CHAPTER 1
BARRA ISLAND,
Scottish Highlands
“Can ye hurry with your stitching?” Glynis asked, as she peered out her window. “Their boat is nearly at the sea gate.”
“Your father is going to murder ye for this.” Old Molly’s face was grim, but her needle flew along the seam. “Now stand straight.”
“Better dead than wed again,” Glynis muttered under her breath.
“This trick will work but once, if it works at all.” Old Molly paused to tie a knot and rethread the needle. “ ’Tis a losing game you’re playing, lass.”
Glynis crossed her arms. “I won’t let him marry me off again.”
“Your da is just as stubborn as you, and he’s the chieftain.” Old Molly looked up from her sewing to fix her filmy eyes on Glynis. “Not all men are as blackhearted as your first husband.”
“Perhaps not,” Glynis said, though she was far from convinced. “But the MacDonalds of Sleat are known philanderers. I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I’ll no take one of them.”
“Beware of what ye swear, lass,” Old Molly said. “I knew your grandmother well, and I’d hate for ye to cause that good woman to turn in her grave.”
“Ouch!” Glynis yelped when a loud banging caused Old Molly to stick her needle in Glynis’s side.
“Get yourself down to the hall, Glynis,” her father shouted from the other side of the door. “Our guests are arriving.”
“I’m almost ready, da,” she called out.
“Don’t think ye can fool me with a sweet voice,” he said. “What are ye doing in there?”
Glynis risked opening the door a crack and stuck her face in it. Her father, a big, barrel-chested man, was looking as foul-tempered as his reputation.
“Ye said I should dress so these damned MacDonalds won’t soon forget me,” she said. “That takes a woman time, da.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, but he let that pass. After all these years of living with a wife and daughters, females were still largely a mystery to him. In this war with her father, Glynis was willing to use whatever small advantage she had.
“Their new chieftain didn’t come himself,” he said in what for him was a low voice. “But it was too much to hope a chieftain would take ye, after the shame ye brought upon yourself. One of these others will have to do.”
Glynis swallowed against the lump in her throat. Having her father blame her for her failed marriage—and believe she had dishonored her family—hurt more than anything her husband had done to her.
“I did nothing shameful,” she said through clenched teeth. “But I will, if ye force me to take another husband.”
“Ye were born obstinate as an ox,” her father shouted through the six-inch crack in the door. “But I am your father and your chieftain, and ye will do as I tell ye.”
“What man will want a woman who’s shamed herself?” she hissed at him.
“Ach, men are fools for beauty,” her father said. “Despite what happened, ye are still that.”
Glynis slammed the door shut in his face and threw the bar across it.
“Ye will do as I say, or I’ll throw ye out to starve!”
That was all she could make out amidst his long string of curses before his footsteps echoed down the spiral stone staircase.
Glynis blinked hard to keep back the tears. She was done with weeping.
“I should have given ye poison as a wedding gift, so ye could come home a widow,” Old Molly said behind her. “I told the chieftain he was wedding ye to a bad man, but he’s no better at listening than his daughter is.”
“Quickly now.” Glynis picked up the small bowl from the side table and held it out to Molly. “It will ruin everything if he loses patience and comes back to drag me downstairs.”
Old Molly heaved a great sigh and dipped her fingers into the red clay paste.
Alex stretched out and closed his eyes to enjoy the sun and sea breeze a little longer. It was a long sail from the Isle of Skye to the MacNeil stronghold on Barra, but they were nearly there.
“Remind me how Connor convinced us to pay a visit on the MacNeils,” Alex said.
“We volunteered,” Duncan said.
“Ach, that was foolish,” Alex said, “when we know the MacNeil chieftain is looking for husbands for his daughters.”
“Aye.”
Alex opened one eye. “Were we that drunk?”
“Aye,” Duncan said with one of his rare smiles.
Duncan was a good man, if a wee bit dour these days—which just went to show that love could bring the strongest of men to their knees. Alex had known the big, red-haired warrior since they were bairns. They and Alex’s cousins, Connor and Ian, had been fast friends all their lives.
“I swear,” Alex said, “since Connor became chieftain, he grows more devious by the day.”
“Drunk or sober, we would have agreed,” Duncan said. “We couldn’t let Connor come himself.”
A chieftain didn’t travel the Western Isles without war galleys full of men—the risk of being taken hostage or murdered by another clan was too great.
With Connor’s uncle Hugh Dubh still threatening to take the chieftainship, Connor had to keep most of his warriors at home to defend Dunscaith Castle.
The four of them—Alex, Duncan, Ian, and Connor—had returned from France to find Connor’s father dead, his blackhearted Uncle Hugh living in the chieftain’s castle, and their clan in a dire state.
While they had succeeded in driving Hugh Dubh from the castle and making Connor chieftain, Hugh Dubh had escaped.
Worse still, Hugh had returned to pirating with his brothers.
Now, at a time when their clan was badly in need of allies, Connor’s uncles were harassing clans all over the Western Isles.
Alex and Duncan’s task, as Connor’s emissaries, was to assure the other chieftains that Connor’s uncles weren’t raping and pillaging their shores on their new chieftain’s orders.
“Ye could make this easy by marrying one of the MacNeil’s daughters,” Duncan said, the corner of his mouth quirking up.
“I see ye do remember how to make a joke.” Not many men teased Duncan, so Alex did his best to make up for it.
“Ye know that’s what Connor wants,” Duncan said. “He has no brothers to make marriage alliances for him—so a cousin will have to do. If ye don’t like one of the MacNeil lasses, there are plenty of other chieftains’ daughters.”
“I’d take a blade for Connor,” Alex said, losing his humor, “but I’ll no take a wife for him.”
“Connor has a way of getting what he wants,” Duncan said. “I’ll wager you’ll be wed within half a year.”
“Ye must still be drunk.” Alex sat up and grinned at his friend. “What shall we wager?”
“This galley,” Duncan said.
“Perfect.” Alex loved this boat, which was smaller and sleeker than a war galley and sliced through the water like a fish. They had been arguing over who had the better right to it ever since they had stolen it from Shaggy Maclean.
The MacNeil castle, which sat on a rock island in a bay off the coast of Barra, was in sight now.
“You’re going to miss this sweet galley,” Alex said, as he guided the boat into the bay.
A short time later, a large group of armed MacNeil warriors were escorting them inside the castle’s keep.
“I see we’ve got them scared,” Alex said in a low voice to Duncan.
“We could take them,” Duncan grunted.
“Did ye notice that there are twelve of them?” Alex asked.
“I’m no saying it would be easy.”
Alex laughed, which had the MacNeils all reaching for their swords. He was enjoying himself. Still, he hoped he and Duncan wouldn’t have to fight their way out. These were Highland warriors, not Englishmen or Lowlanders, and everyone knew MacNeils were mean and devious fighters.
Almost as mean and devious as MacDonalds.
But the MacNeils had more dangerous weapons in their arsenal. Alex heard Duncan groan beside him as they entered the hall and saw what was waiting for them.
“God save us,” escaped Alex’s lips. Three twittering lasses were sitting at the head table. The girls were pretty, but young and innocent enough to give Alex hives.
One of them wiggled her fingers at him, then her sister elbowed her in the ribs, and all three went into a fit of giggles behind their hands.
It was going to be a long evening.
“Quiet!” the chieftain thundered, and the color drained from the girls’ faces.
After exchanging greetings with Alex and Duncan, the MacNeil introduced his wife, an attractive, plump woman half his age, and his young son, who sat on her lap. Then he waved his arm toward the girls, saying, “These are my three youngest daughters. My eldest will join us soon.”
The missing daughter would be the one they’d heard about. She was rumored to be a rare beauty who had been turned out by her husband in disgrace.
She sounded like Alex’s kind of woman.
Before the chieftain could direct them where to sit, Alex and Duncan took seats at the far end from the three lasses. After a cursory prayer, wine and ale was poured, and the first courses were brought out.
Alex wanted to get their business done as soon as possible—and leave. “Our chieftain hopes to strengthen the friendship between our two clans and has sent us here on a mission of goodwill,” he began.
The MacNeil kept glancing at the doorway, his face darker each time. Though he didn’t appear to be listening to a word, Alex forged ahead.
“Our chieftain pledges that he will join ye in fighting the pirates who are harassing all our shores.”
That caught the MacNeil’s attention. In a sour tone, he asked, “Isn’t it his own uncle who leads them?”
“His half uncle,” Duncan put in, as if that explained it all.
The MacNeil chief tilted his head back to take a long drink from his cup, then slammed it on the table, sputtering and choking.
Alex followed the direction of his gaze—and almost choked on his own ale when he saw the woman.
Ach, the poor thing had suffered the worst case of pox Alex had ever seen.
The afflicted woman crossed the room at a brisk pace, her gaze fixed on the floor.
When she took the place at the end of the table next to Alex, he had to move over to make room for her.
She was quite stout, though not in a pleasing sort of way.