by Bess McBride
When the first round eased, I struggled to straighten into an upright position, but I couldn’t let go of the chair long enough. I spotted Torq’s sword propped against the wall by the door. With one hand, I retucked the blanket skirt around my waist, and in a stooped posture, worked my way beyond the chair and to the table, inching my way toward the door.
Lifting each leg like a nutcracker, I finally reached the sword and caught the basket hilt. The sight of dried blood on the blade repulsed me, but I wasn’t about to stop and clean it off. Propping the sword tip into the ground, I leaned on it like a cane and straightened.
The door behind me opened, and I twisted around, sending my back into another spasm.
“Auch, lass, what are ye doing? Standing? Look at yer face. Ye’ve gone white.”
Torq dropped something onto the table and rushed up to slip an arm around my waist. With his free hand, he took the sword from me.
“This is no a crutch. It is my weapon. I will have one of the lads make ye a proper cane if ye need. Ann sent skirts for ye to wear. She wanted to come herself, but the bairns are fussing and will no be consoled by any but their mother.”
He propped the sword against the wall and nodded toward the clothing on the table, the material similar to his own muted scarlet great kilt.
“Can ye manage on yer own? I dinna ken,” he said skeptically.
“Well, the alternative is for you to help me, so I guess I can?”
“I would help ye in any way that I can, but I think dressing ye would best be done by other women. Shall I fetch one to aid ye?”
“No, I can manage. Just prop me up on the table. As always, ignore all shouts and screams. It’s just me.”
His eyes crinkled again as he helped me lean against the table.
“The lads and I will await ye wi’out.” He left the room and closed the door behind him.
I released the blanket and let it fall. With a whole lot of moaning and groaning, I managed to get the skirt over my head and let it slide down over my hips to the floor. Anne hadn’t sent a blouse, and I guessed that was fine. My T-shirt would have to do. I suspected she probably didn’t want to try to force me into a bodice at the moment, and for that I was grateful.
“Okay, I’m dressed!” I called out.
Torq returned, looked me up and down and shook his head. “Ye will need a proper blouse, but ye’ll do for now.”
“There’s no way I can bend over to get my shoes,” I said, barely hanging on to the table as it was.
“Ye’ll have no need of them. We will carry ye. Ann said to tell ye she thought it a grand idea, that the rare sunshine would do ye good. Ye were no of a mind to bathe in the sea yerself, were ye?”
“Well, not by myself, obviously. I couldn’t stand up. Next time though,” I said with a grin.
Two men stood behind him in the doorway—both tall and well-built, one with shoulder-length brown hair and beard, the other a strawberry blond with matching beard. I guessed their ages in the twenties.
They dressed similarly to Torq, their great kilts, nondescript gray vests and dingy white shirts having seen better days. Swords hung from wide belts, and each carried a pistol. I noted several random scars on their hands, suggestive of a hard life of fighting, even at their young ages.
“Mistress Dunnon, may I present Kenny and Euan? They will carry ye down to the beach.”
“Mistress, if ye please,” Kenny, the brunet, said, linking arms with Euan to form a basket chair.
With flaming cheeks, I put my hands on their shoulders and tried to lower myself into their basket with a repressed moan.
“Lass? Are ye in pain?” Torq asked. “Perhaps ye should stay here.”
“No, I want to go. It’s just...sitting hurts.” I gave both men an apologetic smile.
“Aye, I see that. Set her upright, lads. I will carry her.”
Kenny and Euan eased me to a standing position. I clung to Euan’s arm.
“No, Torq!” I protested. “You lost a lot of blood. You don’t need to be carrying me anywhere. Maybe I should just stay here. I’m really causing too much trouble.”
“Euan and Kenny will follow me. If I falter, they can take ye.”
“Aye, it is no a problem,” Kenny said.
Euan nodded agreement. They seemed an affable pair of young men, though the swords and pistols suggested they weren’t easygoing about everything.
I gave them another embarrassed smile.
Torq lifted me up into his arms, and I tried to think light, as if I weighed 90 pounds instead of my 125. I had no idea how far Torq would need to carry me, and I regretted putting him in this position. He didn’t groan under my weight, and I hoped for the best as he carried me outside the keep.
The sun shone down on Dun Eistean, and I saw it clearly for the first time. The little tidal stack truly was an island, separated from the mainland by a span of only several hundred feet. I recalled the bridge hadn’t taken long to cross. However, no bridge facilitated entry onto Dun Eistean.
Now, the original wooden gate guarded access from the mainland, flanked on both sides by six-foot stone walls that surrounded two-thirds of the island, those areas accessible by land. Peepholes had been left open at intervals on the wall. Heavily armed men wandered the perimeter and guarded the gate.
Across the expanse of emerald-green grass that covered the surface of the tabletop, I saw the crofts as they had once existed. No buried mounds these, plumes of smoke wafted into the air through the turf roofs of the stacked stone cottages. Little tartaned children played while men and women moved about attending to chores, talking, some turning to stare at us.
Torq ignored the stares from the crofts and headed away from the keep toward two smaller stone turf-topped buildings where the perimeter wall ended. From an archaeological diagram I had seen online, I recognized the buildings as the boathouses.
I looked over my shoulder back at the keep. Much taller than I had suspected, the rectangular tower appeared to be about fourteen feet tall with small windows on all visible sides.
Beyond the keep, the white-capped sea stretched out on two sides, dotted only by a few rocky outcrops. A brisk wind blew across the sea stack. To the left, beyond Torq’s shoulder, I saw the rugged coastline of the northernmost tip on the Isle of Lewis.
“What’s that crevice there?” I nodded toward a break in the round symmetry of the island, the point where the wall ended. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Aye! That is where we keep the birlinns.”
“Birlinns? The boats?”
“Aye.”
If Torq struggled to carry me, he didn’t let me know. His breathing seemed even, not labored. I examined his face while he carried me, but saw no renewed bleeding. My uneven stitches were holding up well.
Torq’s beautiful curly hair glowed under the sun. I thought his face much more handsome without the beard, despite the wound on his cheek. His square jaw and pale skin just screamed Nordic ancestry.
He smelled of sweat, dirt and copper—from the blood on his clothes, body and hair.
“Be careful with those stitches when you bathe,” I cautioned.
He looked down at me with his sapphire-blue eyes. We were so close, I could see the white flecks in them. My heart raced.
“Aye, I will. I would no wish to damage yer handiwork.” The white flecks danced. “The path to the beach is uneven. I dinna wish to cause ye further discomfort. Are ye in much pain?”
I hadn’t even thought about pain for a few minutes. The warmth of Torq’s arms and the adrenaline coursing through my body in his embrace worked as an effective pain reliever.
“No, not really. Take it easy on yourself,” I said. “I really don’t want you to overdo it.”
“It isna a problem.”
Two kilted, heavily armed Scots, who had been sitting on stone benches just outside the boathouses, rose and greeted the men in Gaelic. Kenny and Euan responded, but Torq merely nodded. I presumed the guards kept an eye on the bo
ats and access to the island from the sea.
Torq carried me toward the crevice, which looked over the edge of a cliff toward a rocky beach way below. I didn’t know why I hadn’t realized we would have to descend a cliff face of some sort. Dun Eistean was an isolated rock sticking out of the ocean, separated from the mainland at high tides.
What had I been thinking? My fear of heights kicked into gear, and I began to pant when it looked as if Torq would step off the edge into thin air.
“What ails ye, lass?”
Torq paused, and I squeezed my eyes shut at the dizzying sight of the cliff edge.
“I’m afraid of heights,” I whispered through gritted teeth.
“Heights? Auch, lass, this is truly no place for ye then. We have naethin but heights here at Dun Eistean.”
“I know. I know.”
“Dinna fash, lass. I have hold of ye, and the path is sturdy.”
I have hold of ye.
Comforted by Torq’s self-assured words, I pried one eye open, but the sensation that we were about to plummet off the edge struck me, and I slammed my eyes shut again.
I felt, rather than saw, Torq descend as my ride became bouncier. Still, I felt very little discomfort plastered against the broad chest of a handsome Scot.
“If ye think ye can pry open yer eyes, the birlinns are to our right. We had only the one here at Dun Eistean but took the other from the Macleod.”
I lifted one eyelid to see that we passed two Viking-style wooden ships with curved bows perched on a ledge above the beach. Ropes suggested how they hauled them up and down. I presumed they must have used the high tides to launch.
“Beautiful!” I whispered, closing my eyes again.
We bounced along for a few more minutes until Torq spoke.
“Ye can open yer eyes now, lass.”
We stood on a pebbly beach at the base of the cliff. Waves rolled onto the island, propelled by the surf beyond. I looked at the roiling water and wondered about the undertow. It looked treacherous.
“What shall I do wi ye?” he asked.
“You can just set me down on the rocks.”
“Will that no hurt yer back?”
Kenny and Euan started shedding their vests and shirts but stopped at a terse Gaelic comment from Torq. Both retucked their shirts and waited, watching us.
“I don’t think so. No, I’m sure it will feel like a shiatsu massage.” I eyeballed the rounded rocks.
“I dinna ken that word,” Torq said, bending down to his knees and lowering me to the pebbles.
“No, I know.”
Avoiding a sitting position, I spread out and lay on my side, waiting for the pain to pass. As I had hoped, the sun had warmed the rocks.
“Okay! I’m good! Thank you,” I said as Torq looked at me with concern. “Go bathe. I can always close my eyes. You know I can do that well!”
Torq’s eyes crinkled. He spoke to Kenny and Euan in Gaelic, and they smiled and strode away to another end of the beach. I followed them until they disappeared behind a large boulder that jutted out into the water.
“I will join the lads just there behind the boulder. Are ye certain ye will be comfortable?”
“Yes. I just appreciate the fresh air.”
“Verra well. I will return soon.”
He turned and walked away, removing his vest and shirt while he walked. I couldn’t help but hope his kilt was next, but he too disappeared around the boulder, albeit with a last look in my direction. His broad shoulders and muscular torso made me sigh.
I lay my head down on my extended arm, oddly enjoying the massaging effect of the pebbles along the length of my right side. Every now and then, I looked up to see if I could spot an unclothed long-haired Highlander frolicking in the sea, but had no such luck.
Seagulls flew overhead, and I closed my eyes, enjoying the salty air, warmth of the sun and refreshing sea wind on my face. The rhythm of the waves lulled me into drowsiness.
“Are ye sleeping, lass?” Torq asked sometime later.
I opened heavy-lidded eyes to see him crouching beside me on one knee, shirtless, his hair wet and hanging over his face. He carried his vest, shirt and boots in one hand, but wore his kilt.
My eyes flew to the wound on his face, but I saw no bleeding.
“How are your wounds?”
“They stung a bit in the water, but it was a fair price to pay for a bath.”
Euan and Kenny appeared, both having donned their kilts as well. They walked toward us but stopped short to sit and thrust their feet into socks and boots, followed by their shirts and vests. My heart thudded at the sight of three ruggedly handsome bare-chested, wet-haired Scotsmen dressing in front of me after they had bathed, saltwater notwithstanding.
It was really too much for one woman to handle.
Chapter Eight
How Torq managed to carry me back up the steep path to the cliff top, I’ll never know. I marveled at his incredible strength and resilience after having lost so much blood the night before. The stitches in his face bulged as he clenched his jaw with the effort of carrying me.
“Torq!” I pled more than once. “Put me down. Maybe the other guys can help.”
“It isna a problem.” He breathed heavily. “Ye are light as a feather, truly.”
I knew that wasn’t true. I was short, but I had extra padding. Still, in comparison to Torq and the rest of the brawny village men that I had seen so far, I was tiny.
“Gosh, they really grow you men big up here in the Western Isles, don’t they?” I said to distract me from my guilt at his efforts.
Torq’s eyes crinkled—to date, his idea of a smile.
“Aye!” he said. “We are a hardy lot! Ye are right. Life isna easy here in the north. If our battles with the Macleods and Macaulays didna already harden us, the unforgiving weather and isolation here on the island do so.”
I found myself actually toying with the wet curls at the back of Torq’s neck while he struggled to carry me up the cliff. Embarrassed, I disentangled my fingers and clenched my fist to keep my hands to myself. I supposed I could have said that I was inspecting his neck wound, but that wasn’t true. I loved his bright unruly hair.
Josh would have been surprised. I know I was.
I forced my attention back to the weather. Didn’t one always?
“But if you’ve lived up here all your life, why would you call the weather unforgiving? Wouldn’t it just be normal weather?”
My question was pointless, but it was all I could come up with, distracted as I was by Torq, the memory of him shirtless, the strength of his embrace.
“Aye, I see yer point.” He paused momentarily to shift me in his arms.
“I shouldn’t be bugging you with questions while you’re toting me up this hill.”
“I have some air in my lungs yet. To answer yer question, the weather at Ardmore never seemed so harsh as it does here at Dun Eistean. The walls of the castle break much of the wind, protecting us from the fierce rain. We had more comforts at Ardmore, more peat for heat, more fresh water, more food. I miss Ardmore sorely, but this is our home for now.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
We crested the hill, and Torq paused for breath. Kenny and Euan followed us up to the tabletop.
“You can set me down,” I said. “Maybe I could try to walk a bit.”
“Nay, I dinna think that wise. With yer permission, I shall take ye over to visit with her ladyship,” he said.
I had noted before that Torq referred to Ann in various ways, and assumed he called her by her more formal title in front of the men who now trailed us.
“Okay,” I said docilely.
Torq spoke over his shoulder in Gaelic. Euan and Kenny responded and dropped off to join the men at the boathouse.
As Torq carried me toward the crofts, everyone universally stopped their activities and turned to stare at us again. I ducked my face into Torq’s shoulder and peeked out with one eye.
The women wore
ankle-length skirts in the same faded-red pattern as my own skirt, as Torq’s kilt. Like Ann, the women wore dark bodices over white shifts. Many wore their hair loose, which surprised me, ribbons tied around their foreheads. Two older women huddled on wooden benches in front of one croft, and despite the warmth, they huddled in cloaks fashioned from their skirts and belted at the waist. I recognized the style as an arisaid.
I had already noted that most of the men worked some sort of guard duty and were largely absent from the conclave of thatched huts, though a few of the older men remained.
Although now frozen in the act of staring at me, the community had seemed largely busy. Some held buckets, some repaired damage to their crofts, which must have occurred the previous night, and others tended small gardens or animals.
“They’re all staring, Torq,” I whispered. “Do they know about me?”
“Nay. It is best they dinna ken about ye either.”
“Well, how do you all explain my presence here? It’s not like anyone can just walk onto the sea stack.” I looked toward the wooden gate, guarded by two burly Scots.
“Well, I canna say that is true, given last night, but to yer point, I dinna ken what Ann or the laird have put about. I have been wi ye almost the entire time, so I havena heard how they have explained yer presence.”
He stopped in front of a croft and tapped on the doorsill with his foot.
“I would call out, but I dinna dare in case the bairns are sleeping,” he said in a low voice.
Ann opened the door and smiled.
“Well, there you are!” she exclaimed. She looked beyond us and smiled and waved toward the villagers. “Come on in. John and Andrew are here. I was just about to send Andrew to bring you two here to eat.”
Torq ducked his head to avoid the low doorway and carried me into a surprisingly large room. Curved timber beams supported the turf ceiling, forming a dome high enough for the men, both over six feet tall, to stand. Walls of stacked stones supported the whole. I blinked at the dirt floor but shouldn’t have been surprised. The island was completely devoid of trees. Ann had covered the majority of it with tartan carpets.
I noted several parts of the large community room had been curtained off—bedrooms, I supposed. I suspected that too had been Ann’s innovation. I wondered if the babies were asleep behind the curtains. No one in the room spoke or moved quietly, so the babies were good sleepers if they were there.