Free Amanda Scott by Highland Princess Page A

Moreover, she wanted to think about Lachlan Lubanach and devise a way, somehow, to keep him safely at arm’s length. He offered excellent opportunities to practice the art of flirting, but that was all she wanted of him.
    She was certain of that and told herself so several times before she climbed into bed beside Elizabeth. She was still telling herself so when she fell asleep.
    The next morning Mairi woke with the dawn, and when her waking thought was for a pair of teasing blue eyes, she mentally scolded herself and resolved that flirtation would not be the order of the day. After Lady Margaret arose, the entire household would assemble for morning prayers, but that would not happen for another hour, and by then Mairi intended to be a good distance from Finlaggan.
    At Dunyvaig, every waking hour had been duty-bound. Determined to show her father and mother that she was perfectly able to handle such responsibility, and having no social obligations of note, she had devoted as much energy to her tasks as Ranald had to his. Since Ranald was likely to knock heads if work on the boats or fortifications progressed too slowly to suit him, Mairi’s diplomatic skills had been required occasionally as well, after such incidents.
    Plainly, she now deserved a holiday.
    Dressing quickly, without assistance and without waking Elizabeth, she brushed snarls from her long hair and carelessly replaited it, deciding to leave it uncovered until her return, when Meg Raith could arrange it properly and encase it in its usual, formal caul. Finding gloves and donning the hooded crimson cloak she had worn in the boat the morning before, she hurried downstairs and across the open, south-facing forecourt without encountering another soul.
    Loch Finlaggan stretched southward, gray, calm, and peaceful. The previous day’s fog had lifted, but the sky remained overcast, the air still. As she crossed the great hall courtyard, a pair of gulls soared silently overhead. Beyond the hall, she hurried along the narrow road linking servants’ cottages and chapel, then continuing through the enclosure to the stone causeway and the main island of Isla.
    Her skin prickled as she strode past the chapel, for although workers had not begun work for the day on the roof, it was always possible that her father’s chaplain or one of the monks who served him might step out and call to her. He might want only to bid her good morrow or welcome her return, but could as easily demand to know where she was going and wonder aloud if she would return in time for prayers. Answering either yea or nay to him could well land her in the suds later.
    No one called to her, and as she passed through the gateway to the stable enclosure, she released the breath she had been holding.
    “Ian, are you here?” she called as she entered the barn.
    “Down here, mistress, wi’ the lad.”
    Smiling, she turned toward his voice and found him in the end stall brushing her favorite mount, a sleek, long-tailed, light gray gelding she called Hobyn.
    Patting the horse’s flank, she eased past it to its head, murmuring endearments and reaching to stroke the blaze on its face. Instead, Hobyn pushed his soft nose into her palm.
    “He missed me,” she said.
    “Aye, he always does,” Ian agreed, still brushing. When she said nothing more, he glanced shyly at her and said, “’Tis that grateful I am t’ ye, my lady. Nae one else would believe I didna kill Elma.”
    “I know, Ian. It is plain now to everyone that you did not, however.”
    “Still, I’m glad ye came home when ye did and that ye spoke up so strong at his grace’s court. Had ye no done that, Mellis MacCoun would ha’ demanded me hanging straightaway.”
    “The charge against you was weak, Ian. I’ve yet to hear anything to prove Elma’s death was not an accident. In any event, I mean to ride this morning.”
    “Aye, sure, mistress, I’ll just saddle Hobyn and get me own pony.”
    “I want no saddle today, nor do I need