by Amy Jarecki
“After Aleck cut you today.” Fergus lowered his voice. “I cannot see why we don’t just sail back to Argyllshire.”
“Because that’s not what the king ordered.” Eoin picked up his weapons and headed out with his henchman on his heels. “If we tuck tail and head for home, MacIain could side with the MacDonalds, and then we’d have no foothold on the northwestern shore.” And Eoin wasn’t about to release his hold on Mingary for any length of time until he knew Helen would be safe. Aye, she’d survived Aleck’s brutality for the past five years, but something wasn’t right, and Eoin had a mind to fix it—somehow.
Fergus fell in beside him. “Are you coming with me to tell the men?”
“Nay, I’m off to find the chieftain of this keep and let him know our plans.” Eoin gave his henchman a wink. “Wouldn’t want him to gloat, thinking he’d scared us away.”
“Good luck with that.” Fergus chuckled. “Better you than me.”
Eoin gave him a jab with his elbow. “Aye, and kiss my arse while you’re at it.”
Chapter Eight
Helen sat in a beam of light shining through the narrow window in the nursery painstakingly making tiny stitches as she repaired Eoin’s linen shirt. Maggie napped in her cradle. Glenda and Sarah tended their needlepoint beside the hearth.
“You’ll go blind holding that shirt so close to your face,” Glenda said.
Helen looked up. “I’m trying to make it appear as if it weren’t slashed open. Sir Eoin told me he had only one to spare. And I feel responsible since Sir Aleck was the one who ruined it.”
“Sir Eoin is fortunate. Most soldiers have the clothing on their backs and that is all,” Sarah said as if she possessed a great deal of knowledge on the subject.
Helen pushed in her needle for another careful stitch. “Aye, but Eoin is a chieftain. I’d expect him to be a bit different.”
Glenda rose and crossed the floor. “Let me have a look.”
Helen held up the shirt. “I’m nearly finished.”
The chambermaid grasped the edges and pulled it taut. “You’ve done a fine job, m’lady. You can only see the join if you look closely.”
Sarah stepped beside her. “And no one will see it at all if he’s wearing a doublet atop.”
Helen regarded the shirt with a sigh. “Well, at least you scrubbed out the blood stain, Glenda.”
“Perhaps you should have made him a new shirt,” Sarah suggested.
Honestly, Helen had thought about it, but decided she might raise Aleck’s ire if she gave the Chieftain of Clan Gregor a new shirt that she’d handcrafted. “Mayhap, but Sir Aleck is still maddened about their disagreement in the courtyard. I wouldn’t want to upset him further”
“The men are saying the chieftain shouldn’t have lashed out at Sir Eoin after he’d offered a fair handshake.” Her eyes popping wide as if she’d just made a grand faux pas, Sarah pressed praying fingers to her lips. “Forgive me for being so bold, m’lady.”
Though Helen would never speak ill of her husband to the servants, she nodded. “I’m afraid you could be right in this instance.” She took in a deep inhale and smiled. “Perhaps Sir Aleck and Sir Eoin will agree to put their differences behind them once the MacGregor Chieftain returns.”
Glenda coughed. “You must be the most optimistic person I know, m’lady.”
Helen pursed her lips and returned her attention to her sewing. She didn’t care to have Glenda speak out in subtle disagreement. True, Helen always tried to find the good in every situation, but lately, her kindheartedness had been pushed to the ragged edge.
Sarah brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “When do you think the MacGregor men will return?”
Helen frowned. She had hoped they would have come back by now. The return trip up around the northwestern islands should have only taken a couple of days and they’d been away an entire sennight. “I’m sure they’ve a great many things to attend,” she replied as indifferently as she could manage.
As the women returned to their needlepoint, the chamber grew quiet, the crackling of the fire in the hearth the only sound.
After Helen tied off the last stitch, the ram’s horn sounded, piercing through the silence. The suddenness of the blast nearly made her heart hammer out of her chest.
Sarah’s gaze brightened with her grin. “I’ll wager ’tis them.”
Helen waved her toward the window. “Go have a look.” She made one more knot for good measure and snipped it with the shears. If Sir Eoin had indeed arrived, she could return his shirt this very day.
“’Tis the MacGregor men,” Sarah announced, her voice squeaking with excitement.
Why Helen’s insides were fluttering, she had no idea. Perhaps the lass’s exuberance was contagious.
Glenda gestured to the door. “I’ll stay here with Maggie if you’d like to greet them.”
Sarah curtseyed. “Thank you, ta.” She bit her lip and cast a hopeful gaze toward Helen. “If that meets with your approval, m’lady.”
Helen stood and draped the shirt over her arm. “Of course. We’ll go together.”
While they proceeded down the tower stairs, Helen paused at an arrow slit and looked to the north. Stepping out the door of Mary’s cottage, Aleck was fastening his sword belt. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Sarah had seen him. The woeful expression on the maid’s face confirmed she had.
Helen pretended nothing was amiss and clapped a hand to her chest. “Thank heavens Peter has plenty of meat hanging in the cellar.”
“’Tis a good thing indeed, m’lady,” Sarah agreed.
Though Helen tried not to think of it, she suspected the entire clan avoided speaking of Aleck and Mary in her presence. She breathed in deeply through her nose. She would hold her chin high and maintain her poise just as she always had.
When they stepped into the courtyard, noisy activity echoed between the bailey walls with a refreshing air of excitement. The blacksmith shack clanged and guardsmen were all jesting amongst themselves about their surprise that the MacGregors had bothered to return after their chieftain “bested” Sir Eoin in the sparring ring. Helen wanted to issue a sharp retort. Was she the only person who’d seen Aleck lash out after Eoin had offered his hand? Or had a sennight and whisky faded their memories? Then again, by the way they were laughing and blurting yarns filled with hyperbole, she realized most were genuinely happy Sir Eoin and his men had returned.
Helen glanced at the nursemaid who anxiously strained to see beyond the open sea gate. “Do you fancy one of the MacGregor lads?”
Sarah clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”
Walking across the courtyard, Helen grasped her arm. “If you had wings, I do not believe your toes would touch ground at all.” She waved Sarah forward. “Go on then.”
The nursemaid giggled and dashed ahead, straight into the outstretched arms of a MacGregor man. Helen chewed the inside of her cheek. Would she need to find a new maid for Maggie soon?
Her thoughts were interrupted when Eoin hopped over the hull of his galley and splashed into knee-deep water. Helen shivered, well aware the North Sea was never anything but icy cold. She stood at the top of the incline, as customary. It would have been entirely inappropriate had she raced down to shore to greet the men. After all, she was lady over the lands of Ardnamurchan, a post held by a woman born into nobility. Unlike Mary the widow.
Eoin waded through the surf nodding greetings to the MacIain guards. The men all surrounded him with welcoming claps on the back and ribs about the length of time he’d been away. It appeared some had appreciated their sennights of sparring lessons with the big warrior. Laughing, he seemed not to notice the wet hem of his surcoat, dripping from beneath his hauberk—or the water sloshing from his boots. As he neared, he looked up the incline. His gaze met Helen’s and he grinned while the others chortled around him. He surged ahead of his retinue and strode straight toward her.
Helen’s heart fluttered.
“Lady Helen.
” He stepped in and grasped her hand. Though he’d just been walking through the icy surf and sailing in a chilly May breeze, the fingers surrounding hers were ever so warm and welcoming.
Her breath caught, but she maintained her poise. With the current between their gazes connecting them like lightning to the earth, her insides fluttered in an alarming rhythm she would never reveal through her expression.
Time stilled. Everything surrounding them faded into oblivion, as if they were the only two people on the shore. Her every breath rushed with the sound of waves hitting the beach.
Eoin’s eyes twinkled, reflecting a glint of sunlight. His lips parted in a broad grin, revealing a row of straight, healthy white teeth. A dark beard had grown in during their absence. If anything, it made his eyes bluer, his teeth whiter. She chuckled to herself. The black hair shadowing his face gave him a devilish look.
Blinking, Helen realized he was staring at her, as if expecting her to say something. “Sir Eoin, we thought you and your men would have returned days ago,” she managed in a higher pitch than normal.
With a halfcocked grin, he lowered his gaze, shading his eyes with dark lashes—far too long to belong to a man. “We had a bit of fun following a pair of MacDonald galleys down the coast.” He plied the back of her hand with a kiss, so warm it scorched.
Certain his lips had left a mark, Helen glanced at her hand. “How is your wound?”
Eoin pressed his hand to his ribs to the side of the injury. “’Tis coming good. I had Fergus take out the stitches a couple days past.”
Recalling the undulating muscles over his abdomen, Helen’s gaze drifted down. With a start, she remembered the shirt in her hand—the one he hadn’t kissed. She held it up. “I mended this for you.”
His eyes brightened. “That’s my shirt?”
“Aye. I stitched it trying to mirror the weave. ’Tis not perfect. I’m afraid my eyesight isn’t as keen as it once was.”
“I’m impressed.” He peered closely at the seam. “It looks as good as new. Thank you, m’lady.”
When Aleck moved in beside them, Helen took a step back. She feigned her usual demure expression. “Sir Eoin has returned, m’laird.”
“I see.” Aleck frowned and regarded Eoin’s wet boots. “What took you so long, MacGregor? Can you not navigate?”
A muscle in Eoin’s jaw twitched. He motioned toward the sea gate. “I’ve news.”
Following the men into the courtyard, Helen half expected Eoin to finish his sentence with a scoffing comment akin to, “you daft Highlander.” She’d often heard the MacGregor Chieftain and her brother rib each other with such remarks, but that had all been in fun. Perhaps, Eoin was wary about pushing back when Aleck MacIain issued an insult. Unfortunate, she would have enjoyed hearing how he’d really wanted to respond—but then again, such a rebuttal could have set off another inordinately-serious courtyard sparring session.
Aleck stopped by the well and crossed his arms. “My spies reported seeing MacDonald galleys on the move—said they appear to be transporting items south.”
Helen had no idea her husband had dispatched spies.
Eoin nodded and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “The galleys were indeed heading south. We followed them all the way to the Isle of Colonsay.”
“Close to the Isle of Islay—MacDonald’s greatest holdings in southern waters.” Aleck scratched his whiskers. “The king’s concerns about a stir to the south must be founded.”
“Aye. That’s what took me so long. I sailed to Dunstaffnage to alert Lord Duncan and dispatch a missive to the king.”
“We must set sail and join them,” Aleck said, spreading his arms wide.
“Not yet.” Eoin held up his palm. “I counted fifty-two galleys moored alongside Dunskeath in Sleat.”
Aleck nodded as if he actually paid heed to the MacGregor Chieftain’s words. “’Tis a good place to hide if you’re building an army.”
“My thoughts as well.” Eoin narrowed his gaze. “You ken Clan Donald. My gut is telling me they’re planning a siege along the entire west coast. Where would you guess they’d strike to the north?”
Aleck tugged on his beard. “They’re sworn enemies with the MacKenzie—none too friendly with the MacLeods either.”
“Agreed, and I’d also wager Alexander MacDonald wouldn’t have been pleased after the king granted you Sunart lands.”
“He’d never cross me.” Aleck planted his fists on his hips. “If the bastard is so bold as to attack my lands, I’ll murder him—set fire to his castles and put his family under my blade.”
“Pardon? There is a lady present.” Eoin flashed an apologetic glance at Helen—as if he were responsible for Aleck’s vulgar tongue in front of a lady. “We need to be ready—ensure any battles remain far away from the womenfolk.”
Helen tapped her fingers to her mouth and stifled her gasp. “Heavens, they wouldn’t lay siege to Mingary, would they?”
“I’ll not take anything for granted.” Eoin started toward the keep. “I want to review where we’ve posted the spies.”
Aleck threw up his hands and surged ahead. “We’ve stared at that map a hundred times.”
“And we need to study it again. We’ve new information to process,” Eoin said with an edge to his voice. “Unless you want Clan Donald scaling Mingary’s walls.”
With a deep grumble, Aleck shoved through the big double doors.
Helen hastened beside Eoin as they followed Aleck inside. “Do you think we’re in imminent danger?”
He stopped and almost reached for her shoulders, but snatched his fingers away hastily. “We should be safe for the time being, but we must be careful. If you leave the castle, ensure you do so with a guard.”
She wrung her hands. “Sir Grant or Mr. Keith always accompanies me regardless.” She glanced over her shoulder. Aleck watched them from the stairwell with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’d thought no less, but it is important to exercise additional caution. No one knows where they’ll choose to strike next.” Eoin’s gaze also flickered toward Aleck.
Helen stepped nearer—but not improperly close. “B-but when do you think they’ll attack?”
“I still believe the greater threat is to the south, but if they threaten Ardnamurchan lands, it will be before summer’s end for certain.”
“Soon, then?”
“Aye, I fear things are afoot.” He grasped her hand and held it snugly between his warm palms. “Do not worry. Our spies will see them coming hours before they reach the castle.”
“But Maggie—”
“Are you planning to stand there and cosset my wife all day?” Aleck bellowed from the stairwell.
Eoin gave her a squeeze and drew his hands away. “The bairn will be my first concern should there be any threat,” he whispered.
“Thank you.” Helen bowed her head, then clutched her fists to her chest and watched him disappear up the stairwell. Aleck followed, but not before he gave her an evil glare.
Helen threw her fists to her sides. Curses to him. If only Aleck could show a modicum of concern for the bairn—and me for that matter. I received far more information from exchanging a few words with Sir Eoin than I have for the past year from my own husband.
***
Eoin led the way to the chieftain’s solar. He’d hoped the time apart had helped to assuage Aleck’s ill will, but he should have realized MacIain liked being disagreeable. Eoin had seen similar behavior before and usually tried to steer clear of such unsavory characters. The only problem was he couldn’t avoid Aleck MacIain on this mission. Mingary was the arse-licking boar’s keep and Ardnamurchan his lands. Eoin was merely there to direct the army—a fact the miserable chieftain had seemed to have forgotten, or refused to accept.
Aleck marched in behind him and closed the door. “Why did you not stop here before proceeding to Dunstaffnage?”
Eoin strode to the oblong table and rotated the map to face him. “We practically had to sail pas
t the castle on our return trip. It didn’t make sense to double back and waste a day of sailing.”
Aleck placed both hands on the table and leaned in. “I would have liked to have met with Campbell and heard what my brother-in-law had to say.”
Eoin’s shrugged. “I’ll keep that in mind the next time I follow a pair of suspicious galleys sailing south.”
“Do not patronize me,” Aleck said with a shake of his finger.
Eoin pretended to study the map, but his jaw set tighter than a trigger for a snare. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He’d rather challenge MacIain to a fair fight—though the chieftain had already proved he didn’t understand the meaning of the word fair.
Aleck sauntered to the sideboard. “What is your interest in my wife?”
“Lady Helen?” Eoin tensed. What was the bastard up to now?
“I do not believe I’ve wedded any other woman,” Aleck said while reaching for a flagon of whisky.
Eoin choked back the words on the tip of his tongue: it wasn’t clear to whom Sir Aleck was wedded by his behavior with the widow. If only he could indeed follow such a remark by saying Aleck’s indiscretions provided much gossip for the clan—ugly rumors were never good for the health of the men and women who served a chieftain. But Eoin opted to humor the dimwitted boar this time. “Lady Helen and I have been friends since childhood. You’re aware her father fostered me? I consider her a sister, especially since I never had one, myself.”
Aleck poured only one goblet. Eoin licked his lips, his mouth was dry, but he didn’t expect MacIain to offer him a drink. Christ, he’d known more affable enemies. The cur took a sip and eyed Eoin. “I don’t want to see you touch her again.”
Eoin’s fingers itched to ball a fist to slam across that smug chin. How many times in the past sennights had Aleck touched Lady Helen with tenderness? If only it were Eoin’s place to ask. Rather than reply, he turned his attention to the map. “Lord Campbell increased the guard at Ornonsay Priory to keep an eye on MacDonald keeps on Colonsay and Islay, so we’ve no need to worry about anything to the south. The king has ten times the troops watching them there.”