by Cathy MacRae
“Ye are a pirate, Jamie!”
Ranald righted himself and caught the blond-thatched imp grabbing at his trews, sliding around his legs. A wooden sword waved in the air, and Ranald twisted neatly out of its path.
“I dinnae want to be a pirate, Finn. I want to be a warrior.”
“One of us has to be a pirate,” Finn pointed out as he came to a stop on the other side of his da. “’Tis a fight to the death and ye always lose.”
“I dinnae!” Jamie shouted his outrage and dove at his brother, his hands balled into tight fists, wooden sword ringing on the floor as he discarded it for hand-to-hand combat.
Ranald grabbed each boy by the scruff of the neck, pulling them apart. He released them, his body firmly between the dueling pair. “Wheesht, the both of ye! ’Tis no way for brothers to act.”
“Fergus says brothers always fight,” Finn replied, his voice matter-of-fact.
“’Tis only because he see the two of ye.” Ranald grunted. Riona made a mental reminder to speak to Fergus about the weans having big ears.
“Finn willnae let me be a warrior,” his brother complained.
Ranald surveyed the lads. “Take turns, the both of ye. Or I will put yer energy to better use.”
With the threat implied, both ducked their heads, not willing to test their da’s temper further. Riona relaxed against the door frame, arms folded across her chest, teeth firmly clenched to hide her mirth.
“Off with ye, now.” With a shooing motion, Ranald sent the twins on their way, their feet scudding on the floor as they beat a hasty retreat.
“Will ye engage a tutor for them as ye did Niall?” Riona let the corners of her mouth tug upward, unable to resist teasing her husband. His harried look broke her self-control.
He shoved a hand through his hair. “They need bailiffs, not a tutor.” He shrugged. “Mayhap they should be fostered separately.”
Riona frowned at the thought of sending the lads away. “I think that would be best, though not for another year or two.”
Ranald grinned. “Ye are willing to keep them around that long? Ye are indeed a saint.”
This time Riona laughed. “Just a worried mother, and afraid of losing friends willing to foster lads from Scaurness.”
“Aye. I am afraid their reputation will precede them. It may not be so easy to foster them.”
Riona regarded him solemnly. “Mayhap ye should start negotiations now.”
* * *
A single horn blast sounded, startling Gilda. Her stomach clenched. Could the MacLaureys be here already? She scrubbed her damp palms down the sides of her skirt and hurried to the hall door.
The Macraig captain, Breac, approached her. “M’lady.” He gave a nod.
Gilda turned her anxious gaze on him. “Aye?”
“Riders approaching from the south.”
“From the south?” Her eyes narrowed in puzzlement. “I thought the MacLaureys would arrive from the east.”
“Aye. I believe they are from Scaurness.”
Gilda’s jaw dropped open and she closed it with a snap. Her heart raced and she struggled to regain her wits. Hurrying footsteps sounded behind her and she peered over her shoulder.
Laird Macraig blustered past her, not sparing her a look. “Who approaches?”
Breac ducked his head in deference. “Riders from Scaurness, Laird.”
Red splotches of anger stained the older man’s face. “Dinnae let them in. Warn them away.”
“Nae!” Gilda darted past the men. The iron-studded gates stood open, though the portcullis barred the way. She waved at the guards. “Let them in!”
Gazes flickered from her to the two men behind her.
Damn! Stubborn old fools! The guards would never obey her orders over the laird’s. She whirled, her gaze seeking the narrow gate in the wall well away from the main entrance. She lifted her skirt with her hands, yanking the cloth out of her way as she rushed to the slender portal.
With a fierce look daring them to stop her, she startled the posted guard into inaction as she gave the latch a solid yank. Pulling the gate open, she ran through the door and straight into the path of the approaching horsemen.
Her eyes misted; whether from the emotions swirling inside her or the cold wind in her face, she wasn’t sure. Her heart pounded in her chest and in a move she’d long perfected, she lifted her arms to her da’s embrace.
He swung her up to his horse’s back, reining him to a halt as he tightened his grip on her. “Are ye wanting to go home, lass?”
His rough voice filled her with the sense of security she missed, his willingness to champion her evident. Realizing how her actions must seem, Gilda shook her head, speechless as tears clogged her throat. They sat for a moment, wrapped tight together as she steadied herself.
She dragged the back of a hand across her eyes. “Nae. I am just glad to see ye. I dinnae expect…”
Her da cupped her chin in his hand, tilting her face up. “Dinnae expect what, dearling?”
Gilda swallowed and tried to still her trembling smile. “I dinnae expect to see you again. Not so soon.”
“I still love ye, mo chroí. Ye will always be my sweet Gilda.” He peered at the archers posed on the parapet above them. “Do I sense a less-than-cordial welcome from yer father-by-marriage?”
She followed his gaze and nodded. “Aye. He dinnae want ye allowed inside.” She laid a hand on his arm as her gaze traveled over the twenty men with Da; stout, armed and ready for battle. “I am not sure if he would honor my request to see ye welcomed and fed.”
Her da snorted his opinion. “I have no doubt of our welcome.” He shifted in his saddle and reached inside his sporran. Pulling out a piece of parchment, he handed it to her. “Yer ma sent this to ye. She wanted to bring it, but ’tis still too dangerous.”
Gilda gave him a startled look. “But ye came.”
He smiled at her. “I dinnae think the pirates will bother the lads and me. And I brought ye Fia.”
Beaming with delight, Gilda spotted her mare tethered to a soldier’s saddle.
Her da touched her hand. “I dinnae know what the letter says, though I can guess. Mayhap ye would like to read it when ye are alone.” His face held a gentle, loving expression.
Why had she doubted Da had her good at heart? Not that she believed he would have allowed her to marry Ryan, but she should never have wondered if he loved her. Tears filled her eyes and she leaned against his chest.
His arms settled around her and held her close. “Yer ma and I would like to visit when things settle down. Ye are always welcome at Scaurness, Gilda. No matter what.”
She nodded and sniffed as she straightened. “I would like to visit. How are the twins?” She laughed at her da’s pained look. “And my wee sister?”
“She grows every day.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face. “She will be a beauty like ye.”
Gilda’s breath hitched. “I miss ye. Mayhap even the twins. But I love Ryan.” She took note of the men who stood at attention on the walls. “I should go.” She clutched her ma’s letter to her chest. “Tell Ma I love her.”
Da’s eyes clouded, but he nodded his assent. “I will.”
Gilda slipped to the ground, accepting Fia’s lead. She placed a restraining hand on his leg and looked up at him. “I love ye, too, Da.”
* * *
Ryan’s eyes narrowed as he peered across the water. Behind him, horses snorted and pawed the ground. Bits jingled and leather creaked. One of the men coughed.
“Still no sign of them?” Conn asked.
Ryan shook his head. “I dinnae know how they disappear so quickly.” He turned his unwilling gaze to the still-smoking ruins of the tiny sea-village. Faces blackened with soot stared hopelessly at him, their lives in shambles, their numbers decimated.
He gestured toward the destruction. “Where am I to get the men to replace those lost? How will I house them soundly before winter?”
Conn edged his horse closer.
“Leave a few of your men here to do the work. Have them build a few large cottages instead of one for each family. The labor will be less, and house them quicker.”
“Aye. And a few fighting men may tip the odds in their favor should the pirates return.” Ryan reined Duer in and faced his soldiers. “We must rebuild. If any of ye are without family and can stay to help, I ask it of ye. We will not let our clan’s people starve this winter.”
To his surprise and pleasure, six men rode forward. With grim expressions boding ill for returning pirates, they headed toward the village with the promise of supplies to come. Ryan motioned for the rest to follow him. Tired though they were, no one complained.
He shifted in the saddle. “My arms are sore from hauling water to put out the fires. My butt is sore from days in the saddle chasing down pirates who refuse to be caught. My lungs are tight from breathing the foul smoke of burning cottages.” He crooked his head to first one side then the other, stretching sore muscles, the bones of his neck shifting with a crack.
Conn sighed. “Thank goodness we are headed home. I am ready for peace.”
* * *
Gilda set the letter gently on the coverlet, her lingering touch not wanting to release the connection, however tenuous, with her ma. Her heart grew heavy and silent tears streamed slowly down her cheeks. How could her ma have known the words to give her the encouragement she needed? Why had she convinced herself she was no longer welcome at Scaurness?
She slid from the bed, feelings of peace nibbling away at the invisible wall she’d set against the rejection she’d feared. Leaning against the narrow window aperture, cool air dried the tears as she lifted her face to the waning sun. She looked to the horizon, willing Ryan to return, wanting to feel his arms around her, to hear his voice whisper all would be well. A week ago she had no words to describe the incredible sensations of giving herself fully to the care of another, releasing herself to the wonder of passion, to the joy of caring for another and of being loved in return.
Wrapping her arms tight around her waist, she closed her eyes and imagined his footstep in the hall, his voice in the bailey as he called for a stable lad.
A shout startled her from her reverie, and she jerked upright, pressing herself against the aperture, seeking the reason for the guard’s alert. Her heart tripped, hammered in her chest. From her narrow vantage point she spied the edge of a cluster of armed men. On the parapet guards faced the land outside the castle walls. Beyond, riders approached, a banner flapping in the wind. The party stretched forty or fifty strong, and she knew it was not Ryan and his patrol.
“Gilda!”
She pushed away from the window. Crossing the room, she opened the door. Lissa’s face, excited but pale, met hers.
“Come, Gilda! We must see to our guests!”
Dread settled cold in her stomach as she forced a smile to her lips. “I was hoping Ryan would make it back before the MacLaureys arrived.”
“I know, but ye must come. As Ryan’s wife, ye are now Lady Macraig.”
Gilda patted her hair, wishing she had time to comb and rebraid the rebellious curls. At least her gown was clean and freshly donned that morning. As though granting a silent wish, Keita appeared in the doorway, an overdress draped across her arms.
“Here, m’lady. Put this on.” She settled the fabric over Gilda’s head and arms, smoothing the gold trimmed, costly velvet over her gown. Sleeves, split from the shoulder, fell with regal splendor past her wrists where they fastened with elaborate gold braid.
“I thank ye, Keita. I feel like Lady Macraig, now.”
Keita narrowed her eyes, her lips pursed as she waved away Gilda’s praise. “Ye willnae face guests in anything less than proper attire.” She cast a critical look over Gilda. “Yer hair could use a comb, but the curls are becoming. Ye may go down.”
Mirth threatened as Gilda considered the maid’s words. She turned conspiratorially to Lissa, leaning close as they headed down the hall. “I believe I have just been given Keita’s approval. Surely I can face anything now!”
Chapter 16
Piercingly dark eyes met Gilda’s questioning gaze. She brushed her skirt with work-roughened hands and wished she’d taken time to brush her hair as she took in Mairead’s appearance. After a long, tiresome journey, the other young woman’s night-dark hair was smoothed in a tight, flawless braid, her cloak fresh and untainted by the dust of travel. Gilda decided to hate her on the spot.
She sighed. Perfection was no reason to dislike anyone, even if this particular annoyingly effortless piece of flawlessness believed herself betrothed to Ryan. She watched as Mairead was handed down from the wagon, her descent stately and unhurried. Gilda quelled the impatient tapping of her foot and stretched her lips into a tight smile.
Laird Macraig strode forward, his head high as he passed her without acknowledgement. Arms spread in welcome, he greeted the burly man standing at Mairead’s side.
“Welcome to Ard Castle. I trust yer journey was pleasant?”
The man gave a curt nod. “Me name is Sim and I have the charge of m’lady, here. The laird bids ye pardon his absence, as there was a matter he had need to settle.” He watched his charge step daintily to the ground and give her skirts a quick shake.
Sim turned to Laird Macraig. “The journey was long enough, though ye could have sent an advance party to warn us of the trouble ye’ve had with pirates. We saw a spiral of dark smoke from the coast and sent a scout to check it. My man reported an entire village all but wiped out.”
Cold tendrils of fear clenched Gilda’s heart. Mairead forgotten, she approached the MacLaurey’s man.
“Please, tell me what ye found.”
“Milady, pirates hit the village early this morning, destroying most of the buildings and killing many of its people. He said Macraig soldiers came, but they were too late to do much beyond try to save as much of the crofts as possible.”
“There was no fight?”
“He said the pirates disappeared when the soldiers approached.”
Just then, Mairead cleared her throat with a small, kitten-like noise.
Sim took a step back and offered a short bow. “M’laird, this is Lady Mairead, daughter of Laird MacLaurey, betrothed to yer son, Ryan.”
Mairead smiled thinly and nodded to the laird. Pausing a moment, she turned her questioning gaze to Gilda. “And, who are ye?”
Gilda met her look evenly. “I am Lady Gilda Macraig. Ryan’s wife.”
* * *
Gilda and Lissa huddled together in their chairs at the middle of the head table, trying hard to pretend nothing was wrong as they stabbed haphazardly at the food on their platters. On the other side of the laird’s chair, Mairead sat arrow-straight as she picked at her own meal with a noticeable lack of appetite. Servants busied themselves around them, but the three places between the women were glaringly empty. Ryan, just in from patrol, his father, and Sim were still closeted in the laird’s chamber.
“Was Ryan really supposed to marry her?” Lissa whispered in Gilda’s ear.
Gilda nodded and tried to swallow the piece of venison she’d been chewing on for the past several minutes.
Lissa pushed a piece of bread around on her platter then leaned around Gilda to peer at Mairead again. “She doesnae look verra friendly, does she?”
Gilda turned her head and looked at the girl three empty chairs away. Her cheeks flamed pink as she dropped her hands to her lap and Gilda felt a surge of pity for her.
She rose, pushing back her chair, and gave Lissa a stern look. “Friendly or not, she is our guest.”
She stepped to Mairead’s chair and laid a hand on the armrest. The young woman’s lips drew back in a pained grimace. Gilda took a deep breath and forced a reasonable tone to her voice. “Would ye rather have a tray brought to yer room? I would imagine ye are tired after yer travels.”
“That would at least get me out of yer sight, aye?”
“Wheesht! Ye shouldnae worry. Ryan told me his father spo
ke of a betrothal between ye. However, ’twas after he and I wed. I am simply sorry ye made this journey and offer ye a chance to recover without all the prying eyes ye see here.”
Mairead’s lips pulled into a frown. “I would prefer not to be the subject of speculation.”
Gilda laughed. “My lady, ye and I are the most fascinating objects of speculation here whether ye wish it or not. Come. Let us take ye to yer room. The men are likely to be in discussion for a while yet.”
She reined in her irritation as Mairead rose stiffly from her chair, pulling her skirts back as though reluctant to come in contact with her rival. Signaling for a serving girl to bring a tray of food, Gilda motioned toward the stone staircase.
Mairead looked at the ancient stone fortification and squared her shoulders. Head high, she glided across the floor and to the room she’d been assigned earlier.
Gilda and Lissa followed, the serving girl in tow. Mairead entered her room and, without pausing, closed the door behind her. The trio drew up short, trading startled looks. With a shrug, Gilda turned the latch and entered the room.
Mairead glared at them, hands fisted on her hips. “Is there no lock for this door?”
The servant girl deposited the tray on a low table near the window and scurried away. Gilda felt a tug of envy as the girl left, but held her ground. “Ye may throw the bolt if ye wish. But there are only four rooms on this floor and easy enough to keep secure.”
“If those stairs are the only way to get up here, then ye are right.” Mairead’s tone was derisive.
Gilda bristled, raking Mairead’s elaborate clothing with a glare. “Those sturdy stairs were built to withstand a direct attack, and ye best appreciate the fact. After yer fancy men are bloody on the ground, my braw soldiers could hold back a horde bent on taking the castle.”
“Yer soldiers?” Mairead scoffed.
“Aye. Any Macraig soldier is worth at least three MacLaureys.”
“Mayhap our guest would like to eat her dinner before ’tis cold.” Lissa’s voice piped through their hostility.
