Squaring her shoulders, Linnet snatched up her leather herb pouch, her only valued possession, and slipped from the laird’s lug. She hurried down the tower stairs as quickly as she dared, then dashed through the great hall without so much as a glance at her slumbering da.
For the space of a heartbeat, she’d almost hesitated, almost given in to a ridiculous notion she should awaken him and bid him farewell. But the urge vanished as quickly as it’d come.
Why should she bother? He’d only grouse at her for disrupting his sleep. And was he not pleased to be rid of her? Worse, he’d sold her to the laird of the MacKenzies, the MacDonnells’ sworn enemies since long before her birth.
And the man, king’s favorite and strong-passioned or nay, only wanted her for the use of her gift and because he’d been assured she wasn’t bonnie. Neither prospect was flattering nor promised an endurable marriage.
Linnet took one last deep gulp of Dundonnell’s smoke-hazed air as she stood before the massive oaken door leading to the bailey. Mayhap in her new home she wouldn’t be suffered to fill her lungs with stale, ale-soured air. “Oh, bury St. Columba’s holy knuckles!” she muttered, borrowing Jamie’s preferred epithet as she dashed a wayward tear from her cheek.
Before more could fall, Linnet yanked open the iron-shod door and stepped outside. Though long past the hour of prime, a chill, blue-gray mist still hung over Dundonnell’s small courtyard… just as a pall hung over her heart.
Her brothers, all eight of them, stood with the waiting horses, each brother looking as miserable as she felt. Elspeth, though, appeared oddly placid and already sat astride her pony. Other clansmen and their families, along with her da’s few servants, crowded together near the opened castle gates. Like her brothers, they all wore sullen expressions and remained silent, but the telltale glisten in their eyes spoke a thousand words.
Linnet kept her chin high as she strode toward them, but beneath the folds of her woolen cloak, her knees shook. At her approach, Cook stepped forward, a clump of dark cloth clutched tight in his work-reddened hands. “’Tis from us all,” he said, his voice gruff as he thrust the mass of old-smelling wool into Linnet’s hands. “It’s been locked away in a chest in your da’s chamber all these years, but he’ll ne’er know we took it.”
With trembling fingers, Linnet unfolded the arisaid and let Cook adjust its soft length over her shoulders. As he carefully belted the plaid around her waist, he said, “My wife made it for the Lady Innes, your mother. She wore it well, and it is our wish you will, too. ’Tis a bonnie piece, if a wee bit worn.”
Emotion formed a hot, choking lump in Linnet’s throat as she smoothed her hands over the arisaid’s pliant folds. A few moth holes and frayed edges didn’t detract from the plaid’s worth. To Linnet, it was beautiful… a treasure she’d cherish always.
Her eyes brimming with tears, she threw herself into Cook’s strong arms and hugged him tight. “Thank you,” she cried against the scratchy wool of his own plaid. “Thank you all! Saints, but I shall miss you.”
“Then dinna say good-bye, lass,” he said, setting her from him. “We shall see you again, never worry.”
As one, her kinsmen and friends surged forward, each one giving her a fierce hug. No one spoke and Linnet was grateful, for had they, she would’ve lost what meager control she had over herself. Then one voice, the smithy’s, cried out just as her eldest brother Ranald lifted her into a waiting saddle. “Ho, lass, I’ve something for you, too,” Ian called, pushing his way through the throng.
When he reached them, the smithy pulled his own finely honed dirk from its sheath and handed it to Linnet. “Better protection than that teensy wench’s blade you wear,” he said, nodding in satisfaction as Linnet withdrew her own blade and exchanged it for his.
Ian’s eyes, too, shone with unusual brightness. “May you ne’er have cause to use it,” he said, stepping away from her pony.
“May the MacKenzie say his prayers if she does,” Ranald vowed, then tossed Linnet her reins. “We’re off,” he shouted to the rest of them, then swung up into his own saddle.
Before Linnet could catch her breath or even thank the smithy, Ranald gave her mount a sharp slap on its rump and the shaggy beast bolted through the opened gates, putting Dundonnell Castle forever behind her.
Linnet choked back a sob, not letting it escape, and stared straight ahead. She refused… she couldn’t… look back.
Under other circumstances, she’d be glad to go. Grateful even. But she had the feeling that she was merely exchanging one hell for another. And, heaven help her, she’d didn’t know which she preferred.