Tor had been gone a few days when Christina’s restlessness began to catch up with her. As she’d suspected, Lady Janet wasn’t interested in striking up a friendship. She was polite, but Christina was certain the other woman’s lingering feelings for Tor prevented anything more. Christina could hardly blame her.
With little to occupy her time, she’d taken to long walks around the perimeter of thebarmkin. In addition to her morning walk with Brother John, she’d started to walk after the evening meal.
She loved to look up at the sky on a clear night—admittedly a rarity in the winter on the “Isle of Mist.” The stars were so close here, it almost seemed as if she could reach out and grab one. Tonight was such a night, and despite the colder-than-normal temperatures—even for January—she lingered on the battlements, gazing first at the sky and then at the sea. There was something so mesmerizing and haunting about watching the shimmery black waves crested with white froth crash against the rocky cliff below.
She glanced down at the jetty and stilled. A chill swept through her. The terrifyingbirlinnwith the hawk-carved prow sat docked among the other boats.
All of a sudden she remembered that day when she’d seen Rhuairi at the dock. Could the seneschal be the spy?
Her suspicions were bolstered when the very man she was thinking about hurried out of the Great Hall across the courtyard and down the sea-gate stairs. Lost in the shadows of darkness, he didn’t notice her presence. She leaned over the wall but was unable to see what was happening below. A short while later, however, Rhuairi rushed back up the stairs and retraced his steps into the Hall.
Her heart thumped. She stayed huddled in the darkness for a while longer, not sure what to do. What she’d just witnessed could be completely innocent. But why had he acted so strangely before and denied receiving a message?
Her first impulse was to follow him, but Tor’s admonition came back to her. He didn’t want her involved. If Rhuairi was the spy and she was discovered, it could be dangerous. She would have to wait until her husband returned and tell him her suspicions then.
She just hoped it wasn’t too late.
Lady Christina didn’t realize she was being watched.
Brother John MacDougall, nephew and namesake of John of Lorne, couldn’t be sure of what she was thinking, but he had to take a chance. An innate sense of self-preservation had taken hold the past few days, and he’d arranged for his departure. If he was going to find out what MacLeod was involved in it must be now, and the seneschal’s secret messenger had given him an idea.
He’d suspected for some time that she knew how to read, suspicions that were confirmed when he’d noticed that someone had corrected the books. He didn’t want to involve her in this but told himself he was doing her a favor. He didn’t like MacLeod. The harsh, ruthless brute clearly didn’t recognize the jewel he had for a wife. But it was equally clear that his young wife idolized him. Maybe this would force Christina to see him for what he really was.
He hoped.
He wished he hadn’t let his uncle talk him into this—spying should be left to those with the stomach for deceit. Not that he’d had much choice. Like MacLeod, his uncle was not a man to defy.
Two more days passed, and Tor had not returned. In the meantime, Christina’s suspicions were eating away at her. Yesterday, she’d entered the solar with Brother John and Rhuairi had jumped, a guilty flush staining his face as he gathered his papers and left. The clerk had noticed the seneschal’s strange behavior as well, commenting on Rhuairi’s increased agitation.
Mindful of her promise to her husband, Christina responded that she hadn’t noticed. She hated not being able to confide in her friend. Though Brother John seemed like the last person to be a spy, Tor had warned her not to trust anyone.
She’d debated sending her husband a note but didn’t have any proof. She also wouldn’t be able to do so without Rhuairi knowing about it. With no other choice, she waited—until the following evening.
Christina was in her usual place after the evening meal, walking around thebarmkin, when she noticed Rhuairi once again rushing out of the Great Hall. Instead of meeting another messenger, however, he climbed into a waitingbirlinnand headed out toward the sea—not toward the village.
Thinking it odd, she started back inside when she was very nearly run over by a flushed-face Brother John.
He apologized distractedly. “Have you seen the seneschal by chance?”
She nodded. “Aye, he left a few minutes ago.”
“Nettles!”
She smiled at his appropriation of her favorite oath. “Is there a problem?”
He held out a folded piece of parchment. “Rhuairi dropped this, and from the way he was hurrying I thought it might be important. But I’m supposed to go to the village tonight and see Father Patrick.”
“You don’t know what it is?”
He shook his head. “Nothing I transcribed.”
Christina’s heart beat a little faster and all her instincts flared. She held out her hand, not quite able to control the high pitch in her voice. “There’s no need for you to delay your visit to the village. I’ll give it to Rhuairi when he returns.”
The clerk hesitated. “Are you sure? He probably should get it right when he gets back and it could be late.”
“I don’t mind,” she answered him. “I’m not tired.”
“I do hope it’s nothing serious, but Rhuairi did seem even more anxious than usual tonight.” A small smile turned the young clerk’s mouth, and whatever hesitation he had fled. Handing it to her, he said, “But I did promise Father Patrick, and I suppose it’s safe enough with you.”
