Page 31 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
E verard smiled to himself as the torchlight on the slipway came into view. He’d enjoyed an ale in the tavern at Castlebay with Maxwell and Aileen, as they went over the story Laird Dùghall had told.
“Once word leaks out that Dùghall is Davina’s true faither and that he’s journeyed tae Barra in search of her, I daresay it will reach the ears of Laird Murchadh.”
“Aye. Mayhap he’s suspected fer years that Dùghall is the man. Most likely there were servants who alerted him tae the lad’s presence while he was absent. But, given that Laird Dùghall was in France fer a long time, there was nay way Murchadh could have confronted him.”
Everard nodded. “Och, braither. There’s bad blood between those two. I’d guess that once he discovers the truth about the man who faithered Davina, he will have it in his mind tae take revenge.”
Aileen shivered. “As a lass, I can only say that me heart goes out tae the Lady Sorcha. Already forced tae leave the lad she loved tae marry that beast. I dinnae blame her fer taking just one last night in the arms of her true love.”
Maxwell snorted. “I didnae ken ye were such a soft-hearted romantic, me love.”
She huffed. “Have ye forgotten our own story? How ye enticed me away from the Laird Sutherland and made me yers?”
He shook his head, his eyes softening as he gazed at her.
“And,” added Everard, “If I remember rightly, Sutherland would have never given up until ye both were dead.”
Everard swilled the last of his ale. “This talk has made me uneasy. I feel the need tae be back at the castle as soon as possible.” He got to his feet, slapped his brother on the back, raised Aileen’s hand to his lips and, with a curt “Goodnight” strode to the door and headed into the darkness.
Hurrying to his boat, Everard’s anxious thoughts took him back to one of the last times he’d been here. That day MacKinnon had captured and almost drowned Davina. He broke into a run, his steps echoing through the cobbled streets. Suddenly fearful, he grasped the hilt of his claymore, needing to hasten back to the castle.
As he pulled on his oars to come alongside the castle slipway, he was surprised to see Dùghall standing in the dim light, his sword in his hand. Everard’s heart sank. He knew at once some dire event had occurred.
As he pulled up at the dock, Dùghall raced across to meet him.
“What is it, me laird?”
“Thank the lord ye’re here. I was just contemplating some method tae take me across the bay.” He jumped into Everard’s boat struggling to catch his breath.
“Davina went in search of her cat and soon after I heard a scream. I kent at once it was her and ran out. I followed the sound of a struggle coming from the slipway, but I was too late tae stop the men from taking her in a smaller craft. Me guess is they’re heading fer the birlinn out there”
“By Christ, where?” Everard followed Dùghall’s pointing finger, making out the distant shape of a ship. There was no sign of the smaller boat.
Hauling on his oar Everard turned his boat around as Dùghall leaped into the seat beside him and took up the other oar.
“Row. Give it laldy, we’ve nae a second tae waste. Once the birlinn is at sea we’ve nay hope of catching them.”
This had an all too familiar ring to it as far as Everard was concerned. As he’d feared, having failed in his first attempt to claim Davina’s life, Laird Murchadh had boldly snatched her from under their noses, where Everard had believed her to be safe.
They bent their backs over the oars and the little boat sped across the water.
As they neared the lantern-lit birlinn they spotted two men. Between them was a figure, clearly recognizable as Davina from her long mane of hair blowing in the breeze.
In desperation they picked up speed, their hearts almost bursting, drawing close to the birlinn.
Everard raised a hand. “Hold,” he whispered, “We need tae approach in silence, timing it so that they are aboard as we come alongside without them paying heed tae us. While their ladder is still swinging over the side we can be up and on board before they realize we’re there.
Dùghall’s whispered “Yes” emerged from the darkness. They resumed rowing, taking it slowly and carefully to ensure the oars made no sound as they dipped and rose again.
They were alongside the birlinn in a matter of moments, Dùghall managing to seize the swinging rope ladder in his hands. He held it steady as Everard placed his foot on the first ratline, his claymore on his back in its leather sheath, his dirk between his teeth. He held firm as he made his stealthy way up the ladder and slipped over the side.
As he took his bearings, he saw a group of men toward the prow, where two men were dragging Davina, who was managing to somehow wriggle away from them attempting to hold her.
Dùghall was now beside him as he watched Murchadh MacKinnon approaching Davina. His blood surged. If the man so much as touched her, he would dart forward and run him through with his claymore, even though it meant his own death.
He felt Dùghall’s restraining hand on his arm and inhaled a long deep breath, forcing himself to patience.
It was then that one of the men turned toward them and raised the alarm.
He stood back-to-back with Dùghall as four men rushed them. Two men came at him, lashing their swords wildly. It was clear they were not trained warriors but ruffians or bandits. With two well-aimed strikes from his claymore, both men fell to the deck, blood spurting from blows to their necks.
Dùghall, a seasoned warrior, was putting paid to two more of their assailants.
In the short space of time they had been on board the birlinn, four men lay dead or dying at their feet.
Without another word, they advanced on Murchadh, who wrenched Davina forward to shield himself.
He held a dirk poised beneath Davina’s chin, and even in the dim lantern light, Everard could see the blood trickling down her neck.
“Come any closer and I’ll cut her throat.”
Everard froze. There was nothing in his mind but keeping her safe, and he knew that at his first move, the evil man who held her would not hesitate to take her life with one slash of his dirk.
The one remaining man who had stood beside Murchadh turned on his heel as the two fierce warriors approached. The last they heard of him was a splash as he went over the side.
Clutching Davina’s arm with one hand and keeping his dirk at her throat with the other, Murchadh sidled toward the ladder. It was clear he intended to make his escape, using Davina as his hostage.
Reaching the ladder he flung one leg over the side, and with a mighty shove he tipped Davina into the water below.
Everard raced to the side. Tearing off his heavy jacket, he dropped the claymore and the dirk ready to dive. In that instant Dùghall reached forward and seized Murchadh’s hair, dragging his head back in a fierce, unyielding grip.
Murchadh screamed. “Ye son of a whore, ye’re the man who…” He flailed at Dùghall who released him. Throwing down his claymore he took up his dirk so making the two men evenly matched.
Everard leaped off the side of the birlinn and dived into the blackness. As he went, Murchadh’s dying scream resounded in his ears.
He stayed under the water until his lungs were bursting, feeling frantically for any trace of Davina. As he reached the surface, catching his breath, he bumped his own small boat which had was alongside the birlinn, tangled in the end of the rope ladder.
Miraculously, Davina was there, lying half senseless in the bottom of the small craft having fallen not into the sea as he’d supposed but had tumbled into their boat. He dragged himself on board, wrenched the gag from her mouth and quickly set about untying the rope from her hands.
To his overriding relief, she groaned, and raised her hand to clutch his sleeve. “Is it really ye, or are ye only a dream?”
“Nay lass,” he said, taking her in his arms. “I am real. Ye’re wi’ me. All is well.”
She gave a soft laugh as her head lolled onto his shoulder. “And Feather? Is she all right?”
Dùghall came thundering down the ladder. “Let us take her home before she succumbs tae the cold.”
Once again, the two men plied the oars, intent on returning Davina to the safety of the castle.
When they reached the slipway, Dùghall leaped out and quickly tied the mooring rope. Everard followed, with Davina in his arms.
A plaintive meow came from the darkness and a tiny figure came running to greet them. Dùghall bent to pick up the small creature and tuck her inside his jacket.
“We’re all here, safe and sound,” he proclaimed, as Everard bent to place a soft kiss on Davina’s forehead.
Together, all four of them made their way to the safety of the castle walls.
Never again would Davina fear the wrath of Murchadh MacKinnon.