Margo Maguire (21 page)

Chapter 32

“A
nna . . . Anna MacIver?
” Lachann asked, astonished by Alex’s words, though he should not have been. His Anna was as noble as any grand lady he’d ever heard of.

Alex nodded. “Aye, Laird.”

Lachann stood. “Where is she now?”

“I’m not sure, Laird. I have not seen her in some time.”

“Alex, will you see to supper for our guests?” Lachann looked at Leirvik. “Please, make yourselves comfortable here. I will find Anna and bring her to you.”

Gesu
. Betrothal plans? Lachann wondered if the bridegroom was to be the strapping young fellow who’d spoken those words of sympathy to Leirvik.

Well, Lachann was not about to give her up, even if she happened to be related to the noblest family in all of Norway. Anna belonged on Kilgorra. She belonged to him.

And yet Lachann knew he had to give her a choice. She had come to Kilgorra with her mother, and somehow the MacDuffies had seen to it that everything had been taken away from her, even her name.

He went down the steps to the kitchen and out the door, hoping he would find her at the small cottage behind the gardens, where he’d first known he would never love another.

A
nna found that she was trembling.

All these years, she’d hoped for a way to leave the isle, and now that her escape was nigh, she felt anxious and worried, and more than a bit upset at the thought of leaving Lachann.

Maybe she should trust him, as Kyla suggested. He was nothing like Cullen Macauley, who would have seduced her—used her. No, Lachann had taken great care with her. He’d made gentle love to her, and Anna had felt cherished for the first time in her life, and by the man she loved.

She felt certain the Norse ship had come for her—or perhaps for her mother, for ’twas doubtful her mother’s family had learned of her demise. What would they think of Anna? How would they react when they discovered she was naught but a servant here?

What would she do when she met them? Go? Or stay?

Wearing her mother’s fine clothes, she left the cottage and started down the path toward the keep, only to be stopped by the shrill voice of her stepsister.

“Where do you think you’re going, Anna MacIver?” Catrìona stood blocking the path, her face a mask of utter hatred. “And where did you get that gown?”

“ ’Twas my mother’s, Catrìona,” Anna said quietly. “Please let me pass.”

“You think it looks well on you?” Catrìona said without moving. “ ’Tis an ugly rag. As ugly as your mother was.”

Anna decided to ignore her. She continued on, moving to slip past Catrìona, but her stepsister grabbed her sleeve, tearing it a bit at the shoulder.

“Let go,” Anna said. She would not allow Catrìona to ruin this moment.

“If you think I’m going to let you go off with those Norsemen, you are mistaken,” Catrìona growled. “ ’Tis I who wish to leave, and I will!”

“Oh Catrìona, leave if you must, but please allow me—”

“Catrìona!” Lachann called out with the tone of command as he dashed toward them. “Leave her be!”

Anna tried to pull away, but Catrìona held tight. “He was mine!” she cried viciously and pushed Anna down into the flower bed next to the path. “You want her?” she shouted at Lachann. “Take her.”

Lachann grabbed Catrìona’s arm and pulled her away from Anna. Catrìona burst into tears and ran past them, toward the chapel.

Lachann reached down to Anna and pulled her to her feet. “Are you all right?”

Anna nodded, and a wee spark of hope took root in her heart. As Lachann looked her over, she felt mortified—for her own shaky demeanor as well as Catrìona’s mean outburst. She wished she could just run back to the cottage and pretend she had not been so soundly humiliated.

“Anna . . . A ship has come . . . Norsemen,” he said. His tone was suddenly formal, distant. So very different from when they’d lain together. “They are your kin.”

“M-my . . .”

“Aye. You are Annbjørg, Lady Sigrid’s daughter,” he said, frowning. “You never said . . .”

Anna felt tears welling in her eyes, and she wiped them away. “ ’Tis been so long since anyone has called me Annbjørg, I . . . I hardly remembered my true name.”

“So you know, then. The ship has come for you.”

She looked into his eyes, but the expression in them was unreadable. He said naught about Catrìona, about Father Herriot, or anything that had happened since the incident with Cullen Macauley in the close.

He took her hand, and with some formality placed it in the crook of his arm, then escorted her in silence back to the keep. They entered through one of the main doors—not the servants’ entrance near the kitchen.

Anna’s heart was in her throat. She felt that at any moment, Catrìona would return and pull some evil trick on her, then force her back to the kitchen. Or shame her some other way in front of her Norse kin.

Lachann took her into the laird’s sitting room, where four beautifully garbed men stood when she entered. The eldest, a man with a white beard, approached her, his expression stunned. He looked ’round at his companions. “She is . . . exactly Sigrid.”

“I am Anna, sir,” she said, containing her nervousness. “My mother was Sigrid.”

“Ah, yes,” the man said. He looked at Lachann, who released her. The Norseman took both her hands in his, then kissed her cheeks, one after the other. And when he spoke, his voice shook with emotion. “Annbjørg.”

“Aye. ’Twas the name my mother gave me,” she said shakily. “But I am Anna now.”

“I am the Count of Leirvik, Sigrid’s brother—your uncle. We came with the hope of finding my sister . . . And you,” he said. “And of taking you home, to marry.”

Anna felt the breath leave her lungs. “To . . . to marry?”

“Aye.” He indicated the handsome young man who stood beside him. “Lars Frederickson is my wife’s nephew—a prince—and he will make you a fine husband.”

As young Lars bowed in Anna’s direction, she glanced at Lachann, who stood immobile, looking at . . . well, at nothing, until Alex came in and announced that a meal had been laid on the table in the great hall.

Leirvik offered his arm, and Anna took it as they went into the hall. “You must tell me all you remember of your mother, my dear.”

A
nna presided over the meal with a quiet dignity suitable for the lady of Kilgorra. Lachann learned a few more details of her early life and surmised the details she left out.

And now everything would change for her. Catrìona and her father had turned Anna into a servant, obviously after the death of her mother. Lachann had seen the way Catrìona treated her, though he’d not been able to understand the animosity she felt toward Anna. What could the woman possibly complain of, when Anna went about her chores efficiently, and without the slightest objection?

Gesu
. ’Twas no wonder Anna had said she would leave Kilgorra if given the chance. Why wouldn’t she go with Leirvik now?

The Norseman spoke of his homeland, of the lavish house and all the amenities Anna would enjoy when she traveled to her mother’s home with him. She would be treated as royalty, and her status would only improve when she wed Lars.

If she stayed on Kilgorra, her lot would change significantly, but there would be no horses and carriages, no society to speak of, and no culture beyond what she’d lived with all her life.

Aye, Lachann was a wealthy man, and he intended to make improvements on the island, but he could not compete with what Count Leirvik had to offer.

Chapter 33

T
hey were calling Lachann “Laird.” Anna did not know how that had come about—had he made his vows with Catrìona earlier? She thought again of the incident in the garden and was certain neither Catrìona nor Lachann had been pleased with the other. But that meant naught.

And yet, hadn’t Catrìona said she intended to leave? Did she mean to leave with Count Leirvik?

A disturbance near the great hall interrupted Anna’s troubled thoughts as Lachann left the table to see what was amiss. Anna excused herself and followed.

’Twas Graeme, leading a weeping and breathless Glenna down a back staircase.

Her face was cut and her lip was bleeding. “Glenna!” Anna stopped them, kneeling as she gently took her arm, which was also scraped. “What happened to you?”

“I was comin’ up the stone steps behind the chapel with my basket of eggs from the village,” Glenna cried. “I saw Laird Macauley.”

“Aye?”

“He came runnin’ down from behind the chapel to the beach, and he pushed me down.”

“No!” Anna smoothed the child’s hair back from her forehead. “Are you injured elsewhere, Glenna? Did you bump your head?”

Glenna sniffled as she nodded, and Anna felt the bump on the side of her head.

“Ach, what’s happened?” Flora asked as she came up from the kitchen.

“Glenna’s been hurt,” Anna replied. “Let’s take her downstairs.”

“Come on, lass,” Flora said, hovering like a mother hen over her injured chick. “Ye’ll have a wee lie down now while Anna finds somethin’ to sooth yer puir head. Where did ye fall?”

They went downstairs, and Anna turned to Lachann. Before she could ask him about Catrìona, he cupped her face. “See to your guests. I need to find Macauley before he can do any more damage.”

Her
guests?

“Lachann—”

“Later, Anna,” he said. “We’ll talk later.”

Lachann rushed from the keep through the door Glenna had come in, and Anna stood watching as he hurried away, her heart and head a jangled mass of confusion. She was no hostess, and these men from Norway might have been her kin, but . . .

“I’m sorry,” she said to Count Leirvik when she returned to the hall, “but we’ve had some difficulties here on the isle, and I . . .”

“May we help?” her uncle asked.

Anna shook her head. “No, sir. I’m sure Lachann will deal with it straightaway.” She hoped.

“Then we will return to our ship for the night,” Leirvik said, as he and his men stood and left the table. “We will see you in the morning. We can make our plans then.”

He took Anna’s hands and pulled her close to kiss her on both cheeks.

Anna felt no calmer when she saw them out to the castle gate. With Cullen Macauley free to do what he wished . . . he might start another fire. Or sabotage the fishing birlinns.

Her stomach was sinking fast as she hurried down to the servants’ quarters, where Flora and the other serving maids hovered about Glenna.

“Glenna, was anyone with Macauley when he—”

“Nay, Anna. I saw no one else,” the child cried, and Anna wondered where her stepsister had gone.

And where was Lachann now? He’d been so very quiet during the meal, listening intently to everything that had been said but offering naught. He’d voiced no opinions but had let her uncle go on about the wonders of Norway, as though Anna would choose her mother’s homeland over Kilgorra—over
him
.

’Twas what she’d once wanted, and mayhap ’twould be a welcome escape if Lachann and Catrìona—

“Anna!” ’Twas Kyla, coming into the kitchen carrying Douglas. She looked as though she’d been weeping.

“What’s wrong?” Anna asked. “What’s happened?”

“Birk is drinking again,” Kyla replied, holding back her tears. “He knocked me down, but I grabbed Douglas and ran before he could hurt me again. I . . . c-came here . . . I didn’t know where else . . .”

“Aye, ’twas the right thing to do.” Anna drew her friend down the hall to the servants’ bedchambers. “Do you want to stay here? Or in Gudrun’s cottage?”

Kyla wiped her tears. “I . . . I think the c-cottage. That way, if Douglas wakes in the night, he won’t disturb anyone.”

Anna nodded, feeling overwhelmed. “All right. Let’s go now. I can come back later and get some food and a few things for Douglas.”

“I saw strangers going down to the pier,” Kyla said. “What’s happening, Anna?”

“Oh, Ky,” Anna replied, “I don’t know where to begin.”

They went out to the cottage together and Anna told her friend about the Norse uncle who’d come for her.

When she finished, Ky took her hand. “ ’Tis what you’ve always wanted—to leave Kilgorra.”

And yet Anna’s throat felt raw and thick at the thought of it.

“I will go with you,” Kyla said. She shook her head and started to weep again. “This time, Birk tried to h-hurt Douglas.”

“No.”

“I will not allow him to injure my child,” Ky said. “I will leave him first.”

Anna hugged Kyla to her. “Oh, Ky. I am so sorry.”

Kyla’s tears finally dried, and she pulled back slightly. “They’re saying Lachann is laird now.”

Anna nodded. “He must have wed Catrìona . . .”

“No,” Kyla said. “Father Herriot told Geordie Kincaid that Lachann insisted on being named laird now—without any conditions. No marriage.”

Anna could barely take it in. Was that why Catrìona had been so angry? Because she’d lost Lachann? And Macauley was sure to be driven from the island now.

But it didn’t make sense. “Why would MacDuffie agree to this without—”

“Because everyone knows Macauley set fire to the granary,” Kyla explained. “Father Herriot said ’twas clear Laird MacDuffie understood he no longer had a choice in the matter.”

W
ord had already reached Lachann’s men that he’d been named laird. They wasted no time with congratulations but followed Lachann’s orders without question and fanned out to search for Macauley. Lachann and Kieran found Duncan lying unconscious and bloody behind the blacksmith’s shop.

Mungo Ramsay was nowhere near.

They roused Duncan, who said he’d been attacked from behind. He did not remember anything after that.

“What do you think Macauley will do next, Lachann?” Kieran asked.

Lachann thought a moment. “He wants me to fail. The granary fire did not accomplish that, but—”

“Aye. The munitions.”

“Go on without me,” Duncan said. “I’ll be all right.”

Kieran followed Lachann to the building where Lachann had ordered the weapons to be stored, but the lock had not been broken. Nor had anyone tampered with the stores of gunpowder.

“The cannons!” Lachann said as he hurried toward the castle wall. “He’ll try to destroy the cannons.”

They saw that the cannons on the castle walls were untouched. “He’ll go for the one on Roscraig Peak,” Lachann said.

“We’ll have to move fast,” Kieran said.

By the time they reached Roscraig Peak, Macauley was using a rock to pound a spike into the cannon’s touchhole. The gun would be useless if he succeeded.

“
Gesu
, he’s going to blow himself up!” Kieran said, for spiking a cannon was a dangerous task, especially if ’twas done with a spike that did not fit, and without a good hammer.

“Stop, Macauley!” Lachann shouted as he and Kieran took cover behind the trees. “Don’t be a fool! You’re finished here, no matter what you do to—”

“You’ve made yourself so bloody important here, MacMillan!” Macauley roared, hammering away. “But you cannot train an army when your weapons are gone!”

“I can replace the cannons!” Lachann called. “Don’t be an idiot, Macauley! You can leave Kilgorra! Find some other laird whose daughter will have you—”

“Not after all my work here, MacMillan!” He pounded once again. “Kilgorra is—”

The cannon exploded, blasting the man ten feet into the air. He landed against the trunk of a stout oak tree.

“Bloody idiot,” Kieran muttered. “He’s killed himself.”

“Make certain,” Lachann said. “I’m going back to the castle.”

He had to talk to Anna. Now.

Gesu
. After the life she’d spent here on Kilgorra, ’twas no wonder she would want to leave if given the chance. But everything was about to change. Anna belonged here, belonged with him.

C
atrìona paced nervously in front of the old chapel. She’d managed to exchange a few whispered words with Cullen and knew what her lover planned to do. ’Twas brilliant.

First, she’d had to entice Mungo a little bit in order to get him to attack Duncan MacMillan from behind and free Cullen from his surveillance. ’Twas not too difficult, for she’d been manipulating the big dolt for years with her body. Mungo would do anything she asked, just for one good look at her naked breasts, or sometimes a wee squeeze of her bum.

Cullen had left the castle a while ago, and Catrìona did not know where he would go when he came back to the castle after completing his task. She decided she should stay where she was, then she would surely see him when he returned. She wondered how difficult it could be to sabotage a few cannons.

And that wee accomplishment would be only the beginning. While the MacMillans were scrambling to deal with their ruined cannons, Cullen would dump their gunpowder into the sea, rendering their pistols and rifles useless. MacMillan would fail at what he’d come to do and would likely leave Kilgorra. Cullen would become laird.

But it was all taking too long. She muttered under her breath, “How dare you keep me waiting, Cullen Macauley . . .”

And how dare Anna take Lachann MacMillan from her, just as she’d done with everything else that mattered. Aye, Catrìona had seen the way MacMillan looked at Anna and knew her stepsister was the reason MacMillan had forced her father’s hand—making him laird even as he reneged on his promise to wed Catrìona.

He meant to take Anna for his wife.

Catrìona made a low, guttural sound of disgust. There had never been anything to equal it. The most important plans she’d ever made—all shattered. She no longer had any choice in the matter.

Not that she really wanted MacMillan, anyway. She’d decided he was far too high-handed for her tastes. But it had been
her
choice to make, by God. And Anna had ruined it.

She knew now that Cullen had burned down the granary, and thought ’twas too bad he had not destroyed the distillery, too, and everything else MacMillan had come to value on the isle. Catrìona only wished Anna had been inside the granary when it had burned. ’Twould have served her right, and would have been Lachann’s just deserts for the way he’d treated Catrìona—as less than a servant. Less than Anna MacIver.

At least she still had Cullen, and he would suffice. He’d been entirely malleable since his arrival on the isle, and she did not think that was only because he believed he might gain the lairdship through her.

Or was it?

She kicked a small rock out of her path to dispel that disturbing thought. Cullen would turn up at any minute. ’Twas only a matter of time. And they could decide together whether to stay on Kilgorra or leave for more sophisticated shores. An explosion suddenly shook the very walls of the castle, and Catrìona began to laugh.

Mayhap Cullen had figured a way to do more than just sabotage MacMillan’s plans. Mayhap he’d destroyed the high-and-mighty laird from Braemore. She dearly hoped so, for she’d seen the way Anna looked at him, too. Losing him was going to destroy her.

’Twas almost full dark, and still Cullen did not return. Catrìona started back toward the keep to see if he was there, and when she heard the voices of MacMillan’s men, she ducked behind the barracks. There was no point in confronting them now, when soon everyone would know. . . .

She stopped ruminating for a moment and listened to their words. “ . . . blew himself up in front of Lachann and Kieran.”

“What a fool,” a second man said. “Well, Lachann is well rid of the bastard. Macauley and his clan have been naught but trouble since . . .”

No.
It could not be. Catrìona wanted to scream. MacMillan could not have . . .

Catrìona slid down to the ground. Lord, Cullen was dead? Her eyes welled with tears of anger and hatred. Everything she’d hoped for was gone, suddenly and irrevocably. Aye, Cullen had been a fool, but Catrìona intended to have the last laugh. She was going to get off this island, no matter what it took. And she was going to make sure her stepsister felt some of her pain.

Anna’s manky cat wandered into view on its way toward the old storage cottage near the far wall of the castle.

The damnable thing was such a comfort to Anna . . .

Catrìona crouched down and called to it just as Mungo Ramsay came out of his shop.

“What is wrong, Catrìona?” he asked.

“Naught that you cannot remedy for me.” She spoke sweetly to Anna’s wee beast. “Come here, you filthy, horrid thing.”

When she had the damned animal in her arms, she handed it to Mungo. “Drown it.”