Chapter 20
Chapter 20
Lachann needed to get away from the castle before he did something so completely daft...
Something more than merely kissing Anna MacIver.
What he would not do to give in to his body’s demands. He wanted the fair lass with a passion he had not felt since—
He muttered a low curse. He could not remember ever feeling such intense desire for a woman—certainly not since he and Dugan had found their fortune and neighboring lairds had brought their kinswomen to Braemore with the hope that he would marry one of them.
Not even Fiona...
She’d been a sweet and beautiful woman, no more than a lass, really. But her passion had been spent upon following her father’s dictates. Not on Lachann, the man she’d claimed to love.
The path to the pier was dark, but Lachann had no difficulty seeing his way to the harbor and then finding the public house where he knew Duncan and Kieran and the others had decided to go after supper, while he’d gone off to the chapel yard with Catrìona.
And what an odd circumstance that had turned out to be.
Her wild fury at being thwarted by a couple of children was disturbing. No harm had been done, and yet she would have sent the two lads to the hulking blacksmith for an undue punishment.
Mungo Ramsay had no business seeing to the discipline of the castle children—of any children.
Again, Lachann had to wonder what kind of wife and mother Catrìona would make, and whether he could remedy her unsuitability. Gesu, thinking of it made his head ache.
He arrived at the public house, tied up his horse, and stepped inside. ’Twas not a large room, and by the light of a few meager candles, he saw several long tables with benches and a number of Kilgorran men sitting at them, talking with Lachann’s clansmen.
Lachann recognized most of the men, and several voices called out their greetings. He gave them a nod and picked up a mug of ale from the barkeep, then went to one of the long benches where he took a seat next to the priest, Father Herriot.
“We were just talking about the pirate attack last year,” Duncan said.
“Aye?”
“We had naught to fight them with,” said Donald MacRae. “The men who tried to stop them from raiding the distillery were killed.”
“They had pistols and rifles,” another man added.
“Against our puny swords.” MacRae took a long pull of ale.
Father Herriot spoke. “The fishermen were all out to sea when the pirate ship sailed into the harbor. By the time they managed to get back ’twas too late.”
“Will your brigantine return to Kilgorra, Lachann?” MacRae asked.
Lachann nodded, even though his future on the isle was far from certain. He had not anticipated Catrìona being quite so ... inapt.
“Well, with the guns on the Glencoe Lass and those cannons you brought, we’ll not be so vulnerable next time,” Rob MacPherson said.
“If there is a next time,” someone argued. “They got what they wanted. Why would they return?”
“Do’na be daft, Ferguson. Of course they’ll be back!”
“Aye, ’tis a surprise they’ve not come sooner ...”
Lachann gave only half his attention to the argument. It reminded him very much of the heated discussions that took place in the public house at Braemore, whether the stakes were high or low. The men were opinionated, and vociferous, especially as the ale in the pitchers diminished.
Lachann felt right at home.
If only Catrìona could be slightly more amenable. He did not look forward to another walk to the chapel grounds with her.
But Lachann was nothing if not a determined man. He had goals to accomplish that were no less than those of his brother three years before, when he’d gone after a cache of gold that had only been rumored to exist. No one had expected Dugan to succeed. And yet he had.
Lachann owed his clan no less than the protection he could provide them through this alliance with Kilgorra. If Dugan could keep the MacMillans from being evicted from their lands, Lachann could see to it that no enemy ever succeeded in raiding Braemore from the sea.
He would figure a way.
“What of the distillery?” Lachann asked. “Who is in charge there?”
“Geordie Kincaid,” said one of the men. “And he is no’ a happy or contented man at the moment.”
“All would be well if no’ for that blathering neep from the castle,” Donald MacRae remarked in a disgusted tone.
“Macauley?” Lachann said.
“Ach, aye.”
“What’s he done?”
“Only taken a thirty-year barrel of brew and had it put into special bottles for the laird.”
Lachann frowned. “Is it not the laird’s right to—”
“Aye, most definitely. ’Twould’na be a problem, MacMillan,” MacRae said. “But that barrel and two others like it were promised to the MacDonald chieftain of Skye.”
Lachann understood the problem instantly. The MacDonald laird was Fiona’s father. And reneging on a promised shipment of whiskey was a deliberate slight of the man, an insult Kilgorra could ill afford. Lachann wondered how this related to Macauley’s time on Skye. Or his departure from that isle.
No doubt he would find out when the Glencoe Lass returned with the Cameron brothers from their visit to Skye.
“I suppose there are no other aged whiskeys that could be substituted.”
The men shook their heads. “Nay, Laird. Those were our oldest, and without a doubt our best.”
“Mayhap we can find some way to appease the MacDonald.”
“Aye,” MacRae said. “The laird of Skye has been wanting an alliance with Kilgorra, but our laird has put off any talks of an alliance.”
That made no sense to Lachann. “Why?”
“Because he has no one of good sense to advise him,” MacPherson said.
Lachann considered this as a large, bald-pated man Lachann did not recognize came into the public house. All became quiet when the man sat down at the table across from Lachann and looked him directly in the eyes.
“Ye’re the one that chucked m’ son into the sea?”