The Firebrand (9 page)

“I’m sorry that happened, Gillie.” She touched him gently on the side of his face. “Were you frightened?”

“Nay, mistress...well, a wee bit.” An impish smile tugged at his lips.

“I believe I like Auld Master Coll.” Adrianne swung her feet to the floor, bringing the blankets with her. A flash of lightheadedness swept through her, and she waited a moment. “The ship’s not moving.”

“We’re anchored in the Bay of Mull, mistress. If you look out that wee window there, you’ll see we’re but a stone’s throw from Duart Castle.”

“A speedy journey,” Adrianne whispered, watching with amusement as Gillie moved across the cabin and returned with a trencher on which someone had placed a bannock cake and some salted fish. Putting it on the bed next to her, he then shook out a tartan shawl that lay folded at the foot of the bunk and put it around her shoulders.

“Auld Coll came in a while back and said I should be letting him know as soon as you’re up and about. The sailors are running boats back and forth from the stone quay down the hill from the castle. I think he had in mind that you’d be needing to--”

“Gillie!” The boy stopped dead, waiting obediently for her to speak. “Why don’t you go and let them know.”

“Auld Coll said that unless the master himself comes down to relieve me, I should not be leaving you alone, mistress.”

“Gillie!” she said more forcefully this time. “I’d like a moment to myself to get into my own clothes. So just run along.”

“Aye, mistress.”

“But do not go too far,” she called gently after him. “I don’t believe I have my strength back, so I’ll be needing your protection.”

The boy’s quick grin was precious. He nodded once and quietly slipped out of the cabin.

Pushing the covers aside, Adrianne pushed herself to her feet only to stretch a hand out quickly for the closest solid object. She was weak and extremely wobbly on her feet. Still though, she managed to make her way eventually across the cabin to the table, where she found a bowl of water. After washing herself, she removed the shirt and hurriedly donned her own blouse and dress.

The effort took a great deal of energy, but the two small windows at the stern of the cabin beckoned to her. Adrianne crossed the chamber and opened them. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the fresh sea air. Her stomach, achingly empty, did not complain at all as the gentle swells of the small bay rocked the ship.

From above the windows, she could hear the sounds of men talking and laughing somewhere on deck. A boat pushed away from the side with the wooden clap of oars against their pegs. She opened her eyes as the boat came into view beneath the stern—four men rowing, five barrels stacked and tied fast in the stern.

She turned her gaze on the shore and the castle, standing so proud above the bay.

With its great tower and stout stone walls, Duart Castle was a magnificent structure of strength and beauty. Smiling wistfully, Adrianne recalled the memory of days not so far in the past, when her sisters Catherine and Laura had teased her for seeing beauty in the powerful set of a curtain wall, or in the crenellated tops of a tower, or in the magnificent workmanship of an iron gate.

As Catherine would dream for hours of books and teaching, and as Laura would find enjoyment in finding a solution to everyone else’s problems, Adrianne had always been fascinated with structures—to the art of building something so significant that would outlast the destructive power of storms and time...and men. She loved the lines of the fortress, the moat, the keep, the tower. It said to your enemies,
I can protect myself and my own
.

Self-preservation and independence. They were the reasons behind her lifelong drive to school herself in the art of handling knife and sword.

Not that it had done her much good when it came to dealing with Sir Wyntoun MacLean, Adrianne thought with a frown.

Pushing the short locks away and gathering the rest of her hair to one side, she combed her fingers through the thick locks before beginning to braid it. But the situation had only gone from bad to worse, she thought. And in light of the shirt she’d found herself wearing upon awakening, perhaps it was best not to think about him at all. Maybe what she needed was a tower and a moat of her own.

A knock on the door brought a smile to her lips. Her affectionate and devoted gentleman protector...aged ten.

“Come in, Gillie,” she called loudly over the sound of men’s voices from the quay.

The door opened at her summons, but her heart jumped a beat when she saw Wyntoun MacLean duck across the threshold into the cabin.

“I hope you do not mind, but your wee warrior was needed on deck.”

For some reason, she couldn’t quite find her voice.

“Coll will watch out for him, so you needn’t fret. And Alan’s about, as well. The lad needs to know he’s earning his keep.”

Adrianne, feeling strangely short of breath, deftly finished braiding her hair and pushed it back over one shoulder. His gaze rested momentarily on the tear in her blouse.

“I see you have already found your clothes.”

“I...I have.” She stopped, trying to calm the wild beating of her heart. What was done, was done, she told herself. His gaze still lingered on the tear in her blouse. She gathered it quickly.

“I must mend this as soon as I have a chance...”

One of his eyebrows arched. “Not on my account, I hope.”

Adrianne felt the heat rising in her face, and she turned her gaze away. “That...that drink you gave me when I was ill. I slept like the dead. What was in it?”

“Folk of the west are not known to part easily with their secrets.” He went to the bunk and picked up the tartan shawl Gillie had offered her before.

When he placed the tartan around her shoulders, she felt the strength in her legs suddenly drain out. She could smell his good masculine scent of sea and leather, and the effect of his nearness was dizzying.

“We’re at Duart Castle,” he said, stepping back. Adrianne quickly crossed the ends of the tartan over her chest, covering the tear in her blouse. “Anytime you’re ready, a boat will take you ashore.”

“What about Gillie?”

“The lad will be staying at the castle for a while.”

She nodded, considering the best way to ask him his intentions for the boy. Though he couldn’t know how difficult life was for Gillie on the island, she knew this was probably not the best time to press him on the matter.

“Your stay at Duart Castle will be brief.” He closed and latched the small windows in the stern. “As I told you before, you’ll be remaining here only until I can equip a number of trusted men to take you north.”

“The map?” Adrianne asked, crossing to the table. There was no sight of the packet or the wooden casket.

“Fear not. It has already been brought safely ashore. I will hold it until such time as you’re ready to depart. We both know it will do no one any good without the portions that your sisters possess. ‘Twill be safely kept, mistress.”

What he said was true. It made no difference. Nichola’s letter to them had said as much—all three portions of the map were needed to find the Treasure of Tiberius.

“We’ll say nothing to the laird of it, however.”

“The laird?” she replied, surprised at his words. She had assumed that Wyntoun was laird.

“Aye. My father, Alexander is the MacLean and laird of Duart Castle. He has already been told of your arrival, but I’ve said nothing to him of the map...or the treasure.”

She watched him as he crossed to a sea chest. Inside, oiled leather packets lay stacked in tidy rows beside a black leather-bound book of some sort and a stack of carefully folded garments. The very vision of order, she thought.

“I have also sent word up to the castle of your...of your lack of clothing necessary for traveling into the Highlands, so Mara is having someone see to your needs.”

“Mara?”

“My father’s wife. She will make certain that your stay at Duart Castle will be comfortable and uneventful.”

She nodded again as she hastily tucked the ends of the tartan shawl into her skirt, trying to create some semblance of order out of her ragged and ill-used island clothing. Adrianne started at the sound of a knock. Wyntoun tore his attention away from the contents of the sea chest.

“If you’re ready, a boat has been prepared for you.” He stood and turned to her, his face serious. “Have a pleasant stay, mistress.”

She let her gaze travel upward, fixing on those eyes of green. This man seemed so different from the one whose throat she held a dagger to less than two days ago. That man had been reckless and dangerous. He’d been a man of daring...one with no fear of death. One who, in fact, had considered her threats to be no challenge whatsoever.

This one standing before her seemed so...so trustworthy. True, this Wyntoun MacLean was somewhat distant, and yet he was so compliant to her wishes.

Suddenly, she wondered which of the two was the real Wyntoun MacLean. Suspicion narrowed her gaze. “You are not coming ashore?”

“I will, mistress. But later.” He moved around her to open the door. “We will certainly meet again before you depart for Balvenie Castle.”

“Was there no letter from my mother in the packet with the map?”

“Aye. Of course, I’ll have it brought up to you once you are settled in. I also have letters from your sisters that you’re surely anxious to read.”

Adrianne nodded and paused at the door. “And is there anything else you’d like to tell me about...your family?”

An odd smile broke across his lips, a flicker of amusement glinting in his green eyes.

“Trust me, mistress, you’ll learn nearly everything that there is to know about the MacLeans
and
the MacNeils before this day is out. In fact, I’d wager you’ll learn more than you wish to know.”

***

Duart Castle crouched atop the rocky headland overlooking the bay, a great gray cat poised to spring on any who dared to come within range of her lethal claws.

Adrianne tore her gaze away from the impressive structure and looked into the ruddy faces of the three sailors rowing her toward the shore.

“Can you tell me, Ian, how old is this castle?”

The redheaded sailor sitting closest to her arched an eyebrow, obviously pleased that Adrianne had remembered his name. “They tell me ‘tis over two hundred years Duart Castle’s been here, mistress.”

“And was it built by the MacLeans or was it taken over from another clan?”

The man shook his head. “Nay, mistress. A MacLean clan chief built the place and has defended it ever since.”

“But you are a MacNeil, Ian, are you not?” she probed gently. “I gathered from what I heard on deck that you and the shipmaster and many of the sailors are of the clan MacNeil.”

“Aye, mistress. Many of us are MacNeil’s. But that’s because ’tis a well-known fact that a MacNeil can outsail a MacLean any day!” He looked over his shoulder at the two sailors behind him. “Is that not true, lads?”

The graying sailor in the center of the boat said nothing, but the younger man in the bow laughed, calling out his concurrence.

“And there is no trouble between the clans, then?”

Ian shook his head. “Nay, mistress, there hasn’t been much feuding at all between the clans since Sir Wyntoun’s mother—bless her soul—married Alexander MacLean some thirty years ago. No trouble at all, to speak of.”

The sailor in the bow added his voice in agreement.

Adrianne smiled at the silent sailor in the middle, the oldest of the three who were rowing her ashore. “And you are...Master John, I believe?”

The two other men gave a hearty laugh and the man in the bow of the boat spoke up. “You must have a bit of the fairy in you, mistress, to be so good at guessing names!”

“Do you think so?” She squinched up her face. “Then you must be…Master Kevin?”

“By the devil,” Ian chimed in. “The lass is good.”

Adrianne held back her own smile at the compliment. It hadn’t been too difficult to learn the names of the sailors as she’d waited on deck.

“So, Master John? You must be a MacLean, then.”

Kevin spoke up for him. “He is, mistress, and has been living with the same sweet lass in the same tumbledown cottage since long before my da was even borne.”

Ian turned and looked past John at the young man. “I shouldn’t be giving John too hard a time, if I were you, lad. When your darling Agnes is ready to deliver your first bairn in the next month or so, you’ll be on your knees for sure at the door of that ‘tumbledown cottage,’ begging for Auld Jean to come running.”

Adrianne turned again to John. “Your wife Jean is a midwife?”

Kevin answered for him again. “And a healer. To be honest, mistress, Auld Jean has helped with the birthing of every bairn on this end of Mull for at least forty years.” The young man grinned and jerked his head toward Ian. “Unfortunately, she’s even helped to bring scurvy rogues like the one sitting before you into the world.”

Ian glared back at him.

“Tell me, Master John,” she pushed on. “Do you have many children and grandchildren of your own?”

The old sailor, silent still, simply shook his head and gave her a gentle smile before looking out to sea.

Adrianne felt a knot form in her throat as she looked at him. The thought of growing old and not having children or grandchildren to gather at your hearth was something she had never thought about before. She wondered how lonely that would be.

She tore her eyes away from the man’s rough profile and stared up at the castle, rising higher above them with each stroke of the oars.

Starting anew, Adrianne silently reminded herself. Barra was behind her, and she was determined to do better here at Duart Castle.

Aye, that’s it! To start anew!

**

Though advancing in years, Alexander MacLean was all that Adrianne had imagined a clan chief could be. Handsome. Powerful. Charming. Entertaining.

And, apparently, a pirate.

Bathed and dressed in clean clothing that had been sent in for her, Adrianne sat momentarily stunned at the dais, a forgotten leg of roasted duck halfway to her mouth. As she stared at the gray-haired warrior sitting in the laird’s chair, the Highlander beamed with unabashed delight at her response.