Chapter 11
Adham knew he was rushing things. But his lady wife was so tempting that he did not want to stop. He teased her lips a little longer and stroked her smooth, full, firm breasts again to remind himself of what a treasure he had found in her. But he also knew that if he did not want to have to wait days to repeat their coupling, he would be wise to end such activities for the evening, at least.
He murmured, “We must get cleaned up. You likely feel some discomfort.”
To his delight, she smiled warmly and said, “Just how do you know how a woman feels, Sir Àdham MacFinlagh?”
“I, too, have an imagination, Lady MacFinlagh,” he retorted. “Now, up with you. The moon has been out all day, and now that darkness is falling, I thought you might like to walk down to the river with me and watch the stars come out.”
Her eyes gleamed, but she said, “I wonder what they did with my clothes.”
“Someone put two sumpter baskets against yon wall. I’d wager they hold our clothes—at least, something other than what we wore earlier. If our things are not in those baskets, I’ll shout for my squire. He’ll know where they are.”
He rolled out of bed and stood beside it, waiting for her.
She stayed where she was. “Look and see if they’re there.”
Obediently, he opened the first of the two baskets and found, as he had expected, that it contained clothing, feminine clothing. “This one is yours,” he said. “Come and choose what you want to wear.”
Realizing that she was shy, he went to the second kist, opened it, and took out his tunic and a leaf-green plaid with fine red lines crisscrossing it. Putting on the tunic, he turned back to her. “Up, my lady. I have seen and felt every inch of your body, and I like it fine. So come out of that bed before I pluck you out.”
Smiling, she inched out of the bed feet first, keeping herself covered as much as she could until she realized that her feet would not touch the floor.
“Prithee, sir, that looks like my shift on top. Will you hand it to me?”
“Nae, lass, come and fetch it yourself. If I fetch anything, it will be you.”
Giving him a look that ought to have seared him, she slid down off the bed, visibly drew a deep breath, and let go of the sheet.
She was truly a gem. He wanted to ask her to turn around for him and let him gaze at her backside. But he did not want to anger her or make her more bashful than she was already. Given time, she would get used to him. So he turned to the washstand, where someone had thoughtfully poured water into the basin.
That person had also refilled the ewer and provided a slops jar.
They cleaned themselves quickly. Then, she donned a plain shift, a dark green kirtle, and her fur-lined cloak but left her feet bare. Àdham was glad to see that. It meant she was accustomed to going barefoot, as most Highland folk did.
As expected, MacNab sat on the stairway, dozing, but woke when Àdham spoke his name.
“Tidy up in there,” Àdham said in the Gaelic. “But first, do you know how we can get outside without meeting anyone who’s hoping we’ll reappear tonight?”
“Aye, sir. Being certain that you knew naught of this place, I went round after you were safe in yon chamber to acquaint myself with the residence.”
Aware that Fiona, behind him, did not understand them or know MacNab, Àdham said to her, “This is my squire, Bruce MacNab, m’lady. He has learned Scots but fails to practice. I hope you will help him improve his skill.”
“I’ll try,” she said, “if he will help me learn to speak the Gaelic.”
“He will.”
“I am pleased to meet you, Bruce MacNab,” she said, smiling at the squire.
“I thank ’e, m’lady,” he said in heavily accented Scots, nodding as he spoke.
Àdham, continuing to speak Scots, said, “Show us how to get outside now, and when you finish tidying our chamber, go to bed.”
MacNab nodded and turned toward the stairway, “Doon here, sir,” he said quietly, leading the way downstairs and through what Àdham deduced was the monastery kitchen. Then they were outside in the dusky night, near the monastery wall on the west or back side of the residence, not far from the chapel.
The Gilten Herbar lay north of them, the river Tay to the east. In the stillness, Àdham could hear the mill lade chuckling in its bed behind them, and discerned a path leading northward toward a narrow, open gate.
“We can reach the North Inch through the Herbar, aye?” he said to Fiona.
“Aye,” she said. “Someone will be watching the archway gate, but the lay brothers and royal guards know me, so whoever is there will let us out. By the time we return, the brothers will all be abed. We can use the main entrance then.”
Àdham thanked MacNab, adding in Scots, “Wake us early enough to break our fast without haste before we must leave.”
“Aye, sir. Can ye find your way back tae your chamber?”
Giving him a look, Àdham said, “If that is your notion of a jest . . .”
“Nae, sir; I’m off, sir,” MacNab said hastily. “I ken fine that ye can find your way back from nigh anywhere a body drops ye.”
Fiona was glad they had switched to speaking Scots. Their Gaelic had sounded like gibberish. Surely, the sounds they made were not really words; nor did she think she could learn to make such sounds herself.
Although her fears had stirred again, the night was pleasantly cool. A breeze through the trees and across the flowerbeds wafted herbal scents to her, and beside her, Àdham kept silent, as if he respected her thoughts. They emerged from the garden with no more ceremony than the guard at the gate opening it for them.
As they neared the river, Àdham looked around the area. At last, he said, “Do many people wander here at this time of night?”
“It is light enough still for some, especially with a half-moon up,” she said. “But once darkness falls, the Inch usually becomes deserted. If we walk by the river, no one will trouble us.”
“I was not thinking of walking,” he said with gentle emphasis.
Astonished, she looked up and saw his teeth flash in a smile. “What are you thinking?” she demanded, needing to be sure he meant what she hoped he meant.
“I believe the tide is incoming now,” he said.
“And?”
“So the water must be as cold as it was a sennight ago.”
“It will be, aye. But I’d wager that Highland waters are also cold, mayhap more so. Also, at night, water often feels warmer than the air above it.”
“It does,” he said, grinning. “But I would be displeased if my bride were to make a scene for others of her swimming, even if she retains her smock.”
“Which she always does,” Fiona said firmly.
“We’ll see about that,” he retorted. “But I think we will walk beyond that bend yonder, where there may be a more private place to swim than right here.”
“It is not as late yet as it was that night,” she reminded him, lest he think she had been foolish to swim where she had.
“Let us see what lies round that bend,” he said, urging her forward with a light hand at the small of her back.
The site he chose was a short U-shaped bend, and although the water was not still, the incoming tide had slowed its course even more than it had the previous week.
Stripping off her cloak and kirtle, Fiona walked without hesitation down the steep bank and into the water. The water felt wonderfully cool and cleansing. No sooner did she dip herself in, though, than she looked back to see Àdham strip off his tunic and walk in stark naked.
Àdham stroked toward Fiona, watching how she swam. He decided that she had learned the art, as he had, by watching frogs or learning from someone else who had watched them. She moved more smoothly than any frog, though, and with her long hair still floating on the water behind her, she was much more beautiful.
That she was so much at home in the water removed another item from his mental list of things that might create hardship for her in the Highlands. Not that all Highlanders knew how to swim, heaven knew. Grown men had been known to step into what they thought was a shallow burn only to slip and be swept away and drown.
She was as graceful in the water as she was on land and appealing to watch.
He knew that Sir Ivor was pleased with what the King had wrought, as was Malcolm. What his uncle Fin and Shaw Mòr might think he would learn soon enough.
Meanwhile, he was content with his bride and eager to learn more about her.
She turned her head then and smiled at him.
Accepting the smile as an invitation, Àdham moved close and pulled her into water shallow enough for them both to touch bottom. Then, gently slipping an arm around her and his free hand beneath her shift, he stroked her bare body and breasts until she moaned and then smiled at him.
“The sensations you stir in my body astonish me,” she murmured. “But I hope you don’t expect to do this for long, because I’m growing cold standing here.”
“I’ll keep you warm,” he said, pulling her closer to his body, letting her feel him against her. Not that there was much to feel just then, he realized. She was not the only entity in the river that disliked its chill.
With a backhanded movement, she splashed him, and he pushed her back into the deeper part so that she came up sputtering. Then, she waved an arm across the surface, dousing him again and making him laugh.
He was glad that she was playful and looked forward to taking her to his favorite pond near Finlagh, where the water was warm on sunny summer days. They could play there, and he would teach her other ways to enjoy warmer water.
Now, the waning half-moon to the west was nearing the distant dark hills, although its reflection continued to dance on ripples wherever they moved.
“I hate to leave here,” he said. “But we must be up and away with the dawn.”
“I hope someone told my father that that’s when we must go,” she said. “I did not know we were to leave so early.”
“Ivor or Malcolm will have told him, and Ormiston will have asked one of them if they did not. He will be there to bid you farewell, never fear.”
He helped her onto the bank and pulled her close so that she faced him. “Look at me,” he said quietly. When she tilted her face up, he kissed her, weaving his hand through her wet hair so he could kiss her more thoroughly. “You taste good,” he said as he freed her and reached for the clothing she had laid atop his plaid on a nearby rock. “I wish we could linger to watch the moon go down, but you’ll catch an ague if we don’t get you warm soon.”
The door opened, and Brother Porter stared, clearly surprised to see them.
“We’ve been for a swim,” Àdham said as if everyone swam in the dark. “Her ladyship’s cloak is damp, and she will need it in the morning.”
“Aye, sure, Sir Àdham,” Brother Porter replied, “I’ll see that it dries as it should, and a lad will take it up afore ye leave your chamber. I’ll send someone now to fetch aught else ye may have as needs drying, too, sir.”
They agreed, and soon after they reached their room, a lay brother rapped on the door and took away the damp clothing. Minutes later, they were back in bed.
Àdham gently pulled Fiona nearer, saying, “I want to hold you close before we sleep, but we’ll explore no more of coupling tonight. You have not complained of soreness . . .”
“I don’t feel sore anymore,” she said when he paused, finding it easier than she had expected to discuss the subject. “The chilly water eased the worst of it. I don’t know how it will be whilst we ride tomorrow”—she had a horrid second thought—“We will ride, will we not? We shan’t have to walk all the way.”
He hugged her closer. “Nae, lass, we’ll have horses. Your da said that you have your own horse in town, so I expect he’ll bring it along tomorrow.”
“My horse is in the Ormiston House stable,” she said. “Your equerry is still there, so he likely knows which one is mine.”
“Aye, he’ll have it ready and will bring it along with mine.”
“Don’t you mean the Earl of Caithness’s?” she asked with a teasing smile.
“I do, but whilst it was in your father’s stable, it was believed to be mine. It seemed safer to keep quiet about its belonging to Caithness, or some thief might have been stupid enough to steal it. We brought several garrons with us, too, but Caithness said that I should ride what he calls a ‘proper horse’ into St. John’s Town, and his man willingly provided that one for me when I stopped at Blair.”
“What is a garron?”
Sounding amused now, he said, “A Highland pony. ’Tis a gey sturdy, sure-footed beast that can carry considerable weight, even mine own, for some distance. In troth, I’d rather walk than ride one, because my feet nearly touch the ground if I do. But Lowland horses find the Highland landscape difficult, even impassable at times.”
“Is it dangerous for them?”
“I’m told that Border women are excellent riders,” he said. “So I expect that you ride well. Our likely route along the river Garry is easier for Lowland horses than most other ways, so you should have no trouble. We don’t travel fast, although we do hope to cover some thirty miles tomorrow.”
“Mercy!” Fiona exclaimed. “Her grace rarely rides more than half as far in a day. When we came here from Stirling, which is less than forty miles, we stopped overnight twice, at two castles.”
“Was one of them Auchterarder?”
“Nae, for her grace did not want to irk the King. At present, he is displeased with the Grahams . . . mostly with Sir Robert Graham of Kinpont.”
Àdham did not reply, and she wished she could see his expression. The room was too dark, though. She could see myriad stars through the unshuttered window, but the sky was black around them. Evidently, the moon had gone to bed.
Remembering that their conversation had begun with Caithness and Blair Castle, she said, “I know that Caithness is Atholl’s son, but, although James is currently displeased with Atholl, I think he does like Caithness.”
“Because Caithness rarely agrees with his father,” Àdham said lightly. “His allegiance is to James, and Caithness is an honorable man. That is all that matters.”
“But surely his allegiance might change! That happens, does it not?”
“Aye, sure, but he and I have known each other for some years,” he replied. “And, despite what happened the other night, we are friends. My lads and I bided a night at Blair Castle on our way to St. John’s Town, and he has invited us all to do so again tomorrow.”
“But Blair is Atholl’s seat. What if James learns that we stayed there?”
“He kens fine that Highlanders seek hospitality where they must and that it must be granted when someone requests it. Also, James knows that you and Lady Marsaili will be with us. But we can talk all day tomorrow. We must sleep now.”
To her surprise, his breathing slowed at once, and soon he was asleep.
Fiona, having never slept with anyone else in her bed before, lay wide awake beside him, fearing that if she moved she would wake him.
When Àdham opened the door the next morning, the wee black-and-white cat slipped past a neatly garbed young woman on the landing and darted inside.
“I’m Leah,” she said. “I thought her ladyship might ha’ need o’ me.”
“Aye, she does,” Àdham said, opening the door wide. “Here’s your Leah now, my lady. I’ll take my kist down and see if our horses have come.” Snatching up his plaid from the top of the sumpter basket, he donned it, fastened his belt, picked up his cap and the basketful of his belongings, and left the room.
Fiona, stroking Donsie, welcomed Leah with delight. “Faith,” she said. “I feared I’d have to leave without bidding you farewell.”
“I do wish I could go wi’ ye, m’lady. But me da wouldna like it, and I dinna think I’d like living so far from home.”
“I’m not sure about that myself,” Fiona said with a wry smile. “But we’ll see each other again. I mean to visit Ormiston Mains as often as I can.”
They continued chatting while Fiona dressed.
When she was ready, she handed Leah the cat, bade them both farewell, and broke her fast with Àdham in the refectory. By then, others including Ormiston, Caithness, and an apparent sea of servants, men-at-arms, and horses were awaiting them on the Inch outside the monastery wall.
The blond boy she had seen briefly in her father’s stable stood with them, and Àdham greeted him by tousling his curls and speaking to him in the Gaelic.
“Aye,” the boy replied. He added something else and gestured to the dog, Sirius, which was already lapping Àdham’s hand in greeting.
Seeing the dog evidently reminded him of Donsie’s attack the night they met, because he turned to her and said, “Where is your cat, lass? I forgot about her.”
“Donsie is not mine,” Fiona said. “She belongs here at Blackfriars. She just seemed to adopt me upon my arrival and likes to follow me. She’s gey friendly, though. She’ll find someone else to protect,” she added with a grin.
Parting with her father was much harder than parting with Leah or the cat.
Ormiston hugged her tightly. “I’ll miss ye fierce, lassie,” he muttered.
Tears welled in her eyes. “I am still uncertain about life in the Highlands, sir. Prithee, do not forget that you promised to visit us soon.”
“I have no doubt that you have married a good man,” he said gently. “You will enjoy your journey, make many new friends, and I won’t forget my promise.”
“When are you going to marry Lady Rosalie?”
He smiled. “I have not even asked her yet. I do mean to do so anon, though.”
“I shall be gey sad to miss your wedding, but Rosalie must come with you when you visit us,” she said.
Although Fiona was loath to leave him, they parted at last with a final hug.
As she turned away, she saw Àdham awaiting her with Donsie in his arms, apparently content there, despite her erstwhile attack on him.
“Evidently, she thinks more of you than you think of her, my lady,” he said with a teasing smile. “Unless you want her to follow us all the way . . .”
“I don’t, and she might try to do that,” Fiona said. “If you truly do not object to having her with us, sir, I can wrap her in my shawl.” Ormiston helped her mount her horse, and she saw Àdham’s eyes widen as she did.
“You ride astride like a man?” he said with a slight frown.
“Aye, sure, sir, as most Border women do,” she said. “You must also have seen that I use a man’s flat saddle. Will Highlanders object to that?”
“I won’t,” he said firmly. “I wondered how you could cope with our rugged trails in one of those tipsy boxes I’ve seen that Lowland women call saddles.”
After mounting her horse, she took the little cat from Àdham, wondering how Donsie would adapt to riding, but the cat purred and arranged itself by making something of a nest between Fiona’s thighs.
Then, since they had said most of their farewells at the wedding feast, and everyone else was ready, they departed as the sun peeked above the eastern hills.
Their party was larger than she had expected, because Malcolm had a tail of a dozen men and Sir Ivor had nearly as many. As most of them walked, their pace was slow, but to Fiona’s delight, Àdham rode beside her. The morning was chilly but not cold, and she felt herself relaxing as they rode alongside the river.
“You said that Lady Marsaili would ride with us,” she reminded Àdham.
“Aye, she will. We’ll meet her in a few hours.”
A short time later, Rory rode up to them on one of the garrons and spoke to Àdham in Gaelic. Thanking him, Àdham said with a grin to Fiona, “Sir Ivor wants me, and he apparently told our Rory here to look after you. Can you bear it?”
“I shall enjoy his company,” she said, smiling at the boy.
When Àdham rode on ahead, Rory guided his smaller horse to ride beside her dappled gelding. Looking up at her, he said, “D’ye like t’ be married, m’lady?”
“So far, I do,” she said. “I did not know that you could speak Scots.”
“Aye, sure,” he said. “I keep me ears open tae learn new things. Also, at Finlagh, near everyone speaks Scots and the Gaelic, so I do, too. Can ye no speak the Gaelic?”
“No, I cannot, nor understand a word of it. Mayhap you can help me learn.”
“Aye, I can do that. I’ll do just what Sir Àdham and them did wi’ me.” He patted the garron. “Gearran,” he said.
“That I did know. I did not know that the word was Gaelic, though.”
“It is, aye, but ye dinna say it quite the same, though.” With a gesture toward her horse, he added, “that be each. The cat be caht, yon oak tree be darach, and . . .”
“Enough!” Fiona exclaimed, laughing. “I’ll never remember so many words at once.”
“Aye, but ye’ll learn if we keep a-doin’ it, though,” he assured her. “Ye must also learn how words go together and how they change now and now. But if a body can make hisself understood, he needna say it all just right.”
Their pace remained a steady, brisk walk or a trot, but Fiona was astonished to see that only the leaders rode. Most of the men-at-arms lacked even garrons and walked or jogged along the road.
To Rory, she said, “I can see that those men all carry weapons of one sort or another, but none seems to be carrying extra clothing or food.”
The boy shrugged. “Most o’ such men do ha’ extra tunics. So, if a man falls in a burn or damages his tunic past wearing, he can don another one. But we sleep wi’ our plaids wrapped round us, and we carry oatcakes and such, so we dinna need aught else. I’m only a-riding this garron tae bear ye company.”
They chatted desultorily then, the boy occasionally pointing to something and repeating the Gaelic word for her. Reaching the cathedral town of Dunkeld at midmorning, they found Lady Marsaili and her entourage awaiting them.
The entourage included six men-at-arms and a gray-haired woman somewhat older than her ladyship, whom Fiona supposed to be her attire woman. She was glad to see that both women rode, as did two of their men-at-arms. Lady Marsaili wore a stylish moss-green riding dress with a plaited circlet of matching fabric like a crown on her head. She appeared to be several years younger than Lady Rosalie.
Fiona saw Àdham then, riding toward the newcomers with Sir Ivor, Caithness, the Mackintosh—or Malcolm as he’d said to call him—and a young red-headed man. She recalled him as Gilli Roy Mackintosh, who had brought her the stool so Àdham could kiss her over their croquembouche. When they met, Sir Ivor kissed his lady, and Àdham turned his horse and gestured for Fiona to join them.
When she did, Lady Marsaili smiled upon seeing the cat but said without waiting for Àdham to introduce her formally, “Fiona, I am as good as Àdham’s aunt, so prithee, call me Marsi as my other friends and family do.”
“Then I will also do so, my lady, thank you,” Fiona said, smiling. Up close, she could see lines at the corners of her ladyship’s eyes and others near her mouth. But she was a beautiful woman all the same, with an irresistible smile.
“We shall ride together and grow acquainted as we go,” Marsi said. “Where do we spend the night, Àdham? The others did not think to tell me, nor I to ask.”
“Blair Castle,” he said. “Caithness invited us and would not let me refuse. Also, he lent me this horse I’m riding, so I’m obliged to stop to return it.”
She tilted her head, giving him a searching look. “We must talk, sir.”
“It will be my pleasure,” he said. “Malcolm is waving, though, so we had better be on our way. We still have nearly twenty miles to put behind us today.”
“Then I shall ride with you first.” Turning to Fiona, she added, “I shall leave my Kate with you now, my dear, but I will return shortly, I promise.”
More than stunned, Fiona watched the pair of them ride away and could tell that Marsi seemed to be annoyed with Àdham. Her auburn hair, in coiled plaits over her ears, glinted with flaming highlights where sunlight touched it, stirring Fiona to wonder if Lady Marsi might have a temper to match those flames.
“Àdham, I must know what you have told Fiona about yourself so that I do not speak of aught that I should keep to myself,” Marsi said, pushing a strand of hair that had escaped her net back into it.
“You may say anything you like to her,” he said.
“Then, since you say we’ll stay at Blair, she knows of your kinship to the Grahams and Atholl, and James does, too.”
“The subject did not arise with James. He did mention Atholl along with Sir Robert Graham in much the same breath, though. So he likely knows of my connection to them. I have not explained the exact connections to Fiona, although she did meet Caithness.”
“So I heard. But is it not unwise to let her think that you and he are just friends?”
“Sakes, madam, this marriage came as a surprise to us both. To try to explain the complexities of my more awkward, not to mention distant, kinships at once. . . .” He gave her a direct look. “Would that not also have been unwise?”
“Perhaps. You do plan to stay at Rothiemurchus, do you not?”
“Just overnight,” he said, feeling his tension ease with the change in subject. “Malcolm and Gilli Roy want to get home, and I must reach Finlagh before anyone there learns about my wedding. Catriona will want my head for it as it is. If she should hear about it from a mendicant friar or anyone else . . .”
“She will torture you first, and you’d deserve it,” Marsi said with a laugh. “What demon possessed you to wed in such haste?”
“We were given little choice. But in troth, I am content,” he said lightly.
“Then I am gey pleased for you, Àdham. But I must rejoin Fiona now, and you must be frank with her as soon as you can. You do not want her to learn that you are closer to Sir Robert or to Atholl than you have admitted. She will think you purposefully kept that from her, and that is never good in any marriage.”