To Desire a Highlander (26 page)

He slid a look at the Wolf. “Chances are he’s been using the dark o’ the last moon to gather and load gifts onto the
Sea Star
.”

“The sort that went down near Lewis?” Caelan lifted his voice a little, for it was raining steadily now, a downpour that beat hard against the windows.

“Supplies any new bridegroom would welcome.” Hector straightened, smoothed down his leather apron.

“Cargo needed in waters where such valuable goods have already been lost.” Sorley spoke what all the men were thinking.

William Wyldes.

Before he became an innkeeper, William was a warrior of great renown. Even now, few men were better in a fight, no matter the weapon. He could throw a spear faster, farther, and with more accuracy than the King’s
own spearmen. If he chose to use his bare hands, wise foes would run.

Outside the storm worsened and a gust of damp wind swept down the chimney, causing the peats to spit and hiss, and a plume of smoke and ash to billow into the room. Hector cursed and wheeled about to tend the mess, while Ellice and another serving lass hurried over to resettle the patrons whose table and meals were now ruined.

The ruckus also gave the Wolf and his friends a bit of much-appreciated privacy, with their nearest neighbors now scurrying to another table, well out of earshot.

Andrew leaned forward, pretending to flick invisible ash from the rough-planked table. “I dinnae care for this,” he said, his voice low. “If William is aboard the
Sea Star
, the trouble in the Hebrides is a greater broil than we’d heard.”

Sipping his ale, the Wolf nodded slowly. “That is so.”

The other four waited, ignoring the chaos in the other corner, the howling wind that rattled the window shutters. Somewhere in the night, a dog barked furiously, but they paid him no heed either, their entire focus on the King’s brother, Alex Stewart.

Head of Fenris, and—so many believed—the unspoken ruler of the land.

“We suspect more than one ship is behind these attacks,” he said now, the fierceness of his expression proving that kingly blood brought more than silver, women, and song, as many less-privileged men liked to claim. “Lewis is too far removed from the other sinkings for us to think otherwise. Especially”—his voice hardened—“as the Lewis attack happened about the same time as the most recent incident no’ far from Laddie’s Isle.”

“No ship can be in two such distant places at once,” Grim spoke in a calm, easy voice, although anyone who knew him would see his anger welling.

Like Alex, Grim was fiercely loyal to Scotland. Any threat to the realm, or her King and those who served the crown, ignited a red rage inside him.

“Well observed, my friend.” Alex nodded to Grim.

“So you’re sending reinforcements.” Andrew took a long sip of his ale and then lifted the cup toward the black, rain-streaked windows. “Men already gathered this night.”

“All has been readied, aye,” Alex added, keeping his voice pitched so that no one outside their table could hear. “Hector Bane’s son will do fine running William’s Red Lion. Wyldes will lose nae trade and we shall have our master spearman and a score of expert bowmen joining Roag on his isle.”

He smiled then, looking pleased. “You didnae think the
Sea Star
’s oarsmen are just that, did you? They are handpicked from my own best archers—should there be a need for fire arrows aimed at any attacking ship.”

“And now you’ll have a second ship of your own in place on Laddie’s Isle.” Caelan returned his smile.

The Wolf reached for one of the ale jugs, topping off each man’s cup. “I also want you to keep an eye on Roag’s unexpected bride. By all accounting, she’s a quick-tempered lass, known as the Spitfire of the Isles.”

Grim pulled on his beard, making his silver beard rings clack together. “From what I heard she’s an inconvenience, but no threat. She is Lady Gillian MacGuire, daughter of the laird of that clan and keeper of the Isle of Sway.

“Word was, she was betrothed to Donell MacDonnell,” he explained, glancing at the other table where Hector stood ordering about the kitchen lads who rushed back and forth with cleaning rags, brooms, and trays of ruined, soot-covered food. “Our friend will have had no choice but to wed her.

“A handfast, if the tales were true.” A crease appeared between his brows and he returned his attention to the men at the table. He looked at Alex, lifted a hand as if to give credence to his words. “I cannae believe she is more than a complication.”

If he expected Alex Stewart to agree, the King’s brother disappointed him. “There was a witness to a recent attack,” he said, his smile gone. “The man lived long enough to tell a harrowing tale. His ship’s attackers had a woman on board—a pitiful creature they’d tied to the rail. Her cries rang out across the water, drawing my brother’s men’s galley.” He leaned forward, his handsome face now hard, his blue eyes like shards of ice. “The poor lass couldnae be saved and the fates only know what became of her.

“I’ll no’ have such a tragedy befall Lady Gillian.” He sat back, slapped the table with the flat of his hand. “Her father is a scoundrel, but he’s well-loved in the Isles. His daughter’s peppered tongue is said to ignite tempers, her spirit untamed and wild enough for her to run headlong into danger.”

“You want her safe.” Sorley spoke low, applying himself to the sliced, roasted mutton before him as if his meal and naught else concerned him.

Hector and his kitchen lads had now cleaned the mess of scattered soot and ash from the floor and neighboring table, and the din from the ruckus was lessening.

Swivel-necked patrons—if any chanced to glance at the Fenris table, would see only men enjoying supper.

“I do, aye.” Alex began piling herring onto his plate. “I want her safe at any cost. I cannae stomach harm coming to a woman. But”—his voice took on a steely edge again—“I also want her kept quiet. She’s said to be clever. Like as no’, she’ll ken that our lad isnae MacDonnell. She might raise a fuss, attracting attention we dinnae need on that isle just now.”

“The Bear would be furious.” Caelan waited as another strong wind lashed at the window behind him. “He cannae bide no’ having all go his way when he’s out and about.”

The other men nodded agreement.

They knew better than to say aloud that “out and about” referred to Roag’s Fenris mission.

It was enough that they knew.

“You’ll have one other task when you reach thon isle.” The Wolf looked past Grim and Sorley to pin his gaze on Caelan and Andrew. “You will stay the night here, in the One-Eyed Mermaid. A room has been secured—two small beds, dry, and a lit brazier to warm you. On the morrow, you’ll sleep late and then claim ale-heads when you come belowstairs.

“Before you reach the
Sea Star
, Grim and Sorley will have been there, delivering a great carved bed you’ll present to
Donell
and his bride as a handfasting gift.”

“They’re no’ sailing with us?’ Andrew flashed a look at Grim and Sorley.

“Sorley would worry himself too much o’er the state of his wife’s thickening waist to be much use to you,” the
Wolf declared, his smile back again. “Grim is but a friend, as well you ken. His lady wife, too, awaits his return to Duncreag Castle where he still mans the MacNab garrison. Archie MacNab is an older chieftain and frail. He depends on Grim.

“His task was a favor, nae more,” he added, glancing at the big Highlander with appreciation. “He let us know what he’d heard about our lad,
Donell
, on his journey home from Ireland no’ too long ago.

“Your duty, among the others already agreed upon, is to deliver a bed to Laddie’s Isle.” The Wolf sat back, looking at them all as if no further words were needed.

But the corner of his lips quirked and a gleam lit his eyes, hinting at more.

“There’s something else about the bed.” Caelan didn’t return his smile.

The Wolf only leaned back, tipped his ale cup to his lips. “I do naught without reason,” he finally said, setting down the empty cup.

“I ken what’s wrong with the bed,” Andrew declared. “It’ll be dismantled. We’ll need forever to reassemble it.”

“So I suspect.” The Wolf agreed.

“What else?” Caelan persisted.

Alex Stewart drew a long, deep breath and glanced out over the smoke-hazed public room. “There is only one way to tame a prickly, high-spirited lassie. I’ll no’ have a temper fit risking a mission. Nor will I have the Bear worsen it by riling her. Truth is he can be kept in good fettle by the same method.”

“The bed.” Andrew and Caelan spoke as one.

“Indeed,” the Wolf sounded pleased. “Your task requires more than delivering and assembling the bed.
You must encourage our lad to use it. Better yet, to enjoy it.”

“With Lady Gillian?” Andrew and Caelan again responded in chorus.

“With his handfasted bride,” Alex Stewart amended. “Their joinings will be right and proper, blessed by my own good will! See you to it, aye?”

Chapter Twenty

N
o harm will come to you.

Roag the Bear’s vow circled in Gillian’s mind, ruining her morning even asit had stolen her sleep.
When my work is done, I will see you safely away,
his other words followed as quickly, spoiling her mood and making her temper rise.

It was a curious thing, his promises to see to her well-being having the opposite effect, annoying her beyond reason.

Yet they did, and they had done ever since he’d voiced them, well over a sennight ago.

Seven full days and nights in which her only true peace had been enjoyed in this cold, wee chamber, sequestered away from him, and with Skog the sole witness to her misery.

“Do you think it is my pride?” She glanced at her dog as she dressed, not really expecting an answer because the aged beast yet slept, his snores filling the room. “Can a man kiss a woman so hungrily and then…

“Feel nothing?” The very notion made her want to go toe to toe with him, possibly even kick him in the shin. “He might serve our good Scottish King, but he is heartless.”

Frowning, she blinked back the heat that suddenly pricked the backs of her eyes.

Her great hulking captor didn’t deserve her tears.

So she dashed at her cheek, determined not to let them fall. “He is a beast,” she announced, glancing again at her pet. “We will be better off without him.”

If Skog agreed, he gave no sign.

Not wanting to bother him further, Gillian returned to her lumpy little bed and pulled off one of the older, more worn covers. Carefully, she lowered its softness over Skog, knowing he loved sleeping away the morning hours, and wanting him to be as warm and comfortable as possible.

She didn’t care if she froze.

Far from it, she welcomed the shivers that raised gooseflesh on her skin; the chill, damp air that was almost icy enough to make her teeth chatter. Better to stamp about, rubbing her hands and swirling extra shawls about her shoulders, than to spend another moment huddled beneath the bed covers, everything she disliked about Roag coiling tight in the pit of her stomach, occupying her attention, slowly but surely driving her to madness.

But how could he not irritate her?

Aside from keeping her here against her will, he was simply too big, too rugged, his dark good looks much too distracting. His swagger was an affront. She didn’t want to consider the boldness of his grin, especially not how a dimple flashed in his cheek each time he employed it. As
for his kindness to Skog, the good-natured way he dealt with his men, most notably in moments when he wasn’t aware that she was watching him, how they appeared to not just respect and obey him, but to genuinely like him…

None of that mattered.

It certainly didn’t concern her.

Nor would she be grateful that he’d somehow gleaned that she had a fondness for honeyed bannocks, and that he’d ordered his cook to make certain they were served in plenty at mealtimes, and always placed near to her.

If his hard-muscled thigh happened to bump against hers under the high table at such meals, there was no reason under the heavens for her to relive the rush of tingles that raced across her skin each time such an accidental touch happened.

So why did such rememberings make her heart beat faster, setting her pulse to racing and warming her cheeks?

Gillian released an agitated breath.

Had she lost her wits entirely?

Hoping not, she went to the window, needing air. But before she could draw a deep, much-needed breath, she spied a ship. At this early hour, the sea and sky were still a seemingly merged blend of gray and black, yet there could be no mistaking that a galley rode the dark waves. Or that its path would bring it temptingly close to Laddie’s Isle, possibly offering her an escape.

Gillian pressed her fists against her breast, drew a tight breath, her mind racing.

She fixed her gaze on the ship, squinting to see better in the watery light. At a distance, she couldn’t tell for
certain, but she’d almost bet the galley was a MacDonald vessel. The Lords of the Isles plied these waters more frequently than any other, and she knew most of their ships well enough to trust that this was one of them. Good men, and friends of her clan, they’d surely help her if she could but catch their attention as they neared.