The Laird's Choice

by Amanda Scott

  She wanted to ask him many more things, chiefly if he was going to take her with him to Inch Galbraith. But she did not want to argue with him, not now. Moreover, he had shut his eyes and seemed to be more in a mood for dozing than for conversation. So she occupied herself with the passing landscape instead.

  After a time, the journey began to grow tedious. She wanted to move, stretch her legs, and perhaps seek conversation. She knew that Ian would gladly chat with her, and Mag was sound asleep. He would not object if she just talked with Ian.

  When she stood and shook out her skirts, he did not stir.

  The men were rowing again, the helmsman’s low drumbeat signaling each powerful stroke. She made her way carefully for a short distance, but the swaying of the boat made footing uncertain. Deciding to wait and let Ian come to her, rather than walk the length of the gangway to him, she went to stand by the helmsman with the high sternpost wall solidly behind her.

  From there, she could see land on both sides of the galley. It was a distant view to the west, a much closer one to the eastern shore, on her right.

  As she peered into the distance ahead, she felt a sudden slight but increasing sense of danger. Searching the loch shore northward, she noted a steeply sloping point of land that jutted into the loch.

  The prickling sense of unease grew stronger.

  Her gaze swept the forward area, seeking Ian. The door to the wee cabin near the stempost stood open, and she could see his lanky figure inside.

  Feeling increasing urgency, she hurried back to Mag, meaning to shake him.

  He opened his eyes before she touched him. “What’s amiss, lass?”

  “Sir, you must warn Ian that enemies lurk ahead. They lie in wait for us.”

  He straightened, frowning. “That must be a wheen o’ blethers, Andrena. How could you know such a thing?”

  “I cannot explain how I know,” she said honestly. “But I do, and you must tell Ian. Tell him, too, to slow this galley. They mean to ambush us. Prithee, Magnus, believe me. The men must prepare for attack.”

  Chapter 12

  Mag examined Andrena’s anxious expression and tense demeanor and knew she believed what she was telling him. Although his time at Tùr Meiloach had been short, he had seen and heard enough to know that some things were inexplicably different there. Much of what he’d heard, even seen for himself, he had dismissed. But Andrena had given him no cause to think she was untruthful.

  “I’ll talk with Ian,” he said, getting to his feet. “You keep out of sight, lass, until we know what is what.”

  Striding along the gangway with the ease of one accustomed to moving about on any vessel, he noted that Ian had seen him and was coming toward him.

  “What is it?” Ian asked when they met.

  “Andrena suspects an ambush ahead. She indicated that headland yonder and said she thinks an enemy may be lurking there. I don’t know how she could know such a thing. But she insists that we must slow down.”

  “Then we will, and we’ll prepare in case she is right,” Ian said. “I’ve heard enough about the MacFarlan sisters of Tùr Meiloach to know that I should heed her warning. Forbye, if she is wrong, we lose nowt, and if she is right, we’ll be better off than if we do nowt, especially since, if she is right, the most likely person to ambush us is Pharlain.”

  “That did occur to me, too, aye,” Mag said dryly.

  “Let me warn my helmsman,” Ian said. “Then we’ll ponder a bit.”

  “Have him maintain the drumbeat,” Mag advised. “If anyone is there, they’ve already heard it.”

  Nodding agreement, Ian whistled to alert his helmsman and then gestured with his hands. The oarsmen shipped their oars, leaving the wind alone to move the galley forward. The steady, low, rhythmic beat of the helmsman’s drum continued.

  Mag watched the headland as they slowed, and saw no hint of danger.

  Turning back to Ian, he saw that the younger man’s eyes were dancing.

  Ian said, “I’m thinking that since Colquhoun land lies less than a mile past that point, we must take advantage of that fact. We fly the Colquhoun banner, so if they stop us, we’ll say that only Colquhouns are aboard. Dree shall be my sister.”

  “What am I then?” Mag demanded. “I’ll tell you straight out that I’ve no intention of swimming ashore and leaving my lady wife to your protection.”

  His eyes still alight, Ian said, “What you are, my lad, is recognizable to Pharlain’s men, even if Pharlain is not with them. I don’t suppose Dree told you how many boats are lurking yonder.”

  “She did not, nor did I ask,” Mag said, wishing Ian would call her by her Sunday name instead of her nickname. “Do you not know the coastline here?” he demanded. “As I recall, that headland would conceal only two, mayhap three small galleys. Moreover, I’d warrant from mine own experience that Pharlain would tuck no more than two into such a place—not so near your lord father’s wharf as it is.”

  “True,” Ian said. “Our lads watch from the peaks, and carry horns. But if a boat takes shelter for a short time, and no one disembarks, they would do nowt.”

  “Most of Pharlain’s men would recognize me,” Mag admitted reluctantly.

  “Then stay out of sight, Maggy. Mayhap in yon wee cabin. If you sit on the floor in the map corner, we’ll leave the door open. It will then look empty inside.”

  “Andrena should conceal herself, too,” Mag said.

  “Nay, then, she should not. If they are ambushers, they’ve had men out keeping watch for us. They might fail to tell one man from another, but they would notice a female aboard. We’ll tell them she’s a Colquhoun.”

  “Most of Pharlain’s men must know the MacFarlan sisters,” Mag protested.

  “Not by sight,” Ian said. “Whilst Pharlain may confer at times with Lennox or Murdoch, Andrew Dubh MacFarlan does not. Nor has Pharlain, to my knowledge, mixed with nobles who support the King. In any event, I don’t mean to let his men board this galley. Moreover, I always carry my horn. One thing we can count on, even at this distance, is that if I blow it, Colquhoun galleys will put out from our wharf so fast that it will terrify Pharlain’s lads.”

  “Mayhap it will,” Mag said. “But your boats won’t be fast enough or sufficient in number if Pharlain’s men bear evil intent. Forbye, I’m not hiding in yon wee box of a cabin. I’ll take an oarsman’s place and keep my sword with me.”

  “Sakes, you’ll stick out like a mountain amidst my lads!”

  “Some of them are nearly as tall,” Mag said. “If I sit amidst them and keep my head down, mayhap slouch a bit, Pharlain’s lads won’t notice me. They’ll be concerned about your father’s men ashore. Also, most of Pharlain’s lads ken nowt of the coastline this far south. I’d suggest easing out away from the headland. Give yourself room to maneuver, and make them come to us.”

  When Ian nodded and signaled to his helmsman, Mag moved to where he could keep an eye on the headland. Although he retained doubt about Andrena’s suspicions, the sight of two galleys emerging from behind the headland just minutes later, flying Pharlain’s banner, surprised him less than he had thought it would.

  Looking at Ian to see Andrena beside him, he said, “Lass, you should sit.”

  “In troth, sir, you are the one who should keep out of sight,” she said, frowning. “Striding about as you are, they will certainly see you.”

  “I know,” he said, stepping off the gangway and keeping the prow between himself and the pair of galleys. “Just don’t let them get a close look at your face.”

  Unbuckling his belt, he pulled off his plaid. To Ian, he said, “That lad on the third bench is not as large as I am, but his hair is the same color and length. Have him put my plaid on. That way, if they’ve seen me, they’ll not wonder where I’ve gone.”

  Ian summoned the man, while Mag retrieved his sword from under the bench where he had dozed earlier. Then he took the oarsman’s place on the third bench.

  Andrena watched Mag take a seat among the oa
rsmen and wondered what he was thinking as he did. That it must have reminded him unpleasantly of his rowing Pharlain’s galleys she could not doubt. Yet she saw no sign of that.

  It occurred to her then that having his sword at hand must make a difference. Even so, her heart ached to watch him. No son of a man as powerful as the Chief of Clan Galbraith should lower himself to row anyone’s galley.

  He glanced up then, caught her gaze, and grinned.

  “By my faith,” she muttered. “The man is enjoying himself!”

  Beside her, Ian chuckled. “Aye, sure, he is, lass. True warriors—and Maggy is one of the finest—approach any engagement with eagerness.”

  Looking at Ian, she saw that he, too, was grinning. “You’re enjoying it, too!” she said accusingly.

  His light-blue eyes still brimming with laughter, Ian said, “Why not? I have my horn, and our lads patrol our boundaries carefully. If I blow for aid, they will relay my signal to our men-at-arms and to the tower. Fear not, lass.”

  “You must not call me ‘lass.’ Magnus dislikes your flirting with me.”

  “Who’s flirting? Since we cannot hide you, you’re going to be my lady sister.”

  “Which one?” she demanded, aware that he had three.

  “It will have to be Alvia. Sithee, Susanna is married and Pharlain may know that Birdie is visiting her and her husband at their home near Ayr.”

  “I don’t look at all like Alvia.”

  “True. But with your plaits dangling loose from under your veil as they are, you do look like a maiden. Forbye, Alvia is with my mother’s sister at Balloch, and I doubt that any of Pharlain’s men know her by sight. So Alvia you shall be.”

  “Those boats are coming fast.”

  “Aye, they are. I think we’ll ease back toward them now, if only to make them think we meet willingly and to be sure they recognize the Colquhoun banner.”

  He gestured his orders to his helmsman and then urged Andrena toward the bench where she’d sat earlier with Mag. Raising his horn to his lips then with his right hand, he blew two short blasts as he slipped his left arm around her shoulders.

  “Just to let them know at home that we are near,” he said, giving her shoulders a reassuring squeeze.

  She could feel Magnus watching them. When she looked back, her gaze collided with his. His set expression gave her a distinct chill of unease.

  What the devil was the man up to now? And what the devil was she about to be smiling at him and letting him put his hands on her?

  Knowing he could not let such feelings show to anyone on the approaching galleys, Mag lowered his gaze to his still motionless oar. But when an image formed in his mind of himself behaving as he knew his lord father would have behaved had a cheeky knight ever put an arm around Lady Galbraith, he let that image linger.

  The vast unlikelihood that any knight knowing his lordship would dare take such a liberty nearly made him smile. That touch of amusement was slight, but it eased his displeasure. He had learned the advantage of finding humor in odd places while in Pharlain’s custody, and the device had helped him survive at Arrochar.

  Anger and amusement simply did not mix. So, if one could see humor in a bad situation, one could nearly always control one’s baser impulses.

  However, to let one’s captors see one’s amusement was dangerous. Still, such a lapse added less risk to a situation than discovering that an opponent was a serious match instead of one a man could easily defeat.

  He wished he could still see the oncoming galleys, but with his back to the prow as it was, he could not. Glancing toward the nearby shore, he saw that it was closer than before, which meant Ian had begun to lessen the distance between them and the enemy boats.

  Wondering how close they were to the headland, Mag glanced back over his left shoulder and saw a man on its crest waving a yellow banner. Since Pharlain’s men were unlikely to have set foot on Colquhoun land again so soon, the flag-waver was likely a Colquhoun, acknowledging Ian’s horn.

  Mag noted, too, that Ian had drawn the enemy pair far enough offshore for his galley to keep to the landward side of both when they all met and passed each other.

  If Colquhoun’s wharf was not in sight, it would be shortly.

  “Now, lads!” Ian shouted. “Put your backs into those oars. Encourage them to come after us!”

  Setting his thoughts aside, Mag focused on his oar.

  Andrena also saw what Ian had done, and with alarm. “We’re gey close to shore, sir, and fast closing with those two boats.”

  “Aye, sure, lass. But I ken every snag and pool along here. I’ll wager that neither of Pharlain’s helmsmen kens our coast as well as I do.”

  “But they’re turning, and they’ve only to follow us to know they’ll be safe.”

  “Perhaps, but I’ll control where we go.”

  She saw that he held his horn in his right hand near his thigh. His sword was in its baldric across his back, his dirk hung near her on his left hip, its hilt angled upward toward his right. His eyes still danced with eager anticipation.

  Parlan’s boats kept seaward of the Colquhoun galley as it inched nearer the shore. With its oarsmen rowing again, its sail and jib both full, it moved swiftly.

  Parlan’s boats had had the wind against them, which must have played a part in Ian’s tactics. As they passed the two, the pair turned more sharply to follow them, but Ian’s galley easily maintained its advantage in speed.

  As they left the other two behind, she saw that both were longer than Ian’s and had more oarsmen. Ian had thirty men aboard, but with only five benches to a side and two oarsmen on each, just twenty men rowed at a time. She was sure that each of Parlan’s boats carried twice as many oarsmen as theirs. His boats therefore carried more weight, but she knew that when they regained speed, the power of so many oarsmen would more than make up for that extra weight.

  “They’ll be faster than we are when they reach speed again,” she warned Ian.

  He grinned. “Aye, sure they will, for all the good it may do them. I have a plan, lass… sorry, Dree.”

  “You must know, sir, that it irks Magnus to hear you call me ‘lass.’ It will irk him just as much, if not more, to hear you call me ‘Dree.’ ”

  “Aye, it will,” he agreed, still grinning.

  “Art daft, Ian? Surely, you do not want him to be angry with you.”

  With a roguish shrug, he said, “As lads we were ever taunting each other and coming to cuffs. I’ll wager that neither of us has changed much since.”

  “Is that why you call him Maggy?”

  “Aye, sure it is.”

  As she shook her head at him, they heard a bellowed, “Colquhoun boat! Damn your impudence! Hold water, or bear the consequences.”

  Mag’s senses went on high alert at the shouted order from Pharlain’s galley and Ian’s shouted, “Hold water!” Recognizing the first voice as that of Pharlain’s eldest son, Dougal, he wondered if Ian knew Dougal’s voice, too.

  “Give me your cap,” Mag muttered to the man beside him as they dug the long blade of their oar into the water and held it hard.

  Without debate, the man snatched off the cap and handed it to Mag.

  A glance assured him that the high sternpost and the port side sloping down from it still blocked his view of both enemy galleys, so no man on either could see him. Gripping the oar with one hand, he fingered the knitted cap over his hair with the other in such a way that strands of hair dangled over his face.

  His beard was gone, and his hair was lighter than it had been during the long months of rare washing. Also, Dougal MacPharlain paid small heed to the captive oarsmen, deeming them the responsibility of his father’s oar-masters. Even so, Mag knew that his size would be a noticeable disadvantage if the other boats got close.

  Slouching lower, he prayed that Dougal would not board Ian’s galley.

  The man beside him sat straighter, trying obviously to look taller.

  While the Colquhoun galley slowed to let P
harlain’s boats draw nearer, Ian stepped onto the gangway where men on the two enemy galleys could plainly see him and shouted, “I am Ian Colquhoun, son and heir of the Laird of Colquhoun and a knight of this realm, traveling on lawful business. By what right do you seek to stop a Colquhoun boat in Colquhoun waters?”

  “By right of recovering missing and lawful property of Arrochar,” Dougal MacPharlain shouted back. “We seek an escaped captive and would search your vessel to see that he has not found concealment aboard.”

  While Dougal bellowed, Ian’s helmsman signaled to his men to feather their oars. They obeyed, turning each blade parallel to the water just above its surface.

  The wind began slowly to ease the galley forward again as Ian shouted back, “You’re daft! We Colquhouns do not make slaves of our oarsmen. So I can see for myself, standing here, that none be aboard this galley save loyal Colquhoun men-at-arms and one lad who will soon be a Colquhoun kinsman. You have nae right to interfere with us, least of all whilst we’re within sight of our home wharf.”

  “The devil we don’t!” Dougal shouted. “I ordered you to hold water!”

  “A knight of the realm does not take orders from the likes of you, Dougal MacPharlain. Forbye, unless your da has taken to making war on innocent women as well as obstructing men who tend to their own business, you’ll keep your lads on your boats and be about your business elsewhere.”

  “We did see ye had a female aboard. Who might she be?”

  “Why, me sister, of course. The man to whom she is about to pledge her troth is here, as well. If you’d like to attend their betrothal feast, I’ll ask my lord father to invite you. For the nonce, you’d do better to go in peace.”

  “I’ve the right to search your boat,” Dougal shouted.

  “Aye, sure, if you insist, you may search it at yon wharf. You may likewise take a dram o’ whisky with me, my lord father, this strapping lad who will soon wed my sister, and all yonder who wait to welcome us home,” Ian added, gesturing.

  “Nay, nay, we’ll search ye here.”

  “You heard me blow to tell them we’re nearly home. ’Tis why you see so many gathered ashore. Forbye, we’ve three boats at that wharf and lads eager to engage with your lot. If I blow this horn again, you won’t like what happens.”