Page 13 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

F rom the corner of his eye Everard observed Davina straighten herself and tense at his question. She raised a nervous hand to brush back an imaginary strand of hair from her face, her eyes flicking from Aileen to Maxwell, as if gauging their response.

Aileen thought for a few moments and shook her head. “I’m aware of the MacKinnons, but I’ve nay heard this name afore.”

Maxwell grimaced. “How come ye’re enquiring about a MacKinnon? Ye ken we have little tae dae wi’ that tribe. Especially as they’re friends wi’ MacDougall and nay friends tae King Robert. Although they pay lip service tae their allegiance.”

“I believe he’s nay one of the MacKinnons of Mull but he’s from the Island of Pabhay.”

“Ah.” Maxwell grew thoughtful. “I kent the MacKinnons split many years ago. Many were from Mull, but others made their home on Pabhay. A different breed altogether.”

“Yet they’re kin?”

“Aye, but distant enough.”

“And ye dinnae ken this name?”

Maxwell shook his head. “I’ll see what I can find out. Why d’ye ask?”

Beside him, Everard heard Davina draw in a sharp breath. He had no wish to cause her embarrassment, so he made no mention of her foolishness.

“I heard the name at the market. I was curious tae ken what business a man from Pabhay would have on the Isle of Barra. ‘Tis of nay importance.”

He turned to Aileen. “I wonder if ye’d care tae show Davina around yer new house?”

Aileen grinned at Davina. “Of course! Would ye care tae see it? We can talk a little about what tae plant in the garden and when.”

Smiling prettily, Davina rose and followed Aileen along the path and into the house.

As soon as the women were out of sight Maxwell turned to Everard.

“What did ye find from yer talk wi’ the tinker?”

Everard was happy to turn his attention from the MacKinnons to the more pressing matter of the tinker.

“As luck would have it, today was the last day of the lad’s stay on our islands. Tomorrow he’s bound fer Mull.”

“Good. So, exactly where we need him tae go. Were ye able tae persuade him tae make the short journey from Mull across tae Iona and thence tae the Priory.”

“Aye. He was happy tae dae so, as he’d taken a liking tae Mistress Davina and when I explained that his enquiries would be tae her advantage he readily agreed.”

“And, naturally, ye lined his purse just tae be certain?”

Everard chuckled. “Of course. He’s a tinker, after all. He needs tae spend his time where he can be rewarded with coin.

“I was very firm that he was tae reveal naught of where the enquiry came from. He understood. Seems he’s visited the Priory many times and is known tae the Prioress and the servants. He will tell her that he came across the lass on the Isle of Mull. They will likely believe that story, as Mull is where she was heading when she dived into the sea.”

He shook his head as the memory of Davina’s sodden, almost drowned, figure rushed into his mind and he recalled the fear that had coursed through him at the thought she had gotten lost in the village.

“He will return taeto Kiessimul and report tae me, whether he has learned more of the lass or nay.”

“And, in the meantime we’ll both enquire about this lad, Dùghall MacKinnon.”

Hearing Davina’s and Aileen’s chattering and laughing, Everard looked up to see them emerging from near the hedgerow at the side of the house. He and Maxwell rose as the two lasses approached, smiling.

“Yer house is truly beautiful, me lord,” Davina said, addressing Maxwell.

He shook his head. “Its beauty is all down tae me good wife. I’ve nay time fer it.”

Everard laughed. “He’s a brute wi’ nay poetry in his soul.”

Aileen and Maxwell exchanged glances, grinning.

Everard offered his arm to Davina, who took it, but not without hesitation. “’Tis time fer us tae walk back tae the village and sail over the bay.” He looked at her with concern. “Have ye found yer strength again?”

Her cheeks flushed with pink but she smiled and nodded. “I am much refreshed, me laird, and ready fer our return journey.”

“Ye must come again,” Aileen said, as they made their farewells.

As they wound their way back to the village, Davina paused here and there to pick the wildflowers growing in abundance alongside the road. By the time they arrived at the place where Everard had tied up his boat, her basket was brimming.

As he lifted her into the boat, she laughed. “See, I’m nae so afeared now. Mayhap I shall have tae learn tae sail and row a wee boat such as this, so I can make me way across tae the village.” She took a breath. “In time. Nae quite yet.”

Everard looked at her shining eyes that lit up her face with an inner joy, and grinned. His heart lifted at the sight of the pleasure she’d had in her time away from the castle. The only drawback to a perfect day had been the unwanted presence of the that damned MacKinnon, who had enticed her into the tavern.

He’d been surprised by the intensity of his body’s instant reaction when he’d not been able to find Davina. His heart had pounded, the blood rushing to his head as he looked around frantically, fearing some terrible fate had befallen her. And he had certainly not been prepared for the rush of jubilation and the relief he experienced when she had reappeared, smiling and unscathed.

And there was that urge he had had, to put her over his knee and spank her pretty little derrière for giving him such a fright. Now, that was a vision he had to work hard at suppressing, otherwise, it would bedevil his thoughts and cause a definite shifting of sensation in his pesky groin.

He held her hand as she wobbled her way onto the bench and clambered onto the seat, but he could see that her terror had faded somewhat.

“Still nae quite so afraid now, lass?”

She gave a shaky nod, holding tightly to the side, her eyes fixed on the castle in the bay, her mouth set in a determined line.

“Dinnae fash about me, me laird. I am doing well enough.”

He smiled to himself. Was she gritting her teeth? He didn’t doubt she would overcome this unreasoning fear she held for water and, even, one day, begin to enjoy the short sail over the bay between the castle and the village.

Once they’d arrived at the slipway and he’d tied his boat to the mooring, he took her small hand in his large one again and helped her alight. Together they strolled up the slipway and through the castle gate.

Wanting to protect this lass came to him as easily as breathing. She’d become his responsibility in a dangerous world and he’d scarcely given it a second thought.

As they reached the path across the courtyard leading to her cottage, she turned to him and bobbed a curtsy. “I thank ye me laird. Ye’ve been more than kind tae me. I’ve ne’er before had a day of so many delights.” And then with flushed cheeks, she turned on her heel, about to head off along the path leading to her cottage and the infirmary.

“I trust ye will join me fer supper in the solar this night? Ye’ve had little nourishment today.”

Her smile melted his heart. “I shall be most happy tae join ye.”

As she walked away, he called after her, “When ye’ve retrieved yer wee kitten, make sure she comes tae dine wi’ us. I’ve grown quite fond of her wiles.”

She laughed, continuing on her way.

Everard took the steps into the keep two at a time. He’d enjoyed the day, far more than he’d expected, reluctant to admit to himself how much pleasure he derived from Davina’s company. He could only pray that if the tinker was successful in discovering more of her story, it did not involve a clan with sworn enmity between them. There was that slight wince he’d detected whenever Alexander MacDougall’s name was mentioned. But, holy hell, surely, the lass would not prove to have ties with the MacDougalls.

He pushed these thoughts from his mind. There would be time enough when the tinker brought news from Iona.

Running footsteps behind him brought him to a halt. Turning, he saw Ranald Dunbar scurrying through the gate in hot pursuit.

Dunbar waved a hand. “I saw ye tying yer boat, me laird and I wished tae catch ye before ye went in fer yer supper.”

Everard looked up. Whatever was causing Dunbar such a to-do?

He was puffing when he caught up to Everard. “I’ve had word just now from the Isle of Canna.”

Everard pricked his ears. “What is the news?”

“It seems Hugo MacRae made it safely to the Isle of Man. Almost as soon as he arrived, he found passage on a birlinn that was heading tae France after having taken on a cargo of sheep.”

Everard chuckled at the thought of the elegant Hugo among a flock of miserable sheep. Nevertheless, the first part of their plan was progressing well.

“Thank ye Dunbar, that is good news. Although I suspect our Hugo will nae fancy riding like a sheep-herder bound fer France.”

“Mayhap he will soon be there. The news was old.” Dunbar said, his mouth twitching into a grin. “Aye. I daresay once MacRae returns tae us he’ll never hear the end of his sheep-herding foray.”

As he took the stairs leading to his bedchamber he was lost in thought. There was the matter of MacDougall and his agreements with the privateers. He could not afford to lose the percentage allotted to him from their spoils, yet a clash with MacDougall and his allies would not go well. Then there was this mysterious stranger, Dùghall MacKinnon, who had made it his business to entice Davina. Did the man have business on Barra? It was a surprise to him that Maxwell didn’t know the name.

Barra was only one small isle in the group of islands that took on the name of Barra. Strangers whose business was not clear were unheard of. No one came to this far-flung place without a purpose. He needed to find out what the purpose of this Mackinnon’s visit to the island might be.

With an unpleasant sensation arising in his belly as he contemplated the events at the market, he had a bad feeling the man’s purpose involved Davina.

He put those thoughts away as he entered his room and realized how hungry he was. He was looking forward to his supper... and to Davina’s company.

Hot water was brought to the chamber to enable him to wash away the dust from the village. Seized with an unusual urge to attend to his appearance, he combed his hair and donned fresh shirt and clean britches and shrugged on his plaid cloak. He fastened the cloak at his neck adding the gold brooch of the MacNeils in a moment of pure vanity. Chuckling to himself he headed down the stairs to the solar, where he helped himself to a dram of whisky and warmed himself by the fire.

He’d not been sipping his dram for many minutes when there was a gentle tap on the door.

“Come.” He got to his feet as Davina entered the room and walked toward him.

He sucked in a bedazzled breath. In the glow of the fire, she was all red and gold. Her hair was brushed over her shoulders in fragrant waves down her back, while the gown she was wearing, of the palest blue, shimmered like silver as she walked. In her hair she wore a garland woven from some of the flowers she’d picked that day.

The scent of wildflowers filled his nostrils in a series of heady breaths. The sight of her sent a delicious, languorous, thrill through him, twirling pleasurably through his belly and coming to rest in his groin. He felt himself harden.

God’s blood what is wrong wi’ me. Behaving like a churlish lad whenever me eyes come tae rest on this lass.

Fortunately, there was a distraction. Davina carried Feather with her in a small woven rush-basket with a lid and, as she placed the basket on the floor, the wee soul popped her head out. Catching sight of Everard, she jumped from the basket and rubbed her tiny head against his leg and began to purr.

Davina laughed. “She is rather forward I’m afraid, me laird.”

“I see she wasnae raised in a convent.”

She looked at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Indeed sir. She hasnae learned good manners. I shall have tae teach her what is correct.”

Their gazes met, and there was a little charge of lightning that flew between them, bringing a smile to his face. They sat before the fire and Feather made a leap straight onto Everard’s lap.

“I dae believe Feather likes ye, me laird.”

His fingers gently stroked the soft fur and Feather purred loudly. He looked down, studying the little scrap curled on his lap. “I believe I like wee Feather, also.”

The fired had burned down and required another log. She looked up at him enquiringly.

“Tae save disturbing yer new friend, me laird, shall I place another piece on the fire?

He laughed. Feather had indeed curled into a ball on his lap and was fast asleep. “Aye lass. ‘Tis a good thought. It would be a shame tae disturb the wee angel.”

Davina got to her feet and picked up a small log which she lowered gingerly onto the fire. Then she picked up the steel poker that leaned beside the stone lintel and stoked the fire with an efficiency that took him by surprise.

He was looking at her curiously as she sat down. “Ye’ve many skills, Mistress Davina. I ken that tending a garden and tending broken bodies are only two of yer accomplishments. D’ye sing? I’m assuming that ye’d have been singing tae the Good Lord every day in the nunnery.”

“I’m told I have a fine voice.”

“And d’ye play an instrument?”

“Aye,” she looked down, a smile on her lips, “but I dinnae feel comfortable speaking of meself.”

He leaned toward her. “Modesty is all very well, but I wish tae learn more about ye. What instrument d’ye play?”

“The clàrsach , sir. The Highland harp.”

He leaned back, observing her, his hand idly toying with wee Feather’s ears. This lass was quite a conundrum. On the one hand, she was able to work like a peasant, tilling the earth and growing plants. But, on the other, singing and playing the clàrsach were not the usual occupations of the Brides of Christ, who eschewed such earthly delights in favor of silence, prayer and contemplation.

These were the pursuits of a noblewoman.

Once again, his imagination was pricked and the conviction that Davina came from a noble family grew even stronger roots.

“And ye embroider also?”

She shook her head. “Aye, I was put tae sewing and stitching the garments that were frayed or torn and the stockings that needed darning but I also did some embroidery.”

“So I imagine ye ken embroidering with silks as well?” he persisted.

“Mayhap.” She grew thoughtful, raising her eyes as if searching for a memory that eluded her at every turn.

He gestured to a small carved-oak cupboard sitting by the wall, a red silk tassel dangling from its brass handle. “Me sister left an assortment of needles and silks when she left us. Mayhap, if ye wish tae try yer skill at needlework, ye could scour the cupboard tae see if there’s aught there ye might like.”

He did not reveal his thoughts. But if she was trained in fine needlework, that would be another clue to add to his ever-growing suspicions about her birthright.

“Ye’re welcome tae spend yer time in the solar whenever ye wish it.”

She laughed. “Thank ye. But I believe all me time is required in the garden and in the infirmary.”

“Ye choose what ye like best. However, I admit, I look forward tae hearing the sweet-toned, mellow sounds of the clàrsach and a wee song from yerself.”

“D’ye have an instrument here, me laird?” Her eyes had brightened and it was clear to him that this accomplishment was one that had brought her great cheer at some time in her past. Mayhap she’d leaned to play when only a bairn.

“Aye. There’s one me maither used tae play. I shall ask the servants tae bring it from the chapel and see tae its preparedness. Since her passing, I’ve nae heard those tender notes played at Kiessimul. It would be a joy tae a tae hear the music again.” He sipped his whisky. “Why ‘tis just as well I purchased some wire from our tinker friend in the village today.”

What he didn’t mention, was that he’d used the purchase of the wire as an excuse to have his private words with the Jacob, the tinker. He smiled to himself, aware that at this moment the tinker was most likely already on his way to Iona to glean what he could about Davina’s past.