Page 3 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER THREE

A s Everard paused and looked around at the men, Davina clutched his sleeve. There was no time to waste. If she was to escape from the guards, they must not see her with the MacNeil. Once she was on board his ship, and away, they would not know where she’d fled to.

Before they’d left the Widow Lachlan’s boarding house, she’d managed to whisper to the kindly soul that if anyone should enquire after her to please tell them naught.

“Please, me laird. Let us be away from here before those men see me.”

“I’ll speak wi’ the men if ye wish and warn them ye’re in me care and tae leave ye be.”

She shook her head, frantic to be on her way as soon as possible, before she was seen.

“Nae. Let us leave with all speed. I dinnae wish those men tae ken where I am going.”

This did not seem to sit well with Everard. She glanced at his stern face, his set jaw. It was clear to her he was a man used to being obeyed. He had the look of a laird who never shirked from dealing with trouble.

“I thank ye, me laird, but wish naething more than tae leave this place before I am seen.”

He turned toward the ship, placing an arm around her and shielding her from view with his kilt-shawl. “Ye’re safe wi’ me, lass. I make this vow tae ye.”

Her shoulders slumped against him, a wave of relief surging through her.

Perhaps she could trust this man after all.

Once they had lifted her on board, one of the crew helped her to the stern where a small bower had been set up for her with pillows and a rug. The man helped her to sit and placed the rug over her legs.

“Thank ye fer yer kindness,” she said, finding a smile.

She’d no sooner settled herself into the little nook than she heard raised men’s voices alongside the ship.

Listening in horror, she gathered the two men she’d seen were questioning her whereabouts.

Everard’s voice came in reply. “Nay lass here. We’ve upped anchor and are about tae sail.”

Moments later she felt the boat moving, and a great sense of relief washed over her. Everard had been ready to lie to protect her. This told her he believed her story.

Everard ducked his head beneath the heavy oak rigging and took his place at the rudder, not far from where she was tucked away and out of sight of the shore. She wanted to thank him but he was joined by Hugo and the opportunity was lost.

She shuddered as she heard the men discussing the route they would be taking to the island. Sailing south and then across the open stretch of water util they reached the Island of Barra. The very idea of the vast expanse of water they would be sailing over made her tremble, her heart fluttering and a giant knot forming in her belly.

There was talk of a storm moving toward them and when she looked up, she saw a sky boiling with dark, angry, clouds.

As the wind strengthened, the birlinn took off, racing ahead of the storm. But for Davina, every surge of the boat, every wave that took them up and then brought them down the other side, was sickening.

Her loud groans caught Everard’s attention.

“Och lass. Ye’re nae a sailor.” He gave her a wry smile. “Why ye’re pretty pink cheeks have turned a pasty green color.”

She groaned again. Her head was whirling and her belly was heaving, her loathing and fear of water growing to fever-pitch with every lurch of the vessel. Despite feeling faint and weak, she managed to pull herself up, leaned over the side and was heartily sick.

He stroked her hair back from her face, the unaccustomed touch leaving her skin tingling, in a manner that was not altogether unpleasant.

“Keep yer head up, fix yer eyes on the line of the horizon. It is only a matter of a few hours at sea and we’ll be at the Isle of Barra.”

“A few hours! I wish tae die before then.” Davina moaned, heaving, as every drop of the nourishing broth the Widow Lachlan had spooned so carefully into her mouth, went over the side.”

“Keep yer eyes ahead and ye’ll dae alright.”

She could swear he was chuckling to himself as she grabbed the side of the birlinn, lifted her head and focused her eyes intently on the dark line of the horizon in the far distance. Even though it seemed to move up and down with the ship it helped a little, but her stomach was still roiling with nausea.

They skirted the edge of the storm, and although the sea was rough and there was a spattering of rain that only heightened Davina’s misery, the ship made good time in the fierce wind.

She was still clinging to the edge of the ship, her eyes fixed on the dark line of the see-sawing horizon, her stomach now emptied of every scrap of nourishment, when Everard joined her again.

“If ye can tear yer eyes away fer a wee moment, ye’ll come tae the first glimpse of Barra.”

He stood beside her and she followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, there was a slight bump on the horizon she’d been studying for the past few hours.

“That wee speck is the Isle of Barra?”

“Aye. ‘Tis me home. And ye’ll be welcomed there.”

This set her to wondering about this man, the Laird of the MacNeils, her rescuer. So far, she’d seen nothing but good of him. His men seemed to respect him. She’d heard naught of grumbling from the crew as they bent their backs over the oars, doing their utmost to outrun the storm. His advisor, Hugo MacRae, had also treated her kindly.

Although she could not recall faces or voices from the days before she’d entered the convent, she’d always been afeared of the harsh, loud, voices of men. Even as a bairn she’d learned to scuttle out of sight like a wee mouse at the first sound of heavy footsteps and angry men’s voices. She’d often wondered if the one she’d feared most had been someone she had known.

Yet this man spoke calmly, although somewhat tersely at times, but he never raised his tone and his words to her had been nothing but gentle. Trust did not come easily to her, but one day it might be possible for her to trust this man who’d helped her simply because of his good heart.

When the ship rounded the low-lying headland and entered Chaisteill Bagh at last, a cheer went up from the crew. There were smiles all round and Davina imagined the men must be thinking of home and of those who awaited them. As happy as she was for them, she felt a little stab in her heart. There was no one awaiting her. She was alone in the world. Except for her friend Lyla who was still in Iona, as far as she knew there was no living soul that cared aught for her.

Only in her dimmest thoughts did she carry a memory of a lad, a little older than she was, who had brought her to Iona many years before, when she was but a child, and left her with the nuns at the convent door.

When she thought back to that distant day and her fear, the one warm memory was the small comfort from that young lad. Yet she had no idea who he was and would probably never know. He’d left her after all, no matter his reasons.

She turned her eyes to the bonny sight before her. A wide expanse of deep-blue bay, ringed by whitewashed cottages along the shore. In the center of the bay was a tiny island, and on the island a gleaming castle caught her admiration. This must be the MacNeil stronghold, Kiessimul Castle. From the turrets a flag displaying the colors of yellow and white flew proudly. She sucked in a breath. All of this was under the rule of the Laird of the MacNeils, Everard.

Once the ship had docked and the men were unloading the cargo, Everard escorted Davina ashore and introduced her to a tall, rangy grey-haired man. She looked around, suddenly fearful of the new place. There was nowhere she could run, for it was surrounded by water.

“This is our sea-master, Ranald Dunbar,” Everard introduced her. “This is Mistress Davina, she’ll be our guest fer a while.”

She glimpsed the puzzlement in Dunbar’s face at the vague remark, but Everard clearly had no intention of enlightening the man further.

“I cannae leave the ship until we’ve finished with the cargo, so can ye ask Mildred tae find somewhere fer the lass tae bide while she’s wi’ us?”

She cringed as this new stranger held out his hand, but he spoke kindly. “Welcome tae Kiessimul, Mistress Davina.” He turned to one of the bairns who were playing together at the water’s edge. “Run tae the keep lad and seek out Mistress Mildred. Ask her tae meet us in the courtyard.”

A second later the lad took to his heels and dashed off.

Dunbar offered his arm and escorted Davina along the slipway and through the entry to the courtyard. Her feet were still unsteady, and she welcomed his support. She glanced around. Along the slipway several small boats bobbed at their moorings, and alongside were two birlinns, much bigger than the one they’d sailed in from Mull. Several small lads sat near the large entrance-gate with a bucket, their fishing lines thrown into the bay. Overhead, gulls wheeled with loud, hoarse, calls.

It was all so different to anywhere she’d seen before, and the castle, its walls rising straight out of the rocks below, was surrounded by water. There was nowhere she could run to. The stormy clouds overhead seemed like a forbidding omen.

She was trembling and her legs could hardly carry her as they entered the cobbled courtyard. A tall, thin figure, her hair braided neatly and wound around her head, clad in a linen kirtle and apron, strode down the steps of the keep and headed toward them.

Davina stiffened, her stomach clenching with horror as she caught sight of the woman.

It’s Dame Maria.

She put a hand to her mouth to stifle the scream rising in her throat. Looking frantically for somewhere she could hide, she was on the brink of wrenching her arm away from Dunbar’s supporting hold, when the woman smiled. Her face was open and the smile was warm and genuine, nothing like the sour, hateful expression Dame Maria customarily wore.

“Ah, here’s Mildred now. She’ll look after ye.”

The tightness rushed out of Davina’s body and she allowed herself to breathe again. It was not the cruel nun who had tormented and tortured her for the past nine years.

Oh, dear God. Thank ye . She breathed a silent prayer and bent to make a small, shaky curtsy to the housekeeper.

Dunbar introduced Davina and explained that she’d come with Everard from Mull and would be staying at Kiessimul. “… fer a while,” he added vaguely.

The lady, Mildred, politely nodded without asking any questions. “Greetings, Mistress Davina. Welcome tae Kiessimul Castle.” She looked Davina up and down, from head to toe, her grey-blue eyes missing nothing. “If ye come wi’ me, I’ll find ye somewhere ye can lay yer head.”

She turned to go, with Davina following. Mildred shared a few words with Ranald Dunbar, a smile quirking her lips. “Seems the MacNeil lads have a habit of finding lassies and bringing them back tae the castle tae be cared fer.”

“Och. Aye.” Dunbar chuckled. ‘Tis nae long since young Maxwell brought us his Aileen.”

Instead of entering the keep, as Davina had anticipated, Mildred led her across the courtyard toward a small herb garden, where a row of three tiny, stone, cottages stood side by side.

At the first cottage, Mildred waved a hand. “This is the home of the Gockman, Ranald Dunbar.” At the door of the next cottage, Mildred drew the latch and opened it wide. “We’ve nay spare bedchambers in the castle and this wee cottage is every bit as comfortable. We keep it for our guests. She gestured to the third house in the row. “That is our infirmary and where our Healer Broderick dwells.”

Davina marveled at the charming cottage. By the doorway was a pale-pink, climbing winter-rose, and there was even a tiny garden where snowdrops and daffodils were pushing up their heads in anticipation of the spring sunshine.

The cottage held only one room, with a fireplace and chimney at one end. Light poured in from a large window opposite the doorway. The stone floor was covered in brightly colored woven rag-rugs.

Davina stepped inside, looking longingly at the enormous, oak, four-poster bed in the center. Draped invitingly with linen hangings, piled with cushions and covered with woolen coverlets Davina could hardly resist the urge to fling herself onto the rare luxury. Beside the fireplace were two comfortable-looking padded armchairs. A small table and two timber chairs sat near the doorway.

The floor was strewn with herbs and the air was filled with the scent of lavender.

Davina turned to Mildred, smiling with delight. “Why, it’s lovely. Thank ye, Mistress Mildred. I’ve never had a place tae meself before.”

Mildred looked at her curiously, arching an eyebrow. “I trust ye’ll be comfortable here. I’ll send one of the lads tae build ye a fire and one of the scullery maids will bring ye something from the kitchen.” She cast Davina another searching glance. “Ye’re very pale, lass. Ye could dae wi’ some nourishment.”

“I am grateful. I found the journey from Mull tae be difficult and I will welcome a rest.”

“I’ll leave ye now. The servants will attend tae ye and I’ll come again tae see tae ye.”

After Mildred had left, Davina sank gratefully onto the bed, reveling in the softness of the downy mattress and the pillows. After so many years in her hard pallet at the convent, or worse, nothing but the stone floor for a bed when she’d been subjected to Dame Maria’s punishments, this was sublime.

Within minutes she’d fallen into a peaceful sleep, so deep she did not hear the servant lighting her fire. She was wakened by a tap on the door and a scullery-maid entering with a tray which she placed on the small table.

The smell of roast chicken caused Davina’s empty stomach to rumble and her mouth begin to water. She was suddenly aware of how extremely hungry she was now that her seasickness had subsided. Taking a chair at the little table, her eyes widened at the veritable feast that had been left for her. Apart from the roast chicken, there was cheese, bannocks and a honey-custard with apple pie. A jug of ale and a tankard sat beside them.

She’d never had such a delightful meal. After the sparse rations of the convent, she could hardly believe such delicacies existed. She savored every mouthful and took particular pleasure in the custard and sweet apple pie.

Just as she’d swallowed the last mouthful of her meal there came another tap at the door. Her heart gave a sudden lurch and started hammering against her chest.

“Who is there? she called in a small voice.

“’Tis only meself, Everard MacNeil.” He must have registered the fear in her voice for he softened his brusque tone. “Dinnae fash, lass. Ye’re safe here at Kiessimul.”

“Please come in.” She patted her lips with the napkin and turned to greet him. Getting to her feet she curtsied as he strode through the door.

“I came tae make sure ye were comfortable.” He glanced around. “I see Mildred has provided ye with some comfort after yer… sea voyage.” He grinned. “I am pleased tae see ye are filling yer wee belly, as there was naught left in it by the time we arrived.”

To her surprise, Davina found herself smiling. Already the voyage and her battle with sea-sickness were disappearing into the past.

“I am grateful fer all that ye’ve done fer me, me laird.”

He pulled out the other chair and joined her at the table. “If nae fer me braither Maxwell and his wife Aileen visiting the castle tomorrow, there would have been a chamber available fer ye in the keep.”

“’Tis very fine here, me laird. This wee cottage is more than I deserve.” She looked up and met his gaze. It was time to broach the incident that had taken place before they sailed, when the two men had approached him. “I wish tae thank ye also fer believing me story and nae giving me up tae those men who were searching fer me.”

“Aye. There was something about yer story that told me those men meant ye harm.”

“All I ken is that they must have followed me from the convent. I dinnae ken the purpose of their search e, yet the sight of them filled me with dread and a terrible fear of being captured.”

He nodded, understanding and compassion in his gaze. “I assure ye, ye are safe here. Our entrance is well guarded and nay one will enter. Our castle is nae only our home, but a fortress as well.”

As the castle sat on an island, clearly, no one would be able to enter unnoticed. Heaving a sigh, she gave him a tiny smile. “Thank ye again, me laird. Me deepest wish is tae never return again tae Iona, yet I am nae certain where I was planning tae go, before I entered the sea.”

“With some rest, nae doubt more of yer thoughts will come tae ye.”

It was only now, as he reassured her, and she began to feel calm and safe in her new surroundings, that she suddenly became aware that the Laird Everard MacNeil was a very handsome man.