To Desire a Highlander (37 page)

“Oh, sweet, please do not worry.” She dropped to her knees beside him, gathering the old dog into her arms, pulling him against her. She comforted him as best she could. She needed his warmth and familiarity as well. “It will be over soon, I promise.”
And I hope to all the gods that no one we love will be lost!

She didn’t say the words aloud, knowing, as did everyone who ever loved a dog, that Skog would understand and fret the more.

She needed to be strong for him.

The heartache that would come with a defeat was a horror she refused to accept.

She couldn’t.

She did force herself to push to her feet again, almost wishing she hadn’t when she saw the scene below. The four ships had crashed together and grapnel chains strained between them, holding them bound to each other and making the deck of each galley into an awful, red-slicked fighting platform.

Men from the three friendly ships were pouring onto the damaged galley. They leapt from one bow to the next, weapons drawn and clashing as the warriors shouted and fought, swords and axes glinting everywhere. Unfortunately, the whirling mist didn’t let her pick out faces. All the fighting men were huge, mailed, and clearly furious. They attacked in a rage that would’ve terrified her even more if she hadn’t known they were good men. Equally unsettling, the decks weren’t the only thing stained red now. She could see the gleam of blood on the men’s swinging weapons, and a great film of red was spreading across the water, a ghastly tint that she knew wasn’t from the rising sun, because the day was an overcast, misty one.

For a moment, she caught a glimpse of Roag and her heart leapt to her throat. He fought in the middle of the enemy ship, towering above the other men, his sword arcing again and again, the blade shining crimson and terrifying her.

Then something else chilled her to her soul—a woman’s scream pierced the mist.

And her cry ended abruptly, hinting at a grisly end.

Gillian swayed, felt her own blood draining. She forced herself to lean out the window as far as she dared, but the wind was picking up and it was beginning to rain. Icy pellets struck her face, making it difficult to see. The mist blew hard now, drifting in sheets past the tower, sealing Laddie’s Isle and the ships from view.

But not before she saw the dark shapes of the three victorious galleys wending away from the fourth ship. Pulling back, she knew, to allow the defeated warship to die in peace.

Or perhaps to lend the ship a quicker end, because one of the retreating galleys began shooting fire arrows at the floundering vessel. The sparks must’ve caught despite the rain, for the ship’s square sail and mast ignited in a burst of orange flame, dooming the ill-fated ship.

The sea fight was over.

Relief such as Gillian had never known swept her. “By all the ancients, thank you!” she breathed, sagging against the window arch.

She reached down, stroking Skog’s head again and again, hoping to soothe him the same way seeing the three ships beating toward Laddie’s Isle calmed her own racing pulse.

She knew Roag would be well—she couldn’t make
him out, or even tell which ship was his, for the mist was swiftly turning to thick sea fog. But she knew in her heart that he’d be unscathed, victorious against his foes.

Her father and brothers…

She bit her lip, a shiver of trepidation rippling through her. She prayed to all the gods and ancients that they’d be well. She refused to think about why they were even involved—or that Roag might insist that she return to Sway with them.

As for the wee lad on the shore…

“Oh, my!” Her eyes flew wide, her heart almost stopping. She blinked, sure she wasn’t seeing him.

But she was.

Mist rolled along the landing beach, thick and almost impenetrable—save one small area near the base of the cliffs. That spot glowed with a shimmering blue light and a wee lad in a ragged plaid stood there pointing at the sea with a tiny blue-glowing dirk.

“Skog! It’s him, the laddie ghost!” She glanced at her dog, but when she looked up again, the wee bogle was gone. Only a faint tinge of fast-fading blue luminescence remained where he’d stood, the landing beach once again completely cloaked in mist.

“He knew.” She dropped to her knees beside Skog. “He knew all along that the danger would be here and not far out to sea where Roag’s men went sailing each day.”

Those men were returning now, the hissing of water on hulls and the splashing of oars striking the waves revealing their fast approach. The
Valkyrie
and the two other ships were almost back at the landing beach.

She didn’t care what Roag had said—she wasn’t going to wait for him in this room.

Neither was her dog.

Trembling all over, from relief and love, she dressed as quickly as she could and then threw back the door’s drawbar. She flung the door wide and then took a great breath, willing herself to have the strength she needed to heave Skog unto her shoulders.

She managed with surprising ease, settling his bony frame against her as securely as she could.

“Come on, laddie,” she soothed him, lowering her head to drop a kiss onto his straggly coat. “We’re away belowstairs to greet our men. They’ll have much to tell us!”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I
knew fine something was amiss with the she-witch!”

Mungo MacGuire thumped Roag’s high table with his fist as he scowled round at anyone who’d listen. His eyes blazed and his red-bearded face glowed as bright as his fiery hair. It was hours since the sea battle that had ended the life of his nefarious young wife and her lover, not an Englishman at all, nor a MacDonald, but a Sassenach sympathizer, just as Lady Lorna had been.

“Why do ye think”—Mungo half rose from his chair, lifting his voice as well—“my lads and I made haste back from our supply trip to Islay? No’ because the MacDonalds were all fashed that someone had cut the prow off one o’ their most-prized dragon ships, even stealing the sail, the thievin’ dastards! Och, nay, that wasnae the reason we sped away, soon as our hold was loaded.”

He dropped back into his chair, gripping the armrests in an angry white-knuckled hold. “ ’Twas because of her! My own lady wife! I kent she was consorting with the
devil English—or leastways a fiend Scotsman who fancied he’d have a better living south of our borders.”

Beside him, Roag placed his hand over Gillian’s, squeezing lightly. “I would ne’er have suspected her, lord,” he said, speaking true. “Nor have I even heard of Cormac MacCraig. A shame the man will pass eternity feeding crabs rather than spending your treasure in London or where’er he and the lady thought to flee.”

Along the table and amongst the men gathered near, growls of annoyance could be heard as they all shook their heads, wondering over a Scotsman who could commit such treachery as attacking the King’s own ships and stealing a clan’s hoard of treasure with the intent of presenting it to the English king.

“Lass,” Mungo leaned around Roag to peer at his daughter. “You should have told me straightaway you’d seen her setting signal lamps in my own bedchamber window.”

“I did not want to see you hurt,” Gillian said, speaking true. “I did guess she was alerting a man that you and my brothers were away on
Sea Dancer
. But I’d never have believed that, along with betraying you, she was giving him our clan treasure.”

“Aye, and it’s at the bottom of the sea now.” Her eldest brother, Gowan, spoke from the next table, his deep voice more amused than sorrowful. “The ancients might say nae one was e’er supposed to remove that hoard from its hiding place.” He lifted his ale cup, draining it. “No good comes of taking what isn’t one’s own.”

“Humph!” Mungo scowled at him. “If the old ones weren’t pleased we had that silver, they’d have snatched it back long ago,” he declared, tossing down his own ale, but drinking from a horn. “Be that as it may, my true treasure
is in this hall.” He waved his ale horn to take in Gillian and his sons, half of them at the high table, the other four at a nearby dais table. “I’m grateful for that, I am! There be nae greater wealth than family.”

“Hear, hear!” Everyone who heard agreed, raising their cups or thumping the tables with the blunt ends of their eating knives, or their elbows.

Even Skog joined in, his old dog barks a bit thin, but no less enthusiastic.

“I am glad for my friends!” Roag glanced toward the other end of the table.

It was there that his two fellow court bastards from Stirling Castle—Caelan the Fox and Andrew the Adder, his Fenris brothers—sat with William Wyldes, proprietor of the Red Lion Inn in Stirling. William was a big man with unruly auburn hair that he wore tied back at his nape. His beard was just as bushy and wild, and he had light blue eyes that always smiled.

Roag raised his cup in his friends’ direction, silently thanking the gods that they’d happened to pass the Isle of Sway just as Mungo’s
Sea Dancer
shot out of the island’s little bay, giving chase to Cormac MacCraig’s ship. According to Caelan, Andrew, and Wyldes, they’d first suspected MacCraig of kidnapping Mungo’s young wife, Lady Lorna. She was seen at the prow of the enemy ship as it’d sped from Sway just as Mungo and his sons beat home two full days early from their supply journey to the neighboring Isle of Islay.

Mungo, with his poor eyes, had only been able to tell that his wife was onboard the fleeing ship.

His sons had seen more.

They’d spotted her first—glimpsing her in a heated
embrace with the ship’s captain, MacCraig. A man who, they soon learned, had been sneaking in to Sway whenever Mungo and his men were away. Once there, he hadn’t just partaken of the charms of the lady of the keep. He’d also carried away the clan’s treasure, taking it bit by bit so Mungo wasn’t likely to notice.

Wyldes leaned forward then, twisting round to look at the MacGuire men at the next table. “Did MacCraig truly think the English King would grant him lands and a title for sinking our ships and plying him with centuries-old Viking treasure?

“I cannae believe any Scot would be so foolhardy.” Wyldes glanced at Roag. “We have seen much in our day. But ne’er such a fiend as this.”

“Hate and greed will spur a man to much, my friend.” Roag knew it well. “Women likewise, leastways some of them.”

“Lady Lorna’s face always changed when she spoke of King Robert.” Gillian set down the bit of roasted gannet she’d been about to eat. The seabird was tasty, but thinking of her stepmother didn’t aid her appetite. “It was clear that she did not like him.”

Her brothers nodded agreement.

Gillian glanced at Roag. “Her family had been staunch Balliol supporters in the Bruce’s day. Once he took the Scottish crown, many families who’d given their loyalty to Balliol and the English lost their lands and wealth.

“Lady Lorna hails from such a clan, with strong ties to the MacDougalls.” She paused, shaking her head. “Apparently, she resented King Robert more than she let on.”

“So she sought to repay him by helping an equally grieved soul with aspirations of grandness.” Blackie,
Gillian’s middle brother and the only one with dark hair and eyes, finished for her. Also her most dashing brother, he wasn’t looking happy now. “I do feel bad for killing her,” he said, his face still ashen as it’d been since the sea battle. “Who can stomach spearing a woman?”

“Aye, well!” Roddy and Rory, the MacGuire twins, spoke in unison. “Did you have a choice?”

Rory leaned toward Blackie, reaching out to clap his brother on the shoulder. “You were closest to her. If you hadn’t stopped her, she’d have run Da through.”

“Indeed!” Mungo pushed to his feet again, set his hands on his hips. “Would you rather it was me feeding fish in the sea, laddie?” He fixed Blackie with a stare, his beetling red brows drawn low. “Your da, or the she-witch who’d been ready to skewer him?”

Blackie didn’t answer, only emptied his ale cup and then dragged his sleeve over his mouth.

“Aye, well.” He glanced round. “There wasn’t much else I could do, right enough.”

“Taking a life is nae pretty, lad.” Roag sympathized, weary himself of all the battles he’d fought. “You do get used to it, if you’re a warrior. But few men e’er come to enjoy it, that I say you.”

“And what do you say to my gel?” Mungo snapped his gaze toward Roag and Gillian. “Far as I can tell, you’re enjoying your handfast, but I’m no’ sure what to think of your name!”

“Father!” Gillian sent him a frantic look, shaking her head. “We told you why Roag said he was Donell. No man in this hall can condemn him for aught. Far from it, if it weren’t for his friends’ coming here this morn, you and my brothers might have been dead.

“You’re no’ fighters,” she added, sending an apologetic look at her brothers. “You’re fishermen. Lady Lorna’s lover and his men have attacked the King’s best ships, sinking every one they chased after.”

“We had a fair chance to beat them.” The twins Roddy and Rory spoke together again, swelling their chests as they did so.

“ ’Tis true,” Logie, another brother, joined in, tossing a grin at William Wyldes, Caelan, and Andrew. “Roag’s friends’ ship was so weighed down by cargo she moved like a slug in the water. She only caught up to us after pitching much of her freight into the sea.”