Page 8 of Highlander’s Devious Ally

Fenella sighed. “Oh Lyall, I wish she wasn’t marrying Jock McCauley. There is something I do not like about that man. I wish she was marrying you.”

Lyall was watching Ailith’s slim figure disappearing into the distance. So do I, he thought sadly. Aloud, he said, “But she is marrying him, Ella, and there is nothing you or I can do about it.”

“You like her very much, don’t you?" she asked.

“I do," he admitted. “And I like you very much, Ella, but I don’t want to marry you!”

Jock McCauley was beyond furious. He was trembling with rage, and the more he thought about Lyall Stevenson the worse it became. He had gone to the market that day to look for a ram to breed with his sheep, but then he saw Ailith with another young woman, whom he recognized as Fenella Stevenson, sitting outside the tavern. He was about to go over and greet them when Lyall came out carrying three mugs of ale and sat down beside them.

He was astonished to see that when the landlady brought the food Lyall chatted to her for a while, teasing her and making her laugh. When she turned to go Jock saw him putting something into her hand. Her eyes widened as she took it, then she curtsied and thanked him. He obviously tipped generously.

Ailith had looked at Lyall in a way that she had never looked at him, and Jock felt a searing stab of jealousy go through him. If he had a sword in his hand at that moment he would have run it through Lyall Stevenson’s heart without a second thought.

He turned around, strode to his horse, and rode back to Inverlieth Castle at a punishing speed. Once there, he stormed up to his study and tossed down three glasses of whisky in quick succession. The fiery spirit calmed him down enough to take the edge off his fury, and he sat down heavily in a chair and began to think. He sat for a long time before calling for a trusted servant to come and see him.

“Ah, there you are,” Jock smiled as the door opened silently and a man crept over to his desk. “I need your help, old pal. I have a nasty problem.”

“I will do what I can, M'Laird,” the man said in a deep sepulchral voice.

Fergus Brown was as tall as Lyall Stevenson, but he was spindly with a swarthy, cadaverous face and deep-set dark eyes. All his clothes were well-made, but they hung on his skeletal frame like rags on a scarecrow. Officially he was Jock’s butler, but the Laird had recognized a kindred spirit when he saw one, and they had become friends and confederates.

Spying was a natural fit for Fergus. He had a talent for all things devious, and his previous duties for Jock had included blackmail and bribery. He enjoyed his work, both the legitimate and illegitimate, because he liked seeing people jump when he commanded them to, enjoying their fear.

Jock stood up and poured both of them more whisky. On his fifth glass, he was beginning to feel the effects now, and he was an aggressive drunk. “I want you to follow someone," he told Fergus. “Everywhere.”

“Who, M'Laird?” Fergus’s eyes glinted maliciously at the thought of the task. It was just the kind of job he loved to do.

“Mistress Galloway,” Jock replied.

“Your betrothed?” Fergus asked, frowning. “But why?”

“You do not need to know why,” Jock growled. “Follow her everywhere she goes and tell me everything she does. Is that clear?”

“Yes, M'Laird," he replied. His tone was deferential now, since he was always paid well for his services, and did not want to do anything to upset the Laird.

“I will give you proper instructions in the morning,” Jock said irritably. “Get out of my sight.”

5

First Kiss

Dinner that night was almost as riotous as lunch had been the day before. Fenella had insisted on poached salmon for the first course with roast venison and assorted vegetables for the main. They finished off with a selection of local cheeses and fruits, both dried and fresh, and the Bordeaux wine that Lyall had been so proud of.

Ailith was glad she had brought it into the country, since it was absolutely delicious. It gave her a warm feeling to look at him and realize how much he was enjoying it.

Lyall was trying desperately not to look at Ailith because every time he did, he found it difficult to tear his gaze away again.

“So what kind of charity did Lady May provide? Is it feeding? Clothing?” Ailith asked, sipping her wine. “Mmmm...this wine is wonderful, Lyall.”

“Both of those," he replied, “but she loved to tell stories to the children as well. She had a wonderful imagination, and she could make them up as she went along. I have never heard anything like them.”

“I cannot do that,” Fenella said sadly. “I have no imagination." She sighed, and Ailith put her hand over hers on the table.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself," she instructed, smiling. “I will think of some and write them down for you. There is always a way.”

“Tell us one now!” Fenella shouted excitedly. “Something romantic.”

“Well...” Ailith thought for a while. “You must remember that you are not a child, so this may sound a little babyish to you.”