Quinn nodded sheepishly, plopping down on a stool by her cooked eggs and picking up her fork. She joined him on the other side. Between bites of her eggs, he began to tell her Crotach’s story.
Chapter 13
The captain had replaced the breakfast tray with a map of Skye Isle, and he’d added miniature ships on the navigation table. When a commotion outside the cabin door disturbed his demonstration, he glanced up but waved off Ursula’s concerned look.
“As captain, I hire a crew to do the work. If I’m needed, they can find me.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Right now, I’m not needed.”
Apparently pleased with the explanation, Quinn got back to the map and pointed to the western coast of Skye Isle.
“Dunvegan is the home of Clan MacLeod. The castle can only be approached by a sea gate from the loch. ’Twas a Norse fortress first.”
He looked up from the map, as if expecting her question before she had formed it.
“Aye, he’s of Norse blood,” Quinn said. “Captains have a way of getting information from their passengers.”
Ursula shivered. The stories her mother had told her about the Vikings had put fear of them in her heart.
“Last night, Crotach explained how the bloody battle came about,” Quinn said. “He told me it was three summers past, at a time when John MacDonald was chieftain of Clan MacDonald, Lord of the Isles, and had a secret treaty with the king of England.” He paused and squinted at Ursula with one eye. “This piece of history I can confirm as true.”
“That could not have boded well with the king of Scotland,” Ursula said.
“Nay, it did not, and John was ejected from the clan when our Scottish king found out. But John fought back,” Quinn said. “Fought back against his own son, Angus, who had forced him from his home and taken over leadership of the clan.
“Then Alasdair’s father and his clan joined forces with John MacDonald. They supported his leadership and wanted him reinstated,” Quinn said.
When Ursula yawned inadvertently, he shot her a frustrated glance, but she waved him on apologetically.
Quinn appeared perturbed by her gesture, but also anxious to tell the story. “Alasdair was brutally attacked with an axe to the shoulder in his support for John, before the battle called Bloody Bay.”
Quinn placed the miniature boats in two opposing lines near the coast of Mull. “A few months later, the MacDonalds and the MacLeods gathered in the bay near Tobermory.” He pointed to it on the map.
“Did Alasdair speak of the Faery Flag? Was it unfurled in the battle?” Ursula asked. She didn’t want a history lesson. Although she did pick up on some of their conversation last night, most of it had been drowned out by the wind when the sails flapped and the masts groaned.
Quinn glanced up from the navigation table with a pout, like a lad who’d been told it was time for bed. He grumbled under his breath while he moved his miniature ships aside and rolled up his map. “’Tis what you wanted to know all along, I imagine?”
“Nay, all of what you have said has been helpful.” She kept her eyebrows raised, hoping she had asked the question as directly as she could.
“Aye, he did speak of the flag. But he did in such a way I would say ’twas more lore than not.”
“Tell me anyway,” she pleaded.
“Who would validate a Faery Flag unless you spoke to a faerie?” Quinn asked, his lip and face twisting up. “I was telling you about concrete history. Do nae tell me you have nae heard the story of the Faery Flag?”
“There are many,” Ursula said, exasperated. Perhaps she should just ask Alasdair herself.
“Perhaps you should ask Alasdair yourself.”
She sighed. “I will nae be asking Alasdair any such thing.” The idea of even talking directly to him made her stomach flip. “The important parts. The magical parts. The unfurling,” she prompted.
Quinn appeared as though he’d had enough. The food was gone, and so was his patience. He scooted back on his stool, preparing to rise, but she stopped him.
“Please stay,” Ursula begged. “You have been so kind to me, and I appreciate everything you’ve told me. What I want to know is how it was used in battle.” If she brought it all back to the bloody battle, he’d stay.
And he did, telling her the flag had been left by the Faery Queen. And Alasdair confirmed what Quinn had heard. The flag could be an aid in battle, multiplying or rallying the troops, even aiding in the outcome. But the flag could only be unfurled three times, or it would become useless or vanish.
Of course, she had to ask. “How many times has the flag been unfurled?”
“Did you nae hear me, lass?”
Her cheeks heated. “I promise I’ve been listening.”
Quinn smiled kindly at her and went on, even if he was repeating himself. “Only once. After Alasdair’s father was killed by a MacDonald. But by then, even though the flag was given credit for making some of the MacDonald clan supporters switch sides, the outcome of the battle had already been determined, and they were all on the losing side.”
“Only once,” she muttered to herself.
Quinn snorted. “Ye nae be thinking of asking for the Faery Flag?”
Ursula’s eyes glowed. “Nay, I would nae dare ask for such a thing,” she told the captain, knowing full well she didn’t mean a word of it.
~ ~ ~
Alasdair was up early and in the wardroom for breakfast with most of the crew. He’d not slept much at all because of a strange disturbance. A disfigured woman had appeared and floated over his bed. She seemed to have no arms, as her long flowing sleeves had hung dormant from her shoulders. Her grotesqueness hadn’t bothered him, nor the fact she was a ghost, but her incessant moaning had kept him from sleep.
After polishing off a pint of stale ale, Alasdair decided it was time to see the captain about important business.
He made his way the short distance to the cabin, then knocked on the captain’s door. When the beautiful Scottish lass opened it instead, he lost his words. But she did not.
“Och! dè tha thu a 'dèanamh an seo? Chan eil seo iomchaidh!”
Her Gaelic is beautiful, too.
He cleared his throat and retreated a few steps backward, then bowed. “I beg your pardon, my lady, Titania.” After a few beats, he looked up, still bowed with his arm across his chest. “May I rise?”
She softened her glare. “Aye.”
As he complied, he told her, “You must forgive me, for I expected the captain behind the door, nae a faerie.” She did remind him of the legend, her appearance strikingly similar to the artwork he’d seen of Titania.
Ursula blushed, and her words were softer. “Good sir, you flatter me,” she said as she curtsied, “the captain was gracious enough to insist I take his cabin for the voyage. For privacy.”
“Your husband is lucky on many accounts.” He leaned forward and glanced behind her into the cabin. “May I have a word with him as well?”
“My . . . my husband?” she stammered.
“I was introduced to one yesterday . . .”
“Oh, him.” She appeared confused and embarrassed.
“If I have come at an inappropriate time, I apologize again.” Alasdair began to turn away, but to his surprise, she grabbed onto his sleeve.
“Come in,” she offered apologetically, “but keep the door open, so no one thinks ill of it.”
Ursula ushered him into the cramped cabin. Expecting it to smell of leather and sea salt, he was surprised to find the aroma of a spring garden. She looked out of place in the masculine cabin with its dark shiplap walls and brass instruments. A delicate flower amongst bracken.
Ursula gestured for Alasdair to take a seat at the navigation table and blinked nervously before she spoke. “You mentioned the name, Titania. W
ho is she?”
Alasdair had almost forgotten he’d spoken the name. “I will tell you,” he said, “but first I must understand why your husband is not here guarding you.”
She almost spat. “Alasdair MacLeod, I need no man to guard me.” Her eyes flashed. “This you should know first and always remember.”
He grunted, and his nostrils flared slightly. What had begun as a hunt for the captain had turned into his capture and an inquisition by a faerie-like lass. A damn distracting one.
Where was her husband?
While he sat in silence, sizing her up, her demeanor softened. “Excuse my outburst,” she said as she cast her gaze downward. “I have been on my own for a verra long time.”
Clearly Ursula was not going to address the comment about her husband or the lack of chaperone in the room, but as she’d said, the door was open.
She wants to know about Titania?
Alasdair pondered which answer to give her, but he was certain he’d not be bullied by a wisp of a woman even if she was enchanting. He’d offered to take her and Ethan to Dunvegan, his home, then rally his troops to escort them to Eilean Donan. He needed to know more about her.
“You’re of Clan Fraser? Who was your father?”
She hesitated until his intense stare forced her answer. “I do not know,” she said, appearing to answer honestly. Rising, she began to pace. “I was ten and six when I was sent to Berwick upon Tweed as a healer to the royals.”
“A comfortable royal bed? Why journey to the Highlands if you do nae have a family to call yer own?”
She bristled but did not lash out as before. “For Ethan. He wants to reclaim Eilean Donan.”
“So what he said on the deck yesterday was a lie. You do not want to reunite with your family?”
“My family is what I make it. Who I include and who I do nae. Simple as that.”
Her honesty made Alasdair laugh and in so doing broke the tension that filled the room.
“Wise words from a wise lass,” he said, then added, “Although I am clan loyal through and through, my family has been both friend and foe. My brother’s ambition broke my father’s heart.” After Alasdair made the admission, he was embarrassed to have confessed it, but he added, “They’re both dead now.”
She paused, reflecting what he said but did not ask for explanation. Instead she offered her own apologue, “Our ambitions can be grounded in good or selfishness,” she told him. “I’ve ne’er wanted land. It appears to be the bale of all evil and dissention.”
“That and love . . .” Alasdair stopped before he revealed too much. Here he was trying to find out more about this vexing, black-haired beauty, and instead he was baring his soul to her.
Had this faerie woman put a spell on him?
Ursula ignored his last statement and took a seat across from him at the navigation table. “Tell me about the Faery Flag.”
She asked him with such directness he was taken aback. The last time he’d been queried in such away, he’d been in a court on an issue of border property with the MacDonalds.
After Alasdair got over the initial shock and could no longer endure her direct impatience for information, it was his turn to rise and pace.
She could have the lore.
“Titania and the Faery Flag are oft named in the same sentence,” he said. “So you are a clever lass to ask about both.” He turned and smiled at her. “How do I know you are worthy of such secrets?”
“I’m nae a faerie, but I can understand them,” Ursula said. “My sister of the heart is in dire need of a flower that only grows near Glenbrittle on Skye.” She clenched her hands together on the table in a prayer-like manner. “She could die if I don’t bring back the flower.”
Alasdair had forgotten her name. “What do they call you?”
“Witch,” she confessed without flinching.
He put his hand on his left side, just under his arm, where it always felt as if daggers were piercing his skin. Alasdair held his side as he laughed out loud at her admission.
He shook his head. “Nay, your birth given name.”
Her shoulders relaxed. “Ursula.”
“Aye, that’s it,” he said, and she raised a brow. “Ur-su-la.” He said the name slowly, wishing he could unlock all her secrets by doing so. Was this the name whispered in his dreams? He’d ne’er known an Ursula.
With the taste of her name still on his lips, he gazed at the beauty as she sat perched on her stool, leaning on the table with piqued interest. Now he knew Ursula had another reason to travel to Skye.
He took a seat across from her again, his side still aching, a constant reminder of his battle scar.
“I know the faerie pools at Glenbrittle, near the Cuillin hills. ’Tis a place no mortal can walk,” he said. When she appeared to protest, he cut her off. “However, we’ve been in need of the faeries help at Dunvegan, and we’ve been blessed by the wee folk.” He gave her a wink. “Most mortals cannae walk the glen, but perhaps a Fraser witch can.”
“Aye, good sir, I’ve walked that glen. I need only escort to the place on Skye Isle. I was just a young lass when I set foot there the first time with my mother.” When his eyes went wide in disbelief, she added, “My mother was a witch, too. Burned at the stake in Edinburgh.”
Faeries and witches, he was not sure where one began and the other ended. Most mystical folk on Skye Isle, where centuries of MacLeods had flourished, were revered as well as feared. But not by Alasdair. Titania was his great-great-great-grandmother. The prophecy she left said ‘one of her kin would marry a Fae, one who would have no father to protest the union.’ That would give Alasdair much to think upon in the coming days on the Merry Maiden.
Chapter 14
After Ethan had broken his fast, and while the Merry Maiden bobbed in the quiet waters next to the wharf, he roamed the pier while the wool was being loaded.
Walking toward the center of Lossiemouth, he found the sleepy village had one main street and one Protestant church at the center. Other than a few taverns, there was not much to crow about.
The Merry Maiden dwarfed the other vessels along the wharf. No doubt there were ships her size in and out of the port, but for now, the streets were empty except for a few eccentric hens.
That was why after Ethan returned to the gangplank and began his walk up, he was surprised when someone called out to him.
“What’s her destination?”
Ethan spun around and found a regal man dressed in fine silks rushing up behind him on the plank. The man was very much out of breath, as if he’d run the whole length of the village to get to the ship.
“Inverness,” Ethan replied, trying not to show his amusement. The regal man was sweating profusely and was almost as wide around as he was tall. Every one of his fingers was glorified by a gemstone ring.
“Hold the ship,” he shrieked.
This time Ethan could not retain his laughter and let it go despite himself.
The uppity, titled man huffed. Then in an effeminate way, he lifted a lace kerchief from inside his vest, blotting his forehead. “Sir, this is not a laughing matter, but one of life and death.”
Ethan sobered. “My sincerest apologizes,” he amended with a curt bow. “The ship is not scheduled to sail until the sun is high in the sky.”
The man glanced over his shoulder, not toward the rising sun, but the other direction, as if he was expecting someone to meet him.
“Well, I don’t care when it is scheduled to leave. It cannot leave until I say so.”
“And who pray tell are you?” came the question from behind Ethan. He recognized the voice of the captain.
“And who pray tell are you?” the effeminate man asked in just as bold a voice, fanning himself with his kerchief.
“The one who makes decis
ions on when this ship sails or not,” Quinn replied calmly.
Apparently, that was all the man needed to know before he rushed up to the captain and began to toss his kerchief about.
“Oh, captain,” the pretentious man fussed. “My mother, well, she is the eldest cousin to King James the Third. And that makes me . . .”
A pompous arse, Ethan thought as the man began to recite his linage to the Scottish crown. Even before he finished listing his family’s heritage, a procession began to snake from the center of town toward the wharf. It consisted of an ornate, curtained cabin, carried on crisscrossed posts by four guardians. An entourage of knights on horseback followed the raised cabin bearing the family’s coat of arms.
“Here comes the princess! Finally!” the rotund man screeched.
Ethan caught Quinn’s attention, and the captain rolled his eyes upward. No doubt he was praying to the Almighty for some assistance.
With the village as modest as it was, it didn’t take long until the group came to a stop on the wharf before the gangplank and the knights set the carriage down.
No sooner had all but one stepped back at attention did the red velvet curtains part and a withered hand reach out for assistance.
When a white-haired woman emerged, wearing a shimmering, jeweled crown, Ethan’s jaw dropped. Although he hadn’t listened to the effeminate man’s details, this woman could be royalty.
The captain coughed. “My ship is a merchant vessel,” he said, shaking his head. “As much as I would like to help you, I cannot. I do nae have the proper accommodations for your mother,” Quinn explained and patted the man on the shoulder, turning to go.
The Secret of Skye Isle Page 9
