by Cathy MacRae
The Már glided gracefully into a beautiful, horseshoe-shaped bay. Sparkling sapphire water blazed like emeralds closer to shore. White-tipped waves lapped lazily at the sandy beach. Mountains rose on either side, protecting the bay and the longhouse in the low land between the hills. A langskip rested near the shore, its nearly flat hull perfectly crafted for the shallow water.
Men lined the bay, armed and alert to the ship sailing into their harbor in broad daylight. Others stood defensively near the longhouse. Smoke rose lazily from wooden racks draped with what appeared to be rows of fish. No women or children could be seen, but a leather ball much like the one Tully and the girls played with had been abandoned near the door of the longhouse.
Six men stepped into the shallow water as the crew dropped anchor several cautious lengths from shore. Birk requested a small craft lowered over the rail, then climbed aboard, flanked by ten soldiers, Hanna, and Haldor.
He set Haldor carefully at the bow.
Carys gathered the children together, arms about them protectively as the boat crossed the surf.
Birk hailed the men of Kiloran Bay as they approached the beach, though his words drifted away from Carys’s ears. Two men replied and caught the bow of Birk’s boat, holding it steady as another lifted Haldor from the craft. Carys winced as they set Haldor’s feet in the water, understanding the agony he must feel as the waves pushed and pulled at his broken body. Slowly, determinedly, supported on either side by the Norsemen, he walked through the surf to the beach. Having apparently reached some manner of accord, Birk and Hanna, along with eight MacLean soldiers, followed.
Abria whimpered. Carys knew the children had to be exhausted, frightened by the wild race through the witch’s cauldron and the terror as pirates boarded the Már. It alarmed her to see Birk and Hanna disappear into the longhouse, but she knew neither had undertaken the journey ashore lightly.
“I want to go home,” Abria whined, pulling on Carys’s hand. She plopped her bottom to the deck, jerking her palm from Carys’s grip, and ducked her head.
Carys knelt beside her. Eislyn sat and hugged her sister. Both turned wide eyes on Carys, needing reassurance.
“Had we been closer to Morvern, we would have taken ye there before bringing Haldor to his home. But he is hurt very badly, and we wanted him to return to his family whilst he still could.”
Abria sniffled. Carys’s heart lurched at the sight of tears on the tiny face.
“Will he die?” She gulped. “Ma died.”
“I know she did, bychan,” Carys crooned, scooping Abria into her arms. “And I am very sorry. I think Haldor will live, if he gets the care he needs.”
She stroked Abria’s dark head, not mentioning the blood at Haldor’s mouth that bespoke the possibility one or more ribs had punctured his lungs. She had seen too many men with similar injuries slide slowly into death despite the best of care.
The strain of worrying over Birk’s and Hanna’s safety exhausted her, and she coaxed the children to the shelter of the cabin’s wall, promising them a story and an early supper of cold bannocks and watered ale.
“Brody will bring honey for the bannocks,” Eislyn reassured a tearful Abria. “He likes us and knows we like honey.”
Abria nodded and allowed herself to be led from the rail, seeking one last glance of the shore which still bristled with armed men, watching the ship rock silently at anchor.
The quiet seemed somewhat reassuring, though Carys knew it would take only one misunderstanding or flare of anger to turn the tables against them. Inhaling slowly to steady her voice, she began the story she’d promised, tweaking the tale to reflect the cove in which they harbored and the nearby mountains.
“Branwen was a beautiful princess of Cymry . . ..”
“Like ye?” Eislyn asked.
“Mayhap.” Carys smiled. “She married a king of Ireland, and though he treated her well, she was so homesick, she taught a raven to say her name, then released him to fly across the seas to Cymry. It landed on her brother’s shoulder. He was the giant, Brân, and he immediately set out to rescue her.”
She caught Tully’s nod of approval and her heart filled to see he considered rescuing sisters a good thing. Abria scooted closer to Tully and he draped his arm protectively over her shoulder.
“I’d rescue ye, if ye needed, Abria,” he whispered.
Carys smiled. “Brân departed so fast, he left a boulder from his pocket on the cliff where he’d been watching for ships.” Carys nodded to the hills beyond the bay. A large boulder perched nearby as though placed just for her story. “And his footprint created a lovely beach.”
“Did he find her?” Eislyn asked.
“He waded across the sea, dragging an entire fleet of ships behind him, and found her alone in her tower,” Carys said. “’Twas not long before Branwen settled into her new home, with Brân’s help, and she lived there happily for the rest of her days. Of course, her brother visited often.”
Eislyn clapped her hands. “I like that story. Tell us another.”
Movement on the beach caught Carys’s attention. She rose, motioning for the children to remain seated. “I will tell ye another when I return. Here is a lad with yer supper. I must speak with Brody.”
Carys slipped away, flinching at the anxious gazes between her shoulder blades as she turned her back on the children. Her attention riveted on the beach where the men, calm and watchful a moment before, drew together, a burr of noise drifting to the ship.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Birk halted just inside the longhouse door, giving his eyes a chance to adjust to the gloom. A double row of posts ran the length of the building, benches draped with sheep skin set between the pillars. The center aisle held two fire hearths lined with stones, the fires banked to embers. Smoke drifted up and disappeared through small openings in the thatched roof.
The outer aisles appeared empty until Birk’s vision adjusted and he saw the women and children huddled at the far end. A door at the far wall stood slightly ajar, admitting sunlight—and an escape.
Simple lamps of hollowed stone filled with oil and a wick of twisted fibers sat upon a few benches. A woman hastily lit them, creating a surprising amount of light. The two Norsemen guided Haldor to a bench near one of the hearths. Two women lit more lamps, setting them close to Haldor’s still form.
A woman, her fur-trimmed cloak announcing her prominence in the clan, streaks of silver in her bound hair betraying her age, approached Haldor. Her gaze searched his body, moving slowly, her fingers fluttering as though afraid to touch him. Hanna stepped to Haldor’s side and laid a palm against his cheek.
The woman shrieked. “Do not touch him, kerling! He is mine.” She rushed at Hanna, arms extended, eyes wild.
Hanna stepped to one side, grabbed the woman’s forearm, and twisted it behind her back. It took an extra shove to halt the woman’s movements, but she continued to shriek words Birk did not understand. His quick glance took in the stunned men who had entered the longhouse. Hands raised to sword hilts, angry murmurs grew. The partially open door at the rear of the building darkened as a broad-shouldered form filled the portal.
Hanna slapped the woman once, and her cries stopped as if cut with a knife. “I will pardon your grief, but I will not accept your insults.” She released the woman, pushing her into the arms of the other two. “Is there not a healer among ye? This man needs care to ensure his ribs heal properly and the blood within his chest does not putrefy.”
A woman, wizened and desiccated with the passage of time, jostled through the small crowd and dropped a leather bag onto the bench. Hanna held a consultation with her, each nodding as the healer assessed Haldor and his wounds.
Tension swirled through the room, rank with anger and fear. Birk flexed his fist, but took care not to reach for his sword. The man at the door stepped into the long room, advancing quickly to Haldor’s side. He halted beside the bench and peered o
ver the healer’s shoulder, his gaze falling on the large dark bruise over Haldor’s ribs. His breath caught on an inhale, but he quickly faced Birk.
“He attacked your ship?”
Hanna’s body jerked and she stumbled to her feet, her face pale even in the lamplight. Birk stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her gaze fixed on the man beside the healer.
“Aye,” Birk replied. “We were chased out of the Sound of Luing and fled south. I dinnae know whose ship that was, for it cracked upon the rocks near the witch’s cauldron.”
The man’s eyebrows rose.
Birk shrugged. “Haldor,” he continued, motioning to the man on the bench with a nod of his head, “and his ship awaited us on the far side of the Corryvreckan.”
Silence fell in the longhouse. Haldor moaned softly. The older man jutted his chin.
“Ye could have consigned him to Rán’s net. None would have blamed ye.”
Birk grunted agreement. “We sent many to the bottom of the sea, but Hanna,” he nodded at her, “insisted we bring this one to ye.”
The man narrowed his eyes and adjusted his gaze to include Hanna. “Why would she wish to save this man?”
Hanna lifted her chin. “He is my grandson.”
He stared at her, face slack, stricken. “He is my son.”
* * *
Carys breathed easier as the doors to the longhouse opened and Birk and Hanna stepped into the open. A man appeared at Hanna’s side, lacking Birk’s height, but matching him for breadth of shoulder. The three spoke among themselves, then strode to the beach.
The MacLeans boarded the small boat, the same MacLean soldiers returning with Hanna and Birk as had left more than an hour earlier, reassuring Carys further. A few minutes later, they bumped gently against the Már’s hull. One by one they climbed the rope ladder to the deck, and she searched their faces for any indication of what had occurred in the longhouse. The few who caught her eye smiled briefly and shook their heads, leaving her to look to Hanna and Birk for answers.
Hanna spoke briefly to Kern who nodded and entered the cabin. Her shoulders lifted and fell as she drew a deep breath, then turned, favoring Carys and the children with a soft smile. Stepping away from the rail, she gathered the children to her.
“I am remaining here for a short time,” she said, smoothing a curl from Abria’s face.
Alarm raced through Carys. Ransom? She shook her head. Birk would never allow it and the Norse were not positioned to ensure Hanna’s return to the beach.
The girls whimpered and Tully frowned. Hanna hugged each one.
“Many years ago, I was told my son,” she glanced at Birk, “older than your father, had died.”
Abria tilted her head. “Older than Da?”
Hanna smiled, though pain shadowed her eyes. “Aye. Older than your da, older than Auntie Gillian, though younger than Auntie Signy.” She sighed. “I just discovered he lives here, and I wish to spend a bit of time with him. I will be home with ye soon.”
“Is the pirate still our uncle?” Eislyn asked.
“Aye, though they may not be pirates much longer.”
Eislyn frowned, clearly still not certain what to do with the idea of a pirate in the family.
Kern approached, Hanna’s bag in his hand. She nodded.
“I want a hug and a kiss from each of ye,” she instructed, “and a solemn promise ye will strive to be good children and do as Carys and your da ask.” She tapped Eislyn’s nose. “I will know if ye do not.”
With a clamor of reassurances mixed with pleas for Hanna not to go, Abria and Eislyn threw themselves against Hanna. Tully hesitated, then stepped close, placing a palm on Hanna’s shoulder. She caught his wrist and gently pulled him into the embrace.
Carys’s throat constricted as tears sprang to her eyes. Joy for the return of Hanna’s son and the unexpected boon of a grandson, tempered with sadness to lose the wise, caring woman who had befriended her. She consoled herself with the knowledge Hanna would return to Morvern at some point, and managed an understanding smile when Hanna at last rose to her feet.
Hanna dropped a final kiss to each child’s head then accepted her bag from Kern. Stepping away from the children, she motioned Carys to her side.
Together, they strolled to the rail.
Hanna cupped Carys’s chin in her palm, her gaze earnest.
“I will miss ye,” she said. “But I am lighter of heart to know I leave my son and my grandchildren in good hands.” She dropped her hand and peered over her shoulder where Birk awaited.
“Especially my son. No matter the manner in which he wed ye, his choice was a good one. Ye have brought a light to his eyes I never thought to see again, Carys. For that, I will be ever grateful.”
Carys swallowed and tilted her head, one corner of her lips twitching upward against the pain of farewell. “Mayhap ye mistake light for the heat of frustration,” she quipped, uncomfortable with the praise.
Hanna laughed softly. “Mayhap. Yet I see also a light of love and of pride in ye. He has always needed a strong woman at his side, and I will pray daily he not vex ye beyond endurance.”
“I will take him beyond the practice field and remind him why he chose me,” Carys said, finding her balance once again.
Hanna’s eyes twinkled. “He told me ye bested him once,” she confided. “He will not forget.”
She wrapped her arms about Carys and Carys hugged her fiercely. “I will care for the girls. They are no less precious for not being born to me.”
“I know. Ye will be a good ma to them.”
Birk stepped close and Hanna and Carys moved apart. Hanna shifted her gaze from Carys to Birk. “I expect to receive word of a bairn soon.” Her raised eyebrow lent a seriousness to her words.
“Ye will return in time to welcome him or her into the world.” Birk’s low voice betrayed his emotion at leaving Hanna behind. “And I will strive to not vex my wife into picking up arms against me . . . again.”
“Ye are a good man, Birk MacLean. Ye have not heard it enough, but yer da was ever proud of ye.”
The muscle along Birk’s jaw leaped. He folded Hanna into a tight embrace. “If ye dinnae feel safe, wanted, loved, send word. I will have Captain Aklen visit from time to time. I will expect to hear from ye.” He released her reluctantly.
“He is my brother.” A hint of awe touched his voice.
Hanna’s smile lit her eyes. “Aye.”
With a final wave to the children, Hanna stepped carefully to the ladder and disappeared over the side of the ship. Breaking their solemn huddle, Eislyn and Abria rushed to the rail, standing on tiptoes to watch as Hanna reached the boat and was rowed to shore.
* * *
The MacLean standard flew atop the castle, visible even from the mouth of Loch Aline, announcing the impending arrival of Baron MacLean. Carys leaned against Birk, his arm about her waist, rocking gently with the swell of the tide as the Már approached the dock. The beat of his heart thudded beneath her ear, the rumble of his voice a pleasurable hum.
“Sten and I will meet again soon. I mean to offer him a position in MacLean Shipping.”
He hesitated as if seeking Carys’s approval. She nodded. “’Twould give him purpose beyond hating Scots and pirating. And ’twould put his seamanship to good use. He was surprised to learn Hanna lived?”
“Aye. They will have much to discuss. I know little beyond what he disclosed in the short time I was ashore, but it seems when his home was raided, he and the two lads guarding the longhouse were captured before it was burned to the ground. Having little use for three angry Norse lads, the Scots’ leader sold them to a passing merchant and they lived the next ten years as slaves in Italy.
“He escaped and eventually returned to Islay where others who once were loyal to Norway secretly defied Scottish rule. MacDonald is Lord of the Isles, and has allied with King Alexander, yet turns a blind eye on those disgruntled with Scotland’s rule. I cannae say he encourages the piracy, yet he does n
aught about it.”
“Your plan to welcome Sten and Haldor into the family and give them honest work may succeed where punishment would fail. Thank ye for choosing this path.”
Birk snorted. “After chasing pirates from my land these past few years, I would be justified in sending them all to Rán’s net.”
“Where?”
“Rán is the Norse goddess of the sea. She seeks to draw men into her net. To give someone to her net means to drown them.” Birk grunted. “It tweaks my sense of justice to allow those who pick up arms against me to live.”
“Yet ’tis what your da did when he brought an angry Norsewoman into his keep and made her his wife. Ye have both sown the seeds of peace. Hanna is right. Your da would be proud of the man ye’ve become.”
Birk turned her to face him.
“It appears Colin Dubh was one of the few pirates who was not Norse, and they roamed the shores and inland more than the seas. The men who followed him were drawn to murder as well as plunder. It seems my people owe ye much, Carys.”
“Are they not my people as well?”
“Ye protected MacLeans who were strangers to ye when ye killed Colin Dubh.”
“Not true. I knew Fergus, Lorna and Gorrie, and had met a few others.” She shrugged. “But there was never challenge of a true fight with the black-hearted hadyn. None of the crofters stood a chance against Colin Dubh and his men. ’Twas naught more than murderous evil. They readily killed those who were unable to protect themselves.”
Birk sighed. “I wish to raise my sons in peace.”
Carys tilted her head. “Ye are woefully behind on ensuring sons, my lord,” she teased. “There has been no privacy or intimacy between us in almost a sennight.”
He kissed her forehead. “A dire situation indeed. I will see it remedied this night.”
Carys’s body hummed with satisfaction—and happiness.
The ship slid gently against the dock and the children squealed with excitement. Accepting the cue, Carys leaned closer into Birk before taking her place at the rail, ever watchful over her small charges. They climbed happily into the small cart prepared for them. Carys chose to walk beside the cart, grateful for the chance to stretch her legs after the long days aboard ship. Birk strolled at her side, one hand in hers. MacLean soldiers fanned about them, providing protection on the bustling streets.