On a Highland Shore (30 page)

William raised an eyebrow. “Then who’s to guard Inverstrath? Rufus doesna have enough men, Rory.”

Rory O’Neill glanced at Margaret, then nodded. “We’ll talk on it, William.”

No one heard Rignor’s protest, for one of Rufus’s men threw the door open, shouting, and everyone took notice.

“A sail, sir! Coming from the north, flying the Ross banner.”

The ship, sent by William’s men, brought frightening news. Haakon was in the Orkneys with a huge fleet of ships said to be heading south, but whether for Irish or Scottish waters was not known. King Alexander had ordered all those along the northern and western coasts to prepare their defenses, was sending men to reinforce the strongholds, and was said to be heading west himself.

“So it’s true,” William said. “These raids were but preludes. I’ll leave at first light. Rufus, get yer people readied. Rignor, ye’ll stay here with him.”

“What about Somerstrath?” Rignor cried. “Ye said…”

“Let’s see what Haakon’s about. Somerstrath is the least of our worries now. We’re talking about Scotland surviving now, not one…”

“I am Somerstrath, William! I will decide if it’s abandoned.”

William gave Rignor a long look. “Then hold it. But ye need to assist Rufus.”

“Somerstrath comes first.”

“Yer people come first!”

Rignor colored. “Aye, of course. That’s what I meant.”

“Good,” William said, turning to Margaret and Nell. “Ye’ll go to Brenmargon Abbey in the morning. Unless ye want to go to Lachlan…?”

“No,” Margaret said.

William waved a hand, accepting her decision, then looked at O’Neill.

“Gannon can stay,” O’Neill said, answering William’s unspoken question. He glanced at Gannon. “Will ye?”

“We can care for our own!” Rignor cried.

“Ye dinna have enough men to hold Inverstrath,” William said. “Gannon?”

“On one condition, sir,” Gannon said. “That the letter to the bishop be written before ye leave.”

William raised an eyebrow. “Ye understand what it is ye’re asking? And what ye’re saying to me?”

Gannon nodded. “Aye, sir, I do. On both counts.”

Margaret’s heart leapt, then quieted. He’d said nothing to her…but she’d known, hadn’t she? The corner of O’Neill’s mouth quirked. Rignor protested, but William, silencing him with a gesture, apparently as weary as Margaret was of how predictable her brother had become, watched Gannon.

“I need yer word that my niece will be safe with ye until she leaves.”

“Ye have my word.”

“And yer word that ye’ll remember she’s another man’s wife.”

“Aye, on that, too.”

“Then it’s done,” William said, rising. “We have much to do.”

The others all faded away, leaving Margaret and Gannon alone. But still he did not speak. She tried to keep the bubble of mirth down but failed.

“Gannon?”

He turned to her at once. “Aye?”

“Can ye believe it? All that happened?” She laughed aloud.

He joined her, slowly at first, then with a guffaw that amused him even more. “Did ye see his face when ye toasted him?” He laughed again, but a moment later his tone quieted. “I was so proud of yer courage, lass, standing up to him like that.”

She smiled. “Thank ye for defending me with William.”

“How could I not? It was I that kissed ye.”

She shook her head. “No, Gannon. It was both of us. I wanted it more than ye’ll ever ken.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. He lifted a hand as though to touch her cheek, then glanced around at the people still watching them. He let his hand fall.

“Margaret, did ye mean what ye said, that ye’ll ask for an annulment?”

“Aye. I meant every word. I promised to marry him, and I did. I dinna promise to stay married.”

His smile was wide. “There has never been a lass as fine as ye.”

She laughed softly. “And did ye mean what ye told William—or what ye led him to believe?”

“That I want this annulment? Aye.” He took a deep breath. “I thought I’d lost ye, Margaret. I kept telling myself that it couldna be helped, that ye’d been promised to Lachlan long before I met ye and that especially now, with the world gone mad, I was a fool to think that anything else would happen but that ye’d marry him. Last night, when I was on Skye, I couldna sleep for thinking that ye’d married him. That it was yer wedding night and…and when I walked in and ye were taking yer vows…it was everything I could do to stop myself from thundering across the room and stealing ye away. When ye get the annulment—if ye get the annulment, I’ll marry ye myself. If ye’ll have me. I love ye, lass.”

She could not speak. Her heart was too full, her mind spinning too fast to form words. She reached for him, ignoring those who might be watching, clasping him to her while her eyes filled with tears and she buried her face against his shoulder. She could hear his heart pounding, could hear his ragged breath. He put his arms around her, kissed her hair, then her cheek, then let her go.

“I told yer uncle…” he began, but she waved his words away.

“I ken, I ken. And I’ll not ask ye to break that promise. But ken this, Gannon MacMagnus. I love ye. I love ye with everything in me, and I’ll wait to be yers for as long as it takes.”

His smile was radiant. He took her hands in his and leaned to kiss her mouth, but did not pull her into his arms. The kiss was sweet and far too short. He released her hands and smiled again. “Let’s not make it verra long, Margaret. I want ye in my arms and in my bed. I want to kiss ye without wondering who’s watching and to ken that no one can stop us from being together.”

“And I want the same, Gannon,” she said, letting her gaze drift from his face to his waist. And below, then back to his eyes. “But it’s much more than a kiss that I’m wanting.”

He laughed, and her heart soared.

O’Neill was the first to leave, his ships scraping off the shingle at dawn with the first movement of the ebbing tide. Gannon and Tiernan waved from the shore, Margaret, Nell, and William from the berm above. The Irish leader left with fanfare, his drummer beating time for the rowers, his horns sounding as the ships turned and faced the sea. When he was gone and the harbor once again quiet, William turned to Margaret and Nell.

“I wish I could take ye with me, but I canna. Ye’ll be safe with Judith.”

“We’ll be fine here,” Margaret said with more confidence than she felt. “Inverstrath is too small to attract attention.”

“Ye will go to Brenmargon,” William said sternly. “Aye?”

Margaret smiled.

William, satisfied, continued. “I’ve told Rufus to keep runners out to the other clans for news. And Gannon will have men guarding from the sea. If aught happens while ye’re still here…save yerselves. Promise me.”

Nell nodded, her eyes fearful.

“We’ll be careful,” Margaret said. “Ye need to be as well.”

“Aye.” He paused, then put a sealed letter in her hand. “I’m told ye’ve written yer own already.”

“Last night.”

“The monk will take them. Ye ken that I have no control over the bishop. He might refuse to consider it.”

“I understand.”

“And perhaps little sway with the king. And there’s something we’ve not talked on. Ye ken that thanes like yer father, like Rignor now, are direct subjects of the king, not of the earls, that Rignor is tied to me by blood, not law.”

“Aye,” Margaret said, confused.

“The marriage contract cannot be canceled except by the king. He may ignore my wishes. He may leave the decision to yer closest male relative.”

“Rignor?”

“Aye. The king may decide to let him have the final say. Heal the friction between ye, Margaret.”

“I would have tried to anyway.”

“Aye, well, now ye have even more reason.” He leaned to kiss her forehead. “God keep ye safe.”

“What about Davey?” Margaret asked.

William’s face clouded. “He’s in God’s hands now. I can spare neither the time nor the men to search for him. I’ll keep him in my prayers. And all of ye.”

“Ye’ll be in ours,” she answered.

The sky was clear, the wind strong and from the west and their ships slid across the sea like fingers on silk. Nor Thorkelson looked to his left, where the sails of his companion’s ships were lifted high above their hulls, then to his right, where in the distance the outlines of the islands of Harris, Lewis, and Uist could be seen, gray against the indigo water. A short visit with a friend, a chance to hear the latest news and for his men to sate themselves with willing women for a change, and they’d be off again.

It would not last, he knew that. The Scots and the Irish would grow weary of his depredations, and would in time resist even his simple requests for payment instead of slaughter. They’d go to Ketelsay, complain to the thane of Orkney, perhaps even to King Haakon. But there they’d reach a deaf ear, for Haakon, it was said, was weary himself of Scottish demands. Scotland’s Alexander would find himself outmatched by Haakon’s experience and ruthlessness and undone by the Scots themselves. They called themselves a nation now, but all who looked at them from without knew them for what they were: a fractious group of peoples united only by their fierceness and inability to change.

He was actually doing them a favor by mixing Norse blood with theirs. Or he would have been doing them a favor if he’d let the women live; in the future, perhaps he would. Perhaps it was time to change what the Scots were. It would take time, three generations at a minimum, but it would happen, at least along the western seaboard. He smiled as he pictured tall blond boys with his agility, his intelligence, then frowned, remembering what had happened in Ireland. Norsemen had taken Dublin, mixed with the Irish, and formed a race that then fought their own. Danes had fought Norsemen, forgetting that Denmark was once part of Norway. And Norsemen now called themselves Irish.

No, he’d been right in the beginning. Take what they had and leave nothing behind. He glanced at Drason. His nephew had refused to fight in the last raid and was now bound and huddled in the hull. It was time for an accident, a most unfortunate occurrence. His men wouldn’t mind; the boy was a reminder of Ander and his objections, and that would not do.
Eldrid, Eldrid. You raised a weakling. And weaklings are intolerable
.

He should have married, should have sired a slew of boys who would have made him proud, instead of wondering how many bastards he’d fathered. At least he knew Drason was not one of them. Any lingering doubts he’d had about his nephew’s parentage had fled during that last raid, when the boy had begged him to stop, saying they simply could rob the Scots, that they didn’t have to kill everyone. How could Drason not understand? Terror was not terror if it was mediated. It must strike fear in their hearts, not simply in their purses. Nor shook his head, thinking of how exactly to rid himself of this irritation.

Then smiled as the solution came to him.

The equinox brought strong storms, as it often did, sheets of rain that soaked them to the skin in moments, and cold winds that crept through the tiny cracks and under the doors, bringing the first taste of winter. They stayed inside, in the dim hall, waiting for the weather to clear. The end of September already.

“Damn wind,” Rufus muttered, pulling his shirt closer around his neck.

Snapping wind
. The words came from nowhere. Margaret had not thought of that phrase since the day she’d left Somerstrath. Davey’s phrase; she could almost hear him say it. At the far end of the hall Rufus’s men played dice. Rufus himself sat near her, counting rents with one of his captains. Nell was doing needlework. Dagmar was nowhere to be seen, nor was Tiernan. Margaret sighed, knowing where the two of them were and what that would lead to. How Rignor could not know it was beyond her, but despite his ill temper, he seemed unaware of it. Others saw what she did, for Nell or Gannon would exchange a look with her that let her know Dagmar and Tiernan being together again had not escaped them. But no one spoke of it.

Runners arrived constantly with news of more raids, in the east, in the south. Rumors flew. Haakon had claimed all of southern Scotland; he’d murdered everyone in Edinburgh; he’d claimed the English throne. Alexander had pushed Haakon out of Scotland; he’d seized the Orkney Islands and the Hebrides; he’d claimed the English throne. There was more news from England, of even more turmoil. King Henry was still cowering in the Tower. Queen Eleanor had pawned her jewels to the Templars to pay the mercenaries in the royal army, but Prince Edward, under the guise of inspecting her jewels, smashed the treasure chests and took not only his mother’s jewels, but the Templars’ gold and silver as well. All of London was in an uproar and now invited de Montfort to take the city and the throne. There would be no help from that quarter.

News came then that Haakon had gone to the southwest of Scotland, anchoring his fleet off Arran and Bute and that there were negotiations between him and King Alexander. And then more news, confirming that Haakon had landed, but instead of war, the two kings were in discussions. When the news was confirmed yet again by runners from William, Rufus broke out some of his best wine. That night they toasted Alexander of Scotland and said a prayer for the success of the negotiations and talked of peace. People ventured beyond the walls again; fishermen sailed without Gannon’s ship in their sight, Rufus’s men went hunting to replenish Rufus’s larders, and life became peaceful.