On a Highland Shore (39 page)

“You are not enjoying this. Perhaps you like other things better.”

He stepped back, withdrew his hand from her, and grabbed her wrist, jerking her behind him toward the bed. “What does Gannon do to entertain you, sing to you? Write poems in your honor, like some Norman knight? And this is the man who…”

Defeated ye, she thought, but knew better than to say it.

“…beds you,” he finished. “I’ll show you things you’ve never imagined.”

He tossed her on the bed, threw himself atop her before she could move; he fumbled with his clothing with one hand while he held her down with his other. When he straddled her and pulled his tunic over his head, she struck him between the legs with all her might.

He groaned. His lips twisted into a sneer, and he hit her, hard, across the face, then again with the back of his hand, knocking her from the bed to the floor, his breath rasping. She put a hand to her mouth; it came away bloody.

“Sir.” The voice came from the doorway, but no one entered.

“What is it?” Nor shouted.

“Sir, there’s a messenger. Will you come out? Shall we come in?”

“What is the news?”

“Sir? You might want to…”

“Tell me!”

There was a slight pause, then the guard spoke again. “The Scots raided the northern camp. They killed all of our men. They took the boys. They even took the pigs and cattle. Our men just arrived with the news, sir. All the boys are gone.”

Nor’s laugh was low and bitter as he returned to the bed, pulling his tunic on with rough, angry motions. He called loudly for his guard, who entered at once, his manner diffident. He did not look at Margaret.

“Get her out of here. And be sure no one—no one—touches her but me.”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said.

Nell and a handful of Inverstrath women whose men had accompanied Gannon took turns watching the shore for sails, even though they could do nothing but run inland to warn the others if the Norsemen returned. But still they watched. Nell watched most closely of all. Late in the day after Gannon left, the Ross ships arrived. Uncle William was not with them, but his captain, a thin, wiry man she’d met several times before, told her that William was bringing troops to support the king and could not come, but he sent his love. William, the captain said, had heard of the attack and of Gannon’s brilliant defense of Inverstrath.

“But not this!” the captain said, looking at the ruins of Rufus’s fortress. “No one’s yet heard that they came back and took their revenge. Lord, God, I’m so sorry.”

“They took Margaret,” Nell said. “They killed Rufus. And Gannon’s brother. And Rignor’s dead.”

“Ross willna like that ye’re here alone. Ye’d best come with me.”

“I’m not alone, sir, and I willna leave until Gannon comes back with Margaret. But I thank ye, sir.”

The man sighed. “It may be for the best, lassie. The whole country’s in an uproar, Lady Nell. Yer uncle is bringing his army south and he’s not alone. All the clans and the Border Lords are collecting men to join King Alexander. Have ye heard all the news, that Haakon of Norway’s men pulled ships overland to Loch Lomond and sacked everything there? Pulled their longships overland! It’s war, lass. The king is still parleying with Haakon, but where else can it go? Most I’ve talked to think it’s time for the islands in Scotland’s waters to belong to Scotland, for us all to be united. Haakon’s an old man, Alexander a young one. It’s time for Haakon to give over the reins. And to stop things like what happened here and at Brenmargon Abbey.”

Nell’s heart sank. “What happened at Brenmargon?”

“Ye’d not heard? Dead, all of them. Abbess Judith and everaone of the women. Hard to understand men who do such things, aye?”

Nell thought of Judith and her warmth, her faith, her laughter and hospitality. The world, it seemed, had gone mad.

“Did ye ken them, Lady Nell?”

“Aye,” she whispered. “We did.”

Gannon shaded his eyes as the sun rose over Leod’s loch, turning the gray water to silver. The rest of Skye was already bathed in light, but dawn came last to the northwestern waters. He shifted his weight as his ship rolled with the swells that raced past him and through the arms of the headlands that guarded Loch Dunvegan. The tide was coming in. And somewhere above, no doubt still in his warm bed, Leod would soon learn that he had visitors.

They’d sailed all night,
Gannon’s Lady
and MacDougall’s two galleys, aided by a lively wind and a full moon, reaching Skye before dawn. They used the early light to sail past the camps he’d visited with Drason, not expecting Nor to be there, but, on the off chance, they’d checked and found nothing. And then he’d come here.

Margaret was here, somewhere on this island. He could feel it in his bones. Every hour that passed increased his determination and his rage. If Nor had harmed her…he would not be responsible for his actions. And Tiernan had died at the man’s hand.

Hurry
.

He whirled around, causing several of his men to look at him in surprise, but there was no one there, and he realized that the whispers had found him again.

Hurry.

“Let’s go,” he said, willing his heart to slow. Around him his men roused themselves and began to lift their oars. He gave the signal to MacDougall. The other man nodded, and his men, too, began to move. “Ye’ll come with me,” he told Drason. The boy nodded.

Gannon watched as his men raised the sail and waited for his signal. He told them to keep their shields on the railing and their weapons hidden. It would not do to look aggressive when arriving at Leod’s door unannounced, especially since his message might not be welcome. MacDougall had brought news of the outside world, of the turmoil Scotland was in. His conversation with Leod would be illuminating. And, God willing, he’d live through it.

As
Gannon’s Lady
moved toward shore, the two Scottish galleys moved in the opposite direction, south on the open sea, carrying letters Gannon had written before he left, to Rory, to William Ross, and to King Alexander. If Gannon had not joined him in two hours, MacDougall would sail for home and spread the news.

As he had last time, Gannon waited at Leod’s dock, sending word of his arrival up the hill. There were no dragonships here, no longships even, except Leod’s, sporting his distinctive lion prow. There was no sign of preparation for war, no groups of armed men waiting for orders, no bustle that was unseemly. He glanced at Drason, sitting where Tiernan had sat, and thought of all that had happened since his last trip here.

Last night, in the dark, he’d almost turned to Tiernan with a comment, only to remember that he could never do that again. He’d been glad of the darkness then, welcoming it to hide his emotions. By the time the moon had risen, he’d been more under control, or as much as he could when his rage was simmering just under the surface. There was no reason his brother had died other than Nor’s greed and rapacity, his darkness, which must be obliterated. If Nor had touched Margaret, he’d make the man pay. If he’d hurt her, Nor would suffer every torture Gannon could imagine, and just now his imagination was quite fertile.

When Leod’s message came for Gannon to join him, he left his men without a backward glance. They knew what to do—he’d given them the same orders he’d given Tiernan when last they were here. Wait two hours. Then sail like hell and raise the alarm.

Like last time he was shown straight to Leod, and like last time the man was not surprised to see him. He was offered ale, and bread and cheese to break his fast. He accepted it all, eating slowly as he sat opposite the older man.

“Winter’s coming,” Leod said, rubbing his thigh. “I can always feel it in my legs. It was cold last night.”

“Was it?” Gannon asked mildly. “I dinna notice.”

“That anxious to visit me again, were ye? I’m flattered.” Gannon smiled tightly. “They’ll be plenty of others behind me. I’m told that the clans have risen to join King Alexander.”

“Haakon’s said to have eighty ships.”

“Haakon’s an old man a long way from home.”

“Alexander’s untested.”

“Alexander has the backing of the entire country. Scotland’s united behind him in this, especially after the raids around Loch Lomond. Haakon should have been more prudent. The old ways are gone, Leod. Raiding is no longer going to be tolerated.”

Leod took a large bite of bread and chewed thoughtfully. Gannon waited.

“It’s been successful for centuries,” Leod said at last.

“Those days are over. The Nor Thorkelsons of the world will be defeated.”

“Alexander’s a bit busy just now. Who will defeat Nor?”

“I will.”

Leod raised his eyebrows. “With one ship?”

“I’m not alone. And lest ye think to simply kill me and be rid of the problem I’m bringing ye, let me forestall that. Before I came, I wrote to Rory O’Neill and to William Ross and Alexander of Scotland, telling them what I mean to do. If I die here with ye, I will be avenged.”

“I’m not a murderer.”

“Ye harbor them.”

“I do not.”

“Ye’ve offered them land, bases from which to attack Ireland and Scotland. They come here for women. And, I’m told, to visit with ye. I’m offering ye a chance to redeem yerself. Join me.”

“In?”

“Tiernan is dead. Rufus of Inverstrath is dead. A lot of good men are dead because of one man. Now he is holding Margaret MacDonald hostage. I mean to take her back.”

There was a flicker in Leod’s eyes. “He has Ross’s niece?”

“Aye.”

“I thought she married elsewhere.”

“The marriage wasna valid.”

“I’ve heard otherwise.”

Gannon spoke coldly. “We’ll not debate it. Look, I’m being as direct with ye as I can. Join me and survive. If ye harbor Nor, ye’ll share his fate.”

“Which will be?”

“I’ll find him. I’ll kill him.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“I’m warning ye. The old days are over. If ye wish to keep yer home and yer power, join with the ones who will triumph. The Haakons and the Nors of this world are from a time past.”

“What do you ask of me?”

“Ships. Men. Directions. I have Nor’s nephew with me; the boy kens much, but I’d rather it was ye who told me where to find Nor. That way, when I’m telling the story to King Alexander, I can say that ye came with me as an eager ally. As an old friend who remembered my father.”

Leod pushed back his chair and crossed the room to stand in front of his window overlooking the water below, his back to Gannon.
Hurry
. Gannon fought the sudden chill of fear that claimed him. She was here, he could feel it. Moments passed. He clenched his hands beneath the table and kept his face impassive.

“It’s a new day, Leod.”

“I was just looking at that,” Leod said.

“Winter’s coming. It could be cold out here all alone.”

“Aye.”

“I’d argue for ye to keep yer lands.”

Leod faced him. “Tell me again why I should be listening to ye.”

“My cousin is the laird of Ulster, my uncle the leader of Antrim. And my woman is the niece of one of Scotland’s most powerful men. I have the ear of Ireland and Scotland. I’d make a better ally than an enemy. And I’m not leaving Skye until I have Margaret back.”

“She’s that important to you.”

“She’s that important to me.”

Leod moved slowly back to the table. “How many men do you need?”

“How many are ye offering?”

M
argaret was separated from the other women, put into a tent with guards all around her. She lay back, still wrapped in the plaid that the guard had thrown at her. Later, when her hands stopped trembling, she would fashion some sort of gown from it. It didn’t matter, none of it. She was alive.
And Davey is free
.

She’d meant to be calm, to let Nor do as he would, telling herself that Davey’s survival might rely on it. But when he touched her, he’d unleashed something fierce in her. Submitting to him would have meant that she had assisted him in dominating her. When she saw the pleasure in his eyes, saw that he enjoyed her fear, she’d chosen to battle instead. She touched her face, swollen from his blows. Davey was free. She’d not known that when she struck Nor, but now, thank God, it did not matter what she’d done. And God willing, Nell was safe.

It was Gannon who mattered now. Gannon, who probably had already returned to Inverstrath, had found Tiernan dead. Her heart ached for him, for his pain at the discovery. He’d talk to the Inverstrath people and learn that Nor had taken her. Gannon would come for her as Nor had known he would. She was terrified for him. Gannon would find this place, and Nor would be waiting for him, like a viper.

Almost there
.

Gannon lifted his head and smiled. Whatever the whispers were, he was glad of their company this fine day. He watched the coastline, looking for the passage. And then there it was, just as Leod had said, a small opening in the sea cliffs, easily missed if one was not searching for it, a finger of water that led inland, through the tall cliffs that guarded the entrance. He felt his blood rise and gave the signal to the others.

Leod had given him three ships, full of armed men, and given them orders to destroy Nor’s camp and Nor himself. It had taken hours for them to prepare, but the time had been worth spending. Gannon had used it well, leaving Leod’s stronghold to find MacDougall offshore, who was waiting as planned. And with MacDougall were two of William Ross’s ships outside the entrance to Loch Bracadale—a most welcome sight. Gannon now had eight ships and five hundred men with him. Cities had been flattened by fewer.

But that was not the best of it. Leod had provided maps and men who knew this island better than any. Some had gone overland from the north, would wait for Gannon’s arrival. The rest were with him now.

Nor had chosen his camp well, Leod’s men had said. It was a perfect trap for Nor’s enemies. The sea loch entrance was long and narrow, and while it was deep, there was not enough room for a ship to turn. From the steep cliffs towering overhead men could easily launch a hail of arrows, or worse, on any ship trying to enter. At the end of the passage was a large inner loch, mostly ringed with cliffs, but with flatland near the eastern side of the water, where Nor’s ships were beached, where, behind a low-slung wooden wall, the gentle rise was filled with tents. And where Nor—and Margaret—would be. He knew Nor would be expecting him to come after Margaret and the other women. But he would not guess how.

Gannon climbed out of
Gannon’s Lady
and into one of Leod’s ships, giving his own ship’s painted railing a pat, perhaps for the last time. It did not matter if he lost her; he had more important goals now. He gave the signal for the other ships to wait here, outside the passage, then sailed south with another of Leod’s ships, to the next bay. He left the two ships there with a handful of men to guard them—their escape route if all went astray—and with fifty of his Irish and Inverstrath men, climbed the cliffs of the bay. There was no one to oppose them atop the flat headland, and they loped northward, toward Nor’s encampment.

He left most of the men in a sheltered spot, with orders to wait for his return. Then he, with five others, crept westward, quickly finding Nor’s men who guarded the cliffs above the passage from the sea. There had been only three, just as Leod had said. They were quickly dispatched. And there, on the cliffs opposite, he saw Leod’s men come from the north and remove Nor’s guards on that side. Gannon breathed a little easier. He’d not been sure Leod’s information would be accurate, nor that the man would actually send his men. But there they were.

Gannon, at the edge of the cliff, waved the signal to the waiting MacDougall and Ross’s ships below,
Gannon’s Lady
with them. Nor would have little warning of their arrival. He watched the six ships, safe now from attack from above, glide into the passage, then ran back to his men.

Nor settled himself between Dagmar’s legs, thrusting inside her without preliminaries. She was lovely, this Scottish woman, and would be, at least for another few years before her sharp features grew shrewish and her words irritated more than her tongue pleasured. She was artful and imaginative, he thought, withdrawing, then sliding deeper into her, ignoring her gasp, quickly followed by her wide smile. Dagmar was more than willing; she was ambitious. At first she’d been content not to be raped, suggesting, when he’d started to force her, that he would be far better pleasured if she was allowed to participate. She had caught him off guard, for he’d become accustomed to terrifying women.

She’d been an energetic lover, never refusing him, always praising and cosseting him, so much so that it began to be cloying, her words ringing false now that he’d heard them so often. She did not shrink from his touch like Margaret MacDonald.

Dagmar, her back arched and head thrown back against the pillow, squirmed beneath him. “Oh, Nor, ye are amazing. Ye’re so big; ye fill me so completely.”

“You told me that Margaret was passive. She’s not.”

“Then teach her to be. Ye terrify men. Surely ye can subdue one woman.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and bit his lower lip. “Ye misunderstood.”

He watched her for a moment. He did not like that tone from her. From anyone. “I misunderstood?”

“Aye.” She arched higher.

He thrust deeper. “Tell me again that there’s never been anyone like me.”

“There’s never been anyone like ye.”

He slipped his hands around her neck. “Tell me again.”

“There’s never been anyone like ye,” she gasped, as he drove into her.

“And again,” he said, tightening his grip on her throat, then tighter still.

She tossed her head from side to side, her legs thrashing now. He climaxed, his grip on her neck relaxing with the rest of him. She lay gasping, staring at him, her eyes huge. He was quite sure she would not use that tone again.

“Get out,” he said.

He expected her to scramble to collect her clothing and run naked for the door. Instead, she stretched languorously, like a cat, then turned on her side. “Again,” she said. “Do it again, Nor. If ye can.”

He slid a hand along her sleek side, feeling the softness of her skin. She looked over her shoulder and smiled a sly smile, and he felt his anger rise. It was time that Dagmar learned not to make demands, that he decided their actions, not she.

She pushed back against him. “Not yet, aye?” She laughed. “I can wait.”

He turned her to see her face and put a hand on her neck, trying to think if there was anything else he might need her for. There were always willing women. He tightened his grip.

“That hurts,” she complained, batting ineffectually at him.

He put a second hand on her neck.

“Nor!”

“Farewell, Dagmar,” he said softly, then tightened his grip.

She thrashed a bit, arching against him with both hands pulling at his, her nails digging into his skin. When at last she lay still beneath him, he gave a low laugh. He lay on his back and looked away, then tossed a cover over her, so that her face could not reproach him again.

“Sir! Sir! Come at once!” The guard’s tone was shrill as he burst through the door, his eyes widening as he looked from Nor to Dagmar.

“This had better be important,” Nor said, sitting up.

“Is she dead?”

“Yes. Have someone take her away. What is it?”

“Ships, sir. Six of them in the passage!”

Nor stood, naked. “Not ours, obviously.”

“No! Sir, the men…what should we do?”

Nor pulled on leggings, then his shirt. “Calm down. We knew they were coming, we just didn’t know when. Get Margaret MacDonald on her way.”

As the guard scurried to do his bidding, Nor pulled his chain mail over his head, strapped on his leather armor, and, grabbing his helmet, strode outside. His men, gathered and armed, were anxious to board their ships and confront the invaders.

“Wait,” he told them. “They will come to us.”

A moment later he was proved right. From the dark passageway at the far end of the loch came six ships, Scots, built the best way, in the Norse fashion. Each was full of men, shields at the railings, helmets on head. Men who had come for battle, not negotiations. At the head of this fleet was a graceful longship, dark wood with a red sail. Gannon’s, he would wager—and as anticipated. And Margaret had thought
him
predictable. William Ross’s banner flew above another ship, but Nor was quite sure Ross was not here himself. The others looked like Leod’s ships, but that could not be.

There were more ships than he’d expected. His anger grew. The men he’d had stationed on the cliffs were supposed to shower arrows on any enemy ships entering the loch, but there was not even one arrow visible, no dying or dead men to be seen. He swore and counted his opponents’ ships, then swore again. How had even six ships arrived unharassed? Had the men he had stationed there abandoned their posts? Or had they somehow been attacked?

He was angry, but not alarmed. His men should be moving even now to seal the only exit from the loch, as they’d been trained to do. He grunted with satisfaction as two of his ships moved to do just that. His visitors would be staying for a while, enjoying his own special brand of hospitality. But wait…two of the enemy ships were turning to face his, preventing the passage from being sealed. He watched as they became engaged in battle, and the rest of the enemy fleet moved closer. He cursed silently, refusing to let his men see his agitation.

“Let them come to us,” he said, keeping his manner calm while his heart pounded in his chest.

Gannon’s men were waiting for him, gesturing him to the new vantage point they’d found. Nor’s encampment was laid out before him. The loch was oval, tents strung along a flat stretch of land above a gentle slope on the eastern shore to his right. There were a few huts among the tents, signs that someone had once lived here permanently. And where Margaret and Davey would be hidden. Nor’s ships were on the beach, men working nearby.

From the left of the loch the MacDougall and Ross ships slid out of the passage, followed by Leod’s. And
Gannon’s Lady
. Gannon allowed himself a moment to admire her beauty and regret that she might not survive this day. Then he turned his attention to the Norsemen on the beach, who were going mad, shouting and arming themselves, more pouring from the tents above and running toward the beach. All was going according to the plan he’d worked out with MacDougall and Leod and the Ross men, who’d proved surprisingly willing to follow his plan. They’d been unconvinced at first, but agreed; and now proved as good as their word.

And there, in the camp, stood the man who must be Nor Thorkelson.

There was no mistaking him. He strode out of the most substantial hut with a battle-axe in one hand and a helmet in the other. His walk was a swagger, his shoulders were wide, and his stance arrogant. Long blond hair streamed down his back. Nor walked quickly to the shore, watching two of the Scottish ships take on his sentry ships stationed at the neck of the passage, then donned his helmet.

Gannon watched for a moment more while the four ships struggled, pleased to see that at least one of Nor’s ships was getting the worst of it. The MacDougall and Ross ships slid closer, Leod’s ships just behind, almost at the shore now and still untouched, while Nor’s men struggled to get their ships in the water. Gannon waited, knowing what would happen next, then smiled grimly as the rain of flaming arrows flew from the Scottish ships, landing on the beach and in Nor’s ships, setting at least one of the sails aflame.

The Scottish ships moved closer and let off another volley, these landing farther up the shore, igniting the tents and scattering the defenders. Gannon jumped to his feet then, giving the signal for his men to follow. He smelled the burning canvas and ran even faster. If he’d been wrong, and Margaret was in one of those tents, he had only moments to save her. He could hear the bellows of rage from the beach, followed by orders given in a harsh shout. Nor, it seemed, objected to his brand of warfare. Gannon spared a glance at the shore, pleased to see the sails of two of Nor’s ships were aflame and the Scottish ships landing, men pouring from them.

He ran toward the women’s screams, shouting Margaret’s name. Overhead the third and last volley of flaming arrows hit the encampment, and he watched the sky lest he be hit. No more would be coming. And none needed, for the camp was fully on fire. He slashed through the tops of the first two tents he reached, finding them empty. Behind him his men were doing the same. He left them there and ran toward the crude hut where the women were held, their screams loud, their hands thrust between the tree limbs that served as walls.

“Margaret!” he shouted, reaching for the door.

From nowhere a huge man leapt atop him, the women’s guard, he realized as he fell, the giant atop him.

“No!” Nor shouted, as the tents behind him burst into flame. He cursed the rock below them, which provided no defense, and the constant wind that had sucked all moisture from the oiled canvas. They were like torches now, the tents. The huts were slower to burn, and his own shelter was still intact. Nor’s men ran to douse the flames. The women in the prisoner’s hovel screamed as the structure was hit.

“Let it burn!” Nor shouted. “Let it all burn!”

They could rebuild shelters and get more prisoners. It was the attackers who needed to be faced. They were pouring from the ships, shields held before them, far more men than he’d ever thought the Irishman could have mustered, far more men than he had himself. Scots in their ridiculous skirts, the Irish in their long tunics and trousers, and Norsemen, for they could be nothing else. Well-armed men with spears and swords and battle-axes, many dressed in chain-mail shirts or leather-
padded armor. Somehow, in hours rather than the weeks he’d anticipated, an alliance had been formed. He’d not thought they could accomplish that until the war between Haakon and Alexander was over—when he’d planned to be far away. Damn the man who had accomplished this.