by Willa Blair
Euan’s distress turned to hunger again as he released her hand and pulled her more snugly against him.
She rested her head on his shoulder, one arm around his waist and the other above his heart. “Dinna fash, Euan,” she murmured. “I am here.”
Euan held her, every part of his body consumed with awareness of her nearness, her scent, her heat. But somehow, despite his hunger for her, she had calmed him, and with the truth of his need for her out in the open, holding her like this let him breathe easy for the first time since they’d returned to Brodie.
He needed Muireall. How would he be able to take her home and lose her forever?
Muireall tasted the salt of Euan’s tears on her tongue and ached for him. “Yer anger shows me how deeply ye grieve,” she murmured against his skin. “Ye must stop…”
Euan squeezed her as a drowning man would a rope thrown to him in a stormy sea. He groaned into her shoulder. “How can I?”
“Ye and Calum were lucky to have survived. The storm that night was fierce, and the sea wild. Do ye think ye could somehow calm the winds and flatten the waves?” She grabbed his shoulders and held him away from her, searching his face for any sign he would relent. His features betrayed nothing. Yet his breathing had slowed from frantic to more measured. He was coming back from wherever the pain of his imaginings had taken him.
Muireall moved her hands to his face, using her thumbs to dry the damp tracks left behind. “All will be well. Did ye no’ tell me that very thing? Do ye think I can believe it if ye do no’? Help me, Euan. Tell me again, all will be well. Ye promised it. And ye will see ye had the right of it if ye will only give yerself some time.”
He gave her the slightest tilt of his lips, the barest hint of a smile. “I will try. For ye.”
Her heart soared. “And for ye.” She nodded. “Good enough. Now walk with me. Take me to the highest reaches of this keep and show me what I might see if I were a bird, free to wander the sky wherever my will took me.”
Euan chuckled at that and tipped his head. “Ye will need a cloak.”
“I willna. Ye will keep me warm.”
He gave her a measured look, as if deciding whether she could withstand the conditions he anticipated, or whether she was offering more than the literal meaning of her words. If he thought she implied more, what would she do? She wanted to comfort him, but beyond that? She didn’t know.
“Verra well. Come with me.” He took her arm and guided her down another hallway then up a circular stair.
Muireall blessed whatever had given her the impulse to suggest going to the top of the tower to distract Euan. He’d been so strong for so many days, she hadn’t realized the utter depth of his remorse over what had happened. Until now. The misery in his eyes and the lonely tear track on his cheek had broken her heart. He’d given no sign he needed anything from her. He’d avoided her. Only when she’d felt his damp cheek press against her neck had she realized she’d been blind to his pain, lost in her own worries.
She trudged up the stairs, feeling guilty and small. She’d been selfish, worrying about Munro and ignoring how returning home without his men affected Euan. Shame nearly overwhelmed her, but his nearness, his heat at her back, kept her going. She’d distracted Euan from his melancholy. She dared not let him see any sign of her distress for fear of bringing it all up again.
“Ye do ken,” Euan suddenly said, startling her into missing a step. He caught her before she fell to her knees and pulled her body back against his until she had her feet under her, then released her with a groan. “I’m sorry, lass,” he said. His voice sounded strained. She glanced up, but could see only the next turn in the stone steps. How much further to the top? The sooner she got him in to the open air, the sooner they would both feel better.
“I am well,” she assured him. “What do I ken?”
“That ’tis dark now. Ye may no’ see as much as ye wish.”
“Yet the moon will light much of the countryside, I hope.”
He was silent for a moment as they continued climbing. “Aye, it should.”
At the top floor, a ladder led to a trap door set in the ceiling.
“Are ye certain ye want to go up there?”
Muireall nodded. She’d climbed ladders before. This one should be no different.
“I must go first to open that,” he said, indicating the rectangle of wood set above their heads. “So ye will be very careful as ye follow me.”
“I will,” she replied. “’Tis no’ my first ladder.”
“Verra well.”
Euan climbed quickly, unlatched a lock she hadn’t noticed and pushed the trapdoor up and out of the way. Then he glanced down at her and held out a hand. “Come on, then.”
Muireall climbed. When she reached the top, Euan was waiting to lift her up onto the rooftop. As he did, the wind caught her hair, ripping it from its loose braid and sending it flying around her head. She got a glimpse of their surroundings and was glad he held her fast. The low wall rimming the flat roof did little to provide a barrier against a fall and nothing to hide the view of the surrounding countryside. Silver moonlight spilled over hills in one direction. And in the other, it frosted wave tips and drew a shining path across the Moray Firth, a bright arrow pointing to Munro. She gasped.
Euan wrapped his arms fully around her and held her back to his chest. “Aye, ’tis beautiful,” he murmured, unaware of what she’d reacted to.
Her chest tightened, and the wind stung her eyes. Still sensitive to Euan’s earlier mood, she could not cry. But if ever she’d needed a sign, there it was, writ in silvery runes made of moonlight and waves across the restless surface of the firth. Home lay that way. She stepped out of his arms and moved toward the sea side of the roof, glad the wind blew her hair behind her, out of her eyes.
Euan stayed with her. “The wind off the water smells so clean and fresh,” he said, his voice a comforting rumble against her back as his arms went around her again. “Being here is like being on the deck of a ship, wind wild in yer hair and moonlight glinting on the waves.”
Muireall lay her hands over his, warm where they touched his skin, cold where the wind raced across their tops. “We’re fortunate, ’tis such a clear night. I can see all the way to Munro.” The moment the words slipped out, she regretted them.
Euan tensed at her back, released her, then turned her around to face him. Her hair whipped around them both. “I will get ye home, Muireall. I have promised ye. The Brodie has, as well, when he deems it safe for all concerned.”
Muireall dropped her gaze to his chest. “I ken it. It was just the streak of moonlight…” Suddenly a tear escaped and dripped, cold and wet, down her cheek.
“Aye, of course. I see it, too.” Euan pulled her against him. “I’m sorry, lass. It does seem to make a path…an omen…”
“Aye, but a shining one. Another promise, I think.” She lifted her gaze to his.
He brushed her hair back from her face and bent his head. “If ye will permit, I will seal the promise with a kiss.”
Her heart lifted and she took a deep breath. The clean fresh scent of the sea combined with Euan’s own gave her comfort. “Aye, I will,” she replied and lifted her mouth to his.
He kissed her gently at first, then again more firmly. “I will make as many promises as ye will allow kisses,” he told her, then bent to take her mouth again.
Muireall wrapped her arms around his neck and clung to him, soaking up the warmth of his body and the taste of his kiss. “Ye need promise nought else,” she whispered against his cheek, “save that ye will kiss me as often as ye can.” She stopped herself before she added “for as long as ye can.” What would Euan do when she returned to Munro? What would she?
“That’s a promise I’m glad to make,” Euan told her and took her mouth again, sending her senses soaring like the birds whose view she’d sought to share.
Chapter 12
The next afternoon, Euan stood on the rampart of the Brodie keep with Iai
n and a handful of Brodie warriors by his side. With trepidation, he watched the sail approach. In the last half hour, it had gotten close enough to be plainly seen to be a Ross vessel, headed their way. Which could mean only one thing. The new Ross laird, whether it was Erik or someone else, was coming for the person who’d killed Donas.
But since he and Calum had left nothing of Brodie behind, save the Tangie’s wreck, Euan couldn’t imagine how they found out. Had they recovered something from the Tangie with a Brodie insignia? He didn’t recall any such thing being on board.
“They’ll be here soon,” Iain said, turning from watching the approaching ship to Euan. “I want you, Calum, and the Munro lasses out of sight. You can listen from the laird’s lug above the great hall, but ye must keep silent, no matter what is said. Can ye do that?”
“Calum and I will, aye. I canna speak for the lasses, but based on Muireall’s actions while we were guests of that lot,” Euan answered and gestured toward the sail, now less than a mile offshore, “the lass has sense. I trust she can convince her friend, as well.”
“See that she does,” Iain ordered and returned his attention to their impending visitors. “They’re not coming to propose an alliance. Ye can be certain this visit means trouble of some sort.”
“’Tis my fault they have a grievance against us. I should stay to stand with ye against the Ross accusations. Likely they’re well aware of Donas’s temper and will understand I had nay choice. Iain, I am sorry…”
“Ye did them a favor getting rid of Donas Ross. But the new laird might want the lasses returned…especially the one wed to one of them.”
“Ye canna!”
“Nor will I as long as I am no’ forced to. She’d best stay hidden and quiet.” Iain leaned on the balustrade and studied the ship. “Let’s see why they made the trip before we assume the worst.” He straightened. “Leave them to me. They’re close enough to see us up here, so get ye out of sight. Calum and the lasses as well.”
Euan nodded and left Iain with his advisors on the wall. He found Calum in the great hall and sent him upstairs, but spent precious minutes searching for Muireall. He found her and Ella in the ladies’ solar, which, he realized, was where he should have looked first. “Come with me,” he told them. “We’re about to have visitors.”
Muireall paled and dropped her needlework into her lap. “No’…”
“Aye, a Ross ship. Iain wants us and Calum out of sight.”
Muireall bundled her needlework into the basket beside her chair. Ella had yet to move or speak. Muireall grabbed her hand, startling her into action, then hurried to him. “Let’s go then. But where?”
“Somewhere we can follow what’s going on but remain unseen.” He led them to an upstairs closet that shared a wall with the upper reach of the Great Hall. “This is the laird’s lug,” he told her when she frowned. “A small portal built into the back wall of the closet will allow us to overhear conversations in the hall.”
“Can it be seen from the hall?”
“Nay. A painted border of blocks and grids hides it very well. But we must remain silent in there.”
Calum was already inside. “Nothing yet,” he reported in a low voice, then spotted Ella and straightened. “Come, lass, sit with me.”
Ella nodded and took the narrow chair next to his.
Euan traded a glance with Muireall. “Like as no’, they’re just being met by Iain’s guard and escorted from the bay to the keep.”
The wait seemed interminable, but eventually, they heard voices from the great hall, a scramble of noise that went along with the movement of a group of men. Then Iain’s voice rang out.
“Gentlemen, to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“We are no’ here for yer pleasure,” a man answered.
Euan exchanged glances with Calum, Ella, and Muireall.
Calum shook his head.
Muireall frowned and shrugged, as did Ella.
No one recognized the voice—yet. Perhaps the large, empty hall distorted it. Euan thought one of the lasses would eventually place it.
“Then ye’d best state yer business so ye can be on yer way,” Iain replied. His tone was calm, but Euan could imagine the tension in the hall at the Ross’s pronouncement.
“We’ve come to collect the man who killed our laird, Donas Ross, and stole both a Ross skiff and a lass, perhaps two.”
Euan frowned and cut his gaze to Muireall, recalling how she’d protested when Donas had said she was one of his. Her fists were clenched, but her lips were pressed together and she remained silent. She met his gaze and nodded. She knew what he’d been afraid of.
Silence reigned for a moment, then a low murmur broke out, likely from Iain’s guards.
“Those are serious charges,” Iain said, then paused.
Euan could imagine Iain reaching for a way to distract the Ross, and held his breath.
“Why should I believe ye?” Iain continued.
“We have proof,” the Ross answered, his tone confident.
Euan and Calum exchanged a frown.
“Proof we’ll take to the Earl of Ross. If ye dinna wish to start a clan war ye canna win, ye must turn over yer man. Or men.”
The Ross was too confident for Euan’s liking. They did have something, then, though he couldn’t imagine what. And the Earl of Ross, with many allies, was too powerful to challenge. Brodie would be overrun by their combined forces. Even with the help of Lady Annie’s father, James Rose, and other Brodie allies, Euan knew Iain would be reluctant to do battle with the Earl of Ross.
“And who are ye?”
“I am Teague Ross, the laird’s emissary.”
Both Muireall and Ella gasped and clapped hands over their mouths.
“Teague is our friend Tira’s husband,” Ella whispered. “He was doing everything he could to join Donas’s inner circle.”
“So perhaps he’s now in Silas’s,” Muireall added quietly.
Iain’s voice silenced any further speculation. “With accusations of this nature, I’d expect the new laird to bring them, no’ his…emissary.”
“The new laird has no’ yet been chosen. Donas’s lady, Silas Ross, leads the clan.”
Euan couldn’t believe his ears. Silas was as bad as her husband had been. Muireall’s slumped shoulders and clenched fists told him as much as her dropped jaw about her disappointment and shock.
“How is Erik allowing Silas to remain in power?” she whispered. “I thought he was poised to take over.”
Ella opened her mouth to answer, but Calum held up a hand when Iain’s voice reached them.
“In other words, ye are no laird’s emissary. Ross is without a chief. By what authority do you come here, then, and threaten clan war?”
Calum smiled a rueful smile.
Euan grimaced in agreement with Calum at the bite in Iain’s tone. They’d both been on the receiving end of Iain’s ire more than once. Teague Ross was about to discover how uncomfortable that experience could be.
“We have proof…”
“Yer proof means nothing if ye have nay laird.”
“Our proof is a Brodie.”
Euan clenched his fists and stood. He met Calum’s stricken gaze with one of his own.
Muireall clapped a hand over her mouth, stifling a gasp. Ella frowned, her gaze traveling over each of them.
“Who?” Iain’s demand rang out, sharp and heart-stopping, like the first crack of thunder in a sudden summer storm.
Who else had survived? Who had they left behind? Recalling how Calum had been treated, Euan’s belly roiled until he feared he would be ill. He gritted his teeth and got himself under control. Now was not the time to give in to reproach. He had to pay attention and learn from Iain’s questions how they would get back their missing man.
“With some persuasion…” the Ross replied, letting the implication hang in the suddenly chill air, “he admitted to being called Eduard.”
Eduard lived! Euan’s heart leapt, the
n shattered with a pain beyond anything he had felt before. He rubbed his chest while the realization echoed again and again in his mind. He had left a man behind. Where had Eduard been while he, and then he and Calum, had searched for the missing men? They’d sailed for miles along the coast before giving up and bringing James’s body home. And what about Dugal? Had no one found him? Euan exhaled through pinched nostrils. Damn it!
The silence stretched out around them. Euan could picture Iain’s forbidding frown, but at this news, white lines would bracket his mouth and every muscle in his body would be tensed with the effort not to strike down Teague Ross where he stood.
Muireall grasped Euan’s hand and pulled him back to his seat.
He suspected she knew there was more to come. He might as well hear the rest sitting down.
“Ye came here claiming to have one of my men, and yet ye did not do the courtesy of returning him to his family? How am I to ken the man is who ye say he is? And that he still lives.”
“He lives. Or he did when I left to come here.”
Euan stood again, determined to join Iain and find out more about Eduard—where he’d been, how they found him, his condition. Those questions and more burned in his chest.
Calum grasped his arm before he could take a step. With narrowed eyes, Calum shook his head.
Euan jerked his arm free and quit the closet, eager to get downstairs, then slowed as he recalled his promise to Iain.
Calum stayed right on his heels. As soon as he was clear of the door, he closed it carefully, then barked, “Stop right there.”
Euan turned to him and spread his hands. “Iain doesna ken all we do about Ross…”
“And Ross doesna ken we are here. If they see yer ugly face, what do ye think will happen?”
Biting down an oath, Euan relented. If the wrong Ross saw him—if Teague Ross was one of the men with Donas that night—they would have their proof in Iain’s own hall. Worse, they’d have no more need to keep Eduard alive. Calum’s meaning was clear. They must let Iain handle this. He and Calum returned to the closet in time to hear Iain speak.
