Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
The first light of dawn was breaking over the horizon when Lachlann felt the subtle shift in the boat's movement that told him they were approaching land. He'd been on deck, unable to sleep since Alba's early morning visit to complain about his snoring.
The memory made him smile despite his exhaustion. The outrage on her face. The way she'd frozen when she'd seen him shirtless, her eyes going wide before she'd collected herself. The flush that had stained her cheeks even in the dim lamplight.
Like a dying beast, she'd said.
James appeared at his elbow, looking as tired as Lachlann felt. "We'll be dockin’ within the hour."
"Good." Lachlann scanned the approaching coastline, picking out familiar landmarks in the growing light. "Have the men prepare to disembark. And make sure everything's ready at the castle, I want Lady MacKinnon settled as quickly as possible."
"Aye." James paused. "Ye should wake her. Give her time to prepare herself before we arrive."
Lachlann nodded. He made his way below deck, moving quietly through the narrow passages. The boat was starting to come alive around him, crew members emerging from their bunks, the sounds of morning preparations beginning.
He knocked softly on Alba's door. "Alba? We're approachin’ Barra. We'll be dockin’ soon."
There was a moment of silence, then he heard movement inside. "I'll be ready," her voice came through the door, still rough with sleep.
"Take yer time. I'll wait fer ye on deck."
He returned topside, watching as the port grew larger before them. Barra. Home.
The castle stood on the cliffs above the harbor, its grey stone walls gleaming in the morning sun. He'd been born in that castle, had learned to fight in its yards, to sail from its harbor. Had held his dying brother in its courtyard.
And now he was bringing Alba MacKinnon there, under circumstances that would require careful explanation to everyone, especially his Council.
The boat slid smoothly into the dock and his men immediately began securing lines and preparing the gangplank. Lachlann stood at the rail, very aware that half the port was watching their arrival with undisguised curiosity.
Word would spread quickly. He'd left for a simple masquerade ball and returned with Calum MacKinnon's sister. The speculation would be rampant.
Behind him, he heard soft footsteps. He turned to find Alba emerging from below deck, and his breath caught despite himself.
She'd cleaned up as best she could with the limited resources available, but her dress was still torn and stained, her hair falling loose from its braid. There was a bruise forming on her cheekbone that he hadn't noticed last night, and the cut on her throat stood out starkly against her pale skin.
She looked exhausted and battered and absolutely beautiful.
"Ready?" he asked quietly.
Alba's sea-blue eyes met his, and he saw uncertainty there alongside determination. "Aye. As I'll ever be."
He offered her his arm, and after a moment's hesitation, she took it. Together they walked down the gangplank, Alba's grip tightening on his arm as she took in the watching faces, the unfamiliar port, the castle looming above.
"It's all right," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear. "Ye're safe here."
A carriage waited at the end of the dock, and Lachlann helped Alba inside before climbing in beside her. The ride up to the castle was short but steep, the road winding up the cliff face in a series of sharp turns.
Alba sat rigidly beside him, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. He wanted to reach out, to offer some comfort, but he kept his hands to himself. He'd already crossed enough lines bringing her there. He couldn't afford to cross more.
The castle gates opened as they approached, and servants hurried forward to greet them. Lachlann climbed out first, then turned to help Alba down.
"Welcome to Castle MacNeil," he said formally, aware of all the watching eyes. "Me home."
Alba nodded, her expression carefully neutral. "Thank ye fer yer hospitality, Laird MacNeil."
The formality hurt more than it should have. But it was necessary. Proper. What the situation demanded.
A young woman stepped forward from the group of servants, petite with chestnut hair and warm brown eyes. She bobbed a quick curtsy. "Me laird."
"Orla." Lachlann gestured to Alba. "This is Lady Alba MacKinnon. She's tae be our guest fer... a time. See that she has everything she needs. A bath, fresh clothes, food. Whatever she requires."
Orla's eyes widened slightly, but she recovered quickly. "Of course, me laird. Right away." She turned to Alba with a warm smile. "If ye'll follow me, me lady?"
Alba glanced at Lachlann, and he saw the question in her eyes. He gave her a small nod of encouragement. "Orla will take good care of ye. I'll check on ye later, once ye've had a chance to rest."
"Thank ye," Alba said quietly, and followed Orla into the castle.
Lachlann watched until she disappeared from view, then turned to find James watching him with a knowing expression.
"Nae a word," Lachlann warned.
"Didnae say anything."
"Ye were thinkin’ it."
James's lips twitched. "Aye, I was."
Lachlann shook his head and strode into the castle, making his way directly to his office. He had a letter to write, and the longer he delayed, the worse the situation would become.
His office was exactly as he'd left it—maps spread across the large oak desk, correspondence stacked neatly to one side, the smell of old parchment and ink familiar and grounding. He settled into his chair and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper, dipping his quill in ink.
For a long moment, he just stared at the blank page. How should he explain it? How did he tell his best friend that he'd brought his sister halfway across the Highlands, that she was now in his castle, under his protection, in a situation that could easily be misconstrued?
He began to write.
Calum,
I'm writing tae inform ye of events that occurred following the masquerade at Dunstaffnage. Alba is safe and unharmed, but circumstances have required me tae bring her tae Barra fer her protection.
He explained everything—Torquil's proposal at the ball, which he had overheard, the attack on the road, the fight that had ensued. He detailed Torquil's threats, the blocked roads to Oban, the decision to bring her to Barra as the only safe option.
Alba will remain here under me protection until it's safe fer her tae return home. I've assigned her a maid and given strict instructions that she's tae have everything she needs. On me honor as yer braither in the Covenant, I swear that nay harm will come tae her while she's in me care.
I'll send word as soon as passage tae MacKinnon lands is secure. Until then, trust that she's safe.
Yer braither,
Lachlann
He read it over twice, making sure he'd included everything important, then sealed it with his signet ring and called for a messenger.
A young man appeared almost immediately, fleet-footed Donald, who'd made the run to England and back more times than Lachlann could count.
"This goes tae Calum MacKinnon in England," Lachlann said, handing over the letter. "Ye're tae deliver it directly intae his hands, nay one else's. Understood?"
"Aye, me laird."
"And Donald? Speed matters here. Take whatever horses ye need, change them as often as necessary. Just get it tae him as quickly as possible."
Donald nodded and hurried out, the letter tucked securely into his satchel.
Lachlann leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes.
The sun was fully up now, streaming through the windows of his office. He could hear the castle alive around him, servants moving through the corridors, the distant sounds of the kitchens preparing breakfast, voices calling to each other in the courtyard below.
His normal life, continuing as if everything hadn't just changed completely.
There was work to do. Always work. Reports to read, decisions to make, a clan to run.
But for just a moment, Lachlann let himself sit in the quiet of his office and think about Alba—hoping she was all right, hoping Orla was taking good care of her, hoping he hadn't made a terrible mistake bringing her there.
The hours passed in a blur of routine tasks, during which he'd already fielded a dozen questions about their unexpected guest from various members of his household.
He'd kept his answers brief and factual. Lady MacKinnon was under his protection due to circumstances beyond anyone's control. She would remain at Barra until it was safe for her to return home.
That was all anyone needed to know.
Alba had never been so grateful for a bath in her entire life.
The tub Orla had prepared was large and deep, filled with steaming water that smelled faintly of lavender. Alba had sunk into it with a sigh of pure relief, feeling days' worth of fear and exhaustion begin to wash away.
Orla had laid out fresh clothes, a simple but well-made dress in deep green that looked like it might actually fit. There were clean undergarments, stockings, even a pair of soft leather slippers.
"Where did these come from?" Alba had asked, running her fingers over the soft fabric of the dress.
"The laird keeps a supply of garments fer guests," Orla had explained, though something in her expression suggested this wasn't entirely true. "He instructed me tae find ye something suitable."
Alba suspected Lachlann had done more than just instruct, he'd probably sent someone scrambling to find clothes in her size. The thought made something warm bloom in her chest.
She'd scrubbed herself clean, washing away the dirt and blood of the past two days.
Orla had helped her wash her hair, gentle fingers working through the tangles, and by the time Alba emerged from the bath, she felt almost human again.
The dress fit almost perfectly, and Orla had braided her hair into a simple plait that hung down her back.
Alba looked in the small mirror. The bruise on her cheek was darker now, and the cut on her throat stood out starkly, but otherwise she looked... normal. Like a lady visiting another clan's castle, not someone who'd been attacked and dragged halfway across the Highlands.
"Shall I show ye around the castle, me lady?" Orla asked, her brown eyes warm and friendly. "Or would ye rather rest? Ye must be exhausted."
Alba knew she should rest. Her body was crying out for sleep. But the thought of staying in that room, lovely as it was, made her feel trapped.
"I'd like tae see the castle," she said. "If that's all right."
"Of course!" Orla brightened immediately. "Follow me. I'll show ye where everything is."
They started in the corridors outside Alba's chamber. Orla pointed out various rooms—guest chambers, storage areas, the stairs that led up to the family quarters and down to the great hall. She explained how the household functioned, who reported to whom, when meals were served.
Alba listened politely, trying to absorb the information, but her attention kept wandering to the windows they passed. Through them, she could see glimpses of grounds, of green spaces and stone paths.
"Is there a garden?" she asked, interrupting Orla's explanation of the castle's water system.
"Aye, me lady. A lovely one. Would ye like tae see it?"
"Please. I’ll like us tae go outside"
Orla led her through a series of corridors and down a flight of stairs, eventually emerging into bright sunlight. Alba blinked, her eyes adjusting after the dimmer interior of the castle.
And then she saw it.
The garden spread out before her in a riot of carefully tended beauty. Raised beds were filled with herbs and vegetables. Flowering plants that climbed up stone walls. Fruit trees espaliered against the south-facing wall, their branches heavy with developing fruit.
Alba felt something in her chest loosen, some knot of tension she hadn't even realized was there.
"Oh," she breathed, stepping forward onto the gravel path. "It's beautiful."
"The laird's maither started it," Orla explained, following behind her. "She loved her gardens. The laird kept it up. He makes sure it's tended daily."
Alba walked slowly along the beds, her fingers trailing over leaves and petals. Lavender, rosemary, thyme—herbs she recognized from home. But also plants she'd never seen before, their flowers strange and lovely in the morning light.
"I've always loved being outdoors," she said, more to herself than to Orla. "Gardens make me feel... steady. Like the world makes sense again."
"I can understand that," Orla said quietly.
She pointed to a section near the back wall.
"That's where the kitchen herbs are grown. Cook comes out herself every mornin’ tae pick what she needs.
And over there"—she gestured to a sunny corner—"that's where the laird grows his medicinal plants. He learned from his maither, he did. Kens more about healin’ herbs than half the trained healers. "
Alba moved toward the medicinal garden, examining the plants with interest.
Yarrow for wounds. Chamomile for calm, like the tea he'd brought her the night before. Comfrey and calendula and a dozen others she recognized from her own limited knowledge.
She touched a leaf gently, and for the first time since the attack, she felt herself truly relax.
"This area gets the most sun," Orla continued, warming to her subject. "And over there, by the fountain, that's where the roses are. They're nae bloomin’ yet, but when they dae, the whole garden smells like heaven."
They walked slowly through the garden as the morning warmed around them. Orla pointed out which areas were tended daily, which plants needed the most care, which paths were the laird's favorites for his early morning walks.
Alba absorbed it all, feeling the peace of the garden seep into her bones. There, surrounded by growing things and sunlight and the gentle hum of bees, Torquil and his threats seemed very far away. There, she could almost believe everything would be all right.
"Thank ye," she said to Orla, meaning it more deeply than the simple words could convey, "fer showin’ me this."
"It's me pleasure, me lady." Orla smiled. "Would ye like tae sit fer a bit? There's a bench under that apple tree that catches the breeze."
Alba nodded, and they settled onto the stone bench together, the dappled shade cool and welcoming.
For a long moment, they sat in comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of the garden—the rustle of leaves, the distant call of seabirds, the gentle splash of water from the fountain.
For the first time since leaving Dunstaffnage Castle, Alba felt like she could breathe.