Rogue of the Isles (24 page)

Jamie appeared with the captain. “There is shelter below decks,” he said as he helped Mari onto the gangplank while the captain helped Effie.

“Oh, no. I am not sitting in a hole again.”

“’Tis dry and warm.”

“I have no wish to cast up my accounts again.” Mari planted herself firmly by the rail—and then swayed as the boat rolled beneath her feet.

Jamie steadied her. “Ye will catch a chill out here. Go below.”

“No.”

His jaw set in the way Mari was familiar with, and she braced herself for a round of arguments, but Jamie surprised her by saying nothing. The captain grinned at him.

“’Tis a good thing I’m nae needing help with the sails,” he said. “Ye seem to have yer hands full with the Sassenach.”

Jamie nodded grimly. “Ye have no idea.”

The captain’s grin widened, and he escorted Effie to the open hatch and ladder that led down. The maid cast a doubtful look at Mari and then, as a gust of wind sprayed water across the deck, she disappeared below.

“Ye really should follow yer maid’s lead.”

Mari lifted her chin, mainly to keep her teeth from chattering. “I…I…like…it on deck.”

Jamie shook his head and unwrapped his plaid from his shoulders and put it around Mari’s. “Ye are more stubborn than my sister, Bridget. I hate to see what happens if the two of ye butt heads.”

“I am sure we will not,” Mari said and then frowned. “I cannot take your plaid. You will freeze.”

“I am used to the weather.”

“That may be, but with this mist, you will be soaking wet. Ian will throttle me if you catch your death of cold.”

“Ye could do me the favor of going down below then.”

“I will be ill down there.” Mari hesitated and then she sighed. “I suppose we could
share
the plaid.”

Jamie grinned, his dimple showing. “Do ye regard me as the lesser of two evils, lass?”

“That is not—” she retorted hotly and then stopped. He was teasing her again—the rogue—when she was just trying to be kind. Mari would have stamped her foot in frustration except her footing was chancy at best, and she certainly did not need to plummet to the deck. “Oh, hush,” she said grumpily and extended an arm, holding the plaid out. “Do you want to share or not?”

Jamie’s eyes darkened to amber and he slipped behind Mari, pulling the plaid around them, encircling his arms around her waist while he tugged her against him. “If ye insist,” he said, his breath warm against her ear.

Mari was instantly warm all over. How strange—what a difference a plaid could make.

By the time the boat docked in the shallower water in the estuary off Loch Linnhe, Mari was beginning to feel quite the accomplished sailor—not that she’d had anything to do with handling sails, but she hadn’t slipped and fallen flat on the rolling deck, nor had she cast up her accounts when Jamie finally persuaded her to go below since the wind had sharpened and the captain needed every available hand on the sheets. Mari had even managed to nibble on some hardtack that tasted surprisingly good in the salt air, but that might have been because the bowls of broth Jamie had sent down contained another wee drop of his brandy.

Even Effie’s color returned by the time they were helped down the gangplank, although she mumbled something about how being on a boat was near as bad as being close to a horse.

“’Tis nae far now,” Jamie said as one of the wharf workers led a horse and sleigh out from the small building that served as a boarding stable for those who travelled by sea and back. “Ye might find this a bit more to yer liking,” he said to Effie as he helped her and Mari into the rear of the sleigh where furs were heaped in a pile. In no time, he had both of them covered to their chins. To Mari’s delight, warm bricks lined the bottom of the sleigh and she sighed in bliss. Her toes felt half-frozen since the thin leather half-boots had been little protection from the water that sluiced over the decks.

Jamie climbed onto the driver’s seat and Mari frowned. Why wasn’t he sitting beside her? There was room, and he would be much warmer. Sharing the plaid on board ship had proved how important it was to share body heat. Really, he could catch a quite a chill up there exposed to the wind and mist that seemed to hang like a veil over the water’s edge. “Would you not be more comfortable back here?” she blurted as Effie gave her a poke.

Jamie turned to look down at her, his eyes changing from gold to amber. “Aye, lass, I would, but this is Ian’s sled. He left it here so we will nae be needing a mon to drive us home.” With that, he tapped the reins to the horse’s rump and the animal took off at a trot. Mari thought it probably knew it was headed for its own warm stable and a good portion of oats.

Home. For Jamie, though his own isle was even farther north, this was home. Mari looked at the passing landscape covered in white velvet with crystal icicles hanging from brown branches. To their left, the slate-colored water of the estuary shone silver in the weak, wintery sunlight, while to the right Ben Nevis rose majestically, green conifers gracing its steep hillside, its summit lost in the misty clouds.

This was also Jillian’s home now. She had written about how much she loved the mountains and glens and ruggedness of the Highlands, and how she looked forward to spring and seeing the heather on the moors. Mari took a deep breath.

Did Jillian still live to enjoy the spring?

Chapter Nineteen

They had been climbing a narrow mountain road—or at least Mari thought it was a road, but there was really too much snow to tell. She hoped the horse knew where it was going. Several times she averted her eyes when they came dangerously close to what looked like deadly drops. Far below, she could see the glistening waters of Loch Shiel, the sun reflecting off the ice crusting its edges. It couldn’t be too much farther. She wrung her hands nervously. What would she find?

A short time later, Jamie stopped the sleigh just outside the old curtain wall that remained standing in front of the medieval castle that was Ian’s home. A stable boy came running to take charge of the horse as Jamie jumped off the driver’s seat to help Effie and Mari down. “The sled canna go farther since Ian keeps the courtyard cleared, but ’tis nae a far walk.”

Mari stood rooted to the spot, feeling like she had stepped backward in time. This was where Jillian lived? In front of them was an actual portcullis, its iron gate raised, and she could see the cobblestoned courtyard. Beyond that, a massive stone structure rose four stories high, a turreted tower on each end. She half expected to see archers appear between the merlons and embrasures that linked the two towers. “It’s like something out of the King Arthur legends,” she said as they began to walk toward the castle.

“I dinnae think Arthur ever rode this far north,” Jamie answered, “but Norman knights did under the banner of the Earl of Sinclair.”

“How old is this place?”

“It goes back to the 1300s.”

“Oh, my,” Mari exclaimed and then froze in her tracks again. Ian was walking toward them, his face grim. Mari’s heart fell to her feet. Was Jillian…

Jamie reached for her hand and wrapped his big one around hers, his fingers warm and strong. For once, she was grateful for his strength. She swallowed hard. “Is Jillian all right?”

“Nae,” Ian answered, and Mari felt the blood drain from her face. Only Jamie’s arm around her waist kept her from falling.

“She is nae well.”

Relief flooded Mari, dizzying her. She collapsed against Jamie. At least Jillian was alive.

Jamie glared at his brother. “Ye are frightening the lass to death. Can ye nae explain yerself?”

“Aye,” Ian replied as he turned to lead them to the massive oak doors of the keep. “Infection set in from a cut Jillie got—’tis a long story—and she was fevered for a fortnight. Bridget said the Crone of the Hills brought poultices to draw it out, and that was what kept Jillie from death.”

“Crone of the Hills?” Mari asked.

“I will explain it to ye later, lass,” Jamie said. “So why is Jillian nae well then?”

“’Tis the bairn,” Ian answered.

Mari felt lightheaded again. Jamie must have noticed because he put a reassuring arm around her waist once more. “Did she lose the babe?”

“The bairn lives according to Bridget, but Jillie has nae recovered. She is weak and lies abed when she should be walking about, gathering her strength for what lies ahead.”

Beside them, Effie snorted, and everyone paused to look at her. “Just goes to show what a man knows about child birthing. If Jillian lost a lot of blood, it would be dangerous for her to move about. The babe could be harmed.”

Ian appraised her, his dark eyes growing darker. “Ye are a midwife?”

It was an intimidating look, but Effie held her own. Mari almost smiled. Perhaps being accustomed to one bossy MacLeod had given Effie courage, for she returned Ian’s look.

“I have done my share in helping with births. I will take care of Jillian.”

“Ye will have to fight Jillie’s maid, Darcy, to do that.”

Effie sniffed. “That silly Irish girl is here?”

Ian’s face softened, and Mari thought she saw a corner of his mouth twitch. “Aye, she is.”

This time, Mari did smile. Darcy was Effie’s nemesis, not that she meant to be. The girl was only two years older than Mari and a bit of a free spirit who liked having fun, especially if involved members of the opposite sex—and she didn’t mind expressing her thoughts any more than Effie did.

“But ye will have to get past Bridget first,” Ian added, “and that isna always easy.”

Jamie laughed. “Ye are putting it rather mildly, brother.” He turned to Effie. “Our sister would make a good warrior. She gives no quarter.”

Effie eyed the front door and lifted her chin. “Hmmph!” she said.

Darcy gave Mari a cheeky grin and helped Jillian to a sitting position in her bed before leaving the bedchamber. Mari pulled a chair near Jillian and managed a smile that she did not feel. Never in her entire life had she seen her sister look so frail and weak. And, save for the bruises she’d suffered from the old marquess, Mari couldn’t really remember a time when Jillian had even been ill.

“I do not look so good, do I?” Jillian asked, her voice a mere whisper of her normal self.

“You look fine,” Mari lied and picked up Jillian’s hand. “You
will
be fine.”

Jillian attempted a smile. “I could always tell when you were lying.”

Mari felt tears sting her eyes. “You are alive, that is what matters—and the babe too.”

“Yes, there is that,” Jillian replied and placed her hand on her extended belly. “I do not think I could have forgiven myself if the babe had died.”

“Ian told us what happened. It was not your fault you fell.”

“Brodie—Bridget’s husband—told me I should have waited for him to return and not gone after their uncle and his brother, but I had to know what they were planning.” She paused, collected her breath and managed to speak a bit louder. “You have no idea how much those two hate the English. Please be careful.”

“I will. Surely they would not dare hurt either of us?”

“Not directly. Ian would have their heads. They are conniving, though.” She paused again, gathering her strength. “I am not so sure Duncan and Broc did not intend for me to overhear them talking about the plans to attack Countess Sutherland’s escort to lure me out in the dark of night. They knew both Shane and Brodie were gone.”

Mari felt shocked. “You carry Ian’s child. The heir to the clan, if that is the right term to use.”

Jillian nodded. “Precisely. An heir that would be half English.”

“But that…that is murder.”

“Someone would have to prove that. It was their luck that I managed to stumble and fall on my own. Who knows what might have happened otherwise?”

“Why hasn’t Ian made them leave?”

“He wanted to. I told him it was wiser pretending we did not suspect anything. The blizzard was a blessing because the passes were blocked and the countess turned back to London. However, if we keep Duncan and Broc here, we can know if they make any other plans that would put Ian’s lands in jeopardy.”

“But
you
may be in jeopardy.”

Jillian managed a genuine smile. “I take it you have not met Bridget yet?”

Mari shook her head. “Jamie directed me straight here.”

Her sister eyed her curiously for a moment but merely said, “Bridget keeps a close eye on who comes near the stairs. I am never left alone. If Ian is not here, Darcy is. She can scream bloody murder louder than anyone I know.”

Mari laughed, beginning to finally relax. “I remember. It always makes Effie cringe.”

“Did Effie come with you?”

“Of course. I could not have stopped her even if I had wanted to.”

Jillian lay back on the pillows. “Things are going to get interesting around here.”

Mari was beginning to see what Jillian meant when she descended the stairs and headed for the sound of loud conversation coming from down the hall. She entered an open door to a room that was probably as close to a parlor as a medieval Scottish castle got. Flames of blue, red and orange burned brightly in the huge hearth along one side of the room. Various animal furs were scattered on the stone floor in front of the fire and several large, comfortable-looking overstuffed chairs were in close proximity. Tapestries depicting hunting scenes lined the walls, probably to keep the damp cold of the stone out as much as for the artistry of the weavers.