Margo Maguire (12 page)

On the morrow he would teach her to wield a dirk, and that would be an end to it. ’Twas time for him to court Catrìona in earnest, marry her, and take the reins of lairdship from her father.

Lachann liked Kilgorra. In only a few days’ time, it had become more than just a strategic location for posting armed warriors to protect Braemore. He was coming to know and respect the people of the isle, and the island was beginning to feel like home.

MacPherson’s affable introductions proved invaluable. The Kilgorrans all agreed the laird had allowed the island’s defenses to weaken until they were barely existent. They’d prepared themselves to some extent against another raid, but their weaponry was outdated, and swords would be of limited use against a well-practiced enemy. To that end, Lachann recruited islanders to train with his men, while Duncan and Kieran organized those who came to the castle courtyard to volunteer.

The men—fishermen and farmers alike—began their training at the castle that morning. And while the men who’d come from Braemore were responsible for the training, Lachann chose two Kilgorran leaders to assist them: Boyd MacPherson and his cousin, a fisherman named Donald MacRae. Both men had the respect and loyalty of every Kilgorran, far more than they showed their own laird, whom they saw as a failing old man.

Everything was falling into place. Almost.

When supper ended, Lachann asked Catrìona to walk out to the gardens with him. She agreed, and he escorted her from the keep by way of a passageway just outside the great hall. ’Twas time to overcome his indifference and woo her in earnest, for he suspected Macauley would not wait much longer to make her his own.

Unless he had already done so.

It made her somewhat less appealing, but Lachann would do what he needed to do to secure the lairdship. Lachann would take her to wife, but there was naught about her that would ever put his heart at risk. She was not the kind to do that.

As far as Lachann could tell, she’d been indifferent to Davy MacDonall’s injury, which had taken place in her own realm—the castle. She was callous and demanding with the servants, and she possessed not a shred of . . .

Lachann sighed, shrugging off his concerns. He would have a few words with Catrìona after they were wed, and she would gain an understanding of what was expected of a laird’s wife. Of
his
wife. Certainly ’twas not to stand at the smithy shop and question that dolt of a blacksmith while a child lay injured in her courtyard.

’Twas Anna, not Catrìona, who had brought food from the castle for the MacDonalls. Anna who had gone to the village to give comfort to the injured lad’s mother.

Lachann hoped ’twould be merely a matter of instructing Catrìona on her duties as lady of the isle. She’d had no mother to show her, and only a drunkard of a father to support her.

She took Lachann’s arm as they walked. He guessed she was not much younger than his own thirty years, old enough to have married and borne a few bairns. Old enough to have become set in her ways.

But she could be taught.

“The blue of your gown is quite fetching, Catrìona,” he said, though as soon as he’d seen it, the color had brought to mind the pale color of Anna’s eyes.

Catrìona looked up at him with an expression that was more than slightly unsettling, though he was unsure why it struck him so. If she’d been a man, he’d have been wary of her drawing a weapon. “Thank you, Lachann,” she said.

They strolled on and Lachann swallowed his misgivings. “Have you ever traveled away from Kilgorra?”

She shook her head. “No, never.”

“Never visited relatives on the mainland?”

“We have no relations ashore,” she said. “I’ve never before had reason to leave.”

Lachann felt fortunate to have had grandparents and numerous cousins at Braemore, for he’d been hardly more than a bairn when his parents had met their deaths at Glencoe. Soldiers had murdered his father and eldest brother in cold blood, and Lachann’s mother had died of exposure in trying to get the rest of the family to safety.’Twas Dugan, a mere lad at the time, who’d managed to get his younger siblings away in the midst of that hell.

They’d been taken to Braemore and become MacMillans, welcomed by the clan that had been his mother’s. When he’d come up with his plan to protect Braemore by sea, he’d been thinking only of his own clan. Now he knew that Kilgorra needed him, too.

Dusk came upon Lachann and Catrìona as they continued on a path past the lush beds of flowers at the far side of the courtyard, the path where he’d encountered Anna that first evening on Kilgorra.

Where he’d wanted naught but to kiss her.

Lachann felt no such urge with Catrìona, even though the moment was conducive to a romantic interlude. Catrìona clung to his arm and pressed her body against him as they walked. The heavy perfume of the flowers surrounded them.

“I understand you have a great number of relations at Braemore,” Catrìona said. “And now your brother is laird of the MacMillans.”

“Aye. He became laird when our grandfather passed away a few years back.”

“ ’Tis a grave responsibility.”

“Aye.” One that her father had not taken seriously for a good many years, it seemed.

“Shall we walk to the chapel?” Catrìona asked. “ ’Tis much quieter there.”

“Quieter?”

She looked up at him with a lazy smile. “No one will disturb us out there.”

Lachann swallowed. He needed to go, just to seal the betrothal agreement. He wanted her father’s lands, she wanted a husband. Either him or Cullen Macauley.

“Aye. Lead the way.”

Catrìona took a tighter hold of his arm and drew him away from the garden and onto an overgrown path toward the southern wall. In the gloaming, he could make out the silhouette of a tall stone steeple, but it appeared to be in ruins. The castle wall extended some distance past the chapel grounds, and Lachann was able to make out a metal gate breaking the solid line of the wall.

“What’s out there?”

“Naught. A cliff,” Catrìona said.

“The chapel is no longer used?” he asked.

“No,” she replied offhandedly. “There is a kirk in the village.”

She gave a furtive glance ’round the area, and Lachann allowed her to pull him to a thick elm tree. She circled ’round him, and with the gleam in her dark eyes that had bothered him only a few minutes ago, maneuvered him back against the tree and stood close to him. Very close.

For the moment, Lachann believed it prudent to allow her to think she was in charge.

“This is what you wanted, is it not?” she asked sweetly. “To be alone together?”

She reached up and unfastened the MacMillan brooch that held his plaid in place at his shoulder.

Aye, that was exactly what he should have wanted, though as he stood with his back to the tree, he felt naught but an uneasy tension. After all her flirting with Cullen Macauley, this seemed slightly . . . arbitrary.

Not that that made any difference in the long run. Mayhap she was just weighing her options. Lachann believed he ought to be pleased that she was willing to test the waters with him. He certainly had no intentions of marrying for love, but he did not want a wife who recoiled when he kissed her. Or bedded her.

“What do you desire, Lachann MacMillan?” she asked in a hushed voice. “Tell me.”

Chapter 18

L
achann felt the coarse bark of the massive elm tree at his back and the warm length of Catrìona’s body against his. What he desired ought to have been completely clear. And yet he was unmoved.

Catrìona slipped her fingers into his belt, and Lachann had the distinct impression she would actually disrobe him where he stood. There might have been a time when he’d enjoyed this kind of seduction, but that time was not now.

“Mmm. We have no braw warriors on Kilgorra like you, Lachann.”

He caught her hand before she reached vulnerable territory. “Catrìona—”

Something hit Lachann on the head, and he looked up. A quiet giggle came from somewhere within the higher branches of the elm. Catrìona let out a squeal and jerked away from Lachann as more pelting occurred. ’Twas small twigs that were hitting them.

“Is that you, Angus MacLaren?” she hissed. “And Robbie Kincaid! Get down here!”

The giggles turned into chuckles, and then childish cackles. And suddenly, a small body came crashing down and would have hit the ground had Lachann not managed to catch the lad.

But as soon as he put him on his feet, Catrìona scooped up a stout branch and gave the lad a nasty clout on the backs of his legs. Then she took hold of his ear and started pulling him back to the keep, forgetting Lachann altogether. “You are a nasty wee devil, Angus! Your father shall hear of your skulking about where you do not belong!”

Aye, the lad was in trouble for being where he should not.

Lachann had the uneasy sense that he did not belong there, either.

O
n her way back to the keep from Gudrun’s cottage, Anna nearly collided with Catrìona, who was rushing forward. She held a bellowing Angus MacLaren by the ear and used a stick to herd a worried-looking Robbie Kincaid at her side. Lachann MacMillan followed behind at a more leisurely pace.

They were coming from the direction of the chapel, Catrìona’s favorite trysting place. ’Twas isolated and romantic, with the ruins of the beautiful old chapel and the thickest, bonniest elm tree Anna had ever seen. All the servants knew better than to venture to the spot when Catrìona was on the prowl.

Anna just hated the thought of what Catrìona had been doing with Lachann in the old churchyard. And yet here were Angus and Robbie, and Catrìona was clearly livid. Anna could not imagine what horrible transgression the lads had committed.

“Hie yourselves to the blacksmith and wait for me there.”

“Ach, no, m’lady!” Angus cried.

“We were havin’ naught but a bit o’ fun!” Robbie wailed.

Lachann’s deep voice cut through the lads’ terrified clamoring. “Catrìona.” Suddenly, all was quiet. “Release them.”

Catrìona hesitated for an instant, but then she let go of Angus’s ear and slowly turned to face Lachann. In the short space of time it took for her to turn, she composed herself, wiping away the vindictive expression everyone at the castle knew so well. Particularly Anna.

“Lads, go home,” Lachann said. “And play no more pranks. I would take it amiss if you hurt yourselves, as Davy MacDonall did today.”

The two ran off as quickly as their legs would carry them, and Catrìona shot a malevolent glance at Anna before sliding her hand into the crook of Lachann’s elbow. Anna’s chest burned at the sight of the two of them together.

Ach, she was being worse than an idiot
. She’d known better than to dream of an escape from Kilgorra. At least with Lachann MacMillan.

“ ’Tis about time you returned, Anna MacIver,” Catrìona said in a tone of feigned affability. “Flora has need of you in the kitchen.”

“I’m sure she does,” Anna replied without looking up at Lachann. She just couldn’t, not while he was in the midst of courting Catrìona. She did not want to think of how many trips to the chapel he’d already made with her while she’d been away on Spirit Isle. “I’m on my way there now.”

“You have time to make up for, Anna,” Catrìona said as Anna started to move past them.

“Aye. And I will.”

Anna scurried down to Flora’s domain, and when the older woman saw her, she said, “What’s happened to ye, lass? Yer face is as red as a brined herring!”

“Naught,” Anna retorted. She took an apron and tied it about her waist. “What chores are left to do? Shall I knead the dough for you?”

Flora was in the midst of preparing dough for their bread on the morrow, but she shook her head. Anna looked ’round to the other maids and saw Nighean scrubbing the pots Flora had used for cooking, and Meg, who had finished putting the oats in a pot to soak for the morning porridge. Red-haired Glenna was sweeping the floor.

“We’re managing here, lass,” Flora said. “The laird was’na feeling well, and Alex just came down from helpin’ him into bed. Catrìona has gone walkin’ with MacMillan.”

Anna nodded, desperately looking for something to do—something to occupy her hands and her mind. “Aye. I saw them. They are just outside.”

“Ah.” Flora looked at her curiously.

“What?”

“Naught,” Flora said in an odd tone, nodding toward a low shelf at the back of the kitchen. “Ye might gather those empty whiskey bottles and take them out to Graeme’s cart to be carried back to the distillery.”

Anna frowned. “There are so many. Far more than what the laird usually drinks.”

“Aye. Ever since that arse Macauley brought him the specially aged draught from the distillery, he’s been drinkin’ more.”

“ ’Tis not good for him.”

“Nay, but I would’na know how to discourage him from it.”

Neither would Anna.

But she was glad to have something to do. She’d managed to shove all the crates to the walls in Gudrun’s cottage, clearing a large space for her morning lesson with Lachann. She put the empty whiskey bottles into a burlap sack and carried them outside. Effie caught up to her, missing her, no doubt, after two days away. “Aye, you’ll get your platter of milk on the morrow, my wee friend.”

The sky was full of stars to light her way, but Anna knew the path so well she could have found her way to the stable even if it had been pitch dark. Even with Effie trying to wrap herself ’round Anna’s legs as she walked.

Anna was just grateful she would not have to encounter Lachann and Catrìona again tonight.

Once Catrìona was occupied with her husband and children . . . Surely the woman would have more important things to do after her marriage than to harass Anna every time their paths crossed.

And Lachann would have no time for lazy conversations on the island’s pathways.

Anna ignored the burning in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Catrìona bearing Lachann MacMillan’s children. Of having to wait upon the two of them, mayhap preparing Catrìona in her bedchamber as she awaited her husband.

She dreaded seeing the disgust in Lachann’s eyes when he learned what kind of woman he’d married, and knowing that anyone on the isle could have informed him before he’d become shackled to her.

“
Herregud
.” Anna pinched her lips together at the injustice of it all, then remembered her resolution never to belong to any man.

Mayhap she could get the
Saoibhreas
to take her and Kyla to the northern coast. And from there, they could figure a way to get to Norway and her mother’s people.

She wondered if Lachann had made his proposal to Catrìona tonight. He must know that Cullen Macauley had his own plans and purpose here. And it was not merely to seduce the serving maids.

Macauley wanted to be laird, too.