Chapter 28
Chapter 28
Anna awoke alone. In Lachann MacMillan’s bed.
Herregud!She must have fallen asleep in his arms. She clambered out of bed and reached for the towel she’d used last night, and found that someone had picked up the clothes she’d left on the floor outside the bathing room.
It had to have been Lachann. He’d hung them over the back of a chair to be ready when she awoke and wanted to leave his room.
She lay back on the bed and covered her eyes with her arm. Ach, what could she have been thinking last night?
She had not thought. That was the problem. Just like yesterday, she’d allowed the attraction she’d felt to rule her actions...
Except what she felt for Lachann was nothing as simple as a mere attraction. What she felt was far more than was sensible or prudent. She would not have given him her maidenhead otherwise.
Feeling more than a little bit desperate, she got up again and dressed quickly. Dashing down the stairs, she flew past the main floor and down to the servants’ quarters. She pushed into her room without delay and closed the door tightly behind her as tears welled in her eyes.
Dear God, she had done it again. Allowed her heart to rule her actions.
But she could not allow it to happen again. A few days on her wee isle, and her good sense would return as sound as ever. She would let the healing waters of the loch restore her, and when she returned...
Well, she would deal with Catrìona’s marriage to Lachann then.
But a shudder of desire rippled through her, and she feared her body would not soon forget the sensation of Lachann’s touch—of his mouth on her, of his body joined to hers....
Anna swallowed and closed her eyes tightly. She ached in odd places—places that would receive relief only from Lachann’s manly caress, which was absolutely the last thing she should have wanted.
And yet, if she was honest, she knew ’twould be all she could think of, even when she was away on Spirit Isle.
When Lachann arrived in the village, men were already working to remove the charred remains of the granary. The rain had let up, but it was messy, muddy work.
Lachann went into the tavern, where Geordie Kincaid was already discussing the new building with a handful of carpenters. He took the man aside.
“Have them build it to your exact specifications,” Lachann told him, “with an eye toward increasing your production over the next few years.”
“But the cost—”
“I will cover the cost, Kincaid. This is an opportunity to modernize, and we must make the most of it.”
“Aye. I will, sir.”
“When the Glencoe Lass returns, I’ll send her for any supplies not available on Kilgorra,” Lachann said, for his ship should return with news from Skye within a day or two, at most. “And if improvements are needed at the distillery, include those, as well.”
Lachann had decided Macauley would never become laird here. Even if the dolt wed Catrìona.
He left the building wondering not for the first time what Macauley’s purpose was in keeping Laird MacDuffie drunk. If it was to make the old man ill and unable to make reasonable decisions, it seemed to be working. Sometimes the laird seemed not to know where he was, or in whose company.
Macauley’s machinations might have worked if Lachann had not arrived on the isle. The man was welcome to Catrìona, but not to Kilgorra or its people.
Lachann met the three MacPherson brothers when he rode up to the top of Roscraig Peak. As they looked down, they could see the devastated area ’round the granary site, and the men working to clear the area. ’Twas bad, but it could have been so much worse. The distillery was not far from the granary, and there were other buildings nearby, as well. If the fire had been allowed to spread, they might never have managed to stop it.
“Good morn to you, Lachann,” Boyd said. “Ach, ’tis a dismal sight, is it not?”
Lachann nodded.
“Will we continue our training until the lumber and the rest of the supplies are ready for the rebuilding?” Boyd asked.
“That is a very good idea,” Lachann said. The better to thwart Macauley’s plan. He looked out at the sea beyond Anna’s isle. “No need to waste these few days. As soon as the men are gathered, I’ll talk to them about what we’re going to do.”
Tavish tipped his head toward the devastation. “Granny says it could have been Birk Ramsay who started the fire.”
“Aye? Birk Ramsay? What reason would he have for destroying the granary?”
“None at all. Nor did he have reason to destroy his own birlinn last year. But his temper has not been the same since he cracked his head. And now that he drinks ... well, a drunk is not always in full possession of his reason.”
Lachann had not thought any of the islanders would create such havoc. But someone like Ramsay would not need a reason.
“Do you know where he is?”
All three shook their heads. “You know he lies about in one of the caves on the western shore.”
“Aye, I’ve heard.” ’Twas where he’d believed Anna had been going the previous day, and the thought of her facing the man alone had been more than a tad alarming.
He’d given her only the most rudimentary of lessons in self-defense, and Lachann seriously doubted she was any kind of match for an angry Birk Ramsay. He needed to talk to her about avoiding the man altogether. Gesu, the last thing he wanted was for her to be hurt.
“What do you think?” Lachann asked. “Is Birk responsible?”
Rob shook his head. “I just don’t see it. He’s more likely to set fire to his own cottage than go about ruining his chances for another drop of the uisge beatha.”
Which was equally unnerving to Lachann. He disliked the thought of further harm coming to Anna’s friend.
“He’ll go home once he’s sober and can face Kyla,” Tavish said.
“Is he violent when he’s sober?” Lachann asked.
“Not usually,” Boyd said. “But his sober days seem to come less often now.”
Anna threw on a cloak, picked up her basket, and went into the kitchen, where Flora and the other maids were at work.
“Where are ye off to in such a rush, lass?” Flora asked.
“To my isle,” she said.
Flora took her by the arms and faced her. “Ach, ye look flushed. Are ye all right, Anna?”
“Aye. I just need to get over to the—”
“Ye will’na be crossin’ the straits today,” Flora said. “The seas are rough and will likely stay that way through the day and all night, too.”
Anna swallowed her chagrin.
“What’s got into ye, lass? Ye’re all a’flutter this morn!”
“The laird suffered a mishap in the solar last night,” Anna replied. “I’m just worried—”
“Anna,” Graeme interrupted as he came into the kitchen, “yer wanted by Lady Catrìona.”
“Well, that one is up early,” Flora said. She turned to Anna. “Was the old man hurt?”
The thought of seeing Catrìona right now made Anna’s stomach roil. “Aye. He split open his head. No doubt Catrìona got up to see about him.” She turned to Graeme. “How is he?”
“I know naught,” he replied, putting up his hands to ward off her questions. “Alex is with him. Catrìona merely stuck out her head from the laird’s room and told me to fetch you.”
Anna calmed herself and put her things back into her bedroom, then climbed the steps to the great hall and made her way to the main staircase. All was quiet above, and she felt more than a wee bit of trepidation in returning to the room where she had succumbed to Lachann’s seduction.
Herregud,she could hardly believe she’d actually stood naked in the laird’s chamber, with Lachann MacMillan’s hands upon her.
Or that she would do it again, given the chance. She feared she could go away to Spirit Isle for a month and come back to Kilgorra still wanting him.
She paused on the stairs and pressed a hand against her chest. Mayhap she should just have Graeme tell Catrìona that he could not find her. Or that she’d gone for Janet Carnegie. Aye, that would be best—
“Anna!”
Too late. Catrìona saw her. “I’m coming.”
Anna reached the top of the stairs and followed Catrìona into her stepfather’s bedchamber.
“What is it?” Anna asked. “Is he—”
“Go and look at him.”
Anna stepped up to MacDuffie’s bedside. His forehead near the gash was red and swollen, but the stitches she’d made had held. The man cracked open his eyes and frowned at her. “Anna?” His voice was but a thin rasp. “Where ... where is Fenella?”
“He knows you!” Catrìona gasped.
Anna glanced at Catrìona, who stood with her arms crossed against her chest, her face turning a deep shade of red. Anna shrugged. “Why wouldn’t he know me?”
Catrìona made an incoherent sound but did not answer the question.
“Who is Fenella?”
“His sister. And he called me Lilas.” Anna knew that was Catrìona’s mother’s name. So that was what upset her. The laird had recognized Anna but not his own daughter.
Anna closed her eyes for a moment and swallowed. Ach, Laird, what have you done to me? “ ’Twas obviously just a moment’s confusion,” Anna said. “Did he recognize Graeme? Or Alex?”
Catrìona shook her head. “No.”
“Well, ’twas a nasty blow to his head. No wonder he’s confused. Shall I send someone to fetch Janet Carnegie?”
Catrìona dropped into a chair and covered her face with her hands. “To think only a month ago he was as hearty as any other man his age.”
“Where were you last night?” Anna asked. “We could have used your help.”
Catrìona suddenly abandoned her show of grief. “ ’Tis not your place to question me,” she snapped.
Anna sighed. Naught had changed. Her life was just as it had always been.
If not worse.
“I’ll send Graeme down to Janet’s cottage,” she said. “Mayhap she’ll know what more we should do.”
“Aye. And then you must clean up that mess in the solar. I don’t know why you left it overnight.”
Anna tried not to seethe. She did not want to feel any sympathy for Catrìona, who’d harassed and beleaguered her for most of her life. But she knew Catrìona felt as lonely as she, no matter how many men she’d seduced. Her stepsister had doted excessively upon her father, but the old man had never taken much notice of his only child.
Flora always said that if Laird MacDuffie paid Catrìona the least bit of attention, she would not go looking for it from any man who was too daft to know better than to dally with the laird’s daughter.
Anna took a half-empty bottle of whiskey from the laird’s table before leaving the room. She encountered Graeme in the great hall, carrying in a load of peat for the fires.
“How is the laird?”
“Ill. Confused,” Anna replied casually, as though her life had not been irrevocably changed. As though she had not given her heart and soul to a man she could have only in secret, and only when his duty to his wife did not prevent it. “He does not look good, Graeme. Will you run down to Janet Carnegie’s cottage and bring her back? I don’t know what to do for him, and Catrìona is useless.”
“Aye. After I finish stackin’ all this.”
Anna went down to the kitchen to collect the supplies she needed to clean the solar.
“So, the laird fell?” Flora asked.
Anna picked up Effie and held the cat under her chin, listening to her purr. “Aye. In the solar, smashing one of his precious whiskey bottles on the floor.”
“Ach, no! The thirty-year blend?”
Anna put Effie on the floor and picked up the half-full bottle she’d removed from the laird’s chamber, emptying it in the thick grass outside the kitchen. Thirty-year or three-year—she had no use for any of it.
“Ach, lass! What’re ye doin’?” Flora cried when she saw the amber liquid spilling out of the bottle.
“The laird won’t remember whether he drank it or not. Not in his present condition.”
Flora put one hand to her breast. “Ye could have saved it fer us. A wee dram would’na be amiss tonight, when ’tis time to lay a body down.”
“I am sorry, Flora. I didn’t think.” Anna had begun to hate the stuff. Birk was not the only drunkard in the village, and her stepfather—who had always imbibed too much, in her estimation—was incoherent more often than not these days. “I’ve sent Graeme for the healer.”
“Aye? The laird’s that bad off, then?”
“I sewed the gash in his forehead,” Anna replied, refusing to think what else she’d done. “Now he’s calling Catrìona by her mother’s name.”
“That can’na be good.”
“But he knew me.”
Flora placed a hand upon her breast and cast a wry look at Anna. “I’m sure that pleased Catrìona.”
Anna could do naught but shake her head helplessly. “I cannot imagine why he knew my name and not hers.”
“Whoever knows when such ...” The cook frowned as she tapped one finger against her mouth.
“What is it?” Anna asked.
“ ’Tis just so strange. The laird was well enough afore that arse Macauley came to our isle. I wonder ...”
“I don’t understand.”
“Ach, ’tis naught. What d’ye suppose will happen if the laird dies?”
Anna shuddered. Catrìona would marry one of her suitors. If she chose Macauley, the island would languish. It would be subject to more attacks like the one that had occurred the previous summer.
Of course Catrìona would marry Lachann MacMillan, and life on Kilgorra would improve. For all but Anna.
Flora tapped her fingers on the table, frowning, deep in thought. “Lachann MacMillan still knows naught of Catrìona’s men, does he?”
Anna felt as distraught as Flora seemed to be. No one on Kilgorra wanted to scare Lachann away with tales of Catrìona’s promiscuity. The people had made their decision about Macauley, and they wanted Lachann to toss the pompous neep from the isle, marry Catrìona, and assert his rights as her lawful husband.
“Ach, if Catrìona has the sense God gave her, she will choose MacMillan,” Flora said, wiping her hands on her apron, “much as I know the lad does’na deserve such a fate.”
Aye, ’twas exactly what Anna feared. But if she hoped otherwise, she would be betraying everyone on Kilgorra.