The Blond Devil of the Sea: The Highland Ladies Book Three

by Barclay, Celeste

  Angus stepped next to Laurel as he looked at the woman whose life had been broken by grief and shame when she had no way to defend her own son. He hadn’t heard her speak so adamantly since she begged him to rescue Rowan from the pit.

  “How do you ken all of this, Laurel?”

  “I overheard Timothy speaking with Donald. Donald at first agreed with Rowan that the weather was too foul to travel, but Timothy questioned Donald’s manhood for fearing a little water. I heard him taunt Donald about having a son as weak as Donald was if neither of them wanted to get wet. His words were veiled, but the meaning was clear. That was before they set off. After Rowan and Ruairí left, I overheard Timothy speaking with Malcolm as they conspired to make Angus the new laird and how they were certain they could lead you by the nose.”

  Laurel glared at Timothy for a moment before looking at Angus and Charity. “My desperation consumed me too much to understand the implications at the time. As the years wore on, and you proved to be a far better laird than Donald ever was, I thought to let sleeping dogs lie. You had a good leash on Timothy and the others once you took the laird’s seat. Now Timothy is the only one left from that council. He no longer has any power in this clan. He’s never been your second, Angus, nor even the captain of your guard. I didn’t see him as a threat once you basically gelded him. My memories haunt my mind enough; I didn’t want to talk about them.”

  The MacNeil clan members listened with rapt attention as secrets from the past came to light at last. They’d watched for years as their former lady of the keep withered away with despair, locked in by her memories as much as she was in her self-imposed imprisonment within the keep. Those old enough to remember her from before the ordeal could see the woman they had admired and respected returning.

  But it wasn’t enough for Timothy, who sneered at Laurel. “You’d take the word of an insane woman over mine. One who has ranted and raved for years. So barmy that she wouldn’t even step outside the main doors. One who haunted the battlements rather than fulfill her duties to the clan. She’s worthless.”

  Rowan lurched forward as Ruairí pulled his knife free. Rowan’s hands latched around Timothy’s neck. “And do you know what I heard as a child and young man? I listened to you speaking to Auld Michael when you were too deep in your cups more than once. I learned you coveted my mother. You lusted for a woman who never turned her gaze toward you and had no interest. You wanted my mother as much as you wanted Angus to be laird. You thought you could control them both.” Rowan squeezed tighter as he leaned to speak in Timothy’s ear. “The only man from this clan that I’ll have killed is you.”

  “Rowan.” He flinched as Caragh’s hands squeezed on his arm. He looked into Caragh’s eyes, filled with fear, and he couldn’t bring himself to throttle the life from Timothy. He understood Caragh didn’t fear him or the violence, but the consequences if Rowan went through with it. Rowan looked back at Timothy, driving his fist into the man’s face before shoving him backwards onto the steps.

  “Speak to or of my mother again like that, and even my wife’s mercy won’t save you.”

  “You didn’t deny any of Laurel’s accusations. You didn’t defend your innocence.” Angus shook his head. “An honest and innocent man would’ve defended himself rather than attacking others.” Angus flicked his wrist and guards stepped forward. “It’s with tremendous satisfaction that I order you into the dungeons.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Most of the morning had passed by the time everyone made their way into the Great Hall, , and it was close to the nooning. Rowan watched Caragh as she walked beside him to the dais. He assisted her into a chair and pushed himself close enough to her for the armrests to touch. He wrapped his arm through hers and entwined their fingers. After the tumultuous start to the morning, Caragh’s fatigue concerned him. Rowan recognized the heightened emotions that charged the air wouldn’t dissipate anytime soon, and it was likely things would only become more heated if anyone questioned his past. There was nothing he could do to change how many men died at the end of his sword or how much he’d stolen from others. His sins were his own. He accepted that he could have returned sooner, but he also knew that meant he wouldn’t have Caragh by his side. He wouldn’t regret his past, knowing that his future included Caragh. He kissed the back of her hand.

  “You look exhausted already, mo ghoal. How do you feel?”

  “I am tired, but I’m well.” Rowan tilted his head and cocked an eyebrow. Caragh was sure it was her only warning to tell the truth before Rowan sentenced her to a punishment in their cabin–perhaps their chamber, now they were on land. “I may feel a little green at the gills, but it’s nothing that won’t pass. You know that. Besides, food is on its way. I shall have some bread and feel better.”

  As soon as Caragh finished speaking, women with trays of food appeared from the kitchens. They set platters of cheese and cold chicken, along with loaves of bread and dried fruit, before the laird’s family. Rowan pulled off a sizeable chunk of bread and placed it on the trencher before Caragh. When a woman came around to fill mugs with ale, Rowan placed his in front of Caragh’s.

  “I may need a little to wash down the bread, but I’m not looking to float away. Keep your drink, mo chridhe.” Caragh giggled as she pushed the mug toward Rowan. “Besides, it’ll put me to sleep if I drink too much.”

  “Perhaps a nap would do you well,” Rowan pointed out, ready to ask his aunt which chamber Caragh could use.

  “I’m not missing a moment of what happens here. Don’t even think about it.” Caragh scolded. She lowered her voice before continuing. “And I’m familiar with that look. You may spank me as many times as you like, but I’m staying at your side.”

  “You are just as fierce, if not more so, since you got with child. You’ll make a wonderful mother, Caragh.” He kissed her forehead.

  “Yes, well, I defend what’s mine. You already know that.”

  Rowan chuckled at the determined set to her jaw and the conviction in her eyes. He loved her even more for it. Once everyone settled with food before them, the meal was a subdued event. It was clear there were many questions left unanswered and matters to decide, but no one seemed to want to initiate the conversation. Rowan glanced down the table at where Ruairí whispered to Senga and tried to push more food onto her side of the trencher. She shook her head and looked ill.

  “I think you and I shall have a new cousin soon after our babe arrives,” Caragh murmured, then nodded her head at Rowan’s look of shock. “They’re as bad as we are. It’s no small wonder Senga and I are already carrying. I’m not sure if they realize it yet, but she has the same look I have most mornings.”

  “Rowan, tell us how you met Caragh,” Sinead’s voice broke the silence, but made many people at the dais shift nervously. Rowan wanted to grimace. If only she had asked her brother how he met Senga. At least their introduction didn’t involve thievery, even if there was some violence. Meeting Senga in a tavern and saving her from being molested sounded more noble to Rowan than admitting he stole Caragh after raiding her village.

  “We met when Rowan had business in my village in Cornwall,” Caragh came to his rescue. “It was rather unexpected, but I admit to being impressed by his presence. He has a certain charm to go along with his good looks.” Caragh’s retelling of their meeting put Rowan at ease and elicited chuckles from his family. “I had the unexpected opportunity to sail with Rowan, and we found we suited.”

  As the women at the table smiled at the happy tale, Rab raised a knowing brow to his father, who responded with a black scowl that made the grin slip from Rab’s face. Rowan wanted to laugh, since he was sure his cousin was thinking more about Rowan having a woman aboard his ship than what business might have been conducted. Angus had already raised a son to be Rab’s age and understood a youthful man’s interest in the opposite sex. While Sinead’s innocent question might have set a few people on edge, it opened the door to more conversation. Ruairí and Senga told of how they m
et and came to be married. Their story was considerably less embarrassing for the couple than Rowan and Caragh’s tale.

  “What is the most exciting or exotic place you traveled?” Saoirse asked. Once more, everyone seemed to hold their breath at the innocent question. Neither Rowan nor Ruairí knew for sure how much the younger members of their family were told about their time away from the clan.

  “We’ve sailed into the Mediterranean, where the water is so clear you can see what appears like leagues below the surface. The water is always warm, almost like swimming in a bathtub.” Rowan picked up a bite of stewed turnips. “The food is very different. They enjoy a round, sweet fruit that is orange. The juice can be drunk all by itself. And there are these salty little things that grow on trees they call olives. The wine is far richer and thicker than ours, and they don’t drink ale like we do. Their skin is far darker than ours, and most people there have brown eyes.”

  “The weather remains pleasant throughout the year,” Ruairí picked up the tale. “The sun shines all but a few days with brief rain, yet they can grow many unfamiliar types of trees and food. They are hospitable people.”

  Both Senga and Caragh glared at their husbands, assuming what type of hospitality they’d each received. Rowan and Ruairí leaned in and kissed their wives’ foreheads.

  “Look,” Sinead pointed. “They still do the same thing at the same time.”

  “Were you together the whole time?” Charity asked cautiously.

  “The first few years we were on the same ship,” Ruairí responded, with a guarded smile for his mother. “After that, we sailed separately most of the time, but met up every couple of months.”

  No one seemed sure what to say, so the conversation drifted to more mundane, safe topics, like how many herds of cattle the clan had, which fields reaped the best harvests, and whether any other Hebridean clans tried to raid. They avoided the topics of piracy and clan affairs for the most part. As the meal wound down, Caragh struggled to keep her eyes open, and Senga looked ill from the food left in front of her.

  “Caragh, Senga, would you like us to show you to your chambers? You both look in need of rest. I would venture it will feel strange to sleep in a bed that doesn’t move,” Laurel spoke softly. Looking at her son and nephew, she smiled before continuing. “Charity and I will show your wives to your old chambers. They’re already being aired out and fires lit in the hearths.”

  Chapter Thirty

  The women rose and walked to the stairs while Angus sat back in the laird’s chair. He looked between his son and nephew before tilting his head toward his solar. The three men adjourned to the room where the laird conducted business and met with the clan’s council. Angus was determined to speak to Rowan and Ruairí before the council assembled and began dictating the future. The newer, younger members of the council were still of an age with Angus. They remembered the fallout from Rowan’s imprisonment and the cousins’ flight from the island. Angus was unsure of how eager these men would be to welcome Rowan and Ruairí back into leadership positions despite the years of bemoaning their absence.

  Locking the door once they were inside, Angus moved to the sideboard that held whisky and mugs. He poured three healthy portions before taking a place at the middle of the table, avoiding both his desk and the head of the table. Angus was unsure of the direction the conversation would take.

  “Shall we get on with it? Are you staying or is this a visit?” he began.

  Rowan shrugged. “It depends on whether they want us.”

  “If they do?” Angus pressed.

  “Then I am willing to stay. Are you, Ruairí?” Rowan looked at his cousin.

  “I am. Neither of us wants to continue sailing with our wives aboard ship, and neither of us will leave them behind. Our time living on the water is over. It’s just a question of where we retire to.” Ruairí shared some of what the cousins discussed while their wives attempted to eavesdrop in Rowan’s cabin.

  Angus sat back and looked at the mirror images, ones that looked so much like his own and that of his deceased brother. The thought of Donald always brought on coiled waves of disgust and anger. He tried not to think of the dead man that often.

  “What would you do with your ships? With the wealth you must have stored away somewhere?”

  “Neither of us amassed significant wealth because we were never sure we’d live long enough to spend it. We’ve been more than comfortable and made sure we provide well for our crews, but there is no great bounty hidden in a cave.” Rowan explained. “However, there is some hidden on Canna. If we aren’t welcome here, we’ll use that to live on until we can find somewhere suitable for Caragh and Senga, somewhere they would be happy.”

  “Do you think they might be happy here?” Angus inquired.

  “Aye,” Ruairí answered. “My Senga grew up on Lewis, and we met on Canna. She knows this life, and is used to living among a clan.”

  “You’ll have to tell me more about her ties to the MacLeod of Skye. We don’t want any unexpected visitors showing up here.”

  “Her potential betrothal was several years ago. The old laird hasn’t done anything to worry Senga since she moved to Canna, even after her first husband died. If the laird had wanted her, he would’ve come for her by now.”

  Angus arched an eyebrow before speaking. “She wasn’t the wife of a MacNeil then. He may be interested again out of spite and competition. What about Caragh?”

  “You must know what her village is like from when her mother visited. Caragh’s not accustomed to the notion of a clan, but she’s lived among her people her entire life. She was in charge of the smuggling ring that used the caves below her village. She’s used to the hard work of a fishing and farming community and isn’t afraid of it.”

  “Bonnie and bright, is she? You both did well for yourselves when it comes to your wives. I don’t ken how you rogues did it.”

  “I don’t know either. You should know, Uncle Angus, that even though I’ve made amends with Caragh’s family and they even welcomed me, I stole her away.”

  “And it was one of my crew members who killed her younger brother,” Ruairí admitted. He still felt tremendous guilt over that incident. While it had been as fair a fight as was to be expected when pirates raided smugglers, Ruairí would have avoided Eddie’s death if he could have. It was a subject none of them ever broached.

  “So I ask again, what will ye do with your ships?” Angus steepled his fingers before his mouth and tapped his nose as he waited.

  “I’ll give mine to Keith, my first mate,” Rowan’s answer was definitive, and he knew it was the right choice. He’d always planned to pass the Lady Grace to Keith if he was unable to continue sailing. But now that he had the power to choose which lifestyle he wanted, it put his mind at ease to pass the ship on to his first mate. Keith had earned it.

  “And mine will go to Keith’s brother, Kyle, who’s my first mate. They’ll happily sail together.” Ruairí confirmed what he’d planned and shared with Rowan a few years back. “I don’t want my bairn born on a pirate ship, and I don’t think Rowan does either.”

  Rowan clapped his cousin on his back while Angus’s mouth dropped open.

  “I’m going to be a grandda?” Angus’s amazement at becoming a grandfather was even greater than seeing Ruairí again for the first time in a decade.

  “Aye. I may as well tell you both since Caragh’s sure to figure it out, if she hasn’t already, and Ma and Aunt Laurel will sniff it out before the evening meal. Senga wasn’t sure until she started feeling poorly every morning for the past sennight. We suspected it, but her retching over the rail confirmed it.”

  “So your bairns will be close in age, just like the two of you,” Angus grinned.

  “Mayhap not quite so close, but they’ll be the same age as they grow up.” Rowan looked expectantly at his uncle before finishing. “Hopefully here.”

  “As Rabbie said—ach, he wants us to call him Rab, since he thinks he’s a man. Two whiskers on
his chin, and suddenly he’s all grown up— he has no taste for becoming laird. He would rather be a warrior to support his laird. Ruairí, I always trained you to become the laird’s second, but it was you, Rowan, who was raised to be laird. Will you take on the mantle?”

  Rowan looked at Ruairí before looking at his uncle. He wasn’t sure what to say. Ruairí had never expressed an interest in being laird and had voiced the same feelings as Rab before they ran away. But Ruairí had spent just as long as he had as a captain. How would Ruairí feel about taking orders from Rowan?

  “You always were the bossier one of the two of us,” Ruairí chuckled. “And no, I’ve never wanted it either. I plan to be too busy getting Senga with bairns to worry about squabbling farmers and angry fishwives.”

  “And you don’t think that was my plan for Caragh?” Rowan responded with a huff, then a chuckle of his own. “At least, I don’t have to worry about being laird soon. I can chase Caragh around as often as I want for many years to come.”

  “Nay, Rowan.” Angus’s interruption brought the younger men’s jocularity to an abrupt end. “I would have you become laird sooner rather than later. My father trained me, just as he trained my brother since we were twins, so I was prepared to do my duty. But I was never meant to lead. They stole your inheritance from you. You deserve to take your place as the leader of our people. You showed signs of being a fair and wise laird in the making, even when you were young. Now you’ve led men through the most challenging and dangerous situations while keeping the peace. You’re meant to be laird now. What say you?”

  Rowan sat dumbfounded. He couldn’t force words out as his mind raced. He hadn’t seriously considered that his uncle would hand the lairdship to him within hours of returning home.

  “What about Ma? Aunt Laurel seems to be fine with Ma being the lady of the keep. From the sounds of it, she couldn’t have continued on. But does Ma want to step down? To a woman she doesn’t know?” Ruairí voiced the concerns rattling around Rowan’s own mind but couldn’t organize enough to articulate.