Fairy Tale by Jillian Hunter Read Free Book Online

frowning at the imprint on his fingers underlaid with the talon marks of the hawk. The pretty young pagan spoke in a cultured voice at odds with her station in life. The embroidered girdle around her waist where she had casually stuck the pistol had cost a pretty penny. Obviously someone had taken the trouble to educate and arm her. But why, and who? The mystery of her deepened.
    Th e portcullis began its creaking ascent, the muffled sound of women swearing from behind the double doors breaking Duncan’s concentration. He backed away from Marsali, mounting the mare with a satisfied nod. He’d gotten his way; that was what counted.
    Marsali stood in silence, watching as he passed beneath the portcullis, laundry dropping onto his elegant head. He looked proud of himself, as if he had scored a major coup by having the portcullis raised. Actually, considering the fact that today was laundry day, he had done quite well for himself.
    But Marsali knew that the self-satisfied look he wore would shortly erode into horror. She knew that the worst was yet to come. For her own part she usually avoided the castle and its environs except in an extreme emergency. Clansmen had been known to enter and never be seen again.
    She hefted the chieftain’s clothes back against her chest and hurried after him. He was probably going to need her protection. There was no telling what he might encounter. After all, he had countermanded Cook’s orders, and nobody in Marsali’s memory had dared such an offense and lived to tell of it.

 
     
     
     
     
    C h apter
    4
     
    C ook slowly lowered the spyglass, her oblong face going ash-gray with the shock of what she had just witnessed. “Dear God in Heaven, it’s that wee bastard Duncan MacElgin, and his horse is trampling all over my clean laundry.” The three people standing beside her on the battlements—her spinster daughter, Suisan, the ancient head groom, Angus, and Johnnie, Kenneth MacElgin’s former lieutenant-at-arms—all reached to wrest the spyglass from her plump, age-speckled hands at the same time.
    Johnnie snared it first. He was a middle-aged man with a leonine mane of grizzled brown hair that came to his shoulders. Narrowing his eye, he peered down at the horseman entering the middle bailey. “By damn,” he said, a whistle escaping his cracked front teeth. “The prodigal son’s come home.”
    “But I thought he was dead,” Suisan exclaimed, wrenching the spyglass from Johnnie’s hands to see for herself. “Why do ye suppose—Oooh, he’s wearin’ naught but a plaid like one of the old Highlanders. The laddie is all grown up, Ma. He’s no a wee bastard anymore.”
    She scowled in disappointment as Angus confiscated the glass, giving a deep throaty chuckle at the sight of the laird d raped in the castle’s laundry. “ Duncan MacElgin. Aye, there’ll be trouble in spades now. About time too.”
    “What do you suppose it means?” Cook asked worriedly, wringing her hands.
    “No tellin’.” Johnnie’s pleasant face puckered into a frown. “Someone should have warned us to expect him, though.”
    Suisan giggled softly. “He doesna look dead, does he?”
    “He’ll find out about Abercrombie now,” Angus said, with another ominous chuckle at the prospect.
    “Abercrombie,” the three others whispered in horrified unison.
    Cook heaved an enormous sigh. “And here I was set to enjoy a long peaceful summer. Look at the man, the size of him, letting his horse stomp my clean laundry into the ground. Laird or no, I willna have it.”
    Johnnie snatched the spyglass back from the old groom’s hand and leveled it on the middle bailey. “Aye, and ye can give up yer hope of a peaceful summer, old woman. The MacElgin’s brought Marsali Hay along wi’ him.”
    “Our Marsali?” Cook said, her features lighting up in relief. “Aye, weel. That’s a good sign then.”
    “She’s carryin’ the MacElgin’s clothes and his sword, by the look of it,” Johnnie murmured.