Page 23 of The Laird’s Wicked Game (Highland Scandal #2)

Castle Coeffin, Isle of Lismore

Two days later …

“THE RAIN is slackening,” Tormod announced as he strode up the gangplank. “We need to make for Mull.”

Straightening up from where he’d been coiling a heavy oiled rope, the captain of The Night Plunderer scowled. “It’s a bit early, isn’t it?”

“Aye, but since it’s been pissing down for over three days now, Rae Maclean will have opened the storm drain in the east wall. It’s time.”

Captain Macbeth’s scowl became a glower, yet Tormod pretended not to notice. He was a belligerent bastard. His crew minded him, and until now, Tormod had pretended to do so as well.

However, he wasn’t missing out on this opportunity .

Leaden clouds hung over the Isle of Lismore this morning, so low that they obscured the top of Castle Coeffin’s tower house. But as Tormod had noted, the rain wasn’t as heavy as it had been for the past days. It had lessened from a steady drumming downpour to a thick mist.

They had to go.

“We don’t need to hurry,” Macbeth muttered, placing meaty hands on his hips. “The spring’s barely begun.”

“On the contrary, if we delay, we’ll make things harder for ourselves.” Tormod stepped up onto the deck and halted before the big man. “As the days lengthen and the nights grow shorter, morale will rise within the fortress. They’ll be at a low ebb right now. The winter was a bitter one, and the rain has been relentless. The guards on the wall will be tired and ill-tempered. This is the moment to strike.”

Tormod marked then that their conversation had drawn the attention of the other members of Macbeth’s crew. They halted in their tasks, turning to watch their captain and the man who’d recently joined their ranks eyeball each other.

“MacDougall has a point, Captain.” One of them, a grizzled warrior named Harris, spoke up. “Best to hit them when they least expect it.”

“Aye, once spring is in full flush, and the mists roll in, they’ll be wary,” another crewmember added. “They’ll be on the lookout for us.”

“Indeed.” Tormod flashed both men a smile. “The lads have raised worthy points.”

It pleased him that two of the crew had voiced their agreement. He’d worked hard over the winter to develop a rapport with the crew of The Night Plunderer. Ross Macbeth was the only one who didn’t like him—but then the captain didn’t like anyone really. When he wasn’t prowling the deck of his cog, bellowing orders at his men, Macbeth locked himself away in his cabin. Tormod had noted the distance between the captain and his crew and had worked to exploit it.

When they stormed Dounarwyse, he wanted them all on his side.

Macbeth didn’t suspect it yet, but his days in charge were numbered.

Tormod was a leader, not a follower, and once they took Dounarwyse, he didn’t want to share his plunder, or power, with Macbeth. Once Rae Maclean and his brother swung from the castle walls, he’d take a knife to Macbeth’s throat. Right now, though, he needed the man.

Excitement tightened his chest then.

He couldn’t wait to return to Dounarwyse and have his reckoning with its laird.

Maclean would rue the day he ever lifted a whip to him. The humiliation of it still burned like a coal in his gut. Makenna MacGregor had witnessed his punishment too, although he’d clawed back some dignity by having the last word as he left. He’d meant those words—she would see him again. He’d seen fear flare in her moss-green gaze, and it had thrilled him. Makenna was more courageous than most men , yet he’d pierced her armor. He’d shown her that she was weaker than she believed.

It was a pity the lass would no longer be in residence at Dounarwyse. She’d have returned to her father’s castle in Perthshire by now. One day, he intended to have Makenna for his own—but first, he would win himself a broch.

Meanwhile, a few feet away, Macbeth eyed him. Even though his strong jaw was covered by a thick beard, Tormod saw it flex. He wasn’t happy, and yet knew he was outnumbered .

“All right then,” he growled, his mouth pursing. “We’ll set sail tomorrow morning.” He moved forward then, one thick finger stabbing into Tormod’s chest. “But mark me, MacDougall … we aren’t raising anchor until ye sit down with me and explain every detail of this plan of yers.”

Tormod didn’t react, even if he longed to do nothing more than grab that finger and snap it like a twig. Instead, he favored Macbeth with a slow smile. “As ye wish.” He nodded left then, toward the captain’s cabin. “Shall we?”

Dounarwyse broch, Isle of Mull

Later the same day …

Standing at the window in the lady’s solar, looking east as a murky grey day slid into an equally grim twilight, Kylie fought the urge to weep.

She’d been dueling with herself all day, telling herself that she needed to be strong. All the same, the urge to bawl like a bairn clawed at her.

The past days had been the hardest of her life, especially after she’d broken the news to her charges and Tara that she was leaving.

Ailean and Lyle had both burst into noisy tears. Then, the lads shocked Kylie by rushing to her, throwing their arms around her legs, and begging her to stay. She’d felt like a beast denying them, even as she’d mouthed a flimsy excuse about her family at Meggernie needing her.

Rae’s sons hadn’t understood, and the hurt in their eyes had cut her like a blade to the belly.

But she’d remained dogged to her purpose. After their final conversation, Rae had told her that a ferry for Oban was due in three days’ time. He’d ensure she was on it.

Tara too had gotten tearful. She’d also been harder to lie to than Ailean and Lyle. Her silver eyes had been troubled afterward. “But I thought ye loved living here?”

“I do,” Kylie had replied with a wavering smile. “Yet I’ve missed my family terribly of late. Meggernie is where I need to be.”

Tara had given her a penetrating look then, and her breathing had caught. Her friend didn’t believe her, yet, as if sensing Kylie’s brittleness, she didn’t push.

Telling everyone had been awful, but it was done now. Three days had passed—and tomorrow morning, Rae’s men would accompany her to Craignure and put her on the ferry.

Dragging in a ragged breath, she continued to stare out the window. After days of heavy rains, the weather was finally starting to improve. Thank the Saints, or the ferry might not leave in the morning. Nonetheless, a wet mist hung over Dounarwyse this evening. Everything around her looked grey.

Of late, the world had lost its sparkle, and a knot of misery had lodged tight in her throat.

A clenched fist can hold nothing .

Rae wasn’t a fool. He knew she was afraid. But the harder he’d pushed, the higher her fear had swarmed. In the end, nothing he’d said would have made any difference .

A tear escaped then, scalding her cheek as it trickled down to her chin. A second one swiftly followed. Her throat burned now as she fought the storm inside her.

The whisper of the door opening behind her made her startle.

“There ye are.” Tara’s voice filled the lady’s solar. “I thought, since it’s yer last evening here, we might—” Her voice cut off as Kylie hurriedly knuckled away her tears and turned from the window to face her. Tara’s features tightened. “Sorry … I shouldn’t have burst in like that.”

Kylie managed a brittle smile, even though there was little point. Tara could see she’d been crying. “This is yer solar too,” she replied huskily. “Of course, ye can enter whenever ye wish.”

Tara nodded before cautiously approaching her. And then, before Kylie could protest, or step away, she enfolded her into a tight hug.

She went rigid initially, panic fluttering in her chest, yet Tara’s hold merely tightened. A moment later, she gave herself up to it. Liza and Makenna weren’t here to comfort her, but she trusted Tara too, and it was exhausting remaining so stoic.

Tears started to trickle down her cheeks once more, and she hiccoughed, swallowing a sob.

Eventually, Tara drew back, her gaze searching her face. “I don’t understand,” she said softly.

She hiccoughed again and hurriedly wiped at her wet cheeks. “Apologies … I’m not myself this evening.”

“If it pains ye to leave Dounarwyse, then why are ye doing so?”

She shook her head as her throat constricted. Curse Tara, she meant well, but this conversation wouldn’t help her. “It’s complicated,” she said, her voice hoarse. Stepping back, she sniffed. “But it’s best I go.”

Tara’s eyes narrowed. “Jack thinks something has happened … between ye and Rae … and I didn’t believe him initially.” She paused then, her expression shadowing. “Yet now I do.”

Kylie’s heart lurched. She didn’t reply, for her tongue felt as if it had welded itself to the roof of her mouth.

All the same, her silence was damning, and Tara’s mouth curved into a gentle smile. “Aye … my husband is more perceptive than me, it seems.” She paused then, searching her face once more. “Is it really so bad to be in love with him?”

Dizziness swept over Kylie. “I’m not—” she croaked.

However, Tara cut her off. “He’s a good man … one of the best.”

Her chest started to ache. “I know,” she whispered.

“Did he do something to offend ye?”

Kylie dragged in another shaky breath and turned from her friend, moving to the window again. Cool, wet air feathered across her heated cheeks, soothing her a little. “No,” she whispered.

“Then why are ye so upset?”

Silence fell between them, and Kylie let it lie. Her pulse started to race. She couldn’t spill her guts to Tara—and not just to preserve her own dignity, but for Rae’s sake too. It was too private, too raw. “I’m sorry … but I” —she broke off there and dragged in a deep, shaky breath, swallowing the sob that clawed its way up— “I c … can’t talk about it.”

“Don’t fash yerself, hen,” Tara answered softly. The scuff of her slippered feet followed as she drew near once more. A moment later, her hand rested on Kylie’s shoulder. “I’ll not pry it out of ye.”