Kilts Ahoy!

by Markland, Anna

  *

  Teagan soaked up the wealth of information Finlay passed on about navigating at sea. It was irritatingly unfair she’d been excluded from seafaring knowledge that had clearly been passed on to the male members of the family as a matter of course.

  However, she didn’t want to dampen her youngest brother’s enthusiasm by complaining about it. It wasn’t Finlay’s fault most men didn’t think women capable of understanding science or commanding a vessel.

  When he seemed to run out of information to impart, she sought to extend the conversation. “So, what if something happens to the sextant?”

  He shrugged. “Like what?”

  “Oh, I dinna ken. If it fell into the sea.”

  Finlay frowned. “’Twould depend on the skill of the captain or the navigator. Chances are the vessel would stray off course and get lost.”

  Their gazes met as a possibility dawned. “Maybe that’s what happened out there in the Skagerrak,” he said hoarsely.

  A Fishy Situation

  The Robson birlinn proceeded slowly up the unknown waters of the Limfjorden and deeper into Denmark. Marshall expected to be sailing eastward. He kept checking the compass but it insisted they were going south. After an hour, the fjord divided. “Hard to port,” he yelled to Seth, hoping his decision not to proceed into the wide bay on the starboard side was the right one.

  A while later, they came to an island in the channel. Marshall opted for the narrow strait between the island and what he assumed was the mainland.

  Proceeding north, they encountered numerous inlets branching off the main waterway. Bearing in mind the directions he’d received at the mouth of the fjord, he directed the birlinn into one of the inlets on the port side. It was so wide and deep it must lead somewhere. After almost two hours, he began to have misgivings when they encountered no other vessels, and wasn’t surprised when they came to a dead end with no settlement in sight. The massive, barren cliffs that came right down to the water were awe-inspiring but they clearly rendered habitation impossible.

  Frustrated and disheartened, he expected snide remarks from the MacCrays, but none came.

  Back in the main channel, he hailed a passing German vessel. Its captain directed him to keep heading north.

  Finally, after hours of slow progress, they sighted a village. His desperate hope they’d reached Thisted was confirmed when the lost birlinn came into view, tied up to a sturdy dock and apparently undamaged. The MacCrays lined the side of the boat as Marshall brought them alongside.

  “Where’s the cargo?” Cooper shouted.

  “More importantly,” Marshall replied, “where’s her captain and crew?”

  “Kaptajn. Rødt hår?” he yelled to a group of scowling fair-haired men watching them from the dock.

  “Red hair,” Ethan echoed for some reason Marshall couldn’t fathom. It was doubtful these Danes living in a remote part of Denmark spoke English. They eyed the man holding up the ends of his own hair with suspicion.

  “Værtshus,” one man shouted, nodding in the direction of a ramshackle building at the end of the dock.

  Marshall growled low in his throat, reluctant to translate for the MacCrays. “He’s in the tavern, yonder.”

  Five minutes later, having heard no objection to docking, Marshall and the MacCray brothers disembarked and stalked along the dock to the tavern. Marshall would have preferred to confront Elgin alone but it was doubtful the MacCrays would have remained on board. He didn’t blame them. They were deeply worried about Beathan and Archie.

  He paused in the doorway, peering into the gloom, eventually espying his brother at a table with a trio of rowdy strangers. Every man clutched a tankard. “Elgin,” Marshall bellowed.

  Startled, his brother fell off his stool.

  “He’s drunk,” Lachlan declared with disgust, clenching his fists.

  Elgin narrowed his eyes as he struggled to his feet. “Marshall, is that ye?”

  Afraid the agitated MacCrays might swarm his brother and beat him senseless, he strode to his side, grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. Elgin’s protests ceased when he saw the angry faces of the MacCrays looming over him.

  “What the fyke are ye doing here in the middle of nowhere?” Marshall asked.

  “’Twasna my fault,” Elgin mumbled. “We got lost.”

  Marshall knew his brother well enough to recognize the lie in his whining. They obviously had lost their way, but it was likely Elgin had something to do with it. “Did ye nay use the sextant like I taught ye?”

  “Fell into the water,” Elgin mumbled.

  Marshall prayed for patience. “How did that happen?” he asked, though he half-expected the answer.

  “I dropped it.”

  Ethan growled. “I’ve heard enough from this nincompoop. Where are my brothers?”

  Unsteady on his feet, Elgin clung to Marshall’s arm and pointed. “Locked in yon shed.”

  Jaws clenched, they left Elgin and hurried to the small shed. Cooper tugged at a rusted padlock and chain securing the wooden doors. “Beathan, Archie,” he yelled. “Are ye in there?”

  “Aye,” Beathan growled in reply. “And if I get my hands on that poor excuse for a laird…”

  Marshall was about to assure him he’d be dealing with Elgin when a group of grim-faced locals arrived. Clearly, some dispute had erupted and he preferred to know where they stood. “What’s going on here, Beathan?”

  “’Tis a disagreement over our cargo,” Archie replied.

  “So, why are ye locked up and nay Elgin?”

  “Ask the fool,” Beathan hissed.

  Marshall filled his lungs, hoping his limited Danish would be equal to the task of resolving the argument. He greeted the Danes politely, explaining who they were and why they had come. He assumed men who lived on the water would be sympathetic to a search for a missing birlinn.

  They nodded thoughtfully but replied in rapid Danish. Having no idea what they’d said, he took a chance and asked for the prisoners to be released so he might get a better grasp of the problem, given that he wasn’t fluent in Danish.

  To his surprise, the padlock and chain were removed and the MacCrays emerged, blinking against the daylight. Fury darkened both faces and Marshall was dismayed to see the brothers sported split lips and bruises around the eyes.

  “They’ve been beaten,” Ethan growled.

  “Nay,” Beathan replied. “Just a fist fight. We were outnumbered.”

  “Where’s the rest of the crew?” Marshall wanted to know.

  “In another shed further up the dock.”

  Sensing agitation among the locals, Marshall asked in Danish if he might hear Beathan’s side of the story.

  Given the go-ahead, he inquired, “How did ye come to be here?”

  “Yer idiot brother dropped the sextant in the water when we were in the fog bank.”

  One of the Danes snorted, evidently understanding.

  “’Twas impossible to get our bearings. When the fog cleared, we found ourselves in a channel. We proceeded in a direction Elgin assured us would bring us back out to sea. Unfamiliar with these waters, we had nay choice but to trust him.”

  “But ye ended up in Thisted.”

  “Apparently, miles from the bluidy sea,” Archie swore.

  The Dane snorted again and translated for his sniggering comrades.

  Marshall lowered his voice. “And these men wanted to steal yer boat.”

  “Nay,” Archie replied. “They were very hospitable. Insisted on plying us with ale and a liquor they called akvavit. Offered us accommodation until we could set off. Even assigned a navigator to accompany us.”

  “We shared one keg of whisky left over from trading with the Norwegians,” Beathan added.

  Marshall scratched his head. “So…”

  “The dispute arose when Elgin drank too much akvavit and became overly anxious to please our hosts.”

  The news wasn’t surprising. Every time Elgin had drunk aquavit in Norway, his br
ain had quickly turned to mush.

  Marshall clenched his jaw as his brother staggered into their midst. Beathan lunged for Elgin, but Archie held him back.

  “Tell me what happened,” Marshall growled. “Before I let The MacCray tear ye to bits.”

  His brother edged away, eyeing Beathan nervously. “They wanted to sell us salted cod,” Elgin explained.

  “Nay sell,” Beathan roared. “Trade.”

  “Trade what?”

  “All the timber we purchased in Norway,” Archie said. “Ye will have noticed a lack of trees on this godforsaken coast.”

  “Ja,” the Dane confirmed. “Ve need the vood.”

  “And ye agreed to this?” Marshall asked his brother.

  Elgin shrugged, grinning idiotically when a belch emerged. “I didna think it mattered.”

  “Of course, he agreed,” Beathan bellowed. “He did naught to help barter the hard-won deal with the Norwegians. I objected and that’s when a scuffle broke out.”

  “Norge belong Danmark,” the Dane interjected, thumping his chest. “Ze vood ours.”

  “They have a good point that Norway belongs to Denmark,” Marshall whispered to Beathan. “How many logs are we talking about?”

  “Twenty.”

  He was beginning to get the measure of these canny Danes who had clearly taken advantage of Elgin’s inebriation and gullibility. “So, what’s the solution?” he asked in Danish. “Ye canna imprison these important men for long.”

  The Dane narrowed his eyes. “Important?”

  “Beathan here is the chieftain of a powerful Scottish tribe. Archie’s his brother.”

  “The man vith red hair is not in charge?”

  Marshall shook his head.

  The Danes began to argue among themselves in what Marshall assumed was a local dialect. He had a feeling the discussion could drag on, so he took a risk. “How about this? We can catch more fish than we need in Scottish waters but, as a sign of good faith, we’ll take all the dried cod ye have in exchange for four logs.”

  While the Danes discussed the offer, he sensed Beathan’s agitation. “Leave this to me and dinna argue,” he hissed from the side of his mouth.

  Raking both hands through disheveled hair, the MacCray laird let out a long, slow breath. “Aye,” he agreed.

  The spokesman for the locals held up five fingers. “Fem logfiler.”

  Marshall offered his hand. “Done.”

  A handshake sealed the deal and all the villagers from Thisted made a big show of jovially shaking Beathan’s hand, then Archie’s.

  “They’re plain folks,” Marshall told Beathan, “and clearly relieved we’ve reached a compromise.”

  Beathan slapped him on the back. “Aye. Weel done. ’Tis a great pity ye’re nay the laird of Clan Robson.”

  Marshall gritted his teeth. There was no good answer to that remark. He wasn’t going to blurt out his suspicions about Elgin to the laird of another clan in some faraway Danish fjord.

  “And another thing,” Beathan added with a grin. “Speaking as the chieftain of the aforesaid powerful Scottish tribe, I think ye’d make a far better husband for my sister than yer sot of a brother.”

  This he could respond to. “I agree,” he declared with a wink.

  Facing the Future

  Teagan continued her morning rides, ridiculously relieved when Moira appeared on the battlements of Castle Robson every day and waved. She could only assume the woman was as anxious as she for the missing men to return, so she waved back. At least Clan MacCray had Finlay to continue the line of hereditary chieftains. If both Robson sons were lost…

  The prospect stuck in her throat. Losing her brothers would be akin to having a limb removed. Never to see Marshall again would devastate her heart.

  As the days dragged on without any sign of either birlinn, Teagan noticed a gradual change in Finlay. His shoulders seemed to get broader, his spine straighter. It was as if he’d accepted he might have to assume the chieftaincy and was preparing himself for the eventuality.

  She had no trouble convincing him to take her out sailing every afternoon. She sensed he found as much comfort in being out on the water as she did. They rarely spoke during the outings but there was no doubt in her mind they were growing closer than they’d ever been.

  The evening meals were difficult. Being the only lass at the mercy of seven teasing brothers had often rankled. Now, the overwhelming emptiness caused by their absence tore at her heart. She had a deeper appreciation for Katie’s loss. The folks who lived and worked in the castle went about their tasks in near silence, their gazes fixed on the floor, as if they, too, were expecting the worst.

  She and Finlay adopted the habit of sitting in Beathan’s study after supper. It was here Finlay was more inclined to talk. They reminisced about their parents and the happy childhoods they’d led, laughing at some of the lads’ shenanigans.

  Finally, one evening, slouched in the chair behind their laird’s desk, he admitted, “I’m afraid, Teagan.”

  She knelt at his feet and took his hands. “So am I, Finlay, but, if and when the storm comes, we’ll weather it together.”

  Their eyes met as he laced his fingers with hers. “Thank God I have ye,” he rasped. “I canna face it alone.”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat when tears threatened. “Ye willna have to.”

  *

  Marshall completely sympathized with Beathan, Cooper and Archie’s adamant refusal to sail with Elgin. He had enough confidence in the MacCray laird and his brothers to allow them to get his clan’s birlinn home safely.

  The crew freed from imprisonment in Thisted made no effort to hide their relief when Elgin was taken aboard Marshall’s boat. Seth didn’t object, but Ethan and Lachlan agreed to sail with them on the condition that the Robson laird was relegated to plying an oar.

  Marshall conceded his half-brother was a drunken nitwit, but he was still laird of Clan Robson. Elgin might have no right to the chieftaincy but he and Marshall were sons of the same mother. Out of respect for her, he replied, “Nay, I canna sanction that.”

  It didn’t take much effort to persuade Elgin to avoid the MacCray brothers. The barrels of dried fish had been loaded aboard Marshall’s boat. The only place Elgin could keep out of the way was beside the barrels. Marshall deemed enduring the reek a fitting punishment for his folly.

  The Danes lived up to their reputation as hospitable people. The Scots spent two nights in spotlessly clean cottages while the logs were reloaded and the fish brought aboard. They were then sent on their way with two kegs of aquavit and a pilot boat to guide them out of the Limfjorden.

  When they reached the North Sea, Marshall set a course for Wick, resolved to find a solution to the problem of Elgin by the time they arrived home. He prayed the sea would help him make the right choices for his clan, his brother and himself.

  *

  Teagan and her brother were preparing to come about and return to Wick when Finlay shaded his eyes and looked out to sea.

  “What do ye see?” she asked, trying not to get her hopes up.

  “Birlinns,” he replied hoarsely. “Two. Larger than ours.”

  Fearing her heart might explode, she passed the tiller to a crewman and joined him at the prow. “Is it…?” The words stuck in her dry throat. Having fledgling hopes dashed would be worse than no hope at all.

  They stood apart, yet she felt relief flow through her brother’s body. “Aye,” he exclaimed, waving both arms above his head. “They’re still a long way off, but definitely Robson birlinns. Take us out there.”

  Barking loudly, Bo stood at the prow, his tail wagging furiously.

  She stumbled over rowing benches and oars in her rush to get back to the tiller. Noisy excitement seized the four crewmen. Her heart was beating so rapidly in her ears, she feared she might go deaf.

  It took her a moment to recall what she’d learned about steering. A deep breath settled her tumult and they were off, the wind filling their sai
l.

  Homecoming

  Marshall had come home to Scotland from many a long voyage, but he’d never experienced the joy that swept over him when he caught sight of Teagan at the helm of the birlinn gliding across the waves to greet them.

  Relief and happiness glowed on her red cheeks. Her chestnut hair streamed like a banner in the wind. She stood with legs braced, breasts thrusting proudly. He might have known she would quickly master the knack of steering. He had no doubt she’d eventually become an asset to any captain—certainly a more competent mariner than Elgin.

  But was she simply elated to see her brothers safely returned, or had she worried about him?

  Everyone cheered, waving as the smaller birlinn came about and sailed alongside. Teagan’s broad grin was for the brothers she perhaps feared never to see again. But when Marshall’s gaze met hers, the longing smoldering in their depths was for him.

  “’Tis a good thing I canna walk on water,” he shouted, not caring if her brothers heard him. “Or I’d have ye in my arms.”

  She couldn’t have heard his words over the din, but her seductive smile let him know she understood.

  *

  As the three birlinns docked safely, Teagan deemed it was likely a good thing she’d first seen Marshall out on the water. On land, the temptation to rush into his embrace would have been too overwhelming. In the few minutes it had taken to bring the vessels into Wick, she’d had time to compose herself. Bo had no such compunctions. He’d leaped from one boat to the other and was now licking Marshall’s face, front paws planted on his chest.

  She and Finlay scrambled onto the dock and joined the rest of their brothers. Arms around each other’s shoulders, they hugged and laughed. Once the euphoria of reunion had peaked, they clung together in silence. Teagan couldn’t stem the tears. “I’m sorry,” she blubbered, “but lasses are supposed to cry when they’re happy.”

  Beathan hugged her. “Cry as much as ye wish, dear sister. I’m so glad to hug ye, I feel like shedding a tear myself. ’Tis evident Finlay’s been teaching ye a thing or two.”