“What is it?” Marjory froze, her eyes round. “What purpose?”
“I can’t tell her.” Ewan sounded miserable.
Alasdair scowled. “They’ll be readying fire arrows, my sweet. We won’t have much chance of fighting Ivar Ironstorm because your brother and his men will set our ships aflame as soon as we sail out.”
Chapter 19
“This can’t be happening.”
Marjory stood at the arched window of Alasdair’s painted solar not caring if no one heard her. Hercules, still for once, and Alasdair’s old dog, Geordie, sat beside her. They were listening to her, for sure. Both dogs, she knew, understood the dire portent of the scene unfolding outside the solar window.
Alasdair was running along the narrow shoreline beneath Blackshore’s walls, cupping his hands to his mouth as he yelled orders to his men in the water or boarding the MacDonald galleys.
All the men were busy.
They were readying the ships to attack the two black-painted Viking dragonships beating back and forth just inside the loch’s entrance.
Most terrifying of all were her brother’s warriors.
Looking more savage than she’d seen them in a long while, they lined the cliffs along the loch, their broad shoulders draped in wolf- or bearskins. Mail glinted everywhere, as did the flash of steel.
And in an unwelcome memory of the trial by combat, most of the warriors had already unsheathed their axes and swords and were beating the weapons on their shields.
The knocking was terrible.
It echoed everywhere. Across the loch and hills, and inside Blackshore’s walls. The ghastly clanging even rang in her ears.
The war music was a precursor of slaughter.
It was a way to fire the blood of warriors, making them fearless, even bringing them to crave the fight.
But it wasn’t the knocking that frightened her the most.
That honor belonged to the fire arrows. The archers she knew were expert enough to send them zinging right where they were aimed.
Alasdair would die this day.
And she would perish with him because even if her body survived, a little bit more of her soul shriveled each time she saw another archer step between the shield beaters.
“He’s locked me in here.” She pushed away from the window arch, started pacing, speaking to Hercules and Geordie who dutifully scrambled up to trail behind her. “Can you believe it?”
She stopped, planting her hands on her hips as she looked at the dogs.
“I ran away from Nought because my brother threatened to lock me in my bedchamber and now” – she blew out a breath, started pacing again – “after coming here, Alasdair has imprisoned me in his solar.
“He’s running about without a sword!” She went back to the window arch, leaning out as far as she could. Sadly, she wasn’t mistaken.
Of all men on the little shore and in the galleys, only Alasdair wore no weapons.
“He’s lost his wits.” She tried to call to him, but her voice was already hoarse from doing so.
Nor was he looking her way.
He kept glaring across the loch to where her brother – and Grim, the traitor – had joined the archers and shield beaters on the cliffs.
Then, just when she was sure she’d lose her mind as well, a loud splintering crack shook the walls.
Marjory cringed, placing her hands over her ears. She knew the sound from storytellers. It was the shattering of ship wood, vessels pierced by an iron ramming spear. Or” – she leaned even farther out the window, craning her neck to see – the sound of oars breaking off when another ship plowed through them at speed, the attack most times making quick work of the men aboard along with the broken oars.
“I can’t stand it.” She dropped to her knees, wrapping an arm around each dog, pulling them close. “Any moment, Kendrew will send the fire arrows and then…”
She couldn’t finish the thought.
The yelling and noise of fighting was worsening, the sounds coming from everywhere, echoing loud in the little room. The shield knocking, especially, seemed louder. More like banging now, the crashing terrifying her.
Somewhere, amidst the sound of thrashing and churning water, men screamed. Their shrill, ear-piercing yells left no doubt that they were dying.
Marjory shuddered, trying not to hear.
“Are you brave enough to go out on the shore with me, lass?” A deep voice startled her and she jumped to her feet, whirling around to see Alasdair’s great-uncle, Malcolm, standing in the open doorway.
His face was grim, his eyes full of worry.
Marjory’s heart broke. “Alasdair?” Again, she couldn’t put her fear into words. “Is he?”
“He’s fine, though I doubt his wits!” Malcolm frowned, shaking his head.
“We’re losing, aren’t we?” She hoped the old warrior would know she meant MacDonalds.
“No’ yet, my lady.” He nodded respectfully, his words and gesture giving her an unexpected rush of happiness.
And hope.
“But I fear we’ll lose Alasdair if no one can talk sense into him.” His words dashed her budding confidence. “That’s why I’d like you to step out onto the shore with me. He’s wanting to swim across the loch to confront your brother man to man. He’ll ne’er make it halfway. One of the fire archers will take him down as soon as he’s in range.”
“Dear gods!” Marjory’s heart stopped. “That’s why he isn’t wearing his sword!”
She started running, bursting past Malcolm and then through the empty hall. The great doors stood open and she dashed outside, racing past the gatehouse and over a jumble of rock to reach the island’s narrow shore.
Malcolm and Hercules and Geordie chased behind her. She could hear them coming, especially Hercules, who was barking louder than she’d ever heard him.
Panting, a sharp pain stabbing her chest, she pounded onto the shingled shore, not stopping until she reached the water’s edge. Alasdair’s weapons were there, braced against a rock. A blue silk ribbon was tied to the hilt of his sword, the sight, and its significance, making her heart clutch. The ribbon was hers and its ends trailed in a tide pool, floating dulled and lifeless on the water’s gleaming surface. She prayed to all the gods that she wasn’t seeing a portent. Panic constricting her chest, she looked up and down the narrow strand, searching for Alasdair.
Malcolm and the dogs arrived a moment later.
They were all too late.
Alasdair was already in the water, swimming furiously toward the opposite shore. He was well past the halfway point, beyond hearing them if they cried out to him. Any moment he’d reach the strand. And if Kendrew’s fire archers didn’t get him before he did, they’d surely hit him when he left the water and started climbing the cliff.
“O-o-oh, no!” Marjory fell to her knees in the surf, pressed her fisted hands to her cheeks.
Hercules and Geordie began to howl.
Malcolm simply stood staring out at the water, a thoughtful look on his once-handsome face.
“Come lass, I think we should row over there.” He held out his hand, helping her to her feet.
Not waiting for her reply, he tightened his grip on her hand and led her down the beach, toward a small coracle. He pushed the little round boat into the water, holding it steady as she clambered aboard, Hercules and Geordie climbing in with her. Then he jumped over the side and reached for the oars, quickly maneuvering them onto the water, but careful to stay close to the shore’s edge.
He clearly meant to reach the other side by circling the loch.
It would take much longer than rowing straight across, which was much too risky.
“Alasdair may be dead before we get there.” Marjory tried to see him, but couldn’t.
It was getting dark and the mist was thick now, swirling everywhere in great billowing sheets like a shroud.
She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.
“Dear heavens, please let us get there in
time.” She couldn’t bear it if they didn’t.
Surely Kendrew would listen to her.
But then there was another terrible crashing of wood near the mouth of the loch, the ghastly noise filling the night, terrifying her.
She risked a glance in that direction, only able to make out galleys flashing to and fro. There were also two ships that appeared sealed together, men with swords running on the decks, fighting ferociously, their shouts and curses, and screams, terrible.
And then the heavens brightened, the night sky turning light as day.
Kendrew was unleashing his fire arrows.
The end was imminent.
“Mackintosh!”
Alasdair roared the bastard’s name even as he pulled himself up and over the edge of the cliff. Panting, he bent double, bracing his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
Never had he been in a sorrier state.
Shivering from the loch’s icy water, he was also half-naked, wearing only his wet and clinging shirt. He’d even kicked off his bluidy shoes.
And he carried no weapon.
He didn’t need one.
He meant to rip Kendrew apart with his bare hands.
“Kendrew!” He straightened, cupping his hands around his mouth as he shouted for the miscreant. “Come here, you flat-footed he-goat! Fight me like a man, one on one, fists only and to the death!”
“Dinnae tempt me, you arse.” Kendrew appeared out of the mist, striding forward with a cocky grin. “It’s no’ every day I have to admit I’m wrong. Goad me again and I’m done with you. I’ll take my men and hie us out of here.”
Alasdair blinked.
He shook his head, tilting it to the side and hitting his ear with his palm. Just in case he had water in his ears, clogging his hearing.
“We’re getting the better o’ them, did you see?” Kendrew thrust an arm out toward the loch and the ships and men fighting there.
He was also laughing, the sight terrible.
But then Alasdair followed his outstretched arm and saw that his foe spoke true.
The two black-painted Viking ships had foundered in the mouth of the loch. A welter of boulders on the ships’ broken decks hinted at what had sunk them.
Alasdair’s own galleys circled the shattered dragonships. And when he held a hand to his brow and squinted, he saw that his men were on the decks of the Viking vessels, using their swords to cut down any men who hadn’t drowned when someone – Kendrew’s men? – had rained down the boulders on the ships as they’d attempted to beat into the loch.
One or two other Viking ships had made it.
But those burned bright, flames like balefires swiftly consuming them.
Alasdair’s galleys didn’t bear a single scorch mark.
They flashed about, clean and untouched, more than proud.
And still Kendrew was laughing.
He stood with his legs spread apart and his arms crossed and the more Alasdair stared at him, the more he, too, felt like laughing.
To his shame, he felt something else, too.
A strange, damnable kinship that burned his fool eyes like hell.
“Damnation, who’d have believed this?” He strode over to his erstwhile foe, clapping him on the shoulder. “To what do I owe the honor?”
Kendrew didn’t miss a beat, jerking his head toward a big, black-bearded man just stepping up to them.
He was Grim.
And he carried a spare bearskin, coming up to sling the fur about Alasdair’s shoulders.
“A good e’en to you, Blackshore!” He stepped back, dusting his hands. “I took you on your word, see you? The things you said about black-painted dragonships and our Dreagan’s Claw inlet. I went there myself” - he raised his voice above the shouting below – “creeping down the cliff and hiding out behind the rocks. Thon Ironstorm and his captains came ashore that night. I heard everything they said and-”
“Like the good captain that he is” - Kendrew boomed - “he made haste back to Nought and told me. We came here as fast as we could. Truth is” – he smiled almost sheepishly – “I would’ve brought my sister to you myself. But when I went to look for her, the fool lass had vanished.
“She wouldn’t be here, would she?” He glanced about, his eyes twinkling.
“She is safe in my painted solar at Blackshore.” Alasdair was relieved that she was. “She’ll be pleased to see you when we’re done here. I’ll take you-”
“There is no need.” Marjory ran up to them, throwing herself into Alasdair’s arms. “I am here, as you can see. What I’d know, is what you’re doing here?”
She glanced at her brother, but he just threw back his head and gave a great shout of laughter.
“Later, Norn, at your man’s high table.” He winked at her and then punched his captain in the arm. “We have men’s work to do yet,” he boomed, already striding off into the mist.
Grim tossed them a look. Not quite a smile, but not unfriendly either. Then he turned on his heel to follow after Kendrew.
The mist closed around them quickly.
They were gone.
“What is happening here?” Marjory looked after them, frowning at the spot where they’d disappeared.
Alasdair followed her gaze, shaking his head.
“Nothing you won’t hear all about in the hall this e’en.” He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “I’d sooner hear what you are doing here?”
He shot a dark look at Malcolm, who smiled back at him and then blew his nose.
Hercules and Geordie were also staring at him.
Geordie sported a look Marjory now recognized as his expecting-a-treat look. And Hercules – she blinked, hardly believing her eyes – was wearing an expression of pure hero worship. Eyes bright, tongue lolling, and his little tail wagging.
On the loch, the sounds of the fighting were winding down, replaced now by the roar of flames. The acrid stench of burning wood hung thick in the night air.
Marjory shivered.
Another flaming Viking ship flashed across her mind. She pushed the image away. Truth was, she’d brave a thousand burning ships, even the fires of hell, if they stood between her and Alasdair.
So she leaned harder into him, baring her heart. “I’m here because I love you.”
She lifted up on her toes, curling her hand around his neck and then kissing him. “I also thought you might need saving from my brother.”
“Is that so?” Alasdair cupped her face, giving her a kiss of his own, a long and deep one that sent warmth spilling clear to her toes.
“And what if he needed rescuing from me?” He straightened, winking at her.
“Then…” She glanced aside, down to the burning Viking ships on the loch. “It would seem we’re all even, wouldn’t you say?”
She didn’t mention he’d once rescued her from a burning Viking ship.
There’d be time later to tell him of her dream.
For now…
She nestled closer to him, trying not to see that Malcolm was watching them, dabbing at his eyes.
She did see that wonders are always possible.
That magic is real.
And then Alasdair was turning her face up to his. “Will you be disappointed that we won’t be leaving the glen, lass?” He kissed her, claiming her lips with such passion that it was clear he had no problems with his great-uncle and two dogs watching them. The bold smile he flashed her when he broke the kiss, proved it.
“Well?” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer. “You didn’t answer me?”
“Ah, but I didn’t, did I?” Tapping her chin, she pretended to consider. “I might regret not seeing more of the world, it is true.”
He blinked, looking surprised. “Indeed?”
“It could be, yes. Unless…”
He started to smile again, seeing that she was teasing him.
“What is it, sweet?” He played along, his smile deepening. “Name your pleasure and it’s
granted. I dinnae want an unhappy wife.”
“Then…” She slipped her arms around his neck, returning his smile. “I would like us to visit the Thunder Caves at least once a week.”
“The Thunder Caves?” He frowned, looking puzzled.
Marjory laughed. “Oh, yes, we should go there often.”
Then his eyes lit and he laughed, too.
“I understand, and we will visit them, I promise.” He leaned down to nuzzle her neck, nipping the sensitive spot beneath her ear. “As often as you desire.”
Epilogue
The Glen of Many Legends
At the Thunder Caves
Autumn 1398
* * *
“Did you hear me?”
Marjory kept her voice low, not wanting anyone but Isobel and Catriona to catch her words. The three women stood at the far end of the Thunder Cave, near a long table spread with all manner of festive victuals, wine ewers, and ale. In the center of the cave, the stone floor shone bright, the mounds of wolf- and bearskins that were usually piled there cleared away to make room for dancing.
After all, this was Marjory and Alasdair’s wedding feast.
As if the heavens knew, the bands of moon- and starlight that always lit the cave, shone with especial brightness this night, lending to the magic.
Unfortunately, Isobel and Catriona were spending too much time tipping back their heads to peer up at the naked couples cavorting about the ceiling.
Neither one of them were listening.
Marjory took them by the arms and led them deeper into the shadows at the rear of the cave.
“So-o-o!” She released them and stepped back, more than pleased with herself. “What did I just say?”
Isobel and Catriona exchanged glances, clearly unable to tell her.
“That it was good of Alasdair to give Clan Donald’s special sword to Kendrew?” Catriona risked a guess, glancing to where Kendrew sat next to Alasdair.
Marjory and Isobel followed her gaze.
Looking as if they’d been close friends for life, both men were examining Honor, the sword that’d been pried from the hand of the last MacDonald clansman to die at the trial by combat. Aptly named, the blade was held in high respect by the clan, a gift of untold value.
Seduction of a Highland Warrior (Highland Warriors Book 4) Page 32
