Chapter Fourteen
The aroma of the best food and drink that Dun Arach could provide filled the air of the great hall. It turned Jamie’s stomach.
He sat at the head of the long table, a goblet untouched beside his platter.
The king’s envoy—a sleek, soft-handed man named Sir Ewan Bruce—was talking again, his voice a steady drone of politeness that set Jamie’s teeth on edge.
He caught fragments of what was being said between the dull roar of his own thoughts.
The betrothal… alliances… the Crown’s blessing… the ceremony scheduled for as soon as Lady Margaret can make the journey.
He wanted to put his fist through the table.
But he nodded when appropriate and made the right noises, keeping his expression deliberately bland. The Lord of the Isles could not afford to show his temper before a royal envoy. Still, every polite phrase scraped across his nerves like sand.
“The Lady Margaret is eager to meet ye, my lord,” Sir Ewan was saying, breaking into his thoughts. “I’m sure ye will find her to yer liking. She is well-versed in music, embroidery, and the reading of Latin texts—quite the refined lady.”
Jamie forced a tight smile. “Aye. I’m sure she is.”
Sir Ewan smiled indulgently. “His Majesty will be most pleased to see the Isles brought closer to the Crown through this union. It is a sign of faith between our realms.”
Faith, Jamie thought bitterly. Is that what you call it? I call it a manacle. An iron chain binding us to servitude.
He forced himself to chew and swallowed a mouthful of bread.
It tasted like dust on his tongue. Elise’s laugh flickered across his mind—wild and bright, like sunlight on water.
He remembered her teasing him as they rode along the coast, the streaks of pink in her hair glowing in the sun.
He remembered the taste of her lips when they’d kissed on the beach.
He remembered how he’d felt with her in his arms, like he could conquer the world.
And now she probably hated him.
Sir Ewan poured himself more wine. “Lady Margaret is, of course, quite beautiful,” he droned on. “And her dowry alone could see yer shipyards rebuilt twice over. When yer marriage is formalized, the Crown will provide additional levies to secure the isles from further attack.”
Jamie’s jaw clenched. “Right.”
His fingers tightened around his goblet until they ached.
He could feel everyone watching—the servants pretending not to listen, Phillip sitting by his side and nodding along with the envoy’s words.
He could almost hear Elise’s voice in his head, sharp with humor.
You’re scowling again. Is that what you call diplomacy, my lord?
He pushed his plate away. “Ye must excuse me,” he said abruptly, standing. “But I have urgent business to attend to.”
Sir Ewan blinked. “But we havenae signed the marriage contract yet.”
“Later.”
Without waiting for permission, he strode from the hall.
By the time he reached the stairwell that led to the guest chambers, his heart was pounding.
He climbed the steps two at a time and hurried through the passages until he finally reached her door.
For a long moment he stood there, trying to work up his courage.
He knocked once. “Elise?”
No answer.
He tried again, louder this time. “Elise, it’s me. I need to speak with ye.”
Still nothing. He growled under his breath. He wouldn’t let her ignore him this time. He pushed the door open and strode inside.
“Damn it, Elise, ye canna avoid me forever—”
His words died on his tongue. The room was empty. The sheets were rumpled, showing that the bed had been slept in, but Jamie knew instantly that she was gone. The smell of her lingered in the air but the sense of her presence, the energy of her, was absent. The room felt hollow without her in it.
A stub of candle had burned down to almost nothing on the desk and a few documents were scattered across it—the kind of dry reports and goods manifests that Phillip usually kept in his study. It seemed Elise had been reading them again.
He whirled—and almost collided with Alice carrying a stack of sheets.
The young maid cringed back. “My laird!” the lass stammered, curtsying hastily.
“Where is the Lady Elise?” Jamie demanded.
Alice blinked. “I…um…I dinna ken, my laird. She was gone when I came to bring her hot water this morning.”
“Has anyone seen her since last night?”
Alice shook her head.
Jamie swore under his breath and pushed past, taking the stairs two at a time.
By the time he reached the courtyard the sun was above the horizon, turning the clouds over the sea into a smear of gold and pink.
He forced himself to stop and think. Where would she have gone at this hour?
She was not an early riser so something must have roused her from her bed.
Did she know the envoy had arrived early? Had she seen what had transpired in the great hall?
He turned sharply towards the stables and the stable master looked up in surprise when he burst in.
“My laird?”
“Has Lady Elise been in here this morning?”
“Aye,” he replied, a little flustered by Jamie’s harsh tone. “She took one of the dapples.”
“Did she say where she was going?”
He shook his head.
Jamie hands curled into fists. “And ye didnae think to ask her?”
The stable master swallowed thickly. “Nay, my lord. I’m not in the habit of questioning MacFinnan spellweavers.”
Jamie took hold of his anger with an effort. None of this was the stable master’s fault. It was his. He should not have danced with her last night. He should not have kissed her. He should not have let himself fall—
“Saddle my horse,” he snapped.
The man scrambled to obey and Jamie helped, grabbing a bridle from the wall and approaching Tempest who was stamping and snorting in his stall, perhaps picking up on Jamie’s mood.
He slipped the bridle over the big beast’s head and fitted it with smooth, practiced motions.
His hands were steady, but his pulse was pounding in his ears.
He could see her in his mind’s eye—the stubborn set of her chin, the way she refused to back down from danger. She’d walk straight into a hornet’s nest if she thought it would prove a point.
Tempest stamped and snorted as Jamie swung into the saddle. The horse’s breath steamed in the chill air.
Phillip appeared at the stable door just as Jamie gathered the reins. “Jamie, wait! Where in God’s name are ye going?”
“Elise is gone. I’m going to find her.”
Phillip’s expression darkened. “The envoy expects—”
“He can wait.”
“Ye are making a mistake,” Phillip hissed. “The king—”
“The king can damn well wait too!”
Phillip’s jaw tightened. “Ye would risk it all for this woman?” His expression had gone dark with fury. “After everything I’ve done to arrange this? Everything I’ve done to keep this island safe? If we offend the king now, we risk—”
“Then make excuses!” Jamie thundered. “Say whatever ye damn well like! But get out of my way!”
He dug his heels in and Tempest surged forward.
Phillip moved out of the way, but Jamie could feel him scowling after him as he urged Tempest across the courtyard.
Let him. Phillip and the envoy and King James could go rot as far as he was concerned.
Right now, all he wanted was to speak to Elise.
No, not wanted. Needed. He needed to speak to Elise.
As he galloped through the gates, the sea wind was strong enough to snatch his breath, to send his hair streaking back from his face. White caps surged below, breakers rolling onto the beach in a fury. He leaned low over Tempest’s neck, his thoughts a frenzy of fury and fear.
He didn’t know what he would say when he found her, only that he must find her. He must make her understand. Must tell her that he—
He took a deep breath, trying to still the terror that was pounding through him. For the first time in a long time, Jamie Donald was truly afraid. But not of kings or pirates.
Of losing the one person who made him feel alive.
*
The wind tore at Elise’s hair as she galloped along the cliff road, the early morning light stretching long shadows over the land. Perhaps she should have slowed. Planned. Stopped to think.
But the urgency boiling in her wouldn’t allow her to slow.
She rode hard, following the same tingling of her MacFinnan senses that she’d felt the other day.
She tried to tell herself that she wasn’t running away.
That she was running towards something, towards a clue that might help her unravel the mystery of Islay’s plight.
She wasn’t sure she convinced even herself.
She didn’t bother to try and curb her power now.
She felt it inside her, battering against her ribs, demanding release.
It guided her, dragged her into the south as surely as a fish on a hook.
That sense of wrongness she’d detected was still here, getting stronger with every step she traveled.
She hadn’t understood it the last time and she wasn’t sure she understood it now.
But she wouldn’t stop until she’d figured out what it was.
The coastal road began to dip, and in the distance she spotted her destination—the wide horseshoe bay with its beach of shingle. Ah, that beach. It was on that beach that Jamie had kissed her.
No. She would not think about that. She would not think about him.
But despite herself, memories of what she’d seen in the great hall that morning flickered across her sight: Jamie reaching out, accepting a letter from his future wife.
Her heart squeezed painfully and she pushed the thoughts aside with an effort, gathering her will around herself like a cloak and forcing herself to concentrate on the path ahead.
It dropped towards a wooded dell and the horse’s pace slowed as the ground began to change. Elise pulled gently at the reins, forcing herself to breathe, to listen, to let the magic settle long enough for her senses to sharpen. The dapple mare snorted and tossed her head, uneasy.