It wasn’t ideal, but he finally fell asleep feeling it was the best option.
The Plan Unfolds
Teagan awoke the next morning feeling both exhilarated and perplexed. The excitement of the longed-for excursion to Wick had resulted in a fitful sleep. What she’d learned of the feud from Master Halkirk increased her frustration. “The last battle between our two clans took place in 1438, nigh on three hundred years ago,” she told Bo when he leaped up on her bed. “’Tis ridiculous we are all trying to build a future on the tombstones of the past.”
The hound rolled onto his back, clearly more concerned with having his tummy rubbed.
It wasn’t likely Beathan would listen to her either, but she resolved to tell him what she thought of perpetuating hatred that kept close neighbors at loggerheads for generations.
They lived in a remote part of Scotland—she hadn’t fully realized how remote until Master Halkirk showed her an old map.
She rubbed the dog’s ears. “Here we are—two castles within sight of each other on a windswept cliff, Wick a stone’s throw away tucked in a cove between us.”
Beathan was forever complaining about a lack of skilled seamen in the clan, yet their neighbors weren’t allowed to use the one port in the area. Master Halkirk didn’t know where on the map the Robsons docked their boats, but was reasonably certain they were a seafaring clan. How could they not be, living so close to the sea?
However, today wasn’t the day to bombard Beathan with her opinions, lest he change his mind about the outing.
Katie arrived and retrieved Teagan’s riding habit from the armoire. “’Tis a fine day for a gallop along the cliffs,” she declared.
Teagan shook her head. “Nay. Beathan is taking me to Wick today. ’Tis the first time I’ve been there. Ye should come with us.”
Katie shrugged. “I will if ye insist but I’ve been there many times.”
“Yer parents allowed ye to go?”
“Da took me there often and we went out to sea on his birlinn.”
Indignation constricted Teagan’s throat. If a wee lass like Katie could go out on a boat…
The extent of her brothers’ overprotectiveness struck her like a blow to the belly, but she had to bear Katie’s loss in mind. Her situation wasn’t the maid’s fault. “I’m hoping to go out in a birlinn myself,” she confessed.
“’Tis a good day for it. Nay too windy.”
Spirits buoyed, Teagan went to break her fast, surprised Ethan and Lachlan weren’t with the others.
“They ate early,” Cooper explained. “They’ve gone to organize the escort for Lady MacCray.”
Ignoring the sarcasm, she sat in her usual place and told Beathan, “I hoped ye’d be taking me.”
He swallowed whatever he was chewing and shook his head. “Too much to do today to be traipsing off to Wick.”
Fists clenched, Teagan struggled to hold on to her patience. There was scant chance Ethan and Lachlan would take her out on the water. “I was looking forward to spending the day with ye, Brother. We see so little of each other.”
She threw in a quick flutter of the eyelashes for good measure.
“I’m wise to ye, Teagan MacCray,” he replied. “If ye behave yerself, I’ll maybe take ye with me on the morrow.”
If I behave myself!
“Eat up. Yer brothers are waiting in the stables.”
Seething inside, she ate half the bowl of oatmeal without tasting it and stood, stirring Bo at her feet. “Goodbye, my laird,” she said as sweetly as she could. “I’m so grateful ye’ve allowed me this boon.”
She left the hall, satisfied by the puzzled frown on her brother’s brow.
*
Marshall rose before dawn, intent on getting to the hall in order to recruit a crew. He needed only a couple of men and someone would be early to break their fast.
He found Brosnan Raith and his son already tucking into bowls of oatmeal.
“I need ye to ride with me to Cèis,” he said, seeing no point wasting time with preliminaries, though they weren’t the crew he’d have preferred to take. Brosnan was a seasoned mariner, but Connor had a reputation as a dimwit.
“Today?” Brosnan asked, his oatmeal-laden spoon poised halfway to his mouth.
“Now,” Marshall replied.
“But I havena finished…” Connor began.
An elbow jab from his father silenced him. “If the laird’s brother wants us to go to Cèis,” Brosnan said, “then we’ll go.”
Irritated that folks apparently only thought of him as Elgin’s brother, Marshall took a seat across from the two men. “Ye can finish yer breakfast. I have to explain to ye the reason we’re going there.”
“To sail a boat, I imagine,” Connor replied.
Marshall filled his lungs, wondering if he could perhaps manage the birlinn by himself. The sailing wasn’t the problem. A quick getaway would necessitate more than one pair of hands on deck. “Yer laird and I have hatched a plan,” he lied. “In order to gain access to Wick, we’re going to try to negotiate a marriage between Elgin and the MacCray lass.”
Connor laughed so hard he nigh on choked. Oatmeal splattered his father’s sleeve. “Our laird? Married?”
Brosnan wiped the porridge from his jacket. “Show some respect, young mon,” he admonished before turning to Marshall. “Seriously, though?”
Marshall might harbor opinions about his brother’s suitability as a husband, but he wasn’t about to share them with these clansmen. “Aye. ’Tis too risky to just ride up to Castle MacCray, so I plan to sail into Wick and parley from the birlinn.”
“And ye need us to help ye turn quickly if aught goes awry,” Brosnan concluded.
“’Tis the gist of it,” Marshall replied.
“Let’s be off, then,” Connor declared.
A quarter-hour later, the three left the stables of Castle Robson and headed north. Marshall tried to focus his thoughts on the journey ahead, but missing the MacCray daughter’s morning ride made everything feel off-kilter.
White Flag
Teagan rode the narrow, rocky trail to Wick, Geal wedged between Ethan and Lachlan’s horses. Bo loped along beside her, looking up at his mistress from time to time as if he sensed they were embarking on a new adventure.
Five MacCray clansmen led the way on foot. Five more brought up the rear.
Determined not to let anything spoil the thrill of venturing into unexplored territory, she refrained from remarking on what seemed like excessive numbers in the escort.
“Canna be too careful,” Lachlan said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “What with the Robson stronghold being so close.”
A chill stole across her nape as she turned to look over her shoulder at the gaunt outline of Castle Robson. She hadn’t considered danger might lurk on the road to Wick. “Do they attack often?” she asked nervously.
“Oh, they ne’er attack,” Ethan replied. “But ’tis better to be prepared.”
Teagan looked to the clouds. It truly was a wonder her seven brothers had managed to survive and prosper. Nevertheless, the ludicrous stalemate brought home to her the depth of distrust between the two clans.
A short time later, she forgot all about these concerns when they crested a hill and began the descent into Wick. The village clinging to the slopes was smaller than she had imagined, but the number of birlinns docked in the shelter of a solid stone breakwater was impressive. Pride swelled. Here lay her family’s fleet and she was more determined than ever to play her part in its continued success.
As they reined to a halt next to the dock, Ethan unexpectedly became a gentleman, sliding from his horse and reaching up to help her dismount. “I’ll show ye my birlinn first.”
“Nay,” his twin shouted. “Ye should see mine first. I’m aulder than he is.”
Ethan snorted. “By ten minutes.”
“Ne’ertheless…”
Teagan might have expected they would be as competitive in this as with everything else. She’d d
ealt with this problem before. “Ye should take me aboard Beathan’s boat, since he is our laird.”
It was amusing to see the color drain from their normally ruddy complexions.
“Of course,” Lachlan replied.
“Ye’re right,” Ethan echoed. “’Tis the bigger one at the end of the dock.”
They pushed and shoved each other in an effort to get to Beathan’s vessel first, leaving her to walk along the dock with Bo as her only escort.
“Dadaidh captained the Mara,” Lachlan explained as the three stood admiring the sleek boat, “so, naturally, it became Beathan’s.”
She closed her eyes, tasting the salt on her lips, remembering their father. “I miss ye,” she whispered, conjuring a vision of Angus MacCray in command of the magnificent birlinn, the wind in his dark hair.
“Aye,” the twins chimed together wistfully.
“Whoa,” Ethan shouted, grasping her arm when she put a foot on the wooden ramp connecting the boat to the dock. “Ye canna go aboard.”
Bo growled, moving to protect his mistress.
“Dinna be silly,” she retorted, yanking her arm from his grip and stepping down to the deck. “How am I supposed to learn about boats if I canna sail in one?”
“Sail?” Lachlan exclaimed. “We canna take the Mara out. Beathan would be furious.”
“We’ll take Ethan’s then,” she replied.
“Nay. ’Twill be my birlinn we take,” Lachlan insisted.
*
Still not totally convinced his plan was sound, Marshall was reluctant to leave Beau with the men stationed at Cèis, but it would be impractical to load three horses aboard a single birlinn. They would make the boat too low in the water for a quick turnaround should it become necessary. He was confident Beau wouldn’t panic, but couldn’t say the same for the other two mounts.
He left instructions for the beasts to be taken back to Castle Robson in the event he and his crew didn’t return in two days.
Both Robson birlinns had only recently returned from the long voyage to Norway. The skeleton crew left at Cèis was supposed to make sure they were always ready to go out to sea again, but they’d been kept busy salvaging logs and other goods that had floated ashore from the wreck. Marshall told Brosnan he preferred to rely on his own inspection.
“I agree,” his wind-bronzed clansman replied. “I’ll check the sail. Connor, see to the oars and ropes.”
Marshall scanned every inch of the hull, looking for any sign of damage, then made sure the small cannon bolted to the prow had been cleaned and the wadding renewed. Satisfied, he had a clansman load round-shot into the barrel. Hopefully, the weapon wouldn’t be needed, but it paid to be prepared.
Lastly, he hoisted a white flag, improvised before he left home from an old linen shirt.
They took advantage of the outgoing tide to row away from Cèis, raising the square sail to follow the sheltered coastline of Sinclair Bay. When they turned east to round Moss Head, Marshall braced his legs against the choppier waters and looked up at the only home he’d ever known. The possibility he might never see Castle Robson again after today tightened his throat.
Moss Head passed, they turned south again and approached Wick Bay. “Steady, lads,” he shouted, eyeing the makeshift flag. “Slowly as we enter the bay, and take down the sail. We dinna want to alarm the MacCrays.”
*
Teagan had to admit her twin brothers were expert sailors and she felt safe out on the water with them. Any hint of competition between them vanished as they maneuvered Lachlan’s birlinn out of Wick Bay and headed south. It was clear they felt at home on the waves. It struck her again what handsome young men they were, especially with chins jutting proudly in the face of the wind.
“There’s our castle,” Ethan shouted, gesturing to the top of the cliffs she loved to explore with her dog. Standing at the prow like a figurehead, Bo barked frantically.
“He recognizes his home. Looks bigger from down here,” she replied, musing that the distant, four-story Castle Robson would look gigantic if they sailed north.
Her brothers pointed out various hamlets on shore. She watched their every move, storing up the knowledge for the day she would command a MacCray birlinn.
Being out on the water was everything she’d dreamed of. She inhaled the salty air, relishing the brisk wind on her face and the snap of the sail. This was where she belonged, riding the shimmering waves.
“Hold on,” Lachlan eventually advised. “We’re coming about. Time to go back.”
The urge to whine like a bairn welled up inside her, but she decided to be satisfied with the day’s progress. So far, she’d managed to stay upright without holding on to the side of the boat, even earning grudging praise of her “sea legs” from Ethan. As they came about, she sat on one of the rowers’ benches where Bo joined her.
Eyes closed, she savored the last few minutes of her adventure, tempted to toss the wind-whipped snood into the waves and let her hair fly free.
She blinked them open again, grasping Bo’s collar when Ethan yelled, “Fyke! Yonder a Robson birlinn sailing into our bay.”
Rescue
Jaw clenched, Marshall stood with legs braced at the prow of his birlinn as the vessel glided past the Wick breakwater. A handful of scowling MacCrays gathered on the docks to watch, but he was relieved there seemed to be no rush to brandish arms. He hoped the white flag and his slow approach would make it clear he came in peace.
Connor was his main concern. The lad kept muttering, “This is a bad idea.”
“Keep quiet,” his father admonished. But the dire warnings went on like a mantra.
“Hold yer tongue,” Marshall hissed through gritted teeth. “We must look confident.”
“Aye,” Brosnan agreed.
Connor whimpered, but the chanting stopped.
Marshall gave the command to heave to a hundred yards from the dock and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Ahoy,” he shouted, hoping there was someone of importance on the docks. “We come in peace to parley with the laird of Clan MacCray.”
“He isna here,” came the reply.
“And he doesna parley with the likes of ye,” another retorted.
“Ye speak for yer laird, do ye?” Marshall asked, encouraged when the pair hesitated. “I thought so, whereas I am an authorized emissary of the Robson laird.”
Receiving no reply from the puzzled duo, he asked, “Are any of yer laird’s brothers here?”
A chill crept up his spine when both men grinned like idiots and pointed. “Right behind ye.”
He forced himself to turn slowly, perplexed to see a MacCray birlinn just a few yards away, two angry young men who could be twins staring at him.
But wait! A lass! Wide-eyed. Chestnut hair struggling to be free of some sort of net on her head. The very lass he’d watched every morning galloping along the cliffs. In the flesh. He should tell her she was lovelier than he’d realized. “I…er…”
His hesitation proved costly. His crew apparently took it as a sign to turn tail and run. Connor rushed to the oars, shouting, “I told ye this was a bad idea.” Brosnan jerked the tiller, knocking Marshall off balance as the boat abruptly changed direction.
Anger flared when he came close to stumbling. He resented looking ungainly in front of the MacCray lass. When he managed to stay upright, ludicrous as it was, he was relieved to see she wasn’t laughing at him. In fact, she looked as gobsmacked as he felt. “Avast,” he bellowed as the birlinn swung closer and closer to the other boat.
The lass came to her feet at the moment the vessels bumped hard. Her birlinn tipped alarmingly.
“Nay,” he yelled when she lost her grip on her dog’s collar and slid overboard with a shriek.
Without hesitation, he unbuckled his sword belt, let the weapon clatter to the planking, threw off his plaid, and dove in.
*
Anger and disbelief mingled with fear as Teagan sank deeper and deeper. She’d been so astonished by the sight of the swa
rthy, black-haired giant standing at the prow of the Robson boat, she hadn’t held on to Bo tightly enough.
Why had she never learned to swim? Silly for someone who lived by the sea and who aspired to become a mariner. Did any of her brothers know how to swim? Would they rescue her or…
Fear turned to panic. Clearly, the shock of finding herself unexpectedly immersed in alarmingly icy water had stolen her wits.
It was too late to master swimming. No amount of kicking would free her legs from the voluminous skirt of the riding habit. Her limbs felt like they were made of lead. The salt burned her nostrils and stung her eyes. The eerie silence was so unbearable, she wanted to scream. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer. Drowning would be the reward for insisting on being taken out to sea.
At the frantic moment she accepted her fate was sealed, a strong arm clamped around her breasts. The breath whooshed from her lungs to be replaced by choking seawater. Her head was about to explode. An eternity later, she was hauled up to the surface, coughing and gulping air as clouds swirled above.
“Dinna fight me,” a deep voice commanded. “I’ve got ye.”
The reassuring words and the strength of the arm keeping her afloat helped ease the terror. She stopped flailing and allowed her savior to swim to shore with her limp body in tow. She managed a ragged sob at the sight of Bo swimming alongside.
Many hands reached to pull her from the water. She lay on her side, coughing up seawater as the world spun. Her head might stop pounding if everyone would cease shouting. She had to gather her wits and thank whichever brother had saved her. Shivering, she rolled onto her back and squinted up at a man on his knees, reaching for her hand, his black hair dripping…
Wait!
Ethan and Lachlan were redheads.
The slowly dawning realization that the Robson devil had saved her life rekindled the hacking cough.
Kilts Ahoy! Page 3
