On a Highland Shore (21 page)

His voice was polite, nothing more. “We have a home in Antrim.”

“Ye have land there?” she asked, remembering what Nell had told her.

“I have no land of my own.”

“Where do ye live?”

“After my father died, my mother married Patrick Maguire. Tiernan and I went with her when she left Haraldsholm to go inland, to Fermanagh, where Patrick’s lands are. We stayed there until Rory O’Neill came to tell us about the raids on my uncle Erik’s lands. We’ll live at Haraldsholm again now.”

“What is it ye’ll do there?”

He shrugged. “Whatever Erik needs.”

“Does he need ye here in Scotland?”

His eyes flashed, and he opened his mouth, then closed it, looking from her to the view, then back. “I’m admiring the land, lass, not coveting it.”

“Are ye admiring it for yer uncle or for Rory O’Neill?”

“It never hurts to ken yer allies.”

“I’ve heard that O’Neill wants ye to stay in Scotland to watch us and report back to him.”

She felt rather than saw his displeasure. “Who told ye that?”

“It doesna matter.”

“It does. Where did ye hear that, Margaret?”

“When ye were talking in the hall at Somerstrath, not everyone was asleep. So does O’Neill want ye to stay in Scotland?”

“Aye.”

“Ye’ll be staying to protect his interests?”

“And to help. We’re not so hard-hearted that we don’t see that ye need us.”

“Nor so hard-hearted that ye’d tell us ye’ll help search for Davey.”

He went very still. “Lass, ye need to face that the chances of finding him, or any of those that were taken, are small. And if he’s already been sold as a slave, ye may never find him.”

“That’s cruel of ye to say.”

“I dinna mean to be cruel. It’s the truth.”

“No one in Scotland would buy a slave these days.”

“Ye dinna ken that. And he might not still be in Scotland. He could be in Ireland, or on one of the islands, or even in Norway perhaps. There are unscrupulous men in every land.”

“Ye found the knife…”

“Aye, and I’m thinking that although we’re supposed to be thinking Leod carried out the raids, or Skyemen at least, there is only one place under Haakon’s control where Norsemen live within easy reach of both Ireland and Scotland, yet out of the reach of the leaders of either. The Orkneys.”

The Orkneys, a collection of islands just off Scotland’s northern coast, were run as independent fiefs, but all were under the rule of the thane of Orkney, and Haakon, the king of Norway. It would be a short voyage to sail from any of the Orkney Islands to Ireland and the west of Scotland.

“The problem is,” Gannon was saying, “to discover which island, which leader, was doing the raids, without antagonizing all of them and starting a war. Relations are delicate enough now between yer Alexander and Haakon. It wouldna take more than a spark, and to accuse them might just do it.”

“Ye make it seem impossible to find Davey.”

“It might be. It might also be dangerous. There’s more here at stake than a handful of children.”

“What could be more important?” she demanded.

“If it were my brother, I’d be saying the same things. But what if these raids are being directed by Haakon himself, or by the thane of Orkney with Haakon’s blessing? What if starting a war is their goal?”

“I dinna see how that affects my searching for Davey.”

“Ye search for him?” He shook his head. “Why would ye be the one to do it?”

She bristled at his manner. “And why not, sir? He’s my brother. How better? Or is it simply because I am a woman?”

“No. It is simply because ye dinna have a ship, nor many men, nor are ye thinking of what could happen to ye if ye went smashing into Orkney.”

“Ye’re…”

He cut across her words. “What if we’re wrong? What if I just think it’s Orkneymen because of…” He paused suddenly, then continued in a much quieter tone. “What if it is Leod? Or a group of Scots—or Irish—who think to use the old Viking ways themselves?”

“Why would Leod raid Scotland and Ireland both?”

“Why would he raid at all?” Gannon shrugged. “I dinna ken. But it’s possible that he is behind this.”

“Then we go to Leod and find out. That’s simple enough. I can do that.”

“Dinna even think on it. Leod’s not a man to be swayed by a woman, even a beautiful one with a sad story. It would not go as ye think if ye visited him.”

“What am I to do, then, simply forget Davey and go on with my life? Because I willna, no matter what…”

“Margaret, I dinna say that, nor do I mean that. I’m just trying to get ye to see how difficult it may be.”

“I will spend my life looking for him.”

His smile was rueful. “I ken ye will.”

“Do not mock me, please.”

“I’m not; I’m recognizing myself in ye. Were I ye, I would do the same.”

“I ken he’s alive. I dinna ken how I ken it, but I do”—she gestured to the glen below them—“just as ye kent this place. And that means I have to find him.”

When he didn’t answer, she continued.

“Would ye not look for yer brother? If Tiernan were missing, would ye not search to the ends of the Earth for him?”

“Aye, of course.”

“I canna bring my parents and my other brothers back, but I can look for Davey. As ye would. And I’ll start on Skye.”

He sighed. “I have no doubt that, were ye a man, ye’d do just that. But ye’re not a man, and ye dinna ken what could be involved…”

“I need a reason to get up each day. Caring for Nell and looking for Davey gives me that.”

“Yer brother should be saying this, not ye, lass.”

“He has enough on his mind.”

Gannon snorted. “What? He’s not the one who’s been caring for Nell. He’s not the one who comforted the Somerstrath people; he dinna talk with them for more than a moment. He was not the one to be sure they all had beds in the village and food in their stomachs and a promise that they’d be safe. That was ye, Margaret. It’s ye who acts like a leader, but it’s Rignor who has the title. Let Rignor go to Skye. Let him go roaming across Scotland looking for yer brother.”

“Ye dinna understand. Rignor…”

“What was he like, yer father?”

The question surprised her and she paused. “Cautious,” she said at last. “Careful of his position.”

“Not like yer brother then. Was it yer father who instilled the feeling of duty in ye, or yer mother?”

She thought of Father, with his endless lectures of responsibility, of Mother, who lived her duty, not cheerfully perhaps, but thoroughly. “Both.”

He was quiet for a moment, then touched her shoulder, quickly withdrawing his hand, as though afraid to let his fingers linger. “It’s hard, what ye’re going through, Margaret, the mourning. And now ye’re wondering why they all died, and ye lived, aye?”

She nodded. “And why anyone would do this to innocent people.”

“That, lassie, I dinna ken, except for the greed and evil of men.” He looked over her head, his gaze distant. “I’ve asked myself the same thing a thousand times, why I lived, and they died.”

She watched him, waiting for him to go on. What was it about this man that made her want to be with him, to know his thoughts? She waited another moment.

“Gannon,” she asked quietly. “Who died?”

He came back to her slowly. “My da and my three brothers. Fourteen years ago. I was the only one to live. And I’ve always wondered why.”

“What happened?”

“There’s little to tell. We were fishing, my da, and my brothers and me—I was the eldest—and not paying attention to anything but the fish. We were laughing when we first saw the ships coming for us. Then we saw that they were dragonships. Three of them. My da told us to row, but they were too close, and we too far out for anyone ashore to get to us in time. The last thing my da asked me to do was to take care of my brothers, then he was cut down. They killed him and shoved his body off the boat. And then they came for me.”

He paused, then continued in that same hushed tone. “I backed away from them. When they swung at me I leaned back even farther. When they struck me I fell off the boat.” He touched his chest, near his shoulder. “And then they killed my brothers and threw them in the sea with me. The last thing my da asked me to do I couldna do. I failed, Margaret, and even though my mind tells me it’s absurd to think I could have done otherwise, my heart tells me I should have found a way to save them. It’s that I’m trying to save ye from, the feeling that ye could have changed anything. Life is harsh. If the gods had not been with me, I would have died that day, too. And if ye’d been at home…so would ye have. But we’re both alive, lass, and all I ken is that it’s for a reason.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“It was a long time ago.” His eyes were surprisingly calm.

“Ye were so young. Ye couldna have changed anything.”

He nodded. “I ken that. It’s little comfort in the wee hours of the night, though, is it? Would it have been better if ye and I had died with the others? Would it have served any purpose?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Aye. And so we go on.”

“Did they attack again?”

“At the time everyone thought it was the first of a series of raids they’d planned. We dinna ken why they never came back, whether it was my uncle Erik’s response that was so strong, or whether it was just a group of men who found sport in killing one man and some boys and taking a small ship. Whatever the reason, there were no further raids. Until now. Erik will do his best to keep Antrim safe again, as he did then. But now there have been raids here as well, and with the fall of Somerstrath this part of yer shoreline is unprotected. And that, lass, is why Rory wants me here. If there are more raids—and I’ll be surprised if there are not—if Scotland’s western shore falls, they could set up colonies here. And then they could easily raid the rest of Scotland. And our shores as well. Does that make sense to ye?”

“Aye.”

“And it’s more than that.” He took a deep breath, his chest rising with it, his cheeks coloring slightly. “Men who can do such things are evil. It’s that simple. They’re people of the darkness, and we have to stop them or perish. What does it matter if I’m Norse or Irish or ye Scots? We’re none of us safe now, and we have to band together to stop them.”

She stared at him, surprised at the intensity of his words, at their calmness when she could see the rage in his eyes. The old woman’s words echoed suddenly in her mind.
Go home, child. The darkness is coming.
This is what she’d meant. All those years ago, the woman had known. She let her gaze fall to the dragon torque around his neck.

“People of the darkness,” she said slowly. “Aye. That’s what they are. But how do we stop them?”

“We go after them. We smoke them out of their nests. What else do ye do with snakes? By letting them and their ilk ken that such things canna be done here, not to us, without reprisals. If they win here, no one will be safe. If they are allowed to do what they did at Somerstrath without retaliation, what will they try next? This is about more than yer village or those in Antrim. It’s about stopping evil and making life safe again. We have no choice; I have no choice. I’m thinking ye and I, we are bound to the same…”

He stopped suddenly, clamping his mouth shut, looking into her eyes, then immediately away, leaving her shaken by what she’d seen. Rage, of the same intensity that she felt herself. Determination. And something more—a yearning, a deep loneliness—that shocked her. She felt her body respond as though he’d touched her. She raised her hand toward his cheek, then stopped herself when something flashed in his eyes. She let her hand fall, saw him note that. He looked away. She watched his profile. The breeze flowed over them, lifting his hair again, and hers as well, billowing her skirts from her ankles and streaming his cloak away from him, pushing the linen of his trousers against strong legs, and her cloak between them, as though mere wool could separate them now. She watched him press his lips together, then lift his chin, as though he’d made a decision.

“Who lived here before?” he asked.

“No one. Well, someone did, obviously, but no one’s lived here for as long as I can remember.”

“Why?” He shook his head. “I canna understand it. Whose land is it?”

“My father’s…Rignor’s now.”

He frowned as he looked from the fortress to the heights behind it, then to the end of the loch. “Ye should have been living here, Margaret. Yer people would have had warning that the Norsemen were coming.”

“Or they would have been trapped.”

“No, they could have escaped. Look,” he said, pointing, “there, where the trees start, see them, where they’re so thick? There’s a path there that leads into the glen, then east. If ye needed to, ye could escape there.” At her raised eyebrows, his arm lowered. “At least I think there is.”

“Have ye been here before?”

“No.” He gave her a rueful smile. “But I feel as though I have.”

“Ye have the Sight, then.”

“No.” He shrugged. “Perhaps a bit of it. My grandmother did.”

“Yer mother’s mother, the Irish grandmother?”

“Aye.”

“She kent things before they happened?”

“She had dreams.”

“And ye do as well?”

When he did not answer, she smiled. “Ye do, don’t ye?”

“Sometimes.” He waved his hand to indicate the valley before them. “Sometimes it’s verra clear, like here. Sometimes it’s a bit hazy.”

“And people? D’ye ever feel ye ken people?” At his silence she almost laughed. “I’ll tell no one, Gannon MacMagnus, ye dinna have to fear that.”

His smile lit his eyes. “I’m no’ afraid of ye telling people, lassie. I dinna care what they think of me.”

“Truly?”

His smile faded and his gaze fell from her eyes to her mouth. “Truly. It’s only yer opinion that matters.”

Her heart gave a small jump. She ignored it, just as she ignored that he was leaning closer. “So do ye, Gannon? Do ye feel ye ken people?”

He looked into her eyes as his hand rose, his smile slower this time, revealing lines at the side of his mouth. “Aye,” he said softly.

“Who?” she asked, though she knew what he would say. And what he was about to do.

“Ye, Margaret. Ye.”