Page 59 of Highland Crown
Isabella nodded and went out, pausing at the top of thestairs. She ran a hand down the front of her dress and thought of Mr. Carmichael’s warnings about Mondays. This was Searc’s day for entertaining the British commander in charge of the port, as well as his staff. But the surgeon said not to trust that schedule. And surely their host wouldn’t entertain leaders of the weavers at the same table with so-called gentlemen representing the occupying forces in the Highlands. Besides, Searc had already told Cinaed whom to expect at dinner. And no officers were mentioned.
Still, she took a few breaths to calm her nerves. She wasn’t doing this alone, she told herself. Cinaed was waiting for her, and with that bolstering thought, she put one foot in front of the other and descended.
At the bottom of the stairs, Isabella found she was facing a choice of two doors and a corridor. Since the day they’d arrived, she’d never once ventured from the tower chamber. Not remembering that they’d passed through any door as they carried Cinaed up, she directed her steps along the corridor.
She soon realized she’d made a mistake. One passageway led to another. Illuminated only by slivers of light coming through shuttered and barred windows, the corridors seemed to lead in circles. Twice, she was certain she’d passed the same closed door, only to find the passage end at a blank wall. There was no logic to any of this. When she realized one wall of a corridor was the exterior of a building, she decided Searc’s house was actually a number of buildings joined together higgledy-piggledy.
Jean had warned her, but now she saw for herself that the house was much larger than it seemed from the outside.
Finally, Isabella came to a door that opened onto a corridor lit by candles in sconces on the wall. Following the smell of food and voices, she found herself looking into the kitchens, which were bustling with cooks and scullery maids and an army of servants.
Isabella had hosted enough dinners to know this was too much preparation for the number of guests she’d been told were coming.
A footman came out, carrying a tray of food, so she trailed him. Within moments, he turned off, but she heard people talking ahead. Before she could follow the voices, someone behind her took hold of her wrist. Cinaed.
“Come with me.”
Isabella breathed a sigh of relief. He’d found her. Pulling her behind him, he opened the door into a nearby room and led her in.
“I’m afraid there’s been a change in the dinner arrangements.” He glanced into the hallway before closing the door. From the far end of the room, twilight slipped past a pair of tall, heavily draped windows and cast a golden glow over him. “I apologize I didn’t come in time to escort you down.”
Her ability to focus on Cinaed’s urgent tone was hindered by the sound of her own heart hammering against the walls of her chest. No ship captain had the right to look as handsome as this man. Even cloaked in the staid attire of a gentleman, he conjured images of pirates and highwaymen. But he was dashing, regardless of what he wore. And the color black suited him perfectly.
He stopped, his gaze moving down her body. “You look beautiful.”
She blushed, unable to respond. Her own mind was on him.
His clean-shaven face made the lines and angles of his cheekbones and jaw more pronounced, more handsome, more youthful. Isabella didn’t want to guess at his age but imagined he was far younger than she.
Isabella had been considered a spinster when she married Archibald at the age of eight and twenty. Now, six years later, she was mature enough to think clearly and not allow herself to be caught up in foolish dreams or handsome distractions.
But Cinaed Mackintosh was more than a distraction.
She turned away and gaped. They were standing in the most unusual room. Even in this light, she knew she’d never seen anything like it.
“What is this place?”
“My least favorite room anywhere.” Cinaed stared at the decorations on the walls. “Searc is getting worse as he ages. He had only about half of these things here when I was a lad.”
Outlawed weapons adorned the walls in startling designs. Muskets and swords and pistols laid out in concentric circles, like huge starbursts emanating out from a central buckler or a shield. Rows of crossed swords led upward to wheels of daggers or circular framed portraits. Lines of spears with wicked hooks and axe blades flanked a huge fireplace.
One could start a revolution with the armaments in this chamber.
Isabella had very little familiarity with family coats of arms and no knowledge at all of clan insignia, but on every wall she saw variations of the same crest repeatedover and over. On shields and battle flags, on the handles of the swords and on brooches pinned to long swaths of tartan.
“Mackintosh?” She guessed, looking over her shoulder at Cinaed, waiting for confirmation.
“No other.”
Above the fireplace, in a position of honor, hung the portrait of a young man. Wearing a light grey suit with a silver star-shaped medallion on his chest, the subject was wrapped in a red cloak trimmed with white fur, and a blue sash crossed his chest. He wore the white powdered wig of the last century. The air of confidence in his features was timeless.
She didn’t need to ask. She knew. Bonnie Prince Charlie.
Cinaed took a battle-ax off the wall and tested its balance and weight. Watching him now, Isabella could easily imagine him dressed in a kilt, wielding a broad sword and axe beneath the war banner of his clan, striding into battle for his king.
She pushed the image away as Cinaed replaced the weapon on the wall.
“This room holds centuries of the clan’s history.”
