The Secret of Skye Isle

by Dillon, Marisa

  “Titania was a famous Fae. One who’s been revered and remembered for her compassion and love of humans. That’s what was passed down from my great-great-great-grandfather.”

  Ursula scooted back on her stool and propped her elbows on the worktable, her chin cradled in her hands. “A mortal and Fae marriage?”

  “Aye, against the wishes of the faerie’s father. As the legend goes, she convinced him to allow her to marry my mortal great-great-great-grandfather. Her father only agreed to the marriage for a year and a day, as long as she promised to return to the Fae world.”

  The captain had given her a similar version of the lore already. Yet, Ursula was anxious to see if Alasdair’s depiction would vary. She also wanted to find out if she could pick up on his thoughts while she was this close to him.

  Because she couldn’t read someone when they were looking directly at her, she’d need a distraction.

  “Here,” she said, pushing a bundle of herbs toward him, “you chop up the rest, and I’ll remove the excess liquid.”

  As she began to pour the water from the kettle into a drain on the floor, she prompted, “A year and a day?”

  “Aye,” he concurred. “A son was born within that time, my great-great-grandfather, Uilleam Cleireach MacLeod, the Fifth Laird of Dunvegan.”

  “Then the faerie’s father must have changed his mind,” Ursula piped in from the hearth, adding more wine to the stew.

  “Nay, that is where the flag comes in. Because the faerie wife was forced to return to her world, she left an object designed for protection.”

  “How do you know the flag ever existed?”

  “Because we have it under guard.”

  Ursula let out a gasp. She’d thought it was guarded by the faeries in Glenbrittle. “The Faery Flag was left as a safeguard?”

  “Aye, for her son and husband. She told them, ‘Whenever you are attacked by your enemies, the flag should be unfurled and flown to protect you.’”

  “Have you ever unfurled the flag?”

  He huffed and, in a moment, was next to her.

  She almost let out a shriek again, but this time she controlled her response. Ursula refused to act in a way that would undermine her composure.

  He had joined her at the kettle with the chopped herbs and had even found some potatoes to add. Scraping the board clean, he filled the space where the water had been.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled, as some of Alasdair’s thoughts began to form in muddled images.

  “As you said, I’ll be able to eat sooner, and I am hungry now.”

  She stirred the pot vigorously, as if the stew would cook faster. “Now that we have potatoes, this will need more wine and extra cooking time,” she said with her eyes on the kettle. “Plenty of time for you to complete your tale,” she suggested as she poured the wine over the concoction and pushed the potatoes under the meat, so they would cook faster.

  No doubt impatient for the food, Alasdair grumbled under his breath before he started again. “The flag has many properties, and most are nae shared outside the family, but we can count at least one time it was unfurled in battle.” Then he paused.

  Pain. Ursula was sensing extreme pain. Images of fallen bodies. A flag flapping violently aboard a ship. She glanced over her shoulder to find him taking a stool behind the worktable again.

  “’Twas the Battle at Bloody Bay,” he said with a touch of pain in his voice. Or did she feel it? “Over seven years hence. But it started before then.” He heaved a sigh. “The MacDonalds were always a riotous lot. Not only with other clans, but between themselves. Sometimes sons oppose their fathers, and this was the case with John MacDonald, the Earl of Ross and Lord of the Isles.”

  “Son defied father? I thought clan loyalty was stronger than that.” She pushed the meat around on top of the potatoes, wanting them to heat quickly, then shutting it all under the lid again.

  “Aye, most oft ’tis, but I should amend this was John’s bastard son, Angus, that started the trouble. Wanting John dead.”

  Ursula cringed. This was the same story line Quinn had followed. She would never understand violence between family members. Even what she’d witnessed between Ethan and Lachlan had shocked her. What also surprised her was the pain she could sense radiating from Alasdair’s right shoulder, and she turned to see if he was all right.

  Like her, he appeared to control his emotions. If he was in pain, his face didn’t show it. But the connection to his thoughts was lost now that she faced him.

  “Bastards are never treated as family, so therein lies the problem,” she said, deciding it would be safer not to follow his thoughts. She enjoyed gazing at him instead.

  “Aye, ’tis so,” he concurred, “and at that time, the MacDonald clan was fractured, with some supporting Angus and some supporting John. Beyond the immediate family, other clans took sides, too.

  “Angus and his followers did everything they could over many months to undermine his father’s supporters, including plans to lay waste to our land and Dunvegan castle. To thwart those efforts, my father led our clan, as well as the MacLeans and the McNeils, to Angus’s encampment. The bastard son of John, and his men, had come ashore to restock their galley ships.

  “Based on a scouting report, my father felt it would be the perfect time to strike and keep them from making their way to the MacLeod territory.

  “During the battle I was injured in the back.” Alasdair grabbed under his right armpit. “An Angus supporter laid his battle-ax into my shoulder, but as I went down, I killed the bastard with my own.”

  He grimaced when he reached for it, as if the wound was fresh. “That rallied my father and his troops until we defeated the Angus-supporting MacDonalds. Lost most of his men, Angus did, and we destroyed ten of their ships by setting them afire.”

  “So the Faery Flag saved the day?”

  Alasdair gave her a thin smile. “Nay, but food would save the day now, and perhaps I’ll get to that part in the story,” he said, nodding toward the stove.

  Her cheeks heated. She’d been so engrossed in his story, his pain palpable, she’d forgotten all about the stew.

  Getting back to the kettle, Ursula quickly ladled out a big serving for Alasdair in a coarse wooden bowl. His stomach growled as she set the food before him. Next, she carved a big slice of bread from the stale loaf on the table.

  He’d watched her in silence as if a bargain had been made and he’d not divulge her prize until he received his payment.

  Instead of taking the slice, he tore a huge chunk of bread from the loaf, scooped out the soft innards, then stuffed it in his mouth.

  Grinning awkwardly while he gobbled down the first morsels, he shoveled a healthy portion of the meat and potatoes onto the bread’s crusty hull and devoured it in a few bites. After a dribble of the wine gravy ran down the side of his mouth, he gathered it up with his tongue. Giving her a naughty grin, Alasdair let out a satisfied sigh.

  Ursula took that as a signal he’d receive his payment. She busied herself ladling up a meager portion for herself, then joined him at the table.

  The silence was not awkward, but pleasant. If they hadn’t been on a ship, nor Alasdair a powerful clan leader, the scene could have been between a husband and wife in a cozy, Highland cottage.

  After licking his lips, Alasdair produced the widest, most charming smile. “You said you were a witch,” he chuckled. “You made magic of that stew. I could swear it was better than what I’ve eaten at Edinburgh Castle with the King of Scots himself at the table.”

  She turned her head away from him slightly, hoping to hide the blush burning her checks. She’d only taken a few bites as the stew had been quite hot and had come from the very bottom of the kettle.

  His eyes glazed over, and he grinned even more at her as if a wee bit drunk.
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  She raised a brow. Perhaps he was sleepy now that his stomach was full. Probably best to start up again where they’d finished. “So the Faery Flag saved the day?”

  Alasdair continued to stare at her with a lovesick look on his face. He placed his hand over hers. “You are even more beautiful than Titania.”

  Was he joking or too tired to think clearly? No matter. She was certainly not going to be deprived of what was promised. She jerked her hand out from under his and asked, “How would you know? You’ve never met her.”

  He gazed into her eyes with a passionate purpose and grasped her hand again. “I know.” He said the words with such confidence it spooked her. Blinking hard, she left her hand underneath his. Even if she held him spellbound, she still wanted the rest of the story. “Honor her by telling me the rest.”

  Alasdair continued to gaze at her with devotion that hadn’t been there moments before. It was as if she’d become an object of his desire. She tried to sit still, but she squirmed in her seat until he squeezed her hand lightly as if to settle her down.

  “The Faery Flag was not needed when I was injured by Evan MacKail. Our troop had the upper hand that day from the start. And even though I was violently attacked, I got my revenge on that bastard. Nay, it was not until the Battle at Bloody Bay when the flag was needed.”

  Now that Alasdair was busy in his head, recalling the painful memories that led to his injury and a battle that scarred not only him, but also his clan for all eternity, she was able to get out from under his worship-like attention while he continued to talk.

  She glanced about the worktable. The damiana and mandrake root were gone. All of it. Ursula sucked in a shaky breath as Alasdair explained how the division between the MacDonalds had spread to the division of the MacLeods. How the clansmen of Lewis opposed the MacLeods of Harris and Dunvegan. The men his father led, and who had supported John.

  Her mind spun from the mishmash of clan allegiances and deceptions. But she was thinking clearly enough to realize she had concocted a love potion stew for Alasdair MacLeod. He had taken some of the herbs for Ethan and the others for Sid, chopping them up with the common ingredients when she’d put him to work.

  Luckily, she had only taken a few bites. And thankfully, she carried an antidote for almost everything with her.

  Her herb basket sat perched at the end of the worktable. Ursula slowly made her way there, keeping her eyes on the Highlander.

  Without too much fuss, and nodding at Alasdair as he explained more about the battle, she was able to locate the vial with the antidote in her basket. But her sense of relief was short-lived when she noticed there was only enough for one dose.

  Although this potion was more of a countermeasure than a cure, she’d rather play it safe and take what she had. Now she’d need to pray Alasdair’s condition would fizzle out in a day or two.

  She repeated that again in her head, and it sunk in. Even one day of him acting like a lovesick puppy would be one day too long.

  As she tried to settle her spinning thoughts, she was drawn back to what Alasdair had said when she’d heard the words ‘Faery Flag.’

  “Up until this point, our troops were dwindling and my father was dead. We’d waited too long before it was unfurled. And because we had no experience with it, we expected the flag to miraculously turn the tide of the battle in our favor.

  “It was Murcha Breac, our family priest, who called for it to be unfurled. What was miraculous about the flag was it united the MacLeods together as one . . . the Lewis MacLeods joining our Dunvegan and Harris clans once again. But unfortunately, the battle had progressed too far, and there were too few of the clan left to win against Angus MacDonald. Sadly, the priest and the twelve flag guardians were lost.”

  His eyes met hers again, and this time, they were filled with pain. She was surprised by Alasdair’s final account of the battle. Had she misread his intentions earlier?

  No, that was wishful thinking. The herbs were gone, and she’d better make sure she wasn’t influenced by them. Ursula drank the last of the antidote while Alasdair’s attention was on the last of the bread.

  “The flag had guardians?” she asked, putting her herbs and the empty vial back in her basket.

  He did not answer right away, and she expected he was still eating, but when his breath was in her ear, she was sorely mistaken.

  Ursula turned. Alasdair’s lips were only a whisper away from claiming her mouth. His gaze held her captive. And although he’d yet to touch her, in a wild, wanton kind of way, she wanted him to kiss her.

  She closed her eyes and held her breath, waiting for a Highland invasion, but instead, she heard a soft apology.

  Opening her eyes and releasing her breath, Ursula found Alasdair’s mouth within kissing distance, but his expression had gone from affectionate to troubled.

  She’d swear he’d just bitten his tongue to keep from growling. But it was clear, either the effects of the herbs had miraculously worn off, or he was in excruciating pain and did not want to show it.

  He nodded politely, thanking her for the food, explaining he’d let his appreciation go a too far, and finally left as quickly as he’d come.

  Now how could she sleep after all that?

  Chapter 18

  Ursula was in the wardroom the next morn, still groggy from the lack of sleep, both relieved and disappointed Alasdair hadn’t taken her in his arms and kissed her senseless. She could justify his actions under the influence of a love potion, but not her own urges. She’d taken the antidote and had no excuse other than her own lust.

  She chided herself under her breath as she discretely dropped the cooperation mixture into Ethan’s wine, instructing Corky to reserve the tankard and the freshly baked bread beside it for Ethan.

  Walking past the captain’s cabin on her way to the main deck, Ursula was reminded of her promise to Princess Margret. Thankfully, she’d managed to have a heart-to-heart talk with Sid yesterday.

  At first she’d been worried he’d tell her he didn’t care whether he was disowned by the royal family and refuse to marry a woman for political protocol.

  Instead, Sid had surprised her by saying he didn’t understand why his mother had waited so long on the proposed solution. Sid promised to provide his new wife with a perfect paramour and trusted Ursula would produce a bride who would agree to the terms Sid wanted in the marriage.

  Even though she had been distracted by Alasdair’s love sickness, she’d finished her potion-making and delivered the promised concoction to Sid late last night. He drank the attraction potion with Ursula as witness, right before he and one of the ship’s mates slipped off into the shadows. Sid would do what he wanted, and she could only hope he fulfilled his mother’s wishes when the time came.

  Later that morn, she was able to signal the princess on deck, letting her know it was time to find a bride, and to execute the plan they’d concocted. With the help of the fancy swords, Alasdair and Ethan were ready to fulfill their accepted assignments.

  Certain Alasdair was still under the potion’s influence, Ursula decided he would be sent off with the royal knights to find a suitable bride. And she would accompany Ethan on the search for a priest.

  No matter the reason, Ursula was content to be back in the saddle again after their horses were brought out of the holding pens. As much as she’d enjoyed the reprieve from traveling by horse, it was confining to be at sea.

  Ethan had led the way to a chapel she’d spotted from the ship, and they were just tethering the horses when she was surprised by another rider.

  “I caught you. Praise the saints,” Alasdair said with more exasperation than revelation. “We need a woman.”

  “Aye,” Ursula responded, hoping her voice sounded firm and not as shaky as she felt. “Of course, Sid is to marry a woman,” she confirmed. Dismounting as
Ethan did, she wondered if Sid had found a way to convince the knights and Alasdair he was in need of a suitable man instead.

  After Alasdair dismounted, he walked to her as if under a spell. Without warning, he swept her back into his arms and planted a sweet, wet kiss on her unsuspecting open lips. She pushed against his chest, struggling to get her breath and her balance back. When he did not release her, she bit his lip.

  He growled as if he liked it, but before she thought of another ploy, Ethan had taken up the matter.

  “Release my wife,” he lashed out.

  No words were returned, but Ursula was gently set on her feet. Then in the time it takes for thunder to roll, Alasdair had his sword drawn.

  Ethan followed suit.

  Ursula gasped and stepped between them. “You shall nae fight over me, nor will I be bullied into choosing between one of you.” She took turns glaring at each of them before she said, “Put away your swords. I will nae have one of you dead before we’ve begun.”

  When they both hesitated, she stomped her foot. “Listen, I have lives to save in Aberdeen. My pregnant sister of the heart needs the guelder rose from Skye Isle, and you two have interests there as well.” She stiffened her spine and put her nose in the air. “We do nae have time for this petty fighting. Both of you have admitted you want to conquer the MacDonalds and secure Eilean Donan, as well as the lands of Skye near Dunvegan. Until I have the flower, neither of you are of interest to me.”

  Ursula turned to Ethan. “Stop calling me your wife when I am nae,” she snapped, her head swiveling like an owl’s, giving each an impertinent glare. She waited, tapping her boot.

  Finally, and simultaneously, each bowed his head and sheathed his sword.

  Ursula sighed inwardly and looked to Alasdair, waiting for a better explanation than when she’d dismounted.

  He peered at her sheepishly. “We need a woman for Sid, and neither I nor the knights have had success.”