Margo Maguire (7 page)

Chapter 9

’T
was past dark by the time Anna was able to leave the castle and go down to Janet’s cottage for Kyla. She found her friend reclining on the pallet where she’d left her, feeding her bairn. A bowl of savory broth sat discarded beside her.

“How is she?” Anna asked Janet.

“Weak. Tired. Afeared.”

The skin ’round Kyla’s eye had turned an ugly purple, and there was a large, lumpy bruise welling up around the gash on her lip. Anna wished she could take her to Spirit Isle and soak her in the healing waters there, but her friend was in no shape to travel across the straits to get there. Nor was it likely she would be able to crawl through the narrow stone cave that tunneled through the mountain to the interior of the isle.

“Has she any broken bones?”

“Nay, but she’s bruised all over,” Janet replied. “He knocked her about pretty well this time.”

Anna’s concern flared to anger. “ ’Tis all I can do to keep from searching for the miserable beast and putting a bullet into his brain.”

“Anna, no,” Kyla gasped. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

“And why wouldn’t I?” Anna demanded, unable to contain her anger. “No doubt the bleeter went back to the pub after his dunking and he’s still so jaked he wouldn’t recognize a pistol if I stuck it right between his eyes. What I wouldn’t give to blow the clarty monster’s—”

“Well, I do’na know where ye’d get a pistol, lass,” Janet said, “but ye’ve no time for it now, anyway. Ye need to get Kyla away before the man comes to his senses and remembers where she is.”

Anna blinked back her own tears, aware that Janet was right.

She crouched down before her friend. “Kyla, do you think you can walk up to the castle?”

“No, Anna,” Kyla said quietly. “I must take Douglas and go home.”

“Not tonight,” Janet countered. “Not until someone talks some sense into your bloody husband.”

“Or beats it into him.”

“What?” Kyla whimpered.

Ach, Anna knew her friend had loved her husband once, but how could she now—after all the beatings and the horrible, harsh words? “I’ve made Gudrun’s cottage ready for you,” she said, for there was no point in arguing with Kyla about Birk’s worth. She was blinded by love, and there was no telling when she’d get her sight back. “Well, at least the bed is ready. I spared little time moving the old crates aside or doing anything more.”

When she’d finished her chores at the keep, she’d hurried out to the wee thatched cottage where Gudrun had lived until her death ten years ago. ’Twas Flora who’d suggested the old croft, for no one ever used it these days except for storage, but it was habitable, if crowded with crates full of discards from the castle. “Birk doesn’t know of it, so he won’t find you tonight. You can sleep in peace . . . and heal.”

Kyla gave her a dubious look. “What about his uncle? Mungo Ramsay will be about the castle grounds.”

Aye, Mungo was a large, muscular man, well suited to doing any heavy work that was required within the castle walls. There was little smithing to do these days, and Anna did not know what to make of him. But he always kept his distance, rarely even speaking to her.

But he watched her, and he kept his eyes on Kyla whenever she came up. It was unnerving, but he’d never made a move to harm either of them. Anna suspected Mungo was one of Catrìona’s conquests, but she did not care to give that distasteful thought too much attention.

“No one ever thinks about Gudrun’s cottage. Not since it’s been closed up all these years.” Anna took Douglas from Kyla’s arms and patted his back. “Please, Kyla, don’t argue.”

The bairn gave out a loud belch. “Well now. That’s a braw lad,” Janet said.

“Anna . . .”

Anna ignored her friend’s plaintive tone. “You’ll be fine tonight up at the castle. Can you walk up there?” Anna would borrow a horse and cart if need be.

Kyla touched her injured lip and winced. “I’ll try,” she said, and Anna was relieved there would be no further discussion—and no tears—about going home to her nasty turnip of a husband.

Anna handed Douglas to Janet and helped Kyla to her feet. Kyla was unsteady at first, but she managed to walk to the door.

“Come on, then. Lean on me.”

Kyla took Anna’s arm, and Anna took Douglas from Janet. “I’ll look in on you tomorrow, lass,” Janet said. “And bring ye news of yer husband.”

Kyla nodded. “Thank you, Janet. For everything.”

’Twas a slow walk up to the castle, with Kyla leaning heavily upon Anna. Douglas fell asleep in Anna’s arms, and when they finally reached the castle keep and skirted ’round to the side gardens and beyond, Anna could see that Kyla was spent.

“Only a few steps more,” Anna said, urging her friend forward across the overgrown cobbled path to the cottage. ’Twas tucked away far from the keep, so no one would hear Douglas if he cried during the night.

Anna wanted to avoid Mungo Ramsay seeing them, and she didn’t want young Glenna to know she’d brought Kyla to the castle. She feared neither of them could keep Kyla’s whereabouts secret.

She pushed open the door to the cottage and slipped inside. Fortunately, there was just enough light from the open window for them to see the bed beyond the stacked crates, on the other side of the fireplace. Kyla lay down, and Anna put Douglas beside her, then knelt to build a fire.

“I put an extra blanket out for you, Ky.”

“I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done for me, Anna. But you know I must—”

“Let’s not think about what you must do. Not now.”

The fire flared to life, and Anna rested back on her heels. She thought of those early days after her mother’s death, when she’d been left to fend for herself.

MacDuffie had been so drunk he hadn’t even noticed Anna’s absence, and there’d been no one but Gudrun to object when Catrìona had ejected Anna from the bedchamber she’d been given next to her mother’s.

Back then, Kyla had been no more than an orphan herself, but she’d become Anna’s anchor in her time of grief. They’d quickly become as close as sisters. “Do you remember when my mother died?” Anna asked.

Kyla nodded and brushed one of Douglas’s russet curls off his forehead. “We were alone, but for Gudrun. And she was grieving your mother, as well.” She lay quietly for a moment. “Anna, if anything should happen to me, I want you to promise—”

“Naught will happen to you!” This was not the direction Anna had intended the conversation to go.

“But you know it could. You and I lost both our parents at a young age,” Kyla said, laying her head down. “I just want the comfort of knowing you’ll see to Douglas if—”

“You think Birk will allow it?” Anna retorted. She knew what Kyla wanted, and ’twas hardly realistic. “Just be sure to take no chances, Kyla. With anything.”

’Twas clear Kyla knew she should fear that Birk would one day kill her. The thought of it made Anna’s blood run cold, but she consoled herself with the knowledge that ’twould not happen tonight.

Ah. So much for the madness of love. ’Twas a state that served no one well.

Anna made sure Kyla was comfortable and Douglas sound asleep. “Go to sleep now,
min kjære venn.”

The Norse term Gudrun had taught them brought a cautious smile to Kyla’s injured mouth.

“I’ll just run up to the kitchen and gather some supplies for us,” Anna added, rising to her feet. She tucked the extra blanket ’round her friend, for ’twas damp and still chilly in the cottage. “I’ll be back soon.”

She left the cottage and closed the door tightly behind her. No one would find Kyla there. No one would even think of looking for her at the cottage. Except Flora, and she was no threat to anyone beyond trying to overfeed them.

Anna walked through the dense brush toward the keep and turned ’round to make sure the smoke from the cottage’s chimney was not too thick. Reassuring herself ’twas hardly visible, she turned back—

And crashed into something entirely unexpected.

She whirled ’round.

“Anna?” Lachann MacMillan stood directly in her path. He bowed slightly, and Anna pressed one hand to her breast as though it could slow her heart. “We seem to be meeting in odd places.”

“What are you doing out here?” Anna blurted, careful not to turn ’round again or give any other clue about the cottage.

“I could ask the same of you,” he said. He stood far too close for Anna’s peace of mind. One step more and they would be touching.

Chapter 10

E
very nerve in Lachann’s body urged him to close the distance between himself and the lass. Her damaged voice and her fiercely flashing eyes were far more appealing than they ought to have been. She was possessed of a fiery innocence that drew him like a moth to flame.

“I am a servant here, sir,” she said firmly, gesturing vaguely toward the keep. “My tasks take me all over the castle grounds.”

“Ach, aye?” He sensed she was not being entirely forthright, and it occurred to him there was a good chance she’d brought her injured friend to the castle and hidden her nearby. Without permission. Not that she needed to worry that he would divulge her hiding place to anyone.

“Of course,” she said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to do before I can retire for the night.”

Without thinking, he stopped her with a light grasp of her arm. He found himself stepping closer, breathing in her scent, a heady combination of kitchen spices and the sea. Her breath was warm on his neck, and Lachann tipped his head down, his mouth so close to hers, his body reacting like a satyr in the presence of a nymph. He wanted to taste her, wanted to—

Gesu,
he must be mad. He did not take advantage of servants, especially when he was about to betroth himself to the mistress here.

He drew back, releasing her. Anna stood still for a moment, and Lachann had to clench his hands at his sides to keep from reaching for her again, for her chest rose in quick breaths, a clear sign her reaction was as potent as his own.

A complete diversion was necessary.

“Will she be safe back here?” he asked, tipping his head in the direction from which Anna had come. “Her husband doesn’t know of this place?”

She looked sharply at him. “I— N-no. No one will think of it.”

“Good.”

She started past him, and Lachann watched as she returned to the keep, her thick plait of pale golden hair swinging seductively down her back.

He shook his head as though to clear away his momentary lunacy and followed her toward the keep. He had no intention of risking his heart again—and he was quite certain there was no chance of that with Catrìona.

There was no chance with Anna, either, for he would not allow any such thing to happen.

Still, ’twas no hardship to walk behind the lass, and he enjoyed the fetchingly ingenuous sway of her hips as she walked. And if his presence made her the least bit uncomfortable, she did not show it. There was an air of confidence about her that he’d sensed in only a few other women—in his grandmother, his sister, and Dugan’s wife.

She pointedly ignored him behind her, and when they reached the keep, she disappeared down a few steps to what Lachann supposed must be the kitchens. He paused for a moment, then started for the main road that led down to the pier; Duncan was waiting for him near the gate.

They started walking together, down the path toward the pier. “Where is Kieran?” Lachann asked. ’Twas a simple question in a situation that was not simple at all.

“He’s staying to see what Macauley has to say if he ever comes out of MacDuffie’s room.”

“Better him than me,” Lachann retorted. “I’ve been this close to running him through ever since we got here.”

“I could see it, Lachann. You held your temper very well. We all did.”

“Mayhap. But I make no promises for future encounters.” Nor was he sure about further encounters with the serving maid, Anna. She was so far off-limits the thought of her should not even cross his mind. But her smudged face and the intense way she cared for her friend would not leave him.

It did not take long for the two men to reach the expansive wooden pier that jutted into the water. “The harbor is as much a weakness as an advantage to the isle,” Lachann said, welcoming a logistical discussion with Duncan. “ ’Tis deep enough for ships to sail right in and men to disembark on the pier.”

“Aye,” Duncan remarked. “We’ll need to secure these waters and set up patrols to watch for ships passing south.”

Lachann nodded. ’Twas imperative that he prevent raiders from sailing down Loch Ewe to Braemore as they’d done before. Securing these waters was the best way to do so. He stood looking out at the black waters below.

If he were at home, he would dive into the loch and swim until exhaustion drove all his questions—and bonny Anna—from his mind.

“ ’Tis nothing like Loch Maree, is it?” Duncan said.

Lachann shook his head. And Kilgorra was nothing like Braemore.

There was much to do here, not the least of which was to figure out what Cullen Macauley intended to do. If he had an interest in the distillery, he must also be interested in the grain production on the isle. Lachann did not believe Macauley was as foolish as Catrìona and her sire in thinking the farmland was inconsequential. A good barley crop was essential for making whiskey.

“What was it Macauley said about trade?” Duncan asked. “He intends to open up commerce with the lowlands?”

Lachann nodded.

“What of his ties with Skye?”

Lachann shrugged and made a mental note to follow up on that question. Perhaps Macauley intended to come to some agreement on trade between Skye and Kilgorra—crops or livestock from Skye for Kilgorra’s whiskey.

Aye, expanding trade was part of Lachann’s plan as well, though he intended to secure the island and begin training an army first.

His thoughts turned to Braemore. Already, he missed his home, missed his brothers and sister. Of course he’d been away from Braemore before. He was thirty years old and had fought in two wars. He’d gone with Dugan on a wild search for a hidden treasure. And found one.

But this was different. This was meant to be permanent.

Lachann had not expected his undertaking on Kilgorra to be easy or simple. But neither had he planned on the reality of a wife who failed to stir his blood and a father-in-law who was overly fond of his whiskey. He surely hadn’t planned on having to compete once again with a Macauley for the hand of the woman he . . . Well, at least he did not love Catrìona. He would never love anyone the way he’d loved Fiona.

But he’d had a distinct impression of some subtle alliance between Macauley and Catrìona. A bond that had had a chance to develop before Lachann’s arrival on Kilgorra.

“We should have had the agreement with MacDuffie carved in stone and sealed in blood before we came to Kilgorra,” Lachann said.

“Aye. Then this absurd competition with Macauley would be for naught. You could kick the bastard out on his arse, take Catrìona to the kirk, and there’d be no more to say of it.”

“I might just do that anyway.”

Lachann looked toward the village, tucked into the rocky cliffs that towered above it. There were flickering lights in some of the cottages, and he saw a few fires burning outside. The shops were all dark and quiet, but he heard the faint strains of fiddle music and a few voices coming from the public house. A dog barked. Another one answered.

Lachann wouldn’t have minded the opportunity to take a drink with the men he would soon command, but there was a good possibility he’d encounter the fool he’d thrown into the sea. And he doubted the man—and possibly his friends—would be of a favorable disposition toward him.

Not that it would matter in the least once he was in charge.

He looked past the public house to the whitewashed distillery looming in the distance. Kilgorra whiskey was an asset, to be sure. But the distillery needed no outside assistance to thrive—certainly not from the likes of Cullen Macauley—for it had been producing fine spirits long before Macauley’s arrival.

Lachann would leave it for now. Once he trained a fighting force and became laird, he might see about expanding Kilgorra’s whiskey production and increasing the trade. Mayhap to the Americas.

“What is your plan for the morrow, Lachann?”

“You and Kieran—ride to the southern end of the isle and talk to the men on the farms,” Lachann replied. “See how many there are and how they are usually occupied. With fishing? Farming? Making whiskey? Sitting on their arses in the public house all day . . . ?”

“Which is what MacDuffie would be doing if he were not laird, eh?”

Lachann nodded. “By the look of it, the isle’s liquid spirits are a mite too dear to the old man’s heart. But ’tis no matter. I do not need his assistance to put my plans into place.”

Lachann intended to establish a rotating schedule for training the island men, much the same way his grandfather had done at Braemore. It made sense to leave some of the men to tend their farms or look after their nets while the others trained with Lachann and the rest of the Braemore men.

“You need his daughter, though.”

As they stood on the pier, the moon came out from behind the clouds. Lachann turned to look out at the Minch and saw the dark shadow of a small isle that lay northeast of Kilgorra. He’d noticed it earlier, when the
Glencoe Lass
had arrived. But ’twas of little interest to him now, for there did not seem to be a harbor out there or any place to land an army.

Still, he would visit the place one day soon, just to be sure.

“Duncan,” he said, “send Stuart and Rob Cameron to Skye on the
Glencoe Lass,
and have them look into the reason for Macauley’s departure—or exile, as the case may be.”

Duncan nodded. “Aye.”

Lachann assumed the Cameron brothers would also discover what had happened to Fiona.

Though he still wasn’t quite sure he wanted to know.

A
nna could not think about what had just happened on the path to the keep. Lachann MacMillan had nearly kissed her.

Herregud!
If he had, she would have kissed him back.

He created a strange hunger in her—a sensation of need that no meal could satisfy. She pressed a hand to her stomach and took a deep breath.

Aye. She was steady now. ’Twas all so absurd, allowing herself to be drawn to the man. Surely ’twas only because of his assistance with Kyla and later with Birk that she felt so deeply attracted. For no one had ever provided such help to her before. The protection her stepfather gave was nominal at best, and Anna had needed to fend for herself entirely ever since Gudrun’s death.

Anna shook her head to clear her thoughts. She’d sensed a kindness in Lachann MacMillan, that was all. And such kindness appealed to her.

Satisfied there was nothing more to it, Anna filled a pitcher of water and collected some thick cloths to use as nappies for Douglas before going back to the cottage. She made her way to the garden path and had to quash a vague sense of disappointment that she did not encounter Lachann MacMillan again.

Not that she actually wanted to see him. But ’twould be interesting to . . . to . . .

Ach, she felt quite confused. The man had naught to do with her, nor she with him. What he made her feel was—well, ’twas unlike anything she’d ever felt before, with any other man. But of course, she’d never met anyone like Lachann MacMillan on Kilgorra.

Anna hurried to the cottage, and when she entered, she found both Kyla and her bairn sound asleep. She made her own bed on the floor near the fire and lay down, unwilling to leave her friend on her own for the night while she was so badly injured.

She felt restless as she lay on her pallet, and she distracted herself by watching the shadows on the ceiling and recalling the many hours she and Kyla had spent there with Gudrun. She felt relieved to know that Kyla had never taken Birk there. At least, not that Anna knew of.

No. Kyla would never have brought him here. This was the private place they had shared with Gudrun only. Gudrun had taught both of them to weave and sew in this very room, even as she’d told old Norse tales and instructed them in the rudiments of her language.

The fire crackled loudly and Anna turned over, missing Gudrun, wishing she’d learned more from her about her mother’s family. As it was, Anna knew very little—only that Sigrid had been sent from her homeland to wed the foreign laird who’d been Anna’s father.

Gudrun said her mother had come to love the man she’d married and had sorely grieved for Laird Kearvaig when he’d died. And when Sigrid had passed away delivering MacDuffie’s child, he’d become despondent.

Aye,
she scoffed. Marriage was a wondrous thing.

She looked over at Kyla and wondered what would happen with Birk. Kyla had wed him thinking ’twould be so much better than living in Kilgorra Keep and serving the laird and his daughter.

As everyone on Kilgorra knew, Kyla had been wrong.

Anna wished there was something she could do for her friend beyond rescuing her every time Birk got drunk and lit into her. Tomorrow or the day after, when Birk had finished his drinking bout, his head would be splitting, and he would be all apologies and regret.

For that was how it always went. From vicious drunkenness to pitiful repentance. ’Twas not how marriage should be, though any illusions Anna had ever had about the institution had long since died. And yet . . .

A new, intensely warm and shivery feeling came over Anna when she thought again of Lachann, though this time it had naught to do with his handling of Birk.