by Amy Jarecki
As the wind picked up her veil, she laughed aloud, clapping a hand to her head to keep it from sailing away. Behind, the thunder of the stallion’s hooves came closer and closer. “Nay!” she shouted, slapping her reins, and leaning out further over the mare’s neck. “Haste, ye!”
“I’m gaining on ye, lassie!” Angus roared above the wind.
By the time they reached the outcropping, they were both laughing so hard, the horses had decided the race wasn’t to be taken seriously, falling into step alongside each other as if they were hitched to a cart.
Reining the horse to a halt, Anya threw her head back and howled. “Oh, that felt good.”
“Of all my lands, this is one of my favorite places.” His gaze shifted her way. “It is not often I allow anyone to come with me when I traverse the Oa.”
A number of questions arrested at the tip of her tongue. How many young ladies had he brought riding out here? Anya didn’t dare ask, lest he thought her jealous, or prying, or interested in him as a suitor.
Which she definitely was not. Nay, she didn’t give a whit about any of her silly questions.
His Lordship tapped his heels. “Come, I have something to show ye.”
As they rode through the grassy moorland, terns and gannets took to flight. Angus stopped and gazed out over what seemed to be the end of the earth and the expansive sea beyond. “This is Dùn Athad. From here I oft see dolphins and seals in the surf. In summer, her cliffs are alive with nesting puffins and gulls. And throughout winter, barnacle geese make their home down below on the beach and near the burns and lochs of Islay.”
“Are they the geese served for last eve’s meal?”
“Aye, thousands of them winter on my island. Ducks as well.”
Anya smiled to herself, fully aware this was not the Lord of Islay’s only island. Why such a powerful man would choose to spend the day with a prisoner of the crown, she had no idea. Was Elizabeth receiving the same treatment, wherever in England she had been ensconced? Anya rather doubted the Queen of Scotland had received much hospitality at all. After all, King Edward had imprisoned Isabella MacDuff in a cage suspended from the barbican of Berwick Castle to punish the woman for the mere act of placing the crown on Robert the Bruce’s head and declaring him King of Scots.
Perhaps, Anya had been truly blessed. She was the first to admit she’d had her reservations about marrying Lord O’Doherty. If she didn’t want children so badly, she wouldn’t give a fig about marrying anyone. As a spinster, she could return to Dunseverick and live with her brother. Mayhap when the wars came to an end, she would do exactly that.
She returned her attention to the vast expanse of water, the sky above speckled with birds diving for fish. Below, a beach came into view with sea-foam rolling onto the shore. “Can we ride down there?”
“Aye, but the path is not for the faint of heart.”
She shifted in the saddle, arching her brows. “Did I ever say I was one to shirk danger?”
The grin spreading across his lips was reminiscent of a cat stalking a mouse. “Follow me.”
About halfway down a precariously narrow ridge, Anya jolted as stones crumbled beneath the mare’s hooves. She almost squealed, but doing so would not do. She’d accepted His Lordship’s challenge and, no matter how slim the path or how steep the cliff, she mustn’t complain.
Her perspiring hands slipped inside her fur-lined gloves as she dared a downward glimpse of the rocks below, where, with one misplaced hoof, Anya and the horse would plummet to their deaths.
Have mercy on my soul.
She closed her eyes and didn’t open them again until the mare stopped.
“Ye made it, lass, and lived to tell about your courage,” Angus said, his voice filled with humor as he dismounted. “I did warn ye.”
Anya shook away her dread. “If one doesn’t leap into the unknown, one can never claim to have conquered it.”
In two strides, he was standing beside her horse’s withers. His palm smoothed over Anya’s thigh as his gaze shifted to her face. “Allow me to help ye to dismount, then I’ll hobble the horses.”
“What about your shoulders? Are they both not still causing ye pain?”
His hand slowly swirled as he rolled the injured appendages. “They’re coming good—ye ken ye are no’ overly vicious with a wee battle axe. Please, allow me to help ye down.”
Though a frisson of energy shot from her leg and up through her body, Anya coolly swallowed and placed her hands on his shoulders. “Thank you.”
In the blink of an eye, those powerful fingers wrapped around her waist, easily lifting her out of the saddle. Anya’s breath caught. “Ye have a firm grip, my lord.”
“Am I hurting ye?” He drew her against his body, his grip easing.
“Nay,” she said, breathless as she slowly slid down his body until he held her gaze level with his.
Anya stretched her toes downward as he stared into her eyes. Was she floating or had he trapped her in his snare? God in heaven, she’d never been this close to him in daylight. His eyes weren’t only as blue as the crystal she’d found when she was a child, but they sparkled as well.
She parted her lips as her tongue grew dry. Though the wind blew a gale, warmth filled her. As she dangled, her gaze slipped to his mouth. He scraped his teeth over a full bottom lip as he tilted his head to the side.
For a moment, she thought he might kiss her. “Och,” he growled, while he slowly lowered her to the ground.
Disappointed to have the moment slip by so quickly, yet not surprised, she dropped her gaze to her hands. “Perhaps in the future, I ought to dismount on my own.”
He didn’t respond as he set to hobbling the horses. “A storm’s brewing.”
“This time of year, it seems a storm is always brewing.” As soon as the words left her lips, a snowflake landed on her nose and in no time, the sky was full of them. “Had we best head back?”
Angus straightened and looked west, the wind blowing his hair away from his face and billowing his mantle. “I’ve packed along a bit of peat. There’s a wee cave up the shore where we can take our nooning, unless ye’d rather haste back.”
Her stomach growled. “As long as we don’t end up stranded here for two days.”
He chuckled, removing the saddlebags. “The snow doesn’t tend to stick on the shore, though it is a wee bit unpleasant for riding.”
Anya looked to the ridge they’d traversed on the way down, now covered with a sheen of white. “And slippery.”
“If that’s the case, then we’ll take the long route back up.”
“How much longer?”
“No’ too bad.” He slung the bags over his shoulder and started toward a small cave not much larger than her alcove. “Mayhap a mile farther.”
Once under cover, Anya busied herself clearing stones and making two comfortable places to sit while Angus struggled to light a fire given the wind. Eventually, the flax tow took a spark and soon two bricks of peat were smoldering just beyond their feet.
“What did Cook send along to eat?” she asked.
Angus unfastened the buckles on the satchel and opened it between them. “A flagon of wine, a brick of cheese, a few slices of mutton, bread, and two apples.”
“’Tis a feast.”
He pulled out the flagon and rummaged inside the bag. “It looks as if he forgot to send along a pair of goblets.”
She took the wine from his grasp and pulled out the cork. “We shall just have to make do.” With a giggle, she tipped up the flagon and took a sip, the ruby liquid escaping out the corner of her mouth. As she dabbed away the mess, she returned the vessel. “Goodness, I didn’t expect it to come so fast.”
He chuckled. “I like your spirit.”
“Why?”
“Because ye are no’ afraid to bend the rules.”
“That is true, for certain. A consummate rule-bender, though of late, my adventurous nature has provided me with a great deal of bother.”
�
��Is that not what life is made up of? One conundrum after another that challenges us. I think conquering one’s woes is what makes men and women accomplished.” He drank from the flagon, not spilling a drop, and set it aside. “Look at yourself for example. Had ye not slipped away and found your alcove, ye most likely would no’ have become as proficient at drawing.”
He thought her a proficient? Anya’s heart thumped as she broke the bread and handed him the larger share. “Perhaps not. Men have many more opportunities to perfect their skills,” she added. “Take sword fighting. I’m nowhere near strong enough to wield a sword like yours, nor have I had the benefit of instruction.”
“Sword fighting takes a lifetime to perfect. But there are other weapons more suited to the fairer sex. The bow and arrow might suit.”
“I do enjoy archery.”
“See? And I’ll wager ye are good at it.”
“Fair, I suppose.”
“Only fair?” he teased, giving her a chunk of cheese.
She nibbled her food.
“Mayhap we ought to practice together,” Islay suggested.
“Oh, aye?” She couldn’t help but eye him with a mischievous grin. “Ye’d deign to put a weapon in the hands of an enemy of the crown?”
“Och, lass, if ye wanted to kill me, I reckon I’d already be dead.”
Anya washed her bite down with another sip of wine, more carefully this time. She didn’t want to kill Islay. She didn’t want to kill anyone. In fact, she didn’t understand the battles and wars that always seemed to rage around her. “Why do the MacDonalds feud with the MacDougalls?”
His Lordship frowned and tossed a piece of driftwood onto the fire. “If the Lord of Lorn would remain on his lands, there would be no quarrel. But the MacDougalls have a penchant for acquiring lands and riches to which they are not entitled. For three hundred years, my kin have been the Lords of the Isles and we do not intend to allow anyone to take our birthright from us.”
“And now the Lord of Lorn has joined with Edward and you with Bruce.”
“Aye, that’s the way of it.”
“But who is right and who is wrong?”
“I’ve said it afore, and I’ll stand by my conviction. Prior to the death of King Alexander, Scotland was at peace with England. Only after the king fell to his death did Longshanks step in and declare himself overlord. But it was the unspeakable carnage at the Battle of Berwick that soured our stomachs for good. Most Scots desire freedom from tyranny, which I do not believe is too much for any man to ask.”
Anya sat for a time, staring into the fire. Her father had been a strong man who stood by his convictions just like Islay, yet he had always, and only, paid homage to one king. Since the Norman Invasion, her kin had ruled over Keenaght, though clan feuds had always been rife with her kin’s ambition for more power. She supposed it was as Angus said, a yen to acquire lands and riches to which they were not entitled.
“If only there were enough land for all,” she mused.
He bit into an apple. “There is, lass. I reckon there is.”
“I have another question.”
“Aye?”
“How did ye come by the epithet Fairhair?”
He tossed his head, making his tresses sweep across his brow. “First of all, Harald Fairhair was the first King of Norway as well as my ancestor. But it was my brother who dreamed up the name—used it to taunt me.” Islay looked to the cave’s ceiling and laughed. “I hated the name when I was a lad. But it stuck like a wart on my arse.”
Anya covered her mouth and held in a chuckle at the image his words conjured. “If ye didn’t like to be called Fairhair, why did ye allow it?”
“Ha! Growing up in my brother’s shadow, I was oft used as his proverbial whipping post. The older lads teased me because my face was too bonny. Och, and my hair was as white as the snow still falling out there.” Angus stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. “Alasdair’s heckling made me tough. I strove to prove myself at every turn, until I grew taller and stronger than my brother, then I set him to rights.”
“How did ye do that?”
“We had a row. I was about twenty at the time. I cannot recall the cause of our argument, but we came to blows.” Angus tore a bite of bread with his teeth. “He took the brunt of it. Afterward, he started calling me Fairhair the Terrible.”
“With the devil’s heart,” she mused.
“Aye, that as well.”
Here all along she believed His Lordship’s enemies had marked him, spreading rumors about his vile temper and ruthlessness, but it had come from his own kin. “If ye ask me, ye have a kind heart.”
Angus stopped mid-chew. Had he just heard Anya say she thought him kind? After the shipwreck, and the way his men had dispatched the English sailors? Even the mere fact that she was being held at Dunyvaig against her wishes made such a statement unlikely. Aye, she was there on the king’s orders, but Angus was the man responsible for carrying them out. When so many referred to him as a fiend, this curious, charming, imaginative, yet opinionated woman saw the good in his heart despite all the forces working against her.
The lass had most likely missed her chance at wedded bliss because of him. Perhaps not bliss, but if her intended chose to move on, Anya had foregone her opportunity to bear children and raise a family. And after watching her read to the wee ones in the hall this morn, she would make a fine mother.
When Anya cringed, he realized he hadn’t acknowledged her compliment.
He swallowed. Hard. “Ye’d best not repeat those words at the keep, else my men will reckon I’ve gone soft.” He meant to intone a bit of humor into his voice, but it came out more like a whisper.
She shifted her gaze away and a cold shiver coursed across Angus’ skin. His mind whirred with so many things. First of all, he’d been a fool to bring her out here where they’d be alone together—miles away from any soul.
Yet he’d done it all the same. He’d wanted to show her the beauty of the Oa.
Lord knew he wouldn’t tell her about the nights he lay in his bed wondering if she was still awake. Wondering if she had kept the picture she’d drawn of him on Nave. Though he liked having Anya at Dunyvaig, he abhorred the reason for her presence, at least the reason she had not returned home. If only she were there by her own choosing.
But that would never happen, would it? Sooner or later, she would return to Ireland and would be out of his life—reduced to nothing but a sweet memory.
“Why did ye bring me here?” she asked.
Unable to look into those stunning eyes, he shifted his gaze to her lips. Och, by the flutter of his heart, staring at her lips wasn’t the best alternative. But he owed her the truth. “Your captivation on Islay is not your doing. Ye hid in my birlinn thinking it was safe, and now ye are away from your sister and all ye hold dear. Worse, I fear your dreams are ruined.”
She brushed her fingers over the back of his hand. The mere friction of her touch made his breath hitch, and yet again when she leaned nearer. Though it was snowing and the wind blustering, she smelled as sweet as fresh grass covered with dew on a spring morn. “Mayhap my dreams have changed,” she whispered. “In fact, a great deal has changed, but I have not been unhappy here.”
He deigned to gaze into those eyes while she tapped her upper lip with her tongue. Angus wanted to kiss her so badly, his mouth grew dry.
But Anya was no meek lass, nor was anything she said or did predictable. Before his next blink, she placed her palm on his cheek and ever so lightly swept her lips across his.
God strike him dead where he sat, he could no sooner resist such a temptation than cease to breathe. His mind filled with an all-consuming desire to return her kiss and show her exactly what she did to his insides. He pulled her onto his lap and sealed his lips over hers. Closing his eyes, Angus claimed her mouth as she sighed and returned his kiss with a fervor as passionate as her lust for adventure. Defying all the voices of logic that had been torturing his mind, he wrapped her in his
arms and kissed her thoroughly and possessively.
When breathless, he tapped his forehead to hers. “I pray that was more enjoyable than the last.”
She cupped his cheek with a gloved palm made icy by the chill in the air. “Unbelievably enjoyable, but it is I who must apologize this time.”
Angus pushed a lock of her hair beneath her veil. “Nay.”
“Aye. After all, ye are a sworn enemy of the O’Cahan Clan.” With a sigh, she moved off of his lap. “We’d best head back afore the snow begins to stick in earnest.”
Angus’ heart sank like a stone. What the hell am I doing?
12
Anya completed rolling a newly spun wool into a skein and placed it on the shelf in the solar. “’Tis hard to believe your tapestry is nearly finished, my lady.”
Angus’ mother sat at her loom and drew the shed stick through the tight rows of thread. “Aye, and it has been a long time in the making.”
Anya examined the detail of the three birlinns sailing on dark blue waves crested with white. “It is one of the most beautiful works I have ever seen.”
“Ye are kind to say so.”
“Nay, I am but honest.” Anya pointed to the spindle and distaff. “I’ve finished with the wool. Is there anything else ye need of me?”
Her Ladyship inclined her head toward a linen garment folded on the table. “Angus’ new shirt is ready. Would ye mind taking it to him?”
Gulping, Anya quickly turned away so the Dowager Lady Islay wouldn’t see the color rushing to her face. “To His Lordship?” she squeaked.
“Please.”
Anya moved to the table and traced her finger around the expertly stitched collar. It warmed her to know this shirt would be worn by Angus. If only she could keep it for herself. Then she’d have something she might wear to bed while she dreamed of being in his arms. The problem was every time she was alone in his presence, she did things that were positively audacious and scandalous. Like kissing him or wishing him to kiss her.
“Should I deliver it to his chamber?” she asked.
