by Cathy MacRae
“How’s my favorite landlady this eve? Any chance I could beg ye to part with a pastie or two? I see ye still have one of the pups. Trying to talk this man into taking him home with him?”
The air darkened around Phillipe, and he struggled to draw a breath. No matter it had been nearly three years since he had last seen Alex MacLean. He would know his voice anywhere.
Chapter Fourteen
Phillipe’s skin tingled—from anticipation or dread he couldn’t say. He’d talked himself into not connecting with the MacLeans, yet fate had intervened. He forced his muscles to relax, drawing on years of preparation for battle to steady him for this important engagement.
“Alex?”
The tall, lean man’s jaw dropped. His arm slipped from Moibeal’s shoulders and he stepped forward, clasping Phillipe’s arm in a vice-like grip.
“Phillipe?” Alex’s voice, hoarse with surprise, strengthened. “Phillipe! St. Andrew’s teeth! ’Tis a pleasure to see ye. Why did ye not send word?” He glanced about the inn. “Why do ye wait here? Come to the castle! Da will be overwhelmed to see ye!”
Phillipe shook his head, resisting Alex’s enthusiastic tug toward the door. “I cannot.” His gaze met the other man’s puzzlement. “Please. May we speak in private? Here?”
Alex’s gaze lingered a moment before he turned to Moibeal with a smile. “Would it be possible to gain a table where my friend and I could speak?”
She waved a hand. “Och, take the innkeeper’s office through that doorway. I’ll see to it ye arenae bothered.”
Alex nodded his thanks. Phillipe rose, hindered as the pup once again attacked the fluttering hem of his cloak. Phillipe bent and lifted the puppy, pulling the cloth from its teeth. The door to the inn opened again.
“There ye are! I’m fair starved and wondered if ye needed help. Och! Look at what ye’ve found!” Maggie crossed the floor, eyes on the puppy. She placed a hand on Phillipe’s sleeve, apparently oblivious to Alex’s curious look. The pup bounced in Phillipe’s arms, wiggling furiously in his attempts to smother Maggie with kisses. She laughed and fended the squirming creature off with raised hands.
“It isnae coming with ye, is it?” Skepticism colored her voice.
Alex’s questioning gaze settled like a shroud.
“Nae, the pup remains here.” Phillipe set the wee dog down and for a heart-stopping instant considered introducing Maggie to Alex. Changing his mind, he gave her a smile. “I will bring supper soon. They are packing a box for me.” He motioned to the door. “Is Dawe or Callan with ye?”
“Aye. ’Twas our last trip for supplies. We’re headed to the ship now.”
“Go, then. I will be with ye soon.”
Maggie bent and gave the pup a farewell pat then strode across the room to where Dawe held the door. Phillipe drew a breath and faced Alex.
* * *
Maggie glanced over her shoulder. Something was wrong. She’d seen the strange man’s grip on Phillipe’s arm as she walked in the door. For a moment she feared a fight was imminent, the man’s stance was so intense. But he’d stepped back as she approached and her fluttering heart resumed its normal rhythm. Still, Phillipe’s insistence she go back to the ship instead of suggesting she wait with him struck a sour note.
How new is he to our shores? What complications involve him?
She had not mistaken the bleak look in Phillipe’s eyes. Something was wrong.
She waved to Dawe. “Go. Phillipe awaits our meal and I will help him. Dinnae fash. I’ll be fine.”
Dawe gave her an uncertain look. “I can wait with ye. Naught here that’s in a rush to get to the ship.”
Maggie shrugged. “As ye wish.” She glanced at the darkening sky then nodded to the cloth and other sewing supplies wrapped and tied with twine on a bench beside the door. “Have a care to keeping that lot dry. It may rain this eve. I will wait inside with Phillipe.”
Dawe sighed and hoisted the bundle to his shoulder. “Ye’ll be along soon? Da’ll have my hide if ye are gone long.”
“Och, I willnae be long at all.” She flashed him a smile. “I see Phillipe’s waiting for me. Take care, Dawe.”
The young man hefted the bundle to a better balance, then strode away. Maggie slipped through the inn’s door and stepped inside. Her heart sped as she glanced about the busy room. Men looked up from their meals and conversations as she entered alone. Curiosity became speculation. Lewd grins evoked a shiver. Her skin prickled as though she was a lame rabbit in a den of wolves. She’d lied to Dawe. She did not see Phillipe anywhere.
A stout woman intercepted her. “Good e’en, lassie. How may I help ye?”
Relief flooded Maggie. “I seek a man who is a member of my party. He’s awaiting supper.”
“Och, I saw ye a few moments ago. With the Frenchman, aye?”
At Maggie’s nod, the woman beckoned her to follow. “He and m’lord requested a private room, but I know he wouldnae wish ye to remain out here alone. ’Tis nae much of a place for a pretty lass such as yerself. Though ye’ve height and determination, some would only see that as a challenge.”
“M’lord? Who is he?”
The woman flashed her a grin. “Why, Laird MacLean’s son, Lord Alex, of course. He’s a braw laddie, and few finer, in my opinion. He’d wish ye to be safe as well.” She paused at a closed door. “Slip inside there, lass. ’Twill be a tight fit, what with the disarray the innkeeper leaves it in. Find yerself a seat if ye can. I’ll see where Coira and yer supper are.”
Maggie placed her hand on the wooden panel. She lifted the iron ring and pulled gently. The low rumble of voices reached her ears. Suddenly unsure of her welcome, she halted the door’s progress. She gripped the metal ring firmly and held her breath. Oh, something was definitely wrong.
* * *
Alex hefted one hip onto the corner of the innkeeper’s desk and folded his hands before him. “I am verra happy to see ye, Phillipe, though I scarcely knew ye with yer beard. But ye dinnae seem pleased to be here. Why did ye not come to the castle? Ye will always be welcome there.”
Phillipe forced a slight smile. “Ye sound different, Alex. More like your father.”
Alex laughed. “I’ve heard his voice all my life, and been in Scotland nearly three years. ’Twas bound to rub off on me.”
Silence formed a wall between them as Phillipe struggled to find the words he wanted. He pivoted on his heel and stalked the floor, dodging a crate of wine packed in straw and a chair with one leg missing, listing dangerously to one side.
“What has happened, my friend?” Alex asked gently. “I remember our last days in Antioch. Ye were to be wed.”
Phillipe came to a reluctant halt. “I did. Wed, that is. The six-year-old queen of Cilicia.” He lifted his gaze, meeting Alex’s concern. “Things did not go well, and my death was plotted.”
Alex startled. “They wanted to kill ye?”
Memory robbed his words of strength. “I was to be poisoned. With help from those who are likely now dead if the subterfuge has been discovered, I deceived the warden and received last rites from the Bishop. A dead man took my place and I fled Cilicia.” He held his hands wide, palms up. “Now I am here.”
Alex’s face paled. “What happened?”
Phillipe’s lips twisted. “I was not a good king.”
“Pfft!” Alex shot up from the desk. “Ye are a good man. Ye would have been an excellent king.”
“I was a good prince of Antioch. A better knight at Batroun. But once I became king and defeated the Turks and they no longer threatened Cilicia, the people found reason to dislike—and distrust me.”
“Tell me,” Alex invited.
With the air of a doomed man seeking absolution, Phillipe did.
* * *
Maggie leaned against the portal. The unmistakable cadence of Phillipe’s voice reached her ears.
“Only Amhal knows I am here. I could not risk war on my behalf. Nor did I wish to become a pawn in a different scheme.” He sighed.
“Alex, I must ask ye say naught about seeing me. I am not proud of how my life has turned out, and I cannot risk word getting back to Konstantin. As it stands, Zabel is free to marry, to become the queen she was born to be. Father would risk too much if able to use me as a rallying cry.”
“But when Arbela hears . . . she will be devastated.”
“Then do not tell her. Let her remember me as we parted.”
The room was silent. Maggie pressed closer.
“I see the truth in what ye say, yet it grieves me to maintain my silence. My sister is . . . in a delicate condition. Ye spoke to Amhal—ye know she is wed?” A brief silence then Alex continued. “For now, ’tis best I dinnae alarm her. I will honor yer request as I am able. I willnae cause a war, but neither will I allow my family to grieve ye. When word arrives, I will take them into confidence. They willnae betray ye.”
Maggie’s heart slammed in her chest. What had Phillipe done? What secret did he carry?
A nudge on her leg sent Maggie stumbling against the door. It slammed shut, the slap of wood against the doorframe like a clap of distant thunder.
The puppy she’d seen earlier sat at her feet, tail sweeping the floor as he stared at her with happy anticipation.
“Ye wee skunner!” she hissed, waving the puppy away.
Taking her movements as an invitation to join a game, the pup leapt forward with a yip and sank his teeth into her skirt. He backed away, growling and shaking his head as he fought the cloth billowing around him.
Maggie dropped to her knees and grabbed the pup, holding him as she attempted to wrest her skirt from him. The door opened, thudding against her side. Maggie fell, landing on her bottom, listing precariously to one side before she righted herself. The puppy abandoned her with a happy bark at the sight of Phillipe.
Phillipe’s eyes narrowed as he spied Maggie. Her cheeks heated, embarrassed to be caught at the door. She scrambled to her feet, flicking her skirt once to assess the damage. Glancing up, she caught sight of the woman who’d assisted her weaving through the crowd like a ship under full sail.
Maggie indicated the woman with a tilt of her head. “I believe our supper is ready. I’ll help ye carry it.”
Phillipe shifted his gaze to the inn’s main room then back to her. “Are ye hurt?”
She shook her head and surreptitiously brushed the back of her skirt with a swipe of her hand to dislodge any dust or detritus from the floor. “I am well.”
Phillipe’s eyes followed her movements. He cleared his throat. “The puppy is a nuisance. I must request needle and thread from ye later to mend a tear in my cloak.”
Maggie peered at his garment, her eyes traveling from his shoulders, lingering a fleeting moment where his belt tugged his tunic tight at his waist, then down the long length of his legs. She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry, then caught sight of the rend at the hem of his cloak.
“Och, I can mend that. Dinnae fash.” Her gaze swept upward, catching sight of the man Phillipe had been closeted with. His gaze locked with hers as if assessing her worthiness to capture Phillipe’s attention.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, dropping her voice to a soft murmur. “I can wait if ye wish.”
“A moment only, if ye dinnae mind,” he said, indicating the door with a smooth wave of one hand.
Maggie glanced at Phillipe, noting the grim lines at the corners of his lips. “Do ye wish me to go?” she whispered.
He nodded and gifted her a small smile. “All is well. I will be with ye in a moment.” Phillipe nodded to the woman with the box. “Attend my lady a moment longer, please.” He handed her a coin and the woman’s eyes lit.
“Och, dinnae fash, my lord. She’s a right bonnie lass and nae trouble.”
Phillipe stepped into the room and closed the door.
Maggie’s gaze lingered on the portal a moment then darted to the other woman. “I dinnae mean to interfere with yer business. I willnae move from this spot until he is prepared to leave.”
The woman waved a hand. “Och, a few moments off my feet is a blessing, lass. Come. The crowd is thinning and there’s a bench beneath the window where we might rest.” She clucked to the pup and strode purposefully across the floor, patrons parting with respectful nods at her approach. She tucked the box beneath the bench then settled with a sigh. The puppy charged across the room, dodging feet and table legs, off on pursuit of something only he knew.
“Where are ye headed, lass? Yer Frenchman said he purchased these meals for others—aboard a ship, are ye?”
“Aye. ’Tis not a long journey.” Maggie twitched her skirt, surveying the damage to the hem and delaying her answer. “I’ve an isle a bit to the west of here. I wish to . . . see it.”
“Aye? A lass inspecting a bit of land? Rather curious.” She waved a hand. “Och, dinnae mind me. I’ve my two feet firmly planted here and no longing to stray far from my bed.”
Maggie managed a smile. “I may live there if it appeals. ’Tis something only a woman can judge, aye?”
The woman leaned close. “Tell me of this isle. I hear much here with all the sailors in and out, and may know of it.”
“’Tis called Hola. I’ve heard ’tis a useless piece of land, but the information came to me by someone I dinnae trust.” Maggie’s heart clenched. Would this woman know of the isle? Would her dreams come to naught? Or was there good to be said of the land?
The woman pursed her lips then gave a nod. “I’ve heard of this isle, and a wee bit of legend is attached to it. ’Twas once a bit of Norse land before the MacDonnell claimed it. ’Tis small, and near the Isle of Eigg. Or mayhap Rum.” She shrugged. “I dinnae remember. Howbeit, there are certes those who do. An abandoned monastery lies on its shores.”
’Tis real. Maggie startled to realize she’d feared the earl had played her for a fool, giving her papers to an island which did not exist.
“Do ye know more?”
The woman tilted her head back and forth. “Only a handful of people live there. They make a small living with sheep, though their apple mead is right tasty. ’Tis much in demand here, and we cannae keep enough to satisfy our custom. They learned the making of it from the monks many years ago, and it commands a fair price.”
“What of the legend?” Excitement threaded Maggie’s pulse.
“The tale is one fit for any isle to the west. I wouldnae speak louder for there are too many listening ears attached to heads foolish enough to believe my tale, but once or twice, a long time ago, sailors spoke of an isle protected by fierce men with yellow hair. A place surrounded by cliffs that soared to the heavens and welcomed birds of all kinds. Porpoises played in the waters and seals lazed about on the shores. But in a hole in the rock beneath the waves, in a cavern none has seen in more than a hundred years, lies a treasure so vast, it fair boggles the mind. Though, if the legend were true, the people of Hola would do better than raise a few sheep and apples.”
Maggie blinked then stifled a laugh. The woman appeared serious. “I thank ye for yer tale. I hope for little more than a fair place to live, able to support myself.”
The woman patted Maggie’s knee. “’Tis good ye dinnae think much on this. There is little more than sheep and mead to recommend the isle. And I’d mention ye should take into consideration others—including soldiers—who can care for and protect ye. No matter it was in the MacDonnell’s possession before ye, if pirates claimed it once, they’re likely to do so again.”
Chapter Fifteen
The door to the inn closed, instantly silencing the din of upraised voices, tumbled crockery, and clattering bench legs. It also blotted out the light of candles and fireplace like a dark cloud before the sun. Maggie drew her cloak closer as a tendril of cool evening air drifted around her ears and down her neck.
Phillipe shouldered the box of meat pies and pasties. The savory aroma leaked from beneath the linen covering. “I apologize for my tardiness. The inn was busy, and I encountered someone.” He cast a glance at her, his gaze
slipping quickly away.
Questions flew about in Maggie’s head.
How does he know Laird MacLean’s son—on what appears to be very close terms? Who would go to war on his behalf? Is this the reason he is in Scotland? Who is Zabel?
The ramifications of the possible answers overwhelmed her. Leana was right. Phillipe was more than a mercenary. Who, exactly, is he?
“I dinnae know ye were friends with Laird MacLean’s son.” Maggie tossed the statement out, looking at Phillipe with naught more than a swift sideways glance.
“They lived for a time in the Holy Land. I knew them there.”
Phillipe’s answer made perfect sense, but his lifted chin and curt answer dismayed Maggie.
“I dinnae mean to pry.”
His wry grin did nothing to alleviate her discomfort, but at least he glanced at her.
“Ye are curious, aye? I am a stranger with unexpected connections.”
“Nae. I mean, aye, ye are different, but I heard . . . before the puppy . . ..” She hesitated, not liking to admit she’d listened at the door.
Phillipe canted his head. “What did ye hear, my lady?”
“That some would wage war because of what happened to ye. Were ye wrongly imprisoned?”
“Mayhap we should speak of this later.” He tilted his head, indicating the end of their walk. “We have reached our ship and are about to be met by several very hungry people. Now is not the time for words which require no interruption.” He motioned her to proceed him.
Maggie lifted her skirts out of the way and stepped onto the gangway. Dawe and Leana approached, hands extended, offering help. Callan and Balgair lingered a few paces back as Maggie and Phillipe were assisted aboard the ship. The other MacLaren soldiers cast covetous eyes on the box they’d brought from the inn.
Leana glanced at Maggie from beneath slanted brows. She spread a blanket on a plank placed atop two barrels and laid out the food. “I dinnae worry. Ye were with m’lord.”