The Wolf of Kisimul Castle

by Heather McCollum

  “Ye would have a way to leave whenever ye desire. A boat…” His words trailed off, and he looked away into the darkness of the night around them. The ship moved gently with the water underneath, and the ropes creaked with their tension strung above.

  Mairi shivered from the breeze and distance from Alec. “Alec, I pledge myself to ye, but I cannot commit myself to Kisimul, and I have no idea what that means for us.” Her words softened until the last sounds were mere whispers in the wind.

  “There is no curse,” he said, his gaze snapping back to her.

  “Curses are created by fear and discontent.” She exhaled slowly, closing and opening her eyes, willing him to see her heart. “If I stay on Kisimul, behind the massive walls between us and the world, won’t discontent grow, won’t I begin to fear that I am trapped? And won’t that create a curse like the one that’s been playing out on Kisimul over centuries?”

  “I will be there with ye,” he countered. “How could ye feel imprisoned?”

  “I’ve lived as if in a cage before, at Kilchoan,” Mairi said, shaking her head slowly. “I won’t… I can’t live that way again. It will smother my soul until I have nothing left to give to ye.”

  Alec stood up, the blanket falling from his lean, muscular body. He picked up his kilt from its pile near her abandoned smock and stepped into it, cinching it around his waist. He walked to the bow of the ship.

  Unshed tears ached in her eyes as she stared at his back under the moonlight. She should just agree to live with Alec wherever he dwelled. But how could she, when she knew what would happen? Mairi blinked as one tear broke free to slip over her bottom lid, a streak, cooling on its path down her cheek.

  The silence lay heavy, and she fought to keep her breath even as she dropped her gaze to her hands. Voices broke through the silence of night. “There’s a ship coming in, with all its lanterns doused,” Alec said, glancing back at her from the rail. “Your betrothed, no doubt.” His voice sounded hard, as if she’d said nay to him. Had she? She’d said nay to his way of life, to his home, to his heritage. Another tear followed the first, and she reached for her smock.

  Mairi threw it over her head as the hushed voices grew, the sound of a large hull cutting through the bay near them. Would Geoff fire upon the empty vessel? Revenge for his damages? Or try to take it? Why else would he come up like this in the night without any lights?

  She gasped as fire flared up behind her and spun on her toes toward Kisimul. Kisimul’s warriors stood silhouetted against a growing row of beacon fires along the upper walls, watching and waiting. The silent display of strength and impenetrable power sent a chill down Mairi, and she wished to be behind those stone walls instead of standing barefoot on the deck of Geoff’s target in nothing but her smock.

  Shouts rang out on the incoming ship, and Mairi ran to stand beside Alec. If Geoff fired and hit them…she wanted to be beside Alec. “Go below,” he said.

  “He won’t fire if he sees me standing here.” Her voice sounded much firmer than her tear-streaked face looked.

  “Ye may not give the impression of a waiting-to-be-rescued damsel, standing next to me alone, looking ravished.” His words were hard as if he were switching from lover to warrior before her. The sound of oars in the water alongside the Sea Wolf made Mairi look over the rail. At least six smaller boats of men from Kisimul were halfway across to the ship.

  “Damnation,” she cursed and raked her fingers through the tangles in her hair. No matter what she did to make herself look less wanton, she still stood in her night clothes on an abandoned ship with a near naked Alec MacNeil.

  Geoff’s ship had swung around to aim its cannons at the bow of the Sea Wolf where they stood. He was close enough to be able to hear and see her now.

  Mairi stepped up onto the forecastle cannon, balancing. “Geoff MacInnes!” Mairi yelled, cupping her hands around her mouth. “Stand down.”

  “Get off the cannon,” Alec ordered.

  Mairi planted her hands on her hips and looked down at him. “I won’t be responsible for the death of your men or ye, Alec MacNeil.” Several lanterns flickered to life on Geoff’s ship. “Stand down, Geoff,” she called. “All is well.”

  Next to her, Alec snorted, as if her statement was ludicrous. Did he welcome a battle? Brows drawn low and fist tight around the hilt of his mighty sword, he certainly looked like he craved the spill of blood. “Ye’re going to want to get off that cannon before I fire it,” he said.

  “All is well?” Geoff MacInnes called back, pulling Mairi’s gaze back across the narrow patch of dark water between the boats. “Ye are standing in your smock next to my undressed enemy.”

  Behind her, Mairi heard MacNeil warriors climbing along the decks. The clang of cannonballs being loaded cracked the ominous quiet of the night, making her heart race. She gasped lightly as Alec grabbed her around the waist, pulling her down to the deck. The warmth and strength in his hold felt like a brand, but she shook it off to look down on the men moving in disciplined order between the cannons. “Don’t fire,” she called.

  “Mairi?” Tor’s voice came from below, and she saw both he and Cullen charge toward her.

  “Shite,” she said. Could the night get worse?

  “If ye want to take a swim this night, MacInnes,” Alec yelled across the water. “By all means, fire upon us. Kisimul and its warriors are invincible.”

  Apparently, it could get worse.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Tor reached the top of the steps. “Mairi, go below.”

  “What are ye even doing over here?” Cullen asked, his gaze taking in her clothes and Alec’s naked chest. “Damnation, MacNeil!” he yelled. “What are ye doing to Mairi?” He drew his sword, and for a moment Mairi thought he’d attack Alec from behind while Geoff threatened from the front.

  She threw her arms wide, standing at Alec’s back. She brushed against him, fighting the pull to lean in to him. “He was loving me under the stars, Cullen Duffie, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Her words stopped Cullen in mid stride, his lethal gaze dropping to her. “Tor?” he asked, one brow rising as he turned to look for her brother.

  Tor stood beside Alec, looking out at Geoff’s ship. “Don’t ask her to divulge any details,” he said. “She’s liable to tell ye, and I’ll be too ill to defend this ship.”

  Mairi smacked her brother’s arm. Alec’s voice boomed out into the night. “Sneaking up through the shadows to fire upon a vacant ship is cowardly, MacInnes. I already showed ye the power of the Sea Wolf and Sea Rose along South Uist. If ye wish to war against me, meet me on the ground with swords.”

  “Alec,” Mairi said, grabbing his arm, but he didn’t budge.

  “I will have my revenge, MacNeil,” Geoff called across. “First for my ship, and second for my woman.”

  “God’s ballocks, Geoff. I’m second to your bloody ship?” Mairi yelled back. She rubbed a hand down the side of her face. Aye, she was out of her mind to have considered wedding him. She leaned forward over the rail. “And I’m not your woman.”

  “Stand down, Geoff,” Tor called across. “MacNeil was tricked into thinking the MacInnes were responsible for his wife’s death. We discussed this at South Uist.”

  “Ye discussed it!” Geoff yelled back. “I was busy salvaging my ship.”

  A man from Geoff’s ship yelled from the other side, drawing everyone’s attention to the mountainous form of a second ship cutting through the water. “That would be Kenneth at the helm,” Alec said.

  Tor cupped his hands around his mouth to call out. “If ye wish to bring war to Kilchoan, in your first months as chief, by firing upon the heads of clan Maclean and MacDonald, ye’re a bigger fool than Fergus MacInnes and his son combined. Especially when MacNeil’s other ship is bearing down on ye.”

  In the spill of lantern light, Mairi could see Geoff’s lips move on a curse, and he gripped the rail with both hands. She’d thought him fairly handsome just a month ago, but now she saw onl
y a bitter coward who hadn’t even disembarked on Barra to look for her. And the way he’d allowed his dogs to be treated was a good indication of his heart. Mairi reached around Alec to her brother, punching his arm. “How could ye let me almost marry him?”

  Tor rubbed his abused bicep without taking his gaze off the other ship. “I believe,” he said through gritted teeth, “that I told ye I didn’t think it was a good idea, little sister. But ye are as stubborn as the winter is long.”

  “Aye, MacNeil, ye’re going to have your hands full with that lass,” Cullen said with a side glance. “Maybe ye can teach her to obey that whistle ye use on the dogs.”

  “If there weren’t cannons aimed at us right now, Cullen Duffie, I’d kick ye hard enough that Rose would have to wait at least three years to get with your child,” Mairi said.

  “It looks like Geoff’s backing down,” Tor said. He finally looked away from the MacInnes vessel. “No death and dismemberment right before your wedding.” He nodded at them both.

  “Actually,” Alec said, turning to take in both Tor and Cullen. “Mairi did not say aye.”

  His words cut straight through Mairi, as if a cannon had indeed fired, splintering the world around them, sending a pointed spear straight through her. She almost doubled over without breath.

  “What?” Tor asked, his arms dropping from their normal fold over his chest. “Mairi, ye’ve slept with the man. How could ye not take him as husband?”

  “She is a widow, Tor,” Cullen said, though his face was just as hard as her brother’s. “We’ve known a number of merry widows who have not remarried.”

  “My sister,” Tor snapped. “Will not be one of those merry widows.”

  “That’s a bit hypocritical,” Cullen said.

  “I don’t bloody care,” Tor volleyed back, staring at Mairi.

  For several seconds, she couldn’t speak as she struggled for breath. The railing behind her kept her on her feet. “I…I didn’t say no, either.” She looked toward Alec, who had turned back to the bow, watching Geoff’s sails raise to catch the breeze in the bay.

  “Leave her be,” Alec said without turning back. “I did not give her good reason to wed.”

  “What the hell does that mean?” Tor asked. “She said ye loved her well.”

  “He means,” Mairi said, her words low. “I will not live on Kisimul.” And he apparently wasn’t willing to abandon the castle for her. With a quivering sob that she kept inside, Mairi turned, and, dashing down the steps to the mid deck, she grabbed her robe and ran toward Broc near the rope ladder.

  “Mairi?” he asked, his eyes taking in her attire.

  “Can ye row me back to Kisimul?”

  “Aye,” he said, looking past her. He shrugged. “Looks like we won’t be having another battle tonight.”

  Then why did Mairi feel like she’d been shot through the most vital organ to life, her heart?

  …

  Alec strode across the bailey toward the soldiers’ barracks without talking to any of the warriors. Hands fisted, it took every ounce of discipline he possessed not to run into the keep where he guessed Mairi had returned, most likely to tell his children she’d be leaving with Tor. He glanced toward the upper windows where candles lit the paned glass. He could stride up there, haul her against him, swear to her that he would never let her go, and entrap her with him here on Kisimul forever.

  His hand caught the edge of the doorframe, his fingers curling into a fist around the wood. Bloody damnation. He couldn’t force her to stay, imprisoning her just like she feared. Had his own mother left because she felt captive on Kisimul? Had Joyce? Was resentment the curse of Kisimul?

  Curses are born of fear and discontent. Mairi’s words echoed in his head until it began to throb.

  “Ballocks.” He pushed into the dark room where Ian rested, his broken leg lifted upon a short tower of pillows.

  “I was wondering if ye were ever going to come in,” Ian said, his tone surly, probably from not being able to accompany the men out on the bay.

  “MacInnes decided that he was still outgunned,” Alec said, throwing himself into a chair next to Ian before the hearth. Voices moved past the door outside in the courtyard, but no one entered.

  “He’s a coward,” Ian said, pushing up higher into his seat. “But that’s not what ye’re in here for, is it?”

  “How do ye—”

  “Kenneth told me ye and Mairi were alone on the Sea Wolf, and now ye’re here frowning like someone’s slain your favorite dog.”

  Alec slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he hung his head. He gripped his skull, rubbing hard through his hair. “She won’t stay on Kisimul,” he said.

  “Ye asked her to marry ye?” Ian asked.

  Alec nodded without looking up. “She said aye to that, but nay to living at Kisimul.”

  “And…?”

  Alec raised his head to meet Ian’s dark gaze. “I am the Wolf of Barra, the chief of Clan MacNeil, and the seat of the chief is Kisimul Castle. She may have said aye to me but has refused my home and all that I have been raised to be.”

  Ian rubbed his short beard and tipped his gaze to the dark rafters. He nodded as if churning Alec’s words in his mind. After a moment, Ian leveled his stare at him. “Ye were raised, watching your father leave often and finally not return. Ye were raised, watching your mother wave as she sailed away and then Millie when ye wed. It seems ye are familiar with people ye care about, leaving.” His one brow rose.

  “That has nothing to do with my duty to keep Kisimul,” Alec said, rising to pace to the hearth where he kicked at a block of half burned peat in the grate.

  “Are ye letting Mairi leave Kisimul before she can leave ye?” Ian asked.

  “Bloody ridiculous, Ian,” Alec said, crossing his arms to stare down his best friend.

  Ian shrugged. “Perhaps, but considering ye are the one in charge, as The MacNeil of Barra, I think ye can decide where ye live. Your people may like having their chief where they could stop in to strategize over a cup of ale. Cinnia and Weylyn would get to see the village children more than once or twice a year.”

  Alec kept his solid stance. “And what would happen to Kisimul?”

  “We would keep it up for times of war. Use it as a place for formal gatherings, meetings with other clans.”

  Alec didn’t respond. He looked off into the dark shadows of the small barracks. Soon it would fill with men.

  “Alec,” Ian said, bringing his gaze back to him. “Marry the lass.”

  “Says the man who’s never deemed it necessary to stay with one lass for more than a month.”

  “Aye, but I don’t look at those lasses the way I see ye look at Mairi Maclean. Bloody hell, Alec, I haven’t heard ye laugh like ye did when ye took her to the shore since ye were a lad, before your da died. Ye can spend your life rowing and riding back and forth from this fortress because ye think it’s your duty, or ye can choose something different. Maybe that will break the curse of Kisimul.”

  “There is no curse,” Alec grumbled, but the words didn’t sound as solid as they had before.

  Ian sucked in a large inhale and leaned back in his seat. “Think about it, but not too long. Else we’ll have to go all the way to the Isle of Mull to steal her again, when ye come to your bloody senses.”

  Alec stared at his best friend who gave him a slow, knowing nod. Had he already decided that he must deal with the pain of losing someone again? He’d half expected Mairi to be gone when he’d returned from tracking down her brother. He’d been ready for the pain then, but being here to watch her sail away with her kin… He didn’t think he could do it.

  “Thank ye,” he said, heading for the door.

  Ian huffed loudly. “If I can’t help save the ships from the bloody MacInnes, at least I can help save us all from your grumpy rage if ye let her go.”

  Alec strode into the bailey where Kenneth waved him over. Alec’s gaze circled the dark bailey, looking for Tor and Cullen. “W
here are Maclean and Duffie?”

  “Not sure,” Kenneth said.

  “I think checking on the Maclean lass,” Daniel said from near the wall.

  Damnation. Would they take her away tonight?

  Alec turned toward the great hall where Father Lassiter stood, following him inside. “Now that the MacInnes have been scared off, since everyone is here, it seems we could have a celebration,” the priest said. “A wedding perhaps?” His eyebrows rose.

  His words stopped Alec at the table. In his mind, he’d already wed Mairi. It needed to be officiated before the church. Then she couldn’t leave, and they’d figure out where they would live later. “Aye, Father, we should have a wedding tonight.”

  Father Lassiter looked shocked, and blinked several times. “Why that’s bloody wonderful. I will tell Bessy right away.”

  Could the priest be that dense? “I am not marrying Bessy Cameron.”

  “But her brother wills it. He left a dowry with me for when ye came around. A chest of gold plates, rolls of rich fabric—”

  “I’m wedding Mairi Maclean.”

  “She doesn’t even have a dowry,” the middle-aged man said, his face growing tight with anger. “And she was betrothed to that MacInnes bastard. She’s spoken for. ’Twould be a sin to take another man’s wife.”

  Had the priest taken payment from Angus to make sure Alec wed his sister? He knew many priests were corrupt, but the ones that ventured to the outer Scottish isles were usually more about gathering souls than gathering gold.

  Alec took a step toward the man. “Mairi Maclean is my wife already, in the eyes of God. If ye have a problem with making it official with the church, ye may leave Barra, and we will find another priest to sign the book.”

  Just as Alec turned, the blast of a cannon exploded, its impact on Kisimul’s outer wall sending a vibration through the keep. “What the hell,” Alec yelled, running out into the bailey.