by Amy Tolnitch
Lugh smiled down at her, gazing for a moment at the sleek creature riding the waves. “’Tis a good omen.”
“Do you think we are getting close?”
Branor let out a snort. “Assuming that old fisherman had even an inkling of what he claimed.”
“Dinna be so doubtful, Branor,” Lugh admonished. “Luck is with us.” He gestured with a hand. “The skies are blue, the sun eases the chill from the air, and the seas are calm.” For the first time in months, he felt a spark of hope. Even the sea air seemed to bless Ailie. Her face held a tinge of color, and she had barely stopped chattering since they had set sail.
“I like it on the water, Father,” Ailie said, grinning.
“Aye. As do I. Look, Ailie,” he said as he pointed off into the distance. “You can see the shape of an island.”
Her small face turned thoughtful. “I wonder who lives there.”
Branor reached over and tousled her hair. “Perhaps one of the fair-folk.”
“Oh. That would be wonderful.”
“Dinna fill the child’s head with tales,” Lugh said. “The fair-folk are every bit as much a myth as selkies. Magic,” he snorted.
Ailie’s face fell, but only for an instant before she spotted another dolphin.
Lugh tilted his face back, closed his eyes, and breathed in the salty breeze as they sailed along. They could not have wished for more tranquil weather, he thought.
“Lugh,” Branor said.
Lugh snapped his eyes open at the edge in Branor’s voice. Low, gray clouds rolled toward them over the water, boiling and rumbling with flashes of lightning. He looked around and noticed that the birds had fled. An ominous silence weighed in the air.
“What do you want to do?” Branor asked. “We could make for that island.”
“Nay.” He could not explain it, but something told him to press on. “We continue.”
“But—”
“’Tis only a storm. ’Twill pass.”
The clouds streamed closer, and within minutes, they found themselves in the center of a thunderstorm. “Get down,” he shouted to Ailie, pressing her into the bottom of the boat, and pulling a cloak on top of her. Rain pelted down on them in a fierce sheet as the boat bucked and rolled in the waves.
Over the howling wind, he heard Branor shout, “I would say we are very close indeed.”
“Steady the boat!” Lugh shouted. He cut down the sail, and grabbed an oar. Ailie peered up at him through a split in the cloth. Terror etched lines around her eyes, and he made himself give her a reassuring smile. She pulled the cloak over her head and huddled in the bottom of the boat.
The craft caught a swell and rose high into the air before again smashing down. Water sprayed over the sides. If not for his and Branor’s combined strength at the oars, they would have overturned. Lugh’s blood chilled at the thought, and he renewed his efforts.
“Should we turn back?” Branor shouted.
Lugh glanced behind him, but saw only a dark veil of rain. “Too late.”
A huge wave rocked the boat, tipping it sideways, and Lugh heard a scream. Ailie. Horrified, he watched her slide toward the side, her fingers scrabbling for something to grab hold of, but finding nothing. He lunged, and snatched her back as the boat righted itself with a jolting smack.
Ailie trembled and though he could barely see her face, he knew her tears mixed with the rain. He felt around until he found a rope; and stumbling like a drunken man, hauled her with him and tied her to the mast. “It will be all right,” he said into her ear, and pressed a kiss to her cold forehead.
Branor was trying his best, but the boat was out of control, spinning and plowing over the waves with great, shuddering thumps.
Lugh stood and peered into the storm, but could see nothing but the dense waterfall of rain. The air turned chill, and lightning streaked the sky. Suddenly, though the fog and the rain, he saw a huge black wave bearing down on them.
“No!” he shouted into the wind, shaking his fist. “Damn you! You’ll not stop me!” The rain blinded him as he waited for the wave to bury them, cursing at fate and a cruel God that would allow his child to perish.
And abruptly, the storm parted. They slid through a break in the wall of rain and onto a sheet of water so blue and clear and smooth it looked like glass. Before them rose a majestic island with a lush, green mountain in its center. White sand stretched up to a hillside, which was covered with dense, green growth and bright yellow flowers.
For a moment, they each just stared in amazement. Lugh squinted in the sunlight, and saw a woman standing on the hillside over the beach. He sucked in a breath. She looked like some kind of ancient goddess, her dark hair swirling around her slim form, her body still. Watching.
He blinked and she was gone.
“Father, look,” Ailie said. “There is a man waiting for us.”
Lugh saw she was right. The man stared at them with a faintly disapproving look. He was short and wiry, with a thick patch of gray hair, and measuring brown eyes.
“By the saints, what kind of place is this?” Branor asked as he rowed them toward shore.
“It is beautiful,” Ailie said, and then bent over with a deep cough that shook her whole body.
Lugh untied her and took her into his arms. She shivered and wrapped her thin arms around his neck as he stroked her hair. They glided across the water until they bumped up against shore.
Branor jumped out and pulled the boat partway onto the beach.
Lugh followed and stripped the sodden cloak from Ailie, dropping it onto the smooth sand. She titled her face up toward the sun. “’Tis warm,” she said in wonder.
The man stepped forward. “Welcome to Parraba. I am Hemming.”
“I am The MacKeir, Laird of Tunvegan. I seek—”
“I know who you seek.” Hemming briefly glanced down at Ailie.
When she gave him a bright smile, his dour expression eased for a moment. “If you will follow me, I shall take you to my mistress.” He looked over the battered boat. “You need not bring your bags.”
“Oh, but I could not possibly leave Pinkie,” Ailie said.
Hemming’s forehead wrinkled. “And that is?” He looked around as if he expected some kind of animal to emerge.
“A quilt. My mother made it for me. She is dead,” Ailie finished in a somber voice.
“Branor, fetch the quilt,” Lugh ordered. “We can leave the rest here. For now,” he added with a pointed took at Hemming.
The man just sniffed and turned to walk away, leaving Lugh and Branor to trudge through the sand after him.
IOSOBAL PACED ACROSS THE FLOOR OF HER SOLAR, wondering for the hundredth time what the man wanted. What had she done? Why had she let him land?
But she knew why. She’d seen him through the pounding rain, heard his angry words, but beneath the words she’d heard something else. Anguish. Raw, utter anguish.
You’ve become soft, she chided herself.
Niamh rushed through the door, her red hair in a cloud of disarray around her face. “My lady!”
Iosobal turned.
“A boat landed,” Niamh said on a breath.
“I know. I allowed them to land.”
Niamh’s mouth opened and closed, her brown eyes wide. “But … why?”
Iosobal gave her a weak smile. “I am not sure.” She clenched her hands. “Nor am I sure what to do now. Hemming is bringing them to the palace.”
“Oh, my.” Niamh shook her head, her shock evident. “Sit, my lady. I shall bring some wine.”
“Thank you.”
Niamh bustled from the room with her usual blast of energy, talking to herself. “Visitors,” Iosobal heard her say. “I’ve never seen the like.”
No, Iosobal thought. Nor have I. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to fill her trembling body with calm. Remember who you are, she told herself. You are the Lady of Parraba. This is your domain. You can easily deal with two men, even two fierce-looking Highlanders. Instinctively, she reach
ed for her moonstone necklace, and then remembered she no longer had it.
Niamh returned in a moment and poured her a goblet of wine. Iosobal sat and picked up a polished chunk of pale violet crystal, turning it over and over in her hand. “Do you wish me to stay?” Niamh asked, her curiosity evident in her widened gaze.
Iosobal hesitated, shaking her head. “’Tis not necessary. They shall not be here long.”
A troubled shadow slid across Niamh’s face. “Good.”
After Niamh left, Iosobal sipped wine and waited. Her fingers trembled as she picked up the goblet. She had never seen a man such as the one she’d caught sight of through the storm. Big, with piercing green eyes and black hair that streamed back from his sculpted face. Power and determination radiated from him like the rays of the sun. But what did he want?
LUGH FOLLOWED HEMMING UP A WINDING PATH CRADLING Ailie in his arms. She turned her head this way and that way, curious despite her renewed coughing. They emerged finally to find a large structure made of pink stone. A carved archway marked the entrance, and round crenellated towers flanked the four corners. Lugh stopped and studied it for a moment.
This is no defensive fortress, he thought. No gatehouse, no drawbridge, just an open entry and big windows with only wooden covers, though most were open to the air. The stone shimmered in the bright sunlight.
“What is this place?” he asked Hemming.
“This is the home of the Lady Iosobal.”
Lugh gripped Ailie tighter.
“What a pretty name,” she said, trailing her little pink quilt from one hand.
Not pretty, Lugh thought as they walked through the archway. Mysterious. As is all that befell them from the moment they set sail. It is no matter, he told himself. She shall help Ailie.
They entered a central courtyard. Flowers grew everywhere and Ailie let out a gasp. “Is it not beautiful?”
“Aye. That it is.”
He looked up and saw covered walkways rimming the structure and linking the towers. All were made of the same pink stone, and decorated with intricate carvings.
Hemming led them to a large structure at one end and pushed open a white wooden door. He stood to the side and gestured for them to enter. “The Lady Iosobal awaits.”
Lugh strode into a massive chamber, Branor close behind him. Immediately, he caught the gaze of the lady in question. She sat alone, on a bench in front of an open window, the sunlight gleaming off her dark hair. It was the same woman he’d glimpsed from the boat. She gazed at them with an implacable expression, and Lugh had the oddest feeling she expected them to offer obeisance.
The Laird of Tunvegan bowed to no one but his king.
“Look, Father,” Ailie whispered. “Her eyes are purple.”
He looked. The effect was eerie. Damned eerie. “Lady Iosobal?” he asked, walking toward her.
“Aye.” Her voice was steely smooth.
“I need your help for my child.” A bout of coughing caught Ailie, and she gasped for breath.
The lady’s gaze flickered to Ailie, then back to his. “Why should I aid you?”
Lugh blinked at the coolness of her tone. The Lady Iosobal could have been made of ice, he thought with rising anger. “She is but a bairn. By the saints, how could you not?”
She took a sip of wine, but offered them nothing. “I do not involve myself with your world.”
“You are part of my world,” he said.
“Nay,” she said with a secretive smile. “I am not.”
A tingle of something he refused to call fear slid across the back of his neck. He scowled at her. “Heal my daughter.”
She just stared at him, the trace of a smile crossing her lips.
“Please,” he forced himself to say.
Lady Iosobal slowly stood and walked close to him. She looked down at Ailie. For a second, Lugh thought he saw a flash of recognition. But that could not be, he told himself. He would certainly remember if he’d ever met this woman.
She placed a hand on Ailie’s forehead, who smiled up at her. “I shall try to heal her.
Lugh let out a breath. “Thank you. Now, let us—”
Lady Iosobal held up a hand. “I have conditions.”
He sighed. “Naturally.”
She gave him a sharp look. “You shall turn your weapons over to Hemming. Every single one of them.”
“But—”
“I will not have a … man barreling about my home with enough blades to take on an army.”
Lugh nodded stiffly, reminding himself he was not exactly in a strong bargaining position, though the knowledge rankled. “Done.”
“And you shall stay out of my way.” Her gaze flickered down, and Lugh sensed her unease. He smiled inwardly.
“I shall not leave my daughter.”
Her expression softened slightly. “I understand. But you and your companion shall endeavor to amuse yourselves out of my presence.”
Lugh barked out a laugh. “There are only two things that ‘amuse’ me. This first is training, which is difficult to do without a weapon.” He leaned closer. “And the other requires a woman.”
“A willing woman,” she snapped.
He lifted a brow and smiled. “Of course. But they are always willing with The MacKeir.”
Her skin flushed, and she said through gritted teeth, “I shall instruct Hemming to allow you your swords for training.”
“And the other?”
Her flush deepened. “I care not what else you do or with whom. But if I hear of any ravishment on my island, my punishment will be swift.”
He stiffened. “You offend me. ’Tis a coward who resorts to such, and I assure you I am no coward.”
Instead of responding, she looked him over. “’Tis obvious you are a man of considerable strength.”
“I am pleased you noticed.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath. “In exchange for my aid, you shall help me as well.”
“I shall be happy to do so.”
“I need the entrance to a cave cleared. There was a collapse above it, and the entrance is blocked by fallen rocks.”
His jaw dropped. He had envisioned perhaps training her guards, if she had any, or aiding her in building up her defenses. “You wish me to move rocks?” he asked, aghast.
“Aye.”
“But … I am the Laird of Tunvegan.”
“Hmm. Do you mean you are too soft to do it?” She looked him over with a sniff.
He puffed out his chest and grinned. “Of course not. There is no part of me that is soft. I am Laird. I accept your charge.”
“Good.” She nodded toward the doorway, where Hemming now stood. “Hemming shall show you to your chambers.”
“What is in this cave?” Lugh asked.
“’Tis not your concern.” She turned and walked away through another doorway, pulling the door shut behind her.
Lugh stared after her, more than a little intrigued by the lady’s anxiousness to open the cave. I decide what my concern is, he thought. And I believe this is one secret I shall enjoy uncovering.
Ailie tried to stifle a cough. “She said she would help me, Father. Is it not wonderful?”
Lugh hugged her, his irritation at the Lady Iosobal fading in light of the hope in his daughter’s eyes. “Aye, my heart, it is. Hemming, lead on. My daughter needs to rest.”
Chapter
II
As soon as the door closed behind her, Iosobal ran for her chamber. She could still feel the Highlander’s perceptive green gaze upon her. Too perceptive. Perhaps she’d made a mistake allowing him on her island.
He was very big. Very bold. And she suspected the man was used to getting his way in anything he chose. She shivered as she recalled the sheer volume of weaponry he carried upon his person. One would think he was about to ride off to wage war single-handed.
She guessed from the unyielding look in his eyes that Lugh MacKeir would be fully capable of doing just that.
; Not for the first time, she gave thanks that she lived apart from the violence of the mainland.
As she walked into her chamber, a bit of her tension lifted. A warm breeze drifted in through the open window, heavily laden with the scent of flowers. The sun was just beginning to set, painting the sky in streamers of gold and pink.
It will be all right, she told herself. She would heal the child in a few days time, and Lugh MacKeir would turn his strength to opening her cave. There was no reason for more than minimal contact between them.
She let out a sigh. The truth was that ever since she’d seen him standing with legs outstretched in the boat, shaking his fist and cursing to the heavens, she’d felt something in her world shift. Her life was usually placid and calm with few interruptions.
Lugh MacKeir shouted interruption.
Artemis lifted her head and hopped off the bed where she’d been sleeping. She stuck her nose in Iosobal’s hand. Idly, Iosobal stroked her velvety fur, gaining solace in the contact.
After a quiet knock, Niamh peered around the edge of the door. “Are they gone?”
“Nay.” Iosobal met her gaze with a wry look.
“Why not?”
“One of the men brings his child. She is very ill. Her father seeks my aid.”
Niamh’s eyes glimmered in sympathy. “Poor thing. What is wrong with her?”
Iosobal frowned. “I am not sure yet.”
“You will heal her.”
“Aye. And in exchange, the Highlanders shall clear my cave.”
For a moment it looked as if Niamh wanted to ask a question, but she just shrugged. “One would think that cave held a great treasure,” she said with a smile.
“It does. But not in the way you mean it.”
Niamh blinked.
“Would you see to delivering food and drink to our guests?”
“Of course, my lady.”
HEMMING DID NOT MOVE. “I WILL HAVE YOUR WEAPONS, first.”
There was no way Lugh was going to relinquish all of his weapons, as the lady ordered, but he nodded and set Ailie on her feet. He and Branor started piling blades in Hemming’s outstretched arms. As the mound rose, Hemming’s eyes grew wider and wider.
