Chapter Thirteen
Jamie couldn’t sleep.
He lay on his bed, staring up at the rafters, watching the way the light from the dying embers of the fire played across the ceiling. All night he’d tossed and turned, his thoughts swinging between images of Elise’s hurt expression and images of the Sea Star, listing and broken.
His heart or his duty. One or the other. He couldn’t follow them both.
With a curse, he swung his legs off the bed. It was early, barely dawn, and he heard no sounds echoing through the keep. Most would be sleeping in late today after the party last night, nursing sore heads and queasy stomachs.
But Jamie had barely touched a drop and had left after his dance with Elise. Staying any longer, staying in her company, would have been a torture he just couldn’t face.
So despite the early hour, he pulled on his boots and slung his plaid across his shoulders, before stepping into the corridor. The keep lay quiet and still. There was a chill in the air and the stone beneath his feet felt colder than usual.
He made his way through the quiet corridors and passages until he found himself outside a closed door hidden away near the kitchen. He didn’t bother to knock, pushing the door open and striding through.
He found Phillip MacClelland inside, sitting at his desk, leaning over a bowl of water. At Jamie’s entrance he lurched to his feet, knocking the desk and sending water sloshing over the side of the bowl.
“Jamie!” he cried. “What the bloody hell—!”
Jamie gave a lopsided smile. “Morning to ye too. What are ye doing?”
Phillip glanced at the bowl. “Just my morning ablutions. The vapors from the hot water help to clear my airways.” His expression turned into a scowl. “Ye could have knocked ye know.”
Jamie closed the door behind him. “Aye. My apologies.” He crossed to the fire and stared into it. In the flickering flames, he seemed to see the last of his hopes turning into ash.
“My laird? I didnae expect to see ye at this hour. Is everything well?”
Jamie turned to look at his old advisor. “No. It isnae. I need yer help. Ye are my oldest advisor. My father trusted ye implicitly. I trust ye implicitly. I need to know if there is a way to change what’s coming.”
Phillip lowered himself into his chair and began mopping up the water with a cloth. “Ye’ll have to be more specific.”
“Ye know what I’m talking about. This marriage.”
Phillip sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Oh. That. Ye asked me to send for the envoy. He’s on his way.”
“I know what I said, damn it! But maybe there’s another way. If we could build a fleet strong enough, if we joined with Skye and Barra—if we showed the Crown and the pirates we can protect ourselves—then we can snap this damned noose that’s around our necks!”
Phillip leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his chest, studying Jamie. “How many ships could Skye and Barra field?”
Jamie turned towards him, pacing. “Fifteen, maybe twenty, if we pressed every able captain into service.”
“Not enough,” Phillip said flatly. “Even combined with our own fleet, ye’d still be leaving stretches of the coast unguarded. And if you drag the other islands into this, ye’ll only give the pirates more targets. It would spread our defenses thinner, not strengthen them.”
Jamie’s jaw tightened. “But it would spread the pirates’ own resources too.”
Phillp shrugged. “Perhaps. But we would still have no way of knowing where or when they would choose to attack.”
Jamie stopped his pacing and scowled at his advisor. “So ye are saying it’s hopeless?”
“I’m saying that it’s a complicated situation with no easy answer. We are walking a tightrope. One wrong step and we will fall.”
Jamie blew out a breath. “I know,” he said softly. “I know.”
Phillip regarded him for a moment. “Ye already know all this, my laird. Why are ye really asking? Is this because of Elise?”
Jamie spun to face him. “What do ye mean by that?”
Phillip held up his hands. “I meant no offense. I may be old but I’m not blind. Any fool can see how ye feel about her.”
Jamie let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. “Lord help me, Phillip, I didnae plan for this.”
His counselor nodded. “Aye, I know, lad. It is a hard thing when our hearts lead us in one direction and our duty pulls us in another.”
Jamie turned away, staring out the narrow window slit. Dawn was just beginning to bleed into the sky, cold and pale. “Duty,” he muttered. “That word again. Always duty. Always sacrifice.”
“Aye,” Phillip said softly. “It is the doom of men like us to carry that burden. It is the price of power. Only the powerless are truly free. I know better than most the price duty can exact on us.”
There was an odd note of melancholy in Phillip’s voice. Jamie glanced over his shoulder at the older man. “Ye mean yer time in the royal court?”
“Aye. When yer father sent me there, I had to leave everything behind: my home, my friends, my family. But I went because duty compelled me.”
“What was it like?”
Phillip gave a short laugh. “It’s a place built on whispers and daggers ye canna see until they’re in yer back. Every smile hides a bargain. Every kindness, a debt. I learned quickly enough that I preferred the company of honest enemies to false friends.”
“And yet ye would have me wed into that. Ye would have me shackle my people to that.”
He shrugged. “Duty, my laird. Everything is a bargain. Freedom for safety. It is the way of things.”
The way of things. Right now Jamie hated the way of things.
He sat heavily on the edge of the desk. His hands opened and closed involuntarily as if looking for something to throttle.
“I always knew it would come to this,” he said softly.
“I always knew I would end up in a loveless marriage like my parents. But then she came and showed me what might have been.”
Phillip nodded. “Aye. I understand. But even if ye were free to choose, Elise could never be yers. This isnae her home.”
Jamie’s heart gave a painful twist. “Ye think I havenae thought of that? I know she’ll leave. But God help me, I wish she didnae have to.”
The silence that followed stretched long and heavy, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Then the door suddenly burst open.
One of the guards stumbled in, chest heaving, cloak dripping with morning dew. “My lord,” he gasped, “the king’s envoy—he’s here!”
Jamie lurched upright. “What?”
“A ship came in with the tide,” the guard gasped. “The envoy’s already at the harbor.”
Jamie’s stomach turned to lead. “How can he be here already? I was supposed to have another three days!”
Phillip climbed slowly to his feet. “Ye’d best ready yourself, my lord. It seems the king is eager to see this alliance sealed.”
Jamie felt the noose snap tight around his neck. Without a word he led the way from the room and prepared to meet his doom.
*
Elise stretched her arms over her head, yawned wide enough to crack her jaw, then rubbed at her sore eyes with the heels of her hands. Ugh. For the umpteenth time she wished they had electric lights in this era. Candlelight was atmospheric and all, but it was useless for reading.
And that’s what Elise had been doing for most of the night. Anything to distract her from thoughts of a certain blond-haired laird.
The documents Phillip had given her—shipping logs, old reports, trade manifests, folk tales about MacFinnan spellweavers—were supposed to give her answers, or at least clues as to what was happening to Islay.
But no. She’d read them all twice. Some of them three times.
But nothing pointed to a pattern or a clue that might set her on the right track.
And there was no mention of War Weavers.
The words the old fisherman, Neil, had spoken to her earlier kept bugging her. War Weavers. MacFinnan spellweavers who used their powers in battle.
She wasn’t sure how she felt about the idea. On the one hand an explanation for her pain-in-the-ass powers was appealing. On the other hand, she didn’t like to think of what such powers might be able to do.
With a huff, she thrust the document away from her, then crumpled the parchment into a ball and hurled it at the wall with all her strength. It struck with a wholly unsatisfying little pat.
She pressed her palms against her temples and groaned softly. “Bloody hell. This is useless.” Phillip could have his documents back. They weren’t doing her any good at all.
She scooped up the piles from her desk, hastily stuffed them into a leather satchel, then swung the bag over her shoulder. She pulled open the door. The corridor beyond was cloaked in shadows with only the faintest lightening of the gloom showing that dawn wasn’t far off.
It was unusual for her to be up this early and she was surprised at the busyness of the keep.
After the celebration last night she had expected everyone to sleep in but obviously not.
Servants bustled around laden with candles and there was an air of tension in the air that she couldn’t quite place.
Elise hurried through the castle until she reached the door to Phillip’s study and knocked. “Phillip? You up yet? I’ve brought your paperwork back.”
There was no answer. Typical. The one day she wanted to catch him early and he wasn’t here. Well, she wasn’t lugging this lot back up to her room.
Muttering under her breath, she wove a tiny spell and the lock on the door sprang open. Elise stole inside.
The room was empty but a fire had burned low in the grate, showing that Phillip had been here recently. The air smelt faintly of smoke and burned herbs.
She dumped her satchel of documents on the desk next to a silver bowl of water, slumped into the chair and, tipping the chair onto its back legs, laid her head against the wall behind.
God, she was tired. What she wouldn’t give for a decent night’s sleep. What she wouldn’t give to be in her own home right now with a pot of coffee brewing and something cheesy playing on the radio.
What she wouldn’t give for Jamie Donald’s arms around her.