chieftains and the like. Them wi’ the most power form the Circle and decide who can be in and who mun be out. If
they cast me out, the Host will take me and force me tae fly wi’ them through endless night till I expiate me sins. I’m gey
afeard o’ the Host, Catriona.”
“Ye did only what I asked, Claud. It will be well.”
“But what if—?”
“Hush,” she said, laying two smooth fingertips against his lips. “My poor laddie, do ye recall what ye were doing a few minutes
back when I interrupted ye?”
“Aye, I do,” he said, his body stirring to life again.
She touched him then, and although her touch was delicate, its effect was powerful. All thought of his troubles vanished.
Chapter 6
A t Dunakin, Molly spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening with Lady Mackinnon, sorting and packing clothing and other
items that she would take with her. Her ladyship talked less than usual and seemed lost in thought.
“Perhaps you should rest, madam,” Molly said. “You seem overtired.”
“I’m well enough,” her ladyship said with a sigh. “It is just settling into my mind that I’m going to miss ye sorely. I dinna
ken how I’ll get on without ye.”
Touched by this admission, Molly hugged her, saying, “I am grateful for all you have done, madam—and the laird, too. You and
he have been as much a mother and father to me as anyone could be, under the circumstances.”
“Ye must ha’ missed your own parents, though.”
“I scarcely knew them,” Molly said, speaking what was only plain truth. “My father seemed to enjoy my company, but my mother
paid no heed to me, leaving my care and that of my sister to nursemaids. My strongest memory of her is the day we parted,
when she burned me with that red-hot key.”
“And a wicked thing it was to do,” declared Lady Mackinnon with feeling. “Ye still bear that dreadful mark, as I ken, and
I canna think what possessed the woman to do such a thing to her own bairn.”
“She said it was to mark me so that she would always know me as her true daughter,” Molly said. “But I agree that it was cruel.
Many people knew me then, and many know me now, so how did she think I could become unknown?”
“We canna ken what were in her mind,” Lady Mackinnon said fairly. “But ye be a grand heiress, Molly lass, and powerful men
would control ye.”
Molly smiled as she said, “You do not want my fortune.”
Lady Mackinnon sighed. “In truth, we ha’ nae hope o’ possessing it. I canna deny I’d be pleased could our Rory or one o’ the
other lads wed ye and gain the lot. But we knew that Donald wouldna agree to it, and no more would the King. We expected Donald
to wed ye to his own whelp, but he be a canny man, and without he laid hands on your fortune first, he couldna like the notion.
’Tis gey strange the way the treasure disappeared.”
Molly shrugged, and Doreen entered then, so the topic of conversation, of necessity, reverted to the task at hand. Nevertheless,
Molly’s thoughts soon returned to her position and what lay ahead.
The Gordon treasure seemed mythical, for she had never seen it and had no notion what it comprised. Her memories of the castle
where she had spent the first years of her life were dim. She remembered walking with her father, holding his hand as they
climbed a golden hillside and stood at the top, looking back at Dunsithe. She remembered riding her pony, albeit not the first
time, because she had ridden as long as she could remember. And she remembered her nurse and Bessie’s, but other adults were
unidentifiable figures in the whirl of servants and others who had lived with them or visited.
All those memories included lots of color, but they were more dreamlike than real. She could not remember a single room, even
her own bedchamber. She had had a room of her own, though, for she had stronger memories of visiting Bessie in the nursery
and being allowed to sit and hold
they cast me out, the Host will take me and force me tae fly wi’ them through endless night till I expiate me sins. I’m gey
afeard o’ the Host, Catriona.”
“Ye did only what I asked, Claud. It will be well.”
“But what if—?”
“Hush,” she said, laying two smooth fingertips against his lips. “My poor laddie, do ye recall what ye were doing a few minutes
back when I interrupted ye?”
“Aye, I do,” he said, his body stirring to life again.
She touched him then, and although her touch was delicate, its effect was powerful. All thought of his troubles vanished.
Chapter 6
A t Dunakin, Molly spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening with Lady Mackinnon, sorting and packing clothing and other
items that she would take with her. Her ladyship talked less than usual and seemed lost in thought.
“Perhaps you should rest, madam,” Molly said. “You seem overtired.”
“I’m well enough,” her ladyship said with a sigh. “It is just settling into my mind that I’m going to miss ye sorely. I dinna
ken how I’ll get on without ye.”
Touched by this admission, Molly hugged her, saying, “I am grateful for all you have done, madam—and the laird, too. You and
he have been as much a mother and father to me as anyone could be, under the circumstances.”
“Ye must ha’ missed your own parents, though.”
“I scarcely knew them,” Molly said, speaking what was only plain truth. “My father seemed to enjoy my company, but my mother
paid no heed to me, leaving my care and that of my sister to nursemaids. My strongest memory of her is the day we parted,
when she burned me with that red-hot key.”
“And a wicked thing it was to do,” declared Lady Mackinnon with feeling. “Ye still bear that dreadful mark, as I ken, and
I canna think what possessed the woman to do such a thing to her own bairn.”
“She said it was to mark me so that she would always know me as her true daughter,” Molly said. “But I agree that it was cruel.
Many people knew me then, and many know me now, so how did she think I could become unknown?”
“We canna ken what were in her mind,” Lady Mackinnon said fairly. “But ye be a grand heiress, Molly lass, and powerful men
would control ye.”
Molly smiled as she said, “You do not want my fortune.”
Lady Mackinnon sighed. “In truth, we ha’ nae hope o’ possessing it. I canna deny I’d be pleased could our Rory or one o’ the
other lads wed ye and gain the lot. But we knew that Donald wouldna agree to it, and no more would the King. We expected Donald
to wed ye to his own whelp, but he be a canny man, and without he laid hands on your fortune first, he couldna like the notion.
’Tis gey strange the way the treasure disappeared.”
Molly shrugged, and Doreen entered then, so the topic of conversation, of necessity, reverted to the task at hand. Nevertheless,
Molly’s thoughts soon returned to her position and what lay ahead.
The Gordon treasure seemed mythical, for she had never seen it and had no notion what it comprised. Her memories of the castle
where she had spent the first years of her life were dim. She remembered walking with her father, holding his hand as they
climbed a golden hillside and stood at the top, looking back at Dunsithe. She remembered riding her pony, albeit not the first
time, because she had ridden as long as she could remember. And she remembered her nurse and Bessie’s, but other adults were
unidentifiable figures in the whirl of servants and others who had lived with them or visited.
All those memories included lots of color, but they were more dreamlike than real. She could not remember a single room, even
her own bedchamber. She had had a room of her own, though, for she had stronger memories of visiting Bessie in the nursery
and being allowed to sit and hold
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