Chapter Seventeen #3
“You know, a celebration. Fifty is a pretty special birthday, after all.”
“I dinna think so. What, with all the troubles I dinna think anyone has really thought about it.”
Jenna pressed her lips into a flat line.
Surely Arran had thought about it? Surely he was planning something for his mother’s big day?
She would never dare let one of her aunt’s birthdays go by without marking it.
Once, when she’d been in her late teens, she’d forgotten her aunt Elise’s birthday.
Never again. Her aunt had sulked for a week as though she was the surly teenager and Jenna the adult.
An idea began to form in her head, and she grinned suddenly. “Well, if nobody else has thought about it, then it’s up to us, isn’t it?”
The maid gave her a puzzled look. “What’s up to us?”
“Organizing Rosaline’s birthday party, of course!”
Ingrid’s mouth formed a little O of surprise. “Do ye think we can? Would the laird mind?”
Jenna waved a dismissive hand. “You leave the laird to me. It’s just what everyone needs with all the trouble we’ve been having. A chance for the clan to celebrate and let their hair down.”
And a chance for me to do the same, she thought. And forget about magic and obligations and Arran MacLeod for a while.
Ingrid clapped her hands together. “Aye, ye are right! It will be wonderful!”
“Don’t tell Rosaline though—we’ll keep it a surprise. Do you think you can rope in some of the other staff without her knowing? We’ll need their help if we’re to pull this off.”
Ingrid nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll speak to Cook and Chamberlain. They’ll help.” Her eyes sparkled. “This is going to be fun!”
Jenna nodded. “I sure hope so—as long as a certain laird doesn’t throw a spanner in the works.”
Ingrid blinked. “Throw a what?”
Jenna waved a hand. “Never mind.” She did a little twirl. “How do I look?”
She’d donned a long gold dress with silver brocade along the hem and bodice. Her hair was still wet, but without a hair dryer there was nothing she could do about that.
Ingrid sighed, clasping her hands together over her heart. “Ye look beautiful,” she said. “The laird willnae be able to deny ye anything.”
“We’ll see about that.” She took a deep breath. “Well, no time like the present. Shall we meet back here in say, half an hour and start planning?”
Ingrid practically bounced on her feet. “Eeek!” she cried. “This is so exciting! I’ve never been a conspirator before!”
“Well I’m on old hand,” Jenna said with a laugh. “So I’ll teach you everything you need to know! Back soon.”
She walked to the door and slipped out, looked up and down the corridor, checking Rosaline was nowhere in sight, then set off.
She guessed that Arran would be in his study.
When he wasn’t training with his men or eating with everyone else in the great hall that’s where he normally was, so Jenna wove her way through the corridors of the castle, nodding greetings to people she passed, until she reached the stout wooden door she needed.
She paused outside, taking a minute to straighten her hair and brush imaginary dirt from her dress. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and Jenna couldn’t quite decide if it was nerves or… or… anticipation?
Confident that she looked as presentable as she was going to get without a pair of hair straighteners, mascara, and a half-decent mirror, she knocked on the door.
A few seconds later, it opened to reveal the young lad who acted as Arran’s page. Disappointment flared in Jenna’s gut. She’d been hoping to catch Arran alone.
“Hi,” she said brightly. “Could I speak to the laird, please?”
The lad—Archie?—bobbed his head. “Aye. Please come in, my lady.”
She followed the lad into the room and then stopped dead. Arran was seated at the polished round table that dominated his study, but he wasn’t alone. Several other men were sitting with him, including Mal and Brother Merrick. They all looked up as she entered.
“Oh. Um,” Jenna faltered. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
Arran cleared his throat. “Lady MacFinnan,” he said, his voice sounding stilted and formal. “We were just meeting to discuss what Brother Merrick discovered. What can we do for ye?”
Jenna met his gaze across the room, and her stomach fluttered. Despite herself, she felt a blush rising up her cheeks. “I… er… was wondering if I could have a quick word. Um, alone?”
“Of course.” Arran pushed himself up from his seat. “If ye would excuse me, gentlemen.”
He followed Jenna out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him. He glanced up and down the passage, checking they were alone before his deep gaze settled on her. Jenna tingled at the nearness of him. Her fingers itched to touch his face, to trail through his hair.
“Is everything all right, Jenna?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “I just wanted to ask you something.”
He shifted, taking a tiny step nearer. His arm rose as if he would touch her, but then he let his hand drop.
Memories flashed in Jenna’s head: the heat of his body, the feel of his lips, the touch of his hands, the all-consuming desire that he’d sparked in her.
She felt her cheeks flush scarlet and hoped the dimness of the corridor hid it.
“Oh? What do ye wish to ask me?”
So many things, Jenna thought. Like why you couldn’t have been born in the twenty-first century. Like why couldn’t I have met you before I met Alex. Like why can’t I stop thinking about you no matter what I do?
“I… um… Ingrid tells me it’s Rosaline’s birthday tomorrow.”
Arran’s eyes widened and he let out a string of Gaelic curses under his breath. “Aye,” he said, rubbing the side of his face. “It is. How could I have forgotten? She’ll skin me alive!”
Jenna laughed softly. “Don’t worry, she’ll never have to know. That’s what I’ve come about. Ingrid and I are planning on throwing her a party.”
“A party? What’s that?”
“A feast. A celebration. Call it whatever you want. To mark her special birthday. But I wanted to come check it’s all right with you first. What do you think?”
He smiled, and his face softened into a gentle expression. “I think, Jenna MacFinnan, that is the best idea I have heard in ages. It’s just what we need.”
“Exactly what I thought. So I have your blessing to go ahead and arrange it then?”
He inclined his head. “Ye do. And I’ll give instructions that ye are to be given whatever help ye need from the castle staff.”
“Thank you.”
She paused and found herself staring at him. He stared right back.
Jenna cleared her throat. “Right. Well, I’ll… um… let you get back to your meeting. Er… see you at the party tomorrow?”
“Aye,” he breathed softly. “Ye will.”
Jenna turned and hurried away.
*
Arran watched Jenna walk away from him. Go after her, a voice shouted in the back of his head. Tell her how you feel! Do whatever it takes to make her yours!
Oh, how he longed to give into that voice! How he longed to call her back, to take her into his arms and never let her go. But he could not. He would not. He would not be that selfish.
Taking a deep breath, he turned and pushed the door open, returning to his advisors.
“Is everything all right, my laird?” Edrick, captain of his guard asked.
“Aye,” Arran replied gruffly. “Lady Jenna wished to discuss a household matter, that’s all.” He glanced at Mal and found his cousin watching him with a knowing look on his face.
Arran cleared his throat and returned his attention back to Edrick. He waved a hand. “Continue with yer report.”
“As I was saying, the fortifications at Tollman’s Gate turned back most of the attack, as we hoped they would, and most of the damage to the settlement was borne at the eastern end. That’s where they concentrated their attack.”
Arran thought back to the raid on Tollman’s Gate. It had been so chaotic he’d taken little heed of the disposition of the raiders but now, with Edrick’s report, something began to nag at him.
“What is at the eastern end of Tollman’s Gate? The chapel? Wealthy households?”
Edrick shook his head. “That’s what’s strange.
We would normally expect them to attack those sorts of places—it’s generally where the wealth is—but both the chapel and all the wealthier households were ignored.
And some of the defenders said the raiders didnae seem so bent on destruction as they expected either.
Once they broke through, they didnae stop to fight, but ran farther into the settlement. As if—”
“As if they were looking for something,” Arran finished for him.
He pushed himself up from his chair and strode to one of the bookcases against a wall.
Pulling down a scroll, he rolled it out on the table and pinned it at each corner with the pottery goblets they’d all been drinking from.
A detailed map of the island filled the parchment, with each settlement clearly marked.
Arran leaned over it, ran his hand along the coast until he found Tollman’s Gate, and placed a marker on it.
Then he found the cove where his fishing fleet had been attacked and marked that too.
“Where else have there been attacks in the last six months?”
His advisors rose to their feet and clustered around the map.
“Here,” Mal said, placing another marker. “And here.”
In short order, twelve markers covered the map.
Twelve attacks in six months. More than double the number that had taken place in the whole of the year before.
The raiders were stepping up their attacks, but why?
He placed his palms flat on the table and leaned over the map, scanning the placement of the markers.
He began to sense a pattern, although he couldn’t quite see it yet.
“Mal, where was the first attack?” he asked. His cousin pointed to one of the markers. “And the second?”
As Mal pointed to each of the markers in the order that the raids had taken place, the pattern Arran had sensed gradually became clear. His fingers gripped the edge of the table hard. Unease began to churn in his gut.
“They’re not random,” he said, looking around at each of his advisors. “Look. Follow the pattern of the attacks. Each one takes place a set distance and direction from the last, homing in on a particular area, like a net closing in.”
Mal swore loudly. “Damn them to the hells! Ye are right! They’re moving closer and closer to this spot here.” His big hand came to rest on the far southeast of the island. It was the only area that had yet to have any markers on it—but it was surrounded by others.
“Why?” Edrick asked. “What are they doing?”
“They’re not just here for plunder,” Arran replied. “They’re looking for something. That’s what the attacks have been about.”
He looked over at Brother Merrick. The monk was leaning over the map, studying the pattern of the markers and his lips were moving as though talking to himself.
“Brother Merrick,” Arran said. “I want ye to switch yer research to the southeastern tip of the island. Go through all the land records, old myths, anything that might relate to this area. See if you can find any record of old Norse settlements or myths relating to the place. Especially anything that mentions Njord.”
Brother Merrick nodded. “Aye, my laird. I’ll get to it immediately.”
“Good. And get as many people to help ye as ye need. Let me know the instant ye find anything.” He turned his attention to his other advisors.
“Double patrols in that area. If we’re right, they’ve exhausted the other areas they’ve searched so that’s where they’ll attack next.
I want to know the moment anything out of the ordinary is spotted.
The raiders have always been one step ahead of us, but now we might just have the chance to turn the tables.
Mal, take as many men as ye need and set up messenger relays to bring word back here as quickly as possible. ”
Mal nodded. “Aye, my laird.”
Arran’s gaze returned to the map. He ought to feel pleased that they’d figured out their enemy’s strategy, but all he felt was a dark sense of foreboding. He stared at the south-eastern tip of the island. What’s there? he thought. What are ye looking for?
He had no idea, but one thing he knew for sure. Whatever it was, he had to stop them finding it.