Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
T he evening fare was as sparse as that of the morning. Maxwell was presented with more of the broth he and the other men been given at midday, with the addition of a few nettles and dandelion leaves. Under Finn’s watchful eye he also served himself several slices of haggis with bannocks and oatcakes.
He made short work of his repast and rose to his feet, his glance darting from Aileen to Finn and back to the captain. Both lasses held him in a stony gaze.
“I assume I’ll be taking me place at the oars tomorrow so before I bed down for the night, I’d appreciate some linen to wind over my hands.’’ Raising his hands, he displayed the angry blisters. “I’ll dae a better job fer ye if I tend to these.”
Aileen and Finn exchanged glances, Aileen nodding almost imperceptibly.
“I’ll help ye with that.” Finn disappeared behind the curtain and emerged with a stout wooden box. She took out a small jar of ointment and he winced as she smeared a little of the pungent cream on his reddened palms. Then she took a strip of linen and bound both his hands.
He favored her with a gentle smile. “Thank ye fer yer kindness, lass.”
Aileen scoffed, not wishing him to think they were softening toward him. “Ye’ll serve us better on the oars if yer hands are cared fer. Ye’re nay more tae us than our tool, MacNeil, and we look after our tools well.”
He turned to go. “I bid ye goodnight, ladies.”
“Hold.”
At Aileen’s command, he stopped in his tracks. “What now?”
“I dinnae trust ye nae tae ferment discontent among the oarsmen. I’ll nay have ye making offers tae any man tae join ye in an attempt tae flee our hospitality.”
He swiveled; eyebrows raised.
“So, Captain, what makes ye think I might be conversing wi’ yer men?”
Aileen averted her eyes. It would never do to let him know she’d been watching him throughout the day, from a concealed vantage point along the deck.
She pshawed. “Why MacNeil, from what I already ken of the man ye are, I’d expect ye tae be planning tae subvert me command of this ship.”
He shook his head and the look he gave her was a shaky pretense of innocence. Not fooled by his wide-eyed expression, she found it impossible to hold in a huff of amusement.
Still, she did not wish for him to know the depths of her fascination with him. Not only had she observed him speaking with Bran, but she’d allowed herself the uneasy pleasure of resting her eyes on his naked back and chest, noting the way his muscles rippled as he stroked the oars. She’d marveled at the strength in his brawny arms as he strained, and her heart pounded with the memory of those arms encircling her in a passionate embrace.
Her secretive observance had also offered the opportunity to study the figurative motifs and the myriad ink images that covered his powerful arms, chest and back. Some of them were familiar. Among them she recognized the clan crest of the MacNeils spreading across the expanse of smooth skin on his right shoulder. She shivered as she registered the sheer number of images. If each of them represented the death of an enemy, this man was a formidable foe indeed.
When he turned to go, she again raised a hand. “As I said, I dinnae wish ye tae cause restlessness among our crew. I wish ye tae sleep where I can be certain there’ll be nay disturbance.”
He smirked. “And where would that be Captain? D’ye wish me tae sleep alongside ye?”
Aileen’s face caught fire. Damn him. She schooled her features into an icy glare, hoping that he’d not seen the rush of heat to her cheeks. Unfortunately, as his smirk widened into a broad grin it became clear he was all too aware of her discomfort.
“Nay. Ye’ll sleep on the floor where I can be aware of yer presence.”
“Lass, ye disappoint me. I hoped we might reprise our passion from the tavern.”
She shook her head, momentarily lost for words. Finn shot her a horrified glance. Her reaction to the kiss she’d shared with Maxwell was something she’d not shared. It was easier to allow Finn to believe she was repelled by the MacNeil’s caresses just as she was by Sutherland’s.
“Ye talk nonsense.” At last, Aileen found her tongue. “The only passion was in yer wistful thoughts.” She glared at him; her mouth downturned. “As if I’d fancy ye in me bed.”
He was unrepentant. The grin, a fixture on his handsome face, told her without a word that he was aware that having him in her bed was exactly what she was wishing for.
“Enough.” She pointed to a space on the floor beside the table where a hessian pillow lay next to a rough-woven blanket. “Ye will spend the night here. Finn and Sea will tend the rudder and I will take me turn in the hammock.”
She pulled back the curtain and revealed a contraption of woven strings and a linen sheet hanging high, suspended from two large metal hooks on either side of a small alcove.
“Are ye certain ye’ll be safe Aileen?” Finn shook her head, sucking in a deep breath. It was clear she thought it unwise to allow the MacNeil such proximity.
“Of course, I’ll be safe. There’s nothing tae fear.”
Finn threw her another wary glance. She could do naught but accept her captain’s words. “If ye’ve nay further need of me services Captain, I’ll bid ye good night.”
After Finn made her exit, Aileen hauled on the linen sheet and levered herself off the floor and onto the hammock. She pulled her fur cloak around her and lay back trying to rid her mind of the images of Maxwell’s naked chest appearing before her the instant she closed her eyes.
Mayhap keeping him close through the night was nae such a clever idea after all.
There was a sudden ache of longing that had her tussling with the contradictions of her heart. Then came a thump and a thud as Maxwell made himself as comfortable as possible in the cramped space. He blew out the candle and, save for a sliver of moonlight that crept between the crevices in the cabin’s timber wall, they were plunged into darkness.
Aileen tossed, finding it difficult to get comfortable, her thoughts tangling with the knowledge of Maxwell only inches away on the floor beneath where she swung. For all her assumption of coldness toward him, her body was on fire and, try as hard as she might, her thoughts dragged her again and again to those moments outside the tavern, when they’d melded together, holding each other tight.
The morning dawned fresh and clear.
After a quick mouthful of black pudding and a bannock Maxwell had left the cabin with only a terse “Good Morrow”. Aileen wondered if his night had been as wretched as hers. She’d lain awake, listening to the man’s restless movements, and it seemed forever before she registered his deep, regular breathing and realized he’d fallen asleep.
Finn opened the cabin door and hurried in. “I saw MacNeil walking the deck and kent I’d find ye alone.”
Aileen pouted. “Why did ye nae come in when he was here? Were ye thinking there was something unseemly happening between us?”
Finn coughed self-consciously. “Aye, Aileen. I saw the looks that passed between the two of ye last night. Why, I could have lit my candle from the heat the two of ye conjured up.”
“Really?” Aileen was taken aback. She’d been certain that whatever had taken flight between herself and MacNeil had been stamped out by her icy demeanor toward him. “Was this… er… this heat… something the lad himself would have noticed?”
Finn laughed. “He was as much on fire as ye were, lass. D’ye nae see the way he looks at ye? Why I reckon he would eat ye alive if ye gave him half a chance.”
Aileen caught her breath. “There is danger in this, Finn.”
“Aye.” Finn nodded gravely. “If?—”
“If Sutherland derives an inkling of this?—”
Finn completed the sentence as Aileen’s voice faltered. “He’ll have the MacNeil’s head on a pike suspended outside the castle walls.”
“Nae one must know this” Aileen pressed a hand to Finn’s arm. “We must never speak of it again. Promise ye’ll nae say it aloud.” She closed her eyes for a second. “And I must cease thinking of him as I dae.”
“If only ye could leave Sutherland. Loosen his clutches on ye and make yer own way in the world.”
Aileen sighed. “That is something I long fer. But me faither’s safety depends on me doing whatever Sutherland orders. There can be nay escape fer me as long as that evil man lives.”
Finn shook her head. “I’ll dae as ye ask, ye have me promise. But I’ll never cease me search fer a way fer us all tae find our way tae a better life.”
Finn reached for a bannock, biting her lower lip, her face expressing her sorrow.
“Come now,” Aileen took her hand. “We must press on. We’ve a journey tae complete and a prisoner tae deal with.” She poured the mead into a mug from a jug on the table and took a mouthful.
Both grew silent, Aileen contemplating her return to Dunrobin. She was under no illusion about the scorching anger she’d be met with once Laird Sutherland was aware that Everard MacNeil had slipped through her fingers. She shivered. His rage would not only be for her. He would vent his fury on Maxwell.
The two were sinking into quiet despair when a loud rapping sounded at the door.
“Come.” Aileen looked up as Ewen McAllister, the Sail Master, entered the room. He doffed his cap and gave her a small bow from his waist, remaining on his feet.
“Ewen, what brings here you so early?”
“Captain, there’s a brisk enough breeze today. I’ve raised the sails and we’ll nae be requiring the oarsmen if the wind keeps up. I’m here tae request yer permission tae set them tae washing the deck and mending the sails and other chores I’ve a mind tae.”
“If our chief oarsman has nae objection, Ewen, I’m in agreement. Let us hope the weather holds.”
He gave her another brief bow, clicked his heels and was gone.
Moments later Aileen rose. “’Tis time I took over the rudder and allowed Sea to break his fast.” She gathered her cloak around her, smoothed on a pair of long kidskin gloves and strode off, Finn hurrying beside her.
On her way to the stern in the pre-dawn light, Aileen looked around. The men were already hard at work, some sluicing the deck with buckets of seawater, others fully engaged in mending one of the torn sails under Ewen’s watchful eye. To her surprise she caught sight of Maxwell, head bent over a patch on the tough woolen sail, his fingers nimbly working the large needle and heavy thread.
He looked up and a ripple of warmth coursed through her as their eyes met. He nodded, a brief salute, his lips forming a mocking smile before he dipped his head and continued at his task, ignoring her.
The next few hours were spent in what, for Aileen, was a blessed time of peace. The sailing was smooth and the little birlinn bounced over the waves as if guided by some unseen hand. They were in sight of shore and making good progress.
Around midday Finn brought her a jar of broth for nourishment and a measure of ale. As the day wore on, despite the steadiness of the breeze, dark clouds began to gather. When Sea arrived to relieve her, late in the afternoon, he frowned up at the sky.
“Could be we’re in fer a storm taenight.”
She shrugged. The birlinn was sea-fast and rode heavy waves with ease. “Nay matter.” She flicked her braid over her shoulder and brushed a strand of bright hair out of her eyes. “But just in case, keep close tae shore.”
“Aye.” Sea raised his eyes again to the gathering clouds. “Yet, if we’re beset wi’ a storm, we’re many hours away from a naust where we can find shelter. The rocks along this coast…” He sighed gesturing to the distant, dark, shoreline as he took hold of the heavy oak rudder.
Darkness was falling as Aileen made her way along the deck. The men had ceased work for the day, save for the few who manned the sails. The others, including Maxwell, were seated in a circle, engrossed in a game of dice.
She nodded to Ewen and paused to watch the game. Custom was to allow the men some time of leisure after a solid day’s work. It helped to keep them from the discontent and displeasure of boredom.
Maxwell rolled the dice and a cheer went up. “We’ve won again, lad,” one of the older men declared, leaning in to pat Maxwell’s shoulder.
It was clear from the broad grins on the faces of the crew that Maxwell had been accepted by them. She was forced to admire his ability to win over the trust of the men in such a short time. His leadership skills were obvious.
He glanced up and caught her eye. Without knowing why she did so, she beckoned him to her. He rose, leaving the men to their game and walked over to the railing where she stood.
“Aye, Captain. What is it ye wish of me?”
There was that enigmatic, mocking smile again. She glared at him. This man is impertinent. He is me prisoner yet he doesnae show me the respect he should.
“I see that ye’ve made friends of me crew.”
“Making friends, mayhap nae yet. Making meself agreeable tae fellow prisoners, aye. Are ye ready tae tell me where ye’re taking me?”
“Ye’ll find out soon enough.”
“Tae Dunrobin is it? Tae that fiend Sutherland’s lair?”
She looked up, unable to contain a gasp of surprise. “So, me crew doesnae ken to keep their mouths shut.”
“Ye thought I’d be the one to corrupt them.” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “They’ve been telling me all yer secrets.”
She huffed in indignation. “And what secrets would they be?”
“Tae start, I’ve learned ye’re the daughter of Barclay MacAlpin. A rogue if ever there was one.”
At that, Aileen gave an angry snort. “Dinnae speak of me faither that way. He’s a just and fair man. Nay rogue as ye would have it.”
“So, he’s nae a pirate, then?”
“Aye. He did fer many years ply the sweet trade, but always with fairness. Robbing only the richest merchant ships and the slave traders.”
“Honor among thieves?” Maxwell’s voice was laced with cynicism.
“Sneer if ye wish, ye high and mighty warrior. Have ye never done something ye shouldnae? Are ye so pure? Me faither is a good man.”
He turned to her, a question in his eyes. “He still lives? The whispers I heard were certain he was nay more.”
There was bitterness in her voice as she responded. “Aye, he lives. A captive of that fiend ye spoke of earlier.” A long silence greeted this remark and she cursed herself for telling Maxwell about her father. This was her secret. Her father’s life was the very thing that kept her in thrall to that bastard Sutherland. Having spoken out she now felt some small part of her was naked and vulnerable.
For a moment she was tempted to say more. To reveal to him how Sutherland kept her as prey, forcing her to do his bidding, and to make him believe she went willingly to his bed. There was something about Maxwell MacNeil that suggested he would not to take advantage of a hasty revelation that others might use against her. But he had not yet earned her trust.
She stilled her tongue and turned her face toward the dark of the ocean.
It was at that moment there was sudden shrieking gust in the brisk breeze. Until then the wind had done little more than ruffle Aileen’s hair and cause Maxwell to thrust his unruly dark tangle behind his ears. But then, suddenly, it whipped their hair behind them and filled the sails in a rush. The little ship bounced as the new turmoil took them by surprise.
All around them items flew into the air, a piece of parchment here, a discarded piece of patchwork sail there, half a bannock dropped by a careless hand. A hefty barrel that had been stacked on the deck was thrown down with a booming thud only a few feet from where Aileen and Maxwell stood. Aileen reached a hand for the railing but she was too late, her boots slipping out from under her, and she went careening head first into the path of the heavy barrel that was now rolling like a thunderclap toward her.
With no time for thought, Maxwell hurled himself forward, seizing Aileen’s shoulders and, holding her fast, rolled them both out of the barrel’s path with mere inches to spare. Within seconds the barrel had turned into a juggernaut that smashed through the railing right where they’d been standing an instant before, and, with an almighty splintering of timber, rolled over the side and disappeared under the freshening waves.
Aileen was left trying to catch her breath, her face pressed firmly against Maxwell’s burly chest. He rolled onto his back hauling in a deep breath, his arm still across her shoulders.
“Are ye all right?”
Aileen wriggled out of his grasp and they both rose unsteadily to their feet.
“I… thank ye… fer… saving me life.” She hesitated, clutching the hand he offered for support. Thanking Maxwell did not come easily. “In fact, I believe if it were nae fer ye I would be now with Neptune’s sons, riding a large barrel of French wine.” The heat rose in her cheeks as she spoke.
He gave a loud groan “French wine. By the saints. I could dae with a fair helping of tasty French wine at this very moment.”
She laughed. “Ye’ve earned it. If ye accompany me to the cabin I’ve a drop or two of the finest claret we took from a merchant from Bordeaux. Ye’ll never have tasted better.”