Page 19 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER NINETEEN

H e had told himself it was nothing more than a playful wager. Lighthearted, an amusement. A careless kiss that would be no more than a brushing of lips. Truth be told, he’d given it little thought. After all, the last thing he’d considered was that Davina would come close to besting him. It was a game, nothing more. He’d assumed he would simply win the best of five arrows and generously pass her the purse so she could entertain herself at the fair.

It had even crossed his mind that she’d be unable to hit the target at all.

He had been totally and convincingly mistaken. First, he’d sadly underestimated the lass’s skill which was, as it turned out, equal to his, and he prided himself on his archery. But more important was the devastation the kiss had wrought on his belief in his control over himself. Dammit, if not for Dunbar’s interruption, he’d been in imminent danger of losing all self-restraint.

He owed Davina the most heartfelt apology.

It was no fault of hers that he found her intoxicating and impossible to resist and that he was certain he’d been bewitched.

Making an effort to put his shameful behavior from his mind, he wrestled his thoughts to the unexpected meeting to take place with his brother. It was an unspoken agreement between them that neither would disturb the other without prior arrangement. Unless, of course, there were dire circumstances.

Maxwell was setting foot on the slipway as Everard approached and he was surprised to see another man, a stranger, in the boat. Aileen was already standing on the dock as he walked up. They greeted each other with a brief touching of hands and he slapped Maxwell’s shoulder as his brother alighted from his boat.

Maxwell turned to the other man. “This is Angus MacIver, from Scalpay. He was one of me crewmen fer some years, but now he’s crofting on his own isle. I sent a message tae him tae find out what he could of our man MacKinnon from Pabhay.”

On hearing this Everard looked at the man with renewed interest. The Island of Scalpay was close to the small island of Pabhay, so it made good sense to assign him the task of enquiring about Dùghall MacKinnon.

“Good day t’ye, Master MacIver. I trust ye’ve some news fer me?”

The short, sturdy man nodded. “Aye, indeed, me laird, I have.”

“Ye are welcome at Castle Kiessimul and welcome tae share some ale or whisky as ye please.”

MacIver looked pleased at this. Although he was short in stature, he made up for it with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His weathered features were testimony to the years he’d served on Maxwell’s galleys.

“I am here tae visit Mistress Davina,” Aileen said, stepping up beside the men. “I thought she might be in need of some womanly company.”

Maxwell gave a short laugh. “Indeed. That is most thoughtful of ye Aileen.” His mind rattled over this morning’s events. “Nay doubt Davina will have much tae tell ye.” He could only hope she would be sparing with detail.

While the three men headed for Everard’s study, Aileen was happier to stay in the comfort of the solar in front of the fire.

Mildred was waiting as they entered the keep and the kitchen staff were already preparing refreshments. “There’s jugs of ale already awaiting ye in the study.”

Although Everard was more than eager to hear whatever news MacIver had brought with him, he first attended to his duty as host, pouring tankards of ale and drams of whisky for all three. They took their seats on the chairs by the fire rather than the more formal position at the table.

It was Maxwell who spoke first.

“I made enquiries about the stranger who’d appeared at the market. It seems he’d been around the village fer a week or more, asking about Kiessimul, the laird, and even meself and Aileen. From what I gathered, fer once the villagers were reluctant tae gossip. Only one day after ye’d come upon him when he encountered Mistress Davina at the fair, he was gone.”

“And returned tae Pabhay?”

“Nay one kent where the man had gone, only that he was nae longer there.” He glanced at MacIver. “It was then I recalled Angus was at Scalpay, so I sent a message requesting he make enquiries on me behalf.”

“Aye. I made it me business tae visit Pabhay. It’s a good place tae find produce. The farmers there are few, but the isle provides an abundant harvest. I can tell ye this much tae start. While I was there, the man in question was still absent.”

Everard scratched his chin. “So, after he left Castle Bay, he didnae return at once tae Pabhay.”

Maxwell chuckled. “Between the Island of Barra and the Pabhay there are a score of islands. Yer man could be on any one of them. Mayhap he’s on Eriskay, the closest tae Barra.”

“Hmm.” Everard thought this through. “Ye’re right. There’ll be nay finding him if he’s nae on Pabhay. If the lad has remained close by, mayhap he hasnae finished with his business on our Isle of Barra.”

“And we’ve yet tae ascertain what that business is.” Maxwell added. “What we ken now is that he is interested in our family. Mayhap it was nay accident that he accosted Mistress Davina.”

Maxwell leaned forward, eager to hear what further information MacIver had brought them.

The man continued his story. “Once I was on Pabhay I spoke tae many of the folk there. The young ones were of little use. Their knowledge of the man was scant, but the elders had much tae tell me.”

“Go on.” Everard refilled MacIver’s tankard and the man gulped another mouthful of ale, whetting his throat to talk some more.

“Dùghall MacKinnon is the Laird of Pabhay. Although during his many absences over the years a man by the name of Dunkan Ramsay, with a connection tae the MacKinnon Clan, has been his deputy.”

“Did ye have a chance tae speak with this Ramsay?” Everard took a mouthful of his whisky, wincing as it burned on the way down.

“Aye. I spoke wi’ the man. He was full of words until it came to a mention of Dùghall MacKinnon, his laird. I’ll give the man a good score fer loyalty. All I kent from him was that the laird was away across the western isles and he didnae ken when he’d return.”

“That was old news. So, he didnae tell ye the reason fer his visit tae the west?”

MacIver folded his arms and shook his head. “Blood out of a stone, that one.”

“Well, man,” Maxwell sounded impatient. “What is the news ye have fer us? So far all we’ve learned from ye is that that MacKinnon is the Laird of Pabhay.”

Everard gave a snort of laughter. “In the way of all good story tellers, methinks MacIver is leaving the best to last. Curb yer impatience, braither, the lad will out with it now.”

MacIver nodded. “I’ve gleaned a great deal, yet some of it may simply be old women’s gossip.” He glanced from Maxwell to Everard, offering a sly grin. “But I’ll tell ye all and ye can decide what may be truth or nae.

As a wee lad, Dùghall was sent away to become a squire at Freuchie castle, the seat of the Clan Comyn, near to the River Spey. It is said – mind, this is gossip from the grey-hairs – that while he was there, he fell in love with Sorcha, the daughter of the Laird Comyn, and she with him.”

“Did the two wed?” Everard sat up as the story began to take shape.

MacIver shook his head. “Nay, it seems our lad was left wi’ a broken heart when the lass was forced tae wed his distant cousin, Laird Murchadh MacKinnon of Mull.”

Everard pondered this. Now the story had come closer to home. It seemed there was a connection between the Laird Dùghall and the MacNeil’s old enemy, the MacKinnon of Mull.

“So, where daes the story take us from there?”

“There seemed tae be many threads, each one differing somewhat from the other. Although the heart of the story regarding his lost love, the Lady Sorcha Comyn, stayed more or less the same nay matter who was telling it.

“One of the threads concerned his wedding tae a silkie who had left him and gone back tae the sea, another story was that he had wed another lass who died, leaving a daughter who was claimed by her family and that he searched endlessly fer her.” Everard lifted his head at the mention of the lost daughter.

“Is there aught else?”

“Och. There is more. Another story had him returning tae his first love and begging her tae run away wi’ him, but she refused as she already had a wee son to Murchadh and wouldnae leave the lad.”

“And that is the end of the man’s story?”

MacIver shrugged. “That’s all I ken of his lovers or of his weddings or his lost daughter. All agreed that he spent years fighting with the French against the English, and then fought with our King Robert. These days, he divides his time between the royal court and his home island.”

Both Maxwell and Everard grew pensive. “So, after all, we dinnae ken why the lad was at Castle Bay and why he was asking about our family.”

Everard scratched his head. There was something about the story that had grabbed his attention, something that had the ring of truth to it.

He got to his feet. “I am most grateful tae ye, master MacIver, and fer yer time and the effort ye’ve made fer us.” He reached to the shelf above the fireplace and took down a strong steel box from which he extracted several gold coins and handed them one-by-one to MacIver. The man’s smile widened as the coins jangled in his hands.

“I trust this will be recompense fer yer valuable time and the coin ye’ve spent on our behalf.”

MacIver took out a small leather purse and put the coins into it. “I bid ye good day, milords, and thank ye.”

When McIver opened the door, Ranald Dunbar was waiting to take him to the crews’ house, where there were several of the crew who were old friends. He would sail for Skye on one of Everard’s birlinns and be home at Scalpay in a day or so.

After MacIver had departed, Everard and Maxwell resumed their seats, each taking another splash of whisky.

“What d’ye make of that?” Maxwell asked.

“There are several things that occur tae me. First, and mayhap the most important, is that the man is nay friend tae Murchadh MacKinnon. Men who are rivals in love are ne’er friends. Especially if they are kin.”

“Of course. The lass he loved married Murchadh, poor wee lass. What else have ye concluded?”

“There was talk of him seeking a lost daughter. Mayhap when he accosted Davina, he believed she might be that daughter.”

Maxwell nodded. “Aye. If he’d heard of her rescue and that she was brought tae Barra, it might have led him tae think that.” He looked at Everard quizzically. “Ye saw the man, was there a likeness tae the lass?”

Everard thought this through, recalling the brief glimpse he’d had of the Laird Dùghall at the market in Castle Bay. “I didnae see his face. All I can say is that he is tall, his hair was grey, and I was nae aware of resemblance tae Davina.”

“But if she is his daughter, who is her maither?”

“I am awaiting word from the tinker who is tasked with enquiring at Iona. He may yet shed some light on things. If we could but discover who it was who brought her tae the convent when she was a child, that may give us a direction tae search fer her parentage.”

“And in the meanwhile, ye’ll say naught tae Davina of yer musings.”

“These are fanciful musings, and until such time as we have more information leading us tae the truth, I intend saying naught of this tae her. Yet this makes me more concerned fer her safety. We must guard her well.” He rose to his feet. “Now, ‘tis time we joined yer lady and Mistress Davina tae take our supper.”

As they walked toward the solar, Everard’s mind was swirling with the story he had heard. He had a strong suspicious now, that Dùghall MacKinnon was, in fact, Davina’s father. Yet there was nothing but idle gossip and his own intuition leading him to that conclusion.

All he knew for certain, was that he could scarcely wait to see her again and to, somehow, ask her to forgive his churlish behavior when he’d seized her in his embrace and ravished her lips with his kiss.

And yet, he longed to take her in his arms again, and kiss her as he’d done this afternoon.

He took a deep breath as they approached the door of the solar. Mayhap she would hate him for his transgression.

However, when they entered the solar, Davina’s beaming smile allayed his fears and she took his breath away with her beauty.

He scooped up the wee Feather, who ran across the room to him as he entered. She immediately perched on his shoulder, purring loudly. He laughed, catching the faintest hint of roses.

“I look forward tae attending the fair with Davina one of these days,” Aileen said, delight in her voice. “I hear she won a purse from ye with her archery prowess.”

Everard cleared his throat and looked quizzically at Davina. Had she told Aileen about the prize he’d claimed? She gave her head an imperceptible shake. He understood, at once, that this was a secret they shared between them.

“Aye. She took me by surprise with her skill. She is certainly me equal.”

He grinned, his spirits lifting as he observed Davina glowing at his praise.

With his eyes constantly seeking her out and being rewarded by her smile and the way she looked at him from beneath her long lashes, it was beginning to dawn on him that he was at serious risk of losing his heart to this mysterious lass.

All that made him even more determined to find out the truth about her past.

Hopefully the tinker would have more news when next he visited the market in Castle Bay in a few days’ time.