24 THE EMISSARY
“LOCH WISHES ME to stay here until after Bealtunn,” Rae Maclean announced as he took his seat in the hall. “I shall stop off at Duart Castle on the way home and report back to him on yer progress.”
Liza nodded in response and forced a smile, even as her stomach clenched.
God’s blood, he wasn’t wasting any time checking up on her. She’d thought Loch would wait until she’d been laird a couple of months, at least. “I’m surprised the clan-chief would bother ye with such a task.” It was hard not to let resentment creep into her tone. How could she find her feet here with Loch and his chieftain breathing down her neck?
“It’s no bother at all,” Rae assured her. “In truth, it’s been a while since I paid Moy a visit.” His brow furrowed then. “Ever since we fought the Mackinnons, Leod had little to do with me.”
Around them, the noon meal was being served, and men, women, and bairns were taking their places at the trestle tables. Meanwhile, Rankin, Kylie, and Makenna had joined Liza and her guest at the laird’s table.
Liza’s fingers tightened around the goblet of wine Kylie had just poured. Her sister was graciously making her way around the table, offering wine to everyone present. “I wondered why we hadn’t seen ye in a while,” she admitted.
Rae sighed before rubbing his clean-shaven chin. “Aye, well … he turned bitter after that battle … although, in honesty, he was never easy to deal with.”
Despite that she didn’t want Rae here, Liza found herself studying him. She hadn’t seen the laird of Dounarwyse in over four years. His broch lay on Mull’s eastern coast, not far from the port village of Craignure.
The years had altered Rae. He was as tall and broad-shouldered as she recalled, yet there was a severity to his face she didn’t remember from their last meeting. She guessed he was around five and thirty, although the stern set of his features made him look older, as did the severe cut of his auburn hair, cropped close to his scalp.
“I heard of yer loss, Rae,” she said after a pause. She didn’t want to appear churlish; it wouldn’t help her case. “And I’m sorry.”
The chieftain nodded, his expression shuttering. “Thank ye … these past two years have had their trials.”
Although Leod had shared little with Liza over the years, news still reached her of the goings-on upon Mull. She listened to servants’ gossip and the chatter of villagers at market. She’d heard through them that Loch had become a father for the second time—and that Rae Maclean’s wife had died.
A brittle silence fell across the table before Rae cleared his throat. “I noted the building work on the way in,” he said then, swiftly changing the subject. He inclined his head in thanks as Kylie filled his goblet. “What repairs have ye done since taking over from Leod?”
Irritation stabbed through Liza once more. They hadn’t even eaten, and the man was getting down to business. Once more, she was reminded that it was a man’s world. Loch would never have sent an emissary if a male laird now ruled Moy.
“The eastern wall is close to being shored up,” she replied stiffly. “And I’ve employed more stonemasons … they’re currently doing some work in the village and building a much-needed wall around Lochbuie’s perimeter.” She paused then before adding. “After that, the masons will make some repairs to the village kirk.”
Rae nodded, his expression still giving little away. He then took a sip of wine, his gaze holding hers. “And what of the Moy Guard?”
“We started with only five warriors from the original Guard. But Captain Rankin has recruited fifteen more. He’s training them up.”
“Aye?” Rae’s gaze flicked to Rankin then, his brow furrowing. “No offense, Alec … but ye have no experience in defending a castle.”
Liza thought Rankin might have bristled at this—for she found herself tensing at Rae’s dismissive tone—yet he merely inclined his head. “On the contrary, I’ve found it to be much like captaining a ship’s crew … only, the lads I command now have better manners.”
Rae snorted. “I’m sure.”
Servants were bringing out tureens of thick mutton stew and dumplings, the rich aroma filtering through the hall.
Liza cleared her throat then, drawing the chieftain’s gaze once more. Enough of the interrogations, she wanted some of her own questions answered. “Has Loch done any investigation into Ross Macbeth?”
Rae’s brow furrowed. “Aye … he traveled by birlinn to Gamhnach Mhòr, only to find the broch abandoned.”
“Interesting,” Rankin spoke up once more. “The man did have something to hide, it seems.”
“Aye,” Rae answered, although his focus remained upon Liza. “So, ye had no idea of the riches yer husband was amassing?”
Liza’s pulse skittered. Did she imagine it, or was there suspicion in Rae’s green eyes? “No … he never let me into his strongroom.”
Their gazes held a moment before Rae scowled. “What the devil were he and Macbeth up to?”
“We were hoping Loch would have some answers by now,” Alec replied, deliberately letting a challenge creep into his voice.
That got the chieftain’s attention. Rae’s gaze snapped his way. “Macbeth has disappeared,” he answered, his tone cooling. “We both have men out looking for him.”
Staring back at the chieftain, Alec swallowed his own irritation. He’d had no quarrel with the laird of Dounarwyse in the past, but his arrival here—and his questioning—were starting to get on Alec’s nerves.
Of course, Rae had come at the clan-chief’s behest, but his comments still felt undermining. Liza had made great strides of late, and her confidence was increasing with each passing day, while Alec was doing his best to train the lads he’d recruited into the Guard. The last thing Liza needed was Rae Maclean lingering here, observing—and judging—every decision before reporting his findings to Loch.
“Bealtunn is still a few days away,” Alec said after a pause. “Aren’t ye needed at Dounarwyse?”
Rae raised an eyebrow as he helped himself to some stew. “My brother will look after things while I’m here.”
“I’m sure yer bairns will miss ye though,” Liza added, as if sensing the point Alec was making.
Rae’s expression tightened just a little at this comment. “I suppose so.”
“How many children do ye have, Maclean?” Kylie asked politely. She’d now finished pouring the wine and taken a seat next to Makenna at the other end of the table.
Rae glanced her way, his fingers tightening around his spoon. “Two lads,” he replied. “Ailean is a little older than Craeg … and Lyle is around a year younger.”
“Ye must bring them on yer next visit,” Kylie said, smiling. “I’m sure Craeg would love to meet them.”
An awkward silence fell at the table, although Alec ignored the discomfort on Rae’s face. Instead, he took the opportunity to observe Liza’s sisters. Like her, they were well-built and bonnie, but Kylie, the elder of the two, was prim and self-contained, while Makenna appeared a plucky lass with a wild edge to her.
Eventually, Rae cleared his throat. “Perhaps,” he replied with a strained smile. He shifted uncomfortably on the bench seat before taking the basket of bread Makenna passed him. “How have the locals been treating ye, Liza?” he asked, deftly changing the subject once more.
“Well enough,” she answered. “They’re warming to me now.”
“Was Leod popular with the villagers?”
She pulled a face, giving him his answer. “He ignored them most of the time … and over the past years had ceased his monthly audiences.” She paused then. “At present, I meet with the locals every week to settle disputes and sort out any problems.”
Rae nodded at this, and he managed a grudging smile. “Good.”
Alec made his way out of the tower house and into the barmkin beyond. The noon meal had dragged on—while Rae continued to throw questions at both him and Liza. It was a relief to return to his duties. As much as it vexed him to admit it, the chieftain of Dounarwyse’s arrival was unsettling. It was a reminder that his four newest recruits were far from battle-ready.
Outdoors, an overcast sky hung overhead, and the air was sticky with the promise of rain. Ignoring the weather, Alec gathered the most inexperienced members of the Guard for training. Unfortunately, these lads were so green they risked impaling themselves on their own swords in a fight. As such, he took them through a series of simple drills, to practice feinting and parrying an attack. The recruits, all of them from Lochbuie village, were eager to learn. Nonetheless, their fumbling attempts were painful to watch.
“Stand yer ground!” he shouted as two of the recruits cowered under the onslaught of wooden blades. “Block and strike! Block and strike!” Christ’s blood, even young Rabbie onboard The Reiver had more natural ability than these lads. They were all in awe of him and hurriedly obeyed every order. There was no banter like he’d had with his crew—no cursing, boasting, and ribbing.
A sudden wave of wistfulness caught him by surprise.
Where was The Reiver now? Terrorizing the northern coast of Mull, most likely.
Aye, he’d chosen to step away from his old life, yet suddenly, he wished he were standing at the bow of his cog again, the salty wind whipping his hair in his eyes. He’d loved the freedom of that life, but today, he felt confined. Frustrated. But more than that, he felt as if he didn’t belong here.
“These four couldn’t defend themselves from kittens.” A woman’s low voice, laced with wry amusement, intruded upon Alec’s brooding then. He turned to see that Makenna stood behind him.
He eyed her, taking in the lass’s fashionable surcote and kirtle, both split at the side for ease of movement. Underneath, she wore cloth chausses and fine leather boots. Makenna MacGregor carried herself with the calm assurance of someone who knew her own worth.
“They’ll improve,” he replied, his tone cool. “With time.”
“Back at Meggernie, we practice with real swords. Nothing makes a warrior improve faster.”
Alec pulled a face. “There’s also no quicker way to lose limbs.”
“Care to give them a demonstration on how to handle themselves properly with a blade?” Makenna’s moss-green eyes glinted as she nodded at the spare wooden practice swords leaning up against the nearby armory.
Alec stilled before raising an eyebrow. “Ye want to fight me?”
She smiled, causing her cheek to dimple. “Aye … unless ye’re afraid I might show ye up?”
Alec snorted. “Not likely.” He turned to the recruits then. Luckily for her, he could never resist a challenge. “Halt yer practice for a moment, lads,” he called out. “Let the laird’s sister show ye how it’s done.”
This brought smirks to their faces.
Makenna, however, merely went to retrieve the wooden swords.
They circled each other, and Alec found himself studying her face. She was certainly confident; there wasn’t a glimmer of uncertainty in her eyes.
Clack. Clack.
Their blades collided.
Aye, and she had swift reflexes too. Makenna wasn’t a big woman, yet she was sturdily built, and with enough strength in her arms to parry even his harder strikes. And as they fought, Alec’s irritation lifted, his mood improving. Soon he was grinning. For the first time since taking up residence at Moy, he was truly at ease. They continued to circle each other, attacking and feinting. It was a dance Alec knew well, one he enjoyed, and Makenna was a worthy opponent.
“Ye fight well,” he admitted, as she swiftly side-stepped a deft cut. “Who taught ye?”
“The Meggernie Guard. I joined when I was sixteen.”
“And how is it, yer father would allow his daughter such liberties?”
She lunged so swiftly that he had to take a step back to avoid a blade slamming into his ribs. “I’m the youngest of five sisters,” she answered, pressing her advantage. “And when my mother’s womb never quickened with any more bairns, Da realized he’d never get the son he craved.” Her mouth quirked. “So, he indulged his strong-willed daughter instead.”
They fought on, and Alec let her think she was on the cusp of beating him. Then, as Makenna attempted to sweep under his guard, he dodged her strike and kicked her feet out from under her.
The lass landed on her back, her breath whooshing out of her lungs.
“That was a dirty trick, pirate,” she wheezed, her brow furrowing as he placed the tip of his wooden blade at her throat.
Alec laughed. “Didn’t yer father’s men teach ye any?”
Her green eyes narrowed. “Captain Walker told me a warrior should fight fair.”
He snorted. “Honor will only get ye so far in life, lass. Such moves could save yer life.”
Withdrawing his blade, he then leaned down and offered her his hand. Ignoring it, Makenna rolled to her feet and dusted her fine clothing off.
Alec glanced up then, his gaze alighting upon a figure standing on the walls. An instant later, his smile—and his buoyant mood—faded.
Rae Maclean was there, watching them. Earlier, the chieftain had worn a serious expression. However, mirth now sparkled in his eyes.
Alec stiffened. He wasn’t sure what to make of Rae’s reaction.
“Can I fight?”
A hesitant young voice behind Alec drew his attention then. He turned to find a small lad with mussed dark hair gripping a wooden sword.
Unbeknown to Alec and Makenna, it hadn’t just been the recruits and Rae who’d been watching their fight. Craeg had been too.