“I am most certainly not marrying ye,” Mairi said. “I’m marrying Geoff MacInnes or I’m…” She stopped in mid sputter, her bouquet clutched in her hands, smashed against the saddle horn. “Or I’m raising kittens.” Her last words came in a near shout, prompting Kenneth to toss him a clean rag.
Alec tried to ignore the soft floral scent coming from her skin and the roses in her hair as he pulled her back to work the rag between her lips. “Then until ye wed me, ye are my prisoner,” he said. Mairi fought back with her rose bouquet that had become a thorny mace, twisting to glare at him as she hit him about the head.
“She’s a right vicious lady,” Kenneth said with the hint of a grin and reached over to yank the bouquet from her hand, tossing it far back into a briar patch. “She drew your blood.” He brushed his own cheek to show Alec where a thorn had stung him.
“The hounds are following,” Alec’s best friend, Ian MacLeod said from up ahead where the dogs dodged the horses.
“MacInnes had them tied in the yard without provisions. I can see their bones and the smaller one has welts on her back. He deserves to lose them,” he said, tightening his hold on the slippery woman before him. He leaned closer. “If ye don’t sit still, I’ll tie ye, stomach down, across the saddle. I’d rather not see Sköll kick your bonny head when he gallops.”
Mairi didn’t seem to care if she were kicked in the head or not, and he had to tighten his hold on her. Alec pressed forward in the saddle, making Sköll pick up his speed in a smooth canter through the green forest, quite different from the treeless, rolling landscape of Barra Isle. The multitude of tracks from wedding guests would hide their own in the soft loam.
The four of them made swift time to the shore where two other MacNeils waited with the ferry that would take them out to the anchored three-masted Sea Wolf. Living on a distant island, surrounded by the angry North Atlantic, required at least one swift, strong vessel that could carry horses, men, and cargo, such as a twisting she-serpent. Alec had two galleons.
If it hadn’t been urgent to board before the wedding guests followed, he’d have stopped to tie her hands together. Luckily, years of training with heavy weapons against bloodthirsty raiders had given him the agility and strength to deal with one surprisingly fierce female who smelled of roses. He snorted, yanking a short rope from his belt to wrap around her hands. “Cease, woman,” he ordered. She glared back, pulling in air through her pert nose. Maybe she couldn’t breathe easily. He untied the gag.
“Ye free dogs, but bind women?” she asked, inhaling deep draughts of air.
“Aye on the dogs. Not usually on the women,” he answered, hauling her down off the horse.
“More dogs?” the leader of his oarsmen, Daniel, called as the three hounds followed the horses on board the ferry to their ship.
“They chose to follow,” Alec said.
“Unlike me, ye bloody beast,” Mairi spat as he pulled her with him toward the bow of the small vessel, giving the three horses and dogs more room.
The oarsmen, loyal warriors from Barra, wore frowns. Revenge was grim work. They picked up a rhythm, slicing through the waves toward the Sea Wolf, the sturdy sails ready to rise as soon as they boarded. If their luck continued, the MacInnes would wait for a good while, thinking the bride merely delayed, before seeking her out and finding their man asleep with a bump on his head. Alec’s jaw relaxed, the tension lessening across his shoulders just thinking of the surprise the new MacInnes chief would suffer when he realized his bride was gone. And what a lovely bride at that.
Alec glanced at the proud woman leaning forward at the rail, her chin tipped upward, face into the sea wind. Even with his enemy dead, retribution felt satisfying. “An eye for an eye,” he murmured, looking back out toward the low hump of land in the far distance. A bride for a bride.
…
Mairi pressed against the hull of the large sailing ship where she sat, watching the crew lead the horses and dogs off. The three-hour sail across the Atlantic had been cold despite the summer month, and she huddled out of the wind, arms wrapped around her knees. Luckily the wedding costume had many layers, so only her arms had suffered. She’d refused the blanket the MacNeil arsehole had offered her.
“Time to go,” Alec said as he strode up to her.
“Go where?”
He stared down at her, his legs braced like a man used to the feel of a ship beneath his feet. “That depends on ye.”
She pushed all the mix of annoyance and fury and discomfort she felt into one slicing glare. Yet he didn’t look away, which just made her angrier. She pulled back her lips to speak through her teeth. “I. Will. Not. Marry. Ye.”
His one brow rose as if he were humored. “Then ye go to the dungeon. Either ye can walk off my ship with dignity, or I can throw ye over my shoulder. ’Tis your choice, lass.”
“Ye son of a pock-marked whore.”
“So, ye’ve met my mother? She goes by Sister Muriel of Iona Abbey now.” They stared at each other for several heartbeats. “Ye choose over the shoulder then,” he said and took a step toward her.
“Don’t touch me,” Mairi said and propelled herself upward, her hands still bound.
The sardonic grin that had lurked around his lips faded. “Unlike some Highland chiefs, I don’t touch a lass without her consent.” He pivoted and walked toward the gangplank.
With a huff, Mairi followed, stepping gingerly down the plank, trying not to fall into the sea. The island they were tethered to must have deep water frontage for a ship this size to moor right to it. She glanced outward at a village across the water. Thatched cottages ran along a road that snaked away into gently rolling hills.
She followed Alec MacNeil along the rocky path that ran beside the massive castle wall jutting high into the sky. Green moss grew in the gray rocks stacked upward. Seaweed wavered just under the water where white barnacles pocked the rocks. A prickle of deep unease spread across her upper back and shoulders. “Where am I?” she asked.
“Your new home, Mairi MacInnes,” Alec said and stopped before a barred door that swung inward. “Kisimul Castle.”
The name dropped like a boulder into her stomach, and she turned back to the sea before her. Kisimul Castle. The only stronghold in Scotland never to have been breached because of its situation on a rock island in the middle of Castle Bay off the Isle of Barra. The massive fortress had its own fresh water well dug down through the center. Water and vast stores of food made the castle immune to sieges. Surrounded by ocean, Kisimul was truly an unbreachable prison.
He waited until she turned back to him. “Have ye changed your mind? We can go above if ye consent to wed,” he said.
“Never,” Mairi said, swallowing as she neared the door opening through the rock wall on the back of the castle. A shield, emblazoned with a wolf’s head, sat mounted over it, lips pulled back in a toothy snarl. Her heart thudded hard as she ducked under the low door arch into the dark corridor. Ever since her entrapment, during her first disastrous marriage at Kilchoan, tight spaces had become nightmarish.
She forced herself to breathe evenly. Kisimul Castle had been erected nearly a century ago, withstanding strong Atlantic storms without toppling. Surely the rocks above her head would stay put. They stopped before a barred cell, and Alec opened the hinged door. “Your chambers.”
She walked inside, and he locked it. “Will ye starve me then? Leaving me bound and without a way to protect myself? Withholding water until I either die or agree to your terms?”
The wry grin came back to curve his lips. “Ye know very little about me, lass.” He slid a dirk from his boot. With a flick of his hand, the blade flew between the bars to stab into a dirty pallet on the floor. He raised his chin toward the small barred window cut into the stone at the back. “If ye change your mind and wish to come above, call through the window. Someone will alert me.”
Her glare made it quite clear that she would never call for him through the bloody window. She turned her back to him and w
aited until she heard his boots clip away. As soon as the door closed, Mairi hurried to the pallet. With the blade’s tip held firmly, she sawed the rope across the upper blade until the strands snapped, freeing her hands. She rubbed her wrists as her gaze explored the small room. No vermin droppings littered the floor, thank the good Lord. The pallet was stained but didn’t look wet. There was a privy hole in the corner and a chipped pitcher on a washing stand, bone-dry empty.
Mairi stood on tiptoe to see through the bars of the window. The opening was too small to allow her to pass even if she could get the bars off. Fingers curled around the iron, she held herself up to see a small courtyard, a blooming rosebush to one side. Summer grass flanked a pebbled path. At the far end, the three dogs that MacNeil had stolen from Kilchoan lapped at a bowl of food. Had the small one really been beaten like he told his man? Were the dogs Geoff’s? Maybe a wedding guest had brought them along for the celebratory hunts afterward.
Footsteps on the pebbles made Mairi look to the far right where a boy walked. From his height, he looked to be about seven or eight years old. He kept close to the wall until he reached her window and knelt before it. The whisper of a gasp came from him when he realized she was staring back, only a foot away.
He blinked but didn’t move away. “I am supposed to hate ye,” he said after long seconds, sounding gruffer than his years warranted.
“Considering that ye are out there and I am trapped in here,” Mairi said. “I guess that I’m supposed to hate ye, too.”
His eyes opened wider, and he studied her.
“I am Mairi Maclean.”
“Liar,” he said. “Ye are Mairi MacInnes, widow to Fergus MacInnes.”
“I have no loyalty to the MacInnes. When my husband was killed, I returned to Aros and took my family name again.”
“Liar,” he repeated with a petulant frown. “If ye aren’t loyal to the MacInnes, why were ye about to marry another one?”
She opened her mouth to retort but realized she had no answer except that Geoff had asked her, which would make no sense to the child. “’Twas for strategy,” she finally said. “Ye know my name. What’s yours?”
The stubborn way the boy held his mouth, and the gray-blue in his eyes, made her think of Alec MacNeil. “Are ye his son? The man who stole me away?” she asked.
“I am Weylyn MacNeil,” he said and narrowed his eyes. “Weylyn means son of the wolf.”
“Ye best get along, before your father finds ye conversing with the enemy.”
The boy sat back on his heels, looking over his shoulder toward the dogs. “Ye aren’t his enemy,” Weylyn said. He looked back at her before standing. “Ye’re his prize.”
“Weylyn,” called a man as he walked into the courtyard, making the lad jump to his feet. “Come meet three new hounds. Your father wants ye to check them over.”
The boy ran toward the dogs who were still licking the bowls. Mairi watched as he let each one smell his hands before running his fingers over their bodies like Mairi had seen her mother do when assessing a new patient. He spoke to the man called Ian, shaking his head, brown hair sticking out at odd angles. Did he have no mother or nurse to comb his wild hair?
Behind Mairi something clanged against the bars. She turned to see a girl, a bit older than the boy. She’d threaded a cup and wrapped cloth through the bars. “There’s food and drink for ye,” she said.
The girl was pretty and had the same features as the boy. Another of MacNeil’s children? The girl frowned as she looked about the cell. “I’ll bring ye a blanket.” Turning, she traipsed off. Mairi picked up the small sack that held cheese, an apple, and smoked meat. She sniffed the cup and then swallowed the watered-down ale. Och, it tasted wonderful after her deep thirst.
Running back with a folded blanket in her arms, the girl stopped short of the bars. Cautiously she pushed the woven wool through.
“I am Mairi Maclean.”
“Ye are Mairi MacInnes,” the girl replied. Good God, not again.
Mairi picked up the blanket, shaking it out, and wrapped it around her shoulders. The cell was dank and cold. “Thank ye,” Mairi said with a nod. “And who are ye?”
“Cinnia MacNeil.”
“And does your father know ye’re down here?”
“Aye. I’m ordered to care for ye like my brother takes care of the new hounds.”
Mairi bit into the juicy apple. It wasn’t a spiced wedding cake, but it was delicious. “Do ye have a nurse in the castle, a lady to care for ye?”
The girl’s pretty face paled, her thin brows lowering. “Not since my mother died and her maid left.”
Mairi lowered the apple from her lips. “I am sorry, about your mother.” Mairi had been very fortunate to grow up with both of her parents. Her mother, Joan, was still vastly important to her life. What must she be thinking right now with her only daughter missing?
Without another word, the girl ran back up the corridor, leaving Mairi alone. The children knew why she was here, maybe even why their father had stolen her away from Kilchoan with the ludicrous order to marry him. He didn’t even know her. All she knew about him was that he was kind to dogs, and despite her fighting against him, he hadn’t bruised her. Already he was more honorable than her dead husband and his lecherous son.
Mairi finished her meal and wrapped herself up in the blanket. She would close her eyes and imagine she was outside instead of swallowed up in the monstrous rocks surrounding her. Darkness grew, and she slept fitfully on the lumpy pallet. Dreams of being chased kept her tossing, the devilishly handsome face of Alec MacNeil growing closer until she slowed and let him catch her.
Mairi jerked out of sleep. Something in the cell had moved. Yanking her knees under her, she pushed up, her eyes trying to penetrate the black. She blinked, but the slice of moonlight through the bars didn’t reach far, leaving dense shadows in all the corners. The darkness made the space seem smaller, and Mairi swallowed against a whimper. It was like being locked in the chest again.
Breathing rapidly, Mairi waited, listening for another clue as to what lurked nearby. It could be a rat. Were there adders on tiny islands? She clutched the sharp blade Alec had left her as the sound of an animal’s nails clicking on the cobblestone floor gave her a direction to watch.
“Go on,” came a light whisper, followed by a small growl.
Mairi stood. “Who’s there?”
Movement in the shadow by the bars shifted into the muted moonlight. It was a dog, its head and shoulders through the bars. With another shove from behind, the dog leaped all the way through, jogging right up to her. It barked once and danced around her skirts. It looked like one of Geoff’s dogs, the small, thin one that Alec claimed to have welts on its back. Footsteps thudded away up the ramp.
Following Weylyn’s example, Mairi held out a hand for the dog to sniff. It licked her fingers and shoved its head under her palm. She exhaled long. “So, ye’re of a friendly nature.” She stared through the dark where she was certain Weylyn had stood before running off. Did he think the dog would have attacked her? Or did he know the dog was kind? And warm.
“Come here.” She patted the pallet, and the dog jumped up, curling into the blanket against her. Warm indeed, its slender body heated the space nicely. It would likely also keep rats or mice away. Whether the child meant it or not, he’d offered her something forbidden to prisoners. A friend.
Chapter Three
“Ye’ve got her,” Ian MacLeod, Alec’s second-in-command and best friend said.
“And ye kissed her,” his cousin, Kenneth MacNeil said. “Which as far as I can tell, had nothing to do with the dogs.”
Alec ignored his statement. It wasn’t a question anyway, and he bloody hell didn’t have an answer to any questions regarding Mairi’s request for a kiss. She’d obviously thought he was someone else, but why would she have kissed someone other than her groom on her wedding day? Perhaps she didn’t want to wed Geoff MacInnes. Her kiss had certainly pointed toward that, how she’d
melted into him and met his lips fully. She was soft and full of curves and smelled of flowers. Like a newly sharpened claymore, she’d cut right through his discipline with her honest response and heat.
The three of them sat in the empty great hall at the long table. Cinnia had left the breakfast she’d prepared and fled to her room like she was wont to do since Joyce had died. Weylyn had grabbed a dark roll and mumbled something about seeing to the new dogs. “What are ye going to do with her?” Ian asked and drank from his ale cup, his brows lifting.
That was a question he could answer. “Make her marry me,” Alec said. “I need a new lady of Kisimul.” He ground his teeth against the burned edge of a chunk of cured ham. But he’d never complain. It would bruise his daughter’s tender heart.
“She didn’t seem too receptive to the notion,” Kenneth said with a wry grin.
“Give her a week in the dungeon, and she’ll come around,” Alec said. “A lass likes a bed and a private jakes.” He’d make certain she was fed and given warm clothes, but the lass needed to comply. Since his wife had been killed and her help had fled, the household had fallen apart. He needed a mother for his two children, and someone to direct maids and a cook. But more importantly, he needed revenge.
“Once she weds me, we will send word to her kin,” he said. “And the MacInnes.”
“She was set to marry one of them this morning,” Kenneth said. “The new chief, Geoff MacInnes. He’s not the son of Fergus MacInnes. Don’t know where that bastard, Normond, is.”
Ian snorted. “Now that’s some wolfish luck,” he said and nodded toward the large wolf crest over the cold hearth. “Catching her before she wed, else ye’d have to kill that MacInnes to make her a widow again.”
Although perhaps that would have satiated his blood lust for revenge. When Alec had discovered that Fergus MacInnes was safe from his sword, by dying before he could reach him, Alec had vowed to seek revenge against his family. But with the constant raids from the MacDonalds of South and North Uist and continual advancement of English along the mainland, Alec had been unwilling to leave Barra Isle unprotected. Even though the island was small, its white sand beaches, fertile soil, and dense game populations made it exceedingly coveted by other clans. The Lord of the Isles had deeded the isle to the MacNeil clan nearly a century before, and Alec, the Chief MacNeil of Barra, was not about to give it up.
The Wolf of Kisimul Castle (Highland Isles) Page 2