The Secret of Skye Isle

by Dillon, Marisa

  Ethan laughed. “Sounds like an awkward marriage proposal if you ask me.”

  “I thought the same and asked the captain to explain,” Quinn said. “The man shook his head as if he couldn’t, then told me, ‘I’m asking but twenty pounds for her.’ I assumed he was speaking of the ship, not the woman.”

  “Twenty pounds would be the price of a horse, not a ship,” Ethan said. “I’m assuming that’s why you’re now her captain.”

  “Aye, that price for the ship was worth any entanglement with a female that would come along with it,” Quinn said. “So I shook hands on the offer right then and there.

  “The captain promised to meet me at the harbor the next day, and we’d settle the deal. I agreed, half expecting he wouldnae show up or would quadruple the price.

  “But the next day, there he was, and he took me aboard,” Quinn said. He made a large sweeping gesture in the wardroom and added, “There was nae a thing amiss. No damage from storm or raid. All the below board spaces pristine. Just as you’ve seen above board.”

  Ethan was intrigued. “The woman? Did you finally meet her on the ship?”

  Quinn shook his head. “That’s the thing. When I asked him about the woman that came with the purchase, he said I’d meet her in good time.” As he said it, his gaze was hollow and distant.”

  “Now that sounds like a fine deal, a woman with a purchase,” someone said. “Where’d you be doing that kind of trading?”

  Alasdair?

  Ethan spun around. It was the clan leader. Unbeknownst to him, the sturdy Scot had found a seat on a nearby barrel. When Quinn turned, he looked just as surprised to have the giant’s company.

  “The east coast of Scotland has an extensive and unconventional trading history. Verra different from your western Highland isle,” Quinn said affably. “Have you ever bartered for a woman?”

  Alasdair had a likeable laugh, and Ethan couldn’t help but join him. Although their cozy conversation had been interrupted, Ethan was more interested in using the clan leader as a resource to learn about the current state of Eilean Donan. The rest of Quinn’s distracting yarn could wait.

  “On Skye Isle we do nae barter for women. We respect them,” Alasdair said. “Yet, I can admit more than a few of our womenfolk prefer to live alone and fend for themselves. We are a mix of Scot and Viking blood, and our women are more Valkyrie than lassie.”

  Quinn seemed amused by that and said, “Aye, I have met some of yer clan’s women in my travels, and they’re more intimidating than your men.”

  Alasdair chuckled, seemingly not offended by Quinn’s comment.

  Ethan hesitated before he spoke. Even though he was half-Scot, he’d assumed he’d make a better impression on the Highlander by keeping his English roots to himself. Englishmen were barely tolerated in the Highlands, and Ethan had personal proof of that.

  “My mother, Colleen MacKenzie, was an elegant lady, but her sister, Bonnie, could have led an army. Aye, she could have,” Ethan said.

  Alasdair nodded as if he could make a comparable claim. He grabbed a tankard from the young lad’s tray and said, “The MacLeods and MacKenzies are nae allies or rivals. But one thing is for certain, we both despise Clan MacDonald.”

  Alasdair opened his tankard and drained it while Ethan admired the Scot’s thirst.

  “Ye said there was some unrest in Kintail,” Ethan said. “At Eilean Donan?”

  The Scot peered at Ethan over his empty tankard before he set it down with a thud and signaled the lad for another round.

  “My new wife is Clan Fraser, and this will be her first visit to the castle,” Ethan said. “My mother died over twenty years ago, and my family has had their challenges.”

  “That be as much as saying a woman who is ugly is almost pretty. Let’s call a sheep a sheep,” Alasdair said politely.

  “Or the ugly woman a sheep?” Quinn piped in as the boy appeared with a jug. Holding it tightly with both hands, the lad poured more golden liquid into Quinn’s tankard. Then he moved to Alasdair and did the same, distracting the clan leader for a moment until he had another tankard full of ale.

  Ethan waved the boy off as he said, “I’m not a sheep farmer, but I know a sheep when I see one.”

  The muscles in Alasdair’s face relaxed into a grin. “If we be using sheep farming as an analogy for your family’s circumstance, I’d say the gates have been open far too long and most of your loyal flock have strayed.”

  That was the friendliest way Ethan could have been told he’d have his hands full when he arrived. “Well, sir, I appreciate your candor.”

  Alasdair’s cheeks reddened. “In my estimation, you could be walking into a massacre. I could nae let that rest on my conscience, especially after meeting your lovely new wife.”

  Ethan’s ire rose. Clearly, Ursula had made an impression on him as she did all men. They’d have to be dead otherwise. And this barbarian was calling Ethan’s attempt to visit his clan’s home a mistake only an idiot would make.

  “Come with me to Dunvegan, and we’ll assemble my warriors. Then we’ll march on to Eilean Donan. The MacLeods have no quarrel with MacKenzies, but if we find a MacDonald at the seat, then we shall have a score to settle,” Alasdair promised.

  The Highlander rose, no doubt ready to bunk down for the night, but added as he turned to go, “Killing a few rival clansmen will give keep my warriors’ battle skills sharp for when I must defend my home, and ’twill send the message . . . na cuir stad air mo thir.”

  Ethan nodded as if he understood the Gaelic. He was pleased they could agree on something besides lusting after Ursula.

  Chapter 12

  It was easy to eavesdrop on the conversation, and Ursula did not feel guilty one bit. The captain’s cabin was above the wardroom, and Ursula had put an ear to the floor when she’d recognized Ethan’s voice last night.

  Now as Ursula dressed and prepared for her breakfast to arrive, she pondered Alasdair’s initial concern for her welfare. She had taken a keen interest in the Scot. There was something a bit dangerous about him, but approachable at the same time, like a Scottish deerhound. They were a breed of fierce protectors, but docile toward their masters.

  The Merry Maiden was docked, and Ursula had observed the early morning activities from the captain’s window overlooking Lossiemouth.

  Rosalyn’s uncle and several of his crew had loaded the ship with what looked like huge bales of raw wool, no doubt brought in from the countryside by the farmers nearby.

  This was part of Rosalyn’s world. Her Uncles Quinn and Angus collected the finest Scottish wool from the rural parts of Scotland, then brought it back to Aberdeen to be woven into goods or shipped to France for production. No doubt her sister of the heart had become easily accustomed to sailing.

  They’d travel close to the shore. Still it unnerved Ursula to be out in the ocean. She had heard tales of her Viking cousins who had ruled the Orkney Islands and later the Highlands. They were a people who were more at home on the North Sea than on their own land of Norway.

  Ursula decided she could not be of Viking bone and blood as she rubbed the back of her neck, sore from the lack of a pillow. Rosalyn had teased Ursula before she had left, claiming she had become too comfortable at Fyvie. After last night, she’d agreed.

  But Ursula hadn’t stayed awake fretting over cruising the ocean. She’d been awoken by a . . . by something.

  By a ghost?

  For a healer and seer, visions were commonplace. Witnessing ethereal shapes and unusual sounds or the presence of otherworld energy were all natural experiences for her. But last night had been different. No doubt if she tried to explain it, she’d be laughed at by Quinn, Ethan, and even Alasdair.

  She was still gazing out the window when the cabin door slammed shut.

  Ursula screamed, almost f
alling off the bed in her rush to turn around. “Och! Captain Quinn!” She scrambled to her feet. “’Tis only you.”

  “Aye, and a fine breakfast almost dropped when you attacked me with your screeching. I would have expected more of that last night when Molly made her rounds.”

  “Molly?”

  He set the tray full of cooked eggs, scones, jam, and cream on the empty navigation table, then crossed his hands over the center of his chest. “You near made my heart stop. I thought I was dead in my tracks.”

  Ursula walked to meet him at the table, smiling. She could not help it with Quinn looking so serious. Stomach growling, Ursula grabbed a scone and slathered it with butter and cream.

  “Does Molly have long, wavy, strawberry-blond hair and green eyes?” Ursula asked, bringing the captain back to his earlier comment about last night.

  “Ye met her then. Aye, my bonny bride.”

  “Captain, you said you were married to the Merry Maiden.” She shoved a chunk of the delicate treat into her mouth, mumbling at the same time, “This is delicious.”

  “Not made by my crew, mind you. The eggs, aye,” Quinn admitted when her eyes grew wide. “The scones were from a bakery cart on the wharf.”

  She curtsied.

  “I promised Rosalyn I’d take care of you.”

  Ursula blushed. “Aye, you have. Let me sleep in your bed, kept Ethan at bay, and served up cream and jam with scones fresh out of the oven. But you did nae warn me about Molly.” She waved a scolding finger at him before she finished off the first of the fruit scones.

  “Aye, Molly. She’s as much my wife as the Maiden,” Quinn said. He paused and searched for the right words. “She came with the ship, you might say.”

  Ursula cocked her head to one side. “You might say?”

  Quinn grinned. “I was telling Ethan the story last night, but I had nae got to the best part because of Alasdair.”

  “What did Alasdair do?”

  “Nothing other than interrupt the story before I got to Molly. I wonder if Molly got to Ethan?” He chuckled. “She usually leaves the women alone.”

  “But I am a witch.”

  “You do nae look like one, and I daresay you’ll nae want to be admitting that around my men. Molly’s enough, and she’s promised to leave the crew alone and only visit the guests.”

  “Well, that’s quite hospitable of her,” Ursula snickered.

  “Now, you must know what I mean,” Quinn said. “When I purchased the ship from the previous owner, the man near gave the Merry Maiden away. What was left of the crew, the last of ’em, abandoned him once he’d reached Aberdeen. None of the local seamen would hire on, and her captain had no means to return home to Portugal with his ship.” He paused. “I made a deal with her.”

  “You made a deal with a ghost?” Ursula mumbled through another bite of scone, jam, and cream.

  “One might call it an arrangement,” Quinn said. “My granny was a witch, too.”

  Ursula came around the table to give him a hug. He’d been kind to give her his bed and a fine breakfast. Quinn’s comment about his granny being a witch also gave her proof that Rosalyn may have acquired sight abilities through inheritance, and the pregnancy had heightened them.

  “Molly is nae so bad. I just wish you had warned me first,” Ursula said. “I could’ve used some herbs to make her presence less frightening.”

  “She is frightening,” Quinn said, eyes wide. “Mayhap she is jealous of you?”

  He raised a knee and slapped it. “Aye, that is the problem. I had another beautiful woman who’d bunked in my cabin two years back who demanded we let her off the ship when we docked after the first night.” He scratched his beard. “I had forgotten about that.”

  Now that Quinn was talkative, and had spent time with Alasdair last night, perhaps she could learn more about the Highland chief of Dunvegan and steer away from the ghost.

  “You were saying Alasdair interrupted your time with Ethan yester eve. Was he angry about something?”

  Quinn appeared surprised by her question. “Why do ye think Alasdair was angry?”

  “Aren’t all Highlanders angry?”

  She hadn’t thought her question funny, but her response sent Rosalyn’s uncle into fits of laughter as he slapped his leg again. The chuckles finally subsided to snickers, then he took in a deep breath before answering her. “Aye, Ursula, Highlanders are angry much of the time, I’ll give you that, but Alasdair is quite charming for a clan chief.”

  Charming? Alasdair had been charming in her company thus far. But she doubted he would be so when he led his soldiers. It was his quiet demeanor that had her unsettled. She would have a difficult time asking the clan chief questions directly. “If he was nae angry, what was he doing interrupting you?”

  Quinn looked at her quizzically for a moment, but finally it appeared he understood her question. “Bad choice of words on my part,” he said. “He was being . . . what you call . . .” He struggled for the word.

  “Sociable,” Ursula suggested.

  Quinn hemmed and hawed, then said, “’Tis close enough.”

  They stared at each other through a long silence.

  “Scone?” Ursula offered when he turned to leave.

  Quinn eyed the fluffy half scone smothered in sweet toppings in her outstretched hand. “Looks delicious,” he said.

  “I would nae tell your men you partook in a bite of breakfast with me,” Ursula said. “You, being the gracious host, should enjoy more than just your galley’s fixings.”

  He quickly snatched the sweet from her hand, and while he took generous bites, she queried him further.

  “Do nae be telling Alasdair I’d be asking about him, but do you know that he’s offered to escort Ethan and me to Dunvegan, then have us march with his warriors to Eilean Donan?”

  Quinn’s mouth was full, so he acknowledged her question with a nod of his head.

  “I’m interested in knowing more about him before I leave the protection of your ship and travel with a man who purportedly could be dangerous.” She leveled her gaze. “Do you know him well?”

  Quinn swallowed the last of the treat and licked his fingers before saying, “Nay, I’ve ne’er set eyes on the man before he walked aboard the gangplank yesterday.”

  “Of course, you understand my concern,” Ursula said as she walked around to the other side of the navigation table. “Although I was born on the fringe of the Highlands, I’ve been on my own since I was six and ten, spending my time working as a healer for the royals in Berwick upon Tweed and the eastern coast of Scotland,” she added.

  Ursula faced Quinn from across the table. “What I know of the Highlanders may be more myth and legend. You have traveled with them, eaten with them . . .”

  “Slept with them aboard my ship,” Quinn said, finishing her sentence. “Aye, I have had much experience even though I grew up on the eastern coast in Aberdeenshire. This Highlander, though, appears to be approachable and amiable. He asked us to call him, Crotach.”

  She paused as she attempted to translate the Gaelic. “Humpbacked?”

  “Did ye nae get a good look at him, lass?”

  Ursula blinked hard a few times and pursed her lips.

  When was she not observant? “Was he disfigured?” she asked.

  Quinn looked at her sympathetically. “You didnae see he was hunched over and limping?”

  She shook her head. Ursula could only remember him standing on the deck of the ship as the sea winds swept back his shoulder-length, burnish-red hair to reveal a noble face. His broad, handsome forehead accentuated his deep-set, dark-hazel eyes.

  Perhaps she was smitten.

  And his gaze. She remembered it roaming over her as if she’d been gently groped with her permission. His demeanor, unsha
kable and perceptive.

  Humpbacked? Limping? Not Alasdair MacLeod.

  “My guess,” Quinn proposed, “is he wanted to get the story out before others asked. About his physical appearance, that is.”

  When she gave him a quizzical look, he addressed it. “He’s a bit crooked. Can nae stand up straight.”

  That made Ursula reflect again. “I’ve looked up at him from below. No doubt I would have seen the condition if I were your height,” she said, not wanting Quinn to think she was daft.

  He scratched his beard again as he carefully chose his next words. And she was not surprised when she heard them.

  “You may be smitten with the man, I’d be supposing.”

  “Bite your tongue,” Ursula said. “I’m a married woman,” she sputtered when he snickered.

  “I am . . . pretending to be a married woman,” she amended.

  “Does nae changed the way you look at him.”

  She was aghast, perturbed, and shocked—because it was true. She raised a finger as if to object with another reason, one she searched for but could not find.

  Quinn shook his head at her as if she’d be a fool to deny it.

  She turned her back on him, embarrassed. But as she searched her heart, she was certain. She had settled on Joshua. Gentle, kind, Joshua. And she had settled on thinking if she changed Ethan . . . No, she could never live a lie. Only be distracted by one. Sad but true, a seer could never see herself. She saw only for others.

  Coming out of her musing, Ursula spun back around to find Quinn eating the last of her scones.

  Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. After choking down the last morsel, he said, “The Highlander seems to be a man of his word. Call it merchant’s intuition, but I believe his story.”

  Finally, Ursula was closer to her goal. “Captain Quinn, surely you have a ship to attend to, but seeing as you’ve eaten half my breakfast, please give me a morsel of his story to feed my curiosity,” she said with her hands clasped together. She was not too proud to beg.