by Amy Jarecki
He seethed. He’d been standing alone at the stern of his galley, jaw set. Being exiled by Sean MacDougall was almost more than he could bear. I will make that sniveling magpie pay and I’ll laugh as I watch him suffer.
Alan’s mother had made sure he had a place in the MacDougall Clan. After all, it was her clan too, though she had passed years ago.
His most trusted men, Brus and Trevor, came up on either side of him as the galley neared the shore. Brus placed a foot on the bench. “You’re nay planning to roll over and take your exile like a dog are you?”
Alan lashed out with a fisted backhand. “Watch your bloody mouth.”
Brus stumbled into the hull and wiped his jaw.
Alan leered at him and then Trevor. “How many times do I have to tell you we must wait—seize the opportunity when the time is right?”
“Aye, but with recent events, I’ll wager it’ll be soon.”
Alan grinned. “I’ve some games planned for the new Chieftain of Dunollie to keep him occupied whilst we prepare.”
Trevor nodded. “I like the sound of that.”
“First we’ll need to ensure our galley is hidden from the mainland. No need for passersby to spot my boat—especially MacDougall men.”
“Easily done,” Trevor said.
“Good, call the men together. We shall set things in motion this eve.” When the galley eased to a stop upon the smooth rocks, Alan looked toward the shore. “Have you found a smithy? We need to keep building our cache of weapons.”
Brus pointed toward the cave. “I can hear the iron clanging—but he’s nay happy with his accommodations.”
“Bloody hell, most smithies sleep on the hard floors in their shops—what kind of milk-livered…”
The blacksmith stepped out of the cave and held a sword up to the sunlight. Wearing a leather apron, the man must have weighed eighteen stone. His forearms alone were as thick as the galley’s mast. The corner of Alan’s mouth ticked up. “See to it he has first pick of the wenches next time the whores visit from the village. I could use muscle like that fifty times over.”
After Alan hopped over the rail, he strode directly to the smithy and held out his hand. “Welcome. Alan MacCoul here.”
The man offered a firm shake and a suspecting eye. “Walter, m’lord.”
“I’m no man’s lord.” Alan smirked. “At least not as of yet. Tell me, is everything on Kerrera to your liking?”
The big man rubbed his backside. “Aye, but I could use a bit more hay for my pallet.”
“Consider it done.” Alan clapped the smithy’s beefy shoulder. “I aim to ensure everyone shares in my success and I only ask for one thing in return.”
“What would that be?”
“Loyalty.” He uttered the word slowly to ensure there’d be no misunderstanding.
Gyllis lay on the bed and listened to Mother and Meg discuss her failing health. They likely thought she couldn’t hear them. Though she could barely move, her ears and eyes had not been affected by the illness that plagued her.
“It has been over a week and she continues to decline.” Across the room, Meg wrung her hands. “And now she’s showing signs of paralysis. Her joints are stiff. I’m afraid her condition has gone beyond my abilities.”
Mother cast a worried glance toward Gyllis. “This morn she could scarcely swallow her willow tea.”
Meg crossed herself. “May God have mercy on our dear sister.”
If Gyllis could have screamed, she would have. But presently her voice was but a garbled whisper, her throat raw and sore. She had no intention of dying. She couldn’t. There were too many things she had yet to do in this life, bless it. Her head pounded and she closed her eyes, willing the pain away.
“I wish Duncan were here.” Mother covered her mouth with her palm. “Last eve I sent for John.”
Though Gyllis’s head throbbed, her heart squeezed at the idea of seeing her closest brother. John had joined the priesthood and now was the prior at Ardchattan. Gyllis rarely had the chance to see him, but enjoyed it immensely when she did. If only he could make me better.
“As a man of the cloth, I do believe he may be a better brother than Duncan. He’ll know what to do for certain,” Meg said. She’d always been pious, and though Gyllis adored her, she was growing rather tired of Duncan’s wife voicing her fears of doom.
“Mother,” Gyllis said, her voice croaking like a toad from the loch.
Ma hastened to her bedside and grasped her hand. “Aye, my sweeting?”
“When will John arrive?”
She cast a worried glance to Meg. “Soon—as soon as he can spirit away from the priory, I’ll ensure he comes straight up to see you.”
Gyllis tried to swallow and coughed. “I want to see him.”
“’Tis a good sign.” Mother patted her hand. “Drink some more tea whilst we wait.”
Meg reached for the cup while Mother helped Gyllis sit up. She could barely move her hands to grasp it. Meg helped her by tilting it back, but when the bitter brew hit her mouth, she erupted in a coughing fit. The tea spewed across the bedclothes and down the front of Mother’s apron.
Wheezing, Gyllis hung her head and tried to swipe her brow with her hand, but couldn’t lift the trembling appendage. “I’m sorry.”
Mother helped her recline and brushed at the wet spot. “You mustn’t worry. We should have used the spoon.”
Tears stung Gyllis’s eyes. “I hate this.”
“I know sweetheart. Do not worry overmuch, John will be here soon.” Mother patted her cheek. “You should rest until he arrives.”
With heavy eyelids, Gyllis nodded. “What is wrong with me?”
“I wish we knew,” said Meg. She brushed her fingers of her good hand over Gyllis’s hair. Meg had a cleft hand she called the claw that she tried to keep hidden for the most part. “One thing I do ken—you are a fighter, just like your father. You will not allow this illness to overcome you. Of that I am certain.”
Gyllis shivered and sank into the mountain of pillows the women had layered behind her back. If only this horrid sickness would pass, she could focus on regaining her strength. Mother and Meg headed toward the door, their voices muffled in hushed tones. Gyllis wanted to listen, but the effort was more than she could manage.
After the door closed, Meg pattered across the floor and sat on the bed, picking up Gyllis’s hand. “I’ve sent to the physician’s council in Edinburgh and requested information on your symptoms. I’m not sure what my appeal will turn up, but I’ll leave no stone unturned. Until then, the priory is the best place for you. The monks will be able to provide the care you need.”
Gyllis licked her dry lips. “I do not want to go to Ardchattan. I’ll be away from you and Helen.”
“I ken.” Meg lightly brushed her fingertips over the back of Gyllis’s hand. “Helen told me things didn’t go well for you at the Beltane festival.”
“The first night, Sir Sean was so charming.” A lump caught in her throat. “I cannot bring myself to speak of the rest.”
“Well, if Sean MacDougall isn’t the man for you, I’m sure we shall find another gallant knight who will adore you completely. Let us see to your recovery and then I will make it my duty to ensure Duncan has a line of suitors queued up to offer for your hand.”
“If I ever do recover.” The lump in her throat grew.
“Do not say that. Your illness may have knocked you about, but between John, the monks and what I can find, we shall see you set to rights.”
“Thank you.” Gyllis weakly brushed her thumb over Meg’s finger. “Has Duncan returned from court?”
“Not as of yet,” she sighed.
“I am sorry.”
“No need. He shall be home as soon as the king’s business is settled else we shall need to build a home in Stirling as well.”
Gyllis emitted a rueful chuckle and then yawned. “If you want Elizabeth and Colin to know who their father is, that may be your best option.”
; Meg leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Sleep my dear. We shall wake you when John arrives.”
“Gyllis?” a deep voice called her name. He spoke so softly, the tone soothed her. If only she could hear it again, but then she would have to wake. “Gyllis, lass,” it came again.
She stirred. “Sean MacDougall, is that you calling my name?” She’d welcome a dream even of Sean to while away the body aches and sickness—for her dreams were the only place she’d ever again see him.
“Nay, ’tis your brother, John.”
Gyllis opened her eyes, a faint smile splitting her upper lip with a sharp sting. “You came.”
“And you still have your heart set on that MacDougall roustabout.”
She attempted to raise her hand, but it was too heavy. “’Tis good to see you.”
Dressed in black robes, John looked ever so serious—a far cry from the lad who used to show her how to climb trees and net fish in Loch Awe. He tugged the bedclothes down slightly and grasped her shoulders. “What’s ailing you?”
“It started with the sweat and shakes, and now my limbs ache so much I can hardly move.”
He took one arm and massaged it between his large hands. “Does this feel good?”
“Aye.”
He took each arm and rested them by her sides. “Now see if you can lift them.”
With all her effort, Gyllis clenched her muscles and tried to raise her arms, but only the one John had rubbed rose off the bed.”
John’s brow creased. “Is that all the better you can do?”
Gyllis closed her eyes and bore down, trying to force her arms to rise.
John patted her shoulder. “”Tis a fine effort. I do not want you to overexert yourself.”
“Have you ever seen this before? Do you have any idea what’s wrong with me?”
He frowned and brushed a wisp of hair from her face. “You’ve paralysis for certain.”
A cry caught in her throat. “Is there a cure?” she whispered, dread filling her voice.
“I’ve seen it in the infirmary at the priory. It seems to attack its victims and linger.” He scratched his chin and hummed. “If anyone can recover from this, ’tis you, but it will not be easy. God gave you a willful spirit for a reason.”
He pulled the bedclothes up to her chin and gave her a pat. “I’ll need to take you to Ardchattan Priory. The monks can care for you far better than Lady Meg—nothing against Duncan’s wife, but you need more care than one person can give.”
A tear slipped from Gyllis’s eye. “Oh John, why has this happened to me? One day I was happy and gay and the next, I became so ill I was certain I would die.”
“Only God knows the reason one person is afflicted and another is not.” He stood and clasped his hands as if he were praying. “As his sheep, our role is to take our lot in life and make the best of it—be strong and trust in God to lead us through the dark shadows.”
She wanted to wipe the tears from her eyes, but had not the strength to put forth the effort. “When did you become so wise?”
He offered a faint smile. “If only it were thus. Rest. I shall arrange a transport forthwith.”
7
Sean and his men rode west toward Fearnoch Forest. Cattle thieving had begun before the effigy had been placed on his father’s grave. If the outlaws think they can cross me, they’ve another thing coming. And why did Da not send for me when I was on the borders? Every time the MacDougall drove out the vermin they were replaced by others? I’ve been battling lawlessness since I reached my majority. Now’s the time to end it on my own lands.
If the thieves thought they could take advantage of the MacDougalls because they were in mourning, they were sorely mistaken. “Did anyone see the backstabbing tinkers?”
Slapping his reins like he was beating a drum, Angus struggled to keep pace. “Nay.”
“Six cattle thieved without a sign?” I find that hard to believe. A lot of things hadn’t sat well with Sean since he started diving into the estate’s affairs. And all had not been smooth whilst his father lived either. Small coin and livestock disappeared from the ledgers with a stroke of a pen. With each little adjustment Sean uncovered, his suspicion grew. That he had a traitor in his midst was certain. Who…was yet to be discovered.
“A rider approaches from the south,” bellowed a sentry at the rear of the retinue.
Sean held up his hand and slowed his horse. Circling around, Fraser galloped toward them. Of all the MacDougall clansmen, Sean trusted him the most. They had been boyhood friends and Fraser often rode with him when carrying out Highland Enforcer tasks for the Lord of Glenorchy and the king.
“Another five head missing by the southern border.”
Sean gaped. “Any sign of the thieves?”
“No, m’laird.”
“That makes no sense at all—if the outlaws are holing up in Fearnoch Forest to the west, how are they slipping unseen to the south…and where are they driving my cattle?”
Angus rode in beside him and pulled up. “The two crimes could be unrelated.”
Fraser’s horse snorted and stomped its right front. “I reckon someone’s testing your verve—trying to see what they can take from the new chieftain afore they get caught.”
“They’ll be caught and the risk is nay worth the gain.” Sean looked up and watched a hawk circle overhead. “I’ve plenty of enemies, but only one comes to mind who’d go to so much trouble.” He eyed Angus.
The older man’s shoulder ticked up. “I do not think Alan MacCoul would stoop so low, besides, he sailed off in his sea galley a fortnight ago.”
Sean smirked. “I could never trust that bastard.” He raised his voice and eyed all his men. “Where did MacCoul sail after he left Dunollie lands?”
No one said a word. He dug in his heels and walked his horse along the line of men. “We’ll rid the wood of outlaws, but moreover, I want a scout on MacCoul’s trail.” He spun his horse and started back the other way. Right now there weren’t many men he could trust—or who had the necessary skills to follow a cold trail. “Hell, I’ll find him myself. I’m the best damn tracker in the Highlands.”
“That you are,” Fraser said.
“Do you think it wise to leave your lands so soon after you’ve taken up your father’s mantle?” Angus asked. “There are a great many affairs needing your attention.”
Sean had always trusted his father’s henchman, but presently he questioned the man’s loyalty.
“MacDougall!” A rider galloped from the direction of Dunollie. “I’ve a missive from the Lord of Lorn.”
Sean threw up his hands. “Does everyone ken our whereabouts?”
“I didn’t think it was a secret,” Angus said.
Sean pointed at the laggard’s sternum. “We need a sober discussion, you and I.” He beckoned the messenger. “Come.”
Sean took the missive and ran his finger under his uncle’s red-wax seal and read.
“What is it?” Angus asked.
“My uncle…ah…has requested a meeting.” He wasn’t about to say where or when—not to Angus and most definitely not in front of all his men when there could be a backstabber about. He needed to learn whom he could trust and whom he couldn’t and fast. Unfortunately, his uncle’s summons changed Sean’s plans.
He stuffed the missive in his doublet. “Angus, take the men and drive out any outlaws in the wood. Fraser, find out where MacCoul sailed after he left the clan. Better yet, find out where he’s holing up and report back. I want to see you at Dunollie within a fortnight.” He grasped his friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “Do not fail me.”
“On my way, m’laird.”
“Trevor’s galley approaches, sir,” Brus hollered from the cave entrance.
With two more rutting thrusts, Alan ground his teeth with a grunt and finished swiving the whore he had shoved up against the cave’s wall. Pulling up his trews, he shook himself off, revived at the relief of tension the quick hump had brought.
He
expected good news. Hiding out on this God-forsaken island didn’t suit him. The damp made his bones ache and his temperament border on the verge of tyrannical—not that intimidation was a problem. It was a tactic he used even when he wasn’t feeling like an ogre.
Brus caught the mooring rope while the galley ran aground on the beach.
Followed by his men, Trevor hopped over the side, a daft grin spread across his face.
“Well?” Alan asked, leaving the whore in a tousled heap.
“Easier than taking a Sunday stroll with my ma,” Trevor boasted.
“Out with it, man. I want details.”
“Two bands thieved cattle. One to the west and the other to the south—exactly as you said.” He dug in his purse. “I sold the beasts to a transport headed to Glasgow—Eleven marks, one for each head, less payment for me and the men.”
Alan snatched the coin and counted it. Trevor had taken the agreed quarter. He didn’t like that his men had taken their share first—but if he challenged the brigands with coin in their pockets, their loyalty would wane. “Did you see any trouble?”
“Nay—could thieve the laird’s cattle every day, I’d reckon.”
Alan was no fool. “If you tried tomorrow, you’d be caught for certain.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The alarm’s raised by now. It will not be half as easy next time—besides how much torture could any one of your men take if caught?” Alan adjusted his crotch. “We shall lay low for a time—travel to visit our allies in the Lowlands where we do not have to hide in a cave.”
The men nodded in agreement.
“Walter,” Alan hollered over his shoulder.
The smithy stepped out from the cave’s shadows. “Aye?”
“While we’re away I want you to fashion irons for a man.”
“You mean you’re not taking me with you?”
“You heard me.”
The blacksmith knuckled his head and glanced at the woman Alan had just discarded. “You’ll leave the whore?”
“Very well.”
“All right, then, but I’ll need measurements.”
