Margery’s voice trembled slightly. “Tell me, how will you get yourself out of this keep? I have seen only the salley port as entrance or exit and that is well guarded.”

Jessamyn kept her voice level and her tone light. She had to reassure Margery, for the maid was essential to the plan’s success. “I can easily create a distraction for the guards.”

“And if that fails?”

Jessamyn bit her lip in thought for a moment. “If all else fails, I shall resort to bribery from the little of my dowry that I will keep with me. Guardsmen never have enough money. All I need is for the guards to look the other way long enough for me to leave the keep unseen.”

“Oh, I’d not thought of that. Still, I cannot like it. My place is by your side. Who knows what that Scottish devil will do to you if you are caught? Life could become very unpleasant. Perhaps it would be best to resign ourselves to our lot.”

Margery finished braiding Jess’s locks and began to pin the braid in place.

Unable to shake her head without spoiling her maid’s hard work, Jessamyn added strength to her voice. “No. I will not be sold like livestock.”

“There, all finished.”

Margery’s hands dropped away. “Still, perhaps you should reconsider … ”

“Why?”

Jessamyn patted the completed coiffure and straightened her sleeves while Margery bent to twitch the skirt’s hem into place.

“You need allies too, my lady. ’Tis not right for me to be your only champion.”

Margery’s worried tone spoke volumes more than her words.

“With luck, we’ll not be here long enough to need a champion. You should remember that when you are among your fellow servants. If the friendships you form are too strong, you and others will suffer when we go. I cannot afford to leave you behind.”

Margery sobered and straightened to her full, if diminutive, height as she needlessly dusted the shoulders of her lady’s tunic. A dumpling of a woman, Margery always had difficulty looking stern.

“I thank you for the warning, my lady. I would never abandon you, and should need be, I could always return here once I see you safely to the convent in York.”

“That may not be as easy as you imagine, if the folk here believe you betrayed them.”

“Then they cannot be the friends they appear to be, and I shall return to my home in Blancmer, as originally planned.”

She handed Jessamyn the cloak. “There, you are ready.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

Jessamyn hugged her maid, then swept from the room.

Margery’s information about the baron’s orders to his clan confirmed her own thinking and inflamed Jessamyn’s ire again. He imagines I can be cowed by a little silence, a few cold shoulders, and a bit of rough treatment. I’ll show him.

While she plotted her strategy for antagonizing Raeb MacKai, she admired the craftsmanship of the thick stone walls and defensive features of the staircase.

She stepped off the last tread, pointed her nose in the air, and glided past the guards without a glance, as if she’d not a care in the world and every right to be where she was. From the corner of her eye she saw the guards shift as if to intercept her. Then they stopped and exchanged embarrassed glances that she ignored.

Headed for the stables, she passed through the great hall, aiming for the large, open doors at the far end. She passed a number of women scrubbing the stone floor before covering the surface with new rushes and sweet-smelling herbs. Even though the women appeared to ignore her, she could see the curious glances cast her way, just as she’d noticed the guards’ movements. She walked quickly, for she was eager to assure herself of her mare’s well-being.

She found the stable tucked into a far corner below the battlements. Beside it stood several enclosures obviously meant to provide a safe, open air space for training, injured animals, or breeding mares with young foals. Three sides were fenced. The farthest side was formed by the keep’s high defensive wall. Odd that at this time of day all of the enclosures were empty. She did not recall seeing any horses in use as she’d walked the length of the large bailey. She’d seen a fair number of men-at-arms training in the yard but none mounted. No doubt some of the baron’s mounts were being used by guards who patrolled the holding. The rest could only be in the stable. Though perhaps he allowed his breeding herd to roam free in the area beyond the cliffs.

Shaking her head at the conundrum, she slipped through the stable doors, pausing inside to allow her eyes to adjust to the dim light. Dust motes floated in a sunbeam that pierced the gloom from an opening high above the loft. The familiar scents of straw, leather, and horse filled her nostrils, but the only sound was the greeting whinny of a single horse. Persia! Jessamyn would know that laughing whicker anywhere. She hurried to follow the noise to a spacious stall where Persia stood munching hay.

Jessamyn fumbled with the latch, but soon she was inside, stroking the mare’s sleek, white coat and checking her for any sign of injury or maltreatment.

“You seem to be well enough, my friend.”

Jessamyn laid her cheek against the mare’s neck.

Persia tilted her ears, snorted, and shook her head, dislodging Jessamyn and forcing her to stand aside, as if to say, “I’m busy eating. Do not bother me.”

Jessamyn searched for, and found, a brush. “Very well, your highness. Enjoy your breakfast. I’m sure you will not mind if I brush the dust from you. I know how much you dislike being dirty.”

“Are ye daft, lass?”

Heart racing, Jessamyn leapt and turned all in one movement, placing herself defensively between Persia and the man who’d spoken from just outside the stall.

A craggy-faced fellow—as tall and gangly as Margery was petite and round—studied Jess. Lively curiosity sparkled in pale blue eyes under thick, raised gray brows.

“I spent a good long while cleaning that wee, pretty lady.”

He gestured at Persia.

Jess’s heart steadied as he spoke.

“Even combed her mane and started to braid it,”

he said. “Then down she goes, rolling herself around in the fresh straw I’d laid for her. Wallowed like a pig until that lovely white coat was yellow wi’ dust. Looked like a daisy she did, all yellow in her middle wi’ that shining white on her belly, legs, and head.”

Jessamyn laughed. She could not be cold or rude to someone who so clearly loved horses and understood them, too. “I was having a jest with Persia, for I know only too well how much she loves a dust bath, especially right after I’ve spent a good long while, as you say, cleaning her up. I swear she does it just to have me brush her clean again, for she certainly did not beleaguer my father’s stable lads that way.”

The man’s eyes brightened. “So ye tend yer own steed, do ye?”

“Whenever I can.”

Jessamyn turned back to brushing Persia. “’Tis only right to treat her with the care and courtesy she gives me.”

The man nodded and pursed his lips. “Happen she plays that dusty bath trick on ye, cause like me, ye’ve got the right touch wi’ the brush and comb.”

He moved into the stall, took a position on Persia’s opposite side and set to combing snarls from the mare’s mane.

“Happen she may. Persia’s very clever.”

He nodded. “Aye, Lady Du Grace. ’Tis easy to see that.”

“Please call me Jessamyn. I never stand on ceremony with a man who loves horses as I do.”

He tugged his forelock. “Thankee, yer ladyship … I mean, Jessamyn. I’m Angus MacEich, t’ baron’s steudmarcaiche.”

She cocked her head in question.

“Ye dinna understand me. The English would say master of the horse. Though ’tis naught to be marcaiche of these days at Dungarob.”

A touch of sorrow colored his voice and a wistful look dimmed his gaze.

“What do you mean?”

“Ye see th’ empty stalls all around us?”

She nodded. “I thought the other horses out somewhere being ridden.”

“Bain’t no other horses, no MacKai horses. Even the steeds owned by our knights are no enough to fill a quarter of this stable. Save for th’ baron’s courser, which ’tis really his youngest sister’s, and two mounts—no better’n cart nags—shared by his sisters, th’ MacKai stables are empty and have been so these last ten years.”

“Why?”

Jessamyn blinked, but her hand remained gentle as she finished brushing Persia then joined Angus in braiding the mare’s mane. “The MacKai stables are famous. Even in England their destriers and coursers are highly prized. I imagined my father arranged the match between me and the baron just so he and my godfather could acquire some MacKai breeding stock.”

“Du Grace. Aye, I should have recognized the name. Yer da has been trying to get his hands on one of our studs since before ye were born, but th’ old baron—the present man’s father—was too canny to let any of the breeding stock out of MacKai control.”

“Then how … ?”

“Treachery, ’tis how.”

The horse master’s hands stilled, and he studied Jessamyn with narrowed eyes. Then nodding to himself, he continued. “Th’ lyin’, thievin’ Earl of Strathnaver stole what belonged to th’ MacKai clan. Divil take him.”

Angus spat. “’Tis no sin to be glad the old earl and his heir are dead. ’Tis the younger son, Colin, now wed to our own sweet Sorcha, who is earl. We’ve all great hopes for the peace between MacKai and Strathnaver. Though it hasna helped us get our horses back.”

“Was the earl the baron’s overlord?”

Perhaps fealty had demanded more than the baron wished to give.

“Nae.”

Angus shook his head. “’Tis no like that here in the Highlands. Each man owns his own and shares as he can when there’s need. But th’ earl had plenty of horses and no need to steal or kill to get more, especially from a man he called friend.”

Jessamyn frowned. “Are you saying that under the guise of friendship this earl killed the present baron’s father and stole his livelihood?”

Angus looked her in the eye.

“’Tis just what I’m saying. Lamed fair Sorcha, th’ present baron’s eldest sister, too, when her da refused a marriage contract between her and th’ earl’s older son, Brice. Th’ earl was determined, and when he couldna get what he wanted by fair means or trickery, he turned to murder and thieving. ’Tis why the MacKai needs yer dowry, t’ say naught of the surprise gift this lovely lady is.”

He patted the mare’s neck and scratched the base of an ear. “Ye give our Raeb a bairn or two, and the clan will be well on its way back to what it once was.”

Jessamyn felt her cheeks heat. She thanked heaven for the poor light in the stable. Still, she was not afraid to speak her mind. “Your baron is unlikely to receive dowry, mare, or children from me given the manner in which I’ve been treated.”

“Heh, heh,”

the old fellow chuckled. “I’m no certain what bee th’ MacKai’s gotten int’ his sgrog, but ye pay it no mind.”

Angus pulled a handful of oats from a pouch at his belt and fed them to Persia. “Th’ lad will see his mistake soon enough. Then ye’ll discover what a cuirteil cuaras he is.”

“Cuirteil cuaras?”

She wrinkled her brow.

Angus’s mouth formed a sly grin. “Ye’ll know th’ meaning of that soon enough as well. ’Tis no a lass ‘twixt here and Dundee would refuse Raeb MacKai anything for no more’n a wee smile.”

Jessamyn said nothing as she put away the comb and brush and helped Angus saddle Persia. Baron MacKai will have to do a lot more than smile to gain my forgiveness. Even then I’ll not allow a charming rogue to steal my dreams. It was a shame he and his clan had troubles, but he’d have to find solutions somewhere else. She would not be denied the chance to live life as she chose it, to breed and train the horses she loved for the benefit of God and the church.

***

“Tell Lady Jessamyn and my sisters that I regret I am delayed on an urgent matter but will join them at the earliest opportunity.”

Dougal nodded and left.

Raeb smiled as he climbed the stairs to the barracks room where Rhuad MacFearann recovered. The man wished to discuss a vital and private matter that he claimed could not wait. That meant Lady Jessamyn would be the one waiting for her betrothed to show up. I wonder if I can prolong my time with Rhuad enough to avoid the lady altogether? No doubt she was used to being first in a man’s attentions. With a bit of luck, she might get angry enough at this discourtesy to reject the betrothal. Then, in good time, she could be sent back to her father, and Dungarob would be well rid of her.

Raeb didn’t bother knocking but opened the door to find MacFearann standing before a mirror and wiping the last of his shaving soap from his face.

“So you’re feeling better.”

“Aye,”

agreed Rhuad. He put the cloth aside and returned to his bed. “I’ll be fiddle fit as soon as your dragon of a sister lets me out of this bed. Maeve looks like such a sweet, pliable girl. I wouldna expect a will of iron to hide under such a luscious … ah, er … pleasant exterior.”

Raeb relaxed the fists he’d clenched to teach MacFearann respect for the MacKai women. Though truth to say, Raeb couldna blame any man for thinking lustful thoughts. His sisters were all lovely, each in her own way. But a wise man didn’t speak of lust for the sister to the brother.

“What keeps you here? You look capable enough of standing.”

Rhuad pulled at the nightshirt he wore. “Your sister took my clothes. I don’t suppose you’d lend me some?”

Raeb eyed the man’s lean, compact body. “Even had I clothing that would fit, I’m too familiar with the consequences of defying Maeve in her role as healer. She’s biddable as can be about almost everything else. Since she succeeds more often than not with healing, I yield to her in this one area.”

“Then I am condemned to at least one more day of confinement.”

“’Tis as well. This room is as private as we can get in the barracks. Tell me what message MacBirnum sends.”

“’Tis no from MacBirnum but from MacTavish.”

“MacTavish of Argyll? I’ve no met the man.”

“You are nae like to. He died.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. I am telling this badly. I had a message from MacBirnum for Lord Lachlan MacTavish seeking confirmation of the number of men he would send in support of capturing Edward I’s troop ships. I arrived at the MacTavish castle in time for his funeral. So I delivered my message to his heir, Iver.”

“And what did this Iver say?”

“He said he would double his father’s promise of forty men.”

Raeb frowned. “’Tis scarce enough men for a battle with warriors hardened in the Welsh wars. However ’twill be sufficient if the other clans can send the same. Does he lead his men, and when do they plan to arrive?”

“He wouldna say. No until his conditions were accepted.”

“Conditions! What kind of young fool places conditions on the protection of Scotland?”

Rhuad raised his brows. “He’s no younger than you, though a great deal more arrogant.”

“You think I’m arrogant?”

A smile spread on MacFearann’s face. “I dinna think it.”

“Well then, what … ”

“I know it.”

Raeb felt his brain about to burst. “I offer you a roof, care for your wounds, and all due courtesy, yet you insult me.”

“’Tis no insult if ’tis true.”

Rhuad raised a palm. “Hear me out. You get away with your arrogance because more often than no you are right. When you are no, your sisters put you in your place quickly. Also, you dinna hold a grudge when your manner causes trouble.”

Raeb grinned and looked Rhuad in the eye. “Nicely said. I will admit to a healthy helping of self worth, but I dinna allow it to misguide me. Whether the same is true of Iver MacTavish or no remains to be seen. What are his conditions?”

Rhuad swallowed then fixed his gaze with Raeb. “He wants a wife.”

“And I’m supposed to provide him one?”

The bastard son of the most hated man in Scotland simply looked at Raeb. “No just any wife. He wants one of the seven MacKai jewels.”

“He wants one of my sisters? Did he say which one? If he wants Sorcha, ’tis no possible.”

Rhuad shook his head. “MacTavish dinna say which one. What he did say was that if you accept his terms, he will arrive with his men two weeks before midsummer—when the troop ships are expected. At that time, he’ll, ah, inspect your sisters and chose the one he prefers.”

“Inspect? He’d treat noble ladies like cattle? I’ll cut his balls off before I’ll let him lay a finger on any of my sisters.”

“‘Inspect’ was his term, Raeb, no mine. I doubt he expects to check their teeth or their soundness.”

“Aye, if he’s as arrogant as you say, he probably doesna choose his words with care. If all he wants is to meet them and talk with them before proposing, I’ll allow it, but only if my sisters are willing.”

“So you’re going to ask them, no tell them?”

“Aye.”

“You do understand that MacTavish wants a guarantee of marriage to the sister of his choice before he’ll take one step beyond Argyll?”

“Aye. But I’ll no force any of my sisters into marriage.”

Sorcha had been compelled to wed once and had nearly met with disaster. Raeb thrust a hand through his hair. “I must speak with them and ask if any are willing.”

“You canna explain why.”

“Of a certainty I canna. However, I can plead a debt owed that MacTavish is willing to forgive in exchange for a wife. If they press for more than that, I’ll say I promised no to speak of the conditions of the debt. My sisters have honor and will understand keeping a promise.”

Rhuad shrugged. “’Tis your skin and your sisters.”

Raeb walked to the door then paused and looked back at Rhuad. “Once I’ve spoken with my siblings, will you carry the message for me to MacTavish?”

“Since you’ve guaranteed to find me passage to the Isle of Witches, ’tis the least I can do.”

“Tomorrow morning, I’ll let you know what to tell MacTavish. I want to give my sisters as much time as I can to consider their answers. But for now, ’tis past time I go in search of my betrothed.”

Rhuad nodded. “Until the morrow.”

Raeb took the stairs at a much slower pace. Those eighty MacTavish warriors would tip the balance in Scotland’s favor when the battle with Edward’s troops came. But at what cost? He certainly couldn’t order any of his sisters to sacrifice themselves to a man of unknown character. He didn’t even want to ask it of them. An arranged marriage between friendly clans was one thing. But this? He could only pray all would turn out well.

***

After her talk with Angus, Jessamyn left the stable, Persia in tow, to find Maeve, Dougal, and Artis mounted and waiting for her. Of Raeb MacKai there was no sign. A tiny clutch of disappointment annoyed her. She would not waste a moment thinking about that man. Her goals would be achieved that much easier if he were not present.

“Is Baron MacKai not joining us?”

she asked of the group.

Maeve and Dougal were so absorbed in looking at each other that they failed to note her approach or her question.

“Raeb sends his regrets, Jessamyn,”

Artis announced. “He said to tell you an urgent matter has arisen.”

“Hmmm.”

As excuses went it was sufficient enough not to be considered rude, but she had to wonder if this was not his true purpose, to make her believe he was finally going to play the suitor when all along he’d intended to avoid her. She shrugged and surveyed the horses. His plots could not matter to her, especially when her own plans were furthered.

Dougal’s destrier was a fine animal and, from its stillness, quite well trained. The other two mounts were some of the most disreputable looking horseflesh she’d ever seen. They had to be cart horses, which confirmed what she had learned from Angus.

Was Baron Raeb MacKai the sort of man to sacrifice his stables to help impoverished villagers? She’d not had enough experience of him to know, but the possibility that he was normally kind and considerate roused her suspicions about his treatment of her and his motives for ordering his household to be rude. More and more his discourtesy seemed out of character. She wanted her curiosity satisfied, and since she would not be able to ask him directly, she’d ask his sisters and Dougal.

“Let us be off then.”

She smiled at Artis. “I am certain you will be excellent guides.”

A young boy led Persia to the mounting block and assisted Jessamyn into the saddle. The horse was smaller than most coursers, leading many to mistake her for no more than a gentle palfrey.

“Maeve, Dougal,”

Artis called their names sharply. “Jessamyn is ready.”

Two heads lifted and turned startled gazes to their guest.

“I’m sorry,”

said Maeve. “I was … ah … distracted.”

“Please forgive my neglect, my lady.”

Dougal bowed his head and doffed his cap. “I am concerned that the MacKai has no chosen to share the nature of this urgent matter with me.”

They set their horses in motion with the two sisters in front.

“I gather the matter arose very recently. Is the baron normally more thoughtful when not pressed for time?”

“Aye. ’Tis a verra thoughtful man, he is,”

admitted the captain of the guard. “A mite too thoughtful sometimes.”

More evidence that Raeb MacKai was not the man he showed himself to be with her. “Then perhaps the baron needs time to consider his possible options before seeking your counsel.”

Dougal met her gaze and gave a small smile. “I am sure that must be it, but please pardon my preoccupation. I shall no be content until I know what trouble has arisen. Meanwhile, let us endeavor to distract Maeve and Artis, for they too worry much about their brother.”

“Indeed, Baron MacKai appears more than capable of handling any crisis, and his sisters’ anxiety would trouble him. If I knew more, I might be better able to steer the conversation in a direction that would avoid stress.”

“That would be helpful, Lady Du Grace, but you ken as much of this latest matter as I.”

“Well enough.”

Jessamyn sighed. “Let me see what I can do to distract Artis. I shall leave Maeve to you.”

She trotted forward until she rode beside the two sisters and engaged them in discussion of the route they would take. They told her the holding was large enough that several days’ ride was required to cover the entire property. Thus today they would travel the coastline as much as possible, saving the interior for later.

Eventually, Maeve dropped back to ride with Dougal. Jessamyn smiled inwardly. The couple was so obviously besotted with each other; they would ignore her and Artis for most of the day. Jessamyn could safely question the younger girl about the MacKai holding and its baron without fear of any interference.

“The Dungarob coastline is very dramatic and quite beautiful,”

Jessamyn remarked. They traveled a well-worn path along the top of a low cliff, the crash of waves on the shore a reminder of how close the sea lay.

“I’m so glad you like it. Many of my favorite places lie along this path. Would you like to see them?”

“Certainly. Where will you take me first?”

“To the selkie’s grave.”

“Are selkies not water creatures? Why would anybody dig a grave for one?”

From her saddle the girl leaned closer to Jessamyn. “’Tis a watery grave, and marked only by the selkie’s footprints. ’Tis the footprints that keep the selkie’s soul tethered to earth. On moonless nights ’tis said that the selkie will hunt anyone unlucky enough to be near in hope of stealing that person’s soul and imprisoning it here in her place, so the selkie can be set free.”

“That’s a fascinating legend. Are you not afraid?”

“Nae, ’tisna now a moonless night.”

The girl grinned. “To get there we must take the lower path.”

Jessamyn sighted along the line of Artis’s pointing finger. Their current track followed a shallow decline before splitting, one branch descending through a break in the cliff face, the other ascending then disappearing into a stand of pines.

She cast a quick glance back to make sure Maeve and Dougal were in sight.

They’d fallen farther behind, but the glance was enough to assure Jessamyn that the couple was behaving properly.

With Artis leading the way, Jessamyn guided her mount down a sharp rocky incline to a thin curve of beach. With the tide ebbing, they traveled along the curve for quite some distance.

“Artis, stop.”

Becoming concerned about the distance they traveled and the problems occurring when the tide returned, Jessamyn reined in her own mount.

Artis followed suit. “Why?”

“How much further is this watery grave?”

“See that headland?”

The girl pointed a few yards away where the cliff jutted outward cutting off the beach.

“Yes.”

“Well, you canna see it because of the shadows, but the grave is at the base of the cliff just back from the point.”

“You mean where the waves seem to disappear straight into the rock before rushing back out to sea?”

Artis nodded. “Right.”

Jessamyn looked back but did not see Maeve or Dougal. She gauged the distance from the start of the path at the top of the cliff to what must be a cave. Since she and Artis were nearly at their destination, they should have sufficient time to see the cave and return safely. She shook her head over the dawdling sweethearts. By the time she and Artis returned to the cliff top, the couple should have caught up with them. “All right. Lead on.”

The cave was much larger than Jessamyn had imagined, so they guided their mounts through small waves until they were well inside.

“Here,”

Artis indicated a dry patch near the far wall. “The selkie’s footprints are easy to see.”

Jessamyn halted Persia beside Artis’s mount. A trail of footprints frozen in rock started near a wall of broken stone and led straight into the sea.

“Amazing.”

Who made the trail? How had the prints existed for any amount of time without being washed away? Those questions would doubtless never be answered. But perhaps Artis could supply other information. They were not so far from Dungarob keep as the crow flies. What if this cave was the clan’s escape route? Would not Edward like to know that? Though could she give such information to her godfather when the end result would bring harm to people she was coming to like? Maybe she’d not tell Edward.

“Does this cave go back very far?”

“It does go very deep into the earth. I’ve even heard stories of a secret entrance into our keep’s dungeons. However, I’ve never been down here long enough to find out for certain. Raeb doesna like for me to come here, and he willna allow me near the dungeons.”

Jessamyn blanched. “You should have told me. He must think it unsafe.”

“He does.”

The girl nodded. “If I told you then you would no have allowed me to show you the selkie’s grave.”

“No, I would not have. Come, let us leave now.”

It was extremely careless not to question the girl more closely before coming here. Perhaps such neglect would aid in convincing Raeb MacKai that Jessamyn Du Grace would not suit him as a wife.

“But—”

“No. I’ll brook no objections. I believed you to be my friend, and you deceived me. That was unkind in you.”

Her conscience twinged. She deceived the girl’s entire clan but chastised Artis for doing the same. No matter how Jessamyn tried to convince herself it was for a higher purpose, she knew her lies would require much penance.

Artis bowed her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Let us leave. Then neither of us need be sorry.”

The girl lifted her head and caught Jess’s gaze. “Very well.”

They turned their mounts and retraced their steps. As they approached the spot where the path had split, the shadows told her that noon had come and gone.

“Jessamyn,”

Artis shifted in her saddle. “You willna tell Raeb that I led you here, will you?”

“I’ll not lie to him for you. You should tell him yourself. However, neither shall I volunteer our adventures to him.”

“Thank you.”

The girl smiled and urged her mount upward.

When Jessamyn gained the top of the path she looked about for Maeve and Dougal, but the couple had disappeared.

Where could they be? Worried, Jessamyn caught her lower lip in her teeth. “Artis, do you have any idea where your sister and Dougal went?”

The girl swiveled her head, taking in the surrounding landscape. “They mustna have seen us go down to the beach. I’ll wager they rode on ahead through the wood toward our holding’s northernmost border.”

It was logical, but Jessamyn could not help worrying. When she and Artis had disappeared from view, Dougal, if not Maeve, should have had the good sense to look for their companions or at least wait for them. “Very well, let us search for them in that direction.”

They set their mounts in motion and were entering the pine wood when a thunder of hooves sounded behind them just beyond the cliff rise.

Jessamyn ordered Artis to a halt with her in the shadows.

Two riders crested the rise at a gallop, and Jessamyn let out a breath she had not realized she’d been holding. The lead horse was unmistakably Raeb MacKai’s dappled stallion.

As the riders approached, the baron’s large form became distinguishable. He sat his steed well—his broad shoulders square, his back straight. His thigh muscles gripped his horse with impressive strength, and his hips shifted in the saddle with a flexibility that bespoke other, more intimate skills.

She and Artis emerged from the trees, and Raeb slowed, holding up a hand to indicate that the rider with him should follow suit. He did not look like a happy man. Why was she not pleased to see him discomfited?