Isle of Mull 03 - To Love a Warrior (9 page)

“Gather the men. Find her,” she said before turning on her heel.

“Where are
you
going?” he called after her.

“To find Bridget. She will know what to do,” she shouted before disappearing once more into the chaos.

Maggie’s red curls and pouty lips came to the fore of Garik’s mind. “MacKinnons,” he shouted. “To me.”

A band of warriors soon gathered around him.

“The wee lass, Maggie, has gone missing,” he said. He sent three of the men to scour the forest, and then another three to search the fields. “Tread carefully. Watch for signs of fire. If the flames rekindle, you may find yourselves trapped.”

As the men departed, Garik turned to find Logan standing behind him. His furrowed brow framed grief-stricken silver eyes. “What do you make of the damage?” Garik asked.

“The crops are burnt. Twenty head of sheep stolen, but these are losses that can be recouped,” Logan snarled as his eyes flared with rage, churning their silver depths like molten steel. “But this cannot,” he said. Opening his sporran, he removed the remnants of a rag baby. Garik’s heart sank to the pit of his stomach. Even with its charred face and scorched body, he recognized it as Maggie’s straightaway, and then he remembered Nellore saying that Maggie never put it down.

Fury tore through him as he reached behind his back to seize his blade, but Logan stayed his hand. “Get back, Logan. I will have blood for this.”

“If Maggie is dead, we will have our vengeance, but right now we must continue the search. There is still hope,” Logan said, although his tone lacked conviction. “Gather the other men and fan out. We must search every croft, every barn, and beneath every bush. She could be out there but still too afraid to come forward.”

“God help the MacLean if she is not found, because I will send his black soul straight to hell,” Garik growled before storming off through the smoking fields.

For hours, they searched. Just as Logan had instructed, every croft, loft, and hay pile was picked through—any place a lass of three years could fit. Then a sob rent the air. Garik jumped from the loft he was searching and raced outside toward the cries. The scene he glimpsed laid bare his heart. Logan held Maggie’s rag baby out for both Mary and Gordon to see. Mary collapsed to her knees, her arms hanging limply at her side and her mouth stretched open to the sky, and from her lips came forth a cry of such agony and loss that it forced the breath from Garik’s body. Each gut-wrenching sob cut like a knife twisting into his heart. Gordon stood beside his wife, his face white with shock and his arms outstretched and empty.

Suddenly, another commotion swept through the smoldering fields. Garik ran toward the noise and skidded to a halt. From out of the woods strode the Lady Bridget and Nellore, and cradled in Nellore’s arms was a bundled blanket with flaming red curls peeking out from the top. His heart gripped in terror. Had they found the poor lass’s body? His breath caught as a smile stretched wide, filling Nellore’s face, and he knew then Maggie lived.

“Maggie,” he yelled. Then he turned around and raced back to Mary and Gordon.

“She lives,” he shouted when he drew closer. “She is alive.”

He fell to his knees and pulled Mary into his arms. Still, she sobbed, her body racked by the force of her grief. He cupped her cheeks in his hands and forced her to meet his gaze.

“Mary,” he said, his voice loud and firm as he tried to be heard over the din of terror that filled her mind, making her oblivious to anything but the shocking loss of her precious child. “Mary, your daughter lives.”

Pain continued to cloud her eyes. Garik scooped her into his arms and carried her through the ashen fields. Still, she sobbed, beating his leather jerkin with her fist. The moment they came into Maggie’s view the wee lass cried out one word—Mama.

Mary jerked toward the sound and beheld her little girl. Her face crumpled once more, but the sobs that tore from her throat were fueled by an unspeakable joy. It was the sound of hope reborn. She flung herself toward her daughter, stumbling in the ash and soot. Maggie wriggled from Nellore’s arms and raced toward her mama. When the two met, they collapsed together in an explosion of tears and kisses. Garik had to turn away, the sweet agony too much to bear. He hurried over to where Lady Bridget and Nellore stood together, arm and arm. Tears streamed down their cheeks.

“Where was she?” Garik asked breathlessly. “We’ve searched everywhere.”

Bridget turned her bright silver eyes to meet his. “She was in one of the caves,” she replied.

Garik’s eyes widened in surprise. “But the shore is more than two miles from here. We never would have considered such a distance. How did you know to look there?” he asked.

Bridget offered no explanation. She merely shrugged and glanced at Nellore, but the glint Garik witnessed in her queer eyes belied her casual display.

“Lady Bridget,” Garik began. “There are so many caves. How did ye know which one to search?”

“Come, Garik,” Nellore said, drawing him away. “Let us celebrate.”

Questions burned for answers. How did Bridget and Nellore know to look in the caves? He glanced back once more at Bridget whose silver gaze bore into his own.

“Garik,” Nellore said. He tore his eyes from his lady’s and looked to Nellore. She rose up on her toes and whispered, “This world is full of wonder.” Then she pressed a kiss to his cheek. The feel of her full lips on his skin eased his mind. “Indeed it is,” he murmured as he breathed in her scent. “You are proof of that.”

After a fortnight spent rebuilding the valley, Garik joined the MacKinnon warriors on their march to the training fields. It marked their first session with Ronan after their return from battle. Garik mentally rallied his spirit to meet the challenge ahead. A ruthless task master, Ronan led the march that morning. His long, silvery hair hung past his shoulders, and he walked with a determined stride. The fight had not yet left their laird.

Garik looked east and saw the sun rising above Dun Ara Castle. It was time to begin. Ahead of them stretched the training fields, but they were not empty as he would have expected. Telltale black curls whirled around a tall, sleek form as the sun glinted off the tip of a sword that slashed the morning air. A smile stretched across his face.

“She beat us to it, lads,” Ronan said with a laugh. His amber eyes crinkled with a warm smile.

“I did not know Nellore was to be joining us today,” Garik said.

“She is not,” Duncan snapped at Garik. Then his gaze turned back toward his daughter. “She is up well before first light to train. Like us all, her duties begin when the sun rises, but my lass is not one to shirk her real duties. She rises earlier than the rest of us to play at being a warrior.” Duncan’s tone of displeasure could not mask the slight smile that curved his lips while he watched
his
daughter.

“Actually, Duncan, your daughter will be joining us today and every day until ye march again under Scotland’s banner,” Ronan said.

“She will not,” Duncan said as he whirled around to challenge his laird.

“My wife and your wife insist Nellore be able to train. After listening to their considerations, I’ve given my consent.”

“And I say she will not. She is my daughter,” Duncan growled.

“Aye, that is true, but I am your laird. And I am her laird. On this matter, my word is final.” Ronan stepped forward and turned to address his warriors. “Who among ye will argue against Nellore’s strength or skill?”

No one stepped forward.

Ronan called Nellore to him and bid her stand before the warriors. “I would not see Nellore’s skills wasted at a time when we are at war both here and abroad,” he said. “The MacLean denies responsibility for the fires, but we all ken he is a liar. Most of ye have fought these last years alongside Angus Og, but the war for Scotland’s independence is far from won. England still holds Stirling and Roxburgh. However, our own borders are weak. But what is the MacKinnon to do? Do we shirk our duty to our king just to safeguard our home against the MacLeans? Nay,” Ronan shouted. “Warriors of Mull, ye will take up arms for the Bruce, which means those of us who remain must do all we can to ensure the safety of our village, our stores, and those who cannot fight. Nellore has proven herself since she was a lass. Her valor and skill surpass that of many men.”

Duncan stormed forward, bringing his face but a breath from Ronan’s. “Ye do not mean for her to march with the Bruce,” Duncan snarled. Garik did not doubt that Ronan was one wrong answer away from a beating, laird or not.

“Nay, Duncan,” Ronan said. Duncan eased back, raking his hand through his hair.

“Be still, Duncan, and have faith in me,” Ronan said. “I do not seek to put her in harm’s way, but I would have her ready to protect those who are more vulnerable—your wife, my wife, your other daughter, my daughters, the children. Nellore is not the same as they and ye know it. God’s blood, Duncan, ye should be proud to have fathered a shield maiden of Scotland. Now get back into formation,” he growled.

Logan stepped forward then and put his hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Our laird is right, Duncan.”

Duncan grabbed Logan’s hand and twisted it behind his back.

“He does not mean for her to go to fight. Only that she be ready if the fight is brought to her,” Logan said, wincing.

Nellore rushed forward and yanked Logan free from her father’s grip. “Da, we train our woman to hit a mark with an arrow so they are not left helpless if our warriors should fail. Such times as these demand we all be tested. Ye know my temperament. I am not the foolish little girl who seeks trouble anymore. Ye can trust me not to be reckless, but I will fight for our people if need be.”

Duncan pulled her into a fierce embrace. “I worry for ye, lass,” he whispered. “Ye should be thinking of marriage and a family, not climbing cliff walls and sword fighting.”

She looked up into his black eyes. “I do think of those things,” she said. Then her eyes darted toward Garik who was staring straight at her, smiling. Her lips curved in greeting.

“So is that where your heart lies then?” Duncan said softly, peering down at her.

Her only answer was the blush she knew warmed her cheeks. Then she fell into line behind Ronan.

Although used to the rigors of training, nothing could have prepared her for the next several hours. She had been able to complete most of the drills and was encouraged by the other warriors who generously praised her efforts. The sun shone at its highest when the ladies arrived.

Bridget and Anna carried baskets of fresh bannock still hot from the flames. Rose and Brenna brought flasks of ale and dried herring. Famished, Nellore sat down beside her da and took a bite of bannock.

“So ‘tis Garik ye admire,” Duncan said. “Ye don’t need to answer. I saw the way ye looked at him.” Then he took a drink of ale. He passed her the flask from which she drank heartily. “I would have thought ye fancied Logan,” he said.

She almost spit out the mouthful of ale. “Logan! Da, he is like a brother to me. Just the idea of Logan and me is ridiculous.” Then she nodded her head in Logan’s direction. “Besides, I think someone else pines for him.” Both Nellore and Duncan watched as Rose handed Logan a bannock from her basket. Nellore could not hear what the future laird of the MacKinnon said, but judging by the glint in his silver eyes and the blush that colored Rose’s cheeks, something kindled between them.

“So that is how it is,” Duncan said.

“Aye, but neither of them will admit it.”

“If they have not said anything to ye, then how can ye be so certain?”

“Because I have eyes, as do ye,” she said with a smile.

Duncan paused and observed Rose and Logan further. “Aye, they are in love. Och, what am I to do with two daughters in love,” he said as he turned his eyes heavenward.

“The good Lord cannot help us, Duncan,” Brenna said as she came to stand above them. Nellore smiled up at her mum. “They are grown, and as much as we might wish them to be wee lassies again, there is naught to do but give them wings.” Then Brenna stretched her hand out to Nellore. “Come,” she said. “For a fortnight those sheep have suffered this heat. Now that the valley has been put to rights, ‘tis time at last for the shearing.”

Garik took in the scope of Nellore’s home. Such beauty stirred his soul. In the distance, the waves of the Sound of Mull crashed against the shore. Thick forest stretched to the east, and a stream filled the air with music. He wondered whether she would be willing to leave. Then he smiled, realizing he would be willing to surrender his own home and reside permanently on Mull if that was her wish. Ever since he had returned from war and first stared into the endless depths of her warm green eyes, he had begun to fixate on one dream alone—winning Nellore’s heart. To him, nothing else mattered.

He descended the steep slope. Rose, who was stirring the boiling contents of a large pot, waved when she noticed his approach. Duncan and Brenna stood together beside their fields. He had yet to spy Nellore.

“Hello, Garik,” Duncan said.

Garik dipped his head in greeting. Brenna smiled and bid him welcome.

“Your crops grow well,” Garik said. “Who plowed the fields in your absence?”

“Nellore, of course,” Brenna answered.