Page 9 of Bride of the Wicked Laird (Sparks and Tartans: The MacKinnon Clan’s Romance #11)

CHAPTER NINE

T hrusting long fingers through his dark hair, Everard huffed with indignation. He was seated in one of the chairs at the long table in the solar of the mansion-house his friend the privateer captain, Séamus O’Rourke, shared with his wife, Finn, on the Isle of Canna. The room was cold. There was no fire burning in the large, stone, fireplace.

“I’m nae asking ye tae give up all yer French bounty. Only that ye dinnae attack the cogs bound fer England wi’ the Laird MacDougall’s cargo on board.”

Séamus, drew his mouth into a tight-lipped smile and shook his head.

“As we dinnae ken which of the ships carries the MacDougall’s cargo me laird, ye’re asking us tae give up all the French trade. We’ll nae survive without it and I’ll nay agree tae it.”

Everard groaned. His recent negotiations on the Isle of Mull with Laird Alexander MacDougall had led to him agreeing to intervene to prevent the privateers’ plunder. Now, it seemed, Séamus had no intention of allowing that to take occur.

“How can we mere privateers uncover the ships carrying goods fer MacDougall?” Séamus spat after mentioning the man’s name. “I take especial pleasure in removing the cargo once I learn it is his purse I’m shortening.”

Finn, seated beside Séamus, spoke up. “Everard, our French booty is the mainstay of our trade. Invariably the goods marked as MacDougall’s are the richest of them all. Extravagant perfumes, the finest wines, furs, pretty necklaces and ear bobs made of diamonds and sapphires. They, and all the rest of his trade – silks, spices, cheese, profit us well.”

Seated next to Everard, his advisor, Hugo MacRae was leaning back, arms folded. He nodded. “This is a riddle that mayhap cannae be solved, me laird. If the privateers give up their French booty, the rest is slim pickings. More ships travel the eastern route, leaving little for the privateers of Canna. If ye forbid the plunder of the French, the people of Canna may well starve.”

Everard grunted. He was caught between two immovable rocks. On one hand, was his promise to MacDougall. On the other hand, was his loyalty to Séamus, Finn and the rest of them on the Isle of Canna whose livelihood depended on being able to continue to ply the privateering trade.

Not least of these was Aileen’s father, Barclay MacAlpin. Who, for all his great age and his gout, had made an appearance in Finn’s and Seamus’s solar, and was seated at the end of the great table listening to every word.

Everard cursed himself for his haste in making his agreement with MacDougall to intervene with Canna’s privateers to disregard MacDougall’s cargo. The crafty, evil, man would have been well aware that it was impossible for the them to discern which French ships carried his goods.

Everard had not considered the proposition with sufficient care, even though Hugo had petitioned for more time before the agreement was reached.

It was Everard’s wish to be gone from his enemy’s presence as quickly as possible that had led him to the hasty decision he now bitterly regretted.

Yet, he desperately needed an agreement from Séamus. War with the MacDougalls was something he wished fervently to avoid. Especially as he was aware that the MacKinnons of Mull, under the lairdship of that cursed Murchadh MacKinnon, were allies of the MacDougalls. Two powerful clans against the MacNeils of Barra and the MacLeods of Skye. He shook his head at the prospect of such a clash.

To his surprise Barclay MacAlpin had stirred himself to speak up, his voice little more than a croak. “I’ve an idea that ye might find tae yer liking.”

All eyes turned to the grey-hair.

“I’ll take heed of yer wisdom, old man,” Everard said with a grin.

Barclay took a sip of ale, cleared his throat and waited a moment.

Everard smiled to himself. The old man certainly kent how to gain the attention of a rowdy group.

Once all eyes were on him and all voices hushed, Barclay spoke.

“Séamus is correct. There is nay way he can ken which cogs bear MacDougall’s cargo. Unless…” He took another sip of ale.

Everard drew in a sharp breath, waiting and hoping MacAlpin’s next words would bring some kind of solution to the dilemma he was facing.

“…we find someone who can infiltrate MacDougall’s shipping and uncover the details of his consignments. Where they’re from, the cargo’s contents, and, most importantly, how tae identify the cogs carrying his goods. Once the names of those ships are kent tae ye…” he nodded to Finn and Séamus, who were taking in every word. “…ye will ken which of the cogs tae ignore and which tae plunder.”

Everard considered this for a few moments. “I like yer idea, if we can find such a person. But, daesnae MacDougall divide his cargo between many ships?”

“Nay,” Finn responded. “We’ve gleaned enough tae ken ‘tis nae practical fer him. He moves the cargo once his warehouse fills and sails it on one cog. When his warehouse is again crammed with the smuggled goods he trades, he sails them again. He doesnae distribute his cargo between cogs.”

Turning to Barclay, Everard grinned. “Yer scheme has merit old man, I thank ye.”

The old man chuckled, “Ye need tae arise from yer bed early in the morn if ye’re tae outthink a canny old pirate such as meself.”

At that, Hugo MacRae lifted his head and uncrossed his arms. “Mayhap I could be the man fer the task ye’ve laid out, me laird MacAlpin.”

Everard threw Hugo a startled look, one eyebrow raised.

“Dinnae look surprised. D’ye forget that before I came tae bide wi’ ye at Barra I had spent some years in France. First off, fighting with the French against the English. After that…” He shrugged a careless shoulder. “… nae far from the port of La Rochelle. Because I could speak both French and English, they made use of me at the port. Trust me, smuggling wine into England is a lucrative trade.”

Everard nodded slowly. “Aye. I kent that.”

“Aye. ‘T’would be easy enough tae locate MacDougall’s warehouse. After that, I’d have nay difficulty in finding out which of the ships he favors fer his trade.”

Finn looked at him questioningly. “And how would ye convey this information tae us, Hugo, so that we ken which cogs are blacklisted?”

“There are many ships plying between Calais and Scotland. I’ll make it me business tae recruit messengers who can transfer the names tae ye before the cog departs. Me reckoning is that he will favor the same ones each time. If that’s so, me task will be done after only a matter of months have passed and I shall return leaving the task tae me well-paid new messengers.”

“’Tis danger involved in this spying, Hugo.” Everard shook his head, frowning.

“Aye. But a hint of danger makes the blood run warm in me veins.” He shot Everard a hint of a wry grin. “I’ve aught tae occupy me wily skills in Kiessimul. Ye’ve little need of me these days, me laird. Ye’ve grown since ye took on the lairdship. Ye’ve little call fer me counsel.” He guffawed.

Everard grunted. “Nevertheless, I value yer company. Even if it is only so I may disagree wi’ yer counsel.”

“Is that an aye then, me laird?”

“I’ve nay choice but tae agree, lad.” He looked around the gathering. “Unless one of ye has a better proposal fer how we’re tae deal with MacDougall?”

They remained stony faced.

“Very well. I’ll agree tae this, but I wish ye tae take care.” Everard laid his hand on Hugo’s shoulder. “I wish ye God’s speed, Hugo MacRae. And ye travel wi’ me hope that ye’ll succeed and return tae us before too much time has passed.”

Séamus got to his feet. “Ye’d best be gone on the tide then, lad. One of me birlinns can sail ye as far as the Isle of Man, but from then ye’ll need tae make yer own way tae France.”

Hugo rose, nodded to the others, and followed Finn and Séamus from the solar. Aileen and Maxwell who had observed the meeting without comment, also rose.

Maxwell reached a hand to shake his brother’s. “I believe this scheme will be successful and the problem between the privateers, the MacNeils and the Laird MacDougall will be laid tae rest.”

Shaking his brother’s hand, Everard was still far from satisfied. “A lot rests on the shoulders of one man. Hugo is placing himself in great danger. I can only pray he succeeds.”

Aileen reached a hand to squeeze her brother-in-law’s forearm. “Never fear. Hugo is crafty and kens the French language. He will achieve the outcome we wish fer and return tae bonny Scotland before long.”

“I’ll be off wi’ the tide also.” Everard’s confidence was growing. Hugo was a skilled warrior and an experienced and wise negotiator. If anyone could succeed at such a delicate task, it was him. “Me work here is done, thanks tae yer father’s wisdom and Hugo’s courage.”

With the wind in his hair, the tang of salt in the air, and the birlinn heading north, Everard’s spirits rose. He was looking forward to returning to Kiessimul.

Already he felt Hugo’s absence keenly. Yet, it was true. He’d come to rely less and less on his counsel over the years. Now, he had found himself turning more to his brother than to his advisor, who had become his friend and confidant. Hugo was no longer the only one he relied on for advice.

His skills would be far better occupied in resolving the difficult issue surrounding the MacDougall’s looted cargo. In the end, they had come up with a satisfactory resolution to what had seemed an intractable problem. He could only pray that Hugo was successful in his mission to France. And even more, that he remained safe.

As they drew closer to Barra, Everard’s thoughts turned to Mistress Davina. Apart from his distracting vision of her auburn curls, her creamy skin and the feminine curves evident beneath her kirtle, his chief concern was what would become of her.

He was happy for her to remain at Kiessimul as long as it pleased her. And that might be for as long as her memories remained a mystery. He was most anxious to find out who she was and what possible allegiances might flow from her identity.

In the Highlands, identity was of the utmost importance. Without understanding who a lad or a lass may be, there was no knowledge of whether they were potentially a friend or a foe. The clashes between the clans – for one reason or another – led, in many cases, to generations-long enmity, for which there was little hope of ever achieving a reconciliation.

Darkness was falling as his birlinn pulled into the slipway and Ranald Dunbar hastened to greet him. It was good to set foot on the island again, yet he only listened with one ear as the Gockman droned on with details of who had tied up at the moorings during Everard’s absence, and who was sailing.

This was important information which was generally of great interest, yet tonight he struggled with impatience, eager to hasten into the castle and make sure his little novice was well and safe. He mentally scolded himself. This fascination with Davina that caused his belly to clench and his manhood to react whenever he allowed his thoughts to dwell on her, was pure foolishness. The lass was an innocent, and his lustful desires shamed him.

Despite roundly admonishing himself as he passed through the arched entry to the courtyard, he experienced a niggle of anticipation at the promise of catching sight of her again.

Bidding goodnight to Dunbar, he took the steps to the keep two at a time and headed for the great hall. He was famished, not having had a morsel since breaking his fast that morning at Canna. Keen as he was to sail on the tide, he’d foregone dining with the others after their meeting. Instead, he’d surprised them with his haste to be gone.

He was greeted by Mildred as he entered the feasting hall. She bobbed a quick curtsey.

“Good evening, me laird. Ailis has prepared yer supper and the maids will serve ye without delay.” She looked around. “Is Hugo MacRae wi’ ye? We were expecting yer braither, his wife, and Hugo as well.”

Taking his seat at the head of the vast and empty table, Everard shook his head.

“Nay. Aileen and me braither will spend a few more days on the Isle of Canna. Aileen wishes tae be wi’ her Da, and Hugo has departed fer the Isle of Man.”

Mildred threw him a puzzled look.

Everard cursed himself for saying too much. Hugo’s mission must be kept as secretive as possible, yet it was necessary to make sense of his absence.

“He has kin he wishes tae visit.”

Mildred nodded. He could only hope this satisfied her curiosity and would not start tongues wagging with speculation about Hugo’s absence.

He looked around, hopeful of catching sight of Davina.

“Has Mistress Davina already dined?”

“Mistress Davina dines wi’ Broderick and meself at noon-time. She works hard in the infirmary and takes tae her bed early so she can rise before the sun.”

Everard hauled in a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping to conceal his disappointment from Mildred as he subsided into his chair.

It had not occurred to him that Davina would have taken on the role of a servant at Kiessimul. He found the idea was not to his liking.

The scullery maids served his dinner. A delicate broth of leeks and onion followed by a fish pie. He was certain the meal would have tasted better if Davina had been beside him with her shy smiles, her sunny laughter and the delicate scent of wildflowers that always seemed to be around her.

He had to content himself with the knowledge that tomorrow he would seek out her company.