he?” Molly demanded, furious that he would blame her for the incident. “Pray, what business is it of yours if
I choose to walk at night?”
“It is very much my business,” Kintail replied sternly, “because I believe that you are Mary Gordon, Maid of Dunsithe.”
“And what if I am?” She heard Mackinnon gasp but kept her attention firmly fixed on Kintail.
He said evenly, “If you are, I hold a royal writ granting me your wardship.”
“But you cannot hold such a writ,” she protested, appalled at the thought of this man having any hold over her, realizing
at last just what Mackinnon had been trying to explain to her. Desperately, she said, “My guardian is Donald of Sleat.”
“No longer, mistress. His grace the King has seen fit to transfer that guardianship to me. Apparently, he learned that Sleat
harbors thoughts of reestablishing the Lordship of the Isles.”
“I know little about that,” Molly said flatly, “nor can I imagine why a matter between Donald and the King should involve
me.”
“All you need to know is that I speak the truth,” he replied with that maddening calm. “Do you deny that you are the Maid
of Dunsithe?”
“I’ll not deny it, for I am certainly she,” Molly said. “But if you seek to control my fortune, sir, you should know that
many others have long sought to find it and all have failed. There is land, of course, and Dunsithe Castle in the Borders,
although that is doubtless falling to rack by now unless Donald still keeps a garrison there. But although men say that my
father was a man of great wealth, as far as I know, no one has laid eyes on anything but the castle and its lands since his
death.”
“That is my concern now, not yours,” he said. “At present, I am interested in collecting what is mine—which is to say, yourself,
mistress. You will prepare to depart for Eilean Donan at dawn.”
Molly looked from one man to the other, speechless and fighting tears. As she had continually feared, despite being allowed
to remain in one household for years, she was again to be uprooted without a moment’s thought for her wishes.
“Dinna be daft, lad,” Mackinnon said curtly. “The lassie ha’ made her home here for ten years and more. Ye canna sweep her
away overnight. I warrant it will take a sennight at least, for she’ll want t’ take farewell of all here who love her. Ye’re
welcome t’ stay wi’ us till she’s ready, but surely—”
“She may have one day.”
“Nay, then, for it lacks but a few hours till dawn, and the lass requires her sleep. Make it four days. There’s a good lad.
We canna say fairer than that.”
“Two.”
“Make it three, at least!”
“Faith, Mackinnon, I’ll not be taking her to the end of the earth, only to Eilean Donan. It is not as far away as Dunvegan,”
he added dryly.
“Aye, sure, Dunvegan,” Mackinnon replied with a twinkle. “Well, I did think I’d sent the lass there, ye ken, but ’tis true,
I ha’ a dreadful memory.”
Gathering her scattered wits, Molly said, “Do you not think that someone should ask me if I
want
to go with him? Even if I did—and I don’t—I could not possibly prepare to leave Dunakin so quickly.”
“You have nothing to say about it,” Kintail said. “As it is Tuesday morning already, I’ll give you until noon Thursday to
pack.”
“We dinna dine until one,” Mackinnon said. “Ye’ll no want t’ go afore ye eat, for ye’ll need your strength, lad. ’Tis a wonder
and all that ye can keep your feet after such a clout as ye must ha’ taken, falling off your horse. And how ye come t’ do
such a fool thing, I dinna ken. My man’s a wizard training horses, and I ha’ never had trouble wi’ the one that gave ye a
toss, but mayhap ye—”
“There is naught amiss with me or the horse,” Kintail said, shooting a look at Molly. “Indeed, sir, so mild was his temper
before that moment that my men still suspect
I choose to walk at night?”
“It is very much my business,” Kintail replied sternly, “because I believe that you are Mary Gordon, Maid of Dunsithe.”
“And what if I am?” She heard Mackinnon gasp but kept her attention firmly fixed on Kintail.
He said evenly, “If you are, I hold a royal writ granting me your wardship.”
“But you cannot hold such a writ,” she protested, appalled at the thought of this man having any hold over her, realizing
at last just what Mackinnon had been trying to explain to her. Desperately, she said, “My guardian is Donald of Sleat.”
“No longer, mistress. His grace the King has seen fit to transfer that guardianship to me. Apparently, he learned that Sleat
harbors thoughts of reestablishing the Lordship of the Isles.”
“I know little about that,” Molly said flatly, “nor can I imagine why a matter between Donald and the King should involve
me.”
“All you need to know is that I speak the truth,” he replied with that maddening calm. “Do you deny that you are the Maid
of Dunsithe?”
“I’ll not deny it, for I am certainly she,” Molly said. “But if you seek to control my fortune, sir, you should know that
many others have long sought to find it and all have failed. There is land, of course, and Dunsithe Castle in the Borders,
although that is doubtless falling to rack by now unless Donald still keeps a garrison there. But although men say that my
father was a man of great wealth, as far as I know, no one has laid eyes on anything but the castle and its lands since his
death.”
“That is my concern now, not yours,” he said. “At present, I am interested in collecting what is mine—which is to say, yourself,
mistress. You will prepare to depart for Eilean Donan at dawn.”
Molly looked from one man to the other, speechless and fighting tears. As she had continually feared, despite being allowed
to remain in one household for years, she was again to be uprooted without a moment’s thought for her wishes.
“Dinna be daft, lad,” Mackinnon said curtly. “The lassie ha’ made her home here for ten years and more. Ye canna sweep her
away overnight. I warrant it will take a sennight at least, for she’ll want t’ take farewell of all here who love her. Ye’re
welcome t’ stay wi’ us till she’s ready, but surely—”
“She may have one day.”
“Nay, then, for it lacks but a few hours till dawn, and the lass requires her sleep. Make it four days. There’s a good lad.
We canna say fairer than that.”
“Two.”
“Make it three, at least!”
“Faith, Mackinnon, I’ll not be taking her to the end of the earth, only to Eilean Donan. It is not as far away as Dunvegan,”
he added dryly.
“Aye, sure, Dunvegan,” Mackinnon replied with a twinkle. “Well, I did think I’d sent the lass there, ye ken, but ’tis true,
I ha’ a dreadful memory.”
Gathering her scattered wits, Molly said, “Do you not think that someone should ask me if I
want
to go with him? Even if I did—and I don’t—I could not possibly prepare to leave Dunakin so quickly.”
“You have nothing to say about it,” Kintail said. “As it is Tuesday morning already, I’ll give you until noon Thursday to
pack.”
“We dinna dine until one,” Mackinnon said. “Ye’ll no want t’ go afore ye eat, for ye’ll need your strength, lad. ’Tis a wonder
and all that ye can keep your feet after such a clout as ye must ha’ taken, falling off your horse. And how ye come t’ do
such a fool thing, I dinna ken. My man’s a wizard training horses, and I ha’ never had trouble wi’ the one that gave ye a
toss, but mayhap ye—”
“There is naught amiss with me or the horse,” Kintail said, shooting a look at Molly. “Indeed, sir, so mild was his temper
before that moment that my men still suspect
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