by Amy Jarecki
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 past 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.”
Aleck moved to the table and stood beside him. “I’d assume the same.”
MacIain is actually listening this time? Eoin pointed. “Our spies are posted on Eigg, The Kyle of Lochalsh and on the northern point of Ardnamurchan.” He moved his finger south and west past Mingary. “I think you need a lookout here in northern Sunart. We should be prepared for an overland attack.”
“Have you got your head up your arse?” Aleck shook his skull with a tsk of his tongue. “MacDonald will not attack by land.”
“No?” Eoin moved his finger a bit further north. “It wouldn’t take much effort to march an army south from Tioram Castle.”
Aleck threw back his whisky and swallowed. “I don’t like the idea of splitting our forces.”
“Agreed there—we’re stronger if we stay together.” Eoin tapped his finger on the region of Sunart—land recently acquired by MacIain—land he wouldn’t want to forfeit to the marauding MacDonald. “Station a watch—three men with fast horses. Where’s the highest point?”
“Beinn Resipol.” Aleck scratched his beard. “It overlooks Loch Sunart to the south and Loch Schiel to the north.”
“Excellent. Have them notify the local crofters to be on the lookout for MacDonald men. If they attack us from behind we’ll be ready.”
Aleck’s expression grew dark. “I’m still not convinced we should waste our time covering our arses in the east. MacDonald wants the Lordship of the Isles back, not my lands.”
“You think not?” Eoin met the belligerent man’s stare. “As I recall, Sunart used to be under control of the Lord of the Isles—as was Mingary. You may very well be his first target on his way down the coast.”
“’Tis possible that they try, but no one crosses me. Though Sunart was bequeathed to me by the king after I agreed to renounce the MacDonald name, my ancestors have been the Chieftains of Ardnamurchan for a good long time. No other clan within a hundred miles would try to attack me and my men. I have the king’s backing and MacDonald knows it. If he attacks, I’ll show him no quarter.”
Eoin listened, but Aleck’s bravado changed nothing. “Would you like to stand before the king with your bonnet in hand and explain why you allowed Clan Donald to take your lands?”
MacIain slammed his fist on the table. “That will never happen. I’ll not allow it, and I’ll not tolerate your coming into my keep, placing your soiled hands on my wife and telling me how to manage my men.”
Eoin sauntered forward until he was within a hand’s breadth of the bastard. Then he folded his arms and met the man eye-to-eye. Though Aleck was probably four stone heavier, they were the same height. “I’m here because our king requested my presence. As soon as this business is over, I’ll gladly take my leave.” Eoin’s ire boiled too near the surface to hold his tongue any longer. “And as for your wife? If you’d pay a mind to your own bed rather to that of the merry widow, Lady Helen just might birth the son you’ve a yen for.”
Gnashing his teeth, Aleck drew his fist back. But Eoin was faster. Before MacIain could follow through, Eoin clamped his fingers at the base of Aleck’s neck—a maneuver he’d learned from the Black Knight—one that would cause excruciating pain.
MacIain grimaced and tried to twist away, but Eoin held the miserable buffoon in a viselike grip. “The king has ordered us together whether you like it or nay,” he growled through clenched teeth. “I will see to the safety of this keep and the women and children within regardless of your bull-brained overconfidence.”
Aleck dropped to his knees, sweat beading his brow.
Eoin tightened his fingers. “The next time we’re in public together you will give me due respect, just as I pay to you.”
With a push, he released his hold and strode out of the solar without a backward glance.
9
Eoin stood beside Fergus while they supervised the construction of the platform on the Ardnamurchan galley. His men, Samuel and Willy walked past, carrying a stack of wooden planks.
“How much more timber do we need?” Eoin asked.
“I reckon one more load ought to do it,” Samuel said, as he and Willy continued up the ramp of the MacIain galley.
“Look at us working like servants for bloody MacIain.” Fergus folded his arms and spat. “I still think we should climb aboard our boat and head for home.”
Eoin could barely hear him over the hammering. “I must admit the thought has crossed my mind more than once.”
> “Then why are we still here while the Lord of Glenorchy and the others rally their armies at Dunstaffnage? My oath, our men are doing the lion’s share of the work.”
“We’ll be on our way soon enough. Just set your mind to the task at hand and remember we’re fighting for the king, not the mule-brained Chieftain of Ardnamurchan.”
“What’s that you say, MacGregor?” Aleck grumbled from behind. If nothing else, MacIain had impeccable timing.
Eoin bristled and faced the cur. “Fergus and I were just discussing how nice it would be if your men joined us whilst we build the platform on your galley.”
The laggard planted his fists on his hips like he owned all of Scotland. “You’d best not be doing anything to make her less seaworthy. That boat has sailed up and down the west coast of the Highlands with nary an issue.”
“Aye,” Eoin cocked his head and made a show of examining at the galley’s hull. “By the looks of the mollusks adhered to your timbers, I’d say she’s well past due for a refit. If you don’t clean her up, you’ll be lucky not to sink the next time you take her out, and the new cannon platform will not be the cause.”
Aleck stepped closer to the boat and squinted. “There’s nothing wrong with her.”
Eoin shrugged. “She’s your vessel.”
“When will the deck be ready to mount the cannon?”
Och aye, the lazy scoundrel would be interested once the hard labor is completed. “Today with luck.”
“Send someone to fetch me when she’s aboard.” He pointed up the curtain wall. “In the meantime, I’ll be training my men to fire the big gun atop the battlements.”
Eoin glanced up to the black cannon sticking though the crenel notch directly above them. “Just ensure you don’t misfire that damned thing and hit one of us—or my galley.”
Aleck stepped a wee bit too close. “Boar’s ballocks, do you think I’m incompetent?”
Aye, I ken you are. Not about to be intimidated, Eoin leaned in. “If you’ve any experience with those newfangled guns, you’ll know that they can misfire. Aim your sights out to the open sea and no one will end up dead.”