Free Amanda Scott by Abducted Heiress Page A

had heard tales of the wee people all her life,
     but never had she actually seen one before—or two, if one counted the cat, as she hoped one could. “But you cannot be a fairy,”
     she protested. “Fairies are much smaller than you are.”
    “How small? Like this, d’ye think?” Maggie shrank until she was smaller than the wildcat’s paw. The beast looked much more
     menacing now.
    “I-I’d prefer larger, if you don’t mind,” Molly said, eyeing the cat warily.
    “Aye, well, that’s what I thought,” Maggie said, returning to her previous size. “Now, shut the door if ye’d like me tae stay
     and chat.”
    Molly pointed to the wildcat. “What about him?”
    “Dinna fash yourself. He’ll be doin’ ye nae harm.” Maggie snuggled deeper into the wildcat’s thick fur.
    To Molly’s astonishment, the beast began to purr.
    “There, now, ye see,” Maggie said. “But we canna be wastin’ time. What d’ye think o’ yon Finlay Mackenzie o’ Kintail?”
    The question caught Molly as she moved at last to shut the door. Using more force than necessary, she said bluntly as she
     turned, “He is hateful and arrogant.”
    “Aye, well, I were afraid ye wouldna like him, though he seems tae be handsome enough.”
    “I suppose,” Molly said, “if one likes dark-haired men with eyes that seem to look right through one. I do not.”
    “’Tis a pity then, but once our Claud had stuck his finger in the pie, there were little I could do. He’s in lust again, Claud
     is, and bein’ in such a state turns his brain tae porridge. Nobbut he’s no so strong in that area most days, come what may.
     I fear our Claud didna come out o’ the womb wi’ all his bits in such fine order as I did m’self, ye see, even though he had
     the good fortune tae ha’ me for his mam.”
    Thoroughly bewildered, Molly stepped nearer and said, “Whatever are you talking about, and who is Claud?”
    “If ye’d but listen, I told ye, he’s me son, though it isna summat I care tae brag about most days. Aye, sure, and ye can
     believe me when I say that!”
    “But who are you? Or, more to the point,
what
are you?”
    “Aye, now that would ha’ been a better way tae put your question in the first place, instead o’ taking it for granted that
     I were one o’ them feckless Highland fairies,” Maggie Malloch said, nodding. Making a gesture with the white implement in
     her hand, she said, “Ha’ ye no heard tell o’ the household spirits, then?”
    “I don’t think so, although I have heard many stories about the wee people,” Molly said, “about fairies that steal babes from
     their cradles, and about the evil Host that flies at night, seeking stray souls to collect.”
    “We’ll no speak o’ the Host, if ye please. As for fairies stealing bairns, them would be Highland fairies or the Irish lot,
     and I’ve nae truck wi’ such. Foolish creatures they be, always spouting o’ kings and queens and the like, and making mischief—stealing
     grown folks away, too, and then returning them twenty years later tae everyone’s consternation. I dinna hold wi’ such fractious
     goings-on.”
    “Are you a Highlander of another sort, then?”
    “Nay, lass, I be nae more a Highlander than ye be yourself. Me and Claud, we traveled wi’ ye from the first, when your uncle
     took ye away tae Tantallon, and later we followed ye tae Dunsgaith when that misbegotten fool that’s presently ruling Scotland
     sent ye here tae Skye. And we ha’ been wi’ ye at Dunakin since Donald sent ye here.” She put the stick end of the white implement
     in her mouth, sucked on it, and then blew out another stream of smoke.
    Watching this process in fascination, and feeling that she somehow owed the little woman an apology, Molly said, “I am sorry
     if I caused you to leave your home, but you can scarcely blame me when I did not even know you existed.”
    “Pish, tush, I dinna blame ye at all. ’Twas a dreadful night, that.”
    “It was,