The Secret of Skye Isle

by Dillon, Marisa

  Alasdair turned to look directly at George.

  “I do believe in its powers and the legend,” his friend responded as if challenged.

  Alasdair sighed. “It has not been unfurled since my father’s death, and according to the legend, there is only one unfurling left.”

  “What if a new faerie and mortal marriage were to take place?” his friend suggested. “Do you think the flag could be regenerated by Faery magic?”

  The idea was intriguing, and it had Alasdair daydreaming for a moment about Ursula. She called herself a witch. But most likely she was trying to hide her skills with herbs behind a veil of witchcraft, instead of revealing her roots in Faery magic.

  Alasdair shook his head. “The Fae are fickle and can be evil, too. Most are,” he preached. “More men have gone to the faerie pools or glen than have returned.”

  George shrugged his shoulders. “Depends on what you ask of the faerie, I’ve been told. Trick them before they trick you.”

  “Wise words from experience?”

  “I stand before you, do I not?”

  “In breeches and nae a kilt. That is the problem.”

  “The kilt is practical for your Highland life, not mine,” George said as if a kilt was barbaric.

  “A kilt is impractical for the way you live? Is that what you are saying?” Alasdair shot back.

  George burst out laughing. “If you stay a few days rather than march off, you will see how preferable breeches can be. I packed a pair in your bag,” George confessed with a superior tone.

  Alasdair raised a brow, then waved away any concerns with his hand. “I’ll tear them up and use them for bandages if we run into trouble.”

  “Well, Clan MacDonald spells trouble to me. So keep them at the ready if you need to patch yourself up.” Then he pointed to Alasdair’s shoulder. “Crotach, you do nae want another injury like that.”

  He straightened, tall again in the mirror at George’s challenge. There it was again. The pain.

  Alasdair relaxed back into his normal stance with a taunt grin. Humpback was the name his enemies used when they called out to him. He’d replied to them with his sword and silenced them for good.

  George rolled up his fine linen shirt to bare a horizontal mark across his chest. “Scars are reminders of the sacrifices we’ve made for others,” he said, then let his shirt fall back into place. “Some can be hidden, but all must be worn with pride.”

  “We are both full of pride, brother,” Alasdair said, grabbing his friend’s arm below the elbow in their customary salutation.

  George took hold of Alasdair’s arm. “If you do nae want to see how we live here at Urquhart and enjoy the civilized way of life in breeches, I will reluctantly take you to the armory for supplies before you depart.”

  Alasdair released his grip and followed his friend out of the solar, until George stopped abruptly and said, “You did not tell me how last evening fared.”

  Alasdair gave George a friendly shove. “That was my intention.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Ursula wrung her hands and stared at Ethan, hoping what he’d said to her was a mistake. Her night with Alasdair was still fresh in her mind, and she’d yet to decide how it would color their future together.

  She stalled. “We should nae leave this place without thanking our host, nor should we abandon the plan to travel with the Highlander. I made a promise.”

  “Break it.”

  She stomped her foot. “You made a promise, too.”

  Ethan crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at her. But she refused to be intimated or bullied by him.

  “I break promises,” he said, raising his head defiantly.

  She stood her ground. “He has offered to help you with a battalion of men. To assist in negotiating Eilean Donan Castle.”

  He squinted his eyes. “You are a fool, Ursula. Why would he bring his army to Eilean Donan, secure the fortress, and then hand it over to me?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, and then stopped. For the first time this journey, Ethan made a good point. As much has she was taken by Alasdair’s charms, the idea the Highlander would provide support without reward was far-fetched.

  Ethan pushed further. “He never revealed why he was in Petershead without a troop of soldiers. Perhaps he is estranged from his clan. Men rarely travel alone. Unless they’re on the run.”

  Her further hesitation gave Ethan fuel for his argument. “You are a smart lass, Ursula. You must admit his actions are suspicious, regardless of his connections here.” He swept his arms out where they stood in the lower bailey near the horse stalls.

  She baulked. Evan though his arguments were surprisingly convincing, abandoning Alasdair seemed irresponsible. “’Tis no reason to separate ourselves from his company yet,” she insisted. “He is familiar with the local roads through the Highlands. You told me yourself you had nae been to Eilean Donan in ten years.

  “We can hire a local guide, Ursula.” He said it with such practicality she almost agreed, until she remembered last night, being in Alasdair’s arms. He had transported her somewhere else.

  She shook her head vehemently. “We will honor our promise. If we do nae find his story consistent with his actions, we can part company. We can be straightforward with him.”

  Ethan did not appear convinced and scrunched up his face, showing his displeasure.

  She retaliated with a sweet smile, hoping the herb potion she’d added in his breakfast ale would start to take effect and she would have compliant Ethan again.

  As she waited to see what he would do or say, she remembered the map Quinn had given her, packed safely in her satchel. It could prove helpful if Alasdair was left behind.

  Ursula needed to figure out, once the rare flower was found, who would join her on the return trip to Fyvie. It might be neither man, for both had clans and castles to contend with, and having a woman underfoot might not be a welcome distraction.

  “Did you hear me?”

  Coming out of her mental fog, Ursula finally realized Ethan had given her his answer.

  “Nay, I was contemplating what you’ve suggested,” she admitted.

  “Good because it is our plan.” He glanced hurriedly over his shoulder. “You want to return to Fyvie as quickly as you can. A march to Dunvegan, before Eilean Donan, will add two days to our journey.”

  Of course. Time was the enemy for Ursula. Not Ethan or Alasdair. She sighed deeply.

  Chapter 24

  Hills and sky were inseparable by nightfall that evening when Ursula turned her horse up the castle path behind Ethan.

  She wasn’t sure how he’d convinced her to leave Alasdair behind. Perhaps it was the fear of trusting a man she did not know. Other than Joshua, few men had stripped her bare of all but her emotions.

  Alasdair had been infatuated with her last night. No doubt the herbs had influenced him, but while it had been glorious to be worshipped by him, she was certain his feelings toward her would be short-lived. Once the final effects of the herbs wore off, in a day or more, she’d be nothing more to him than a means to his pleasure. They had shared an evening filled with touching, kissing, and passion, but nae love.

  She’d taken no risks with her future, and if they were destined to meet again, she’d have to trust in the power of fate.

  Ethan was at least controllable, and they both had similar goals. As Ethan had pointed out, Alasdair’s reasons for assisting them were questionable at best, and adding more days to their journey would be gambling with Rosalyn’s future.

  So it was with much regret that Ursula agreed to Ethan’s insistence. Although she could control him to some degree, even with extra herbs that morning, she couldn’t convince him to include Alasdair in their plans any longer. She could only hope his common sense would overr
ide his jealousy when she agreed to this new arrangement.

  Her mood lighted after they passed through the portcullis. Glengarry was one of her favorite places in the Highlands, and Invergarry Castle was home to friends and Clan MacDonnell.

  After they’d been welcomed, and she’d unpacked, Ursula was greeted by Conn outside the great hall.

  “You know, Ursula, I’ve always considered you a daughter of my heart,” her host told her while giving her a generous hug and a kiss on the cheek.

  “Conn, you have always been a thorn in my side,” she said affectionately, returning the hug and then stepping back.

  He chuckled at her aside. Ursula held on to his hands and studied the elder clansman while their arms formed a friendly bridge.

  Conn MacDonnell was taller than most Scots, and he commanded a room better than anyone she knew. His bright-red, shoulder-length hair did not show his true age, nor did his agility. As far as she knew, he would have been the same age as her uncle, but he looked more like a brother.

  After Ethan suggested they journey on without Alasdair, she agreed as long as they stopped at Invergarry. With Conn’s help, they could approach Eilean Donan with some of his men. She hoped he’d spare them.

  “My, my, Ursula, you are just as witty but more beautiful than I remember,” he said smoothly with a short bow.

  “Conn, you flatter me.” She batted her eyelashes. “That’s hard to do.”

  He swept his arm out for her taking, and she hooked her hand around it as he escorted her through the crowded hall and to the dais. She was giddy with delight to see Conn again. With Ethan taking his meal in his chamber, she’d have the freedom to visit with her old friend privately.

  Once he’d finished with a welcome to guests and her introduction, the food began to fill the table. Venison, wild boar, swan.

  It wasn’t until she finished her food that Ursula raised her head from her meal to take in the surroundings. The great hall was well appointed, and Conn had some of the finest trappings of any castle in the Highlands.

  Riding all day, with only breaks to relieve themselves, had only offered time to eat the last of the hard meats Captain Quinn had given her, but that hadn’t been enough. She’d been famished when she’d taken a seat beside Conn at the head table and had yet to say much to her host.

  “’Tis a good thing you wandered by my castle this evening, or you may have eaten a squirrel for dinner.”

  Ursula turned to her host and smirked. “Squirrel meat is tender,” she chirped. “You should try it.”

  The disgusted look on Conn’s face was worthy payment for her response, and she returned it with a satisfied grin. Because Ursula could let her guard down when she was with Conn, she was able to free herself from the burdens of others she’d been carrying. Even though he’d promised to be a father to her if she needed one, what she needed right now was an ally.

  The high table was empty except for the two of them, and she finally had all of his attention.

  “You must have made a major decision. Your expression just clouded over.” He touched her check gently. “What troubles you?”

  Ursula sighed first, gathering up in her mind the information he needed to know. Then she collapsed onto the table for dramatic effect, bowing her head over her folded arms as she pleaded, “I need your help, Conn.”

  He laid a hand gently atop of her head. “Of course. If you wish it. It will be done.”

  Inwardly, she leaped with glee. The ploy had worked for her many times, and she was certain she could sucker Conn with her antics. But she couldn’t rush the lamenting, so she added, “I will need a good number of your men to travel with us to Skye.”

  “Done,” he said, stroking her hair. “I am sure you have a sufficient need.”

  Her head nodded under his hand.

  “Where are you going on Skye?”

  “First, Eilean Donan,” she told him. The words were a bit muffled with her face against her arm.

  “The MacDonald stronghold?”

  She bolted upright. “Is it held by the MacDonalds?”

  “Now, I cannot swear to it, but ’tis the rumor. My men usually travel between here and Loch Ness. We rarely cross the sea to Skye.”

  She kept her gaze on him as she sat erect and explained further. “Eilean is on a tidal island in Kyle of Lochalsh, across from the Isle.”

  “So you plan to march with my men to knock on their porticus gate?”

  “They have no quarrel with me,” she defended.

  “They do nae need to have a quarrel to do what they want. They are heathens, Ursula. Do you nae know what you propose?”

  She sighed again. “I only need to deliver Ethan to Donan, and then be escorted to the faerie pools at Glenbrittle on Skye Isle.”

  “The faerie pools?” He said it with such shock in his voice it cracked. He looked at her as if she’d gone mad. “Eilean Donan was bad enough, but my men will go nowhere near the pools even if I order them to, and they are loyal men.”

  Ursula collapsed on the table again and began to sob. Now, would her dramatic acting be convincing enough to get what she needed?

  ~ ~ ~

  Beyond heinous. Treasonous. Ursula’s actions against Alasdair cut to the heart. Just when he was falling in love with her, letting himself be vulnerable, she’d abandoned him.

  Although he suspected Ethan to be the culprit, convincing her to leave without him, Alasdair would like to think she only agreed because the bastard had threatened her.

  He hoped to find more resolution when George met him in the baily, but his good friend was just as shocked by their unannounced departure.

  No matter if they were both guilty of rebellion, Alasdair had told his friend Ethan would be putting Ursula at great risk. They had both agreed the MacDonalds were a bloodthirsty clan.

  Although Alasdair had originally planned to gather his own troops before approaching Eilean Donan Castle, Ethan forced him into accepting half of George Gordon’s men. His captain, Douglas Stewart, was a great companion, suggesting a shorter route to Glengarry first before their contingent made the longer march on the MacDonalds.

  As Alasdair became comfortable with his new plan, he thought more about his night with Ursula. The memories were no longer clear, yet he was left with a desire to find her, help her, and love her again.

  As his contingent neared Glengarry at nightfall, he wondered if his old friend Conn MacDonnell would welcome his company. Even though Gordon’s men were capable of camping on the ground, he’d learned from the captain that the men routinely returned to Urquhart after a day of service.

  He would not call them a pampered battalion, but they were no match for the Highland outdoor weather. It was raining heavily now, and there would be no place dry to sleep except inside the walls of Invergarry Castle.

  Once he’d conferred with Douglas and secured his approval, the group of servant knights joined Alasdair late that evening in the castle with the promise of finding their host and some food.

  Walking into the great hall, Alasdair was reminded of his own at Dunvegan. A bit of homesickness made his heart ache for the castle that had been the stronghold of his family for eight generations.

  Like his gathering room, Conn’s white stone walls were covered with dark tapestries, most depicting MacDonnell clan victories.

  More spoils of conquests were displayed on the ornately carved sideboards behind the head table.

  As he approached the dais, Alasdair recognized his friend. Then he froze in his tracks and his gaze riveted to the woman beside him, holding his friend’s attention.

  At the same time, Gordon’s men rushed past him like he was a logjam in the river and they were the waters. But once the path was clear of Gordon’s foot soldiers and Alasdair could see the head table clearly again, she was g
one.

  Where was she? Even if the woman wasn’t Ursula, how could she have been there one moment and gone the next?

  Conn sat alone on the dais. The red-haired MacDonnell raised a pewter goblet and waved it in earnest for Alasdair to join him.

  Conn was grinning when Alasdair took a seat beside him. “Good to see you, Crotach. You did nae dress for dinner.”

  Alasdair glanced down at his soggy kilt. He’d removed his damp bearskin cape, but his leather vest and wool tartan were dry. His mane of hair was another story. He shook it in response to Conn’s comment.

  “A Scottish hound would have better manners,” Conn declared and laughed heartily. He raised a hand to slap Alasdair’s right shoulder, but his slight flinch must have reminded Conn not to.

  Instead, Conn reached across and grabbed Alasdair’s forearm in greeting as George had. “You do appear more wolfhound than man tonight. How fare thee, my good friend?”

  “I fare better than the brethren I bring with me. Your good man, Luther, took us in.”

  “He will shelter dogs and men from friendly clans,” he joked, then grew serious and flicked at the plaid that stretched across Alasdair’s chest. “What are these colors?”

  “I’m in disguise,” Alasdair said proudly.

  “Who do you think you’ll be fooling?” Conn asked sarcastically.

  Alasdair wanted to say the MacDonalds but resisted. “From a distance, I won’t be recognized as Alasdair MacLeod,” he said, pointing to the only men at the trestle tables. “I wear the House of Gordon’s colors. This way I blend in.”

  Conn waved him closer and said, “You never blend in.” Then he leaned back and slapped the table. “Why must you hide who you are? Is there a price on your head?”

  Alasdair crossed his arms against his chest. “Nay, Conn, ’tis a precautionary measure too complicated to explain.” It was best not to admit he planned to knock on the MacDonald’s portcullis and ask to be admitted as if he were one of the clan. With Ethan and Ursula at his side nonetheless.