Chapter 7
They made their way downstairs in time for the midday meal after finding a tray of food and drink someone had thoughtfully left outside their door the night before without disturbing them.
Fiona had laughed, but Erik had groaned and put an arm across his belly.
She realized then that he’d likely gone the day before with naught but simple rations while sailing to her, and no more than that since. He had to be starving.
Erik looked pleased to see his men were exactly where he’d told Fiona they would be. He indicated them with a nod, and she gave him a grin in response.
Lia saw them and jumped up from her table. “’Tis about time ye reappeared,” she jested, reaching out to take Fiona’s arm. “Ye must be famished.”
“Aye,” Erik answered her, much to Fiona’s surprise. “And if I dinna get some food soon, I may have to resort to eating whatever is at hand.” His gaze dropped to Lia’s fingers and remained there.
Fiona knew he wouldn’t hurt the girl, but his stare was enough to cause her to let go and take a step aside. “Let’s feed the beast, then, shall we?” She winked at Lia and mouthed later as she moved past her, Erik at her side.
By then, others had noticed them. Mary waved them over to her table. “Good day to ye both,” she greeted them. “Though no’ a good day for sailing. But I suspect ’tis just as well, aye?”
“Aye. Tomorrow will be clear and calm after this storm,” Erik said. “Time enough to travel then.”
Fiona wondered for a moment which storm he referred to, the rumbling storm outside, or the storm of bliss in their chamber that brought both of them such pleasure.
The smile he gave her after she glanced his way told her he meant the latter, though for the listeners’ sake, it was an innocent-enough sounding statement. Or perhaps not.
Mary turned to Fiona with a grin. “Did ye finish yer…packing?”
Fiona felt heat rise into her face. “Aye.”
Mary nodded. “I’m happy for ye both. Sit and break yer fast.”
While they ate, Erik asked Mary, “I regret the need to ask, but I must ken. Ye must recall that two of my men were told by two of yers that yer man was stabbed by a Rose rival. Did anyone admit to the stabbing? Did Rose investigate?”
“Nay, no one came forward. Da is satisfied now that the fight is over and yer man involved in it is gone from Rose. But,” she added, holding up a hand to forestall his objection, “I have eyes and ears everywhere. If someone boasts of getting away with it, I’ll soon ken.”
Erik nodded. “Thank ye. ’Tis no’ that I want strife within Rose, but if my man didna do the deed, to repair relations with yer da, ’twould be good to ken who did.”
“I agree,” Mary said.
“I also hesitate to bring this up again, but I remain concerned that my missive wasna delivered into the Rose’s hands. My man insists he gave it to a Rose guard, then was turned away. Have ye discovered what happened to it?”
Mary shook her head. “I wish I could tell ye more, but none of the guards on the gate that day say they spoke to anyone from Ross or received anything from anyone claiming to be from Ross. Perhaps yer man lost or damaged it to the point that he feared to deliver it and lied—”
“My men wouldna do any such thing,” he said, cutting her off. But of course, after years of Donas’ brutal treatment of any failure, he suspected if an accident had happened, Lyall might have indeed feared to admit it.
Mary pursed her lips, then nodded. “Very well. That is the end of it, then.”
The next morning, the sun rose into a cloudless sky that quickly turned from dawn’s rosy hues to a blue so clear it almost hurt to look at it.
“’Tis fine weather for sailing,” Erik assured her when he noted her gazing out of the chamber’s window. He left her soon after, going down to the birlinn to check on preparations there.
As she prepared to leave her chamber for the last time, Fiona couldn’t help her thoughts spinning. Then she sat with Mary to break her fast while she waited for Erik’s return. “I am going where I’ve never gone before with a virtual stranger,” she told Mary. “And I’m suddenly nervous again.”
Mary took her hand. “Ye have a right to be, but Erik has cared for ye well. And if that ever changes, all ye have to do is ask for help, and Rose will do what it can for ye.”
Mary’s words gave her some comfort, but Fiona knew the story of the Munro lasses that men from Ross stole for brides.
And that Ella Munro was forced to marry Thomas Ross, and how badly that went.
She had escaped Ross with Brodie’s help and returned home to Munro.
There, Thomas Ross found her. He forced the Munro laird to recognize a husband’s right to reclaim his wife and send her back to Ross with him.
She nearly starved herself to death before Thomas relented, returned her to Munro and divorced her.
Fiona had no doubt that Erik knew the tale as well, and would never let that happen to him.
To them. Once she reached Ross, if she decided she wanted to leave, she would not be able to.
Returning to Rose would be out of the question, and since Erik had seen her first in Inverness, he would know she might head there. He would not stop until he found her.
Rather than making her feel trapped, she felt cared for, needed, and wanted. And she would do her best to see that they never walked the path Thomas and Ella had trod.
Erik arrived then and greeted them, his expression expectant, his smile eager. “Are ye ready? ’Tis time to go.”
Fiona stood and, after a glance at Mary, nodded. “I am.” She turned to her friend. “I dinna ken when I’ll see ye again, but I will.”
“Aye, ye will,” Mary agreed, shifting her gaze to Erik to give him a chance to concur.
“Aye, of course. We will visit, and ye are welcome at Ross at any time. I am grateful to ye for yer care of my wife, and for the Rose agreeing to this alliance and our marriage. If ye will excuse me for a moment, I’ll go give him our farewell.”
“I will have to tell him for ye. He hasna come down from his chamber yet. Perhaps he will in time to see ye as ye sail away.”
Erik nodded, “Aye, perhaps he will.” He took Fiona’s hand. “Let us be on our way home.”
Home. The word echoed in Fiona’s head. Rose was home. Inverness was home. And soon, Ross would be as well.
After Fiona made her farewells to Lia and a few other friends, Erik escorted her to the Ross birlinn and saw her safely on board.
Then he left her to watch him launch the boat and get them underway.
She studied him as they prepared to leave, enjoying his mastery of the vessel and the men working with him.
This, she thought, must be the Laird Erik at his best, his men working with him, not for him, toward a common goal.
And he, part of the effort to make happen what they strove for.
She could see why the alliance and their marriage meant so much to him.
In this case, he’d done everything he could to reassure her, as well as succeeding in the larger goal of peace between four clans.
And now he was on the way home with his wife.
His Lady Ross. Fiona wondered what his next goal would be.
Erik watched Fiona as she settled onto a seat on board the birlinn and wondered what she was thinking.
She appeared calm, but surely she was fearful of the change in her life.
She was strong and brave, but it would be up to him to help her make her place in Ross.
Once they pushed off, he moved to her. “How are ye feeling about this?”
“Nervous, of course. When do ye think we’ll arrive?”
“Before sunset if the firth remains this calm. There will be enough wind for the sails soon, so we’ll no’ have to row the entire way.” He knew she wasn’t nervous about crossing the firth as much as about arriving at Ross.
“Tell me about yer keep. Yer village.”
Erik fought not to wince. They didn’t have a keep, barely a village. But he was intent on changing that. “Ye ken we have a village on a bluff above a series of coves. Small thatched dwellings. Naught so grand as the Rose keep. But warm enough and dwellings enough for everyone.”
“But…?”
So she’d heard the hesitation in his tone. “’Tis indefensible. I’ve set the men to building a curtain wall, and when that is done, a hall, and a proper dwelling for the laird. Not just me—or us—but any who come after.”
“Ye have great plans.”
“I do. Donas wasted time and manpower on fighting and little else. Nay clan can thrive like that.”
“How do ye live then?”
A pang of guilt unsettled his belly. He should have told her all of this before making her his wife, when she still could have bowed out of their marriage.
Instead, he selfishly made her his and ensured that she would feel obligated to help him.
“Off the bounty of the firth and the surrounding forest. Some small plots where the lasses grow what those dinna provide.”
“Do ye have a healer? Or a smithy? How do ye come by weapons to defend the clan?”
Erik frowned, embarrassed to admit his clan’s past. “Even if the victory wasna ours, Donas collected weapons from every battle we fought until every man was armed by the warriors they defeated. He collected more arms abandoned on the battlefield when we won. Lasses, too.” He held up a hand.
“I ken what it sounds like. And what it was. Ye ken about the latest stolen brides. But Donas is dead and I am changing the way we live. With yer help, we will make more progress.”
“We shall be busy,” she remarked, but her tone seemed thoughtful, not fearful. Again he thought how fortunate he was in finding this woman.
“We shall, but it will be good work, no’ fighting for nay reason.”
“Unless Domhnall calls for yer men?”
“Ye ken the Laird of the Isles?”
“I ken who he is. ’Tis all. I was still in Inverness when the bridge burned. ’Twas said his men did it.”
“We dinna ken why.” Erik shrugged. “Ye lived there when I saw ye.”