by Amanda Scott
As quick as thought, the raiders carrying Donald ran for their galleys, and others speedily replaced the masts. A horn blew, pipes skirled, and in moments, the sails were up and all four galleys were away.
Watching them, stunned by what she had done, Molly saw with a sinking heart that the men tending their fallen chief in the lead boat soon moved away from him and took up oars. One man slumped in the stern, head bowed.
“I’ve killed him,” she murmured. “I’ve killed Donald the Grim. Faith, what will become of me? I’ve killed a man who stood as guardian to me. I’ll go to Hell, as sure as I stand here.” Kneeling swiftly beside Thomas, and seeing that his head still bled, albeit sluggishly, she said urgently, “Thomas, don’t you dare die, for I need you! We all need you. For mercy’s sake, stop bleeding and wake up!”
To her astonishment, the bleeding stopped, but although she shook him and called his name, Thomas did not stir. She ran along the walkway to Ian Dubh, remembered with a start that he was beyond help or helping, and ran downstairs to find Mauri and Doreen.
Chapter 18
The threatening black clouds in the west had moved much nearer by the time the three women managed to drag Thomas MacMorran and the body of Ian Dubh each into the shelter of the nearest bartizan.
“We must get Thomas downstairs where it’s warm,” Doreen said anxiously.
“Aye,” Molly agreed, “but if you know how we can carry him down those stairs, I do not. Fetch blankets. We can at least keep him warm until the others return.”
“I’ll fetch the blankets,” Mauri said. “And I’ll find something to cover Ian Dubh, too. It dinna be proper, leaving him lying there all alone as he is.”
Repressing an impulse to point out that Ian Dubh was beyond loneliness or caring about proprieties, Molly fixed her attention on Thomas, knowing that Mauri had volunteered to do the fetching so that Doreen could stay with him, and willing that young man to open his eyes. In moments, they heard Mauri’s quick steps, returning up the stairs.
Molly glanced toward the doorway, and just as she did, she heard Doreen gasp. Looking back, she saw with relief that Thomas had regained consciousness.
“I’m no dead yet, lass,” he said to Doreen with a weak smile.
“Near enough,” she snapped. “D’ye no ha’ sense enough to duck when arrows fly at ye, ye feckless bairn?”
His smile widened. “Evidently not,” he said meekly. “I need a proper wife to teach me such lessons.”
“Oh, Thomas, hush! This be scarcely the time to be talkin’ o’ wives. Those horrid raiders ha’ killed Ian Dubh!”
“Nay, not Ian!”
“Aye,” Doreen said. “Art cold, Thomas? We must get ye warm. There be a storm coming. We can see it yonder, all puffed up black and ready to blow.”
“Ye’re blathering, lass. ’Tis shock, most like, and gey natural. More to the purpose, though, can ye see them villains? What be they up to now?”
Doreen grimaced and glanced at Molly.
Molly said, “They are on their way back to Sleat, I hope. I… I shot your last arrow at Donald the Grim and it struck him in the thigh.”
“Good lass!” Thomas exclaimed. Remembering his manners, he added hastily, “Well done, mistress. It be a pity ye didna kill the wicked rogue.”
“I am afraid that is exactly what I did,” Molly said ruefully. “He yanked the arrow out, you see, and its head was sharply barbed. He must have severed a major vessel, because a fountain of bright red blood gushed forth and he collapsed. His men carried him to his galley and they all sailed away, but the ones tending him stopped doing so whilst they were still within sight, so I’m sure he’s dead. They must be taking his body back to Sleat. We’ve seen no sign of them since.”
“We will,” Thomas said. “They’ll be for vengeance, certain sure. Help me up, lass,” he added to Doreen. “If there be a storm brewin’, I’d as lief be inside by the hall fire. Where lies Ian Dubh’s body?”
“We dragged it into the southeast bartizan,” Doreen said. “He’s under cover, Thomas, so dinna be thinking ye must carry him. I doubt ye can carry yourself.”
“Nay, lass, I ken better than to try to shift him. If he has shelter, we’ll leave him for the others to tend when they return.” He reached for her hand.
Molly and Mauri moved to help, too, but he waved them aside.
“I’ll do. Dinna coddle me.”
On his feet, he stood still for a minute. Then, insisting that he was as steady as a rock, he managed to totter his way down the stairs with little help from the women, although Doreen stayed near enough to try to catch him if he fell. Considering their relative sizes, Molly was glad that he did not.
As she watched Doreen and Mauri whisking about in the hall to make Thomas comfortable, it occurred to her that a number of men, either dead or wounded, still lay outside. Fin would not have to worry about her leaving the safety of the castle before his return, but she wondered if any of the wounded might pose a threat to him—when and if he came home. The thought chilled her.
Waiting only until Thomas was settled and Mauri had brought Morag upstairs in her cradle, Molly drew her aside. “What about the wounded outside,” she said. “Might they not try to ambush Kintail and the others when they return?”
“Nay, mistress, for the folk at Dornie village will warn our lads to take care. The villagers could do naught to help us during the attack, for all their fighting men be wi’ the laird or our Patrick, but they’ll no let any o’ our lads cross to Eilean Donan without first they warn them to look for villains.”
“I am going to watch from above to make sure,” Molly said.
Mauri nodded, and Thomas warned her to keep her head down. “Just in case one o’ that wicked lot still has strength to draw a bow,” he added grimly. “Give a shout when the laird comes. We’ll ha’ to raise the portcullis.”
Promising to be careful, Molly hurried back up to the battlements, and although she still fretted at the possibility of danger below, she saw little sign of activity and settled herself to wait as patiently as she knew how.
It was impossible to control her thoughts, and the fear that Fin had been ambushed like his father, and might lay dying or dead somewhere in the windy, starless night, made her wish that she could fling herself on a horse and ride out in search of him. Despite her fear, knowing what he would do if she did find him, not dead but alive and angry, still had the power to send a shivery thrill up her spine.
“Claud, what is it?” Catriona demanded, grabbing him by both shoulders and shaking hard. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Dinna speak, Catriona,” he groaned. “Your voice beats against me ears like the thunder does beat in yonder storm clouds.”
“But why?” Bending nearer, she peered into his eyes and gave his shoulders another shake. “What is amiss with you?”
“I used me powers,” he muttered. “Mam did warn me that I’d feel summat whenever I use them now, but she didna say I’d feel such a pain. I canna move a muscle, lass. Aye, and I’m no tae be wi’ ye, either,” he exclaimed, remembering. “Ye mun get from me! Where am I?”
“In the laird’s peek overlooking the great hall. I found you here.”
“This be as far as I got, I expect, afore the darkness overtook me,” he said.
“But what did you do? Was it something horrid?”
“Nay, lass, only what me bounden duty demanded. Now, go, I beg o’ ye. Every moment I’m wi’ ye, me powers’ll grow gey weaker, Mam said.”
“First, tell me what you did!”
“Nay,” he said, his voice fading to a thready murmur. “I canna. Ye’ll be wroth wi’ me, for it willna serve your laird, but only my Maid.”
“Tell me! I’ll not leave until you do.”
He scarcely heard her, but he did not care. The world around him swirled again into blackness.
The storm struck with fury before the men returned. Nevertheless, Molly huddled in the bartizan, keeping watch. When she saw them at last, hours late
r, she saw as well that Mauri had been right, for despite the lashing winds and rain, they approached with care and encountered no trouble. They were but shadow figures, some wading across the channel through knee-deep water, others rowing boats.
When lightning flashed again, she thought she saw Fin. Hugging herself, she watched carefully, but she did not see him again, only dark, moving shapes, and several of them were hurrying toward the entrance. Heart pounding, she ran downstairs, certain that the others would need her help to raise the portcullis before they could learn who had lived and who had died. Thomas MacMorran was still weak, but she and Doreen could raise it together, she was sure.
Thomas laughed at her suggestion, insisting that he was perfectly fit. When he would not be talked out of it, Doreen went with him, declaring that if he so much as strained a muscle in the attempt, she would throttle him. He draped a muscular arm around her shoulders and said she could help him stay upright while they climbed to the room containing the mechanism that worked the heavy gate.
Molly stood staring at the hall entrance, wanting to run out into the storm to find Fin but knowing instinctively that he would not like it if she revealed any doubt of his abilities. Would they all be safe? Would Fin be glad that they had protected the castle or furious to learn that she had not only taken up her bow and arrows again but had accidentally killed Donald the Grim? Anticipation warred with her fears, but fortunately, her wait was brief. He strode into the hall with Tam Matheson moments later, before Thomas and Doreen had returned.
Fin’s gaze swept the chamber, and casting aside her false dignity, Molly ran to him, flinging herself into his arms.
“Did anyone outside give you any trouble?” she demanded.
“Not a whit,” he said, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “Did you doubt me, lass?”
“Never,” she said, snuggling into his embrace. Despite his wet clothing, she pressed hard against him, hugging him back.
He murmured to the top of her head, “The men Sleat left behind will not trouble anyone again.” Then, holding her at arm’s length, he added as if he had just realized the fact, “Your clothing is damp!”
“I’ve been up on the battlement walk, watching for you. Yours is wet, too.”
“I’m sorry about this, lass,” he said, giving her upper arms a squeeze. “I should have known better than to think he had so easily given up getting you back.”
His simple remorse banished any lingering worries. Ignoring the feelings that his touch stirred in her body, and ignoring, too, the voice in her head suggesting that she invite him to retire at once to his bedchamber, she said, “I do not see how this could be just about me. I’m married to you now. What could he hope to achieve?”
Still looking rueful, Fin said, “It may be that he thinks he has only to declare our marriage null before he can marry you where and to whom he chooses.”
“It no longer matters what he thinks,” she said, “but does his attack here mean there were no raiders in Glen Shiel? Was it just a ruse to draw you away?”
“Oh, there was a raid,” he said grimly. “Dougal Maclennan and his family are dead. The raiders were Donald’s men, too, but I believe his sole intent was to draw me away from Eilean Donan so he could attack here unopposed.”
A shout from above drew his attention. “Patrick must be back,” he said. “He’ll be wroth that Donald’s galleys managed to slip past him.”
“I do not think they did,” Molly said quietly. “We believe they came from the south, from Sleat, just as the Glen Shiel raiders probably crossed at Kylerhea.”
“You’ve thought it out right carefully, sweetheart,” he said, putting an arm around her again. The endearment warmed her heart, but his next words made her chuckle. “Has anyone thought about supper?” he asked. “It looks as if this deluge means to continue till morning, so we should be safe as mice in a mill tonight.”
Guiltily, Molly looked at Mauri, but the older woman nodded reassuringly. “If ye’ve two lads willing to help serve, laird, I ha’ food enough,” she said, turning toward the kitchen. “There be soup keeping warm on the hob.”
“Fetch it to table at once,” Fin said heartily. “I swear I could eat enough for ten tonight. Were you badly frightened, lass?” he asked Molly.
“I had no time to consider my feelings,” she said. “From the moment we first saw them, we had so much to do, and then Thomas was hit, and … and Ian—”
“Thomas MacMorran? Is he hurt? Where the devil is he? And where—?”
“Here, laird,” Thomas said, entering with Doreen at his side, and looking much steadier on his feet. “I am well, barring an unpleasant ache in my head, but I count my headache good fortune compared to Ian Dubh’s fate.”
“Ian Dubh? What of him? Where is he?”
“He was killed, sir,” Thomas said, glancing at Molly. Fin was silent, clearly shocked. Then he, too, looked at her. “Why did you not tell me this at once, lass?”
“I had no chance before now,” she protested. “You’ve been asking questions, but you haven’t asked till now about what happened here. There is something more you should know, too.” She described the final moments of the battle, adding that she had not meant to kill Donald. “I aimed for his thigh, and the arrow struck true, but he yanked it free without taking even ordinary care.”
“A lesson in patience, perhaps, but that is all,” Fin said with a shrug. “Do not let it trouble you. We’ll none of us miss Donald, and you’ve doubtless saved hundreds of lives. I’ll send word to Jamie. He’ll certainly not grieve.”
Sir Patrick came in then, and while Fin and Thomas reported the news to him, Molly went to help Mauri and Doreen in the kitchen.
Supper was a relaxing meal despite the excitement of the day, and when Doreen rose to help Mauri afterward, Molly asked her to have someone fill the tub in Kintail’s bed-chamber for her and build up the fire there, as well.
“I want a hot bath,” she said. “All I washed last night was my hair, and after everything that’s happened today, I feel grimy. The men will talk here for hours yet, so I should have plenty of time for a proper bath.”
“Aye,” Doreen agreed. “I’ll see to it straightaway.”
As Molly left the hall, she saw that Fin was still deep in conversation with Patrick and the others. He waved but otherwise seemed to pay her no heed.
Upstairs, she went to her own bedchamber first and searched her chests until she found a nightdress she liked that she had not yet worn at Eilean Donan. Made of cream-colored cambric, it was fashioned simply, like a shift, but embroidered with a blue Celtic motif and edged with delicate lace. It felt like the right night to wear it.
Several lads with buckets of hot water soon filled her bath, and one carried in another of cold water that he placed near the tub to cool the bathwater if necessary.
Doreen arrived shortly after the water bearers had gone.
“Ha’ ye got your French soap, mistress?”
“Aye,” Molly said, already stripping off clothing. “Help me with my laces.”
Moments later, she stepped into the tub and, with a deep sigh, sat down and leaned back. It was the largest tub she had ever bathed in, and lined with smoothly beaten silver as it was, it was also the most comfortable. She decided that Fin’s size was an advantage in that respect if in few others.
The thought made her smile. Truth be told, his size was an advantage in myriad ways, and she admired it—at least, she did as long as he was not angry with her. At such times as that, his size gave him an unfair advantage.
“Fetch a net for my hair, please,” she said to Doreen. She had twisted the braids into a topknot, but curls had escaped, and she did not want to take wet hair to bed with her a second night.
Doreen handed her the soap and drew up a short, three-legged joint-stool to set the little soap dish on. Then she went to Molly’s bedchamber to fetch the hair net, and Molly began to soap all the bits of herself that she could reach, using a small towel to scrub her face.
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Sliding down into the water to rinse herself, she rested her shoulders against the sloped back, pressed the hot towel against her cheeks, and shut her eyes, relaxing. When the door opened, she said drowsily, “Just slip the net on over my hair, Doreen. I may never move again.”
“Oh, I hope you will move a little, sweetheart.” Fin’s voice, teasing and sensual, startled her into opening her eyes.
“You,” she said accusingly, “are not Doreen.”
“And you,” he retorted with a grin, “are very perceptive.”
“I like your tub,” she said, folding her arms across her breasts and watching him warily. As usual, her body was responding to his presence, making it hard to sit still. He had taken off his weapons, helmet, plate, and mail, and stood now in only his shirt, braies, and boots. The lacing of his shirt was open.
“I’m envious,” he said, still grinning. “Can you really stretch out your legs?”
“Aye, easily. My toes touch the end, but it’s the biggest tub I’ve ever seen.”
“I think I should have a larger one made,” he said. “Big enough for two.”
“You can use this water when I’ve finished,” she said, wishing she could relax and hoping Doreen would not walk in.
To be naked in a bath, attended by the personal servant who had tended one from childhood, was one thing. To be naked in a bath with one’s husband in the room was something else. But to be naked and aroused in a bath with both of them there, watching her, was not an experience she wanted to face.
Fin watched her appreciatively. Although she did not realize it, the situation was as new to him as it was to her, because he had never watched a woman bathe before, and she was lovely to watch. She had looked at first as if his entrance had not disturbed her in the least, although she had crossed her arms protectively over those luscious breasts of hers. But when she offered him the use of her bathwater—a common enough suggestion in any household—she had blushed, and now she seemed to have fixed her attention on scrubbing the very skin off her face.