CHAPTER THREE
Down the slope from the stables, at the edge of the loch, across the bay from Castle Lachlan, Munn was losing patience with the lad in his care. “Stop draggin’ your feet.”
“When will we get there?” Tevin whined. “I’m tired and hungry.”
I should have left the whelp in the wood to fend for himself, and forgotten he existed. Sweat broke out on Munn’s skin with the spiteful thought. Stephen would be unforgiving if anything untoward happened to his son.
“Almost there,” Munn said to appease the lad. “The castle is but a stone’s toss across the bay.”
“Oh. Wow.” Tevin scuttled to the water’s edge. “How will we get there?”
“In one of these.” Munn dragged a currach across the shingle.
“Way cool.”
“Actually, ’tis a warm eve’n.”
The lad pursed his lips and scrunched his face as if he didn’t understand the common fact. “But I—”
“Dinnae dawdle,” Munn insisted. “Climb in.”
Tevin did as told, sliding to the fore. Water lapped the small boat made of skins and wicker, making it bob up and down, and the lad gripped the gunwales on both sides. Munn pushed the craft farther into the water and jumped aboard, getting wet feet for his effort.
He sneezed then glared at the bairn. ’Twould be the lad’s fault if Munn caught the grippe. It definitely wasn’t the briny sea air irritating his nostrils. Stephen’s son should have stayed in the future where he belonged.
Munn worried his fingers on his trews. The pixie clan were the most notorious and mischievous of the Fae. Why had they singled out the wee lad for an adventure?
He shook his head and took to the oars with a grumble. He hated the necessity to travel like a human. ’Twas easier to fade into the vanishing and travel on the breeze.
As they neared the castle beach, a horn blasted from the watchtower warning the castle folk of their approach.
“Wow. Look up there.” Tevin sprang to his feet and pointed toward the battlements. The boat rocked precariously. “Those men have bows and arrows.”
“Sit. Now,” Munn said. “If you tumble into the frigid water, I will not suffer a dunking to fetch you.”
The lad plopped onto his arse, but not before brackish water slopped over the side of the boat, dousing Munn’s feet yet again. He mumbled a curse under his breath too foul for the ears of a bairn.
When the craft hit the shoal, Munn jumped into the shallow water. No point in trying to keep his feet dry at this juncture. He dragged the currach onto the shingle and…stilled. His sensitive ears perked. “Come out. I ken you hide behind the boulders, Lach.”
The chief’s son, Lachlan, poked his head from his hiding place with a frown. “How did you ken I was there?” He pointed at Tevin. “Who is he?”
“Cousin.” Munn chose to ignore the first question. He wasn’t about to share secrets with the lad. “Here for a visit.”
Lachlan approached Tevin, and each lad studied the other.
The young MacLachlan lad fisted hands on hips.
A mere couple of summers older than Tevin, the bairns were as different as night and day.
Like his mother, Lachlan possessed the straight black hair and near purple eyes of his maternal Lamont forebears.
Whereas Tevin, like his father, had the blond curls and light blue eyes of the majority of MacEwens, cousins to the MacLachlans.
At the sound of boots crunching gravel, Munn glanced away from the lads.
Archibald strode along the path toward them, his gaze landing on his son with censure.
“Your ma is searching the keep for you.” He shifted attention to Munn and his charge, and raised a questioning brow. “Who have you brought to us?”
“Stephen’s son, Tevin.” Munn took a deep breath and huffed; answering so many questions was becoming a bore. “Found the bairn on the Sithichean Sluaigh. Alone.”
“Indeed.” The chief squatted in front of Tevin, lowered to the lad’s height, and reached out an arm. “Welcome to Castle Lachlan, lad. I am—”
“I know who you are.” Tevin grasped the offered arm as a warrior would, and shook. “You’re Allison’s Uncle Archie. You look just like Uncle Patrick.”
Such a clever bairn. Munn rolled his eyes.
“Ach, well, we are twins, which in the same way as Patrick makes me your uncle, too.” Archibald grinned. “What brings you to our gates?”
“He claims—”
“Let the lad answer, wee man.”
Munn pursed his lips at the setdown, but kept his own counsel.
Tevin scraped a foot over the pebbles, his gaze following its path. Then he looked directly at Archibald and with all seriousness said, “I’m on a quest to slay a dragon.”
“A noble endeavor…”
The bairn shot a triumphant smirk at Munn.
“Howbeit, I fear dragons nae longer exist,” Archibald continued, deflating the lad’s enthusiasm. “Perhaps you might tell me how you came to be here.”
Tevin’s shoulders sagged. “This isn’t ancient Scotland?”
“I told you it was not,” Munn interjected.
“Whist, brùnaidh!” the chief scolded for no good reason.
“Allison told us the faerie hill would take us to the land of dragons in ancient Scotland,” Tevin said.
Lachlan edged closer, eyes wide, curiosity piqued.
“Malcolm said I had to go alone ’cause I need to prove I’m a man,” Stephen’s son continued.
Archibald’s angry gaze shot to Munn, though he quickly blanked his features more than likely for the lad’s sake.
Tevin sniffled as if holding back tears. “I didn’t want to go by myself, but he pushed me onto the hill. Then the tiny faeries came and—”
The warning horn sounded a series of short blasts.
“Ach, the hunting party returns.” Archibald stood. “Lachlan, take our guest to the kitchen and ask cook for bread with honey. Our lad here must be hungry from his journey.”
“Come on.” More curious than prudent, Lach waved an arm toward the keep, and Tevin followed, slowing to glance back once then hurrying to catch up to the older lad.
Archibald watched the two bairns scamper up the path to the courtyard before turning a scowl on Munn. “Is the Malcolm of which he spoke Maclay’s son?”
“Aye.”
“I worried when Stephen took in the orphaned bairn. ’Twas a chance, as a spawn of that villain Maclay, the lad would have troublesome tendencies. What a fine mess.”
“Ach, a fine mess,” Munn agreed, wholeheartedly.
“Is the fae Caitrina now meddling with the lives of bairns?” the chief asked.
“Nae.” Munn swallowed uneasily. Caitrina, the halfling princess who lived amongst the humans in the future posing as a garden designer and part owner of the Foxgloves garden center in a place called Anderson Creek, was notorious for meddling with Highlanders’ lives by using the faerie hill to sift time and for uniting unlikely lovers across the centuries.
Though he strongly doubted her involvement with Stephen’s son.
“Lad claims to have been assisted through time by wee faeries. Pixies.”
“Great. Just great.” Archibald smacked a fist against his thigh. “When did pixies return to our soil? Why did you not advise me?”
“Did not ken of their reappearance until now.”
“Can you summon Caitrina to take the lad home?”
“Nae. She has been in hiding for these past several years.” Ha. Hiding from an unwanted bridegroom, more than likely. What goes ’round—
“Why?” Archibald waved a hand and shook his head. “Never mind. Not my concern. How will we return the lad home?”
Munn shrugged, having no answer for his chief.
The scraping of boats across shingle signaled the arrival from the mainland of the hunting party.
* * *
While the others retrieved the gear from the currachs, Gregor carefully debarked as not to jar the lass in his arms. Concern she had yet to awaken from her faint wrinkled his brow. He prayed Lady Isobell, the chief’s wife, kenned how to rouse the woman.
“Dinnae see any bagged deer.” Archibald strode toward them, a scowl engraved on his face. “Was the hunt a failure then?”
Gregor stiffened, taking the barb personally. But he had done right to abandon the hunt and bring the lass to Castle Lachlan for care. The chief would surely recognize the wisdom of such a course.
“We ran into mischief in the Fir-wood,” Duncan said.
The chief raised an annoyed gaze to the man then shifted scrutiny to Gregor and the lass.
“Indeed.” Archibald stepped in front of Gregor and brushed hair from the woman’s face. “Emily?”
Gregor stiffened. He didn’t care for the man touching his woman. Shite! “What?” He raised his gaze to Archibald. “You ken the lass?”
“Take her inside to Isobell. She will care for the girl.”
How did the chief ken the lass? Gregor wanted an answer, but it was more important to get her out of the raw elements and tended to by someone who kenned what to do for her. He headed for the path toward the castle gate.
“Lad?”
Not more than three steps had he taken when the chief’s bark halted him in place. “Aye?”
“Dinnae linger. Leave the lass with Isobell and her woman then report directly to my private chamber. I wish to have words with you.”
“As you please.”
When he entered the great hall, Lady Isobell rose from the table where she sat with one of her sons and another wee lad, a stranger, and hurried to his side. “Who have we here? Oh, my. Emily.”
“You ken who she is?”
“Aye. Come with me.” She marched across the stone floor, collecting her woman, Aine, along the way to the stairs.
They ascended to the next level, and he followed them up the circular steps careful not to bang the lass’s head against the hard stone wall, and along the passageway to a bedchamber decorated to a female’s taste.
Aine directed him to the green velvet curtained bed, where he carefully placed the lass—Emily—among plump pillows and feather and fur bedding. The women fussed over her and shooed him away. He hesitated at the doorway, wishing to be of help. But the chief waited on him.
“Go,” Lady Isobell instructed. “You must have tasks elsewhere.”
Gregor nodded respectfully and reluctantly departed.
He returned to the lower level of the keep and found Munn leaning against the gray stone wall beside the closed door of the chief’s study.
On Gregor’s approach, the annoying wee man moved in a blur to stand in front of the heavy oak panel blocking the way.
“Cool your heels, lad.” Munn tilted a hip and crossed arms over his chest. “The chief be occupied. Will summon you when ready to hear your report.”
“But—”
“Whist! Chief in conference.”
Damnation. The urge to kick something hard made everything within Gregor tense.
Instead of lashing out, he sank against the cool stone of the wall and counted to ten, to one hundred.
How long would the chief make him wait? He would have preferred to stay at Emily’s bedside until she woke.
Not for any other reason than to learn she was hale.
Oh, hell. Who was he fooling? He wanted to gaze into those blue eyes again and see the lass smile.
He wanted to kiss her lips. He wanted so much more than he ought.
Deep in the sensual imaginings wandering through his mind, he startled when a man—the castle priest—jostled past while departing from the chief’s study.
“Gregor, did you hear me?” Archibald stood in the threshold sporting an impassive expression. “I am ready to receive your report.”
Gregor pushed away from the wall and followed the chief into the chamber, where Duncan reclined in a chair before the hearth, whisky in hand.
How much of the events of the day had the man already divulged to the chief?
Had he recounted Gregor’s encounters with fae magic?
Would they send him back to Dunadd in disgrace?
“Sit. Make yourself comfortable.” Archibald stepped to a table where a flagon and several cups sat. “Will you join us in a drink?”
“Nae. I thank you just the same, but I have duties to perform before I partake of the eve’n meal and find my pallet.” Gregor chose to remain standing.
Archibald poured the amber liquid—uisge-beatha—into one of the cups and took a swallow. “Will be glad when this unpalatable day is at an end and I can take my rest in my lady-wife’s embrace.”
Gregor’s cheeks heated, and he stared at the floor, discomforted by the chief’s candor.
“Dinnae fash yourself lad. You will understand when you take a wife.”
“Wife?” Emily’s image teased him. He inhaled a sharp breath and choked.
Both men stared at him with an uncomfortable intensity.
“Might be best if you sit.” Archibald nodded to the chair opposite Duncan.
Gregor dropped to the cushioned seat, his gut twisting into a tight knot. This couldn’t be good. “Perhaps a wee taste of the water of life will ease my throat.”
Duncan guffawed.
Archibald cast a rigid glance at the big man. Duncan sobered and gave a slight nod in return. The chief handed Gregor a cup and raised his own. “Shall we drink to your upcoming nuptials?”