Devil in a Kilt by Sue-Ellen Welfonder

Chapter 4

“If you’ll allow me, I shall take you to meet Robbie now.” Lachlan the squire appeared at the high table just as Linnet finished a small portion of fish stew and pushed aside the empty bowl. “My master wishes you to see the lad as soon as possible.”

“I should like that as well.” Linnet stood, patted her still-damp head veil and readjusted the dampish folds of her mother’s arisaid, then let the squire grip her elbow and guide her through the great hall. He skillfully dodged hordes of scurrying servants as they rushed about, their arms laden, no doubt tending to preparations for the next day’s wedding festivities. Some sent shy glances her way, others stared more openly.

Hopefully they’d think she still wore her rain-dampened garments because she was too tired to change clothes after the long journey. She didn’t want their pity should they guess she’d brought little with her besides what she had on.

At least, her new cloak was fine and hid her ragged gown. And, blessedly, unlike her veil and precious arisaid, the splendidly woven mantle had stayed fairly dry – just as her betrothed had assured her it would.

Aye, let Duncan MacKenzie’s servants gape at her. Until she was more ready to face them, the cloak and her veil shielded her well.

The assessing perusals of dining clansmen also followed her. They craned their necks, their curious stares taking in her every move as Lachlan led her past their tables toward a spiral stone staircase barely visible beyond a darkened archway in a far corner of the hall.

Something lurked in the shadowy stair tower – a palpable air of sadness so well defined it seemed to have taken on a life of its own. It wasn’t the kind of emptiness that filled and surrounded her husband-to-be, but a feeling of great dejection laced with a trace of hope.

Linnet’s instincts told her the oppressive atmosphere had to do with the boy, and suddenly she knew, without yet seeing the child, that he was indeed Duncan MacKenzie’s son.

Ne’er had she been so sure of herself.

The higher they climbed, the more certain she became.

When they reached the third landing and Lachlan made no attempt to halt their ascent, she yanked on his surcoat.

“Aye, my lady?”

“Why is the lad hidden away in such a dismal corner of the castle?”

“’Tis no’ for me to say.”

“You cannot or will not?”

“Neither, my lady. It is not my place.”

“I see.” Linnet’s brow pleated. “Then I shall be so bold.”

The squire nodded once. “As you wish, lady.”

“I do.” Linnet folded her arms, driven to assertiveness by an overwhelming desire to ease the pain already reaching her from somewhere higher up in the tower. It came at her like a dark cloud and thickened with each step she took.

“I will speak plainly.” Linnet held the squire’s gaze. “Sir Duncan doubts Robbie is his son. Is that the reason he’s kept so far from the hall and in such a dark place?”

“Indeed it causes my lord pain to look upon the lad.” The flickering glow of a wall torch revealed the squire’s discomfort. “But I cannae say why he’s quartered here. My master ordered it so, and I would ne’er question his motives.”

“Perhaps someone should,” Linnet said, then hitched her skirts to continue climbing the steps.

At the fourth landing, Lachlan led her down a dim passage, stopping before a closed oaken door. “He may be asleep.”

“Then I will not disturb him,” Linnet said in a hushed voice, stepping past him into the shadow-filled chamber the moment he opened the door.

The cloud of sadness she’d sensed on the stairs nearly knocked her back into the passageway, so heavily did unhappiness permeate the room. The walls seemed saturated with distress, and it cost all of her strength to keep from crumbling to the floor under the weight of the boy’s anguish.

Although a fire burned in the stone hearth, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. Purposely, she went to the small chamber’s one window and threw open the shutters. When she turned around, she knew her instincts had been correct.

On a canopied bed against the far wall, a small boy slept, one arm flung around an ancient-looking mongrel. The dog glanced warily at her, but the child slept on, unaware she’d entered the room.

Covered by a thick plaid woven in MacKenzie colors, and with only the back of his dark head visible, Robbie MacKenzie didn’t stir as she stared across the room at him – stared at him and the image of a stag’s head hovering in the air above him.

A loud buzzing sounded in her ears and the vision intensified in clarity until it seemed to glow from within. Then the whirring noise stopped, and the image vanished as if it had never been there.

“Are you ill, my lady?” Lachlan hurried to her side. “You’re pale. Shall I fetch you some mulled wine? Or escort you to your lady servant?”

“Nae.” Shivers still raced up and down her spine, but she shook her head. “I am fine now.”

“Would you like to rest here before I take you to Sir Duncan? Robbie will likely awaken at any moment. He doesn’t sleep well.”

Linnet glanced at the child. “Then we don’t want to disturb his rest, do we?”

The squire made no move toward the door, and a light pink tinge colored his cheeks. “My liege had hoped you’d spend some time … ah … getting to know Robbie.”

“It isn’t possible to do that when the lad’s sleeping, now, is it?” Linnet announced, leaving the room. “You can escort me to your liege instead.”

“But Sir Duncan-”

“He asked to speak with me before I retire, did he not?” she persisted, not breaking her stride. “Will you take me there, please?”

“Of course, my lady,” he said, hurrying to join her in the passage.

As she followed him down the steps, Linnet sent silent prayers to all the saints. She hoped they’d grant her the wisdom to choose her words wisely when she faced the mighty MacKenzie of Kintail. She knew what he wanted from her, and she knew the answer, too.

But she meant to keep her knowledge a secret.

She had a plan, and if the merciful saints were with her, it just might work.

* * *

Duncan heardLinnet outside his private chamber long before she chose to make her presence known. She’d waited until his squire’s footsteps faded before she rapped on the door. But when he’d called out permission to enter, she’d hesitated.

While he waited, he glanced about the solar, his best-loved room. The only place where he could truly remove himself from the world.

Escape the misery that was his life.

Except for the rich silk tapestries on the walls, the solar was austere. A small wooden table, one uncomfortable chair, and a large strongbox made up the furnishings. No cushions adorned the window seats and even the sweeping views of the loch did scarce little to ease the bleakness of the chamber. Only the fire in the hearth provided a semblance of comfort and warmth.

Not that he cared. It was old Fergus, his seneschal, who insisted on keeping the firelog burning. Duncan liked the room sparse and cold. It matched his barren soul.

He’d purposely chosen to meet with his bride-to-be here, where the severity of the setting would emphasize the image of himself he wished to give her.

No longer wearing his sword, but still clad in his hauberk of black mail, he knew he made a daunting presence that would rattle her to her maidenly core despite her displays of courage on their journey.

It was better for her if she thought of him as cold and immovable as the thick walls of his castle.

And so he went to the hearth and stood with his back to the door, waiting. After a moment, he called out again. This time she entered.

When he heard her close the door, he turned around. “Do you know why I chose to take you as my wife?”

For what seemed an eternity, the crackling of the fire made the only sound. Finally, she nodded. “Aye, because of my gift.”

He nodded in return, satisfied.

“Even so, sir, there is something I must tell you.”

“Indeed.”

She drew a breath. “It is not what you think.”

“Then speak.”

“You should know I cannot make use of the sight at will. The visions-”

“Your soothsaying abilities are well-known in the Highlands,” Duncan cut her off. He’d seen an indefinable expression flicker across her face and didn’t want to hear whatever she’d meant to tell him. “I have no doubt you shall provide me with the truth of that which plagues me.”

She clasped her hands before her. “No soul should suffer, my lord. Whenever I am able, I seek to aid those in need.”

“So I have heard.”

“Wagging tongues do not always speak true.”

Duncan frowned. “I am not a simpleton.”

“I did not mean to imply you are.”

“But?”

“Nothing.” She peered at him, all innocence.

His mood worsened, the meeting not going as planned.

Regardless, he paused before posing the question he must ask. His dread of her answer sent more terror racing through his veins than he’d ever felt when facing a full battalion of mounted English knights and their ever-present Welsh archers.

Still, he had to know. “You’ve seen the child?”

“Aye.”

Splendor of God, the wench said no more!

Simply ‘aye.’

Did she not know he burned for an answer?

“And what did you see?” The words fair burst from his lips.

Rather than answer him, she smoothed her palms on the folds of her cloak. With her obvious discomfiture, realization dawned. Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. He’d intimidated her more than was his intent. His warrior garb and the bleak solar did the rest, unsettling her.

That had to be the reason for her silence.

Moving to the small table, he filled two jewel-encrusted chalices with a blood-red liquid and handed her one. “Herbed wine,” he told her. “Let us drink to a union that shall be beneficial to us both.”

She raised her glass and took a small sip, but the gesture of welcome Duncan had hoped would put her at ease seemed to have the opposite effect for her hands shook, and she spilled a bit of the wine onto the rushes at her feet.

“I would like to ask a question if I may,” she said, her voice steady despite her slight trembling.

Duncan drank deep of his own wine before answering. “What would you know?”

“Our clans have ne’er been friends. Why did you not just kidnap me? Why marriage?”

“Knowing the truth of Robbie’s parentage is no’ the sole reason I chose you.” Duncan dragged a hand through his hair and drew a long breath. Merely speaking about the lad caused him great pain. “Whether he is mine or not, he needs the care of a loving adult. You shall provide that care.”

“And you, sir? A child needs both mother and father. A boy-child, especially, should have his father’s love. ’Tis not right to withhold it.”

At her boldness, Duncan’s fingers tightened around his chalice. “You are no’ here to question my reasons.”

“I would only know why you need me? A nursemaid could do the same. Or you could foster him to a trusted ally.”

“Do not speak of that which you know naught.”

She raised her chin at him. “Of loving children, I know much, my lord.”

Love for a child was something he, too, knew about, but his feelings were no concern of hers. Fighting the anger she stirred within him, he set down his wine and folded his arms.

“So tell me what you saw. Is the lad mine?”

Looking suddenly nervous, she wet her lips before she spoke. “I cannae say. Perhaps I need time to know him before my gift will show me.”

Not wanting her to see his searing disappointment on hearing her words, Duncan returned to the fireplace and kept his back to her until he was certain his face bore no emotion.

Finally, he turned around. “How much time?”

“I cannae say,” she repeated.

Fury, ominous and chilling as a dark wind, consumed him but he said nothing. He needed her, for her abilities were genuine. His spies had sworn it. If he must, he’d wait to learn the truth.

But it was nowhere writ he must be pleased at the prospect.

By the hounds, he’d wanted the answer this night.

“When you know, you are to tell me at once,” he said, his tone clipped. “Your duties are to look after Robbie and warn me of any treachery you may foresee. Naught else shall be expected of you.”

“Naught else?”

Duncan shot a glance at her. He’d thought she’d be relieved, but she looked at him as if he’d grown horns and a tail. Then she lowered her head and began poking at the floor rushes with the toe of her new boot.

“I see,” she said in a small voice. “You do not want me as a true consort.”

Thunder of heaven! Surely she wasn’t upset because he didn’t mean to seek her bed?

“Do no’ be offended, lady. It has naught to do with you.” He crossed the room and took her chin in his hand, lifting her head so she had to look at him. “I swore upon the death of my first wife ne’er to wed again. By keeping you chaste, I shall no’ completely break that vow.”

Her lower lip began to tremble, but she met his gaze. “As you wish.”

“It will no’ be an unpleasant arrangement,” Duncan assured her. “You shall have your own chamber, the leisure to do as you please, and my protection. Perhaps you’ll come to enjoy living at Eilean Creag. It cannae be as bad as what you’ve left behind.”

“I am grateful to be out of my father’s hall. That is true.”

“Good, it is settled then.” Letting go of her chin, he stepped away from her and went to the door, opening it. “Can you find your way to the hall? Lachlan should be waiting there to escort you to your quarters. Rest well this night, for tomorrow shall be a long day.”

Although he held the door wide, she didn’t move. She stood staring at him with the queerest look on her face he’d ever seen. When a single tear rolled down her cheek, he silently cursed himself and stepped forward, intending to comfort her as best he could, to explain he didn’t mean to reject her personally.

He didn’t want any wife.

A score of dancing sirens, all naked and one more desirable than the next, wouldn’t persuade him otherwise.

But before he could tell her so, she dashed past him and fled down the passageway. Duncan waited until the sound of her running footsteps grew faint before he shut the door and slammed his fist against its cold oaken panels.

Again, he swore.

She’d run as if the hounds of hell and the devil himself chased after her.

Duncan pressed his lips together in a grim line.

Mayhap he was the devil.

At the moment, he certainly felt like it.