Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
T hat afternoon Lucy walked down to the dock where Garia told her the laird kept his boats to meet Tair.
The stained, shabby dress and apron the maid had given her to wear were two sizes too big and smelled faintly of sour milk, which annoyed her.
The slippers she had borrowed from the maid were too wide for her narrow feet, and flopped a little with every step she took.
She had to be careful not to tread on the hem of the too-long skirt, too.
From the familiar sound of heavy trudging behind her she knew who was shadowing her, and glanced back to confirm her suspicion.
“Come here, Beinn MacRune.” Lucy waited as the big man lumbered up to her with a distinctly sheepish look on his unscarred face. “Why are you following me this time? ”
“I wished beg your pardon, Mistress.” He shuffled his boots in the leaf debris on the trail. “’Twasnae kind for me to torment you.” He hesitated and then added in a low whisper, “I didnae wish to, you ken. Seneschal ever claims ’tis my duty to scare the outsiders.”
“I see.” Lucy would have to deal with Sgathan when she returned. “It’s all right, then. Why don’t we be friends?”
The big man tilted his head as if unsure of what she’d asked. “Why should you wish a friend that torments you?”
“Because it’s better than having you as an enemy.
You’ll stop now, right?” When he nodded she held out her hand.
“Give me your hand.” When he did she clasped and shook it.
“This is a custom in America, the country where I was born. When we shake hands it’s like saying we both agree to something. Now we’re friends.”
Beinn looked at his palm when she released his hand. “You dinnae wish shed blood or dance about a fire to seal the pledge?”
“Not today, why?” she asked, keeping a straight face.
He scratched the back of his head. “’Tis a pact, our handshake. In my croft when two made such, ah.” He glanced past her, bowed and then turned and ran back toward the stronghold.
As he came to stand beside her Tair watched the big man disappear into the trees. “You’ve bewitched the lad.”
“No, I was just nice to him. You should be, too.” She glowered back at the stronghold. “Just so you’re aware, I’m going to have words with Sgathan when we get back. Many words. Many, many harsh words. There may be some shin kicking involved.”
He nodded. “Keep your back to a wall when you do.”
She considered ramming her elbow into his side, but she’d probably get herself locked up in the dungeons again. “Ready to sail?”
The boat that waited for them at a very rough-looking dock had two guards sitting on benches inside it; both were holding oars.
Tair jumped in first and then turned and lifted her off the dock before she could do the same.
He carried her over to the bench at the front of the boat and sat down there, plopping her on his lap.
When she tried to shift off him he wrapped an arm around her waist.
“We’re not crossing an ocean,” Lucy said. “Can’t I sit by myself?”
“No.” He turned his head and nodded at the guards, who cast off and started rowing them away from the island.
For the first time since she’d dropped into this world Lucy got a good look at the castle, which was much larger than she’d realized.
Made of massive blocks of dark gray stone, it seemed like something from a dark fantasy movie, a villain’s castle, with a long-haired princess locked up in the highest tower.
The logistics of how the MacRune had built the place defied logical explanation.
What had they used to transport all that rock across the loch?
The waters seemed very deep, and this oversize rowboat couldn’t have handled the weight of even one big block.
As they moved farther away from the island Lucy saw more of the intimidating way the stronghold had been designed, with only slits for windows and two high walls surrounding it.
Like the few that remained intact in her time, it had been constructed to safeguard a lot of people from an attacking enemy—and for good reason.
There were plenty of wars coming over the next hundred years or so as the English kings tried to press their claims to the northern country.
“Warfare is a way of life for the clans here in this time,” she murmured, recalling James Talbot’s many stories about the fiercely independent Scots. “Is that why the MacRune stay on the island? To try and avoid the conflicts?”
Tair grunted, which was his favorite response whenever she asked him something he didn’t want to answer.
“Why don’t you want anyone from the outside world coming to your castle?
” Lucy looked back at him, hoping he would finally admit to his clandestine raids, but saw that he was becoming aggravated.
Shadows fell over them as the clear sky overhead suddenly grew cloudy.
“Why does the weather change so fast here?”
“Do you reckon I’ll spill all of our secrets to you?” he countered.
He sounded different now, more on guard, as if she’d poked him in a sore spot.
“You seem to have a lot of them.” Lucy discovered she was leaning back against his chest and stiffened. “You’re not going to shackle me to you while we’re at the market, are you?”
He tucked his arm around her waist. “Mayhap I’ll but tie you to me.”
As the storm clouds grew darker the guards rowed like their lives depended on crossing the water in record time.
When they reached the shallows Lucy couldn’t see any dock, and then yelped as Tair scooped her up, stepped off the boat and waded to the bank with her, dropping her on her slippered feet.
“Thank you.” She looked down at his sodden trousers and boots. “Why don’t you build a dock on this side?”
“The vassals did, over there.” He gestured to the other side of the loch. “I dinnae show myself leaving Gealladh so readily. Our enemies would attack me here.”
Lucy wondered if he really thought she’d believe his nonsense. “Because all they do is wait for that sterling opportunity?”
As lightning crackled overhead Tair folded his arms. “Do you wish see the folk at the village market, or no’?”
“Lead on, please.” Lucy was startled when a man came out of the trees leading two horses with wooden saddles. “Ah, I haven’t ridden in ages.”
“’Tisnae for you.” He took hold of the reins of one horse while one of the guards came and got the other. He then boosted Lucy up into the front of the saddle before swinging up behind her.
The bumpy ride from the loch to the village proved thankfully short, taking them through the trees and along a dirt road to a settlement that appeared picturesque and prosperous.
Lucy smiled at the small cottages with their thatched roofs and stone walls, around which all sorts of flowers and vegetable gardens had been planted.
Goats and pigs occupied some small pens here and there, and chickens and ducks squawked from huts built against an outside wall.
She smelled roasting meat and baking bread, and something like cider.
“This is charming,” she said to the laird as he reined in the horse, and swung off. She would have done the same, but he grabbed her before she could. When he lowered her to the ground he let the front of her body slide slowly against his. “You’re not playing fair.”
“Why should I?” he countered, and then handed off the reins of his horse to the guard, who rode with it to a nearby hitching post. “Here you’re my maid servant. Dinnae speak to me unless ’tis to say aye or no, and call me my lord. Aye, and keep close to me.”
Lucy thought that was all ridiculous, but it would probably be a good idea not to draw too much attention.
She followed him at a modest two-step distance, trying to take in everything she saw while behaving like a modest servant.
Outside their front doors many of the cottages had tables piled with fruits and vegetables, and as they walked into the heart of the settlement Lucy saw some tents, carts and stands set up on a kind of rough village green.
Everyone seemed busy, most happy, but here and there were some gloomy faces.
The people selling didn’t look particularly rich, but they were dressed a little better than the villagers perusing their goods.
At the sight of Tair all the smiles vanished, and more than one seller turned their back on him and Lucy as they pretended to be occupied with their extra supplies.
Only one big, dark-eyed widow with a crown of messy orange braids who was selling hunks of cheese stepped out from behind her stand and curtseyed to Tair.
“Fair morning, my lord.” She flicked a glance at Lucy before she asked, “How may we serve the MacRune today?”
“I seek someone familiar with local legends, Eilish,” he said. “Particularly those concerning the Fae folk and their treasures.”
“Och, then you’ll wish speak with auld Heremon, the herbalist, my lord.” The cheese seller pointed to a ramshackle cart filled with tied bundles of dried plants at the end of the green. “He’s told tales of the Fae to our bairns for as long as I remember.”
Lucy caught Tair’s arm when he would have walked away, and murmured, “Buy something from the lady, my lord, to thank her for her, ah, aid. ”
Eilish’s dark eyes narrowed, but she smiled at the laird when he held out some coins. “I’ve a new batch of black crowdie your cook favors.” She offered him a small crock in exchange, which Tair handed to Lucy. “Tell Ronan if he desires more cheddar, I’ve a batch that’s near finished ageing.”
“My thanks.” The laird nodded as she curtseyed again.
Lucy remembered to curtsey, a bit awkwardly, before she followed Tair to the herbalist’s cart. The old man, who wore a battered felt hat and had a three-foot-long silver beard, squinted at them for a moment before he bowed.
“Laird MacRune, how may I serve?” Heremon asked in a low, rasping voice.
Tair eyed Lucy. “Ask.”