The Highlander's Welsh Bride: Book 5 in the Hardy Heroines series

by Cathy MacRae

  Apparently mollified, Abria grinned. She released Carys’s cloak and dashed off to join Tully, Eislyn, and Dewr who huddled excitedly near the rail as the ship drifted gently to the dock. Birk took Carys’s hand and winged an elbow for Hanna.

  “Shall we go meet Tully’s ma?”

  The children clattered across the planks as soon as Birk released them. Tully raced up the dock and headed unerringly toward a clapboard structure with a faded gull painted on a sign dangling above the door. Birk’s soldiers surrounded the group, keeping dock workers, merchants, and sailors at bay. The hair on Carys’s neck bristled at the rugged faces, leering grins that died quickly enough beneath Birk’s scowl, and the smell of unwashed bodies emerging from newly docked ships.

  Fouled water ran alongside the cobbled path to the town, and horses nickered in protest on the congested wharf. Men shouted commands and replies, words unintelligible to Carys’s ears. A pair of women, skirts hiked above their knees, loitered next to a disreputable structure, eyes on the purses of sailors emerging from the dock. One blew a kiss in Birk’s direction, but his scowl only deepened.

  Tully drew to a halt at the door to the Thirsty Seagull and cast an excited look over his shoulder. “Ma’s here! I’s home!”

  At Birk’s nod, he burst through the door into a room boasting six tables and a row of benches beneath a grimy window that let in little light. Carys blinked to adjust her sight. A tall woman, a white cap on her head and an apron stretched across an impressive bosom, glanced up.

  “Tully?”

  “Ma!”

  Tully wove around the patrons and halted a foot or so away from the woman, uncertainty in his stooped shoulders.

  “Where’s yer da? Ye shouldnae be back so soon. And get that filthy dog out of me tavern.”

  Dewr whined and sat at Tully’s feet.

  Birk stepped forward. “I am Birk MacLean. Ye are Mistress Ferguson?”

  “Aye. I’m Captain Ferguson’s wife. Name’s Gavina.”

  “I sent a letter about Captain Ferguson. Did ye not receive it?”

  The woman tilted her head, then grunted. “I havenae had time to hire someone to read it.” She waved a hand. “I gots customers.”

  Birk motioned to a tiny table in a corner. “May we sit there?”

  Gavina harrumphed. “I’ve got to set Tully to work. I can give ye a moment. Make it quick.”

  Carys and Birk followed the woman to the edge of the room. Hanna and two of Birk’s soldiers corralled the girls. Tully dogged Birk’s heels.

  “Somethin’s wrong,” his ma challenged. “Tell me quick.”

  Carys stepped forward, her heart going out to the woman. “The Seabhag sank in a storm off the Ardnamurchan Peninsula earlier this spring. Tully and I were the only survivors.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Gavina’s face twisted, but she squared her shoulders. “Murdoc’s dead?” She glanced at Tully. “And left me naught but a simple boy and his dirty dog.” She lifted her arms in exasperation. “He’s my boy, but I’s got six others to care for as well.”

  She shook her head. “Married almost ten years, with seven bairns and a run-down tavern to show for it. ’Tis a wonder we had so many, no more time than he spent here.”

  I know why he spent so much time at sea. Carys shuddered, enraged at the woman’s insensitivity. Captain Ferguson had sincerely loved the boy, giving him the sense of family aboard ship where the other sailors treated him as a younger brother. Tully’s da would never have allowed another to abuse the lad. Mayhap this was one reason he’d allowed Tully to sail with him.

  Carys’s gaze crossed the room and found three sets of eyes set in serious faces peering at them from behind the bar. Three young girls in tattered dresses and aprons that bespoke the work they’d been born into. It was impossible to determine their ages, but Carys decided they were the oldest of Tully’s sisters, the eldest perhaps boasting, at most, eleven summers. Their gazes settled on Tully with some recognition—and little interest.

  Carys motioned to one of the soldiers and took the two leather bags he held out for her.

  “I recovered this from the wreckage of the Seabhag. Even after Tully receives his wages for fair work, the coin should see ye through the winter and beyond.”

  Gavina’s eyes brightened and she reached a hand toward the bags. “That’s a fair bit of coin.”

  Carys retained a small bag. “This one is Tully’s. He worked hard aboard ship, and his da would want him to receive his share.” It was far more than the boy’s wages would have been, but Carys suddenly did not want his ma to get her hands on the entire treasure.

  Gavina sniffed as though offended. “As ye wish, though I could put the money to better use than he will.” Her eyes narrowed. “Well, give it here. I’ll need to make special arrangements to manage that much coin. There’s not enough time in the day as it is.”

  “Ye can have mine, Ma,” Tully ventured. He leaned forward, as though longing for a kind word or gesture. It was clear to Carys that he rarely received tenderness of any sort from her.

  “Tully,” Carys murmured softly. “Ye have dreams, aye? Help your ma and your brothers and sisters, but put a bit back for the ship ye want someday.”

  “Ship?” Gavina’s derisive laughter bowed Tully’s head. “He won’t be sailin’ no ship. He’s a hard worker, but he hasnae the head to run his own ship.”

  Carys gritted her teeth and reached blindly for Birk’s arm. Taking a step back, she turned Birk to her. He glanced at his forearm where her fingers dug deep. She loosened her grip.

  “He cannot stay here,” she whispered, furious.

  “I do not wish to leave him, either,” Birk replied, his voice low. “But ’tis not our place to make the decision. He is her son. And I am not her laird.” He placed a palm over her hand. “And we cannae save them all.”

  Carys drew a sharp breath to protest, but recognized the fire in Birk’s eyes and the muscle that twitched along his jaw. With a short nod, he pivoted on his heel and approached Tully.

  “Tully, yer ma has her hands full here. I know ye are the eldest and feel the need to stay and help, but I have an offer for ye that will allow ye to help her even more.”

  Carys’s heart nearly broke when Tully’s hopeful face lifted to Birk’s. She clenched her fists to keep from slapping the woman who tapped her toe impatiently on the wooden floor.

  “Work for me,” Birk invited. “I will pay ye a fair wage. Ye can send a portion of what ye earn to yer ma.”

  Tully nodded once, then glanced at his ma, a cautious look on his face.

  “Do as ye wish,” she growled. “I’ll not have ye moping about, wishing ye were aboard a ship and neglecting yer chores.”

  Carys sought even the tiniest bit of remorse in the woman’s face, but greed glowed meanly in Gavina’s eyes. Tully would likely never see any coin earned if he stayed with her, and she knew it.

  Tully turned back to Birk. “Kin I sail?”

  “Aye. I plan on keeping the Már fitted for travel, and there are a lot of jobs necessary to keep her afloat. Can ye use a broom and an axe?”

  Tully’s face brightened. “I’s strong! I’s a good worker. Da says so!”

  “Are ye willing to swab decks and keep the ship in order and do whatever Captain Aklan requests of ye?”

  “Aye!”

  “The job is yers if ye wish.”

  Tully glowed with pride. Birk patted the lad’s shoulder. Tully gravely shook his hand as he’d likely seen his da do many times to seal a bargain, then bounded over to Eislyn and Abria who sat with Hanna and Dewr some distance away.

  “I’s going home with ye!” he announced, his happy voice crossing the room. Eislyn and Abria squealed excitedly as they jumped up and down, hugging him. The three girls behind the bar disappeared from view.

  “I am grateful to ye for allowing Tully to work for me.” Birk gave a slight bow to Gavina, breaking her attention from Tully. She glanced at Birk, her gaze taking in his expensive,
albeit wet, cloak, and the sword hanging from the heavily tooled leather belt at his waist.

  “Ye fill his head with sailin’ nonsense, but he’s yer problem now. He’s a boon ta me, make no mistake,” she added, rubbing her chin. “’Twill be costly to replace him.”

  Birk handed her one of the leather bags. She hefted it once then tied it to her own belt.

  “’Twill keep us from starvin’ this winter, and mayhap the next,” she muttered ungraciously.

  “I will add a silver coin to whatever he sends to ye,” Carys said. “And we will hear from ye no more.”

  “Ye cannae keep a lad from his ma!” she protested.

  “I would not dream of interfering should he wish to visit ye,” Carys said. “Should ye visit him, ye will quarter with him in his room, and your visit will not exceed three days.”

  “I wouldnae like to cut his wages for work not done whilst ye were there,” Birk added, a meaningful look on his face.

  Gavina scowled, understanding the hint she would not be welcome for long at MacLean Castle. Though it flew in the face of every tenet of hospitality Carys held, she was glad she had not made her home available to Gavina. She could not imagine housing the odious woman with Hanna and the girls, or the havoc such a visit could wreak.

  “I must lock this away.” Gavina draped her apron over the leather bag at her side, hiding it from casual view. “Help yerself tae dinner whilst ye’re here. Family prices for ye.” She gave Carys a pointed stare. “This time.”

  * * *

  The children’s excitement over returning home with Tully waned. Boredom settled in aboard ship with little to do, and Hanna quickly offered them a choice between swabbing the deck or listening to a tale she’d heard of a witch who brewed storms in the strait between two islands.

  “’Tis but a short distance ahead between Jura, the island ye can see to the west, and Scarba which is an hour or so’s sail away.”

  Birk grinned. His ma was a great skald, and he could trust her to keep the children enthralled for a bit, though he wondered, if she told the ancient tale of the whirlpool between Scarba and Jura, how she’d manage the part about the king’s daughter’s lost virtue.

  “She is a remarkable woman,” Carys murmured. She twined her fingers with his and leaned against his shoulder, trapping their hands between them. ’Tis clear the girls adore her.”

  Birk dropped a kiss on the top of Carys’s head. “Hanna lost much in her fight with the Scots who raided her village. But she married my da and found her heart again. The girls adore her, also.”

  Hanna beckoned the children closer. “’Tis said a cailleach lives in a cave on the coast of Scarba . . ..” The children circled about, rapt with anticipation for the tale.

  Carys shifted her weight against him. “A cailleach is an old woman, aye?”

  “Anything hooded, actually. A mountain shrouded in clouds might be referred to as a cailleach. A nun is often called a cailleach because of the hood she wears. But in Hanna’s story, a cailleach is a witch who stirs the whirlpool between Jura and Scarba when she washes her plaide in the waters, creating a maelstrom that will send the unwary to the depths of the sea.”

  “A whirlpool? Truth? Large enough to sink a ship?”

  “Och, aye. ’Tis worse just before winter and at any Spring tide combined with a westerly wind. A maelstrom like none other which rages for hours when the tide advances. Even on calm days the swells can rise dangerously when the corryvreckan is in spate.”

  “I’ve never heard of such,” Carys admitted. She glanced over the bow. “We will not take the strait between the islands, will we?”

  Birk chuckled. “Nae. ’Twould take something drastic to drive us to that route. We can be home at Morvern without inviting the wrath of the cailleach for trespassing her waters. But dinnae fash. ’Tis said the worst of her cauldron is when she washes her plaide and drapes it across the land to dry. Since she is the auldest woman, her plaide is completely white, and thus we get the first snowfall.”

  “Which should be several weeks away.”

  “Aye. The Már would likely survive a dip in the corryvreckan, but I’d rather not test the auld woman’s wrath.”

  His interest in Hanna’s story faded as the wind ripped Carys’s black hair from her braid, sending strands dancing about her head. Her cloak winged from her shoulders despite the belt securing it about her waist. He wanted to snatch the leather thong from her hair and spill the silken mass over him. Glancing at the single cabin beneath the aftcastle, he made a firm note to create a second, or even third, cabin for privacy. They would be home before sundown. Perhaps he could keep his hands off her until then.

  Carys stepped in front of him and, wrapping her arms about his waist, buried her face against his chest.

  “Cold?” he asked. He slid his hands beneath her plaide and pulled her close.

  Carys shook her head. “I want ye to hold me.”

  Birk’s world spun. He didn’t wish this moment to ever end, yet couldn’t arrive home fast enough. He groaned. “Ye have broken me. Broken my fears, the lies I believed. Swear to me ye will never leave me.”

  She snuggled closer. “I honor my vows, Scotsman,” she reminded him tartly. “But I also honor what is between us. I will not leave ye. More importantly, I do not want to ever leave ye.”

  He held her against him, breathing deep as he wrangled his body into a semblance of calm. His daughters’ laughter rose and Tully guffawed at some silliness. Birk could not imagine a time he’d been so content.

  * * *

  “Ship ahoy!”

  Carys released Birk to answer the captain’s call. She crossed to the circle where children, one dog, and a padded, salt-streaked leather ball romped across the deck. She dodged an errant kick and caught the ball as it flew toward her head. With a warning that a ball overboard was a ball forever gone, she tossed it back to Tully. He batted it to the deck and chased it down, stopping it next to a wooden bucket filled with sand. Eislyn rushed to his side, then turned to Carys.

  “Why are there buckets of sand on the deck? I count eight.”

  “I count lots,” Abria piped up, joining her sister.

  Taken aback, Carys struggled with her answer. “They are here in case of a fire,” she replied carefully. And to absorb blood to protect our footing during battle. But this she could not tell them. A shiver of premonitions swept down her spine.

  The children sent each other speculative looks that included the vast waters around them, then shrugged and returned to their game. Carys sighed thankfully and continued across the deck.

  “Birk told me of the Corryvreckan whirlpool,” she said as she reached Hanna’s side.

  “I’m certain ye have such tales in your land. The true story of the corryvreckan is a combination of Norse and Scots. I’ll tell it to ye sometime when curious ears aren’t listening.”

  Carys and Hanna glanced up sharply as Iain strode purposefully toward them. He stopped close with a glance over his shoulder at the children.

  “Ye are to gather the bairns and secure yerselves in the cabin. Now.”

  Carys hesitated, scanning the horizon. The Isle of Scarba loomed just off the port bow, a largely uninhabited stretch of land to starboard. A gust of wind poured into the sail, shoving the ship down into an unexpected trough as the seas roughened, pushing them deeper into the narrow strait. Carys grasped Iain’s arm for balance. Clouds thickened, darkening the sun. She regained her stance, bending her knees slightly to absorb the increased roll of the deck.

  “I do not . . ..”

  The entire ship shuddered and groaned. Children’s screams pierced the air as a spear landed in their midst. A slender ship, toothy dragon’s head carved into the bowsprit, battle shields bristling along the rail, loomed over them before plunging down into the next trough to sink beneath the Már’s bow.

  Tully grabbed Eislyn and Abria. Sliding on the wet boards, he dragged them to the cabin. He struggled with the door, but before Carys could reach them, H
anna was at his side. Together they wrestled the door open and shoved the girls inside.

  “Do ye know how to use this?” Hanna drew a dagger from a sheath at her waist.

  Tully nodded.

  She flipped the blade over and shoved the hilt at him. “Let no one cross this door who does not know ye by name.”

  Carys and Hanna turned to Iain. Hanna nodded grimly. “We are at your disposal.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Tell your captain to keep us away from the witch’s cauldron.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “They will attempt to run us aground.”

  Birk startled at Hanna’s voice at his shoulder. “Ye shouldnae be here. Protect the bairns.”

  She laughed softly, a sound of defiance and challenge. “The women in your family are warriors, Birk MacLean. ’Twill serve ye well to never forget.”

  He glanced past her and found Carys at the bow, the Norse spear hefted familiarly in one hand, an instant away from being plunged back into the heart of the pirate ship. The deep gouge where it had struck the deck gleamed, a pale wound in the aged wood.

  “Shite.”

  Hanna pointed to the approaching ship. “The langskip is light and fast. See how tall and narrow the bow and stern are? ’Tis also clinker built, and the midsection is quite wide. ’Twill be very fast and stable even in these waters. But they know the our ship could withstand any force they tried against her. If they can drive her onto the beach, they can board and fight us on even footing.”

  “There is no us . . .. Ye and Carys . . ..” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Shite.”

  “Your vocabulary is not improving, sonr min. Pay attention. We must avoid the shoreline at all cost.”

  “I know how the Norse fight. Ye dinnae need to tutor me in battle tactics.”

  A sailor dragged a long, deep chest across the deck. He unlocked it, opened the lid and dispensed weapons to the crew. Hanna slipped from the aftcastle to the deck, joining Carys at the chest. Birk ground his teeth as the startled sailor glanced up, seeking permission to arm the two women. Without waiting for his sanction, his mother and wife slipped daggers as long as their forearms into sheaths at their sides. Hanna plucked a short sword from the chest. Carys also selected a short sword and grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows from a passing soldier.