Margo Maguire (20 page)

Chapter 30

A
nna felt numb.

She stood frozen in place as Macauley stalked away with Duncan right behind him and Lachann escorted Catrìona from the close. ’Twas as though he’d completely forgotten she’d been present during the interchange with Macauley.

She might as well have been invisible.

Had she completely misunderstood his expression when he’d looked up at her from the practice field? Swallowing back the burning deep in her throat, she blinked away the tears that threatened to spill over onto her cheeks.

She heard Graeme calling to her, but she could not face anyone. Not now.

Lachann had sent for Father Herriot, and Anna knew that could only mean one thing.

Devastation.

She slipped away from the close, skirted ’round the courtyard, and went back to the chapel gate. She climbed down the rocky steps to the beach and ran up to the harbor. Then she backtracked up the lane that led to Kyla’s cottage just down from the distillery. She needed a few sane moments with the one person she called family.

All was quiet when she approached, and Anna had a sudden fear that something horrible had happened. That Birk had finally done his worst and . . .

She knocked frantically at the door, instantly forgetting her own misery.

No one answered.

Herregud!
Was Kyla lying injured inside and unable to come to the door?

“Kyla!” Anna called through her tears. “Where are you?”

She tried to see in the windows, but they were shuttered. Feeling close to panic now, she tried the door—

“Anna!”

Anna whirled ’round to see Kyla approaching the cottage from the lane.

“What is amiss, Anna? You look a fright!”

Anna leaned back against the door in relief, nearly too unnerved to speak. “I went into a panic when no one answered your door.”

Kyla walked past her into the house. “I just went to sit with Sorcha Carnegie for a bit.”

“I feared Birk—”

“My husband did naught when he returned home.”

“Where is he now?”

Kyla looked away. “Out. I . . . I’m not sure where.”

Anna forced herself to calm down. Her own problems were naught compared to Kyla’s. No one was about to kill her. “He’s t-treated you well since he’s come back?”

Kyla nodded and narrowed her eyes at Anna. “What is it, Anna? What is wrong? Is it Lachann MacMillan?”

Ach, she should not have come. Kyla had her own worries, and ’twas thoughtless of Anna to bring more to her. “Come here, lad,” she said, taking Douglas from Kyla’s arms. She pressed a kiss to the bairn’s head, but instead of feeling calmer, Anna felt just as unsettled as when she’d left the castle. Mayhap more.

“Something’s happened,” Kyla said. “Tell me.”

“Naught. I—” Anna felt her chin begin to tremble, and she fought the tears that were sure to follow. “Ach, ’tis complicated.”

“Aye?”

How could she tell Kyla what was wrong when she could hardly piece it all together herself? That for the first time in her life, she believed it might not be so very terrible to belong to a man. But only to a man like Lachann MacMillan. The very man who had just sent for the priest to marry him to Catrìona.

“Oh, Ky.”

Her tears did fall then, and Kyla came and wrapped Anna in her arms with Douglas between them. “You fell in love with him, didn’t you?”

Anna could only sniffle and nod. She felt as though her heart had been squeezed into a space that was too small.

“But he’s promised to Catrìona,” Kyla said. “And h-he’s about to marry her.”

“Will you not fight for him?”

“How can I, Kyla?” Anna whispered. “He will not give up Kilgorra. He cannot if he is to protect his homeland. And Catrìona is part of his agreement with Laird MacDuffie.” How could she ask him to abandon his goal? Besides, ’twas too late. Father Herriot would soon be on his way to the castle.

“He cares for you.”

He’d wanted her, aye. But so had Cullen Macauley. Was Lachann’s seduction any different? Had
caring
been any part of it?

Herregud
. She hoped so, but she just didn’t know. . . . And in any event, what did it matter now?

“You’ve bedded him,
min kjære venn
?”

Anna nodded, and as she wept, Kyla remained quiet, just holding her.

“Anna . . . can you not trust Lachann?”

“Trust him?”

“Aye. To see what Catrìona is? To know what an exceedingly poor wife she will make him?”

“You do not understand, Ky,” Anna said. “He has no choice. Even though he might know Catrìona’s true nature—”

“Anna, the laird is ill. What happens if he dies and Catrìona is not married?”

The back of Anna’s throat burned. She should have known better than to allow hope into her heart. Love was truly the most destructive force she could imagine, and she wanted no part of it. “Naught will change. Catrìona will choose Lachann for her husband—”

“You don’t believe she’ll choose Macauley?”

Anna shook her head. “No. Lachann will not allow it.”

She stepped away. Ach, what was she doing here? She ought to have gone over to her isle. There she could have licked her wounds, and when she returned . . . “Kyla, what if I could find a way for us to leave Kilgorra?”

“What? No. ’Tis my home, and my husb—”

“Beats you bloody every time he has the urge.”

“ ’Tis a wife’s place to remain with her husband, Anna. And Birk is not all bad.”

“No? What portion is good, do you think?” Anna retorted. “His feet? Or his ears? Because his hands and arms have taken great relish in hurting you. His mouth is where he puts the liquor that fuels his temper. And his head is where that beastly temper resides. If you cannot—”

“He is my husband, and I will not leave him,” Kyla said, turning to face Anna.

The door burst open at that moment, and Birk strolled in. He took Douglas from Anna’s arms and went to Kyla. He ran his beefy arm ’round her waist and pulled her to him. “ ’Tis glad I am to hear it, wife.”

Then he turned and cast a threatening glare at Anna, and she realized she did not have the knife Lachann had given her.

L
achann’s mood skidded to black when he thought about Macauley putting his hands on Anna. He was very glad he’d taught her that little maneuver involving her knuckles and her attacker’s nose. It had served her well.

He had tremendously enjoyed seeing the fool’s face bloodied, and by a woman, at that. Certain that Duncan would keep track of Macauley until Lachann decided what to do with him, he took hold of Catrìona’s arm and went into the keep.

He had hoped Duncan would think of some precedent for Lachann to become laird without marrying MacDuffie’s daughter, but there was none. Lachann supposed he’d known it from the first. Now ’twas up to him to convince MacDuffie that he was the laird’s most able replacement—without a wedding.

And as soon as he finished his business with Laird MacDuffie, he intended to find Anna and . . .

First he needed to settle things with MacDuffie. Lachann believed his argument would prevail, but however things turned out with the laird, Lachann would not marry Catrìona. He wanted Anna at his side, in his bed, in his life. He desired her above all else, including the lairdship of Kilgorra, and if he had to go to war with Macauley for the lairdship of the isle, he knew which side the Kilgorrans would choose. ’Twas perfectly clear they disliked Macauley.

“My father is not well this morn,” Catrìona bleated.

“We’ll see.” He did not release her arm but led her through the great hall and up the stairs to her father’s bedchamber. He hoped the man managed to stay alive long enough to make Lachann his heir with Father Herriot as his witness.

Chapter 31

A
nna felt her backbone go as stiff as a birlinn’s mast. She returned Birk’s glare coldly. “Aye, Birk Ramsay. ’Tis glad you should be that your wife plans to stay. It makes you a fortunate man, though you cannot possibly understand how fortunate.”

Birk turned to kiss Kyla’s temple while keeping his calculating eyes upon Anna. His behavior toward his wife was a gesture of possession and control and naught more.

“No, ’tis you who does’na know how fortunate,” he said, leveling a deadly gaze at Anna. “My wife and the bairn in her belly stay with me, ye meddlin’ witch.”

Anna’s eyes darted toward Kyla’s, and by her friend’s expression she knew that what Birk had said was true. Kyla was with child again. She would certainly not leave him now.

Anna walked out of the cottage, torn over what to do. At least Birk wasn’t drunk. Anna could walk away knowing the man would not knock his wife about. At least not right now.

Feeling worse than ever, Anna retraced her steps, returning to the pier. She was relieved that everyone seemed to be occupied—likely at the granary—for she met no one on her way back. She did not have to try to act as though all was well.

She stopped at her curragh, and when she gazed out at the sea, she knew that Flora was right. The water was too rough for a crossing to Spirit Isle. Even the fishermen must have thought twice about venturing out in their birlinns.

She did not see any of them now, but she did notice a massive schooner tacking toward the harbor. Its flag was a bright red color with a blue cross etched over it, and a smaller design in one corner—exactly like the cloth she’d found in the trunk with her mother’s things.

’Twas a Norwegian ship!
Herregud
. This was the ship that would take her to her Norse relations.

Away from Lachann and the woman he’d made his wife.

L
achann wanted to get back to Anna as soon as possible. But his prospects on the isle hinged on what transpired next—whether he would stay on Kilgorra as laird or return to Braemore and figure some other strategy for keeping his homeland safe from attack by sea.

He wanted to be able to tell Anna what their future would hold—whether they stayed here, or sailed down the lochs to make their home at Braemore.

He took Catrìona up to the laird’s bedchamber, where the stench of illness permeated the room. Lachann girded himself against the unwholesome air inside.

“Father?” Catrìona touched MacDuffie’s arm.

The man opened his eyes and gazed blankly into Catrìona’s face. “I do’na like all this, lass.”

“No, Father. I am sure you do not. You are ill, but you’ll soon be better.”

Lachann was not so sure. “Laird, I need a word with you.”

The old man turned his head to face Lachann and looked at him from beneath his thick brow. “Aye?”

“Father Herriot is on his way.”

The man looked at his daughter, then back at Lachann. “The last rites? Am I so very—”

“No, Laird,” Lachann said. “The priest is coming to act as witness.”

“Witness to what, sir?” Catrìona asked with more than a tinge of indignation to her voice.

“ ’Tis time to make me your heir,” Lachann said. “Macauley is unfit—we suspect he set the granary on fire in order to sabotage my efforts at building an army.”

“Why would he do such a thing?” MacDuffie demanded weakly.

“Because he wants me to fail in order to gain favor with you and take over.”

“But—”

“Or prevent me from training our men to defend the isle if I become laird. Then his clan will swoop down like a flock of carrion birds and bleed Kilgorra dry.”

“What proof . . . ,” MacDuffie wheezed, “what proof . . . do you have of this?”

“Besides his past history,” Lachann said, “he’s been keeping you too drunk to notice that he’s destroying your whiskey trade.”

“He is not,” Catrìona scoffed.

“Aye, he is.” Lachann turned back to MacDuffie. “And I would bring Geordie Kincaid up here to speak of it were you not so ill.”

MacDuffie began to cough, and Lachann gave him a moment. His suspicion that there was something more to the laird’s illness took on a new significance as he observed the old man. Macauley was without scruples, and Lachann suspected he was capable of murdering MacDuffie to achieve his ends. Murdering him slowly, perhaps.

“Laird, you must not drink anything more that Macauley brings you.”

“Why?” Catrìona demanded. “What are you suggesting?”

“Cullen Macauley and his clan have made a lifetime habit of preying on those who have not the resources to fight them,” Lachann replied.

MacDuffie’s eyes drifted shut and his mouth went slack. Damn all. Lachann could not lose his attention now.

“Laird,” Lachann said, and the man looked up. “Make me your heir. With Father Herriot as witness, give the word that I am to become laird in your place.”

“But what about the marr—”

“No conditions,” Lachann snapped. “I will train your men and arm the isle against invaders. I’ll make improvements to the distillery. Those factors must be enough.”

Catrìona made a sound of protest. “But—!”

“Silence,” the old man rasped. “You believe that is all I demand, Lachann MacMillan?”

Catrìona jabbed Lachann in the chest. “Do you think you can just turn up in our harbor and depose my father from his lairdship?”

“I did not come to depose him, Catrìona,” Lachann said.

“No, you came to marry me! Aye?” she demanded vehemently.

“That’s a wedding that will never take place,” Lachann retorted.

He felt his jaw clench tightly. He relaxed it forcibly, just as Graeme entered the room with Father Herriot. Laird MacDuffie gave a reluctant nod of resignation.

“Sit down, Catrìona,” Lachann said. “ ’Tis time for you to follow an order or two.”

A
nna stood paralyzed, her hand at her breast. For years, she’d so desperately yearned to leave Catrìona and Laird MacDuffie. Now was her chance. This ship coming into the harbor was likely her only opportunity to escape the isle.

And yet the prospect of never seeing Lachann again did not seem quite so appealing now.

She closed her eyes tight and breathed deeply. She could not stay.
She just could not face the life she would have if she stayed.

Resolved to do what she had to do, she returned to the castle, taking the overgrown path to Gudrun’s cottage. Once inside, she lit the candles and located the crate where she’d found her mother’s gown.

She undressed quickly, then took the deep blue gown out carefully. She slipped it over her head, telling herself she was doing the right thing—the
only
thing possible.

She managed to fasten the back of the gown, then tied the laces at the shoulders and neck. There were no shoes to go with it so Anna would go without, but she undid her usual braid, smoothed out her hair, and tied it in a simple knot at the crown of her head.

A few moments later, she left the cottage and started for the keep.

L
achann soon found that bringing Father Herriot to the castle to bear witness had not been necessary. Old MacDuffie bestowed the lairdship upon him without further argument, clearly shaken by Lachann’s warnings of Macauley’s treachery.

Even Catrìona had finally been taken aback.

“We make no formal transfer of power on Kilgorra, Laird,” Herriot said as he and Lachann left MacDuffie’s bedchamber and walked down to the main door of the keep. “The Kilgorran lairds have never performed any ceremony or signed any papers. You are MacDuffie’s heir, Laird of Kilgorra now, whether Bruce MacDuffie survives or not. I will begin to spread the word. Everyone on the isle will hear of it within the hour.”

“Thank you, Father, but I’m glad you witnessed his words.”

“Aye. ’Tis my honor to serve you, Laird MacMillan,” the man said.

Lachann walked with the priest to the door of the keep and saw him out. “I’ll need your services again in another day or . . .”

He halted in front of the keep as a group of men dressed in fine, but foreign, garb came through the gates.

“
Hagl slottet!
” the leader called to him.

“Who are they?” he asked Herriot quietly.

The priest shrugged. “I do not know them, Laird.”

Lachann waited for the men to come closer.

“Greetings to you, sir,” said the first one in heavily accented speech.

“And to you,” Lachann said. He wondered if all traders were so well-heeled, and whether they all came up to the castle to conduct their business.

Or if this was something else altogether.

“We have come from the Norse country,” the man said. “I serve the Count of Leirvik, who has traveled to Scottish Kearvaig lands, and now Kilgorra, in hopes of finding here his sister and his niece.”

An older, silver-bearded man came forward. He was dressed in as fine a suit as any Lachann had ever seen. Lachann extended his hand. “Count Leirvik?”

The man took Lachann’s hand, nodding.

“Welcome. I am Lachann MacMillan, Laird of Kilgorra.” To Lachann, it felt absolutely right to say the words. “Come inside.”

Lachann took them into a comfortable sitting room near the great hall and found Alex MacRae already seeing to the fire.

“What can I do for you?” Lachann asked.

The guests settled themselves in chairs before the nobleman explained his business.

“Many years ago,” he said, “
min søster
—my sister—displeased my father, and so was taken far from home to wed the Laird of Kearvaig. I was a mere lad . . . forbidden to go to her.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know your sister or niece, Count Leirvik,” Lachann said. “I’ve not heard of any Norsewomen here on the isle.”

Count Leirvik frowned.

“But I’ve only recently come to Kilgorra,” Lachann added as Catrìona came down the stairs and stood outside the room, listening.

“At Kearvaig, they told us Sigrid came to Kilgorra Island many years ago to marry MacDuffie. She brought with her the daughter, my niece, Annbjørg.”

Catrìona made a rough sound of feminine dismay and quickly scuttled away as she dissolved into tears.

“I’m sorry, Count Leirvik, I know naught—”

“Laird . . .” Alex spoke respectfully, touching Lachann’s sleeve. “I can explain this . . .”

“Please do, Alex.”

“Sigrid was the widow of Laird Kearvaig when she came to Kilgorra and married Laird MacDuffie. Her daughter, Annbjørg, came with her.”

“Ah. I understand,” the count said. “Then you will kindly fetch her—”

“No. Sir, I’m . . .” Alex shook his head somberly. “Uh . . . I am truly very sorry to tell you that Lady Sigrid perished within a year of her arrival here, while birthin’ Laird MacDuffie’s firstborn son.”

Count Leirvik swallowed heavily, and his face paled. He took a moment to absorb the information. “Ah, no.”

A younger man put his hand on Leirvik’s shoulder and spoke to him in their language. Lachann did not understand the words, but he saw sympathy in the gesture and heard it in the young man’s voice.

Alex interrupted the moment and looked at Lachann. “Laird . . . Lady Sigrid’s daughter, Annbjørg—she is here.”

The count took a moment to compose himself. He too looked up at Lachann, then at Alex. “May I see her? We would take her home . . . Betrothal plans have been made . . .”

“
What?
Annbjørg?” Lachann asked Alex, completely puzzled now. Though he’d not met every woman on the isle, it seemed he ought to know MacDuffie’s stepdaughter. “She is here?”

“Aye,” Alex replied. “We call her Anna.”