Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (2 page)

Chapter 2

June, 1504

Inverness

Scottish Highlands

“T
HE
L
ADY
R
AINE
to see you, laird,” announced Macraith.

At his uncle’s words, Keir looked up from the map table in astonishment to see Raine Cameron stride into the room. She carried a leather satchel in one hand and a canvas bag in the other, both of which she dropped on the floor with an unceremonious plop. She then folded her gloved hands and gazed at him with an air of unruffled composure.

Standing stock-still, Macraith MacNeil continued to hold the door wide, clearly unwilling to retreat from such a fascinating spectacle as an uninvited female visitor in the chief of Clan MacNeil’s private quarters. The quizzical look on Macraith’s craggy, sea-weathered features mirrored Keir’s own bewilderment.

Tossing his ruler and compass down, Keir abandoned his mathematical calculations and stared at the black-eyed lassie. He then gazed over the top of her head, fully expecting either Lady Nina or Laird Alex—or both—to come through the doorway behind her.

Not giving Keir a chance to say a word, Raine hurried to stand directly in front of him, as though she feared he’d bolt from the room before she had an opportunity to speak. When neither her mother nor uncle appeared, a prickly sensation crept up the back of Keir’s neck.

“What the hell are you doing here, Raine?”

She wrinkled her nose at his coarse language, then sighed as though vulgarity was no more than she’d expected of him.

“I’m here to see you,” she answered in her maddeningly determined way. She lifted her arched black brows and her gaze swept the small room, lighting briefly on the unmade bed in the corner and the near-empty decanter of wine from the evening before still on the bed stand. The remains of breakfast cluttered the room’s small dining table. When she met his eyes again, a tiny smile flickered across her lips. “I do hope I’m not interrupting anything,” she added.

Fortunately, the night’s tart had already left the inn with her fistful of silver groats a good half hour earlier.

“You’re not.”

“Hmph.” Macraith released an audible puff of air—whether in admiration of Raine’s perspicacity or in reproach of Keir’s gruff manners wasn’t clear.

Keir jerked his head, signaling his uncle to leave. Macraith grinned good-naturedly at the curt dismissal, but his boots remained planted on the floor.

“Charming as ever, Laird MacNeil,” Raine responded. “May I sit down?”

“You may n—”

Before Keir could finish, a shrill scraping drowned out his words, as his uncle shoved a three-legged stool across the bare floorboards from its place by the table. “My lady,” Macraith said in his deep gravelly voice.

“Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”

Raine gave a brief nod and sat. She lifted the hood of her lightweight traveling cape and let its blue folds drape over her shoulders. A thick black braid sat like a crown on the top of her head. Perched on the stool with the straight-backed posture of a princess, she calmly waited, wrapped in that damn aura of blithe self-assurance that always seemed to surround her. She appeared unaware of the inappropriateness of her sudden appearance in their inn, alone and unprotected.

Raine grew more beautiful each time Keir saw her. He’d been struck, once again, by her grace and charm when he’d spied her at the royal wedding last summer. She’d been surrounded by a group of boisterous young gentlemen, all vying for her attention. Keir had himself well in check, however, and immediately removed himself from her presence, lest he scatter the fawning jackanapes across the polished floor like lawn bowls.

“Where is Lady Nina?” Keir demanded bluntly. An uncomfortable suspicion tightened his jaw, and his words had come more harshly than he’d intended. After all Raine was only a lass, albeit a headstrong one. Far too headstrong for a female. But even a headstrong female would know better than to travel across the northern Highlands without an escort. If that was, in fact, what she’d done.

“My mother remains at Archnacarry Manor, as does Uncle Alex and Aunt Isabel,” she answered, confirming his initial conjecture.

“You didn’t come here alone?” he asked warily.

She had the decency to blush, but she didn’t look away. “If you’re asking did I come to Inverness alone, Laird MacNeil, the answer would be no. I traveled from Archnacarry with a contingent of Poor Clares. If you’re inquiring whether I am presently on my own, I would have to say yes.”

“Jesus,” Keir muttered. “The nuns agreed to take you, unescorted by a servant or guard?”

“The good sisters believed that I intended to become a postulant in the Franciscan order. I daresay I can’t explain how they reached that conclusion.”

He gave a snort of disbelief. “I’m sure you could, if you cared to.”

Keir looked over to meet his uncle’s startled brown eyes and read the discomfiture they both felt at the news. On hearing Raine’s explanation, Macraith had quietly closed the door behind him and stood with his legs braced and his arms folded.

Raine’s chin jutted out. “I came here to the Red Boar’s Inn directly from the nuns’ hostelry. I was never in any danger.”

Keir peered at her through narrowed eyes. “Your mother doesn’t know you’re here, does she?”

“Oh, she most certainly does,” Raine protested, meeting his accusatory gaze straight on.

He frowned and propped his hands on his hips. “I don’t believe Lady Nina would allow you to travel all the way from Archnacarry to Inverness without a family member. Or at the very least, an armed escort to protect you. Everyone knows there’s a rebellion sweeping through the Hebrides.”

“Well, this is not the Hebrides,” she pointed out.

Lady Raine Cameron rose from the wooden stool and carefully skirted the large man glowering at her with such ferocity. She moved to the diamond-paned window and looked out upon the three magnificent warships riding at anchor in the harbor.

Tenders loaded with supplies plied back and forth through the lapping waves from the dock to the
Sea Dragon,
the
Black Raven
, and the
Sea Hawk
. She could see the crewmen scurrying about on the decks, unloading the crates and barrels and stowing them in the holds.

Keir had followed her to the window. He now stood directly behind her, cutting off any escape she might attempt, should she falter and panic. She didn’t need to see the glowering colossus to know he was scowling. She was quite familiar with the chief of Clan MacNeil.

Known to the Scots people as the Black Raven—after his ship—his enemies called him the Black Beast’s Spawn—after his notorious father. The aggravating male stood well over six feet. He had a massive chest, and the muscles of his shoulders and upper arms bulged beneath his linen shirt. Today he wore the breeches and knee-high boots of a pirate. But she’d seen him many times in the green-and-black MacNeil tartan, his pleated kilt swinging above his strong calves.

His next words came as a low, threatening growl in her ear. “You’re telling me that your mother agreed to this?”

Raine didn’t make the mistake of turning to face him eye to chest. Keir MacNeil was the most ferocious man she’d ever known. And she’d known him ever since she could remember. He was the youngest of three half brothers. The “Hellhounds of Scotland” just happened to be close friends of her family. Raine knew better than to show a hint of timidity in front of Keir MacNeil. She’d sparred verbally with him in the past. He could deliver a tongue-lashing that stung worse than a whipping.

Not that anyone had
ever
lifted a hand to her.

“Mama knew I’d be traveling safely with the Poor Clares,” she explained. “I told her that I’d meet up with you here in Inverness and place myself under your protection.”

“You told her
what
?” His voice shook the rafters, his words echoing around the small inn room.

Raine dared a peek back over her shoulder. A vein bulged on the side of his forehead. His swarthy features were flooded with crimson in his rage. He grasped her elbow and spun her around.

“Jesus, Raine! What the hell were you thinking? In a few days, I’ll be sailing into battle. I can’t take responsibility for you.”

“I’ll be responsible for myself,” she promised, steeling herself to meet his piercing green eyes. He could skewer her with a look, but she wouldn’t allow him to demoralize her. “I need to be on the
Black Raven
when you leave the Moray Firth. I must reach Steòrnabhagh as soon as possible.”

“What the devil is in Steòrnabhagh except a nest of traitors?”

Raine bit her lower lip as she frantically recited the answer she’d rehearsed all the way there. “I have a cousin who lives in the nearby village of Tolm on the Isle of Lewis. Lavinia MacAlistair is with child and due to deliver in a few weeks. She wrote imploring Aunt Isabel to attend her during the birth. But we decided the journey would be too taxing for my aunt and that I should come instead.”

Keir studied the lass’s wide-set ebony eyes, searching for some sign she was lying. She had to be lying. ’Twas impossible to believe that her mother or uncle would have agreed to such an outrageous plan. And if they had, they’d have written him, requesting his assistance.

He wouldn’t put such lunacy beyond Lady Isabel, however. Everyone knew the woman was half daft, with her potions and magic spells. She’d infected Raine Cameron with her foolish beliefs in faeries and elves when the lassie was still a wee halflin. He believed Isabel’s influence to be the reason for Raine’s estrangement from her loving mother. Lady Nina was much too sensible to set any store in her good-sister’s self-proclaimed magical powers.

The second sight.

Hell. What goddamned nonsense.

Shaking his head, Keir strode across the room. He braced a booted foot against a carved sea chest in front of the rumpled bed and stared at the far wall. One thing was certain. He was now responsible for Raine. The Camerons had been close family friends since before he was born. Gideon Cameron, the maid’s dead father, had fostered Keir’s oldest brother, Rory. There was no way Keir could abandon Raine to her fate. He glanced over to meet the exasperating lass’s self-satisfied gaze. Damn. She knew it too. In fact, she’d planned on it.

“Just for the sake of plain speaking, Raine,” he said, “I don’t believe your preposterous story. Not a word of it. But I’m obviously now responsible for your safety, whether I want to be or not.”

Keir turned to Macraith. “Have two horses brought to the front of the inn. I’ll see to my young charge here while you finish charting our course out of the firth and into the North Sea. I’ll meet you on board the
Raven
in four hours. We sail at high tide.”

“Aye, aye, captain.” His uncle flashed his wide grin and hurried out the door.

“Where are we going now?” Raine asked with a frown.

“You’ll need a heavier cloak,” Keir told her. “And sturdy boots suitable for a sea voyage.”

Her jet eyes sparkling, she smiled in triumph. “What a fine idea! There were some things I couldn’t purchase at home.”

“No doubt.”

Keir would have laughed at her naiveté, if he hadn’t been so damn irritated by her arrival. Just how gullible did she think him?

She couldn’t have secured those things in Archnacarry because someone would have asked if she were planning on going to sea.

S
EATED
ON A
sturdy bay mare, Raine gazed up at the square stone fortress that rose high on a cliff overlooking the Firth of Moray. True to his word, Keir MacNeil had escorted her to the market center of Inverness, where they visited several of the shops that lined the winding cobbled streets. She’d purchased a heavy cherry-red mantle with sable trim around the hood, sturdy boots, and a pair of fur-lined leather gloves. She’d placed them carefully in the canvas bag tied across from the leather satchel on the back of her horse.

Mounted once again, Keir had led Raine out of the harbor town, ringed by hills and anchored on the sea at the eastern end of Glen Mór. The cozy burgh straddled the River Ness and stood poised on the edge of the great Loch Ness.

They cantered side by side up a road that followed the precipitous edge of a rocky bluff. Heather bloomed along the hillside. The scent of Scots pine filled the crisp air. Farther up, a forest of spruce and larch rose against the blue sky.

“Where are we going?” Raine asked, though she’d already surmised their goal was the soaring tower house ahead. Her fingers clenched the reins as a feeling of unease tightened the muscles of her shoulders and neck. She forced a smile. “You told me we’d be sailing on the evening tide.”

“That’s Inverloch Castle,” Keir replied in his usual brusque manner. “I need to speak with Laird MacSween before boarding ship. He’s promised to stable my horses while I’m gone.”

When they arrived at the fortress, Keir motioned to the sentries guarding the main gate. One of the men recognized the chief of Clan MacNeil and immediately waved them through. At the sudden clatter of hooves on the cobblestoned courtyard, a young groom came hustling from the stables to take their horses.

Keir dismounted and moved to stand beside Raine. He clasped her booted ankle in his strong grip and squeezed a warning. “Now be a good lass and mind your manners while we’re here. And for God’s sake, don’t tell Lady MacSween that you traveled to Inverness from Archnacarry without a decent escort.”

“I had an escort of nuns,” she protested. “You can’t get more decent than that!”

He grinned mirthlessly as he lifted her down from the saddle. “Leaving your home without permission can hardly be considered decent, Raine. Not by anyone’s standards. Not even your fool-headed aunt’s.”

“Aunt Isabel is far cleverer than you know, Laird MacNeil,” she retorted. “And when you address me, please use my title. I’m no longer a child.”

He shrugged. “When you start behaving like an adult, Raine, I’ll address you as a lady.”

Keir led her across the courtyard and guided her into the windowless ground floor filled with provisions. He spoke quietly to an elderly servant, who stood scooping grain from a barrel into a large crock. At the white-haired man’s invitation, they followed him up the steps to the second story and into the great hall.