The Prince's Highland Bride: Book 6, the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  Something glinted, catching his eye. He blinked and turned his head slowly to find the sparkle again. The sheen of water on the darker stones in the cave? Or something else? The waves ebbed back, sluggish now that the tide had apparently risen to a similar level outside. As it receded, the light from above caught the glint again. Phillipe stepped from the stone and squatted next to the depression the stone he’d overturned had left in the floor of the cave. A piece of wood, silvered and pocked with age and decay, poked through the sand.

  Next to it lay a piece of gold.

  Phillipe quickly brushed away the sand and pulled the flat, round bit of gold from its watery nest. He held it up to the light, twisting it slowly back and forth. Kufic script flowed around the margins, and five lines centered on either side of the coin.

  A gold dirham? Here?

  He quickly searched the indention as sand and water swirled to cover the hole. The wooden bit proved to be the top of a small box, one of six slabs once nailed together and bound with metal bands which had fallen to the side. Scattered in the sand, Phillipe discovered six more gold coins and a small cache of darkened, flat, round items. Silver coins?

  He dug deeper, his hand striking other objects as the waves crept deeper. Water brushed the seat of his trousers, recalling him to the danger of the rising tide. He stood.

  He shrugged out of his tunic and spread it on the rock then grabbed the coins, sluicing them in the water briefly to remove as much sand as he could. When he’d placed a large number of them on his shirt, he rolled it into a ball and tied the sleeves together to secure the bundle.

  He climbed atop the rock, the top of his head clearing the opening to the cave enough he could see outside. Maggie eyed him anxiously. He grinned and handed her the wadded cloth.

  “There was more in the cave than ancient runes.”

  Gripping the sod, he heaved himself out of the hole and rolled to his side before catching his feet beneath him. He stood and Maggie handed him the cloth, her eyes drifting over his bare chest, lips caught between appreciation and concern.

  “Yer cheek. Does it hurt?”

  Phillipe shook his head. “’Tis naught but a scratch. Here.” He unrolled his tunic. “Hold out your hands.”

  She did, and he slowly poured out the coins.

  Her mouth rounded in surprise. “What, by St. Andrew’s crooked toe, is this?”

  Maggie glanced at Phillipe—at his eyes this time, though she’d gladly linger on his well-muscled shoulders and trim belly a moment longer—or two. Maybe three. And she’d just accepted his marriage proposal . . .. Oh, my. The earl had been so much older. Maggie swallowed and reined in her thoughts.

  Phillipe cupped his hands beneath hers, supporting the weight of the coins. Warmth flowed from his palms. “This, mon coeur, is part of what appears to be an earl’s ransom in gold and silver coin.”

  Startled, she studied the black and silver bits in her hands. And gold. Gold glinted among the rest.

  “Oh, my.” She sagged against a boulder, eyes on the small fortune. She spared Phillipe a brief glance. “These are silver coins? And gold?”

  “Aye. These dirhams are currency found from Spain to the far east, though the gold ones are quite rare—and quite valuable. They would have been exchanged all across the north for items such as fine furs and ivory.”

  He chose a gold coin and held it up. “See? Look at these markings.” His fingertip traced the script surrounding the edge. “’Tis inscribed in Arabic, Kufic script. ‘In the Name of God, this dinar was struck in Nishapur in the year 444.’”

  “’Tis a Saracen coin?” Maggie stared at the silver and gold in her hands, awed at how far the coins had traveled.

  Phillipe nodded. “Aye. ’Twill take a bit of cleaning for the silver ones, though they appear little touched by the interment in salt water all these years.”

  “How long do ye suppose they’ve been there?” Maggie glanced at the hole in the ground.

  He shrugged. “I would not think the people of Hola would have left this fortune here if they had known of it. It had to have been buried here long before the monks came.”

  “Ye said there was more?”

  “Aye. But we must find a better way to explore without risking getting caught by the tide. Once the tide goes out, we shall look again.”

  Maggie scarcely noticed the pain in her ankle or the twinge in her hip as she and Phillipe retraced their steps to the longhouse. She tried to control her excitement over the coins, but breathless anticipation of announcing she and Phillipe were to be wed kept a smile on her face she simply couldn’t shake.

  Phillipe had buried the coins beneath a rock near the hole—a decision Maggie approved of—then pulled his tunic back over his head—one she was less happy with. As if his proposal had given her new eyes, she found she could scarcely take her gaze away from him—and she loved everything she saw.

  Casual strength in the rangy length of his stride. A quick smile with a hint of intimacy glowing in his dark brown eyes. Capable hands that cupped her elbow and gave instant assistance if she stumbled. The low, sweet cadence of his voice as he recounted his meeting with Baron MacLean.

  “Once we have defenses completed here, we will see what must be done on the MacLean northern border. Are ye willing to do this?”

  “Leave Hola.” Maggie forced the words past the pang in her chest. “I’ve come to cherish the people here, but I will bring them naught but grief by my presence.” She sighed as she came to a halt. “They’ve ruled themselves these past many years. I doubt my absence will be remarked one way or another. At least, not for long.”

  “Ye will be different from the others who’ve ruled them, mon coeur. They will know ye for the way ye care for them and do your best to see they have what they need to not only survive, but to thrive. We will sail here a couple times a year and ensure things meet your satisfaction.” He smiled. “And to visit the friends ye’ve made here.”

  “We will help them expand their orchard and production of mead, ensure they dinnae lack over the winter, and cease being beleaguered by pirates.” His enthusiasm was catching, and Maggie thought she could live with his version of her dream.

  Phillipe touched his forehead to hers. “And whatever else is required. This, I pledge ye.”

  Happiness bubbled through her. “I had never considered marrying again—apart from deciding I dinnae wish to, I’d not given it another thought. I wish I’d met ye before the earl.”

  “I understand. Yet, the experiences in our lives before this moment have made us who we are—made us right for each other. I’m glad my future has ye in it.”

  Maggie’s entire body warmed, hummed with longing. Her knees threatened to abandon their duty, and she leaned into Phillipe, accepting the support he offered. She laid her cheek against his chest, little heeding the cold damp cloth against her skin. The thud of his heart sang beneath her ear.

  His hand rested at her waist, fingers warm and firm. She swayed closer and his arms wrapped about her, a solid barrier against doubts creeping in from the shadows.

  I know so little of him. He is so different from me, from what I’ve known. Will he keep his promises?

  The unknown merged with taunts from the past.

  He will own me. I will be his to do with as he pleases, and I will disappear into his household and lose myself.

  She inhaled sharply.

  Phillipe’s lips pressed against the top of her head. “What bothers ye? I would hold ye until ye are comforted, yet I would do more if ye’d allow it.”

  “’Tis such a big step. ’Twill be a marriage of our own consent with no binding contract, no roots in ceremony. Will it last? Are we enough alike, or will we find our expectations too different?”

  He hummed low, either in acknowledgement or agreement. “I believe we are more alike than different. But, aye, our opinions will sometimes differ. ’Tis to be expected. I suggest we take the next few weeks whilst we finish matters here, and come to know and understand
each other more.”

  She drew back slightly so she could see his face. “Ye would do this? Ye would wait?”

  “Maggie, to be certain ye come willingly into this marriage, I would do many things. I do not wish to enter a marriage between two people who are ill-suited. Ye and I have wed before, and it did not yield good results.” He rested a palm atop her shoulder then slowly drew his fingertips down her arm. Fire sparked beneath her skin and tightened her belly.

  Maggie’s breath shuddered. “I dinnae believe we will wait long.”

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Maggie gripped Phillipe’s hand and he relished the reassuring touch. Her brow furrowed lightly with a hint of regret, but the corners of her mouth tilted upward, her lips still soft and swollen from the kiss she had ended only moments past.

  “If we announce our betrothal, we shall be watched, kept apart to prevent us anticipating events.” A slight blush stained her cheeks and she sighed. “If we truly wish to learn about each other, I dinnae believe ’tis in our favor to be constantly looking over our shoulders, worried over what the others think.”

  He grinned. “Ye expect to keep everyone in the dark when I can do naught but linger in your presence, gaze upon ye as if ye are the reason for my next breath?”

  Maggie’s flush flared, spreading past her hairline and down to the hidden areas beneath the neckline of her gown. He loved the strength of her response.

  “I dinnae know what to think, Phillipe. ’Tis the honest truth. Ye’ve turned my life upside down and I scarcely know ye.”

  “Come now, mon ange, ye know much more of me now than ye did a few hours past—and ye still accepted my proposal.”

  She studied him, eyes narrowed curiously. “Ye say the simplest things with such . . ..” She waved a hand, fishing for a word just out of her reach. “’Tis scarce a tale of sweetness and light, yet I cannae help finding ye likable, intriguing, and . . . trustworthy.”

  Guilt swept through Phillipe, dark memories that dimmed the morning light. “Trustworthy? If so, ye are the first to remark upon it in a long time.”

  Her gentle smile settled him, reminded him why he wished to bind himself to her for the remainder of his life. “Ye encourage me to be a better man than I have been these past few years, Maggie.”

  “I hope so,” she teased. “We’ve a goodly number of years ahead of us, God willing.” The grip on his hand tightened. “Phillipe, will it matter to ye if we dinnae have children?”

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Do not worry overmuch. I look forward to a satisfying life with ye whether we welcome a child into our hearts or nae. And now, as much as I would wish otherwise, I must make time for the men unloading our supplies. Once I have jobs allocated, we will return to the cave—tide permitting. Are ye agreed to move forward with renovating the abbey for the purpose of expanding the orchard and mead-making process rather than for use as a manor house?”

  Maggie stilled, a thoughtful look on her face. “Aye, though I have a suggestion for a portion of the coins—and mayhap a somewhat different use for the monastery, if ye will hear me out.”

  Phillipe nodded. “Aye. What are your thoughts?”

  His calm acceptance of her possible change of plans warmed her heart and encouraged her. “I was chastised for my lack of commitment to the church when I refused to retire to the nunnery at the earl’s insistence.”

  “The abbess saw a fat purse from the earl and was less than happy to lose it.”

  Maggie nodded at Phillipe’s wry observation. “Precisely. We have just discovered enough coins to send to the abbess to make up her loss.”

  “Ye would buy your way back into the woman’s—and therefore the Almighty’s—good graces?”

  She heaved a disgruntled breath. “I would pave the way to a smoother acceptance of our marriage. Yer life is changed by yer ties to Baron MacLean. I havenae such a sponsor, and dinnae wish to be the only one of us with a mark against my name.”

  “’Tis your decision, my love. I care not if the abbess accepts us. I understand how her words wounded ye. She had no right to do so.”

  “We will set this aside for further consideration, then. The abbey, if I am to not live here, might be better put to use as housing for guardsmen. Expand a room or two for mead storage, but use the rest as intended—cooking, living, and lodging which wouldnae interfere with the lives of the islanders.”

  Phillipe gifted her a brilliant smile. “I believe ye have hit upon the solution. ’Tis your decision entirely, and I am honored to help in any way I can.”

  Maggie fairly hummed with excitement from the possibilities before her. “Mayhap I should ask Asatrus and Ingrida how this would impact them.”

  “It seems ye and I both have our work cut out for us this day. Meet with me at the noon meal and we shall discuss what we’ve learned.”

  Maggie gave him a quick kiss on his cheek—still awed by the abrupt turn their relationship had taken, and aware a longer kiss was inevitable if she aimed for his lips . . ..

  Phillipe strode away, disregarding the breeze piercing his damp tunic, for thoughts of Maggie kept his body well-warmed. He ignored Balgair’s narrow, questioning gaze, ducking his head so the man could not see the grin his look prompted. Perhaps later he would take the Scot into his confidence. With Maggie’s blessing, of course.

  “What is left aboard ship?”

  Balgair rubbed his beard. “They are nearly finished.” He canted his head toward the hoard of chests and barrels lining the dock. “We only await yer judgment as to where these items need to go.”

  “Our plans have changed somewhat. I’ll tell ye the why of it later, but the abbey will be restored to its original form, not as a manor house. The renovation should thus be easier, or at least quicker, than we’d thought. Work on defenses for the longhouse will go much as planned.”

  “Shouldn’t ye change yer clothes, laddie? Lady Maggie willnae like ye catchin’ yer death from wearin’ a wet tunic.” Balgair’s raised, bushy brows invited an explanation for Phillipe’s disarray, but Phillipe waved his curiosity away then turned his attention to the containers on the dock.

  “Och, I meant to tell ye,” Balgair continued. “’Tis a box labeled for m’lady sittin’ tae one side,” Balgair called. “I dinnae know what’s in it. The captain said it came on orders of the baron, himself.”

  Phillipe strode to the carved wooden chest set slightly apart from the rough-hewn boxes. Twin bands of lightly tarnished metal bound it closed, the bottom set so it was nearly a hand’s breadth from the ground.

  No carpenter’s box, this, but a lady’s chest. “I’ll take it to the longhouse and fetch a dry tunic whilst I’m there.” He motioned to the tools packed tightly into wooden crates. “Have these taken to the abbey. We’ll move the boards once we’ve crafted a small sled.”

  He returned to the dock as four men set off toward the abbey, boxes on their shoulders. Spying the master carpenter, Munro, bearing in his direction, Phillipe awaited the burly man’s arrival.

  “Thank ye again for coming, Munro.”

  The carpenter nodded impatiently. “Aye, aye. Are ye ready to begin?”

  Phillipe gave a nod. “Come. I will show ye the way to the abbey.”

  * * *

  Maggie glanced about. All appeared normal, if busy, near the harbor—a seeming impossibility after the decisions she’d just made. The thought of Phillipe’s proposal shifted her entire world. How did mundane tasks continue in the wake of such an enormous change?

  At this distance men were scarcely more than dark shapes against the gray rock and sand, moving from ship to dock, stacking a large number of cases near the shoreline. Smaller forms darted among the gentle waves that lapped over the sands on the southern side of the harbor as children fished for flatties. A thin line of smoke rose from the remnants of the bonfire from the night before where women took advantage of the low embers to smoke fish the men had netted earlier.

  What is winter like here? Do they ever see snow?
Do storms sweep out of the sea to torment the isle? Are ships forbidden access to the harbor because of wind and ice? How do the people deal with the loneliness of long, bitter nights? She was no longer certain she’d ever know the answers.

  Maggie shook the thoughts from her mind and covered the remaining distance to the longhouse. She spotted Asatrus’s wife among the women smoking fish.

  “Ingrida, might I speak with ye a moment?”

  The woman’s eyes flashed—irritation or relief—an instant before she nodded and led Maggie a few feet away where the breeze feeding the coals of the fire would sweep their words away from curious ears.

  “What may I do for ye, freya?” Ingrida’s carefully hooded eyes gave nothing away.

  “Do ye not like me?” Maggie blurted, not at all what she’d meant to say.

  Ingrida’s hesitation was brief yet brought a pang to Maggie’s heart. “I dinnae know ye well enough, freya. Give it time.”

  Maggie frowned. “Though I’ve been here a fortnight, I havenae convinced ye I mean well for the people of Hola. Am I much the same as others who’ve laid claim to the isle in the past?”

  The woman blinked, her composure slipping a notch. “Nae. Ye are naught like the others. Yet, ye arenae one of us.”

  “Why?”

  Ingrida sighed. “Ye are used to finer things, freya. We are simple people, grateful for what the isle gives us each year. Yer ways tempt the children to change, to want more than is their birthright. They love yer stories, but ’tisnae fair to speak to them of things they will never know.”

  “I see.” Maggie bit her lip. Even with the hours spent learning the tasks and needs of all who lived here, she was merely tolerated, mayhap cautiously welcomed. How many would breathe a sigh of relief when she left?

  “There have been some changes. I spoke with Phillipe this morning, and he brings word from Baron MacLean.”

  Curiosity widened Ingrida’s eyes.

  Maggie turned with a swish of her skirts, pacing as her thoughts formed into words. “I am committed to seeing Hola prosper. And to its defense. But I will no longer live here, though I will return from time to time.” She faced Ingrida. “What do ye see as Hola’s biggest need?”