Starcatcher, page 6
Chapter 5
Marsali looked down from her perch on the window seat in her bedchamber. Horsemen were riding into the courtyard: Gavin and their kinsmen, returning from their latest search for Cecilia. It had been days, but they hadn’t found her. At least, Marsali thought, that made her captivity a little more bearable.
Sighing, she turned to survey the room. It had been a fortnight since she’d seen anything but these four walls and the view from the window, but her father showed no sign of relenting. In the past, he’d usually softened after a day or two. But not this time. It was only good fortune that he had not remembered the ferrets. Otherwise, he probably would have taken those, too.
She petted Tristan and Isolde, both curled on her lap, asleep. She wished her father had forgotten Jeanie, as well. But he had issued orders that Jeanie was not to enter her chamber, and she hadn’t seen her friend in two weeks. Nevertheless, with the help of Flora, the kitchen maid who had been waiting on her, Jeanie had sneaked in tidbits of food to supplement the bread and water her father had decreed.
Marsali appreciated the gesture, but she could only pick at the food. She ate because she knew she must. It would not do to become weak in body, for weakness of will was sure to follow. Still, she had only to peer into her small mirror to see that her face looked thin and that her body was becoming almost gaunt.
How much longer could she go on?
As long as it took, her heart answered. She clung to Patrick’s promise and the memory of their brief moments together. They were all she had.
A knock came at her door, and the sound of a key grating in the lock followed. She would never grow used to that sound, not as long as it signified she’d been imprisoned by her own father.
Expecting Flora, Marsali was shocked to see Jeanie open the door. With a glad cry, she dumped Tristan and Isolde unceremoniously onto the window seat and flew across the room to hug her onetime nursemaid.
“Here, now,” Jeanie said. “Let me at least put down the tray before ye be spillin’ yer food all over the floor.”
“I donna care about the food! Oh, it is so good to see you.”
Casting her gaze over Jeanie’s face, Marsali saw that her friend’s pale blue eyes were red rimmed, their sparkle gone.
“You have been crying,” she said.
“Well, what did ye think I would be doin’ with ye locked in here and me not bein’ allowed in?”
“Oh, Jeanie, I am sorry.” A sudden thought deepened Marsali’s frown. “Why are you here? You didna sneak in without Father knowing, did you, because I would not want—”
“Nay, he knows I’m here.” Jeanie gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Flora has a toothache, ye see. She be moanin’ up a storm in the kitchen. Yer fa said I could bring yer tray.” As she spoke, Jeanie held her by the shoulders and looked her up and down. “Ah, love, I canna bear to see ye this way.”
“I am fine,” Marsali said. “I have Tristan and Isolde to keep me company, and my chamber, after all, is not a dungeon.”
“Hmph.” Jeanie clearly was not convinced. “Come, sit and eat, then.”
Marsali glanced at the tray of food—the pitcher of water and the half loaf of bread—without interest. Still, she returned to the window seat and watched as Jeanie bustled about, picking up clothing and straightening.
“Gavin is back,” Jeanie said.
“I know. I saw him.”
“He says there is no sign of Cecilia.”
Marsali remained silent.
“Canna ye tell him enough to—”
“No,” Marsali said, noting Jeanie’s subsequent sigh.
“There is talk that Patrick Sutherland is training his clansmen,” Jeanie continued, “that he will attack a Gunn village within a few—”
Marsali shook her head. “He wouldna do that.”
“Are ye so sure, love?”
“Aye,” she said, taking the smaller ferret, Isolde, into her hands and petting her. In some far corner of her mind, one tiny doubt nagged at her. After two weeks, it was not possible to keep all the demons at bay.
How well did she really know Patrick? So many years had gone by, years that he had spent soldiering, warring. Killing. Despite his tenderness toward her, he must have become a hard man. He would not have survived had he not, and doubtless he bore scars other than those that were visible. Besides, would not his loyalty belong to his father, as Gavin’s belonged to his?
Marsali tried to banish these thoughts, not wanting Jeanie to guess her doubts. Tristan, sitting on the floor at her feet, aided her cause by erupting in chatter, expressing his displeasure at being ignored. With a weak smile, Marsali held out her hand to him, and Tristan darted onto her lap beside Isolde, flopping onto his back to bare his stomach for fondling.
“I brought ye some meat pie,” Jeanie said.
“You must not do that,” Marsali scolded. “If you get caught, Fa will be furious. He might make you leave Abernie, and then I would have no one.”
Jeanie dismissed her concern with a wave of her hand. “Do ye suppose that big one might still be wi’ yer young earl?”
“Who—” Marsali frowned, confused. She gave Jeanie a surprised glance. “Hiram?”
“Is that his name?” Jeanie said. “It fits a braw man like him.”
Marsali stared at the older woman. For as long as she had known Jeanie, her friend had never shown interest in a man. She had spoken little about the husband she had lost so young, though Marsali suspected she still grieved for him, and never so much as mentioned any other. As she straightened Marsali’s bed, Jeanie said, “He seemed like an honorable man, or I wouldna have let him take ye.”
“He is that,” Marsali said. “He and his friend, Rufus. They were very kind, and very troubled at hitting us.”
“Hitting ye?” Jeanie whirled to face her.
“They knocked us out,” Marsali said with a smile. “They were afraid to risk some kind of outcry. But, truly, Jeanie, they did it as gently as possible, and they did apologize most profusely.”
Jeanie’s frown wavered. Finally, she let the matter go and, in a hushed voice, asked, “And ye talked with the young earl?”
“Aye,” Marsali replied wistfully.
“He is as bonny as before?”
“Bonny is not the word,” Marsali said. “He is a man in all ways. But yes, he is very handsome. He bears a scar on his face now, but for some reason that I canna explain, it only makes him more appealing.”
Marsali didn’t miss the knowing look Jeanie gave her.
“And he allowed you to come back?” the older woman said.
“He did not want to. He wants to marry me. But it would mean war. Edward would most certainly join with Fa.” She could not stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks.
“Ah, love …” Jeanie crossed the room to gather Marsali to her, her hand gently patting her charge’s dark hair.
“Patrick’s father will never countenance the marriage,” she said brokenly. “Not after … after Margaret …”
Jeanie murmured soothing sounds.
“But, truly”—Marsali pulled away to look up at Jeanie—“Patrick willna take up arms against our family. I know it.”
Jeanie nodded. Taking a kerchief from her pocket and wiping Marsali’s face, she said, “There now, ’tis no good ye takin’ on so. Dry yer eyes, love, and eat this meat pie I made for ye.” Producing another kerchief from her other pocket, she unwrapped the morsel and set it on the plate. “Eat that, love. Ye must keep up your strength. For everyone’s sake.”
Sniffling a little, Marsali nodded.
“Now I must go,” Jeanie said. “I suspect Gavin will be here soon to badger ye some more for an answer to where ye have hidden yer sister. So ye best eat quickly.”
Marsali watched her leave, knowing she was right: Gavin would try again and again to extract the information from her. Wondering what threats he would use this time, she felt the sadness within her deepen.
Patrick greeted Hiram in the courtyard at Brinaire, where training exercises were taking place. It had been two weeks since he’d sent his two companions-in-war off with Cecilia Gunn.
“The young lass is safe,” Hiram said, dismounting from his tired horse.
Sheathing his sword, Patrick cocked one eyebrow. “And where is Rufus?”
Hiram handed his horse’s reins to the stable lad, then shrugged his massive shoulders. “He thought to linger a few days, make sure the lass is comfortable.”
Patrick eyed his friend cynically. Rufus’s attraction to—and for—women was legendary.
Hiram grinned. “She’s well guarded by Rufus’s sister, as she was by me and your cousin Anna. That Anna Sutherland took to the wee lass like a mother cat to a kitten, and she’s staying there wi’ her.” Hiram’s grin deepened. “Rufus ha’ been on his best behavior.”
“And I imagine that is paining him,” Patrick murmured, his gaze turning back to the men training in the courtyard.
“Aye, but he is handlin’ it well enough,” Hiram said. “He said he would be back by the middle of next week.”
“Are you ready for more travel?”
It was Hiram’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “To Abernie?”
“Aye,” Patrick said. “If you think it is safe for you to be seen there again.”
“It is,” Hiram said. “The only Gunns who saw us leave were too drunk to recognize their own wives.”
“Then go and tell Marsali that her sister is safe,” Patrick said. “And find out whether she is well.”
Hiram inclined his head in agreement. “I will that.” Following Patrick’s gaze to the men engaged in swordplay on the opposite side of the yard, he asked, “Are you planning something?”
“Delay,” Patrick replied flatly. “Until I can make some sense of all this.”
Hiram said quietly, “Ye willna hold him in check long.”
“I know.” Patrick was not surprised that Hiram had assessed the marquis of Brinaire so quickly. Or so accurately. He was silent for a moment, watching his clansmen’s mock battles. They were improving, which should have given him satisfaction. He shook his head. “While you are in Abernie, learn what you can about Margaret.”
“It might take several days.”
Patrick saw the gleam in his friend’s eyes. “That does not seem to displease you.”
Hiram shrugged. “There is a lass …”
“Hiram!” Patrick couldn’t hide his shock. “Not you?”
Hiram looked abashed, and Patrick chuckled. Hiram’s shyness with women was as legendary as Rufus’s charm. “Who is she?” Patrick asked, almost afraid of the answer. One slip inside Gunn territory and Hiram might well forfeit his life.
“Mistress Jeanie,” Hiram grumbled.
“In truth?”
Hiram turned several shades of red but stood his ground. “She is a foine woman.”
“She is that,” Patrick said. “But be careful. I donna want to lose you, nor would I have Marsali lose Jeanie. They have always been close.”
Hiram shifted from one foot to the other. “I wouldna leave ye with only Rufus to guard yer back.”
Patrick had to smile at the well-meaning taunt. Rufus and Hiram had always been competitors as well as friends.
“Stay with us tonight and have supper. My father has been asking about you. I told him that you and Rufus went to visit friends in the south.”
“Aye, and so we did,” Hiram said. “And yer sister and brother, how do they fare?”
Patrick sighed. In the past two weeks, he had tried to befriend Alex and support his sister’s attempts to put Brinaire into its previous well-groomed state. But Alex avoided him, and Elizabeth faced an impossible situation, since their father refused to take back former servants and cared nothing about disciplining the present ones.
“Alex still hides in his books and Elizabeth is thoroughly frustrated,” he told Hiram. “I think she would do well given some authority, but my father refuses to give it to her. He criticizes everything she does and belittles her constantly. I fear she is afraid of doing anything, lest it displease him.”
“How do the other Sutherlands feel about this feud with the Gunns?”
“They will do what my father tells them—until I earn their loyalty. Then perhaps I can persuade them to do my bidding.”
Hiram looked once more toward the men training. “And how do ye earn their respect without attacking yer father’s enemies?”
Patrick gave him a clap on the shoulder. “That, my friend, is the puzzle. Still, I have a few ideas.”
Hiram’s dark brows knitted together. “Be careful not to outwit yerself.”
“I have you and Rufus to keep me in check,” Patrick said with a grin.
But Hiram didn’t share his humor. “’Tis a dangerous game ye play, Patrick. A miscalculation could destroy both ye and the lass.”
“I know,” Patrick agreed softly. “I know.”
Weeks after the humiliating scene at Abernie, Edward Sinclair could scarcely contain his fury. Stalking back and forth across the weapons chamber of his keep, he brooded over the defeats he had suffered. He had been mortified in front of representatives of nearly every northern Highland family. Years of sowing distrust between the Gunn and Sutherland families had come to naught.
He wanted Marsali, and he wanted an alliance against the Sutherlands, who were hereditary enemies of his clan. Together, the Sinclairs and Gunns would surround the Sutherland lands, choke off any assistance from other clans, and eventually claim Brinaire’s rich grazing land as their own.
Most of all, though, he wanted the girl. She was a true beauty, and her indifference toward him—only increased his desire. He would break her as he broke his wildest horses. She would pay for insulting him.
He also wanted sons, and neither of his wives had been able to serve even this simple purpose. One had died of fever, along with a sickly daughter, and the other had been barren. It had taken years to find a woman who could take his second wife’s place. He’d found what he wanted in Marsali Gunn.
The time had come, Edward thought, to force Donald Gunn’s hand. Edward had little doubt that the old man could compel his daughter to marry the man he chose if given the proper motivation; if nothing else, he could find a clergyman who would not be too particular about the woman’s responses.
Edward had already been successfully manipulating the earl of Abernie. He’d guessed correctly that the old man had a soft spot for his sister, and he’d exploited that situation. Now he knew where he could strike next. The earl’s concern for the safety of his crofters was well known.
“Gordie,” Edward barked. “Come in here.”
Two men entered the study. Giving the first only a nod of acknowledgment, Edward turned to Gordie, a mercenary who, although disliked by his own men, was loyal to him and absolutely ruthless. Gordie waited, his soulless gaze earning Edward’s approval.
“Take a troop to Abernie,” Edward ordered. “They are to wear Sutherland plaids. Burn out tenants, take as many of the cattle as possible. But mind you, be careful. I do not want any of your men taken prisoner. This must be seen as a Sutherland raid.”
“I understand,” Gordie said.
Edward nodded with satisfaction. It would not be the first time Gordie and his men had donned Sutherland plaids. Indeed, he had two women working continuously on the dyes.
“And send someone over to Brinaire,” Edward continued. “Someone the Sutherlands do not know. I want to find Cecilia Gunn, and I suspect the Sutherlands may know something about her disappearance.” Finding Cecilia, he knew, would be the quickest way to change Marsali’s mind about marrying him. “One way or the other, I want that alliance.”
“I know the man,” Gordie said. “He just joined us from the Lowlands, where he fought with Cromwell.”
“He can be trusted?”
“If he is paid well enough.”
“See to it, then. Tell him a greater reward awaits him if he succeeds in obtaining the information we need.”
Gordie nodded. “It will be done.”
“You ride tonight. And make it costly.”
“Women?”
Edward hesitated. “No. I want you in and out of there, and I do not want anyone to remember your faces. Paint them.”
Disappointment flashed in Gordie’s eyes. Edward ignored it, though he knew that Gordie, like many soldiers, believed rape to be a side benefit of war.
“You will have other opportunities,” Edward said, then, with a sly smirk, added, “The Sutherland’s daughter is a pretty piece. If everything goes as planned, we will be occupying Brinaire before long, and … enjoying all its riches.”
The man who had stood silently next to Gordie throughout the conversation took a step forward. “Patrick Sutherland is mine,” he said, his voice a tortured rasp. A scar stretched across his throat from his left ear to the point of his right collarbone.
“Aye,” Edward agreed. “He is yours. I swore it.”
The man nodded, his amber eyes like two cold stones. “As long as it is understood. I will kill any man who gets in my way.”
“You are welcome to him,” Edward said. “Now let us plan tonight’s attack.”
Chapter 6
Marsali dreamed she heard male voices shouting. Then came the clank of armor and weapons. The rush of booted feet on stone floors brought her fully awake from her afternoon doze. She sprang from her bed, knocking to the floor the precious illustrated book Jeanie had smuggled to her, and ran to the window.
The courtyard was filled with clansmen, and even from so high above them, she could hear the urgency, as well as the anger, in their voices. Dread filled her as she watched Gavin, heavily armed, mount his horse and thunder out of the gates. He was followed by a troop of thirty men.
Even after their departure, the courtyard teemed with people, and Marsali ached to be among them. She watched the stream of women and children entering through the gates. She was too far away to recognize faces, but her stomach contracted sickeningly when she saw several men, clearly wounded, staggering over the rough ground.
Dear God, the war has begun, she thought. Aloud, she prayed, “Please, please don’t let it be the Sutherlands who have started it.”
