Chapter 7 #2
Brodie held on to one of Elsea's arms, keeping her steady in the rocking galley.
The wench wore a loose plaid wrapped around her, including her blonde hair.
'Twould be difficult to drag her from the birlinn.
Wilona would have no choice but to grab the plaid, and it was not attached with a belt.
The attack would be difficult, but she was determined to best them all.
Brodie's plaid was belted at his waist, the top portion covering his back now. She would grab his plaid and drag him off the galley. If he held on to Elsea, she would go too. In the confusion, mayhap the wench would drown.
Everyone on board facing away from her, Wilona flew closer, keeping her wings silent. Talons outstretched, she lifted her wings and dove toward Brodie's back. She clasped her talons around his plaid, scratching his skin, and flapped her wings to lift him.
He twisted, met her gaze, and thrust his elbow into her. "Give me a sword!" he shouted at his men while pushing the lass down on the floor of the galley. The closest one to him handed over his weapon.
Wilona struggled to lift Brodie, but he wouldn't budge.
She had misjudged her strength versus his muscular weight.
A hiss of metal and the flash of a blade in the pale light warned her to retreat.
She released him and pumped her wings hard to launch into the sky again, his blade narrowly missing her.
Brodie raged below, shouting curses at her.
Infuriated at her own failure and growing tired, she returned to the island.
As she flew closer to the beach, an imminent shift bore down upon her.
She could not prevent it; she had exerted herself too much.
Her naked human form dropped into the shallow, icy surf.
When she hit the hard-packed sand, pain ricocheted through her knees and elbows.
In misery, she groaned and crawled toward dry land.
"Damn him!" she grated through clenched teeth. She didn't even have the strength to shake a fist at him.
Her powers were not as strong as they had been the year before. Each time one of her curses was broken, her magic weakened.
She pushed to her feet and dragged herself into the cave.
After wrapping up in the plaid, she curled up next to the fire still burning in the pit.
She hoped Brodie did not return anytime soon, for she must sleep and rebuild her strength.
Nay, the lass would keep him occupied for a while.
And Wilona would keep the wench ensnared in the forgetting spell as long as possible, but if she lost control of it, Elsea might tell Brodie everything she knew...
about Wilona's identity and who was abducting the selkies.
If Brodie stopped the earl, 'twas going to destroy her earnings. She couldn't let that happen.
***
SLIDING CLOSER TO ELSEA and putting his arm around her for protection, Brodie peered over his shoulder at the bruised orange sky above.
Why the hell had the sea eagle attacked him?
The talon scratches on his back burned. Had that been a shifter?
It couldn't have been Wilona MacRae, could it?
He must send missives to Gavin and Torr to ask their opinions.
Nay, he couldn't. They would feel honor-bound to come and help him. He didn't want them to know Elsea was here, for they, and especially his sister, Cat, would interfere with matchmaking attempts.
He had nay interest in any sort of match, especially with this woman. Though his body remembered the shape of hers as he held her against his side.
He glanced down at her. "Are you well?"
She nodded, looking wary. When would her voice return, and why had she turned mute? The head injury must have caused it.
He would have his answer soon enough, once Finnian examined her.
At first, he'd been annoyed that the old physician had returned to Farspag a few weeks ago, insisting on interfering in Brodie's life by helping him destroy the curse.
This morn, when his clansmen had shown up on the island, Brodie's sword-bearer, Kenneth, had told him Finnian had used the keek stane to see that Brodie needed assistance. And now, hopefully, Finnian could help Elsea with the head injury.
Torr had said Finnian was also an alchemist, an inventor, and maybe even a conjurer. All useful skills, in his estimation.
The giant sea eagle made no more appearances, and their galley reached the shore just below Farspag Tower. After jumping off into the icy shallow sea water, he lifted Elsea and carried her, splashing through the surf to the dry shore. He tried to avoid her bewildered, confused gaze.
The golden dawn light glimmered, burning off the mist, but the wind had not relented.
As he began the climb toward the castle, she pushed at him and tried to wriggle from his arms.
He frowned down at her. "What's wrong? I'll carry you up to the castle."
Looking stubborn, she shook her head.
Sighing, he placed her on her feet. "Alright, have it your way, m'lady."
She had always gotten her way, hadn't she?
The wind whipped with ferocity as they climbed the rough, craggy stone steps his clan had carved out centuries ago in the steep cliff. She only struggled once or twice on the uneven steps. At the top, she breathed hard.
How long since she'd eaten? "Are you hungry?" he asked.
She shook her head, but he didn't believe her, for her eyes held an apprehensive expression.
He had always thought her to be a strong woman, and he'd held immense admiration for her...
in the past. But now that he knew her boundless capacity for treachery, he admired naught about her.
He turned away from the contradiction. The brighter the morning light shone, the more it gored him to look at her deceitful beauty.
Her eyes, once bright azure and sparkling with enthusiasm, had now dimmed to haunted blue-gray resignation. The joyous, smiling lass was gone, and in her place was a confused, anxious woman. Was this caused by the head injury, or was she no longer happy with her other men?
He clenched his teeth. How many men had she lain with by now?
He didn't care. Or at least he shouldn't.
Once her voice returned, would she apologize for destroying him? Did she even realize she had kicked him into hell a year and a half ago? She appeared oblivious at the moment and only concerned about her own plight.
'Twas all in the past. Forget her and her lovers. After he got his answers, she could go home.
"Come, we'll find Finnian," he said, his voice gruffer than usual. He offered his elbow, but she did not take it. Instead, she lifted the smock and draping plaid off her boots and strode over the rough ground, keeping pace with him and his clansmen.
The guards unlocked the gate beside the portcullis, and they entered the bailey.
"Chief. M'laird," his clansmen called out.
He nodded and greeted them by name. Dropping silent, they locked their curious eyes on to the lass, for they well knew she was the traitorous Lady Elsea MacAuley. A few of them bowed, while others turned away and tried to hide their glowers.
"She's been injured. Where's Finnian?"
"Inside."
Brodie motioned for Elsea to proceed up the keep's main steps in front of him.
In the warm great hall, he glanced around, not spotting the physician. "Where is Finnian's chamber?" Brodie hadn't spent enough time here to know this information.
"I'll show you, m'laird." Drury, the steward, bowed. "M'lady."
They followed him up the stairs to the first floor. Brodie suspected he paid the man too much, for he was always better dressed than anyone, including Brodie. "We were worried when Finnian told us you needed help."
"Lady Elsea has a head injury."
"I'm sorry to hear that." Drury rapped his knuckles against the oak door.
"Aye?" The old man's voice echoed from inside.
"The chief is here to see you, sir."
"Just a moment." The door finally opened, revealing the ancient but robust man with a long white beard and hair to match. "Chief Brodie, come in. M'lady." Finnian bowed. "Glad you made it safely."
"I appreciate you sending my men out on the galley." Brodie ushered Elsea inside the room, closed the door back, and did quick introductions.
"In the keek stane, I could see you both were in trouble. Lady Elsea was close to drowning in the sea."
"Indeed. She sustained a head injury and has gone mute. Can you help her?"
"Well... I'll try. I only brought a few supplies and herbal tinctures from Blacktower. M'lady, if you would please sit in front of the window." He motioned to the seat in the bright morning sunlight, then rushed to the desk and picked up his spectacles. "I must see where you were injured."
After sitting, Elsea removed the plaid from her head and pointed to the spot.
"Och. 'Tis a bad gash, but thankfully it has stopped bleeding. There's some swelling, but 'tis nay too terrible. Does it pain you?"
She nodded.
"What about here?" Finnian touched the top of her head and the bloody blonde hair, then looked at his red-smeared fingertips. "What is this?"
"Blood?" Brodie strode closer.
"Nay. 'Tis far stickier than blood and...." Finnian sniffed his fingers and scowled.
"And what?" Brodie asked, leaning forward to get a whiff of the acrid stench. "What the devil is that?"
Finnian smelled it again. "Bat dung, rosemary, pine resin and ...." He thought for a minute. "Ambergris."
Brodie eyed him, mystified that he could identify bat dung as opposed to some other dung. "That makes no sense."
"The crimson could be from madder root." Finnian frowned as if in deep thought. "It might be a witch's concoction."
"Oh, hell," Brodie growled. The witch?
"How did this get on her head?" Finnian asked.
"I have nay inkling. After I got her out of the ocean, we went into the cave. Plenty of bat dung in there. Pines grow on the island's cliffs. Ambergris could've washed up on shore. As for rosemary, nay. I've seen none on the island."