Sue-Ellen Welfonder - MacKenzie 07 (5 page)

She straightened, annoyed by her fancies.

Everyone knew the MacKinnon who lairded it at Dunakin was an old done man, looked after by his equally aged wife and a handful of loyal servitors.

No bold Highland warriors dwelt there.

She shivered and drew her cloak tighter, the man's image still branded on her mind.

"You're cold!" Her father pounced. "A bowl of hot fish stew and - "

"Nae." Arabella stopped him before he could stalk over to the fishmonger.

I may never eat again if my stomach doesn't stop feeling as if it's filled with lead.

The unspoken words echoed in her head, making her doubt everything she'd started to believe about her strength and daring. Her father's words squeezed her heart, his gruff tone saying so much more than his scowls.

He could summon all the dark looks he wished. She knew how to see behind them, always catching his true feelings before he could shield them. Recognizing them now, she blinked against the heat pricking her eyes.

She bit her lip, the truth scalding her.

It wasn't her father. It was her.

She was shaming herself.

Her palms were damp and a cold lump of fear sat fast in her throat. Her guard -

twelve of her father's best archers and swordsmen - stood in a nearby cluster, their watchful eyes and glinting steel reminding her of the perils that might be before her.

She tried to squash all thoughts of danger and took a painful breath.

If Arnkel Arneborg, shipmaster of the Merry Dancer, the merchant cog, approached them now, she wouldn't be able to offer more than a raspy croak in greeting.

Keeping her chin raised, she clenched her fingers into the folds of her cloak and hoped no one would notice the whiteness of her knuckles. She forced herself to smile at the men her father blasted with his stares. She ignored the stony-faced guardsmen. Standing proud, she dug deep for the calm that had always come so easily.

Unfortunately, it remained elusive.

An old woman hawking a basket of roasted-in-their-shell oysters paused to cast a narrow-eyed glance at her, as if she sensed her apprehension.

At once, Arabella released her grapple hold on her mantle.

If her jitters showed, she'd die.

Gelis, she knew, would have set the day ablaze, making it into a high-flown celebration. Laughing, batting her lashes, and perhaps even clapping in glee. For sure, she'd turn heads and capture hearts.

Seafarer or oyster woman, all would have flocked around her, succumbing to her charm.

Arabella swallowed.

The thickness in her throat didn't lessen.

Far from it; the swelling worsened until she could barely draw in breath. The din around her increased. Screeching seabirds made it difficult to think. Their piercing cries were giving her an aching head. And although she knew the tide hadn't yet turned, the water slapping the quay's wooden pilings sounded so loud she'd have sworn the sea surge had roared into the harbor.

In truth, the roar was the blood pounding in her ears.

For a beat, she considered tossing her head and letting her eyes spark. A flashed smile of dazzling brilliance and, if she dared, a slight adjustment to her cloak so that its drape emphasized the swell of her breasts. No one would guess her misery.

All she had to do was pretend she was Gelis. An artful blush and fiery, snapping eyes worked wonders. She'd certainly observed her sister's ploys often enough to mimic them.

She could do it.

Her brows snapped together at the very idea.

She wasn't her sister.

And this was her dream.

So she stood a bit taller, making sure to keep her back straight. And instead of flaunting her beauty - and there were many who said she was pleasing to the eye -

she took several deep breaths to compose herself.

Unfortunately, her father appeared to have caught her brow snapping.

"We can leave now." He misunderstood her frown. "No one will blame you for changing your mind. If we make haste, you can look over the vendors' offerings, choose some baubles and cloth, and we can be home before - "

"Nae...." Arabella let her voice trail off, her attention snagged by a small wooden crate near one of the canvas-covered strongboxes.

Something was moving inside the crate, and as she looked the top shifted, revealing the tufted head of a tiny red and white puppy. All silky ears and bright, round eyes, the wee creature won her heart with a single high-pitched squeak.

Arabella stared at him, a warm glow spreading all through her.

She had to have him.

"O-o-oh!" She shook free of her father's grasp, starting forward. "There is something I want. That puppy - "

"Is no' for you." Her father sounded horrified. He caught her before she'd gone two paces. "You can't take a dog - "

"Ho, Kintail!" A tall blond-bearded man broke through the crowd, his sea-weathered face split in a grin. "Just arrived on the quay and already your girl is keen to test her sea legs!"

Arabella's cheeks flamed. "I - "

"She was making for yon wee dog." Her father answered for her.

"Dog?" Arnkel Arneborg scratched his beard, looking around.

His gaze lit on a shaggy black mongrel sniffing near the fishmonger's stall.

"No' that one." Her father flung out an arm, indicating the crate with the puppy.

"She'd have that bit of fluff yonder," he said, surprising her. "Name your price and I'll keep the beastie here until her return."

"Ah, well...." The shipmaster rubbed the back of his neck. "That's a fine puppy for sure. Mina's her name. But she isn't to be had for any coin." He looked uncomfortable, slid a sympathetic glance at Arabella. "She's a sleeve dog I'm to deliver to one of the Manx princesses. I picked her up in Flanders and there'd be hell to pay if I arrive in Man without her."

"Oh." Arabella bit back her disappointment.

Her father assumed his most belligerent look. "I'll make it worth your trouble, Arneborg. What say you to double what Manx is offering?"

Arabella caught her breath. "Father!"

He only grinned, sure of his triumph.

"I gave my word, sir." Arnkel Arneborg turned to gaze at his ship. "But I know the breeder in Flanders. I can pick up another puppy next time I'm there. For the now, perhaps Lady Arabella will care for Mina during the voyage?"

Arabella's heart sank.

She didn't want another dog. She wanted this one.

She also knew that honor was the one thing no MacKenzie would argue against.

A word given was sacred.

"My lady?" The shipmaster was looking at her, awaiting her answer. "You know my own cabin has been prepared for you. It's not large, but there's more than enough room for yourself and Mina."

Arabella shifted her feet.

Her stomach was rolling again and the throbbing in her temples was worse than ever. The little dog - Mina - was still watching her. She could feel her piercing stare even without looking.

"Well?" Arnkel Arneborg persisted.

Despair wrapped around her, squeezing hard and tight.

Getting attached to Mina would only make it harder to let her go. But she could see the puppy's tail wagging through the slats of the crate. She also saw the excitement in Mina's eyes, the quick flashes of her tiny pink tongue.

Arabella's father glanced at her, one brow arcing.

When she didn't answer, he frowned and returned his attention to the shipmaster.

"We expected you weeks ago." His gaze followed Arnkel's to the Merry Dancer.

The high-sided cog with its fore-and-aft-castles looked large and bulky riding anchor so close to the sleek, low-slung galleys.

Another chill slid down Arabella's spine.

Now that the time was nigh, she wasn't sure it was a good idea to spend a settle-in night on the ship before they left Kyleakin in the morning.

Her father slid an arm around her, drawing her close. "Your cog looks sound." He eyed the other man. "I trust you didn't run into difficulties?"

"Only great basking sharks!" Arneborg laughed. "Leaping clean out of the water they were, scores of them. Any seaman will tell you that they only do that when a fierce storm is brewing. So-o-o" - he looked around, drawing nods of agreement from passersby - "we changed course and lost a few days in the offing."

Arabella glanced at her father.

He was nodding. Sagely, as if he agreed with every word.

Yet she knew he'd never heard the like.

Arnkel Arneborg hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Last time I didn't heed jumping baskers we sailed into a storm so wicked the wind blew off my beard!" he boasted, rocking back on his heels. "Better to make port a few days late than risk life and limb, eh?"

Arabella saw her father conceal a grimace.

She knew from experience that his patience only went so far.

Quickly, before he could change his mind about letting her go - or before the shipmaster could be persuaded to deny her passage - she reached inside her cloak and retrieved a small leather satchel.

If she wasn't as strong and daring as she'd hoped, she had come prepared.

"See here!" She untied the bag's strings to retrieve a square of well-stitched linen.

"Should anything happen onboard, I will be of use to you." She thrust the patch in the shipmaster's hands, pride in her work making her bold. "You can see how fine I ply my needle. So, too, can I mend flesh if such needs arise."

She lifted her chin, not stopping now. "I'm also well versed in medicinal herbing."

She indicated her pouch, stuffed with cures and remedies. "My mother is a skilled healer and I've worked at her side since I was young."

"By thunder!" Arneborg peered at the cloth, then her. "Did I not want to frighten the good folk of this village I'd raise my sword to you. As is" - he turned to her father - "I'll commend you on having a fine daughter! Not only is she a woman of beauty and spirit, but she's of a practical mind."

Her father's eyes darkened. "She is... everything."

Arabella felt his arm tighten around her. His words caught in her throat.

"That I know!" Returning the linen to her, the ship-master grasped her father's hands with both of his. "I'll look after her as if she were my own, never you worry," he assured, pumping hard. "See her on board whenever you're ready."

Stepping back, he planted his hands on his hips. "I've a hold full of French bay salt to see unloaded." He winked. "Barrels for yourself, Dunvegan, and even old Dunakin if he's still got the breath in him to pay me!"

And then he was gone, striding off down the quay as quickly as he'd appeared.

Arabella stared after him, some of her earlier exhilaration returning.

Her adventure was about to begin. Already, she'd taken her farewells at Eilean Creag, bidding her mother and others to stay behind when she'd left with her father for Kyleakin.

Now he, too, would be leaving her.

He'd give her into the care of twelve MacKenzie stalwarts and a sea captain that he knew well but that she'd never seen in her life.

Arabella smoothed her cloak and tried to look brave. "Did he truly say I can have his cabin?"

"He said it'd been prepared for you." Her father shot a glance at the man's retreating back. "What he should have said is that I've bought his cabin for you.

Truth be told" - he threw back his plaid and patted the money pouch at his hip -

"after all the silver I poured o'er his palm he ought to have strewn the cabin's floor with rose petals and painted the walls with liquid gold."

Arabella's heart filled on seeing her father's black scowl return.

Faith, but she'd miss him!

But first she had a mission... a secret one.

And she could only see it accomplished if she reached the Seal Isles.

So she cleared her throat, eager to be on her way. "I have one question before you go," she began, not missing how his brows flew together on hearing her dismissal.

"Are you sure the MacLeans of Doon know I'll be coming?"

Her father snorted. "You ask?"

Snatching up her travel bag, he signaled to her guards to fetch it and her coffer chests. They'd agreed he wouldn't go with her onboard.

As soon as the men gathered her goods and set off for the Merry Dancer, he turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders.

"To be sure, the MacLeans know." He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "You ken their cailleach, old Devorgilla, is likely peering at us even now!

That one doesn't miss anything. She sees the path of every raindrop to fall from a Highland leaf."

"But - "

"But is a word MacKenzies don't speak." He crushed her to him, letting his fierce hug say the words she knew would break him if spoken aloud. "Devorgilla will ensure the MacLeans know you're on the way. Just you return safe in the spring...."

"I will!" Arabella drew back to kiss his cheek, her world spinning when she found it damp as her own. His dark blue eyes, so like hers, glittering with the same brightness. "Oh, Father! I love you so - "

But like the shipmaster, he, too, was suddenly gone. Only the four guardsmen who'd stayed behind to escort her onto the Merry Dancer remained.

She hoped that Devorgilla really did know she meant to call at Doon on her way south.

Such magic wasn't easy to believe.

Not because it didn't happen.

She'd seen enough proof of the crone's powers to never doubt her. But this time the magic would involve her. She was the one MacKenzie not born under a charmed star.

And that changed everything.

Unless - she flashed one last look at Dunakin's empty tower windows - she took matters into her own hands.

Which was exactly what she meant to do.

"She saw him!" Devorgilla of Doon, the most far-famed cailleach in all the land, rubbed her hands together in satisfaction. Scudding mists swirled around her, dark and mysterious. Night wind, thick with damp and the tang of the sea, whistled past her. And a bright full moon rode high above the towering cliffs, its silvery light giving the strand an eerie, luminous glow.

Almost as if the Auld Ones were smiling.

As they should be.