Highland Knight of Rapture (Highland Dynasty Book 4) (8 page)

Truth be told, he’d wanted Helen to apply the salve with her deft fingers—wished she’d do it. He’d even closed his eyes and prayed she could hear his thoughts.
Please. Smooth in the ointment. I need to feel your lithe fingertips upon my skin just once more
.

He understood why she’d handed him the pot. He must have made the lady damn uncomfortable when he touched her hair…and her cheek…and examined her eye. God, he was daft.

If anything, the confrontation with MacIain, gave him the impetus to make up his mind. They hadn’t heard any news from the spies posted up the coast. It was about time someone paid them a visit. He and his men needed time for respite and a few days at sea would serve to ferry them away from Mingary for a bit. Besides, they could also do some spying of their own and discover more about what Alexander MacDonald was up to. The chieftain controlled a great deal of land around Skye—and his northern lands were far away from the scrutiny of the crown.

Eoin pushed the stopper into the pot and stood just as Fergus walked through the archway.

The henchman held out a shirt. “I fetched this from your kit—thought you might need it.” He glanced from side to side as if expecting to see Lady Helen. It was a good thing she hadn’t tarried. Eoin wouldn’t want the castle astir with any gossip about her, no matter how unfounded.

“My thanks.” Eoin took the shirt and pulled it over his head. “Tell the men we’ll be sailing at dawn on the morrow.”

“Had enough of the MacIain scoundrels have you?”

“Of sorts.” Eoin wouldn’t divulge the extent of his ire to one of his men. He supported King James’s cause, and that was all they needed to know. “Moreover we need to run a sortie to the north to discover what the MacDonald scallywags are up to.”

“After Aleck cut you today.” Fergus lowered his voice. “I cannot see why we don’t just sail back to Argyllshire.”

“Because that’s not what the king ordered.” Eoin picked up his weapons and headed out with his henchman on his heels. “If we tuck tail and head for home, MacIain could side with the MacDonalds, and then we’d have no foothold on the northwestern shore.” And Eoin wasn’t about to release his hold on Mingary for any length of time until he knew Helen would be safe. Aye, she’d survived Aleck’s brutality for the past five years, but something wasn’t right, and Eoin had a mind to fix it—somehow.

Fergus fell in beside him. “Are you coming with me to tell the men?”

“Nay, I’m off to find the chieftain of this keep and let him know our plans.” Eoin gave his henchman a wink. “Wouldn’t want him to gloat, thinking he’d scared us away.”

“Good luck with that.” Fergus chuckled. “Better you than me.”

Eoin gave him a jab with his elbow. “Aye, and kiss my arse while you’re at it.”

Helen sat in a beam of light shining through the narrow window in the nursery painstakingly making tiny stitches as she repaired Eoin’s linen shirt. Maggie napped in her cradle. Glenda and Sarah tended their needlepoint beside the hearth.

“You’ll go blind holding that shirt so close to your face,” Glenda said.

Helen looked up. “I’m trying to make it appear as if it weren’t slashed open. Sir Eoin told me he had only one to spare. And I feel responsible since Sir Aleck was the one who ruined it.”

“Sir Eoin is fortunate. Most soldiers have the clothing on their backs and that is all,” Sarah said as if she possessed a great deal of knowledge on the subject.

Helen pushed in her needle for another careful stitch. “Aye, but Eoin is a chieftain. I’d expect him to be a bit different.”

Glenda rose and crossed the floor. “Let me have a look.”

Helen held up the shirt. “I’m nearly finished.”

The chambermaid grasped the edges and pulled it taut. “You’ve done a fine job, m’lady. You can only see the join if you look closely.”

Sarah stepped beside her. “And no one will see it at all if he’s wearing a doublet atop.”

Helen regarded the shirt with a sigh. “Well, at least you scrubbed out the blood stain, Glenda.”

“Perhaps you should have made him a new shirt,” Sarah suggested.

Honestly, Helen had thought about it, but decided she might raise Aleck’s ire if she gave the Chieftain of Clan Gregor a new shirt that she’d handcrafted. “Mayhap, but Sir Aleck is still maddened about their disagreement in the courtyard. I wouldn’t want to upset him further”

“The men are saying the chieftain shouldn’t have lashed out at Sir Eoin after he’d offered a fair handshake.” Her eyes popping wide as if she’d just made a grand faux pas, Sarah pressed praying fingers to her lips. “Forgive me for being so bold, m’lady.”

Though Helen would never speak ill of her husband to the servants, she nodded. “I’m afraid you could be right in this instance.” She took in a deep inhale and smiled. “Perhaps Sir Aleck and Sir Eoin will agree to put their differences behind them once the MacGregor Chieftain returns.”

Glenda coughed. “You must be the most optimistic person I know, m’lady.”

Helen pursed her lips and returned her attention to her sewing. She didn’t care to have Glenda speak out in subtle disagreement. True, Helen always tried to find the good in every situation, but lately, her kindheartedness had been pushed to the ragged edge.

Sarah brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “When do you think the MacGregor men will return?”

Helen frowned. She had hoped they would have come back by now. The return trip up around the northwestern islands should have only taken a couple of days and they’d been away an entire sennight. “I’m sure they’ve a great many things to attend,” she replied as indifferently as she could manage.

As the women returned to their needlepoint, the chamber grew quiet, the crackling of the fire in the hearth the only sound.

After Helen tied off the last stitch, the ram’s horn sounded, piercing through the silence. The suddenness of the blast nearly made her heart hammer out of her chest.

Sarah’s gaze brightened with her grin. “I’ll wager ’tis them.”

Helen waved her toward the window. “Go have a look.” She made one more knot for good measure and snipped it with the shears. If Sir Eoin had indeed arrived, she could return his shirt this very day.

“’Tis the MacGregor men,” Sarah announced, her voice squeaking with excitement.

Why Helen’s insides were fluttering, she had no idea. Perhaps the lass’s exuberance was contagious.

Glenda gestured to the door. “I’ll stay here with Maggie if you’d like to greet them.”

Sarah curtseyed. “Thank you, ta.” She bit her lip and cast a hopeful gaze toward Helen. “If that meets with your approval, m’lady.”

Helen stood and draped the shirt over her arm. “Of course. We’ll go together.”

While they proceeded down the tower stairs, Helen paused at an arrow slit and looked to the north. Stepping out the door of Mary’s cottage, Aleck was fastening his sword belt. She glanced over her shoulder to see if Sarah had seen him. The woeful expression on the maid’s face confirmed she had.

Helen pretended nothing was amiss and clapped a hand to her chest. “Thank heavens Peter has plenty of meat hanging in the cellar.”

“’Tis a good thing indeed, m’lady,” Sarah agreed.

Though Helen tried not to think of it, she suspected the entire clan avoided speaking of Aleck and Mary in her presence. She breathed in deeply through her nose. She would hold her chin high and maintain her poise just as she always had.

When they stepped into the courtyard, noisy activity echoed between the bailey walls with a refreshing air of excitement. The blacksmith shack clanged and guardsmen were all jesting amongst themselves about their surprise that the MacGregors had bothered to return after their chieftain “bested” Sir Eoin in the sparring ring. Helen wanted to issue a sharp retort. Was she the only person who’d seen Aleck lash out after Eoin had offered his hand? Or had a sennight and whisky faded their memories? Then again, by the way they were laughing and blurting yarns filled with hyperbole, she realized most were genuinely happy Sir Eoin and his men had returned.

Helen glanced at the nursemaid who anxiously strained to see beyond the open sea gate. “Do you fancy one of the MacGregor lads?”

Sarah clapped her hands to her cheeks. “Is it that obvious?”

Walking across the courtyard, Helen grasped her arm. “If you had wings, I do not believe your toes would touch ground at all.” She waved Sarah forward. “Go on then.”

The nursemaid giggled and dashed ahead, straight into the outstretched arms of a MacGregor man. Helen chewed the inside of her cheek. Would she need to find a new maid for Maggie soon?

Her thoughts were interrupted when Eoin hopped over the hull of his galley and splashed into knee-deep water. Helen shivered, well aware the North Sea was never anything but icy cold. She stood at the top of the incline, as customary. It would have been entirely inappropriate had she raced down to shore to greet the men. After all, she was lady over the lands of Ardnamurchan, a post held by a woman born into nobility.
Unlike Mary the widow
.

Eoin waded through the surf nodding greetings to the MacIain guards. The men all surrounded him with welcoming claps on the back and ribs about the length of time he’d been away. It appeared some had appreciated their sennights of sparring lessons with the big warrior. Laughing, he seemed not to notice the wet hem of his surcoat, dripping from beneath his hauberk—or the water sloshing from his boots. As he neared, he looked up the incline. His gaze met Helen’s and he grinned while the others chortled around him. He surged ahead of his retinue and strode straight toward her.

Helen’s heart fluttered.

“Lady Helen.” He stepped in and grasped her hand. Though he’d just been walking through the icy surf and sailing in a chilly May breeze, the fingers surrounding hers were ever so warm and welcoming.

Her breath caught, but she maintained her poise. With the current between their gazes connecting them like lightning to the earth, her insides fluttered in an alarming rhythm she would never reveal through her expression.

Time stilled. Everything surrounding them faded into oblivion, as if they were the only two people on the shore. Her every breath rushed with the sound of waves hitting the beach.

Eoin’s eyes twinkled, reflecting a glint of sunlight. His lips parted in a broad grin, revealing a row of straight, healthy white teeth. A dark beard had grown in during their absence. If anything, it made his eyes bluer, his teeth whiter. She chuckled to herself. The black hair shadowing his face gave him a devilish look.

Blinking, Helen realized he was staring at her, as if expecting her to say something. “Sir Eoin, we thought you and your men would have returned days ago,” she managed in a higher pitch than normal.

With a halfcocked grin, he lowered his gaze, shading his eyes with dark lashes—far too long to belong to a man. “We had a bit of fun following a pair of MacDonald galleys down the coast.” He plied the back of her hand with a kiss, so warm it scorched.

Certain his lips had left a mark, Helen glanced at her hand. “How is your wound?”

Eoin pressed his hand to his ribs to the side of the injury. “’Tis coming good. I had Fergus take out the stitches a couple days past.”

Recalling the undulating muscles over his abdomen, Helen’s gaze drifted down. With a start, she remembered the shirt in her hand—the one he hadn’t kissed. She held it up. “I mended this for you.”

His eyes brightened. “That’s
my
shirt?”

“Aye. I stitched it trying to mirror the weave. ’Tis not perfect. I’m afraid my eyesight isn’t as keen as it once was.”

“I’m impressed.” He peered closely at the seam. “It looks as good as new. Thank you, m’lady.”

When Aleck moved in beside them, Helen took a step back. She feigned her usual demure expression. “Sir Eoin has returned, m’laird.”

“I see.” Aleck frowned and regarded Eoin’s wet boots. “What took you so long, MacGregor? Can you not navigate?”

A muscle in Eoin’s jaw twitched. He motioned toward the sea gate. “I’ve news.”

Following the men into the courtyard, Helen half expected Eoin to finish his sentence with a scoffing comment akin to, “you daft Highlander.” She’d often heard the MacGregor Chieftain and her brother rib each other with such remarks, but that had all been in fun. Perhaps, Eoin was wary about pushing back when Aleck MacIain issued an insult. Unfortunate, she would have enjoyed hearing how he’d really wanted to respond—but then again, such a rebuttal could have set off another inordinately-serious courtyard sparring session.

Aleck stopped by the well and crossed his arms. “My spies reported seeing MacDonald galleys on the move—said they appear to be transporting items south.”

Helen had no idea her husband had dispatched spies.

Eoin nodded and pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “The galleys were indeed heading south. We followed them all the way to the Isle of Colonsay.”

“Close to the Isle of Islay—MacDonald’s greatest holdings in southern waters.” Aleck scratched his whiskers. “The king’s concerns about a stir to the south must be founded.”

“Aye. That’s what took me so long. I sailed to Dunstaffnage to alert Lord Duncan and dispatch a missive to the king.”

“We must set sail and join them,” Aleck said, spreading his arms wide.

“Not yet.” Eoin held up his palm. “I counted fifty-two galleys moored alongside Dunskeath in Sleat.”

Aleck nodded as if he actually paid heed to the MacGregor Chieftain’s words. “’Tis a good place to hide if you’re building an army.”

“My thoughts as well.” Eoin narrowed his gaze. “You ken Clan Donald. My gut is telling me they’re planning a siege along the entire west coast. Where would you guess they’d strike to the north?”

Aleck tugged on his beard. “They’re sworn enemies with the MacKenzie—none too friendly with the MacLeods either.”

“Agreed, and I’d also wager Alexander MacDonald wouldn’t have been pleased after the king granted
you
Sunart lands.”

“He’d never cross me.” Aleck planted his fists on his hips. “If the bastard is so bold as to attack my lands, I’ll murder him—set fire to his castles and put his family under my blade.”

“Pardon? There is a lady present.” Eoin flashed an apologetic glance at Helen—as if he were responsible for Aleck’s vulgar tongue in front of a lady. “We need to be ready—ensure any battles remain far away from the womenfolk.”

Helen tapped her fingers to her mouth and stifled her gasp. “Heavens, they wouldn’t lay siege to Mingary, would they?”

“I’ll not take anything for granted.” Eoin started toward the keep. “I want to review where we’ve posted the spies.”

Aleck threw up his hands and surged ahead. “We’ve stared at that map a hundred times.”

“And we need to study it again. We’ve new information to process,” Eoin said with an edge to his voice. “Unless you want Clan Donald scaling Mingary’s walls.”

With a deep grumble, Aleck shoved through the big double doors.

Helen hastened beside Eoin as they followed Aleck inside. “Do you think we’re in imminent danger?”

He stopped and almost reached for her shoulders, but snatched his fingers away hastily. “We should be safe for the time being, but we must be careful. If you leave the castle, ensure you do so with a guard.”

She wrung her hands. “Sir Grant or Mr. Keith always accompanies me regardless.” She glanced over her shoulder. Aleck watched them from the stairwell with his arms crossed over his chest.

“I’d thought no less, but it is important to exercise additional caution. No one knows where they’ll choose to strike next.” Eoin’s gaze also flickered toward Aleck.

Helen stepped nearer—but not improperly close. “B-but when do you
think
they’ll attack?”

“I still believe the greater threat is to the south, but
if
they threaten Ardnamurchan lands, it will be before summer’s end for certain.”