Chapter 18
The mountain sheep are sweeter,
But the valley sheep are fatter;
We therefore deem’d it meeter
To carry off the latter.
—“The War-Song of Dinas Vawr”
Thomas Love Peacock (1785–1866)
British satirist and novelist
The next afternoon, Alysandir paced the room before he stopped in front of the fire, his hands clasped behind his back. Behind him, his brothers Gavin, Drust, and Colin were gathered. They had returned to Màrrach moments earlier without Isobella’s sister. Alysandir paused to search their faces. “So ye never found the Macleans after they took the lass?”
“Oh, aye, we found them, along with aboot sixty of their clansmen,” Drust said. He was seated on a straight-backed settle, his legs stretched out toward the fire in front of him.
Colin seemed to be waiting for one of his brothers to say something, and when none did, he said, “Alysandir, ye might have figured out a way to retrieve the lass without a scuffle, had ye been there, but the two of us couldna find a way that would allow us to return home with both our heads attached to the rest o’ us.”
Alysandir stared into the fire and thought a moment. “Do ye have any idea where they were going to take her?”
“Aye, we followed them,” Drust said, then added, “at a distance, of course. They rode right back to Duart Castle, bold as lions and in a verra relaxed way, confident that if we did follow, we wouldna be so foolish as to try and rescue the lass.”
“Ye are no thinking of rescuing her from Duart, are ye?” Colin asked.
“Nae, I value my head as much as ye do. ’Twould be a difficult undertaking, for Duart is a formidable fortress, built to withstand attack. Bartering willna work either, although I know that if I offer to arbitrate for the lass, ole Angus will be most agreeable.”
“Then what are ye waiting for?” Gavin asked.
Drust’s face grew intent. “Think, Gavin. What do we have that Angus Maclean would demand as a fair exchange for the lass?”
Gavin frowned, his dark blue eyes seriously considering his choices. “Ye mean Barbara?”
Drust nodded. “Aye, he would be more than willing to exchange our sister for Elisabeth Douglas, and I’d wager my life on it.”
“What will we do, then?” Colin asked softly as he looked from brother to brother.
“I will have to think upon it,” Alysandir said. He glanced at his brothers and smiled at the way Gavin was impatient with expectancy and eager to become a part of the discussion, in spite of his younger years.
Drust studied Alysandir’s face. “What will ye tell the sister?”
Alysandir shrugged. “I willna tell her anything right away. She will no’ understand why I dinna ride out in the morning to fetch her sister. She will have questions, and she will want answers I dinna have. Ye ken that Duart is a castle that has never been penetrated. Maclean will be prepared and ready for us.
“A daring attack would be foolish and costly with Mackinnon lives, and it is doubtful that we would have the lass even then. Attempting a rescue without a plan is equal to love withoot strategy. Planning is everything.” He paused and said with a grin, “Of course, the simplest solution would be for Barbara to change her mind aboot Fergus.”
Colin let out a whistle. “Ye are no’ going to tell Barbara to marry Fergus Maclean, are ye?”
Alysandir tried to hide his amusement. “Does anyone tell Barbara what to do? And no, I’m not going to tell her to marry him, but I do want to see how she feels aboot it after being at the nunnery this past week. There was a time she fancied Fergus, and if time has brought back that feeling, then the task is an easy one. If she is still adamant aboot not wanting to wed him, then I must come up with a solution.”
“What have ye found out aboot the sister? Ye mentioned when we arrived that she hurt her ankle in the fall doon the crag. Is it healing?” Colin asked.
Alysandir nodded. “Aye, ’tis better. ’Twas a nasty tumble she took, and her ankle, though not broken, was dangerously close to it.”
“Did she tell ye her story?” asked Drust.
Alysandir shook his head. “Nae, she has yet to speak o’ it.”
Drust’s brows rose and he looked at Colin, whose face also wore an expression of surprise. “And ye havena pressed her?” Drust asked.
“Nae, I havena.”
“Why?” his brothers asked in unison.
“I was hoping the two of ye would return with her sister and I could question Elisabeth aboot it before I heard Isobella’s account.”
“Ye smell a rat, do ye?” Colin asked.
Alysandir shook his head, conscious of his brothers’ gaze upon him. “Nae, but that doesna mean there isna one aboot.”
“Ahhh,” Drust said. “Ye are going to play the fox.”
Cool as a cathedral, Alysandir smiled and turned toward his desk. He poured himself and his brothers Drust and Colin a dram. He handed each of them a silver goblet, and then seeing the disappointed look on Gavin’s face, he smiled and poured another one. He extended it toward Gavin and said, “’Tis aboot time ye rid yer face of that goose down.”
Gavin jerked his head, tossing his sandy brown hair back and out of his eyes as he sprang to his feet, which set his brothers to laughing. He ignored their teasing jibes. “Ye mean I can shave?” he asked.
The brothers raised their goblets in salute. “Aye, ’tis a man ye have become, Gavin, so shave away, unless ye need us to help ye with yer scraping,” answered Alysandir, and a round of laughter erupted when Gavin’s face turned as red as a newly bloomed rose.
After a round of teasing, the laughter died down. Alysandir waited to see what his brothers would say. Drust looked thoughtful as he swirled the liquid around in his goblet. He took a sip. “Ye know, Alysandir, that the longer ye wait to tell the lass aboot her sister, the more awkward the spot ye are in. What if she learns we returned afore ye tell her?”
“There are times when one must temper good judgment with silence and, when that doesna work, add in a little deceit. ’Tis a blessing of sorts that she isna oot and aboot right now, due to her ankle. Hopefully, I will have a plan laid soon.”
Drust shook his head. “I hear that thin ice ye are walking on cracking under yer feet.”
Alysandir went back to the fireplace and placed his goblet on the mantel. He took up the poker and gave the logs a poke or two, enough that sparks swirled about and the flames were fanned to life. When he picked up his goblet and turned back to his brothers, he saw they were grinning at him.
“What mischief are ye aboot, or have ye no told me the entire story of yer encounter with the Macleans?
“We were wondering the same aboot ye,” said Drust.
Alysandir regarded his brother with narrowed eyes. “What do ye mean?”
Colin was grinning widely. “Weel, ye havena told us aboot yer journey back to Màrrach with such a bonnie lass. How fared ye with her for two days and one night? Did ye roll her up in yer plaid with ye?”
Alysandir answered coolly, “And if I did?”
Drust looked at Colin and slapped him on the back. “I told ye so. Now ye owe me yer blue velvet doublet.”
Colin scowled at his brother and then said, “I have an idea how to solve the problem with the two lassies. If we canna snatch the one lass from under the Macleans’ noses at Duart, then we can give them the lass we have here. The lassies want to be united, and I’ll wager they dinna care if it is at Màrrach with the Mackinnons or at Duart with the Macleans. Then ye willna have to worrit aboot Isobella discovering we are back or how ye can rescue Elisabeth.”
Drust turned back to Alysandir, his grin flashing over the lip of the goblet. “That sounds reasonable and by far the easiest way I’ve heard yet. We simply give them the one we have. The sisters will be together, and that will be the end of that.”
A long silence followed, while every eye was upon Alysandir. When he did not respond after some time, Drust glanced at his brothers and then asked, “Alysandir, ye are no’ against Colin’s idea, are ye?”
“Nae, I am not against it, but neither am I for it. Therefore, I’ll not act upon it.”
“Why canna ye act upon it?” Gavin asked. “’Tis the perfect solution.”
“Aye, ’tis perfect all right, save for one thing,” Alysandir replied, sounding quite amiable.
“And what is that?” Colin asked, itching with curiosity.
Alysandir lifted his goblet, finished the liquid inside, and then said with a dismissive tone, “Mayhap I have discovered a more attractive reason for keeping the lass here.”
After his brothers left, Alysandir thought upon his last remark. Isobella had him thinking about things he had not thought about for a long time. He thought about his response to Colin’s suggestion. He poured another dram, telling himself it wasn’t because he needed it to help resist her. He was past that already.
He desired the lass, and at the same time, he wondered why he didn’t make things easier for himself and send her packing to the Macleans as his brothers had suggested. He had enough trouble at the moment without dragging back more in the form of a woman who made his blood run hot.
Suddenly, Drust walked back into the room. After one look at Alysandir, his eyes were alight with humor. “’Twould seem ye are having a bit of a disagreement with yerself. Let me see. It wouldna have to do with that fire-haired lass wi’ the emerald eyes, would it?”
“Did ye come back in here to add more dross to the weight of my growing mountain of problems?”
“A growing problem for ye, is she?”
Alysandir did not say anything, but that did not deter Drust. “Weel, that will bear watching, for ’tis obvious that Alysandir, the man, wants her to warm his bed, but she isna the sort of lass to go for that sort of thing. And Alysandir the chief of Clan Mackinnon, willna trust her because he doesna ken if she is a spy. The truth is, he canna trust any woman again.
“Desire and duty. Those are the dilemmas he faces. Mayhap he will find a way to have both the truth and the lass in his bed. Of course, she might refuse to tell him what he wants to know and he canna bring himself to bed her unless she does. ’Twould seem ye are sitting on the sharp horns of a predicament, and all yer alternatives are unsatisfactory ones.”
After a long spell of silence, Drust continued, “’Tis not the worst thing in the world for ye to marry again, Alysandir. ’Tis no yer fault that it didna work out before. Ye shouldna let it trouble ye.”
Alysandir gave Drust a hard look. “Do I seem troubled?”
Alysandir’s voice was almost jovial, but Drust knew his brother well. “Aye, brother, ye do at that, and ye only get that look when it’s aboot a woman… or the lack of one.”
“Ye should be concerned aboot yer own unmarried state and not mine.”
“I know it is difficult to bury the past, but ye canna let what happened before place a shadow upon yer future. Ye are too young to be bitter. Ye have to bury it. If ye did, ye could find love again.”
“Love!” Alysandir almost spat out the word. “Och! The last thing I want is to be yoked together with a woman like a pair of Highland cattle. I am done with that, and keep yer thoughts on yer own unmarried state and off of mine. Love is no longer a reality or a desire. I am finished with love, finished with women, and sick of being burdened with both. Love with a woman is impossible.”
A log in the fireplace fell with a loud crash and sent a shower of sparks scurrying into the room and across the stone floor. A stand holding a book given to Alysandir by his uncle fell over, and the book landed face up and open.
Drust righted the stand and picked up the large book. He was about to replace it when something caught his eye and he began to read, “‘Love feels no burden, thinks nothing of trouble, attempts what is above its strength, pleads no excuse of impossibility,’ and the words were meant fer ye.”Alysandir looked at Drust with an odd expression. “Read it again,” he said, and Drust did.
Alysandir frowned as he looked at the book in Drust’s hands. He tried to remember what book it was, but it had been resting in the stand so long without him taking any notice of it that he could remember nothing.
“What book is that? Whose words are those?”
“They are the words of Thomas à Kempis, a German monk and writer. It was written in the early fifteenth century. It would seem he had some words to say to ye.” Drust laughed. “Och! ’Twould seem ye are no’ so finished with women as ye thought, for as it says, love pleads no excuse of impossibility. ’Twas no accident.”
Alysandir shook his head. “The wind blew it over.”
Drust laughed. “Say what ye will. I know what yer life has been like. But there are good women in the world, Alysandir, and a good number of them can be trusted.”
“I am no’ a bitter man but a cautious one. I depend upon no one but myself and trust no one but our uncle and my brothers. My life has been handed over to leading the clan.”
“Aye, and ye are fearlessly devoted, for ye have neither dread nor fear of death. ’Tis yer disregard for yersel’ that makes ye a dangerous man, for ye will call any man’s bluff. ’Tis true ye once married for love, but ye locked away the memory until ye canna recall what it feels like to be in love any more than ye can remember the face of the woman who left ye. Mayhap that is also why ye canna stand the sight of yer son.”
Drust’s words brought back memories, and Alysandir recalled a point when he had felt the joy of life and living. But that had all been wrung out of him, and he was left with nothing more to give. He slammed his hand down. “Do not speak of them again. They are dead to me.”
“Saying doesna make it so. Ye vowed never to allow a woman close enough to betray ye again, yet something within ye hungers to pleasure a woman ye love. Deny it all ye wish, but I know ye keep the beast chained. Whether out of fear or regret, I doubt even ye know.”
“Perhaps some men were not meant to be married or to love anyone.”
“Aye, just as ye never expected nor wanted to be chief of the Mackinnons, but once the responsibility was on yer shoulders, ye became a fearlessly devoted leader. Ye are dedicated and focused upon being a good shepherd to our clan.
“Ye did not strive to have their adoration, or praise, in a kingly fashion like Argyll. Rather, ye wanted them to feel confidence in yer ability to guide, and secure in yer protection as they went aboot their daily lives. Ye are a strong man, and ye meet yer destiny face to face without wincing.”
Drust knew him better than he had thought possible, Alysandir mused silently.
“I know ye have a burden to carry,” Drust said. “Just as I know that since the death of James IV, ye have had to learn how to avoid the wrath of that pompous Regent John Stewart and how ye worrit aboot his oversight for the infant king James V. I ken what it must be like fer ye to be always on guard and judging the powerful earls, like Argyll, and holding yer own against them. And there is always the constant threat of England, which is far greater than the feuds amongst the clans.”
Alysandir bet Drust did not know about the rumors that England was now using female courtesans—and from time to time, ladies of high rank—to extract information from unwary Scots. He decided to keep that bit of information to himself, even as he wondered if a pair of them had reached Mull.
“So, what do ye intend to do with the lass?”
Alysandir would not deny the possibility of anything concerning Isobella. “I intend to watch her as closely as an enemy.”
“Mayhap ye will be the lion what lay doon with the lamb, as our uncle said. The lass seem harmless enough.”
“Aye, the lion would lay doon with the lamb,” Alysandir said, “but I doubt that the lamb would get much sleep.”
Drust laughed, and Alysandir looked down at his empty goblet and considered filling it again. But he had tried that before, and he learned it was a temporary cure. Once he was sober, the problems that sent him to drink in the first place were still there. He slammed the goblet down and slumped back into his chair, wondering if all of this would ever end.
He rarely admitted it to himself, but he knew that deep in the innermost part of him there still existed a remnant of the man who wanted the love of a good woman. Now the question seemed to be: Was the fear of pain greater than his desire? What would he risk to allow a woman into his life again? He glanced at Drust.
“Don’t ye have something ye need to see aboot?”
“Nae, I would rather watch ye squirm and apply all yer logic to a situation that ye dinna have any control over. Ye want the lass, but ye dinna want to admit it. So, let the lass go to be with her sister. I will accompany her to Duart, and ye will be done with it. Ye canna win if ye keep her. She is different from all the rest. Ye have only met her and look at what it has done to ye. Let her go.”
Alysandir slammed his hand down upon his desk. “She stays! And ye’d best find something that diverts yer attention or I will send ye to Iona to spend some time praying with our dear uncle.”
The sound of Drust’s laughter followed him from the room. After he was gone, Alysandir hurled the decanter across the room. The sound of the glass falling was as musical as the sound of her voice. He pulled his mind away from Isobella, the desirable one, and concentrated on Isobella, the woman he did not trust.
All war is based on deception, therefore when capable, feign incapacity, and when active, appear inactive. He now wondered if her ankle truly was as bad as she let on. True, it was swollen, but that also would be the perfect cover.
Isobella was his captive. She could not be trusted, and until she proved differently, she would be his enemy. He thought of the dream he had had the night before Isobella appeared in the glen, imagining her as the willing fantasy lover he craved to see again. He ached to have her in his bed waiting to be delighted.
He hadn’t cared who his fantasy lover was or where she came from. She hadn’t asked for promises he could not keep or vows in which he no longer believed. He wished Isobella had come to him like that with no mystery, no secrets, just smoldering passion. Impossible, of course, but perhaps that was the purpose of the dream after all. He hoped Isobella would drive him as wild as the fantasy.
He did not know if he could trust her. But he did want to bed her.