Bride For A Knight Page 0,94

they befuddled his wits. Wits that came spiraling back a short while later as he rode through the empty woodlands toward Hughie's cottage and, by necessity, passed near the great out-thrusting shoulders of the steep, rock-strewn slopes that formed the deep gorge of the Garbh Uisge.

Jamie shuddered. The roar of the rushing water filled his ears, even a safe distance from that dread, lonely place.

But louder than the boiling white waters of the cataracts, his own words slammed into him - words he'd thought when he'd made farewell courtesies to the MacKenzie lasses.

Then when he'd not wanted his da to hear his reason for denying Aveline a springtime visit to Eilean Creag, fearing the travails of the journey and, especially, the rigors of the anticipated sailing adventure on one of the Black Stag's galleys, would prove too strenuous for Munro.

Och, nay he hadn't wanted his da to hear such concerns. Yet, he'd suspected he might.

Again, Jamie's own words flashed through his mind, just as he'd thought them in Baldreagan's bailey.

Truth be told, he'd often suspected the man could listen through walls.

... such a feat might be how he always managed to get the better of his fellow Highland cattle lairds, e'er seeming to know what the men said behind his back or when they believed Munro out of earshot.

Jamie's blood ran cold.

He jerked on the reins, pulling up at once. "Well, then!" he swore, wrenching around his garron and digging in his spurs to thunder down a sloping braeside choked with gorse and broom, making for an innocuous-looking outcrop not unlike the stones that sheltered St. Bride's Well.

Only these boulders hid something far more treacherous. Something he should've recalled long ago.

The latest when he'd mused about his da's seeming ability to hear through walls. By all the saints, there'd been a time when Munro Macpherson had listened through walls.

Baldreagan was riddled with hidden passageways, squints, and subterranean corridors. In the glory days of his cattle dealing, Jamie's father had used them with glee, taking advantage of being able to leave the dais on some cock-and-bull errand while, in truth, sneaking into a secret passage cut through the walls, circling back, and spying on his guests. Listening raptly, then using his gleaned knowledge against them.

Until Jamie's brother Hamish had one day wandered into the maze of passages and gotten lost.

For three days and nights the entire clan had searched for the lad, finally finding him cowering and half-frozen on the morning of the fourth day, huddled in one of the underground passages that led farthest from the keep. The very one that exited into the outcrop looming up out of the whin and bracken at the bottom of this braeside.

Another, similar passage opened closer to the Garbh Uisge and he'd investigate that one, too.

If he could find the old opening.

Not an easy task, as his da had ordered every last passage filled and sealed after Hamish's disappearance.

Even his favorite squint in the great hall, a craftily placed laird's lug with a fine view onto the dais, had not been spared.

And, Jamie saw, pulling up in front of the outcrop and swinging down to take a better look, whate'er hidden entry to a subterranean passage may once have been concealed in the tumbled rocks, with surety, was no more. His father's men had been thorough.

All that remained here were boyhood memories of playing with his brothers near the outcrop, each brother daring the others to venture deeper inside the passage's dank and inky darkness.

Jamie shuddered again and pulled a hand down over his chin. Such a passage, if a passable one yet existed, might be the answer to his da's bogle visits.

"By the Almighty God," he swore, certain of it.

His mood darkening, he remounted, his gaze falling on the plump little sack of honey cakes hanging from the saddle bow and meant for Hughie Mac, should the old man need persuasion to discuss his odd behavior last night - and the newly whittled hazel walking stick. But the honey cakes and his questions for Hughie would have to wait.

Whether it would displease his bride and certain long-nosed, clack-tongued MacKenzie females, he needed to spend some time looking around at the Rough Waters. Even so, he couldn't suppress the chill that swept through him. After years squiring at Eilean Creag, he knew better than most how accurate were Lady Linnet's visitations.

Her warnings of doom - when she felt compelled to make one. But if he ignored his suspicions and further grief came to