The Highlander’s Pirate Bride (Sparks and Tartans #10)

Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I n search of Raven, Aileen returned to the solar. As she entered the room, Muriel was walking out with the little boy. Aileen was developing a liking for the little lad. Thorsten was a roly-poly, cheerful little boy, with plump cheeks and sparkling blue eyes like his father’s. Aileen smiled at him and he smiled back as they passed.

Raven was her seated by the fire, her embroidery hoop lying untouched on her knees. When Aileen walked in, she looked up. In her eyes was the glint of tears.

“I am so pleased tae see ye, Arne and the other men are still in the study wi’ Everard. Wi’ every passing minute me fears grow stronger.”

“Hush, Raven.” Aileen hurried over and knelt before her chair. taking Raven’s hands in hers. “Dinnae fash. We’ve brave men tae protect us. All will be well.” She bit her lip at the falsehoods. She doubted if Raven’s worries went as deep and wide as her own. Yet it was clear Raven needed comfort and she would do her best to keep her calm.

“Yer husband has summoned the MacLeods fer assistance. They are Sutherland’s enemies and I dinnae believe he could withstand the combined forces of the MacNeils and the MacLeods.

Raven gave her a grateful smile. “Are ye sure of that?”

Aileen nodded, keeping her fingers crossed out of sight behind her skirt. It might well be true, but she had grave doubts that help would be in time. If Sutherland suspected the MacLeods were coming to Everard’s and Maxwell’s aid, he would attack at once, even if his own forces were still assembling.

There was nothing for it. She must go to Sutherland and beg him to leave the MacNeils to live in peace. After a supper when neither Raven nor Aileen could manage to eat more than a few mouthfuls, she pleaded tiredness, and took her leave.

“Of course,” Raven was gracious. “It will take a while fer ye tae regain yer strength after such an arduous journey, it is such a long way tae travel from Dunrobin.”

Aileen left her gazing again into the fire, lost in her own fearful thoughts. Given that Raven was carrying a wean and would not able to fight as she had been able to in previous times, Aileen’s heart went out to her.

Once she’d returned to her bedchamber, she assembled a small bundle of clothing. Her old britches, shirt, tabard and boots had been washed and sponged and she rolled the clothes into a small bundle and hid them beneath the small table near the door. She planned to wait until Maxwell was sleeping soundly and then she would creep from the bed, snatch up the bundle and flee.

She donned her night shift and clambered under the covers of the large bed. Her heart was pounding and her head was filled with endless possibilities of what could go wrong. She prayed that Andrew was still at the Small Island, and that, at least, he would be prepared to give her an audience. Beyond that she did not dare to go. Her thoughts swum in her mind. Her father. Did he still live? Finn and Séamus? Were they part of Sutherland’s troops?

Many hours passed before Maxwell tiptoed into the chamber. Feigning sleep – although she’d not slept a wink – she lay quietly, keeping her breathing steady. She heard him strip off his clothes and then softly drew back the covers and slide in beside her. Her heart almost broke when she heard his soft whisper, “Sleep well, me love.”

Every fiber of her body was screaming at her to roll over and embrace him, to feel his strong arms surrounding her and the touch of his lips on hers. Tomorrow she would be gone and, mayhap, she would never see him again. A sob rose in her chest and she swallowed hard to keep it from escaping.

In a short time, Maxwell’s breath slowed and deepened into a steady rhythm as sleep overtook him. Once she was certain he was unlikely to wake, she slowly slid the covers aside and made her way to the door. She collected her bundle from its hiding place and opened the door. It creaked once and she hitched a breath, frozen. But there was no movement from the bed and she continued on.

Once she was in the darkened passageway, she pulled on her britches and tucking in her night- shirt, she drew on the knee-length tabard and belted it at her waist. Once her boots were laced, she headed along the corridor pulling her cloak around her, covering her long braid with the hood.

There were few servants still going about their business but she was able to leave the keep with only a nod to the four guards flanking the entrance.

At the boat-landing, she grunted to the men-at-arms standing by and marched confidently toward the tiny sailboat she and Maxwell had left at the mooring.

She was fumbling with the rope when Ranald Dunbar hastened up to her. Her heart sank, without question he’d forbid her from leaving.

“Milady, surely ye’re nay intending tae sail now. I’m under orders tae let nae body enter or leave the castle this night.

“Oh, Ranald.” She smiled sweetly. “I couldnae sleep and Maxwell bade me take a wee sail tae clear my head and ease the stiffness in me arms and legs.”

To her great relief, Ranald nodded, his rugged features offering what might even have been a conspiratorial grin.

“Ye’re a lass after me own heart. Nothing beats a turn around the island wi’ the wind in yer hair and the smell of salt in yer nostrils. Go, lass, but mind ye dinnae stray near the entrance of the bay.”

As she stepped on board, the uncoiled rope in her hand, he gave the little boat a push so that she floated out beyond the slipway. The sails caught the wind and in moments she was away. She waited until Ranald had turned and was walking back to his boat-house before she pulled on the oar and turned the boat to the east and the open sea.

For a brief while, being at sea again brought its own pleasure and she was able to forget her purpose and where and why she was sailing, but she was quickly reminded of the task she’d set herself and the knot in her belly tightened painfully.

The clouds were too thick for her to see the stars and properly get her bearing. She was sailing by instinct, feeling the ebbing tide and sensing the direction she must take, confident she was sailing southeast toward the Isle of Canna.

All at once she became aware of a glimmer of light to the west, a mere flickering visible out of the corner of her eye. She turned on the wooden bench amid a wash of despair. There was another ship, not far away, sailing from the direction she’d come from. And it was approaching rapidly.

It was not long before the other boat – a small birlinn – came alongside. In the gloom she could make out several oarsmen and two other men standing in the prow.

One man leaped nimbly onto the deck of her small craft, a rope in his hand.

There was no point in struggling or attempting to flee. This boat was bigger and faster than hers. Her only hope had been that she could make her way under cover of darkness, without discovery.

It was Maxwell.

He growled at her as he fastened the rope to her sailboat. “Ye traitorous witch. Did ye think ye could sail to the Isle of Canna and find yer lover there?” He seized her arm in a rough grip. “Did ye think ye could tell him of our plans? Was this all false? Luring me into yer bed, following me tae me home tae then wait fer me braither tae give his orders only fer ye tae tell everything tae Sutherland?”

The wind was whipping her hair around her and, for once, she’d lost her voice. Maxwell’s rage was like a white-hot blaze consuming her.

He thinks I was betraying him and the others when me only thought was to save them from Sutherland’s wrath.

“Ye’re wrong,” she managed, as Maxwell hauled her into his arms and handed her onto the birlinn, quickly leaping up beside her.”

Once she was on board he turned and joined the oarsmen, turning his back to her, ignoring her. With the wind against them, it was down to the men on the oars to propel them back to Bàgh á Chaisteill and Castle Kiessimul.

She huddled in the prow, under the watchful eye of Ranald Dunbar, her limbs stiff with cold, yet she was fearful of making a move.

“When I saw yer sail heading beyond the bay and out to sea, I roused milord Maxwell from his slumber. I kent he’d nae wish tae see ye taken by the enemy.”

She grunted heavily. “Of course, ye did the right thing, Ranald.”

Everard and several of his men were waiting when they arrived at the slipway. Maxwell did not even spare her a glace and this hurt more than any wound she had ever had.

As they pulled in and Dunbar tied the birlinn to its mooring, Everard stepped forward, gesturing to the two guards beside him. Without further ado, they took both her arms and escorted her onto the jetty and into the castle.

Looking around frantically she searched for Maxwell, desperate to speak to him and explain. But he had his head down, tying their small sailboat to the quay. Breathing in sobs, she was hurried into the castle and up the stairs to a small chamber.

The room had no fireplace and it was deathly cold, its only furniture several rough wooden chairs and a large table. She was ushered in by the guards and left to stand alone in the middle of the room, her only light coming from a candle on the table and the starlight streaming in the small window.

Slumping into one of the uncomfortable chairs she at last succumbed to the tears that had been burning behind her eyes ever since she’d seen the birlinn closing in.

After she’d cried out every tear and sob, she dried her eyes on her sleeve, sniffed, and lowered her head onto her arms and surrendered to a fitful sleep.

It was light when she woke, thirsty and hungry, her back aching and a cruel crick in her neck that made turning her head difficult.

Still, what could she expect? She’d crept away without a word to any soul in the castle. Of course their thoughts would have turned in the most obvious direction. She was fleeing the castle exactly after Everard’s arrival to join Sutherland and expose their plans to him.

Now she must cool her heels, locked in this forbidding place, knowing that Maxwell believed her to be false.

Wrapped tightly in her warm fur cloak, her back to the door, she gazed unseeingly out of the window, struggling against a wave of despair when the door opened. Footsteps entered the room but she did not turn. She was not ready to see Maxwell’s tortured eyes or to hear the bitterness of betrayal in his voice.

“Milady.” It was Everard.

She pivoted, raising her chin defiantly, meeting his gaze. His eyes were grey. Not blue as the sky as Maxwell’s.

Scowling, he shook his head. “I trusted ye with our plans. I allowed Maxwell tae convince me. Then I find out that, all this time, ye were planning tae betray us tae Sutherland.” He paced across the room, head down, fisting his hands.

“Wait.” Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain she could hear it and she placed a hand on her chest as if to calm the wild beating. Breathing was difficult, but she drew in a sharp breath, trying to gather herself. How could she possibly explain herself to Everard when everything must appear so bad to him? Yet it was easy to see how her actions had been misleading.

He paused, looked up, his face drawn and tight and a deep frown drawing his dark brows together.

“Speak.”

She clasped her hands in front of her, almost as if she was in prayer. “’Tis nay what ye have been led tae believe.”

“And ye were nay hell-bent tae meet wi’ Andrew Sutherland?” He gave an angry huff. “Ye’re naught but a traitor. Accepting MacNeil hospitality at Kiessimul, yet ready tae betray us tae our enemy.” He fixed her with a grim stare, narrowing his grey eyes. “Worst of all, was yer cruelty toward me braither, allowing him tae believe there were tender feelings between ye.”

His words were like pointed darts to her heart. She shook her head, her breathing steadying. Somehow, she had to make him understand the truth.

“Aye. I’ll nae deny I was travelling tae Canna to seek out Sutherland.” She turned back to the window, her thoughts racing. What can I say tae convince him?

When she looked at him again, he stood resolute, his arms folded across his chest.

“Yer men didnae allow me time tae explain.”

“I am giving ye time now. This is yer one chance tae give me the truth.”

She was trembling, her legs buckling beneath her. She reached a hand to steady herself on the back of a nearby chair.

He gestured toward the chair, “Sit.”

Grateful, she pulled out the chair and slumped into it. He paced over, taking the chair beside her and sitting.

“What ye dinnae understand is that me faither, Barclay MacAlpin, has been Sutherland’s prisoner since I was a young lass.” To her great relief he nodded slowly. At least he was prepared to listen. “When he encountered defiance, Andrew Sutherland murdered me older braither Gregory without a second’s thought.” She coughed slightly to clear the lump that had formed in her throat. “Gregory, who I well loved, was me only protector. Once he was gone, I had little choice but tae obey.

“Believe me, I have borne Sutherland nothing but hatred these years. His leverage over me has been me faither’s life and he has used me as his plaything and his tool, caring naught fer me loathing and disgust of him.”

She hauled in a deep breath and, unblinking, met his steely gaze. “I did the man’s bidding without question fer one purpose only. Tae ensure me faither’s safety.”

Everard nodded and she sensed a hint of softening in his attitude toward her.

Only brutal honesty now could convince him. It pained her, yet she spoke a truth that was both implacable and uncompromising.

“I’ve done much fer which tae feel shame. There have been times when men have died because I carried out Sutherland’s orders tae the letter. Ships were sunk, booty was stolen, hearts were broken. All of it tae appease Sutherland and keep me faither safe. I was under nay illusion. I kent the man was evil and I was prepared tae darken me soul fer him.”

Everard shook his head slowly. “So, if ye detest this man, why in the name-of-all-that’s-holy were ye so determined to sail to him at the Isle of Canna.”

She gave a short, defeated laugh.

“I never wanted to see the man again. I ken he wishes me nothing but torture and death fer me actions in escaping Dunrobin. But, in me heart, I believed that if I prevailed upon him fer mercy toward the MacNeils, then me death would nae be in vain. I wished him tae take me as a sacrifice on behalf of all at Kiessimul.” She shrugged, meeting his gaze, willing him to believe her. “In me wild imaginings, I hoped there would come an opportunity when I might take his life wi’ me dirk.”

Everard considered this, studying her, long and hard. Under his searching gaze she drew herself up, straightening her shoulders, unflinching.

“Ye may think ill of me, me laird, but I have thought of naething but ways in which this coming war between the MacNeils, the MacLeods and the Sutherlands can be averted. I thought long and hard about me decision and when I set sail me heart was greatly afeared. Yet I believed I was doing the right thing.”

After a long silence, he finally spoke.

“And me braither. D’ye care naught fer Maxwell. Did ye nae think his would be the next heart ye would break?”

That was the question she’d been waiting for. Dipping her head, she twisted her hands together, the knot in her belly tightening so that she gasped at the pain of it. When she looked up, he was studying her, his eyes boring into her soul. Turning to the guard standing at the door he snapped his fingers. “Ask me braither tae come in.”