Page 21 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

E verard and Maxwell strolled down the stairs of the keep, having just said their farewells to the members of the Clan Council who had come from nearby Vatersay and from all over the Island of Barra.

“Thank ye fer yer assistance.” Everard grinned at his brother. “Some folded their arms with disapproval when I gave them the details of Hugo’s mission.”

Maxwell nodded, looking serious for a moment. “Aye. They took some convincing. But when ye mentioned a potential clash wi’ MacDougall they shut their mouths soon enough.”

They crossed the courtyard on the way to the mooring. As Aileen had already sailed over the bay to the village, Everard planned to take Maxwell across to meet up with Aileen while Everard would return with the boat to Kiessimul.

“One moment, I’ll have a quick word with Broderick and Davina before I go. The lass mentioned herbs they require from the village. Mayhap I can purchase some while I’m there.”

While Maxwell waited, Everard hurried over to the infirmary, where he was greeted by Broderick.

As he’d had in his mind to bid good-morrow to Davina, Everard glanced around.

“The lass is nae hard at work this morning?”

Broderick shook his head. “She is, but nae here. She’s gone with the Lady Aileen. She intends tae collect some herbs from the midwife in the village. I thought she’d have returned by now. Lady Aileen was tae bring her back but I guess there’s been a change of plans. She said she would meet wi’ Lord Maxwell here instead of the village.”

“When did the lasses depart from here?”

“Right after we’d broken our fast. Many hours ago.” Broderick frowned. “Mistress Davina said she’d only be gone an hour.”

“God’s hooks, lad. Something may have happened to them. Why did ye nae sound the alarm before this?”

“I didnae think… she was with mistress Aileen. Nay harm could come tae her.” He glanced at the sky. “’Tis fair sailing weather, so mayhap they’ve met with difficulty in the village.”

“Thank ye, lad. I’ll get there soon. Mayhap I’ll come upon them.”

Heart sinking into his boots, Everard turned on his heel and hurried over to Maxwell and grabbed his brother’s arm. “C’mon, something’s happened that’s nae right. Yer lass and Davina were planning tae be here hours ago.”

Concern immediately creased Maxwell’s face. “I hope this is nae something dire. Only last night ye said we should guard Davina well.”

They dashed down the slipway to the moorings, where Maxwell quickly unfastened his boat. They jumped on board and were away and sailing on the bay in mere seconds.

Everard’s heart was pumping fast. All his instincts were telling him that something was badly wrong. Mayhap it was the talk of Dùghall MacKinnon that had set his imagination afire, but he’d long known that when a MacKinnon appeared on the Island, no good would come of it.

His mind flashed to Alexander MacDougall and his ally Murchadh MacKinnon. He could only pray that his roving thoughts were altogether mistaken.

They reached the shore in no time and while Maxwell was hauling the boat ashore, Everard took off at a run in the direction of the tavern.

Before he reached the inn, he came across a hurrying Aileen, turning in from a side lane.

She was out of breath and puffing. “Everard, I’m so pleased tae see ye. Is Maxwell wi’ ye?”

Everard nodded. “Where’s Davina?”

“I dinnae ken where she is,” Aileen said. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her hair in disarray from running, her face as white as a gull’s wing. “I found the midwife’s house and waited there fer a while as there was nay one home. Then, at last, Mistress Marigold Arasgain, the midwife, happened along.”

“And?” Everard stomped his feet impatiently. “What did she tell ye of Davina?”

“That’s just it. She said she’d been attending a newborn in the village and she’d nae seen hide nor hair of anyone of Davina’s description.”

“But Davina went tae her house?”

“Aye. She went down this lane. We were tae meet at the tavern, but naebody has seen her there.”

“Tell Maxwell, when he comes, tae follow me,” Everard took off at a run down the lane, cursing himself for not having kept better watch over Davina, and cursing her for having been so headstrong come to the village without sending him word.

His mind surged with thoughts of her being in the clutches of Dùghall MacKinnon, or of having been taken by the two ruffians who’d hunted her in Mull.

Even now she could be on board a birlinn heading out to sea.

Arriving at the midwife’s little cottage at the end of the lane, he studied the thicket of woods behind her house. Mayhap she’s wandered there and had fallen, or some animal, a wild boar mayhap, had frightened or attacked her.

He paused a moment, looking back along the lane, relieved to see his brother heading toward him at a run. He had his broadsword strapped to his shoulder, whereas Everard only had his dirk sheathed at his waist. If some ruffians had taken hold of Davina, he would need his brother’s sword.

Maxwell was beside him moments later. “Let me have yer sword, brother. I believe some ill may have befallen Davina in these woods.”

Taking the sword his brother handed over, he clasped the heavy weapon in his hand. “D’ye have yer dirk?”

Maxwell nodded and, weapons drawn, the two moved stealthily into the shadowed, hushed world of the forest.

“Hold,” Everard said softly, “what is this?”

There, beside the twisted root of an ancient tree was a tiny piece of fabric caught on brambles growing there. Some of the brambles were broken and crushed as if they’d recently been trodden underfoot.”

“Someone came this way, and there was a struggle. Nae long ago.”

They pressed on, making their way as silently and as speedily as they could. Everard was cold, his heart pumping steadily, the mode of a warrior taking hold of his entire body. He was ready to fight. He knew in his heart that Davina was in deadly danger and that it was his role to find her and save her from it. And, if she could not be saved and he was too late, whoever was responsible would pay the price with their blood.

They moved beyond the trees and found themselves close to the shore. A large birlinn stood at anchor, some distance away, in the deeper water. Further along the sandy beach they spotted the men they were chasing. Two of them were dumping what looked, from where he stood, like a sack of barley. But as he and Maxwell drew closer, he saw that it was the prone form of a lass – Davina! – they were manhandling onto a small rowing boat.

It was obvious, as he broke into a desperate run, that there were only seconds before the boat pushed off and would be heading toward the anchored birlinn. Once it was beyond the shallow waters it would be impossible to catch them.

As he rushed toward them with Maxwell right on his heels, one of the men looked up. He heard a shout. “Quick, lads, hasten. ‘Tis the MacNeils.”

It was a voice and a face he recognized. The Laird Murchadh MacKinnon.

He surged forward, the red mist in his eyes, focused on Davina, who lay still in the bottom of the small craft. One of the men raised a sword and rushed to meet him. MacKinnon was pushing the boat from the shore, while the third man, his sword in his free hand, assisted.

Everard met the man with full force. He brought down the claymore onto his attacker’s shoulder with such a fierce blow that the man’s arm was all but severed. He went down, screaming, blood spraying from his body, his eyes closing as death overcame him.

He tossed the claymore to Maxwell, who caught the heavy weapon with two hands and turned to confront MacKinnon’s other man who was approaching, his sword raised. He saw Maxwell dodge the killing blow, and turned his attention to MacKinnon.

The man had succeeded in pushing the boat into the water and was trying to haul himself over the side as Everard waded, knee-deep, toward him.

With his dirk his only weapon, Everard drew it from its sheath holding it in a firm grip as he closed on MacKinnon. Mackinnon raised his claymore, but a sudden movement from the little boat unsettled his balance, enabling Everard to slash at his sword arm and land a heavy blow with his dirk.

Blood gushed from MacKinnon’s right arm, but he still held the claymore with both hands. He swung it again. Everard dodged, his speed hampered by the waist-high water and MacKinnon, though weakened, was able to deal him a slicing blow to his shoulder. Taller than MacKinnon by several inches, Everard had an advantage and, although armed only with a dirk, in close quarters his weapon was more effective than the claymore.

The sword fell from MacKinnon’s hands, landing next to Davina’s still form. He tried again to claw himself up onto the craft even as Everard’s dirk struck his arm. But in one movement he threw himself over the side onto the boat. The movement pushed the unsteady boat almost to overturning, causing Davina to slide towards the water.

MacKinnon shrieked, “I’ll kill the witch, MacNeil. Ye’ve nae bested me.” And with that, he pushed Davina over the edge of the perilously tipping rowboat. With her arms bound and scarcely conscious, she had no hope of saving herself as she disappeared under the lapping waves.

“Davina!”

Without hesitating Everard dived deep, and within seconds he had seized her sinking body in his arms. He struggled to raise her to the surface, the feel of her limp weight in his arms stabbing him with fear. Once they’d surfaced, he turned her face up, wrenching away the fabric gagging her. To his relief, despite the water spilling from her nose and mouth she was able to gasp in a great gulp of air. He carried well clear of the water and laid her gently on the sand.

By the time he looked again for MacKinnon, the man was already in the deep waters, rowing with ragged movements toward the birlinn. But Everard had no thoughts of him, his whole being was concerned with Davina.

Maxwell appeared beside him, having made short work of MacKinnon’s third ruffian who lay in a bloody heap by the shore.

Everard chaffed Davina’s cold hands, desperate to bring some warmth to her chilled form. He pushed the wet strands of hair from her face, fumbling to untie the knotted rope and unbind her arms. “Wake up, lass. Open those sweet amber eyes of yers.”

It was another few moments before her eyelids fluttered open and Davina was able to meet his gaze. It had felt like his whole lifetime was rushing away. But then she gave him a tiny smile, and his life came back in a surge of grateful warmth through his veins.

“Davina, what did ye think ye were daeing? Coming tae the village without telling me? Putting yer life in danger fer the sake of a few herbs?” The words came out gruff and angry, filled with the fear he’d been consumed by ever since he’d discovered she’d left the castle and had travelled to the village.

She gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head and tears began to flow down her already wet cheeks. “I’m sorry, me laird,” she whispered, “I didnae wish tae anger ye.”

He bowed his head, “I didnae wish tae speak so harshly. But I was sore afeared fer ye.” He bent and brushed her lips with his in a soft kiss. “Me heart is singing now ye’re safe.”

Maxwell, who had been observing this exchange from several feet away, came over and patted his brother’s shoulder. “The Mackinnon made it tae the birlinn and they’re under sail. We’ve nae aught tae fear from him. At least fer today.”

“Once again, braither, I must thank ye fer standing by me side. Without ye beside me I’d have had little or nay chance of bringing Davina tae safety.”

Maxwell shrugged and gave a brief laugh as if to say it was naught. “It was less trouble than dealing wi’ the Clan Council this morning.” He grinned, “Wait here wi’ the lass. I’ll bring the boat around so ye can make haste back tae the castle.” When Everard nodded, he took off at a run, heading back along the path that had led them through the forest.

Everard held Davina close, trying to warm her with his own body-heat. She was still way too cold and her lips were turning blue.

She reached out and he enveloped her small hand in his giant paw. She was whispering and he lowered his head to hear her faint words. “What is it?”

“I’ve remembered everything. When I saw that man, the Laird MacKinnon, all the memories that lay hidden away in the depths of me mind, haunting me, making me afeared, came rushing back in the instant before I was struck the blow that rendered me senseless.”

“Are ye saying ye can recall yer life before Iona?”

“Aye. All of it. I recall everything. I wish tae tell it tae ye…” She plucked at his sleeve in agitation. He could see that to speak of it now would sap what little remaining strength she had

“Nay, hush. Dinnae speak of it now. It will tire ye. The right time tae tell me yer story will be when ye’re warm and safe at Kiessimul Castle.”

He did not say what he wished. “… when ye’re warm and safe in me arms at Kiessimul Castle.”