Margo Maguire (14 page)

“Take all this, too.” Catrìona pointed to a heap of clothing on the floor for Anna to carry down to the laundry.

Without a word, Anna picked up Catrìona’s dirty clothes and started for the door, but Catrìona tripped her. Intentionally, of course.

Anna scraped her elbow when she fell. She should have known Catrìona would do something spiteful. She always did when she felt slighted by Anna.

Biting her tongue, Anna got to her feet and went through the door. She needed to keep the peace, for she had nowhere to go, at least not yet. One kiss from the man who was promised to her stepsister was anything but a sure passage away from Kilgorra.

Chapter 20

L
achann needed to get away from the castle before he did something so completely daft . . .

Something more than merely kissing Anna MacIver.

What he would not do to give in to his body’s demands. He wanted the fair lass with a passion he had not felt since—

He muttered a low curse. He could not remember ever feeling such intense desire for a woman—certainly not since he and Dugan had found their fortune and neighboring lairds had brought their kinswomen to Braemore with the hope that he would marry one of them.

Not even Fiona . . .

She’d been a sweet and beautiful woman, no more than a lass, really. But her passion had been spent upon following her father’s dictates. Not on Lachann, the man she’d claimed to love.

The path to the pier was dark, but Lachann had no difficulty seeing his way to the harbor and then finding the public house where he knew Duncan and Kieran and the others had decided to go after supper, while he’d gone off to the chapel yard with Catrìona.

And what an odd circumstance that had turned out to be.

Her wild fury at being thwarted by a couple of children was disturbing. No harm had been done, and yet she would have sent the two lads to the hulking blacksmith for an undue punishment.

Mungo Ramsay had no business seeing to the discipline of the castle children—of
any
children.

Again, Lachann had to wonder what kind of wife
and mother
Catrìona would make, and whether he could remedy her unsuitability.
Gesu,
thinking of it made his head ache.

He arrived at the public house, tied up his horse, and stepped inside. ’Twas not a large room, and by the light of a few meager candles, he saw several long tables with benches and a number of Kilgorran men sitting at them, talking with Lachann’s clansmen.

Lachann recognized most of the men, and several voices called out their greetings. He gave them a nod and picked up a mug of ale from the barkeep, then went to one of the long benches where he took a seat next to the priest, Father Herriot.

“We were just talking about the pirate attack last year,” Duncan said.

“Aye?”

“We had naught to fight them with,” said Donald MacRae. “The men who tried to stop them from raiding the distillery were killed.”

“They had pistols and rifles,” another man added.

“Against our puny swords.” MacRae took a long pull of ale.

Father Herriot spoke. “The fishermen were all out to sea when the pirate ship sailed into the harbor. By the time they managed to get back ’twas too late.”

“Will your brigantine return to Kilgorra, Lachann?” MacRae asked.

Lachann nodded, even though his future on the isle was far from certain. He had not anticipated Catrìona being quite so . . . inapt.

“Well, with the guns on the
Glencoe Lass
and those cannons you brought, we’ll not be so vulnerable next time,” Rob MacPherson said.

“If there
is
a next time,” someone argued. “They got what they wanted. Why would they return?”

“Do’na be daft, Ferguson. Of course they’ll be back!”

“Aye, ’tis a surprise they’ve not come sooner . . .”

Lachann gave only half his attention to the argument. It reminded him very much of the heated discussions that took place in the public house at Braemore, whether the stakes were high or low. The men were opinionated, and vociferous, especially as the ale in the pitchers diminished.

Lachann felt right at home.

If only Catrìona could be slightly more amenable. He did not look forward to another walk to the chapel grounds with her.

But Lachann was nothing if not a determined man. He had goals to accomplish that were no less than those of his brother three years before, when he’d gone after a cache of gold that had only been rumored to exist. No one had expected Dugan to succeed. And yet he had.

Lachann owed his clan no less than the protection he could provide them through this alliance with Kilgorra. If Dugan could keep the MacMillans from being evicted from their lands, Lachann could see to it that no enemy ever succeeded in raiding Braemore from the sea.

He would figure a way.

“What of the distillery?” Lachann asked. “Who is in charge there?”

“Geordie Kincaid,” said one of the men. “And he is no’ a happy or contented man at the moment.”

“All would be well if no’ for that blathering neep from the castle,” Donald MacRae remarked in a disgusted tone.

“Macauley?” Lachann said.

“Ach, aye.”

“What’s he done?”

“Only taken a thirty-year barrel of brew and had it put into special bottles for the laird.”

Lachann frowned. “Is it not the laird’s right to—”

“Aye, most definitely. ’Twould’na be a problem, MacMillan,” MacRae said. “But that barrel and two others like it were promised to the MacDonald chieftain of Skye.”

Lachann understood the problem instantly. The MacDonald laird was Fiona’s father. And reneging on a promised shipment of whiskey was a deliberate slight of the man, an insult Kilgorra could ill afford. Lachann wondered how this related to Macauley’s time on Skye. Or his departure from that isle.

No doubt he would find out when the
Glencoe Lass
returned with the Cameron brothers from their visit to Skye.

“I suppose there are no other aged whiskeys that could be substituted.”

The men shook their heads. “Nay, Laird. Those were our oldest, and without a doubt our best.”

“Mayhap we can find some way to appease the MacDonald.”

“Aye,” MacRae said. “The laird of Skye has been wanting an alliance with Kilgorra, but our laird has put off any talks of an alliance.”

That made no sense to Lachann. “Why?”

“Because he has no one of good sense to advise him,” MacPherson said.

Lachann considered this as a large, bald-pated man Lachann did not recognize came into the public house. All became quiet when the man sat down at the table across from Lachann and looked him directly in the eyes.

“Ye’re the one that chucked m’ son into the sea?”

Chapter 21

L
achann braced himself, and he could see that his men were doing the same, putting their hands on the hilts of their swords. Aye, Lachann felt he’d made headway with the Kilgorrans, but who knew where their loyalties would lie when it came to an outsider against one of their own.

“You’re Ramsay?” Lachann asked in a deceptively calm manner. Now he saw a resemblance between this man and the blacksmith at the castle. Ruddy complexions, thick russet brows. He wondered if Birk’s father was as crackbrained as the other Ramsays he’d met.

Frowning fiercely, the man gave a quick nod. “Roy Ramsay.”

“Aye, then. I did,” Lachann said. “If he’s got the gumption to beat his wife bloody, then he can stand a wee dunking.”

Every breath in the tavern seemed to stop as Ramsay stood. Lachann stood too and faced the man, though he hoped he would not have to do anything drastic.

Ramsay wiped his hand on his plaid, then extended it toward Lachann. “Then I thank ye, Laird, fer showing my fool of a son the error of his ways.”

Lachann took Ramsay’s hand and shook it. He wasn’t sure what to say, but fortunately, Duncan stepped in at exactly the right moment.

“We haven’t seen him since Lachann tossed him into the sea, Ramsay.”

“Nay,” the older man replied. “He went away to the beach. Thinkin’ about his drunken ways, I hope. But ever since he took a nasty fall a couple of years ago, he’s been as unsound as my brother, with even less conscience.”

Lachann wondered at that. The blacksmith had a conscience? “What beach?” he asked. “Why did he not go to the isle where his woman went with Anna MacIver, and beg her to come home?”

“Ach, because he is a proud lad,” Ramsay said. “Too proud. And a bloody neep, t’ boot. Besides, no one can go t’ the isle without injury—no one but Anna MacIver and my son’s wife.”

“Because of the
sluagh dubh
?”

“Aye,” Ramsay replied. “Years ago, old Wallace Kincaid broached Spirit Isle and returned a poor ravin’ lunatic.”

The other men at the tables muttered and nodded their assent.

“But Anna and Kyla go there—and stay—without ill effect.” Lachann did not believe in malevolent spirits, but he’d enjoyed his banter over it with Anna. He didn’t think she actually believed her own tale.

“Aye. ’Twas the strange old Norse woman from the castle who taught them some sort of potent magic to keep the spirit away.”

Lachann felt a shudder go through the men around him. Graeme MacLaren—one of the servants from the keep—pinned him with a deadly serious gaze. “Anna learned how to keep the bloody
sluagh dubh
from comin’ to Kilgorra for us.”

Lachann refrained from laughing and gave credit to Anna and the Norse woman Ramsay spoke of. They’d figured an excellent method of keeping the isle to themselves.

On the other hand, he knew little of the Norse warriors who’d raided, then inhabited, the western isles centuries ago. A tiny piece of him could not discount the possibility that they’d brought some wicked sprites from their own lands to inhabit the wee isles in the Minch for some unknown purpose. Mayhap they’d brought them unknowingly.

The Kilgorrans believed
something
had happened to Kincaid to make him go mad on the isle—something Anna and Kyla knew how to prevent.

“What beach?” Lachann asked Ramsay, returning to reality. “Where did Birk go?”

“He likes a cave on the western shore, a few miles south of the harbor.”

“There are a good many caves down the western shore,” MacLaren added. “He could stay there for days.”

“Aye,” someone added, “and sometimes he does.”

“I rode the western beach today,” Lachann said, “but I didn’t see any inhabited caves.”

“Did you go ’round the tip to the southern shore?”

Lachann shook his head. “Not that far.”

“He’d have been farther down the coast. ’Tis where he usually goes.”

“I saw that the waters down that way are rocky and impassable,” Lachann remarked.

“Aye. ’Tis what makes our harbor so valuable,” MacRae said. “ ’Tis the only safe approach, even for the fishing birlinns.”

Lachann had much to consider as he and his men returned to the castle, not the least of which was what Macauley was about at the distillery. Merely thumbing his nose at his father-in-law on Skye?

He did not doubt it, for the Macauleys were an implacable lot. The only reason there’d been peace between the Macauleys and the MacMillans was that the MacMillans had kept Cullen’s cousin hostage. If there had been a falling out after Fiona’s death . . .

Ach, there was no point in conjecture now. Lachann would know soon enough, when Stuart and Rob Cameron returned with news from Skye.

When Lacann and his men rode back through the castle gate, his thoughts turned to a certain bonny maid who resided there. And he could not stop himself from wondering where she made her bed.

A
nna did not sleep well. If her nights on Spirit Isle had been fraught with dreams of what Lachann’s embrace—what his kiss—would be like, she knew now.

And her dreams all through the night reflected it.

She focused her attention on the skills he was going to teach her, and not on the way his arms had felt ’round her, or the heat of his lips on hers.

Because thinking about that kiss would be disastrous.

Anna scrubbed her face the next morning at dawn, and brushed her hair until it gleamed before putting it into her usual tight plait. She put on a light blue gown that was nothing special, except for being not yet threadbare.

She saw no one as she took the back way to Gudrun’s cottage and let herself inside. There was very little light inside, so she lit a few candles, then got a fire started to take the chill out of the room.

She pushed a few more crates out of the way so there was a large space in the center of the cottage for Lachann to demonstrate the best techniques for wielding a knife. She was just pushing the low bed that Kyla had used to the wall when Lachann arrived, carrying a leather satchel. His face was freshly shaved, and his hair tied neatly in a queue at his nape. He wore his usual plaid, but somehow it seemed more vibrant today. More . . . masculine.

Anna felt tongue-tied. How did a woman approach the man who had kissed her senseless the night before? Did she speak of it, or—

“What’s in the crates?”

“Ah, just some discarded clothing and things from the keep,” Anna replied.

He put the satchel on one of the lower crates and opened it, taking out several dirks.

“So many?”

“We’ll find one that suits you,” he said. “But first . . . Have you ever . . .” A crease appeared between his brows. “Has a man ever attacked you? Anyone besides Ramsay, when he tried to strangle you?”

“Only . . .” Anna shook her head. “Not really, no.” Macauley had grabbed her and tried to kiss her a couple of times, but Alex or Graeme had intervened each time, and that had been an end to it. Fortunately, Catrìona had not learned of it. She would surely blame Anna for taking away her beau—as though Anna was even vaguely interested.

“Because there are things you can do to thwart a man without drawing a weapon.”

He came to stand directly in front of her. “If I were to grab you like this . . .” He took hold of her upper arms. “Open your eyes, lass.”

Anna looked up at him and found him gazing at her mouth. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and they hadn’t even begun. She swallowed. “Sorry. I’m just a little nervous, I suppose.”

“Aye, ’tis understandable,” he said, tightening his grip on her arms. “Look. When Birk Ramsay took hold of you, you could have brought up your knee—hard—right between his legs. ’Twould have kept him from doing any further harm.”

Herregud
. Anna felt her cheeks heat.

“Try it on me.”

“No! I couldn’t.”

“Aye. You must. You cannot learn to defend yourself if you are not willing to practice.”

“But what if I . . .” She cleared her throat, feeling acutely self-conscious.

“I’ll not let you hurt me, Anna,” he said. Then he shook her slightly and made a low growl in his throat. “I’m Kyla’s husband. And drunk. What do you think I will do?”

He put his hand around her throat, and Anna reacted. She brought up her knee, aiming for his groin, but he dodged the blow.

“Aye,” he said with a laugh. “If I hadn’t been expecting it, you’d have unmanned me.”

“Do not jest about such a thing,” Anna said, averting her gaze from his knowing eyes.

“You’re embarrassed, my bonny warrior.” Lachann tipped her chin toward him so she had to look at him. “You did well. Shall we try it again?”

“No!”

He ignored her and came after her again. Anna tried to avoid him, but he caught her ’round her waist and pulled her close. The air went out of her lungs, and all she could think of was the way he’d held her the night before.

She could almost taste his kiss.

He held very still for a moment, and Anna could feel his heart beating in his chest. His breath was warm on her cheek.

“Wh-what should I do now?”

She felt him swallow. “Go for my nose.” His voice was low and quiet.

“For y-your—?”

Anna hesitated, and Lachann pulled her closer, turning so they faced each other. His eyes were a rich, dark blue, with lashes even blacker than his hair, and his gaze was so very intense.

He tipped his head down, and Anna’s entire body tingled with awareness. She wanted naught but to bask in the warmth of his strong arms ’round her while his mouth took hers in a searing kiss. She wanted him to—

Anna pushed away suddenly and ducked under his arms.
This is wholly wrong.

“I have the idea.” She wasn’t entirely certain she
did
have the idea, and her voice sounded slightly shaky. “What about one of these knives? It will take more than just a jab at Birk’s nose to keep him from killing Kyla next time.”

She felt Lachann’s eyes upon her, but she could not bring herself to look at him as she went to the leather satchel he’d brought. She picked up one of the dirks and weighed it in her hand.

“This one suits me.” She turned and saw that Lachann was right behind her.

“Aye,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “We can try it.”

“What do I do?”

“Hold it this way,” he said, his big hand dwarfing her own as he guided her fingers up to the hilt of the handle. “ ’Twill give you greater control.”

Ach, but she wished she had more control over the attraction she felt. ’Twas the last thing she needed. The last thing she
wanted
!

“Where do I strike?”

“First, you must bear in mind that your target is much larger than you and is likely to take the knife from you before you can do any damage.”

He lunged suddenly and took the knife from Anna’s hand.

“I was not ready, Lachann!”

“No one is ever ready when they’re attacked, Anna.”

“Let me try that again.”

“In a moment,” he said. “You cannot show your weapon until you mean to use it.”

“How will I do that?”

“The same way my sister does.”

“You have a sister?”

He laughed, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He looked exceedingly charming when he smiled. “Aye. Did you think I came from nowhere? Alexandra is our healer at Braemore and often goes about our lands alone,” he said. “She knows how to protect herself.”

“Did you teach her?”

“Aye. Along with my brothers.”

“She carries a knife?”

He nodded. “In a sheath she wears on her leg.”

Anna gave a shake of her head. “How?”

He coughed slightly. “Like mine.” He gestured to the dirk he wore over his stocking, just below the knee. “Raise your skirts and I’ll show you.”