“Decorum, ye say?” Hamish felt all eyes on him as he pushed his untouched food away and rose to his feet. He, too, had slept little over the past three days and eaten even less. His goblet, however, had rarely been empty. The steady flow of ale through his veins had helped dull the sharp edges of a truth he was not quite ready to face. It had also loosened his grip on his temper.
He tugged down on his tunic, turned, and hoisted Bertrand to his feet by his collar. The Frenchman squawked with obvious rage. “How dare you! Release me at—”
“Decorum?” Teeth bared, Hamish pulled the man closer. “Ye dare speak tae me of decorum after ye sat yer whiny arse down at my right side just now without by or leave? No ‘good mornin’, Laird MacRoth’ or ‘I hope ye slept well, Laird MacRoth’. In Scotland, we tend tae be a wee bit more respectful tae those who feed and house us. Do I make m’self clear? If ye dinna like yer room, ye are welcome tae bed yerself down in the stable with—”
“Laird MacRoth!” Rob’s shout sliced though Hamish’s tirade. “Ye are wanted outside, right away.”
Chest heaving, Hamish glanced over to where Rob stood on the threshold. “Och, what a pity, Sir Bertrand. It seems we’ll have tae finish our wee discussion later.” He summoned up a stiff smile and released the man. “In the meantime, feel free tae take a seat at m’table and enjoy yer luncheon.”
“Ye really dinna like the man, do ye?” Rob asked, as both men headed out to the courtyard. “Givin’ him the haunted chamber, as well. ’Tis no wonder he has no’ slept.”
“Perhaps I should no’ be so hard on the fellow.” Hamish grimaced. “Nay, bollocks tae that. I canna abide the man. What’s the urgency?”
“Three of our searchers just rode in.”
“And? Do they have anythin’ tae report?”
“Aye, they do.” Rob gave a bitter smile. “But there’s no way of tellin’ if it was connected tae yer daughter’s missin’ ship.”
Bile rose up in Hamish’s throat as he stepped out beneath gray skies. His nostrils flared as they met the scent of the sea and his tongue tasted salt. The dull weather and bleakness of the surrounding landscape seemed to reflect his mood. Three of his men stood outside the stables, their expressions grave. As Hamish drew near, one of the men fidgeted, his nervousness quite evident.
“What did ye find?” Hamish asked, casting his gaze over all three while dreading their answer. “Drew, ye be the one tae speak. Dinna hold back any details, either. I must know everythin’.”
“Well, Laird, it seems a fisherman down Strathach way saw somethin’ in the water several weeks ago.” Drew cleared his throat. “He said the sea creatures had been at it, so there was no’ much remainin’, but he thinks it was a corpse. That of a man. He left it in the water. Said he was loath tae touch the thing.”
Hamish pondered, his mind reasoning against the possibility that the corpse came from the Marguerite. After all, one dead body proved nothing. It might have drifted from anywhere. “A man, ye say. Right. So, that’s it? There’s naught else?”
Drew shifted on his feet and glanced at his companions.
Hamish narrowed his eyes. “I see there is. Out with it, then.”
“Ach, I’m no’ sure it’s of any import, Laird. The auld woman’s known to be a wee bit daft.” Drew wrinkled his nose. “Her story doesna quite make sense.”
“What auld woman is that?” Hamish clenched his fists against a thrust of impatience. “And I dinna care how daft ye think she is, ye’ll tell me what she said.”
“Her name’s Aileen. Lives in the wee cottage down by the southern point, close tae the cliff edge.”
Hamish nodded. “Aye, I know who ye mean. What did she tell ye?”
“Well, she said it was back in the early spring. She canna remember exactly when, only that the weather had been shite all day. It settled later that night, so she went outside tae empty her slop bucket and claims she saw a distant light, out on the water.”
Hamish frowned. “A ship, perhaps?”
“That’s the thing,” Drew replied. “She swore it was no’ a ship. Said it looked like a wee spear o’ moonlight, just sittin’ there, on the horizon. Said she watched it for a wee while, then it vanished. Went out sudden, like a candle flame in a breeze.”
“A spear o’ moonlight?” Hamish rubbed his neck. “’Tis likely what it was, then.”
“I said the same thing, but she said nay. Said she’d never seen the like afore, which is why she remembered it.”
True enough, it made no sense. Hamish sighed as his hope subsided. “Och, well, I suppose it was worth a try.”
“Aye, but I’m no’ finished. There’s somethin’ else I should likely tell ye.” Drew cleared his throat again. “I asked the auld lass tae point tae the spot where she’d seen this light.”
“Aye? And?”
“She did so right away.”
Hamish scowled. “Speakin’ o’ points, laddie, how about ye make one?”
Drew fidgeted. “She pointed straight tae where the sacred isle rises from the sea. She pointed tae Eilean Gheata.”
Hamish’s scowl deepened as he summoned up the image the woman had described. A memory stirred in the depths of his mind. Was it a passage he’d read? Or a story his father once told him? He looked toward the horizon, where Eilean Gheata sat hidden behind a gray haze and wondered, once again, about its sole occupant.
“When did we last see Ninian?” Rob asked, obviously steering his thoughts onto the same path. “It’s been a few weeks, no?”
“Aye.” Hamish scratched his jaw. “I’d planned tae visit him a couple o’ days back, but with everythin’ that’s happened…” He turned back to the men. “Are ye up fer another wee jaunt today?”
“Tae yon isle?” Drew nodded, as did the other men. “Aye, nae problem Laird.”
“Good. Tell Jacob tae ready the horses.” Hamish spun on his heel. “I’ll be back in a while.”
“Will ye be takin’ Falchion?” Rob asked.
Hamish paused. “Nay, I dinna think so. He’s a bit skittish yet. Have Jacob saddle auld Broc this time.”
“Right ye are,” Rob replied. “Am I included in this venture?”
Hamish shook his head. “I need ye here tae keep an eye on things, one of them bein’ our French guest.”
Rob grunted. “I was afraid ye’d say that.”
“Well, try not tae strangle the man. And make sure he doesna see the direction we take.”
Hamish hurried to his chamber, strapped on his sword, pulled on his riding boots, and grabbed his mantle. As he descended the stairs, he silently cursed the constant throb in his skull, put there by too much ale and too little sleep. Although his heart still ached for Isabeau and Giselle, he now tussled with another worry. Ninian might have fallen ill or injured himself. Or worse.
Hamish fingered the ring, berating himself for his inattention. Then he sought out more positive reasoning and placated himself. Ninian had been hale and hearty the last time he’d visited Caisteal MacRoth. Hamish had been preoccupied lately, while Ninian lived in a constant state of preoccupation. The old man was likely fine. Time had simply slid by unnoticed. But what of the strange light? Hamish shook his head, still bothered by a shadowed impression at the back of his mind.
“Where are you going, Laird MacRoth?” Bertrand’s question barged into his thoughts. The man stood in the hallway, frowning as his gaze swept over Hamish. “Have the men returned? Do you have news?”
Hamish cursed inwardly, collecting his patience as he sidestepped the Frenchman and headed for the door. “I doubt it has aught tae do with the ship, Sir Bertrand.”
“So, you have heard something!” Bertrand caught up to him. “Tell me what it is. I should like to judge for myself whether your cynical assessment of it is correct.”
The skies had cleared at little. Hamish gave them a cursory glance as he strode across the cobbles to where his men, already mounted, awaited. “I dinna have time tae explain right now.”
“But, Lair
d MacRoth, I surely have a right to know. I am, after all, representing Lady Giselle’s uncle. Her disappearance has affected him deeply.”
Hamish took the reins from Jacob and hoisted himself into the saddle. He looked down at Bertrand and imagined Henri de Courtenay standing there instead. His dismissiveness faltered and he cleared his throat.
“It seems a strange light was seen out on the water several weeks ago, close tae a distant isle. We dinna know what it was, or if it’s connected tae the missin’ ship, but it merits an investigation. We’re headin’ out there tae take a look around.”
“A strange light?” Bertrand looked puzzled. “What was strange about it?”
“Like I said, I dinna have time tae explain everythin’ right now.” Hamish turned his horse toward the gatehouse. “And as I told ye, I’m close tae certain it has naught tae do with the Marguerite.”
“Even so, I insist on coming with you,” Bertrand said, glancing about. “Surely you have a spare mount?”
“Nay, I regret I must ask ye tae wait here and beg yer patience.”
“Dinna worry, Laird,” Rob said, with feigned cheeriness. “I’ll take good care of yer guest.”
Hamish nodded to his men, who fell in beside him as he urged his horse toward the gatehouse.
Chapter 15
Returning from feeding the goats, Giselle stood in the doorway and watched Luc carve another notch into the piece of wood that served as his calendar. It had been part of the tree he’d cut down weeks before – a portion of what remained after he’d created the pell and carved himself a training sword. The rest of the wood, too fresh to burn, had been chopped and stored in the shed to dry. This, his makeshift calendar, he kept propped by the door.
“Fifty-six days,” he said, sliding off the stool and brushing specks of sawdust from his breeches. “Or eight weeks, if you prefer.” He looked up at Giselle and gave her a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He’d been subdued for the last while and Giselle knew why. With each day that passed, their future became more uncertain.
Little remained of the dried meat and fish. The oats, too, were almost gone, although they still had eggs and milk. Bella was a good producer and now appeared to be carrying a kid. But Heaven forbid the animals should fall sick.
“It seems longer.” Giselle leaned against the doorframe. “I feel so sorry for Henri. By now, he’ll believe me lost for sure and blame himself.”
Luc set his knife down and propped the calendar against the wall. “I have hope we may yet be found. As much as time works against us, it also works for us. Someone out there knows Ninian. Knows he’s here. Or was here. One day they’ll show up, looking for him.”
“I still think you should try to build the raft.”
He groaned. “Don’t start, Giselle. We’ve been through this.”
“I know.” She cocked her head at him. “As I recall, it was a rather nice thing to go through.”
His mouth quirked. “Brazen wench.”
He picked up a small, flat stone from the table, grabbed his sword and returned to his stool. Balancing the weapon across his thigh, and with a smooth, steady stroke, he set about sharpening the blade edge.
“Now you know what it was like at Dieudonné,” she said.
Luc’s hand paused on the blade. He lifted his head, regarding her through narrowed eyes. “What do you mean?”
Giselle shrugged. “Despite certain freedoms, we are captive on this isle. Unable to wander beyond its boundaries. Growing up, I was similarly restricted.”
“Do you miss it?”
“You’ve asked me that before. The answer is still no, although I do miss Mama, of course.”
“So, you have no desire to return there?”
“None.” She frowned. “Why would you ask me that?”
“No reason.” Luc sighed and bent to his task again.
Giselle sensed his inner conflict and assumed to understand it. Each passing day raised more questions about what lay ahead. Luc was not alone in his concerns. The unpredictability of their future tormented her, too, although perhaps for different reasons.
She shrugged off a sudden twinge of nausea and diverted her thoughts elsewhere. Maybe that’s what Luc needed – a diversion. Besides, may God grant her strength, she had something to tell him.
“The skies are clearing,” she said. “I’m going to visit Ninian and then take a walk to the stones. Will you come with me?”
Without breaking the steady rhythm of his work, Luc raised his head a fraction and gave her a brief smile. “Not today. Once I’ve finished this, I have to cut some fresh peat. We’re running low.”
“Oh. Then in that case I’ll stay and help you.”
“No need,” he said. “I can manage. Go take your walk.”
His dismissive response, while gently expressed, rattled her. She hesitated over a reply. “If you’re sure,” she said at last, hugging herself. The continued scrape of stone on steel was the only response.
Suppressing a sigh, she turned away, left the house, and started down the path, her gaze drifting to the distant hill with its mysterious stones. To her surprise, the circle lay hidden behind a cloud of mist. Baffled, Giselle glanced about, raising her chin to the fresh breeze that brushed loose strands of hair from her face. The sea looked like tarnished silver, waves shadowed here and there by thinning patches of clouds that skittered across the sky. On the horizon, the coastline of Scotland appeared as a faint purple shadow.
A cool tingle brushed across the nape of Giselle’s neck as she switched her gaze back to the hill. The mist seemed out of place. An impossibility, even, given the briskness of the breeze.
Her stride slowed and she glanced back at the house, wondering if she should tell Luc about the curious phenomenon. Undecided, she turned toward the hill again, only to stumble to a halt, pinned to the spot by a spear of absolute shock.
Coming toward her, on foot, were four large men. Giselle’s hand flew to her mouth, her benumbed brain struggling to make sense of what her eyes beheld.
For sure, these were neither sea-merchants nor fishermen. Each wore a similar mantle of wool, woven with the same multihued pattern of blues and greens. Sword hilts protruded from leather scabbards. Their long hair and unshaven jaws gave them a somewhat wild appearance. Who were they? Should they be welcomed or feared? At the sight of Giselle, one of them raised his hand, and they halted their approach.
That same man, the largest and most striking of the four, stepped forward. Thick, chestnut hair, glinting with red and silver threads, tumbled to his shoulders. A large, golden clasp, fastened over his heart, held his mantle in place. Their leader, it seemed.
His hand settled on his sword hilt and Giselle shivered, discerning the undeniable power of his presence. Brows knitted, his questioning gaze swept her from head to toe before finally settling on her face. Then, in a deep, calm voice, he addressed her in a language she recognized as the one used by Ninian, although she understood not a word of it. Still, the man’s attempt to communicate snapped her out of her paralytic state. She dropped her hand from her mouth and took a step back. The man’s eyes narrowed.
“De ye understand me now?” he said, his words heavily accented. Giselle gasped. “Aye,” he continued, “I see that ye do. What’s yer name, lass? And how did ye come tae be here?”
She shook her head, took another step back, and at last found some semblance of a voice. “Luc!”
It came out as a high-pitched wail.
“Luc, ye say?” The man matched her step, his longer stride bringing him to within an arm’s length. “By all the gods, ’tis an odd name fer a lass, that.”
With the speed of a striking snake, he snatched at her arm and jerked her against him. Giselle squealed and pushed at his chest. A stone wall might have offered less resistance. “Let me go!”
“Och, now, be still,” he said, his voice soft against her ear. “There’s naught tae fear. I swear I’ll no’ harm ye. ’Tis merely a precaution against the man wh
o, I reckon, is about tae come hurtlin’ out yon door.”
A heartbeat later, Luc flew from the house, sword raised. He slid to a halt as his gaze fell upon the men, who had simultaneously drawn their weapons. Fury twisted his expression at the sight of Giselle in the stranger’s grasp.
“Release her!” The sword twirled in his hand. “Take your hands off her. Now.”
The stranger raised a brow and said something to his companions over his shoulder. They lowered their blades.
“Luc, I presume?” The man assumed a contrite expression. “Unfortunately, Luc, there’s a wee problem with yer demand. See, I dinna believe ye are in a position tae actually make it at this particular moment. I’ll let the lass go once my questions have been answered tae my satisfaction. We’ve nae intent tae hurt anyone, but in case ye were thinkin’ of being a hero, ye should know these three beasts at my back are all highly skilled swordsmen. So, we can do this in a nice, civilized manner or arrive at a mutual understandin’ the hard way. I’ll at least grant ye the privilege of makin’ a choice.”
Luc, chest heaving, appeared to ponder for a moment and then lowered his blade. “Release the girl to me and I’ll answer your questions.”
The man grunted. “Nay, ye’ll answer them now. I want tae know what ye’re doin’ here and why ye seem tae be the only ones occupyin’ this wee house. Where is Ninian and why has he no’ come tae his door?”
Giselle’s heart plummeted. She realized how it must look. Two strangers in Ninian’s house, with Ninian nowhere in sight. She exchanged a nervous glance with Luc.
“I dinna like yer silence, Luc.” The man cocked his head and fingered his sword hilt. “I dinna like the look on yer face, either. Have ye done the man some harm?”
“Nay.” Luc shook his head. “I swear before God, we did the man no harm at all. Ninian had an accident. We tried to save him, but—”
“Save him?” The man frowned. “Save him from what? What are ye tellin’ me?”
“’Tis apparent the man was well known to you,” Luc said. “Tis with regret, then, I must tell you that Ninian died several weeks ago.”
Isolated Hearts (Legends of Love Book 2) Page 17