On a Highland Shore (24 page)

When he did not answer, she tilted her head and gave him a tight smile. “I ken, ye think it a fool’s task. But I would still rather have it under way.”

“Of course.”

“Dressed like that ye look like a Scotsman.”

“Supposedly I’m less likely to frighten children.”

She smiled softly. “It’s not fright ye inspire.”

He threw her a glance, but her expression told him nothing.

“Ye’ve been training Rufus’s men hard.”

“Aye, but not enough yet. They need to make it part of them.”

“Kenning how to fight with a battle-axe?”

“Kenning how to survive a fight. They’re fishermen, Margaret, and cattlemen and farmers. None of them thought they’d need these skills. Most men don’t.”

“Ye had them already. How is that?”

“In Ireland it was my responsibility to keep my stepfather’s lands safe.”

“In Fermanagh?”

He shot her a glance. Had he talked that much of himself? He didn’t remember. Like now, he was paying more attention to the curves that drew his gaze and set his body afire. To the swell of her breasts above her bodice that made him want to touch her. To the feminine way she moved, the way she brushed her hair from her cheek, how her mouth had softened when he kissed her, the fine bright eyes that saw too much. She was waiting for his answer.

“Aye,” he said.

“Will ye go back there, to Fermanagh?”

“I’ll be going home to Haraldsholm, to Antrim.”

“I’m told,” she said in a quiet voice, “that Rory O’Neill has plans for ye to wed a Scottish woman.”

“If he does, I’ve not heard of it,” he said, wondering how much Rory had told her about him.

“And I’m told that ye have a woman waiting for ye in Ireland.”

He laughed briefly at that. “That much is true. I’ve yet to meet her, but I’m told my Uncle Erik has chosen her for me.”

“Will ye marry her?”

“Probably not. Unlike ye, I’ve no father to promise me where I dinna wish to be.” He paused. He could not look away from her.

“A sail, a sail!” The cry came from the headland, and everyone turned to look at the man who waved his arms and called to them. “The Earl of Ross is arriving!”

“I must tell Nell,” Margaret said.

He grasped her arm before she could leave. “Margaret, this marriage—do ye wish it?”

“No. And I dinna ken how to change it.”

He did not tell her that in Celtic Ireland, if not Norman Ireland, women could pick their husbands and nullify betrothals. Nor did he tell her that in earlier centuries Scottish women could have done the same, but not since the Normans brought their laws and customs, which all here now obeyed. A marriage contract, signed by her father, desired by the groom, and validated by the king, would be near impossible to void. She would not be the first bride, nor probably the last, to be brought unwilling to her nuptials. Nor he the only man to regret the fact.

“I canna see what choice ye have,” he said.

For a moment they stared into each other’s eyes.

“Rory O’Neill,” she said in a hushed tone, “tells me ye have no future here, that ye’ll stay awhile, then go home to Ireland.”

He thought of all he might say, of how much he’d wanted to kiss her again, of how sorely tempted he was to lean now and claim her mouth. Of Rory talking about a Scottish heiress. Of the glen south of here, where a man might build a life and a home to be proud of.

“Aye,” he said, watching her eyes fill with tears. “I will go home to Ireland.”

Margaret twisted from his grip and hurried away.

W
illiam, the third Earl of Ross, arrived with two ships full of men and little fanfare. It had been the same when Gannon had met Ross at his home. The man had had little patience with ceremony then, less now. He was among the first to leap from his ship, striding up from the beach, his expression grim. Even if Gannon had not met him before, he would have guessed that Ross was kin to Margaret and Nell. His resemblance to them was uncanny; the bloodline he’d shared with their mother, his sister, had given all of them their height and long bones. Their beauty. Rignor, he thought, must look like his father.

Ross nodded to Gannon as he passed. “God’s blood, lad, ye look just like Magnus. I ken I told ye that before, but it takes me back years. It might come in handy, that Norse blood of yers. We’re going after them. Enough of waiting for them to come to us.” He ignored the cheers of the men around him. “Where’s O’Neill? And Rufus?”

“In the hall, sir,” one of Rufus’s men said, and led the way.

Ross gestured for Gannon and Tiernan to follow him to the fortress. The gates and the doors to the hall had been thrown wide open and Ross strode through, calling for his nieces. The staff was hurrying to the kitchens to prepare food and drink for the newcomers, but everyone else watched Ross greet Margaret and Nell, including Gannon, who stepped back from Ross’s side when Nell ran forward to throw herself in his arms.

Ross wrapped her in his embrace, then reached for Margaret. “Praise God,” he said, not hiding his emotion. “I thought I’d lost ye as well, that ye’d arrived home just in time to be murdered with the others. I went to Somerstrath; I saw what they did.”

“They took Davey, Uncle William!” Nell cried.

“Took Davey?” He leaned back from her. “The Norsemen took Davey?”

“And four others,” Rignor said. “All boys.”

Ross met Rignor’s gaze. “But not yer other brothers?”

“No,” Rignor said. “We buried them.”

“Are ye sure the lads are not just hiding or have gone to safety?”

“They were seen being taken,” Margaret said. “Ye will go after them?”

Ross’s eyes narrowed. “I swear to ye that we’ll find the men who did this.” He looked over Margaret’s shoulder. “O’Neill. Thank ye for staying until I could come. Now, tell me what happened.”

William Ross wanted to hear everything. He listened, grim-faced, to Margaret and Rignor, then Rufus and Rory, tell their stories. Nell was silent, her tears glistening in her eyes while the others spoke, making Gannon, sitting quietly with Tiernan on the edge of the group, think more of revenge than strategy. Gannon crossed his arms over his chest and listened; Tiernan watched Dagmar organizing a hastily prepared meal.

When at last Ross had no more questions, he sighed heavily. “There have been more raids in the north and tales of longships going south. This is only the beginning.”

“We’ve heard of raids in the south, in Ayreshire,” Gannon said.

“Sounds like the start of a war,” Rory said. “Hardly surprising. Haakon of Norway and yer King Alexander have been arguing about the islands for years, decades if ye go back to Alexander’s father. It’s been building. I just dinna think it would come to this.”

“Nor I,” Ross said. “And everyone at court was worried about England’s turmoil and possible war with France.”

“What about yer King Alexander?” Rory asked. “Or is he too busy with what’s happening with his wife’s family in England?”

Ross nodded. “They’re paying close attention to it. Henry of England is hiding in the Tower while Prince Edward fights de Montfort. King Alexander’s trying not to be drawn into it, but his queen is Henry’s daughter. If de Montfort wins…” He straightened his shoulders. “We’re on our own. Rignor, ye’ll need to find out if there are more of yer people still alive, then start the rebuilding at once. Winter’s not far off. Ye need to repair the walls and start on some new ships. As soon as I can, I’ll send men trained in that, but if they’re needed elsewhere more, ye’ll have to wait. I’ll leave some men with ye, but ye’ll need more. Rufus, can ye help with that?”

Rufus nodded quickly. “Of course, my lord. As many as he needs.”

“Ye’re not to stretch yer own men too thin. O’Neill, I am beholden to ye for staying now until I could come.”

Rory waved his words away. “Who would have done differently?” He looked at the men in turn. “I’ll be leaving ye now. Stopping by Skye on my way. I’ll leave Gannon and his men here for a while until yer men arrive.”

Ross nodded. “Again I thank ye. But there’s no need to go to Skye. We’re going after the raiders ourselves. We’ll start with Leod, give the man a visit and see what he’ll tell us, then we’ll visit the other islands and see what the news there is. And then we’ll go north. We’ve talked of a meeting in a fortnight, at Thurso in Caithness, with all the northern clans and the Irish leaders. Will ye come?”

“I’ll be there,” Rory said, “or send someone.”

Ross nodded, shifting his gaze to Rufus and Rignor. “Ye dinna have much time to secure yerselves. Ye’ll need to use yer time wisely. I promise ye two things, that I will find my nephew and that I will avenge my sister. Margaret, Nell, ye can be part of neither, and I’ll not have ye placed in danger. I’ve sent for Lachlan to come at once for ye. He’ll be here soon. Ye’ll wed at once, then ye and Nell will go to his home and be far from this threat.”

Margaret paled. “I canna marry Lachlan now, Uncle William! We have to find Davey! And Rignor will need my help.”

“Rignor will be fine,” Ross said.

“But Uncle William,” Nell cried. “Lachlan was unfaithful with Margaret’s friend Fiona. Everyone kent.”

Margaret’s gaze flickered to Gannon, then away. “I dinna wish to marry him.”

“I ken all that,” Ross said. “Ye’ll forgive Lachlan in time. He’s young, and young men dinna always think things through. I’ll talk with him, Margaret. He’ll make ye a good husband, or I’ll ken the reason why. Ye’ll not be shamed again.”

“Please, Uncle William!” Margaret’s voice was tearful.

Ross leaned across the table and clasped her hand in his for a moment. “It’s for the best, lassie. The whole world’s in turmoil, and ye expect me to allow ye to walk away from a marriage that would keep ye safe. No, I willna be swayed, and dinna ask me again. No more now.”

Margaret stood, tears streaming down her face, then fled without a word.

Ross watched her, then turned an impassive face to them. “Now, to Leod. I’m thinking ye’ll want to come with me, aye, O’Neill?”

Rory nodded. “Aye.”

“My lords,” Gannon said, “if Leod has led these raids, he’s not likely to let past alliances stop him. Each of ye alone would be a prize; together ye’d be worth a king’s ransom. Think of what the loss of ye would mean to Ireland or Scotland. We need yer leadership, not yer heads flying from pikes as trophies.”

“Thank ye for that image,” Ross said dryly.

“Laddie,” Rory said, “if it’s too dangerous for us, why is it safe for ye?”

“I’m not important enough to kill.” He held his hands up to stop their protests. “It’s the truth. I own no lands; I have no title. I have no wife, nor children. If I die, there will not be a war to avenge me.”

“There ye’re wrong,” Rory said. “I’d start it.”

Gannon gave them a rueful smile. “A’right, then. If Leod kills me, there’s the two of ye to help lead a war to avenge me. And dinna forget, Leod is half-Norse and half-Scot. I’m half-Norse and half-
Irish. I’m betting the Irish will prevail.”

“Ah, well, there’s that,” Rory agreed.

Rufus snorted.

Gannon would go to Skye. William and O’Neill would wait at Inverstrath for two days; if Gannon had not returned, they would assume the worst and gather their forces. Tiernan insisted on accompanying his brother and would brook no argument to the contrary. Nell was horrified. She’d heard the stories of Leod’s ferociousness. She’d not wanted William to go to Skye, but neither did she want Tiernan and Gannon to go. She’d hoped that someone else would volunteer, but no one had. Rignor had sat back farther and farther in his seat. She’d met his gaze across the table and realized with a shock that her brother was afraid. But Gannon was not, and that was both brave and foolish. She told herself that Gannon would know the right thing to say to Leod and would return safely. But why did Tiernan have to go too?

When at last the talking was over, she followed Tiernan until he stopped. “Are ye really going to Skye?” she asked. “Can Gannon not go alone?”

Tiernan’s smile was crooked. “Are ye worried about me, Nell?”

She looked into his eyes. “Aye. Ye could die!”

“And I could return with glorious news of yer brother.”

She nodded, miserable. She wanted Davey home safely, but…

He put a hand to her cheek, then removed it. “Sweet Nell, I will not stay behind while my brother walks into the lion’s den. We’ll go together, as we do everything. If anything happens to him, it’ll happen to me.” He started away, then looked over his shoulder. “I’m glad ye’re speaking to me again.”

The Norseman was pleased. He’d lost only a score or so men on his raids, and brought home more gold and silver and riches than any of them had ever dreamed of. And this was just the beginning. Men from the other islands were pouring in to join them, swelling their numbers even more. Of course, many of the island families were leaving just as quickly. His village was now overcrowded with men and far too few women to service them. He had to solve that. And what better way than more raids? This time he’d not kill the women but bring them back for his men.

He hosted a feast that night, letting his men drink heavily, then spend their energy as they chose, ignoring the outraged protests from the husbands and fathers whose women had been appropriated. The women would live, and perhaps they’d produce sturdier stock from these couplings. The villagers’ complaints did not worry him; the arguments between his men did. He needed each one of them to be fit and happy, so he let them do what they wished.

Where to go next? His spies reported that the Antrim coast of Ireland was well manned by Erik Haraldsson, who was not likely to relax his guard for some time. The western shore of Scotland had been hit twice, one raid wonderfully successful. But the raid on Somerstrath was sure to have raised the ire of the Earl of Ross. Strike again on the western shore, before they organized? Or find a new target? He looked around the hall again, at his men, at last sated, then rose when he saw Eldrid and Drason rising to their feet. He strode quickly to the back of the hall and met them as they approached the door. The boy had grown, and looked, the Norseman realized now with a start, more like himself than his brother. Had he had Eldrid all those years ago and not remembered it afterward?

“Eldrid,” he said. “Drason has been approved.”

Eldrid glanced at her son. “Approved?”

“He will travel with me on our next voyage.”

“No!” She put her hands on his chest. “Please! Leave him alone!”

He let his tone grow very cold. “You are displeased?”

He watched her consider, saw the frightened glance she gave to her son. “I was thinking,” the Norseman said slowly, “of our last time together.”

Her face paled.

“I’ve missed our…conversations. Shall we have one now?”

She shook her head and put a hand to her throat.

“Good.” He looked at Drason over Eldrid’s head. “Be ready to leave in two days.”

Drason shook his head. “I want no part of it, uncle.”

“Two days,” the Norseman said, and left them staring after him.

He’d know by morning whether she’d told the boy or not. If she had, Drason would come in a rage, and he’d have to deal with that. If not, she’d convince the boy to join him. Either way, Drason and his mother would not oppose him.

But two days was too long. He’d underestimated the problems several hundreds of warriors could cause within their own ranks, the arguments fueled by wine and ale and boredom. He spent most of his time overseeing the men rather than quietly planning, and that made him uneasy. He hurried them to finish their preparations, noting with satisfaction that Drason was now among them.

They were ready at last, then delayed by a summer storm that came without warning, lashing rain and hail on them, followed by a savage wind from the wrong quarter. He paced his hall, too full of idle men, and refused to hear the murmurs that he and his raids were cursed, that the ghosts of his brothers had been seen in the few hours of summer darkness, had sent the storm to block his progress. He needed a successful raid, a spectacular success—or possibly a series of them—and the doubters would be silenced. He stared out at the dark sky and thought.