by Amy Jarecki
“Aye, but governed by the MacRaes. If they’ve had word of Janet’s escape, they’ll take us in for certain.”
Merrin touched the scarf at her neck. “Even with me mark?”
Ian’s lips thinned. “I think so—’tis worth a try, especially since it appears Rewan’s after me and not the MacKenzie.”
She knit her brows. Ian could have no idea if they’d accept her or offer sanctuary. Could he? What would they do if the MacRae turned them out? Merrin pulled Gar close and ran her fingers through his coat. How long could she keep her mark a secret in a castle filled with curious and suspicious people?
Ian marched on course due south. “We’ll stay away from the coast for a bit—to give Rewan’s galley a wide berth. Doubtless he’s left a man or two to mind it.”
“What do ye think he’ll do next?” Niall asked, following.
Ian quickened his step. “I wish I bloody knew. One thing’s for certain. We cannot underestimate him.”
***
Rewan surveyed the mess. Two men lay unconscious, their heads bleeding, bludgeoned by mere pebbles. One man lay dead with an arrow stuck in his heart, and two more were puking their guts out, complaining of stinging scratches from paltry bramble thorns.
Alick wrung his hands like a woman. “’Tis the work of the fairies for certain. Do ye ken where we are?”
Rewan frowned. He could have slipped his fingers around Alick’s thick neck and strangled the superstitious fool. This was no magic. Raasay was up to his tricks, and now he had an herbalist to help him.
“This is Fairy Glen, mark me words.” Alick pointed to the impressions in the moss where that onion-eyed varlet and his accomplices had slept. “This is the Castle of the Fairies. We should take the men out the way we came.”
“Are ye aiming to heft them on your back, then?”
Alick twisted his mouth closed.
Rewan kicked a rock. Bloody hog’s breath, his toe throbbed. “We should have sailed around to Dunvegan and asked for a lend of the chieftain’s horses. Ballocks. Leave it to conniving Raasay to find a way to slip through a half-dozen well-trained Highlanders yet again.”
Alick shrugged. “So what’s your plan?”
“We’ll hold up here until these miserable sops can walk, then we’ll sail the galley round to Dunvegan for the bloody horses—send out spies. Ian will no’ venture far with a woman and an old codger in tow.” He pointed to the dead man. “And ye can bury him while we’re waiting.”
Rewan rubbed his shoulder and winced. One of those damned stones had broken the flesh. Blood pooled on his shirt. He could kill Ian for that alone.
The one thing prickling the back of his neck was that Raasay had taken up with a healer. Though Rewan mistakenly thought Niall hailed from Brochel, the older man had a reputation for his skills with potions and tinctures, even in Stornoway. Brambles that made men puke their guts out? Rewan had no doubt wizardry was involved—and hiding in the Castle of the Fairies confirmed it.
Rewan would not succumb to sorcery of any sort. He’d find Ian MacLeod, and he vowed the bastard would not keep him from his woman much longer.
***
Cold and hungry, Merrin hoped they were going to stop and build a fire, but Ian pushed them on. By the time they reached the eastern shore, her clothing had mostly dried, but her feet were raw. The blisters burned, screaming for her to stop. She could have walked around Fladda more than a hundred times by now. If they didn’t rest soon, she’d be useless on the morrow.
Ian pointed toward the beach. “Look. A skiff.”
“Praise the good Lord.” Merrin clapped her hands and cast her gaze to the puffy clouds sailing above.
Niall patted her shoulder. “Come. There’s no time to waste.”
Though it was a small skiff, Merrin breathed a sigh of relief. At last they would be able to rest their feet whilst moving swiftly. The prospect of seeing a castle excited her. She’d keep the scarf tight and tucked into her bodice so the ends wouldn’t accidently catch on something, especially a curious person’s fingers. She’d learned her lesson at the cottage with Ian.
He unstrapped the sword from his back and placed it in the boat. “Only one oar.”
Niall clambered over the side. “’Tis better than none. We should be right if we stick to the shoreline.”
Ian helped Merrin step in and she patted the wooden bench beside her. “Gar.” In one leap the dog nuzzled next to her, tail wagging. “Ye wouldn’t complain about catching a ride, would ye, laddie?”
Ian shoved the boat into the surf, baring his teeth, face straining. Then he jumped over the side and manned the helm as if he’d never had a hole in his back. He grunted as he paddled the oar from side to side. The movement had to be causing pain, though it was no use trying to convince him to let Niall do it.
Ian paused for a moment. “Keep a look out for Rewan’s galley. It’ll be flying the Lewis pennant.”
Merrin scanned the waters around them. Her gaze stopped at her island. Fladda sat abandoned, looming off the coast of Raasay. It looked foreign from this viewpoint—nothing like the home where she’d spent her entire life.
She couldn’t see the cottage, or what was left of it. That was probably for the best. Only spindly birch and heather dotted the slope, interspersed with the occasional clump of yellow gorse.
Gar stirred, leaning his heavy body against her arm.
“Bloody miserable piece of worthless driftwood.” Niall’s venomous curse snapped Merrin from her thoughts.
Icy-cold water sloshed over the toes of her boots.
“Start bailing,” Ian shouted, rowing harder.
Merrin spread her palms. “With what?”
“Your hands.”
Niall and Merrin went to work, ladling handfuls out of the boat. Not long and her fingers went numb. She glanced at her feet. The water had risen to her ankles.
She grabbed her satchel and dumped the contents into the hull.
Niall gasped. “Our food.”
“Bloody will no’ do us any good if we capsize.”
Niall gaped at her brash use of a vulgar tongue. She’d never in all her days uttered a “bloody” before. Not once. But this desperate situation demanded far more than a mere “merciful fairy feathers.”
Merrin worked to scoop the satchel through the water and dump it overboard. Niall stopped and did the same with his satchel. They managed to keep the water from rising higher, but Merrin couldn’t maintain this pace much longer.
Ian looked directly at her. His rowing continued at the same rapid pace. “Ye’re keeping up well.”
Merrin’s heart sped—mercy, he could motivate any lass with a look. His compliment gave her renewed strength. He even smiled through gritted teeth.
“There’s no way we’ll make it past Portree before we sink.” Ian inclined his chin toward a point jutting into the sea. “We can cast ashore there where we’ll not be seen by the townsfolk.”
Niall glanced at Merrin’s neck. “Tie your scarf tight. The last thing we need is a whole village after us.”
She smoothed her hand across the woolen fabric. If only there was a better way to conceal her mark. Even Ian had grown suspicious back at the cottage when he saw her wearing the scrap of wool—who wears a scarf around their neck in July?
***
Ian’s luck couldn’t have been much worse. The elation of finding an abandoned skiff was dampened by the fact the pitch no longer sealed the boat’s seams. Merrin’s skirts were soaked clear up to her knees. The poor lass would catch her death if he didn’t find a way for her to dry out.
With any luck—forget the luck—Ian prayed it would take Rewan a good long time before he sniffed out their trail. Ian rowed the skiff onto the sand bank and helped Merrin disembark.
Niall scowled and splashed to the shore. Ian couldn’t blame him. He’d be madder than a honeybee if he took a stranger in, healed him and then lost his home in the process. If Ian could lead them to Eilean Donan, the MacKenzie would help. Right
? He prayed again. Unfortunately, he feared he hadn’t built up enough inventory of good deeds for the Holy Father to pay him much mind.
Ian latched on to the hull. “Niall, help me carry the boat into the trees. I’ll not have it sitting on the beach as if it were a waving torch for Rewan.”
Merrin pointed up the craggy bluff. “Is that a cottage?”
Ian followed her finger. “It looks like something—mayhap too small to be a cottage.”
“Let’s hope ’tis not.” Niall picked up the back end of the boat. “A shelter we could use. Meddling folk, no.”
Ian squinted through the trees. The shack certainly appeared abandoned. “Let’s heft the skiff up there. ’Tis not much further than the tree line.”
Niall’s face strained red beneath the boat’s weight, but he nodded.
The hole in Ian’s back punished him for ignoring it. He ground his teeth. The blasted useless, unseaworthy vessel weighed at least twenty-one stone.
Merrin limped ahead with Gar on her heels. She hadn’t complained, but she walked gingerly like she curled her toes inside her boots. Ian had run them both hard all day. He’d had no choice. Life was worth more than a pair of sore feet. They’d all need to swallow their aches and pains and keep going.
Ian scanned the trees. A rabbit scurrying in the shadows was the only sign of life. Merrin disappeared around the corner of the building. Derelict, stones were missing from the walls, but it had a thatched roof—in places.
Ian rested the skiff beside the shack. “We can use this for firewood.”
“Aye, if we can find an axe.”
Merrin poked her head around the wall. “It looks abandoned.”
“I’ll say.” Ian pulled a piece of rotten thatch from the sagging roof. “But it will do until we can find another boat.”
Niall kicked the skiff. “I think we might be able to patch this. I can make pitch from branches of these juniper trees.”
Ian liked the old healer more and more. He certainly had a number of skills. “Patching the seams would help. But we wouldn’t be able to outrun a galley.”
“Aye, but it would take us down the coast. Especially if we traveled at night.”
Ian couldn’t argue. “Good thinking.”
Merrin popped around the corner and tugged them both into the musty shack. Aside from moss and ferns sprouting out the dirt floor and daylight peeking through the roof, it would suffice. Mayhap they could hold up there for a day or two and repair the boat.
Niall walked to the far corner and picked up a broken clay pot. “I think I can use these larger potsherds to make the pitch.”
“Are ye going to fix the boat?” Merrin asked.
Niall reached for another piece of pottery and held it to the light. “Aye.”
Ian tapped the discarded rubbish that littered the floor with his toe. “How long do ye think it will take?”
“I need at least a day to leach out enough resin to make it worthwhile, then it’ll take three days for the pitch to set.”
“Three days? That’s madness.”
“Do ye want it to work?”
“Aye, but I do no’ want Rewan to come and slit our throats in the meantime. It only needs to take us as far as Eilean Donan. We’re no’ trying to make it seaworthy for a decade.” Ian walked to the doorway. “I’m going to find shafts and feathers for arrows and set a rabbit snare or two.”
“I’ll go with ye—I can set the snares.” Merrin patted the dog’s head. “Gar, stay.” Then she bent down and unlaced her boots.
“What are ye doing?”
“Me blisters are killing me. Anyway, I go without shoes on Fladda on sunny days. Not to worry, I’ll be better off without them.”
“Until ye tread on a thistle.”
She cast her boots aside and smiled like a mischievous sprite. “I’ll be careful.”
Ian scavenged for straight branches and feathers, trying to avoid eye contact with Merrin. He’d acted like a complete fool when he ran over the hill and saw her running toward him. It wasn’t as if they’d been separated for long, but he’d opened his arms and wrapped her in his embrace as if he’d been missing her for ages. Worse, all tension melted when she gripped his back and rested her head upon his chest. If Ruairi’s henchman hadn’t been after them, he could have easily led her to the tall grass and…Ian took a deep breath and stopped his line of thought.
Merrin should have stayed with Niall and tended her blisters. Damn. If Ian didn’t have enough to worry about, every time Merrin came within an arm’s length, her delicious feminine fragrance sent him mindless. It was as if her scent had an invisible string attached to his cock, and up it would go. Ballocks, he was hopeless around women. He had been all his life. But Merrin topped his list for most alluring and most forbidden. Mayhap that was why he couldn’t resist her. He never could buck a challenge.
He picked up a feather and slipped it into his sporran. Ten paces ahead, Merrin bent down to secure a sapling as a trigger for her snare. Her backside made a delectable sight—narrow waist, rounded hips. Ian closed his eyes and imagined her without her skirts. In the blink of an eye, he crossed the distance between them.
She stood and smiled—that beautiful, innocent, lovely grin. “I think that’ll do.”
Ian glanced down for an instant. She’d used a thong from her satchel and had the trap set just outside a rabbit hole. Ian’s hand strayed to her waist. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Me da, of course. There are plenty of rabbits on Fladda.”
She stepped into him, and Ian closed the distance. He slid his palms to her back, his gaze on her plump, raspberry-colored lips. Merrin boldly smoothed her hands up Ian’s chest.
Heaven help him, it felt good.
Before he could exhale, his cock went from somewhat flaccid to rock hard. He covered Merrin’s delicious mouth. She eagerly responded, her fingers running through the back of his hair. Her breasts brushed against his chest. Ian moaned. She pressed the full length of her body to his, sending him mad with desire.
Heaven showed him no mercy. The reckless man deep inside took over. All he had to do was lay her down on the moss and tug her skirts up around her hips. He ground his erection against her mons and rubbed from side to side. Her mouth showed Ian what she wanted with the sucking swirl of a tantalizing tongue. She couldn’t possibly know what she was doing to him. If only he could slip out from under his kilt and pull her body closer. Even with all the layers of clothing between them, she could make him come—her relentless hips were driving him to the edge of reason. His hands slid down to her buttocks and increased the pressure.
Merrin sucked in a ragged breath. “Me body aches for this.”
Oh, God, so did his. But Ian hadn’t lost his mind so much he’d forgotten Niall was nearby. And this was Merrin in his arms—she was a treasure, not a lassie to use and cast aside. What would happen once they got out of this mess with Ruairi? Ian’s duty was to stand beside his brother and support the clan. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in her soft tresses. “I mustn’t take your innocence.” The words ripped out his heart.
She rested her head just under his chin, as if the hollow right there had been designed only for that purpose. “How else am I to learn of these things?”
“It would ruin ye.”
Merrin pulled the scarf away from her neck. “Am I not ruined already? Who will love me with his?”
She had no clue of the extent of her beauty. He must make her understand. “Ah, Bana, there is so much to love. I’ve never known a woman more caring or generous.”
“But ye do no’ want me.” She released her grip. “Not like a ram wants a ewe.”
Ian tried to tug her into his embrace. “I want ye too much, but it is no’ proper. I cannot…”
Merrin backed away, her eyes filled with hurt. “Ye cannot or ye will no’?” She turned and ran for the shack, Gar pattering alongside.
Chapter Fourteen
Merrin rose early and took Gar to
check her snares. For heaven’s sakes, the way Ian carried on last eve, one would think the shack would be besieged at any moment, yet they had a clear view of the sound, and Rewan’s galley was nowhere in sight. It was obvious the trap they’d set at the Castle of the Fairies had worked. Merrin hoped Ruairi’s henchman would never find them.
Yesterday, out of the corner of her eye, she’d watched Ian make his arrows while she helped Niall gather juniper branches. Ian used his dagger to shave off the wood in short, stilted strokes, mumbling curses under his breath until she couldn’t take it any longer. The way he’d grumbled, it was as if she’d hurt his feelings, not the other way around.
She and Niall found dandelion leaves and bulrushes to eat, but she prayed her snares had trapped something more substantial. Getting away from the pair of them for a few moments was what she needed to clear her head. Ian had held her in his arms with such passion, and then he’d pushed her away as if he’d come to his senses and realized he couldn’t be amorous with a woman like her. Why could she not look upon Ian as she did Friar Pat? A dear friend was all Laird Calum MacLeod’s son could ever be.
Beside her, Gar growled and crouched. He crept forward, ears pinned. Merrin glanced over her shoulder. Perhaps she should have taken Ian’s advice and let him come with her. She slid her dagger from her boot and crept behind her dog. They stepped into the clearing where she’d set the first trap. Gar launched into a snarling, yapping tirade.
Squealing, a boar the size of a large dog tried to run, but didn’t go far. Its leg snatched him back, caught in Merrin’s snare. Gar pounced and twisted the boar to its back, fangs clamped around the beast’s neck.
Merrin gasped. “Come behind!”
Snarling, the deerhound released his death grip and backed slowly to her heel. The knife shook in her hands. She should have let Gar kill the pig. Now she’d have to do it. Inching closer, Merrin raised her dagger for a killing blow. The boar sprang to its feet and faced her, its little eyes pleading. Though she’d killed many a chicken at home and her empty stomach rumbled, Merrin couldn’t bring herself to stab the helpless mongrel.