Chapter 7 #3
The fisherman was tall with long, well-developed muscles from hauling nets, Anders supposed. “Or common enough.” He shrugged again. “I’m sorry but I dinna have the answers to yer questions. So, tell me, what is life like at Sinclair for ye?”
The conversation went on long enough that Maesie left to fetch cider and ale for them, as well as cheese and bread. While she was gone, the conversation lagged until Tasgall asked Murdo about his last trip to visit a lass he was sweet on.
“’Twas a wild ride,” Murdo told them. “The Pentland firth was in a foul mood, and the tide was against us, but we were determined no’ to have to walk from an easterly landing all the way to Thurso.”
“Ye have a lass in Thurso? A MacKay?”
Tasgall’s question made something tingle on the back of Anders’ neck. There was something buried in his memory about MacKay.
“Aye, she’s in Thurso, but no’ a MacKay. A Lamont. Her da came down from Orkney.”
What about MacKay and the Pentland? It seemed important, but like many things, it remained just out of reach.
“We took nets and such to sell in the market there. And Cook asked for some herbs she thought I’d find in one of the stalls.”
Ice slithered down Anders’ spine. He almost had it. Sailing the Pentland to MacKay territory. And something about herbs for a healer.
“Did ye find them?” Maesie asked.
“Aye.”
“Did ye see yer lass?” Anders had to ask to cover the struggle going on in his head.
“Aye,” Murdo answered, coloring a little. “I did.”
“A good visit, then. How was the firth on yer return?” Anders hesitated to ask, but there was something about that body of water than meant something to him.
“As rough as ever. We had to wait for the storm a few nights ago to pass before we could come home.” He paused and frowned.
“Once we turned south, we chased a birlinn also headed south but closer to the coast. It might have come through the firth ahead of us or down from Orkney. The odd thing was how slowly they traveled, but they were seaworthy and didna signal for help, so we passed them by. Now that I think about it, I saw the same birlinn south of Sinclair bay headed north again as we were unloading our ship.”
Anders fought not to let his reaction show on his face.
Tasgall was watching him while he listened to Murdo’s story.
To him, it sounded as if the crew of the birlinn was searching the coast for something.
Or someone. Him? The sense of secrets about to be revealed within himself held Anders still.
He couldn’t have moved if Tasgall had come at him swinging a claymore.
Maesie’s sudden chatter with the guard outside the door ripped the edge of elusive memory away. Anders blinked away his dismay as the guard opened the door and she came in carrying a tray. Some revelation had been close. So close he could almost touch it. But it was gone.
Still, her timing saved Anders from Tasgall’s inspection, his attention stolen by the kitchen maid.
“This should help any dry throats among us,” she announced as the guard closed the door behind her. She passed out cups.
Anders took his with thanks and sipped. Cider. Sweet and restorative. Probably the perfect thing to settle the blades pricking at this belly. So many hints, but nothing that built a complete story. Not even a single complete picture.
“What did I miss?”
Maesie’s question pulled Anders out of his thoughts on a flash of annoyance. Perhaps he’d just missed the reason he was here. That edge of memory had felt that important.
“Murdo has a Lamont lass in Thurso,” Ailsa announced.
“I dinna have her,” Murdo corrected, “but I hope someday she will be mine.”
“How did ye meet her? And why have ye never mentioned her to us?”
Ailsa’s questions sent the conversation into safer territory, letting Anders set aside his emotions and relax enough to enjoy the cider Maesie brought—and to enjoy looking at Ailsa.
He never tired of the way light played on her bright tresses.
Not quite a Norse blonde, nor a Highland red, but something in between—a beautiful blend of her heritage.
An image of himself with a dark-haired lass suddenly rose before his eyes as if he looked at them from only a few feet away.
As the conversation continued around him, he couldn’t shake one question.
How could he see himself as if he was outside his body?
Or two questions. Was the birlinn Murdo saw searching for a missing man?
Him? And third, was the dark-haired lass in his visions his wife?
At midday, Raghnall, the Sinclair guard captain sent Tasgall to fetch Ailsa to the bailey. “We caught this lot in the woods above the bay,” he told her when she arrived, gesturing to nearly a dozen men standing clustered together and surrounded by Sinclair guards.
“Who are they?” They looked tired. Worn, bedraggled, and hungry. But they stood straight, with shoulders back, determined to put on a brave front.
“There’s a birlinn beached down the coast a ways,” he told her. “They willna say much, but I believe they’re the crew.”
More strange men? Ailsa’s belly quailed as she imagined how her da would react to this. Anders’ situation had just become more complicated, especially if they came from the birlinn Murdo had seen sailing their coastline.
“What are we to do with them?”
“The only place to keep them safe and ensure they dinna cause trouble is—”
Ailsa held up one hand to stop him. “I ken what ye are going to say. The dungeon.”
“Aye.” Raghnall’s tone told her he wasn’t eager to do it either, but they couldn’t allow that many strangers to run freely within their walls.
She didn’t want to put them down there.
“Who speaks for them?”
Raghnall pointed. “That one. The eldest, Tomas, seems to be their spokesman, if not their captain. They refuse to say why they are on Sinclair land except that the recent storm forced them ashore, but that was days ago. They should have gone on their way by now, unless their birlinn is damaged.”
“Tomas,” Ailsa said as she moved closer to them and introduced herself, “is yer birlinn seaworthy?”
He shrugged and nodded.
“So, ’tis? Or ye are no’ sure?” Had they come through the Pentland Firth in the storm? If so, they were lucky to be alive.
Tomas shook his head. “We havena tried to float her.”
“Were ye looking for someone?”
His head came up at that, but he didn’t answer.
“My guard chief insists ye go into the dungeon,” Ailsa continued, hating to say the words.
“I would object, but ye havena identified yourselves to him.” At least until her father got home and decided what to do with them, Raghnall was right.
There was no place else to put them. “But ye will be well cared for. I give ye my word ye will have food and drink and warm blankets.”
“Fer how long, lady?” Tomas traded a glance with another of his men. They both looked concerned, but she supposed in their position, she would, too.
“Until the laird decides what to do with ye.”
“Let us go, lady, and we willna be any trouble to ye.”
“What’s this?”
Ailsa fought not to cringe at Boden’s bellow.
Raghnall frowned, telling her he had not sent for her brother, despite him being, as he’d insisted to her over Anders’ fevered form days ago, in charge.
Raghnall knew Boden’s temper could be trouble.
She took a breath, turned to face her brother and calmly told him what they knew.
“A dozen men, roaming Sinclair land?” He glared at the men. “Already ye are trouble. I willna allow ye to leave. Ye must wait for the laird’s decision.”
Tomas looked as though he wanted to say more, but kept his thoughts to himself.
Still reluctant, Ailsa nodded to the guard captain.
Raghnall and several of his men escorted their prisoners down the stairs that led to the dungeon, Boden nipping at their heels.
He could brag to their father that he had done his duty and confined them in the dungeon.
Maybe he’d be satisfied with tormenting them and forget about Anders.
Watching them go, Ailsa crossed her arms and fretted.
Who were they? Did they have any connection to Anders?
Tomas wouldn’t say, but it seemed clear to her that they had stayed on land looking for someone.
Murdo had mentioned a birlinn sailing up and down the coast. Theirs?
The coincidence was too compelling. Would Anders remember Tomas if she mentioned that name?
Another thought made her gasp. She and Maighread had assumed Anders was injured in the storm, but what if he’d been attacked by these men?
If they were his enemies rather than his friends, how could she find out without betraying him?