The Falconer's Daughter - Liz Lyles Page 0,13
surprise. “I’ve only been to the cottage twice, and then, my lord, it’s been four years.”
“Four, hmm.” Macleod’s expression was closed, the lines deeply etched between his eyes and along his mouth. “The child has turned six.”
“Yes.”
“And I don’t even know whom she resembles. Is it Anne? Perhaps Mary or Charlotte?”
The page spoke carefully, “She does not resemble her mother, or even your other daughters.” He did not want to offend his lordship. “Except for her eyes, she takes after the falconer.”
“What color are her eyes?”
“Pale gray, like a pond frozen in the winter.”
“Is she a dull child?”
“They say she is very quick.” He half smiled in Dunbar’s direction. “It is said her temper is also.”
“None of my daughters had a temper.”
Dunbar’s red hair waved at his nape, the brisk wind dusting his brow and beard with miniature salt crystals. “Maybe my cousins didn’t, but my mother did.”
The Duke gave a barely perceptible nod. “Yes.” His eyes narrowed. “No wonder my father sent your mother to Orkney.” His gaze swept the rocky coast, white water churning against dark cliffs. “How is the girl? Is she well?”
McInnes leaned on his saddle. “From all accounts, I would say yes. In Glen Nevis they call her a Highland fairy, for she lives on berries and nuts and swims as if a fish in the mountain streams.”
Macleod could not have been more shocked. “She swims?”
“As if a trout.”
“Are you sure of this?”
Geoffrey shrugged. “It is what I have been told.”
Dunbar hooted at the idea of a girl swimming. “Come now, McInnes, where do you get your tales from? Now you’ll be telling us she just jumped in.”
“No, she didn’t jump without provocation. It seems her wolf pup fell into a frigid lake, and frantic, the child dove in after it. The pup swam out and so did she.”
Dunbar howled with laughter, ribcage heaving. “What do you mean, wolf pup? What pet is this? I’ve never heard of a Macleod taking to water much less wild animals.”
“She began swimming last year when she was five.”
The Duke’s voice was quiet. “And the wolf?”
“That was the last time I heard from the falconer. He sent a message after his accident, asking about a possible home for the girl in the event he died—”
“You never told me,” the Duke said coolly.
“—I was asked to wait until the falconer made a turn for the worse. He said I would know when he wasn’t going to make it. And so I waited.”
“You should have come to me.” Macleod’s grip tightened on the reins. He was staring out over the sea, the waters deep green, dark beneath the blustery sky.
“Forgive me, my lord.” Geoffrey was genuinely puzzled. “But you had refused all previous communication…” He looked to Dunbar for help.
“But the wolf, what’s the story there?” Dunbar wanted more of the girl’s antics. McInnes noted Duke Macleod’s expression, his features twisted in grief, or pain. “My lord?”
“Yes,” the Duke conceded, “tell the story.” He spurred his horse forward, riding around the last of the bends as they made the ascent towards Angus Castle.
“About two years ago the falconer was attacked by wolves. He killed several—or so I think the message read—however, he discovered that one of the wolves he killed had left a pup. The pup was not yet weaned and sat in the snow next to its mother crying piteously. The falconer—never one to leave an animal injured—carried it back to the cottage with him.”
The fingers of Macleod’s right hand played lightly on the hilt of his sword as he listened. McInnes smiled and continued, “Of course, the girl, Cordaella, took straight to the pup. It now follows her like a dog. The village folk think she is a strange sight, coming down from the mountain—singing fierce Gaelic songs—with a huge male wolf padding at her heels. The wolf is full size now. He is at least a hundred pounds heavier than she. No one comes near the girl. They are too afraid of the animal and Cordaella’s wild ways.”
Dunbar wiped his eyes dry, tears brought on by his laughter. “She is a barbarian!” He grinned, flashing a smile minus several teeth. “You should send for her, my lord. Can you imagine the wee waif and her wolf in Aberdeen?”
They reached the top of the hill, the best vantage point from the Angus estate. The Duke scanned the sea and its misty gray horizon. Far out on the water, two carracks sailed into the distance, their huge white canvas sails