Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (19 page)

A smile spread across Nellore’s face. “Of course,” she said, sweeping her lady into a hug. She pressed a kiss to Bridget’s cheek. “Ye’re brilliant.” Nellore took the cloak and fanned it over her shoulders.

Pulling the hood over her eyes, she laughed, “Do I look as fearsome as ye, Bridget?”

“’Tis a start, lass,” Bridget said, “but ye need to feign the witch’s hobble. Hunch your back. That’s it, love. Now, drag your foot behind ye.”

Nellore practiced the witch’s gait back and forth in the small hut.

“Do not falter. Do not waiver from this role, and most importantly, do not remove the cloak for any reason,” Bridget warned.

Nellore set out across the moors with her back bent and her leg dragging behind her. It was a surreal experience to walk in the footsteps of so many women who had come before Bridget. Never had Bridget’s story felt more real. To think that so many years had passed while Bridget would have seen the world only through the folds of the same heavy, ragged cloak. It was a cruel reality Bridget had been forced to face each and every day.

Nellore whispered a prayer of thanks for the providence that had brought Ronan and Bridget together. Theirs was not an easy union, and Bridget had to sacrifice a great deal for her love: her name, her faith, the memory of her mother. But to hear her speak of the past, she did not dwell on hardship. Instead, Bridget spoke in terms of obstacles and challenges that nurtured her growth and strengthened her and Ronan’s love.

Would these wars do the same for Nellore and Garik? Would their devotion to each other withstand the test of time because of the challenges they had faced? She could only hope she would find herself in Bridget’s shoes one day—old, surrounded by family, and loved by her husband as fiercely as when they had first met. Perhaps wearing Bridget’s cloak was a step in the right direction. She decided when Garik returned home, she would tell him of Bridget’s true identity—if he returned.

She silenced those dark thoughts. At that moment, she could not think of herself or Garik. Her sole concern had to be the good of the clan. She dragged her body along, nearing the outskirts of Gribun. All was quiet. She moved through the vacant pathways, careful to never break from her role as the witch. A few homes had been torched, but otherwise there were no signs of struggle. She proceeded into the empty courtyard of Dun Ara Castle and then into the keep. The barren corridors and pathways meant that Hamish had indeed led the people to the caves, but what she did not understand was where were the MacLeans?

She left Gribun and headed down to the port, trudging along the coast. When she reached the caves she set the cloak aside. Already she could hear the quiet hum of people.

“Nellore!” Hamish exclaimed when she dipped her head into the first cave. “All the Saints be praised. When ye didn’t follow, we thought ye were done for.”

“Nay,” she said, smiling. “I am well.”

“Nellore,” Anna cried, emerging from the darkness. She threw herself into Nellore’s arms. “Where are my mother and Brenna and Rose?”

“They are where no one would dare go,” Nellore whispered in her ear. Anna nodded to show she understood the full meaning. Then Nellore asked, “Is anyone hurt?”

“Nay,” Hamish said. “They pushed us from the village, but they did not strike. Is Gribun overrun?”

“’Tis abandoned. There’s no sign of them. Perhaps they’ve taken the stores and sheep and gone,” Nellore said.

Hamish’s brow furrowed as he stood in quiet contemplation for several moments. At last, he spoke, “I dare not risk moving the people until we’re certain they’ve gone. Have ye been to the Ledaig House? ‘Tis close to the stores, and the MacLeans do have a great thirst for ale.”

Nellore shook her head. “Nay, I did not search the whole of the village.”

“What am I saying?” Hamish blurted. “What would your father say, if he knew I sent ye out to spy on your own? He’d have my head. Ye take my place, Nellore. I will go.”

“Nay, Hamish, ye must trust me,” Nellore said. “No one will see me.”

Hamish shook his head. “’Tis too dangerous.”

“I’ve a way to move unseen. Do not look at me as though I’m mad, Hamish. Ye just have to trust me.”

Nellore could tell Hamish wanted to refuse permission, but in the end he nodded. “Promise me ye will not do anything foolish,” he said.

“When have I ever been foolish?”

“There was that time when I first met ye when ye took on five MacLeans at once,” he said.

Nellore rolled her eyes heavenward. “Hamish, I was twelve,” she said before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Then turning to Anna, Nellore pulled her close. “Do not let Hamish watch me leave,” she whispered.

When she drew away, Anna nodded. “Be careful, Nellore,” she said.

Nellore stepped beyond the cave and said farewell to the bright sunshine before she hid once more beneath the witch’s dark cloak. Then she shuffled back to Gribun. This time, however, she headed toward the outskirts on the eastern rim. The moment the Ledaig House came into view, she knew Hamish had been right. Barrels of ale were strewn about the grounds surrounding the long hall, but all was quiet. She peered inside the door. It was filled with MacLean warriors whose mouths gaped open while they slept off the effects of their revelry.

Garik plunged his oar deep into the waters of the Sound of Mull. Fiery pain shot through the muscles of his back and shoulders, and still he pushed on, raking his oar through the heavy water. He longed to believe Nellore was alive and well, mayhap training with Hamish or visiting with the clan’s lady, but the moment Balfour stumbled out from the woods and confessed his brother’s nefarious deeds, he knew his wife was in danger.

“Move, lads,” Ronan said as he too strained against the oar. The afternoon sun shined in their eyes, and the wind whipped the water into a frenzy of challenging currents. Garik glanced back. The teeming cliffs of western Mull had come into view. His heart soared at the sight, but then something caught his eye. His mouth fell open. He lunged to his feet, releasing his oar.

“It cannot be,” Garik exclaimed. “Smoke rises from the witch’s hut.”

“What?” Ronan said as he too stood. Duncan and Logan followed behind.

“I cannot believe my eyes,” Garik murmured.

“What can this mean, Grandfather?” Logan said. Like Logan, Garik looked to their laird for answers, but Ronan said nothing. He only stared at the gray plume of smoke, his eyes riveted on the fearsome hut.

“’Tis a bad omen,” Duncan said.

Ronan moved to the bow of the ship and continued to stare. Then he turned and, with eyes alight with triumph, he cried out. “Nay, this is no omen.” Then he turned and pointed to the hut as their ship drew ever closer. “’Tis my love,” Ronan said.

Garik raised a questioning brow at Logan, whose only reply was a baffled gaze of his own.

“Pick up your oars,” Ronan ordered.

No one moved. They stood and stared, dumbstruck.

Ronan withdrew his sword and charged at Garik. Pushing him against the mast, Ronan pressed his blade along Garik’s neck. “Pick up your oars and row or so help me—” he growled.

The other men wasted no time returning to their seats. “Row,” Ronan hissed in Garik’s face. When Ronan’s steel fell away, Garik scrambled to his seat and took up his oar.

“Pull into port there,” Ronan commanded.

“Ye want us to make port in the waters of the witch?” Duncan said. “My laird, I’ve never given much credence to the legend, but then, I’ve never seen smoke rising from her hut.”

“Just do it,” Ronan shouted.

Garik hurried to carry out the laird’s orders. Everyone moved about the deck, preparing to make port, each man wearing the same bewildered expression.

The shallow draft of their ship allowed them to sail close to shore. Ronan leapt out and began immediately climbing the cliffs toward the surface. Logan turned to Cormac. “I’m going ashore with Garik and Duncan. Ye stay here. Let no man follow. When the ships with the king’s men come into view, see that they do not make port.”

As Garik pulled himself higher up the cliff side, he clung to his grandfather’s assertion that he need not fear the witch. His confidence waned, however, when the round door with the menacing snake came into view.

“Ronan,” Duncan called after his laird. “This is madness.”

Ronan stormed toward the hut, but then he froze. Garik followed his gaze out over the moors. A figure approached wearing a long, tattered cloak and walking with a pronounced shuffle.

“For the love of God,” Duncan cursed. “Everyone, back to the ship.”

Garik turned to flee, but stopped when he saw Ronan race toward the figure.

“Shoney,” Ronan yelled.

“Grandfather, nay,” Logan shouted.

“Shoney,” Ronan cried again.

“Who is Shoney?” Duncan said.

Garik shook his head and watched Ronan run down the slope and stop in front of the witch. His breath caught in his throat as arms shot out from beneath the black cloak and began to pull the billowing hood back. Garik readied his courage to face the hideous deformities of the ancient, three-hundred-year-old crone, but instead he glimpsed familiar soft waves of flowing black hair and bright green eyes.

“Nellore?” Garik gasped as he stood stunned. Then he shook his mind clear and raced toward his wife. She had seen him. “Garik,” she cried, but then Ronan grabbed hold of her shoulders. “Where is Shoney?” he said, his voice desperate. “Where is she?”

“I am here, my love.”

Garik had just reached out to pull Nellore from Ronan’s grasp when he heard his lady’s voice. He whirled around and there, in the open doorway of the Witch of Dervaig, stood Bridget, Brenna, and Rose.

Ronan turned away from Nellore and rushed to Bridget, sweeping her into his arms. “My love,” he said. “I feared the worst.”

“Ye’ve naught to fear, dear heart,” Bridget said, wrapping her frail arms around his neck.

Garik stood with his mouth agape, but then his eyes met Nellore’s and he pulled her close, crushing her against him. “I do not understand anything that has happened this day, my love, but I care not. You are alive. That is all that matters.”

When greetings were over and the men were assured of the women’s safety, Bridget confessed her tale.

“My lady,” Garik said. “Is there any way my grandfather, Aidan, knew your secret?

Ronan and Bridget both exchanged smiles before Bridget answered, “Aye, Garik, Aidan knew.”

Garik smiled. “That explains a lot,” he said.

“But why have ye kept this secret for so long?” Duncan asked.

Bridget turned on him. “I saw your fear, Duncan, when ye surfaced near my hut, and ye cannot deny Nellore was a chilling sight in my old cloak.”

“She’s right, ye know,” Logan said. “We just faced an army three times our size without fear, but one glimpse of ye beneath that cloak, Nellore, and we were all ready to turn tail back to the ship.”

Bridget reached up to stroke Ronan’s cheek and in a quiet voice she said, “Ronan risked everything he held dear to bring me into the clan. We had to lie. Your people never would have accepted me.”

“But what about now, Shoney?” Duncan said softly, drawing her gaze. Nellore’s eyes widened in surprise to hear the sound of Bridget’s real name on her father’s lips.

Nellore stepped forward. “I’ve told her that times have changed,” she said eagerly. “Long has it been since the witch truly roamed these hills. The people do not fear her in the same way.”

Shoney raised a skeptical brow. “The bravest of our men almost flung themselves over the cliffs rather than face the witch.”

Logan laughed out loud and then pressed a kiss to his grandmother’s cheek. “Ye greatly exaggerate,” he said.

“Do I?” she said sternly, but then she kissed Logan in return.

“That was different,” Nellore said. “They were out of their minds with worry to begin with, and then they saw me shuffling like a madwoman toward them. Who wouldn’t be afraid? But the rest of the clan was not here. No one else has seen the witch for decades. Ye’ve become nothing more than a legend, Shoney,” she said.

Then an idea occurred to Nellore and she raced inside, grabbing a burning cinder from the fire. She hurried back to her family and took hold of the cloak where it lay in the heather. She held a flame close to the folds. “This can all end here,” she said. “Release the spirit of the cloak back to the hearts of your descendants, Shoney.”

Shoney’s eyes widened with surprise. She stepped toward Nellore. Her creased fingers stroked the tattered folds. Then she took hold of the flame. A sob tore from her throat as she touched the burning cinder to the cloak of the Witch of Dervaig. In moments, the dark fabric was engulfed. The flames danced. The smoke curved in a sensual ascent toward the heavens.

“’Tis done,” Shoney said, wiping at the tears that continued to fall.

Ronan moved in front of his wife. “But will the clan embrace her as ye have?” Ronan said.

“Anyone who does not will have to challenge me,” Logan said.

“And me,” Garik said, stepping forward.

Nellore plunged her blade into the earth at Ronan’s feet. “And me,” she vowed.

Shoney closed her eyes and appeared lost in deep contemplation, but then suddenly her eyes flew open. “What are we doing? The concern over my name is a frivolity we can hardly afford at the moment. Right now there is work to be done.”