Page 43 of Devil’s Highlander (Clan MacAlpin #1)

“What’s to say a boy like Paddy won’t be next?” Marjorie chewed a forkful of eggs with great enthusiasm. Swallowing, she pointed her fork at Cormac. “I tell you, we must destroy that ship.”

“Easy, Ree,” he said with a laugh. They sat on a love seat before the hearth, and he reached over their tray to grab her waggling fist. “No need to spear me with the cutlery. Fiona had enough to explain this morning, bringing her mistress such a heaping portion of food. Impaling me with the silver will do naught for our concealment.”

He took a bite of black pudding and chewed thoughtfully. “ Crivvens but your uncle Humphrey eats well.”

“I’ve been thinking about this black powder,” Marjorie said abruptly. She snatched a triangle of toast, buttering it with great zeal. “How much would it take to explode an entire ship?”

“You wee savage.” He put his fork down to study her. If the swirl of emotions on her face was any indication, the woman’s mind was spinning like a top. He nodded to her knife. “Is the plan to avenge yourself on the toast?”

Ignoring him, she snapped a bite from the corner and, putting a hand in front of her mouth, she spoke as she chewed.

“Of course, we’ll need to figure out how to free the men held captive.

There are slaves still aboard, don’t forget.

And then I think the next order of business is for me to go to Saint Machar and confront Archie. ”

He barked out a laugh—so preposterous was the idea—and promptly quieted himself. It’d do no good to bring the servants running. “Will you indeed?”

Her eyes narrowed at his sarcasm. “Cormac MacAl—”

“No, Ree.” Her amateur efforts at spying had been successful thus far. But that’d been before. Now he was certain all manner of ruffians were scouring the streets of Aberdeen for a woman of her description. “There will be no more. I am deadly serious.”

She set down her utensils with a clack. “You can’t expect me to wait around for more children to be taken.”

“Of course not. We will do all in our power to stop it. How could you doubt otherwise?” He stood abruptly to pace a circle around her room, then stopped and pinned her with a look.

He felt raw, and he needed her to understand.

“Don’t think I feel this any less than you.

Not a day goes by that I don’t remember Aidan.

He was my twin , Ree. I’d not have another lad suffer his fate. ”

Her eyes were wide, and he walked back to her, worried that his harsh words had upset her. “But,” he said, kneeling before her to take her hands, “I’ll not wait and worry that you’re out there, alone and in danger, somehow suffering the same fate as Aidan. I cannot lose you. I will not.”

Her eyes softened. “I can’t lose you either.”

“And so you won’t. I’m an expert. Trust me, I will handle this. I’ll not have you flouncing about Saint Machar’s, flirting with danger.”

“You just don’t want me flouncing and flirting with Archie .” She gave him a wicked smile.

“Not unless you wish me to kill the man,” he deadpanned.

He sat beside her again, and the dishes on the tray clinked with his weight.

“Truly, Ree. Let me do this for you. I spent a lifetime training. I have the devil’s own knowledge of how to kill, how to destroy.

Let me use it for good. I will destroy the ship.

And I promise you, we will figure out a way you can help, too. ”

Marjorie was quiet for a time, and he braced himself for her uplifted chin, for one of her rebellions. Instead, she gave him a thoughtful smile. “I trust you, Cormac. And more than anything, I love you. It will be as you wish it.”

The muscles in his shoulders released. She’d let him handle it. In destroying the Oliphant , he’d avenge Aidan. But more, Cormac would avenge the evils of his youth, in using his terrible skills for good.

She tilted her head, pensive. “So you’ll burn the ship?”

“No, love. I’ll sink it.”

Fiona had always dreamed of a houseful of boys, but not like this.

“Stop,” she ordered them, but it was in vain.

She darted to the corner to break up yet another tussle, sighing heavily.

She’d wanted to do a favor for her mistress, but this was proving more grueling than she’d anticipated.

“How does wee Marjorie manage to keep you rascals in line? Mind me, stop right now.”

Ignoring her, they wrestled their way into her worktable, and a wooden bowl clattered to the floor. It was two of the bigger lads, and their size had her at a disadvantage. She flinched away from a flying fist, clearing her throat to shout, “Stop!”

A banging at the door finally put an end to it. She put a finger to her mouth signaling quiet, though it wasn’t necessary. They’d all frozen, meeting each other’s eyes, stricken.

There was another knock, more insistent than the last. “Fiona? Are you there?”

Archie?

Hastily smoothing her hair, she stepped to the door. Though she made an effort to be silent, she feared the visitor would surely be able to hear her nervous breathing from the other side.

“Fiona? It’s Arch. Are you there? I heard a racket.” He jiggled the latch. “Is everything all right?”

Heaving a sigh of relief, she opened the door and whisked him inside. “ Losh , Arch, but it’s good to see you.”

He took in the tableau of boys in various states of disarray. Raising a brow, he said, “There was word of some unlawful disputes in these parts, but I see the reports were vastly understated.”

She felt her cheeks heat. Even though she wasn’t entirely certain what he referred to, she did know the current chaos mortified her. “Disputes?”

“Aye.” He pulled the tallest of the boys to standing and straightened his shirt.

“I’d heard there was some violence by the docks, not far from here.

I knew where you lived. Do you remember?

When I came to stitch your wound . . . ?

” He trailed off, looking embarrassed. When he spoke again, he didn’t meet her eyes. “Och, Fiona, I pray I didn’t overstep.”

Remember? He came once to dress her cut finger, and she’d thought of his visit every day since.

His upright form had filled the small cottage with a gentle, understated presence.

He’d been attentive and kind, his manner striking her as protective, taking care of things in such a manly way.

He was everything her father wasn’t. “I remember, yes, of course,” she said quietly.

“But who are these boys? Surely you’ve never mentioned brothers.” Archie scanned the room, and eyes alighting on Davie, he did a double take. “Davie? Could it be?”

A sort of bewildered caution crumpled the boy’s face, and he tucked himself behind Fiona’s skirts. She twisted back to scruff his red hair. “It’s all right, lad. Don’t you remember Archie? He’s the nice man from Saint Machar’s.”

Davie gave a wary half shrug and went to sit with the others in front of the fire for an impromptu game of merrills.

“I’ll not understand it,” she said, referring to the sudden quiet. She chalked it up to Archie’s steady presence calming them all down.

“How is this even possible?” He pitched his voice low and had to step close to Fiona to be heard in the crowded space. “I can’t believe it’s Davie.”

“Marjorie saved them all, God love her.” Fiona smiled wide. “I’m caring for them, as a favor.”

“But surely you can’t keep them here.” Archie shook his head, perplexed. “They should be with me. At Westhall.”

She hesitated. “But Marjorie said there was no room.”

“No room?” His eyes softened. “Oh Fiona, dear. Perhaps you misunderstood. There’s always room at Saint Machar.”

Elation filled her. “Oh, Arch, that would be lovely.” The boys had been overwhelming. And they’d overwhelmed her father, too. He’d not taken kindly to the lot, despite her mistress’s bribe. He’d begun yelling at them, and she worried it was only a matter of time before shouts became hits.

“I can bring them back with me now,” he said, his brown-eyed gaze more earnest than ever.

She wasn’t accustomed to thoughtful gestures and fought against the sudden ache of tears in her throat. “You’d do that?”

“My dear, my lovely Fiona.” Archie’s uncertain smile made her weak in the knees. “I’m discovering there’s not much I wouldn’t do for you.”