Chapter 31
Chapter 31
Anna felt her backbone go as stiff as a birlinn’s mast. She returned Birk’s glare coldly. “Aye, Birk Ramsay. ’Tis glad you should be that your wife plans to stay. It makes you a fortunate man, though you cannot possibly understand how fortunate.”
Birk turned to kiss Kyla’s temple while keeping his calculating eyes upon Anna. His behavior toward his wife was a gesture of possession and control and naught more.
“No, ’tis you who does’na know how fortunate,” he said, leveling a deadly gaze at Anna. “My wife and the bairn in her belly stay with me, ye meddlin’ witch.”
Anna’s eyes darted toward Kyla’s, and by her friend’s expression she knew that what Birk had said was true. Kyla was with child again. She would certainly not leave him now.
Anna walked out of the cottage, torn over what to do. At least Birk wasn’t drunk. Anna could walk away knowing the man would not knock his wife about. At least not right now.
Feeling worse than ever, Anna retraced her steps, returning to the pier. She was relieved that everyone seemed to be occupied—likely at the granary—for she met no one on her way back. She did not have to try to act as though all was well.
She stopped at her curragh, and when she gazed out at the sea, she knew that Flora was right. The water was too rough for a crossing to Spirit Isle. Even the fishermen must have thought twice about venturing out in their birlinns.
She did not see any of them now, but she did notice a massive schooner tacking toward the harbor. Its flag was a bright red color with a blue cross etched over it, and a smaller design in one corner—exactly like the cloth she’d found in the trunk with her mother’s things.
’Twas a Norwegian ship! Herregud. This was the ship that would take her to her Norse relations.
Away from Lachann and the woman he’d made his wife.
Lachann wanted to get back to Anna as soon as possible. But his prospects on the isle hinged on what transpired next—whether he would stay on Kilgorra as laird or return to Braemore and figure some other strategy for keeping his homeland safe from attack by sea.
He wanted to be able to tell Anna what their future would hold—whether they stayed here, or sailed down the lochs to make their home at Braemore.
He took Catrìona up to the laird’s bedchamber, where the stench of illness permeated the room. Lachann girded himself against the unwholesome air inside.
“Father?” Catrìona touched MacDuffie’s arm.
The man opened his eyes and gazed blankly into Catrìona’s face. “I do’na like all this, lass.”
“No, Father. I am sure you do not. You are ill, but you’ll soon be better.”
Lachann was not so sure. “Laird, I need a word with you.”
The old man turned his head to face Lachann and looked at him from beneath his thick brow. “Aye?”
“Father Herriot is on his way.”
The man looked at his daughter, then back at Lachann. “The last rites? Am I so very—”
“No, Laird,” Lachann said. “The priest is coming to act as witness.”
“Witness to what, sir?” Catrìona asked with more than a tinge of indignation to her voice.
“ ’Tis time to make me your heir,” Lachann said. “Macauley is unfit—we suspect he set the granary on fire in order to sabotage my efforts at building an army.”
“Why would he do such a thing?” MacDuffie demanded weakly.
“Because he wants me to fail in order to gain favor with you and take over.”
“But—”
“Or prevent me from training our men to defend the isle if I become laird. Then his clan will swoop down like a flock of carrion birds and bleed Kilgorra dry.”
“What proof ... ,” MacDuffie wheezed, “what proof ... do you have of this?”
“Besides his past history,” Lachann said, “he’s been keeping you too drunk to notice that he’s destroying your whiskey trade.”
“He is not,” Catrìona scoffed.
“Aye, he is.” Lachann turned back to MacDuffie. “And I would bring Geordie Kincaid up here to speak of it were you not so ill.”
MacDuffie began to cough, and Lachann gave him a moment. His suspicion that there was something more to the laird’s illness took on a new significance as he observed the old man. Macauley was without scruples, and Lachann suspected he was capable of murdering MacDuffie to achieve his ends. Murdering him slowly, perhaps.
“Laird, you must not drink anything more that Macauley brings you.”
“Why?” Catrìona demanded. “What are you suggesting?”
“Cullen Macauley and his clan have made a lifetime habit of preying on those who have not the resources to fight them,” Lachann replied.
MacDuffie’s eyes drifted shut and his mouth went slack. Damn all. Lachann could not lose his attention now.
“Laird,” Lachann said, and the man looked up. “Make me your heir. With Father Herriot as witness, give the word that I am to become laird in your place.”
“But what about the marr—”
“No conditions,” Lachann snapped. “I will train your men and arm the isle against invaders. I’ll make improvements to the distillery. Those factors must be enough.”
Catrìona made a sound of protest. “But—!”
“Silence,” the old man rasped. “You believe that is all I demand, Lachann MacMillan?”
Catrìona jabbed Lachann in the chest. “Do you think you can just turn up in our harbor and depose my father from his lairdship?”
“I did not come to depose him, Catrìona,” Lachann said.
“No, you came to marry me! Aye?” she demanded vehemently.
“That’s a wedding that will never take place,” Lachann retorted.
He felt his jaw clench tightly. He relaxed it forcibly, just as Graeme entered the room with Father Herriot. Laird MacDuffie gave a reluctant nod of resignation.
“Sit down, Catrìona,” Lachann said. “ ’Tis time for you to follow an order or two.”
Anna stood paralyzed, her hand at her breast. For years, she’d so desperately yearned to leave Catrìona and Laird MacDuffie. Now was her chance. This ship coming into the harbor was likely her only opportunity to escape the isle.
And yet the prospect of never seeing Lachann again did not seem quite so appealing now.
She closed her eyes tight and breathed deeply. She could not stay. She just could not face the life she would have if she stayed.
Resolved to do what she had to do, she returned to the castle, taking the overgrown path to Gudrun’s cottage. Once inside, she lit the candles and located the crate where she’d found her mother’s gown.
She undressed quickly, then took the deep blue gown out carefully. She slipped it over her head, telling herself she was doing the right thing—the only thing possible.
She managed to fasten the back of the gown, then tied the laces at the shoulders and neck. There were no shoes to go with it so Anna would go without, but she undid her usual braid, smoothed out her hair, and tied it in a simple knot at the crown of her head.
A few moments later, she left the cottage and started for the keep.
Lachann soon found that bringing Father Herriot to the castle to bear witness had not been necessary. Old MacDuffie bestowed the lairdship upon him without further argument, clearly shaken by Lachann’s warnings of Macauley’s treachery.
Even Catrìona had finally been taken aback.
“We make no formal transfer of power on Kilgorra, Laird,” Herriot said as he and Lachann left MacDuffie’s bedchamber and walked down to the main door of the keep. “The Kilgorran lairds have never performed any ceremony or signed any papers. You are MacDuffie’s heir, Laird of Kilgorra now, whether Bruce MacDuffie survives or not. I will begin to spread the word. Everyone on the isle will hear of it within the hour.”
“Thank you, Father, but I’m glad you witnessed his words.”
“Aye. ’Tis my honor to serve you, Laird MacMillan,” the man said.
Lachann walked with the priest to the door of the keep and saw him out. “I’ll need your services again in another day or ...”
He halted in front of the keep as a group of men dressed in fine, but foreign, garb came through the gates.
“Hagl slottet!” the leader called to him.
“Who are they?” he asked Herriot quietly.
The priest shrugged. “I do not know them, Laird.”
Lachann waited for the men to come closer.
“Greetings to you, sir,” said the first one in heavily accented speech.
“And to you,” Lachann said. He wondered if all traders were so well-heeled, and whether they all came up to the castle to conduct their business.
Or if this was something else altogether.
“We have come from the Norse country,” the man said. “I serve the Count of Leirvik, who has traveled to Scottish Kearvaig lands, and now Kilgorra, in hopes of finding here his sister and his niece.”
An older, silver-bearded man came forward. He was dressed in as fine a suit as any Lachann had ever seen. Lachann extended his hand. “Count Leirvik?”
The man took Lachann’s hand, nodding.
“Welcome. I am Lachann MacMillan, Laird of Kilgorra.” To Lachann, it felt absolutely right to say the words. “Come inside.”
Lachann took them into a comfortable sitting room near the great hall and found Alex MacRae already seeing to the fire.
“What can I do for you?” Lachann asked.
The guests settled themselves in chairs before the nobleman explained his business.
“Many years ago,” he said, “min s?ster—my sister—displeased my father, and so was taken far from home to wed the Laird of Kearvaig. I was a mere lad ... forbidden to go to her.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know your sister or niece, Count Leirvik,” Lachann said. “I’ve not heard of any Norsewomen here on the isle.”
Count Leirvik frowned.
“But I’ve only recently come to Kilgorra,” Lachann added as Catrìona came down the stairs and stood outside the room, listening.
“At Kearvaig, they told us Sigrid came to Kilgorra Island many years ago to marry MacDuffie. She brought with her the daughter, my niece, Annbj?rg.”
Catrìona made a rough sound of feminine dismay and quickly scuttled away as she dissolved into tears.
“I’m sorry, Count Leirvik, I know naught—”
“Laird ...” Alex spoke respectfully, touching Lachann’s sleeve. “I can explain this ...”
“Please do, Alex.”
“Sigrid was the widow of Laird Kearvaig when she came to Kilgorra and married Laird MacDuffie. Her daughter, Annbj?rg, came with her.”
“Ah. I understand,” the count said. “Then you will kindly fetch her—”
“No. Sir, I’m ...” Alex shook his head somberly. “Uh ... I am truly very sorry to tell you that Lady Sigrid perished within a year of her arrival here, while birthin’ Laird MacDuffie’s firstborn son.”
Count Leirvik swallowed heavily, and his face paled. He took a moment to absorb the information. “Ah, no.”
A younger man put his hand on Leirvik’s shoulder and spoke to him in their language. Lachann did not understand the words, but he saw sympathy in the gesture and heard it in the young man’s voice.
Alex interrupted the moment and looked at Lachann. “Laird ... Lady Sigrid’s daughter, Annbj?rg—she is here.”
The count took a moment to compose himself. He too looked up at Lachann, then at Alex. “May I see her? We would take her home ... Betrothal plans have been made ...”
“What? Annbj?rg?” Lachann asked Alex, completely puzzled now. Though he’d not met every woman on the isle, it seemed he ought to know MacDuffie’s stepdaughter. “She is here?”
“Aye,” Alex replied. “We call her Anna.”