Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Anna gave a startled squeal and scrambled away from the bed. She had not expected MacMillan to come up to his room so soon. And now that he was here...
She swallowed, her throat clenching painfully as she did so. He was so very tall, and as he came toward her, removing his sword from his belt, Anna felt an instant of panic before realizing he meant her no harm. “I-I just wanted to leave you a small token o-of m-my—”
“Aye? A token?” He set his sword on a nearby table.
Dear God, his voice was pure highland moss, thick and rich. “For helping my friend. A-and me, too!” The man had done more for her in one day than anyone had done in the past ten years since Gudrun’s death.
She pointed to the bowl of raspberries she’d left on the bolster of his bed and realized she should not have been referring in any way to the man’s bed. ’Twas much too forward, and he might mistake her meaning.
Herregud. She ought not to have come up here at all!
“Well,” she said, taking a step to go past him to the door, but he stopped her progress with one hand on her arm. “I-I hope you enjoy them. The berries, I mean.”
“I’m sure I will. How is your neck?”
“Sore, but I’ll ...”
He untied the cloth at her throat and used his thumb to tip her head up. Anna suppressed a shiver at his touch and studied his eyes and the elegant arch of his thick, dark brow as he gently touched her throat.
“ ... I’ll survive.”
“Aye. You will.” His eyes rested upon each of her features before he dropped his hand to his side. “Did the bastard drown?”
Anna shook her head. “Not that I heard.”
The air in Anna’s lungs seemed to seep out of her as the laird lost interest in her, and walked past the bed to the window to look outside. Anna knew there was naught to see but a steep cliff and the sea beyond. “You must take care, then,” he said, not dismissing her at all. “A bully doesn’t generally take kindly to being beaten by a stranger. Over a woman.”
“But you weren’t—”
“ ’Tis the way he’ll see it,” MacMillan said with finality. As though he had some experience with such men. He turned to look at her. “Take care.”
She wondered which man would stay—MacMillan or Macauley.
’Twould be a fine competition, indeed. For those who were interested.
Anna returned to the kitchen. There was much more work to be done with the Braemore guests arriving a day early. She tamped down her desperate eagerness to return to Janet Carnegie’s cottage for Kyla, and went to work next to Flora. She hoped the healer managed to keep Kyla from leaving, at least until Anna returned and could convince her to stay at the castle that night, or, if she was well enough, in their secret cave on Spirit Isle.
“Are ye ready to tell me what happened down at the dock?” Flora asked.
Anna shrugged. “I told you most of it. Birk was drunk. He beat his wife. Kyla came to my curragh just as Lachann MacMillan arrived on the pier.”
“Nay!”
Anna nodded. “He caught her before she collapsed and carried her up to Janet’s cottage.”
“Sweet heaven above,” Flora said.
Anna began to scrub some of the cooking pots. Of course Catrìona would learn of the incident, but Anna did not see how her stepsister could possibly hold MacMillan’s actions against her. “Tell me the rest,” Fiona said. “Birk came after ye then?”
“Aye. MacMillan had already settled Kyla inside and left Janet’s cottage. But soon enough, Birk stormed in and went for Kyla again.”
“Dear God.” Flora closed her eyes and said a silent prayer. “I suppose ye got in his way.”
“Of course I did. I wasn’t about to let him kill Kyla before our eyes.”
“And so he attacked ye.”
“Aye, I thought he would kill me in his rage. But MacMillan came back inside,” Anna explained. “He must have seen Birk on the road as he returned to the pier and realized what the wily bastard was about.”
“So ’twas our Braemore guest who saved ye from Birk’s wrath.”
Anna gave a quick nod. She did not want to think about the big man’s caress, or the expression in his eyes when he’d looked at her, but she found it difficult to put them from her mind.
“He’s a right splendid-looking fellow,” Flora said. “As braw a highlander as ever I’ve seen.”
Anna felt her cheeks heat, for she’d been thinking the very same thing.
“I wonder if the Braemore man knows Cullen Macauley has come to wed yer stepsister, too,” Flora said.
Anna shrugged, demonstrating an indifference she did not quite feel. “Getting Kyla to safety is all I care about.”
“Then ye must hie yerself down to Janet’s cottage and move her before Birk regains his senses enough to understand he’s been bested.”
“Aye. As soon as the meal is served and cleared,” Anna said. “If I go before, they’ll notice my absence. Besides, I won’t leave you with all this work and only Nighean and Meg to help you.”
“And wee Glenna.”
Anna smiled as she glanced at the young maid. Flora had taken her under her wing, just as Gudrun had done for Kyla and Anna all those years ago.
But the lass was observant, and paid far too close attention to all that was said in the kitchen. The servants knew ’twas necessary to guard their tongues when Glenna was about. ’Twould not do to have their opinions restated elsewhere.
The laird’s heavy oaken table in the great hall was full—covered with platters of food brought by the serving maid. All of Lachann’s men had been invited to join in for a welcoming feast, so they sat ’round it, alongside the laird and his daughter—and Macauley.
“What do you know of fighting ships, MacMillan?” Macauley asked from his place across from Lachann. Catrìona sat beside her father, next to Macauley. She sat quietly, her eyes following a white and black cat that came into the hall and sat down to groom itself before the fireplace. She appeared to lack any interest in the conversation.
“I know that the Spaniards sailed three-masted frigates when they came to the highlands on their ill-advised campaign last year,” Lachann replied.
“On their ill-adv—?”
“And that the Sassenach navy has yet to take an interest in our western shores,” Lachann continued without giving Macauley a chance to interrupt. It aggravated him no end to see Catrìona seated beside Macauley when Lachann was to be her husband.
“Do ye think that’ll change any time soon, MacMillan?” Laird MacDuffie queried.
Lachann tamped down his irritation. He was older and wiser now, and none of the bitter hatred he felt for Macauley would serve him now. “Only when the highlands have something they want,” he said to the laird. “Or when the Jacobites rise again.”
There was silence after Lachann’s last words. He knew naught of another uprising, and frankly hoped that if there was one, ’twould not happen anytime soon. In his opinion, it did not serve the highlanders well to call attention to themselves. The northern lands might have an opportunity to prosper only if they could get through a decade or two without warfare. Only then would they be ready to bring back their king....
Ever since Lachann and Dugan had located the hidden French treasure, the MacMillans had used their wealth to assist neighboring allies in paying their rents, for strength and friendship in the region served everyone. They’d helped numerous others sort out difficulties arising from floods and famines, and from the loss of diseased livestock. They’d brought in grain, and cattle or sheep for the poorest clans to help them prosper. But the MacMillan brothers had been circumspect about it, not wishing to make their newfound riches too obvious.
Dugan had not done anything ostentatious beyond his purchase of MacMillan lands from the Duke of Argyll. That secret was safe, for the old duke would never let it be known that he’d been bested by a highland laird who’d found a vast treasure while the duke had searched futilely for it.
“Let us have no talk of Jacobites tonight,” MacDuffie said, raising his glass and downing a full draught of whiskey.
The laird had already swallowed more than one man’s share of spirits, and Lachann had noted from the first that the man did not have the look of a robust highlander. His complexion was sallow and his eyes lacked focus. Lachann could not help but wonder whether something ailed him.
Something besides too much whiskey.
“I wholly disagree with MacMillan,” Macauley said. “The clans learned their lesson in ’15 and will not be so quick to go to war again. ...”
“Mayhap, but there is always the danger of raiders. Pirates,” Lachann said. He turned to MacDuffie. “Laird, do I have the authority to begin training the men to repel such an attack—as we agreed in our correspondence?”
The old man shifted in his chair. “Aye,” he said quietly.
Lachann breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in his chair as Macauley took charge of the conversation. If MacDuffie had changed his mind, Lachann would have had to make a decision: take Kilgorra by force, or return to Braemore without accomplishing the goal that was so vital to his clan. He glanced at Duncan, who shot him a look of caution.
Aye. Best to keep his mouth shut now, just as Catrìona had been doing all through the meal. She had said naught to Lachann, but as Lachann looked across the table at her, she smiled and slid one finger down the length of her neckline.
He was certain ’twas meant as a flirtatious gesture, but he found her to be as interesting as the pitcher of ale on the table before him.
Lachann took a sip from his mug and noticed Macauley looking at him with utter loathing in his eyes, which he quickly masked. ’Twas clear he held naught but contempt for Lachann.
They were even, then.
Nay, Lachann had the advantage. MacDuffie would never allow his daughter to choose the man with less wealth and fewer resources.
At least, Lachann did not think so.
But then MacDuffie drank yet another glass of whiskey, and Lachann had to wonder at the man’s sensibility. MacDuffie tried to refill his glass but found the bottle at his elbow empty. “Where is that damned wench, anyway?” he demanded, his words slightly slurred. “Call for more whiskey.”
Catrìona got up from her chair beside Macauley and went to the top of the stairs, where Anna had nearly fallen awhile earlier under the weight of that absurdly weighted tray.
“Anna!” she called.
“What brings you to Kilgorra, MacMillan?” Macauley asked, and Lachann realized the laird must have said naught to him of Lachann’s intentions.
He gave his old rival a hard glare. “I might ask the same of you, Macauley.”
The other man laughed. “To be sure, I plan to ... help Kilgorra open trade with the lowlands. And perhaps England and France.”
Lachann glanced at Duncan, whose expression was carefully schooled to give no reaction at all. Lachann wondered if Macauley was serious, but he was not about to question the man now.
Anna emerged from the stairs with another whiskey bottle for the laird, as well as a tray of fruit and cheese. She kept her eyes down and served the table efficiently, picking up the pitcher of ale and refilling everyone’s mug.
When she came to stand beside Lachann, he could not refrain from inhaling deeply of her scent, and he thought of the raspberries she’d brought him. They were the same color as her bonny lips.
Lachann quickly turned his attention to his intended bride. “I look forward to exploring your isle, Catrìona.”
“Aye?” she replied. She pushed away from the table and came to Lachann’s side, easing Anna away. She reached for the tray the maid had brought and pressed her breast against Lachann’s shoulder as she moved.
Lachann realized he needed to generate some enthusiasm for the woman. “Will you be free on the morrow to ride with me?”
“No, she will not,” Macauley interjected. He faced Catrìona squarely, with irritation. “You are spending the day with me, if you recall.”
Catrìona looked away from Macauley and smiled down at Lachann. “I regret I cannot go with you on the morrow, Lachann,” she said. “But the day after?”
Lachann felt Macauley’s glare.
“Aye,” he said.
“I do apologize, Lachann,” Catrìona said sweetly, leaning into him. “If only I’d known ...”
Damn all if he would apologize for arriving early after altering his plan to stop at Callachulain to visit his elderly uncle. He’d wanted no delays, for his purpose on Kilgorra was essential to the protection and safety of Braemore. Leave it to a Macauley to sabotage his intentions.
Lachann maintained a semblance of calm, remembering that Macauley had had some time to court the woman, so she knew him. The only questions were how well, and whether Lachann could supplant him.
At least Macauley did not seem to have started recruiting men for an army. Lachann had the advantage there.
“Laird MacDuffie, we saw no guards when we came into the harbor,” Kieran said. “Is that because you were expecting us?”
“Kilgorra is a peaceful isle, ” Macauley answered for MacDuffie. He kept his eyes upon Catrìona as she left Lachann’s side and returned to her place at the table. “We have naught to fear.”
We?
Fury simmered just beneath Lachann’s surface, and his hands were oh so ready to draw his sword. But there had been no open warfare between the MacMillans and Macauleys since that final battle when Lachann had taken Ewan hostage. Matters had quieted, even after the debacle with Fiona, but naught had been settled.
And Macauley was ahead in the game of rivalry he was playing. Lachann knew how easily rumors spread in the highlands. He was certain Macauley must have gotten wind of his intentions to come to Kilgorra and wed Catrìona. The blighter had seen it as an opportunity to thwart Lachann while he bettered his lot.
Just as he’d done on Skye.
At least this time Lachann had no intimate connection to the bride. She was merely the means to an end.
Lachann eased his hand away from the hilt of his sword and turned his attention to Laird MacDuffie. Was the man so well jaked that he had lost all influence over his daughter? Would he actually allow her to choose Macauley?
Anna clipped down a back staircase when she finished in the great hall, then stood in the shadowy corridor outside the kitchen with her back against the wall.
Her reaction to Lachann MacMillan was unwarranted and unwelcome. She would brace herself next time she needed to be in his presence, and somehow ignore the remarkable sensations that skittered through her when she stood near him.
She wondered if this was anything like the attraction Kyla had felt for Birk when he’d first begun coming ’round to court her. He’d been such a fine young man then, strong, but attentive and sweet. And when Kyla had fallen wildly in love with him, Anna had been envious of her friend. She’d thought perhaps she might like to fall in love, too....
But no Kilgorran had affected her the way Birk had done with Kyla. And now that everyone on the isle knew how well that had turned out, Anna had concluded she was far better off keeping to herself. She would live out her life as Gudrun had done, content in her small cottage behind the castle gardens. ’Twas far safer.
But Anna couldn’t avoid Lachann MacMillan entirely, for he’d moved into the keep and she had duties to perform near, and even inside, his bedchamber. She would just have to figure some way to make herself immune to his appeal.
Mayhap she would picture him as the troll in one of Gudrun’s tales—the horrible creature that hid beneath the bridge as the billy goats tried to pass.
Anna snorted at the very idea.
Lachann MacMillan was anything but a troll, as her drumming heart attested.
“Anna? Is that ye back there?” Flora called out.
“Aye,” Anna replied, stepping into the kitchen.
“We can finish up with all the doings in the great hall without ye,” Flora said. “Go on down to Janet’s and see about Kyla.”
“Aye, soon. I’ll just take this last tray up to them,” Anna said in spite of herself.
“But—”
“ ’Twill not delay me much.”
Anna took the tray before Flora could protest any further, but she stopped before she reached the top of the stairs. She paused, balancing the tray against the wall as she smoothed her apron and slid the few loose strands of her hair into her braid before entering the hall.
MacMillan looked right at her as she crested the top step. And he looked away just as quickly.
Ach, fine then. Anna wanted naught to do with him, either.