Authors: Allie MacKay
His pain remained in the little space, thick, acrid, and terrible. The horror of his loss surrounded her; she could feel it seep into her bones. Outrage also flared through her, constricting her chest and taking her breath. She knew now how much he’d lost and what drove him. And why he’d become a Viking slayer.
He truly
was
a hero.
And just now, she wanted only to hold him.
Tonight, if she was still in his world, she’d try and make him forget all he had lost.
Chapter 14
“Badachro’s quiet.”
At the
Sea-Raven
’s bow, Magnus glanced at the young warrior standing beside him. He agreed with Ewan’s assessment. Badachro Bay did look empty.
But no sign of Vikings didn’t mean they weren’t about, hidden somewhere. It was a truth Magnus knew well, so he kept his gaze sharp as the
Sea-Raven
beat deeper into the woody, steep-sided inlet.
“Peaceful or no’, we’ll still have two men keep watch from Sgeir Ghlas this night.” Magnus glanced at Ewan. “You, I’m thinking, and Dugan.” Ewan grinned. “Last time we moored here, you kept vigil on thon gray rock.” He gaze flicked to the barren islet and then to the sailcloth stretched across the other end of the ship. “Can it be you’ll make your bed in
Sea-Raven
’s stern this e’en?
“I would”—he looked back to Magnus, winking—“if the lass fancied me.”
“Watch your tongue if you wish to keep it.” Magnus thumped the lad’s shoulder to take the sting from his words. “Now get you back to the steering oar before your grandfather runs us into a rock. He isn’t the steersman he once was. But”—he gripped Ewan’s arm as the young man started away—“dinnae be telling Calum I said so.”
“I will nae.” Ewan grinned again, and was gone.
Magnus caught a flutter at the sailcloth flap and saw Margo ease aside the heavy cloth just enough to peek out at the high, tree-covered hills they were gliding past. The highest peaks were lost in heavy mist and her eyes shone as she looked there, as if the rolling blue haze delighted her. When the flap gaped a bit more and he saw that she’d pressed a hand to her breast, he knew he’d guessed right.
She
was
thrilled by the mist.
His chest tightened, watching her. It’d been many years since he’d looked at a simple thing like sea haar and seen a wonder. Surely not since he was a wee lad and his mother told him tales that Highland mist was the realm of faeries and that the luminosity of such mist was truly the glow of their raiments and the sparkling of their wands.
He’d listened, round-eyed. And he’d believed every word.
Until the harsh realities of life in these beautiful but harsh hills had taught him differently.
The pull in his chest became an ache, a longing for something he’d lost and he didn’t know how to retrieve. And it worsened when Margo sensed him retrieve. And it worsened when Margo sensed him watching her, and instead of nipping back into the shadows and closing the flap, she locked eyes with him.
Her face softened as she looked at him, her huge blue eyes seeing into his soul, he was sure. But just when he was about to shift on his feet like a fuzzy-bearded youth, she let the shelter flap drop.
He waited for her to peek out again—he could feel her wish to do so, as if they were somehow connected and he knew her mind—but the sailcloth didn’t stir.
The moment had passed.
And he needed to keep his gaze on the water and land before him, watching for any sign of Vikings. His days of searching for faeries flying about in the mist were gone and no more. So he turned back to the bow and took a deep breath of the cold air blowing in from the north.
He welcomed the relief that sluiced through him.
Ewan had been right.
Badachro
was
still.
The scatter of reed-thatched huts dotting the shore sent up thin blue curls of peat smoke, the sight assuring Magnus that the fisherfolk who dwelt here hadn’t been troubled. Six fat cattle grazed behind the hovels, near to the wood’s edge. Magnus’s own beasts, each one a prize animal, they’d been brought here a short while ago to be used as bait at Redpoint.
Magnus rubbed the back of his neck, hoping all would go as planned.
Willing it so, he glanced away along the shore again, searching for any small indication of treachery.
He saw none.
There were no docks here. But several fishing boats bobbed in the bay and others had been drawn onto the shore, resting beyond the tide line. A small dog scratched and sniffed around a pile of drying seaweed. And a few skinny chickens pecked near the door of one of the fishing huts.
Nothing else moved.
Dim light shone from Orla’s cottage, which could mean she had a visitor. Magnus frowned as he eyed her home. Whitewashed and recently thatched with thick, fresh heather, the cottage was a more sturdy structure than the rest and set apart at the far end of the settlement. The red door was closed and he hadn’t been mistaken: soft yellow candle glow did glimmer in the two deep-set windows. Magnus knew she entertained at all hours. And he wouldn’t relish interrupting her trade. His gut also clenched to imagine what the joy woman would make of Margo.
Above all, he hoped Margo wouldn’t misunderstand his friendship with the other woman.
Orla was as attractive as she was perceptive.
She was also an invaluable helpmate.
Magnus hoped she wouldn’t let him down now.
He’d soon know, for Ewan was expertly guiding
Sea-Raven
toward the sloping strand, preparing to glide the ship onto the shingle.
Needing to be sure all was well, Magnus cast one more look across the quiet waters.
But he hadn’t missed anything.
No Norse warships lurked in the bay, hiding their heathen presence behind the handful of islets guarding the inlet. Had his enemies been here, he’d have sent them to the sea bottom before they could blink. But he shuddered at having Margo on board during any such encounter. It was bad enough that she’d be at Redpoint.
Frowning, he touched Vengeance’s hilt, knowing the red-sanded cove would be a scene of slaughter.
A necessary warning to his foes—especially after what happened at Gairloch—his plans for Redpoint couldn’t be avoided.
He would ensure that Margo remained well away from the blood spilling.
For now, he strode down the ship’s center aisle, swiftly covering the paces to the sailcloth shelter and the woman who was as responsible for the knot in his chest as for the hot, throbbing ache in his loins.
“Margo.” He drew aside the flap before his good sense warned him to leave her where she was. “You can come out now. No more need to peek, lass. There is no danger here.”
“No Vikings?” She stood in shadow, but enough light fell through the flap opening for him to see the unasked question in her eyes.
“No dangers at all.” He ducked through the opening and went to her. He took her face in both his hands. “I wouldn’t take you ashore if I thought harm would come to you.”
“So ...” She hesitated, her blue eyes luminous in the shelter’s dimness. “Nothing will happen that might cause me pain?”
“Nae. You have my word.” He held her gaze, knowing she hadn’t meant marauding Northmen.
She’d meant him.
She’d wanted assurance that the sizzling need that scorched the air every time they so much as looked at each other wouldn’t burn her.
He was already on fire, as he was sure she knew.
But he also saw the worry shimmering at the backs of her eyes. She might not admit such concerns, and she might love Scotland—any fool could see that she did—but he knew it must be hard to find herself in a strange world filled with dangers she’d never before encountered.
She needed reassurance.
He smoothed her hair behind an ear, and then leaned down to drop a kiss on her brow.
“So long as you are with me, you have my protection.” He wouldn’t lie and promise anything more. Not knowing she could be ripped from him any moment, plunged back into the distant place she claimed was her home. “I’ll no’ leave your side.”
“Thank you. But I don’t want to be a bother on your ship.” She stepped closer, her cold-winter-air and rose scent coming with her, teasing and taunting him.
“I’ll try to get my sea legs,” she added, the determined tilt of her chin making his heart hurt.
“You will.” He took her hand, linking his fingers with hers as he led her out of the shelter and into the ship’s narrow aisle. “Now come. My men will set us ashore, leaving us at Badachro. Then”—he nodded across the water to the spit of gray rock that was Sgeir Ghlas—“they’ll take the
Sea-Raven
over to moor by thon islet for the night.”
She followed his gaze, looking calmer than he’d expected. “Where is the ‘wee cothouse with its driftwood fire and pallet of plaids’?” Keeping a hand on the edge of the stern platform, she turned away from Gray Rock to scan the shore, studying the turf-walled fisher huts before her attention settled on Orla’s cottage.
“That one looks substantial.” Her eyes narrowed.
“Thon is Orla’s cottage.” Magnus tried to keep his tone neutral. “There, beyond the treeline”—he pointed to the opposite end of the bay—“is the wee cothouse I meant. You can’t see it because it’s in the wood. No one has lived there for years. Folk use it for shelter only.”
“I don’t see anything.” She leaned forward, trying for a better view, and Magnus saw that her lips were swollen from his kisses.
The soft ripeness made her look vulnerable and incredibly desirable. As if she knew, she straightened and lifted a hand to touch her mouth.
“Oh, dear ...” She traced a fingertip across the curve of her lips. Tapping her lower lip’s fullness, she tested for tenderness.
Her eyes widened, her finger exploring her lip. “I must look awful. . . .”
“Nae.” Magnus could hardly speak. His gaze was frozen on her questing finger, the glimpse he caught of her tongue when she parted her lips just a bit. “You look . . . You are—” He clamped his own mouth tight, aware he was spluttering.
Worse, his men were gawking.
He glared at them until they looked elsewhere.
Then he turned back to Margo and immediately wished he hadn’t. The sight of her damping the tip of her finger with her tongue froze him. And as his brows flew down in another scowl, she felt again along her lower lip.
Magnus nearly roared.
Something inside him clenched and it was all he could do not to grab her to him and plunder her sweet mouth again. And this time, he’d kiss her for hours and hours, tasting and ravishing her ceaselessly, sating himself on her, until the morrow’s sun rose and set once more. Then he’d begin all over again.
She was maddening him.
And something told him she was doing it on purpose.
“Hold her, Magnus!”
Ewan called the warning just as the
Sea-Raven
’s bow started to glide toward the shore’s sloping strand.
“Oh, God!” Margo paled and grabbed Magnus, clinging tight.
“All is well.” He whipped an arm around her, pulling her hard against him. “We’ll settle in a moment.”
“Back oars!” Calum’s deep voice boomed beside his grandson as the rowers quickly reversed their pulls. All around them water seethed and foamed as the long oars churned the surf, the rowers expertly keeping the ship from grinding onto the shingle.
Then the
Sea-Raven
came to a halt, riding the choppy waters about ten feet from shore. Knowing there was only one way to get Margo off the ship, Magnus swept her up in his arms, carrying her to the bow.
“Dugan, come along!” He threw a glance at the little man as he marched down the ship’s aisle. Dugan had more strength than some men three times as large.
And, unlike a few of the other warriors on board, he wouldn’t be tempted to let Margo fall into the water when he handed her over the side and into Magnus’s waiting arms.
Proving it, Dugan sprang to his feet, grinning. “Are you taking me ashore?” He caught up with them, eager. “I’ll guard the lady—”
“Wait!” Margo squirmed, eyeing the rough surf. “I’m not ready to go anywhere. I liked the sailcloth—”
“You’ve been itching to see land.” Magnus held her firm. “Now you’re almost there. Stop wriggling.”
“But—”
Ignoring her, Magnus turned again to Dugan. “There are others to guard her. You’re to keep watch with Ewan on Sgeir Ghlas. Just hand the lass o’er to me.” Quickly, he placed her in Dugan’s arms and then swung over the side before Margo would have time to protest or become frightened.
Or so he hoped.
But when he reached up to take her as Dugan lowered her over the side, he saw that she’d squeezed shut her eyes.
Her face was ghostly white.
Magnus understood. The water was waist-deep and freezing, the current strong and making it difficult for even him to keep his feet.
“Have a care!” he roared at Dugan, not liking the fool’s cheeky grin.
But the little man handled her gently, easing her into Magnus’s arms as carefully as if he held something truly precious.
As well he did.
The truth of it made Magnus lift her even higher against his chest so that she was almost riding his shoulder as he stood, watching Ewan back the
Sea-Raven
away from the strand and into the deep waters of the bay.
“Come for us at sunrise!” He nodded sharply as Ewan responded with a flourish, letting the oars dip and flash in a quick farewell before the
Sea-Raven
whipped around in a plume of spray and sped away toward the Gray Rock and the other islets.
Now he was alone on the strand with Margo.
Or they would be as soon as he marched out of the icy water.
She’d gone still as stone.
“You can open your eyes, lass.” Magnus turned to splash through the surf, making for the shore. “We’re on solid ground again.”
“I don’t call this solid.” Margo wasn’t cracking an eye-lash.
Not yet.
“I will nae let you fall, Mar-
go
.” Magnus nuzzled her neck, nipping her ear as he shifted her higher against his shoulder. “You needn’t look if you’d rather wait.