The Highland Dynasty: The Complete Series

by Amy Jarecki

  His face fell as if he’d just lost a battle. “As you wish, m’lady.” He took a step back and bowed. “But know this. I will sail for Dunstaffnage and then Iona on the morrow. If you should want me to carry missives to either of your brothers, I would be happy to personally deliver them on your behalf.”

  “I cannot.”

  He narrowed his gaze and his lips formed a straight line. “If not for yourself, think of your daughter. If he can raise a hand against you, what will he do to Miss Maggie once she starts laughing and running and playing? Do you want her to live in fear as you do?”

  “I-I…” Pins and needles bristling across her skin, Helen curtseyed and fled up the tower stairs.

  16

  After Helen had spent most of the evening holding Maggie to her breast, trying to protect her child from the MacDonald pillagers who had already sailed, Sarah had finally moved in beside her and held out her hands. Helen ignored the nursemaid for a moment. She didn’t want to let go. She couldn’t stop thinking about what could have happened if Eoin and his men hadn’t arrived in time. Would the MacDonalds have killed her and the bairn? Helen never wanted to release Maggie from her arms.

  “My heavens, you need your rest, m’lady.” Sarah reached in for the sleeping bairn. “I’ll put her down. You should go find something to eat and then your bed.”

  Helen wanted to tell the nursemaid to mind her own affairs. But she relented. As soon as she released Maggie, a cold chill washed over her. She wanted to stay. Only she could protect her daughter. And it seemed the world was against them.

  Helen stared as Sarah rested the bairn in the cradle. She’d replayed Eoin’s words over and over in her head: If not for yourself think of your daughter. If he can raise a hand against you, what will he do to her once Miss Maggie starts laughing and running and playing? Do you want her to live in fear as you do?

  What would Helen do once Eoin was gone and no one remained who could stand up to the likes of Aleck MacIain?

  Numb, she headed down the passageway. She couldn’t eat. On top of everything else, she had killed a man. Her hands shook violently every time she pictured him clutching at the arrow and falling to the ground. No wonder men drink so much whisky. She needed a tot herself just to calm her tremors. Perhaps after a dram she might even be capable of thinking straight.

  Helen roamed the passageways of Mingary without direction. Walking invigorated her and she sped her pace. As she paced, her mind honed. She had taken charge of affairs this day because there had been no other choice. And striding through the draughty passageways, she realized she’d achieved one good thing from today’s experience. Confidence.

  If I do not take action to gain control over my life, no one will.

  Arriving at her bedchamber door, she knew exactly what she must do.

  Upon entering, something thudded against the wall. Aleck’s bed.

  At first, Helen considered checking on him, but when a woman’s voice moaned, the lady of the keep’s stomach churned.

  Let Aleck while away his time with his leman. I will stand for his mistreatment no longer.

  She took a seat at the writing table, reached for a clean sheet of velum and inked her quill.

  My dearest brother John, His Worship, Bishop of the Isles,

  It is with great heartache that I write to you this somber eve, but as Sir Eoin can attest, my situation at Mingary has become untenable…

  She omitted nothing, belied nothing. In doing this, she was, in effect, committing treason against her marriage vows and had no illusions that her story must be so infallible, neither her brother nor the Pope would question her plea. She had no doubt that if Aleck discovered she’d written this missive, he would either kill her or lock her in the dungeon until she died. If she were caught, she wouldn’t be alive to protect Maggie, but if she did nothing, both she and her daughter would suffer under Aleck’s yoke of tyranny.

  After she signed her name, she sanded the parchment, then folded it and held a red wax wafer to the candle flame. Once she sealed the missive with the Campbell crest that she’d brought with her from Glen Orchy, she stared at the velum as if at any moment it would be set alight by God’s own hand.

  Helen stood and paced. How can I take the missive to Eoin without anyone knowing? If she stole away to his chamber, it would be scandalous. But as this late hour, it would also be unlikely she’d be seen by anyone.

  The vulgar noises coming from the laird’s chamber had been replaced by Aleck’s rumbling snores. Was Mary sleeping wrapped by his good arm, or had she returned to her cottage? Helen hadn’t heard the door.

  She chewed her thumbnail and paced. Every time she passed the table, she shuddered. Sleep would be impossible with that missive on the table.

  After serving the king and Duncan Campbell for years, Eoin had learned to sleep lightly. A knight made enemies enforcing the king’s laws, a fact never far from Eoin’s mind. No one had to tell him he couldn’t be too careful and, as a result, he always slept on his side, facing the door.

  The hinges must have been well oiled, because it made not a sound when the door opened and someone slipped inside. Instantly awake, Eoin made no move, and waited for the backstabber to attack. The man kept to the shadows, but the outline of his form was too small to be Aleck MacIain. Eoin wouldn’t have been surprised if that man tried to slit his throat whilst he slept.

  Even the intruder’s breathing was inaudible as he hugged the walls, still as a statue.

  The orange glow of coals from the hearth cast eerie amber light, shrouded and heavy with nocturnal shadows. But Eoin didn’t fear the dark. He used it to his advantage.

  He palmed the dirk under his pillow and waited. Let the intruder make the first move—it would be his last. There could only be one reason for someone to steal into Eoin’s chamber—Aleck MacIain wanted him dead. The vainglorious chieftain had no integrity. Clearly, he saw the fact that Eoin had saved his life as a slight to his masculinity.

  Sending someone to murder me? This is the last straw.

  In his mind’s eye, Eoin pictured how the culprit would sneak across the floorboards and attack. But the intruder made not a move. Squinting, Eoin peered through the dim light. Crouched in the shadows, he couldn’t make out the stature of the man. Not that it mattered. As soon as the varlet crept toward the bed, Eoin would run his blade across his neck, and then he’d gather his men and make a damning report to the king. Attempting to murder a king’s enforcer? Doubtless, such an act would prove Aleck MacIain a traitor. His lands would be forfeit to the king and Aleck would be declared an outlaw just like the MacDonalds who’d attacked this day.

  Eoin waited.

  Scarcely breathing, the intruder remained still for what seemed like an eternity.

  This is a very patient man indeed—or terrified—and so he should be. Fear, aye? Perhaps the bastard needs an invitation.

  Eoin sprang from the bed, landing in a crouch, dirk at the ready. “What manner of murderer is it who enters my chamber and hides in the shadows?”

  “Eoin?” A woman’s voice trembled. “Y-y-you’re awake?”

  Shocked as if he’d been smacked between the eyes, Eoin lowered his weapon. “Lady Helen?”

  “Aye.” She stepped from the darkness, shielding her eyes from him.

  Eoin looked down. Without a stitch of clothing, he must have frightened the wits out of the poor woman. He tossed his dirk on the pillow and snatched the plaid from his bed, tying it around his waist. “Forgive me. I thought you were an intruder.”

  “Oh?” She emitted a deep chuckle, as if not entirely repulsed by what she’d seen. “Is it not every night you lie abed, waiting for the lady of the keep to spirit into your chamber?”

  He laughed as well, scratching his head. “’Tis good to hear you’re in good humor, m’lady.”

  She sighed and moved further into the room, her gaze fixated on his stomach. “I wish it were so. But since we last met, I’ve not been able to think of anything other than your words.”<
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  Eoin’s muscles clenched as he held his breath. Was she saying she agreed with him? “It wasn’t my place to be so forward. Forgive me.”

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” Her gaze skimmed up his torso and met his. By the stars, the amber from the coals made her eyes shimmer like the North Sea on a clear day. “I needed a good jolt to make me realize that by remaining at Mingary, I am putting my daughter’s future at risk. And as you said, my brother, John, is the only person I know who’s in a position to help.”

  “I am glad you have reconsidered.” Eoin’s heart thumped against his chest. He gestured to the table. “Would you sit, m’lady? I’ll light a candle.”

  “I mustn’t stay long.” She moved to the seat and Eoin swiftly stepped behind her and held the chair. She placed a sealed missive atop the table.

  Eoin wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her how courageous she’d been. But he busied himself with lighting a candle. “I’ve nothing but a tot of whisky to offer you.”

  She tapped dainty fingers over her lips. “I never drink it.” Glancing up with a spark in her eyes he hadn’t seen since she was a lass, she arched her eyebrows. “However, after the events of this day, mayhap a wee sip would be permissible.”

  “Straight away.” Once he poured two small tots, Eoin sat opposite her. He glanced at the velum. “I take it this is for your brother, John?”

  “Aye.” She looked up with worry filling her eyes. “Are you still willing to act as messenger?”

  He smoothed his finger around the wax seal. “I would be honored for you to entrust such a sensitive matter to my care.”

  Helen’s breath caught and she stared at him for a moment. She needed not utter a word. This act of liberation scared her to death. It would scare anyone. Her trembling fingers lightly tapped the table and Eoin moved his hand atop hers for comfort. “’Tis a very brave thing you’ve done.”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “’Tis not surprising.” Her pulse beat a fierce rhythm beneath his palm. But this simple touch made his heart swell. If only he could tell her how much she meant to him. “I’m proud of you,” he said, his voice husky.

  She bit her bottom lip. “I-I feel numb.”

  “However nervous this may make you, I believe you should celebrate your decision.” He forced himself to remove his hand and raise his cup. “Slainté.”

  “Slainté” She sipped and then coughed. “My, that is potent.”

  “It is.” Eoin tapped the missive with his pointer finger. “You described your oppression…including Sir Aleck’s infidelity?”

  Helen nodded then took another dainty sip.

  “What changed your mind?” Eoin asked.

  “This day was so terrifying. Never before have I feared for my life, and you helped me realize that if anything happened to me, Maggie would be at Aleck’s mercy.” She covered her mouth and a high-pitched cry slipped between her fingers. “And Aleck has become more abusive toward me by the day.” She fanned her face and took in a deep inhale. “I fear neither of us will be safe if we remain here.”

  Eoin shoved back his chair and knelt at Helen’s side, grasping her hands between his palms. “You have made the right decision.”

  She cringed. “What if John refuses to appeal to the Pope on my behalf?”

  “He won’t. I promise.” Eoin swallowed. If John did not offer his assistance, Eoin would take Helen’s missive to the Pope himself.

  Her breath stuttered. “I’m so afraid.”

  Eoin took her hands and pressed her palms to his heart. “You can do this. I saw you act with more courage today than I’ve witnessed in many men.”

  “But what if Aleck discovers I’ve written the missive?”

  “I swear on my father’s grave I will tell no one. Whilst I am away, go about your affairs as if nothing were any different.”

  She leaned forward and buried her face in his shoulder. “I shudder to think what Aleck will do if the Pope does approve the annulment.”

  Eoin smoothed a hand over her back. “When the time comes, you will have my protection. I’ve vowed it before and I will stand by my word no matter what.” Eoin closed his eyes and pressed his lips to Helen’s temple. If only he could hold her in his arms all night and whisper that everything would work out for the better. But such an act would be folly. If they were caught together, Aleck would severely punish Helen. He took in a deep breath. “In the meantime, try not to worry.”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and clung tight. “I shall pray for your safety and swift return.”

  By the grace of God, her embrace felt heavenly. How much he wanted to kiss her again—to taste her succulent lips and mold her body to his.

  But he steeled his resolve. “Allow me to escort you back to your chamber.”

  “I think not.” She straightened and shook her head. “If anyone were to see us there would be a scandal—and that would make Aleck suspicious that I am up to something.”

  Eoin nodded. Of course she was right, but it didn’t sit well with him that she would have to traverse the cold passageways alone.

  He walked her to the door and placed his palm upon her cheek. “Sleep well m’lady.” She looked up at him, her lips red as rose petals, her eyes so filled with emotion. Leaning forward, Eoin had no inclination to stop himself. His tongue slipped out and moistened his bottom lip while he dipped his head and covered her mouth.

  His entire body ignited with unquenchable desire. He deepened his kiss and Helen matched his fervor. They bonded like a raging wildfire—two lost souls joining in the darkest hours of the night. The incredible softness of her unbound breasts plied his chest.

  God, he wanted her.

  The bed was only a few short paces behind them. But heaven strike him dead, he would not sully Lady Helen’s virtue. She’d already taken a great risk by visiting his chamber. It took every ounce of control Eoin possessed to pull away and catch his breath. “I’ll peer into the hall first. Once I’m sure ’tis clear, you must haste back to your chamber.”

  17

  “Iona ahead, m’laird,” Fergus bellowed from the stern of the galley.

  “Furl the sail,” Eoin replied. He’d opted to sail to Iona before meeting with Duncan Campbell at Dunstaffnage. Eoin had known the Lord of Glenorchy most of his life. Delivering news of the MacDonald raids in Sunart and Ardnamurchan would cause consternation. Duncan would want to act swiftly, which might prevent Eoin from delivering Helen’s missive with haste.

  Honestly, Eoin knew he should rush to Dunstaffnage, but a quick detour to Iona would only set him back a day. Besides, they’d beaten the MacDonalds by land and by sea. Alexander and his kin would need time to lick their wounds before they tried another foolish attempt to regain their forfeited lands.

  As the men heaved on the oars, heading toward Iona’s white sands, he thought about how Aleck MacIain would react when he discovered Eoin and his men had sailed to make a full report. Eoin had purposefully asked his men rise at dawn and set sail before MacIain had broken his fast. He couldn’t take a chance on the bastard insisting on sailing with them, even though Eoin would have been able to argue that Aleck’s arm needed time to heal. Eoin couldn’t give a rat’s arse about upsetting the damn Chieftain of Ardnamurchan, but if the moth-brained codpiece ever again released his ire on Lady Helen, Eoin would sooner kill him.

  When the galley ran aground on the white sands of Iona, Eoin jumped over the side behind Fergus. “Keep the men near. I’ve some business at the abbey. We sail for Dunstaffnage as soon as I return.”

  Nuns wearing black habits hastened along the path beside the nunnery as Eoin made his way toward Iona Abbey. He removed his helm and bowed his head respectfully, but the women hardly noticed him and continued on their way.

  The cloistered world of nuns and monks was foreign to him. He couldn’t imagine taking a vow of poverty, chastity and obedience and then hiding from the world, praying at all hours—godly and ungodly.

  W
hen the path curved toward abbey, Eoin sped his pace. He was met at the cloister gates by a pair of sentries dressed in the uniforms of the Knights Hospitallers, with red crucifixes emblazoned in the middle of their white surcoats. They crossed their poleaxes in front of the door.

  “Eoin MacGregor, Chieftain of Clan Gregor, here to see Sir John Campbell, Bishop of the Isles.”

  “State your purpose,” said one.

  Eoin thumped his cloak over the spot where he’d secured the missive. “I bear an urgent message from the bishop’s family.” He dared not allude to Lady Helen in any way.

  “The bishop is seeing no visitors this day.”

  Eoin sauntered forward, smoothing his fingers over the hilt of his sword. “Did you not hear me? Sir John’s family needs his attention straight away. Find someone to notify him of my presence before I summon my men and burn this gate to a cinder.” He eyed each man with a deadly squint. “And neither of you will live to see it.”

  One nodded to the other. “Go, fetch the brother.”

  In short order, an unarmed monk ushered Eoin through the gate. “The Bishop is a very busy man.” The man’s ring of brown locks shook with his head. “I’m not certain he’ll be able to see you today.”

  Wearing a hauberk, helm, dirk and broadsword, Eoin was a tad over-armed for hallowed halls. “Just tell him who I am. We were good friends before Sir John joined the priesthood.”

  “You may refer to him as His Worship, or Bishop Campbell,” the monk corrected, sniffing through his upturned nose. When they entered a square cloister surrounding a well-manicured courtyard, the man pointed to a bench. “Wait here whilst I inform the bishop of your presence.”