He wasn’t the only one. Bloody hell, how could a five-year-old have him so tongue-tied?
The boy shuffled his feet, and Eoin realized he was staring. He stood and went to the sideboard to fetch the set. “Your mother said you were a good player.” He tucked the board under his arm and gathered the pieces in his hands. “She said you can already beat her.”
When Eachann didn’t say anything right away, Eoin turned to find him apparently mulling his words. “Aye, but . . .” He let his words fall off. “She can add more sums than me in her head. I can only remember five or six. She can do up to ten.”
Eoin grinned. His son had the makings of a fine statesman. He put down the board and started setting down the pieces. “I don’t think your mother really ever took to the game.”
Eachann met his gaze conspiratorially, and the tentative smile he gave him a moment later made Eoin’s chest squeeze as if it were in a vise.
“She’s too impatient,” Eachann said. “And—”
“Always wants to go on the attack,” Eoin finished for him.
Eachann’s tentative smile turned into a full-blown grin, and Eoin felt like he’d just swallowed a ray of sunshine.
“Mother made you a set, too?” Eachann said, picking up one of the beautifully carved and painted pieces.
“Nay, I found it in . . .” Oban, he finished to himself, as the truth hit him. He’d seen the set in a shop in Oban about six months after Margaret left. It was the only one of its kind, the owner had said. A priest had brought it in to barter for some goods.
That’s how she’d left, he realized. He’d always wondered how she’d found the money to leave so quickly.
Eoin picked up one of the pieces, seeing every loving stroke that she’d put into it, feeling his throat tighten.
“Aye,” he said gruffly after a long pause, noticing that Eachann was watching him with a puzzled look on his face. “She made it for me.”
He’d just never been here for her to give it to him.
“Is something wrong?” Eachann asked.
Eoin took a deep breath and shook his head, trying to clear the emotion from his lungs and throat. But the regret burned. He wondered if it would ever stop. “Nay, now are you ready to show me what you’ve got? I won’t go easy on you.”
A countenance that was every bit as grave as his own looked back at him. “I won’t go easy on you either.”
Eoin grinned. “Good to know. I guess I’ve been warned.”
After a dozen moves, Eoin realized it was a good thing, and he’d better focus if he didn’t want to be trounced by a five-year-old.
“The linens are changed on Fridays and washed on Saturdays,” the maidservant said unhelpfully. “They’ll be checked for tears and mended then.”
Margaret tried to rein in her temper, but why must every request—no matter how small—be met with resistance?
She smiled. “I just thought that since I noticed a small tear in the bedsheet, I might borrow some of the thread that matches and tend to it now.”
“Today is Wednesday,” the woman said obstinately.
Margaret gritted her teeth, her smile faltering. “Yes, I’m aware of that.”
“Is there a problem?”
Both women jumped a little at the sound of Eoin’s voice behind them. He’d seemingly materialized in the corridor out of nowhere.
She frowned at him for sneaking up on her, but then noticed his expression. Putting a hand on his arm, she silently begged him not to interfere. “No,” she said brightly, glancing at the flushing servant. “No problem. Morag and I were just discussing the linen schedule.”
Clearly Eoin wanted to say something more, but with a furious tightening of his mouth he deferred to her wishes. He nodded, which Morag took as a dismissal, scurrying down the stairs as if she couldn’t get away fast enough.
“I think you frightened her,” Margaret said wryly.
“Good,” he said with a dark glare down the stairwell, where Morag had disappeared. His gaze turned back to hers. “They really were horrible to you, weren’t they?”
It wasn’t as much a question as an acknowledgment.
A half smile turned her mouth. “I grew a thick skin. It was easier once I realized they didn’t hate me—they hated that I was a MacDowell.”
“You were my wife,” he said bitterly.
It hadn’t been enough—then. “It’s better now. Your mother is making an effort for Eachann.”
“And for you.” He paused. “I wasn’t exactly happy when I learned you had left. When she suggested that maybe it was for the best, I let her know in no uncertain terms just how wrong she was.” He shook his head. “Christ, I’m sorry, Maggie. I didn’t want to believe it. Hell, maybe I couldn’t believe it.”
Her brows furrowed. “I don’t understand.”
“I had so many things pulling me the other way, how could I have left you? I needed you to be somewhere where I thought you were safe.”
So he could concentrate on what he needed to do. Strangely she understood. “It’s different now,” she said. “Eachann will help. We both just need to give it time.”
He seemed to understand that she was asking him not to interfere. He nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.
“Speaking of our son,” he said. “You were right about his skill with a chessboard. It’s remarkable for one so young.”
“Did he beat you, too?” She couldn’t hide her delight at the prospect.
He lifted a brow. “Of course not. But I did have to pay attention.”
“Which is more than you can say for me, is that it?”
He gave her a lopsided grin that would have made her breath catch, if she wasn’t so outraged.
“I didn’t say that.”
She scowled. “But you were thinking it.”
He just shrugged and his grin broadened. “He liked my chess set. Actually, he said it looked like his.” He pulled something out of his sporran and handed it to her. “Does it look familiar?”
She froze, staring in astonishment at the painted figure he’d given her. It was a piece from the set she’d worked so hard on for him all those years ago. “Where did you get it?”
“In town. A priest had given it to a shopkeeper to sell. I thought it was magnificent. I can’t believe you did this, Maggie. The craftsmanship is extraordinary.” He took the piece—the king—and held it up, twisting it in his hand. “It’s me, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “I should have known there was a reason the queen has red hair.”
She laughed. “I wanted to make sure you knew who was in charge.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Is that right?”
She nodded, and he covered her mouth in a long kiss before releasing her.
“Hmm. We’ll have to see about that. You can show me tonight. But first there is someone who I think will be eager to see you.”
Margaret couldn’t think of anyone on Kerrera who would be eager to see her. Even when he led her to the stables and told her to wait, she didn’t guess. So when he led out the big black stallion, her knees wobbled and the blood slid to her feet in absolute shock. “Dubh?”
At the sound of her voice the horse’s ears perked up. She rushed forward and threw her arms around the startled animal. She murmured soothing words against his silky coat to calm him—and herself. When she finally lifted her face to meet her husband’s amused gaze her eyes were damp. “You kept him?”
“Actually, Fin did.” That didn’t surprise her. Fin had made no secret that he wanted the animal. “He gave him back when I returned.”
“You mean when the MacDougalls were defeated, and he changed allegiance to Bruce?”
He nodded, and Margaret let the matter rest. She didn’t want to talk about Fin or his opportunism. She was too happy to have her horse back.
“Should we stretch his legs?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Your knee is strong enough?”
“You�
��re as bad as Helen.”
She arched a brow. “Is that an answer?”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s fine. I promise to take it easy.”
She held him to that.
It was a perfect afternoon. They rode to the north end of the island and sat on an outcrop of rock for a while watching the fishing boats pass on their way out to sea. For the first time, she saw the prettiness of the isle. Whenever they passed someone on the road, Eoin made a point of stopping and introducing her as his wife. With the tender look in his eye and the tucking of her hand into his elbow, he was making sure there was no doubt about her importance to him.
They were laughing as they climbed the stairs to their tower chamber to change for the evening meal—Margaret was teasing him about the suddenly sore knee that was to blame for his losing the race back to the castle.
It was Margaret who pushed open the door, and thus it was she who let out a cry with what she saw on the bed.
26
EOIN’S BLOOD had run cold when he’d heard Margaret’s cry, but it turned to ice when he saw the reason why.
His jaw locked in wintry rage as he quickly removed the plaid—and the dead bird that had been resting on it—from the chamber. He called for one of the servants to dispose of both. He would question them all later, but first he needed to attend to his wife.
She was still pale as he entered the room. He went to the sideboard and poured her a cup of whisky. Handing it to her, he said, “Here, drink this.”
She didn’t argue and did as he bade. He was rewarded by a flush of color to her cheeks.
Handing the cup back to him, she laughed nervously. “At least we don’t need to guess for whom it was meant.”
Eoin’s mouth tightened furiously. No, there wasn’t any doubt. It hadn’t been just any dead bird, it had been a dead raven—the symbol of the MacDowells. “I will find out who was responsible.”
The menace in his voice must have worried her. She put a quelling hand on his arm, her golden eyes wide with worry. “I’m sure there is no real threat. It was probably someone’s bad idea of a jest, or a way of encouraging me to go back home. But this is my home, Eoin, and I won’t let them intimidate me this time. I was merely startled. No real harm was done. It might only make things more difficult.”
“God’s bones, Maggie. You can’t think I will ignore this? Call it what you will, but someone wanted to scare you.”
“Maybe so, but I am not so easily frightened.” A wry smile turned her pretty mouth. “I know you too well to think you will do nothing. I’m just asking you not to overreact. You’ll not gain me any friends by subjecting all your clansmen to an inquisition.”
His mouth fell in a grim line. “I know where to start.”
It was obvious to whom he referred. “I doubt Fin would do something so blatant.”
He didn’t think so either, but no one had been more discontented to hear of Margaret’s return.
The incident cast a pall over the rest of the evening. Eoin explained to his parents what had happened, and they seemed nearly as outraged as he—especially his mother, who pointed out how easily it could have been Eachann who found the dead bird. Indeed, she seemed to have taken the “message” personally, and insisted on questioning the servants herself after he had finished.
His father sent for Fin and his other household guardsmen. One by one, Eoin questioned them, but most of his father’s men—including Fin—had been away all afternoon patrolling the seas to the north and west. They hadn’t returned until the first course of the meal.
The questioning was to no avail; no one had seen anything.
Eoin kept a close eye on Margaret and Eachann (fortunately, the boy wasn’t aware of what had happened) over the next few days, rarely leaving them alone, but nothing appeared amiss. No doubt the coward had been alerted and scurried back into his foxhole.
Margaret was probably right. Eoin doubted it was a real threat as much as something to make her feel unwelcome, but he wouldn’t take any chances. Knowing he couldn’t delay his trip to Dunstaffnage any longer, he was debating whether to take them with him, even if seeing Campbell again so soon provoked more questions from Margaret, when the problem was solved for him. Although not in a way that would make it any easier.
Answering a summons from his father that pulled him away from training, Eoin was surprised to find Campbell waiting for him in the solar. Although the prized scout was the one known for his keen, almost eerie instincts, Eoin could tell right away that this was not a neighborly visit. The members of the Highland Guard had perfected the stone in stony, so Campbell’s expression gave nothing away, but Eoin sensed his friend’s edginess.
To ensure their privacy—and that what they had to say would not be overheard—Eoin’s father stood guard outside the door himself.
As soon as he left, Campbell’s expression turned grave. “I know you are supposed to be on leave, but I need your help.”
“Does this have something to do with your father- in-law?”
“How did you guess?” he asked with dry sarcasm.
Eoin filled him in on the fisherman’s story.
Campbell’s jaw was clenching so hard Eoin wondered if he was second-guessing his decision all those years ago. “That sure as hell sounds like him. We’ve had a few reports of ‘pirate’ attacks in the past few weeks, as well as reports of his men in the area demanding rents from his former tenants.”
Eoin wasn’t surprised. When Bruce had been exiled in the fall of 1306, he’d funded his return to claim his kingdom by sending Eoin, Lamont, Boyd, and MacGregor on similar missions to collect rents from his tenants (or former tenants according to King Edward) in Ayr. At the time their movements had been aided by Campbell, who’d been acting as an informant in the English camp, much as now they relied on information from a secret source in Roxburgh Castle they simply called the Ghost.
“That’s why I’m here,” Campbell explained. “I need you to help me set a trap for them.” He had a credible report the MacDougalls were heading to Appin—the small coastal peninsula between Loch Linnhe and Loch Creran—and wanted to be there waiting for them when they did.
The MacDougalls had a small fort on an islet just off the coast in Loch Linnhe called Stalker, with many loyal clansmen in the area. Despite Bruce’s victory at Brander a few years back, and the fact that he’d made Dunstaffnage his royal headquarters in the Highlands, there were still plenty of clansmen in the area sympathetic to the former Lords of Argyll MacDougalls, who had reigned over this part of Scotland like kings for centuries. Before the war, the MacDougalls had been the most powerful clan in the west. But their ill-fated decision to support the Comyns rather than Bruce had opened the door for the MacDonalds and the Campbells.
“How fast can you be ready?” Campbell asked.
Eoin started to respond, then hesitated. Margaret. It wasn’t just that he hadn’t discovered who had left the raven, he also knew that his leaving was sure to provoke questions. Questions that he didn’t want to answer—or rather, didn’t want to not answer.
Campbell mistook his silence. “Is it your knee? Have you not recovered enough to fight?”
Eoin shook his head. “I resumed training yesterday.”
“Then you are reluctant to leave your wife?” Campbell’s perceptiveness had stopped surprising him years ago. “She’ll want an explanation, and you can’t give her one.”
It wasn’t a question, and Eoin didn’t need to explain. He was sure Bruce wasn’t the only one who didn’t want Margaret to know what he did. Eoin might be ready to trust her again, but that didn’t mean his brethren felt the same.
He cursed, dragging his fingers through his hair. Why the hell did everything have to be so complicated?
“I shouldn’t have come,” Campbell said. “You need more time. I can find someone else. Maybe Hawk . . .”
“You don’t have time to fetch Hawk and be in position by nightfall,” Eoin said flatly.
“I have my brothers. They
and a few other guardsmen will be enough.”
Eoin knew Arthur referred to his brothers Dugald and Gillespie, who served the king with Arthur at Dunstaffnage. They were both formidable warriors.
But they weren’t the Highland Guard.
This was his job—his responsibility—and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let one of his brethren down without good cause. A hypothetical threat and wish to avoid conflict wasn’t enough. If something happened because he wasn’t there, he would be responsible.
It was only a few days at most. His father would protect Margaret and Eachann with his life. And if Margaret wanted to know where he was going . . .
Bloody hell, he was going to have to deal with this at some point. It might as well be now.
“Give me a half hour, and I’ll be ready.”
“But what about your wife?”
“I’ll figure something out.”
He just wished he knew what.
Not again.
Margaret stared at Eoin in shock, telling herself not to overreact. But she couldn’t escape the feeling that it was happening all over again. The floor of the chamber suddenly felt as if it were a boat swaying on the ocean. Her head was spinning.
“I have to leave.”
She’d known something like this was going to happen when she’d recognized the man riding through the gate as one of the warriors from Dumfries. During the siege, he’d been quieter than the others and seemed to blend into the background, which is why she hadn’t noticed him right away. Arthur Campbell, she recalled Eoin calling him. He was the youngest brother of Neil Campbell, the chief who’d been with Robert Bruce all those years ago at Stirling Castle and was still by his side now.
Margaret had felt a trickle of unease slither down the back of her neck, sensing that the real world was about to intrude. But if this was their first test, it was a failure so far. She hadn’t missed that he hadn’t told her anything about where he was going or what he was doing. In the dark . . .
Eoin looked pained. “God, Maggie, don’t look at me like that. I hate leaving like this, but I have to go. It’s only a few days at the most. You’ll be safe. My father will personally see that you and Eachann are guarded.”
The Striker Page 34
