“The men on board the ship all drowned, I take it?”
“Aye,” Eanruig quickly said.
James stared at him, feeling as though something was not right. His cousin and Eanruig were much more subdued than they normally would be after a clash with Dunbarton’s warriors. Although they were now dry, he could smell the saltwater on their skin, and a residue of the white powdery sea salt clung to Eanruig’s beard and both men’s hair.
“You took a dunk in the briny sea?”
“Aye,” Niall said, then his lips lifted a wee bit, but the result looked insincere.
A servant carrying a bucket of water hurried to pass him, but as soon as James caught his eye, the man quickly lowered his gaze and rushed toward the stairs.
This matter concerning choosing his betrothed had to be decided quickly. ‘Twas making his people ill at ease whenever they saw him, but he did not think he was to blame.
****
A hoard of women pulled off her wet gowns and though a fire burned in the hearth, she was even colder than before. Then sometime between that horrendous effort and the next, she, who couldn’t remember her name, was washed, then dressed in a dry gown. Lying buried beneath blankets in a huge bed and smelling of sweet lavender, she stared up at the face of Niall’s kindly aunt.
“Lovely lass, may we know your name?” the lady asked. Large concerned brown eyes and lips curved upward slightly as if trying to set her at ease, greeted her.
Niall stepped into the room, and his aunt frowned at him.
“Did you learn her name? Which clan she is from?” he asked.
“She is barely able to stay awake. She has had a bad bump on her head. I fear ‘tis hopeless until she is better.”
“James is asking again about Catriona. Would it not be better if we told him the truth? That the lass will not be here on the morrow?”
“Nay, you know how he is. He must have a wife by winter, or give up the clan to his brother, Malcolm. So leave him be. For a fortnight, he has behaved like a bear. ‘Tis better he knows naught about Catriona until the morrow. Mayhap she has changed her mind and will still arrive by then?”
“Aye, like the remnants of the ship we plucked the lassie from will suddenly become whole and emerge from the bottom of the sea.”
His aunt smiled at him. “‘Tis not that you have some interest in the lass, is it?”
He shrugged. “I will need a wife one of these days, especially should James’s brothers not be interested in being laird. Then I would be next in line. And I am not as choosy as my cousin.” He grinned. “This one suits me fine.”
His aunt shook her head. “Impulsive as always. You have no knowledge of who the girl is. What if she is married? With child even?”
Niall drew taller and furrowed his brow. “Is she?”
“She doesn’t appear to be. But you have no idea who she is. What if she were a Dunbarton?”
Folding his arms, Niall’s already dark eyes grew black. “You have a point, my lady. As to James, I will engage him in a bout of archery before the meal. If I let him beat me, mayhap his mood will improve.”
“Aye, ‘twill be good when he has chosen his bride and mopes no more about it.” His aunt motioned to the bed. “We will call her Marsali until we know her name.”
“Pearl. Sounds appropriate since we plucked her from the sea. Until the meal.” He glanced at the healer. “If you have a moment, you might take a look at the nick or two I received in battle.”
Tavia tucked a loose dark curl back into her braid, glanced at him and gave him a funny, wee smile. “’Tis naught more than a scratch, I fathom, but aye, I will have a look at them if Lady Akira gives me leave.”
Lady Akira nodded.
He gave a bow to his aunt, then smiled at Tavia, whipped around, and took his leave with the healer hurrying after his long stride.
His aunt faced the shipwrecked lass. “Niall had better not beat James at archery, considering the foul mood James already is in, but knowing my nephew, he will not give in a breadth of a hair. I must see to the meal, Marsali, and will check on you afterwards. Your own will be brought to you shortly.” The lady patted her shoulder in a motherly way, and she imagined her own mother being as kind.
Which brought a wave of grief crashing over her. Had her mother been on the ship? Drowned with the others? If not, would she worry that her daughter had been lost at sea and grieved for her? Her head pounded with the new concern.
Marsali, for want of her own name, closed her eyes, unable to keep them open any longer. They burned like they were on fire, as did her skin, although a pretty maid attempted to cool her forehead with a wet cloth. But when she tried to shove the blankets aside, the maid thwarted her time and again. The struggle wore her out, and before long, she dreamed of a glen and mountains, of the blue waters of a tranquil loch, and heather blooming.
She could almost smell the sweet floral fragrance when a woman shrieked outside her chamber, making her heart jump.
“Quit tickling me. The chamber is not occupied by fair Catriona, you knave, but by another young woman.”
“The room was to be readied for the Lady Catriona. Who ordered it otherwise?”
“Lady Akira. She still runs the castle until Laird James chooses a wife, ye know.” She giggled, and the footsteps scurried away.
The healer had returned and was tending to Marsali. Her long brown braids dangling over Marsali, Tavia leaned over the bed and placed another cold wet cloth on her feverish forehead. Marsali tried to push the clammy cloth away. ‘Twould make her cold again.
“I think you be a Dunbarton,” Tavia finally said, her dark brows raised, her tone of voice accusatory. “You looked quite stricken when Master Niall mentioned it. Are you from the enemy clan, a Dunbarton, lady?”
****
So many concerns wormed their way into James’s thoughts. Although he had little stomach for it, he tried to make the most of the afternoon meal. The boar seemed too dry, the brown bread too hard, even the butter slightly rancid. Naught appealed.
The news Eanruig and Niall brought him about being waylaid by Dunbarton’s men made his blood run hot. And where were his brothers and their Viking friend, Gunnolf, when he’d asked for their assistance? ‘Twas unlike them not to send word. Unless they’d had more trouble escorting Lady Anice to her castle than they could manage. James shook his head.
This business with Lady Anice and the misfortunes that had befallen her staff worried him. ‘Twas not like he and his brothers could not handle the sword play if that’s where it led. But he wished them home to help him with his border squabbles. When Dougald sent him a missive warning Malcolm was growing overly fond of the Scottish lass, James could not believe it. King Henry desired her wed to a Norman baron loyal to his rule, since she was his wife’s favorite cousin. James hoped Malcolm’s head would not be on the chopping block next if he took his relationship with the lass too far.
Sighing deeply, James reminded himself it was Dougald that got into the most mischief with the ladies. Malcolm would not get himself into trouble.
With all his heart, James had given his younger brothers his enthusiastic thanks for all their support when he became the current laird of Craigly Castle and best wishes to make their way in the world, but…
He missed their hearty wit, their rows, the way they fought together, watching each other’s backs in the thick of battle.
He glanced at his cousin Niall, who’d been raised like a brother with the rest of them, when his parents had died of the fever. Niall grinned back at him. Except that James beat his cousin fair and square at archery, that was the only good thing that had happened this day. The feat was not easily accomplished, and as usual, Niall tried his hardest to best him. James’s seneschal caught his eye.
Eanruig had been curiously avoiding him all afternoon. Even his mother had managed to stay clear of James. He snorted under his breath. He had heard the whispered rumors, that he was acting like an ogre, but who would not under the circumstances?
‘Twas a trying business, choosing a wife…
Sometimes he wondered if it would be easier to let Malcolm, the next oldest of his brothers, run the clan as chief, and let him choose a wife from the insipid choices he had. Only Catriona sparked James’s interest. The others had been too young, or too boorish, or too timid.
What he needed was a hardy Scotswoman like his mother, who could bear his bairns and survive the harsh winters. Someone who had not just come from the cradle or acted too afraid to speak in his presence. He tossed the chunk of dry bread back on the plate. And his clansmen had the gall to wonder why the lassies did not appeal?
They were all pretty, aye, but there had to be more to them than that.
The times he’d been with Catriona, he found her attractive, willing in bed, and able to carry a conversation without being overwhelmed by his position. He thought she would do.
“You say the chamber is ready for Catriona,” James said to his mother, unable to get his mind off Catriona’s impending visit.
His mother’s eyes widened a bit.
James leaned back in his chair. What was the matter with everyone? Did they fear he would reject Catriona also? There were no others, save a distant cousin he could inspect in a month or so afterwards if circumstances were such that he had to. “My lady mother?”
“Aye.”
But the worried look on her face said otherwise. “Are you certain?”
“Aye, aye, you need not fash yourself over it. ‘Tis my business to manage the household, my laird.” She quickly looked to her meal.
“I agree, although you seem uncertain.” He frowned at her. “You seem bothered about something. Even Eanruig, who normally pesters me throughout the day, has avoided me.” He turned and slapped Niall’s shoulder. “Even my cousin asked me to try and best him at a game of archery, and he has not asked that of me in ages. Whatever troubles everyone?”
Tavia hurried into the great hall, her face ashen, her brown eyes as round as the goblets sitting on the trestle tables. She wrung a wet cloth between her fingers and headed straight for his mother, who was getting ready to bolt from the table when James caught her wrist. “What is going on, Mother?”
“A lady is ill. Tavia was taking care of her. She must be worse. I will return soon.”
“Tavia serves as our healer. Why would you need to see to the matter?” He frowned. “Which lady is ill?”
His mother looked from him to Niall. James grew increasingly suspicious. “Catriona has not arrived early and is ill?” he asked, his heart thundering.
“Nay, nay, my son. ‘Tis naught like that. I will be but a moment.”
“I will attend you.” James rose and motioned to his people. “Eat.”
“I will go with you,” Niall said, also rising.
James shook his head and strode out of the great hall with his mother and Niall, but the maid seemed even more distraught than before. Tavia wrung her hands, her eyes cast downward as if she were inspecting the rushes littering the floor.
“Out with it, Tavia,” James said, wondering why Niall wished to see the woman, but suspecting he knew all about her already. The latest of his string of conquests?
“I wished to speak to Her Ladyship alone first, my laird,” Tavia demurely said.
James stopped and faced the petite woman. “Why?”
“I…I said something I ought not, and she left.”
“What?” His mother’s word was stricken with concern.
“Who is the lady, where was she staying, and what is this all about?” James ground his teeth, his face hot with annoyance.
Niall cleared his throat like he always did when he’d been up to mischief. “Eanruig and I found her on the rocks after her ship sank. We saw the sun glinting off a brooch she was wearing and after nearly wrecking the boat on the rocks, we managed to pull her from the sea, slightly battered.”
James stared at him in disbelief. Normally it was his good fortune his clansmen always kept him informed no matter how trivial the concern. So what was the problem now? “Why did you not already say so? I asked if there were any survivors.”
“Nay, you asked if there were any men who survived,” Niall corrected him, but his tone was conciliatory.
James raised his brows. “Man or woman, I would not think I would have to be so explicit. Why did no one think to mention this to me? Was the lass the only one who survived?”
Niall nodded. “She was thrown upon the rocks in a bad way. When Eanruig and I reached her, she was unconscious. She is staying in the chamber next to yours where Catriona was to reside.”
In utter disbelief, James glanced at his mother, now seeing why she had been nervous when speaking of the chamber.
She shrugged a shoulder as if it mattered not. “Catriona delayed her journey for a fortnight.”
James clenched his teeth and controlled his language then stormed toward the chamber. “And what, pray tell, Tavia, did you say to upset the woman?”
“I called her a Dunbarton. She got out of bed, and when I tried to confine her, she fought me. I could not stop her and came to tell Lady Akira at once.”
James’s blood instantly boiled. “You gave Catriona’s chamber to a Dunbarton?” James asked his mother, unable to curb his angry tone of voice. “Our staunchest enemy?”
Chapter Three
Unable to find her own plaid brat in the guest chamber, Marsali dashed into the adjoining bedchamber. Grabbing a green and blue plaid from the foot of a massive bed dominating the room, she threw the wool over her shoulders. With naught to fasten it, she held tight to the cloth, hiding the thin chemise she wore beneath it. Would be unseemly to dash through the unfamiliar castle barely dressed, yet her only concern should be to escape from the enemy’s midst.
Was she a Dunbarton?
She couldn’t remember, only the name seemed too familiar, and she feared she was. Not that it was a bad thing, only that these clansmen thought so.
The men constantly squabbling over their borders was not her fault. If she were King Alexander’s queen, she would rule there would no longer be any fighting amongst the clans. Although he reigned only over the land between Forth and Spey while the land south of Forth was entrusted to his younger brother David—so James did not come under either’s rule. Not even King Alexander could stop the continuous bickering between the clans in his dominion nor could the clan chiefs elsewhere. Which brought to mind a stranger question. Why did she know her king’s and his brother’s name and not her own?
No doubt she had done something evil and had no wish to know her name.
On the way to the stables, she heard Niall’s aunt’s voice and Niall himself headed in her direction. She rushed as fast as her shaking legs could take her down the opposite hall. ‘Twas not the fear of being caught, but the fever and chills that consumed her. Och, it was the fear of being caught also. Who was she trying to fool?
Continuing past another large chamber, she discovered backstairs most likely used by the servants. She hurried down them and found her way to servants’ quarters, a large room with rushes strewn across the floor and sleeping pallets stacked against one wall. Everyone seemed to be at the meal except for Niall, his mother, Tavia, and another man who spoke angrily to them. The laird of the castle? James?
‘Twould be her luck that they had hidden the fact she was being harbored here against the laird’s will.
Two brawny, bearded Highlanders stood near the main entrance of the keep, blocking her escape. But luckily, they didn’t see her before she slipped outside toward the kitchen where the smell of boar and baked brown bread wafted. Most likely the kitchen doorway led to a garden, and, from there, she could reach the stables. The kitchen staff would be busy serving the meal. Mayhap if she ran fast enough, no one would pay her any mind.
Fraught with indecision, she stood frozen to the cold stone floor, her bare feet growing icier by the second. Men’s voices headed in her direction decided her fate. She darted for the kitchen and ran through it, where women st
irred broth in iron pots over fire and others carried food into the great hall. Most didn’t seem to see her. But when Marsali nearly ran down a young girl carrying a platter of cheese, the girl cried out.
“What…?” the cook said, but Marsali bolted outside into the garden of herbs and flowers and for the second time in so many hours felt a sudden rush of freedom.
Having no time to tarry and ponder why she felt such a thing, she ran straight across the inner bailey. She thanked God the men on the wall walk looked out toward the hills, paying no heed to the small panicked woman who would steal a horse under their noses if she could and ride away from here as far as possible. Everyone else was inside the great hall, eating their meal. She prayed.
Dashing into the stables, she found a horse to borrow. He whinnied at her, poking his head over the stall as soon as she entered the stable. She didn’t think a horse oft chose her. But she did think she could ride.
She hadn’t time to saddle him before men shouted from the way of the kitchen. Her heart skittered. The cook must have raised the alarm.
After scrambling atop a stack of hay, she slid her legs over the horse’s back. She prodded him with her feet until he exited the stable. With her heart hammering hard against her ribs and her feverish head pounding, she gasped when several men ran toward her.
Half the laird’s staff she guessed. She was only one wee lass to cause such an uproar. If they hadn’t wished to kill her before, she had surely changed their minds now. The hardened looks on their faces, bearded, smooth faced, young and old, their mouths in grim lines and their eyes narrowed and fierce, like every one of them was ready to do battle, put the fear of God in her.
Kicking the horse, she raced for the open gate, praying if He had any mercy, she would escape.
Someone whistled, the horse halted, and she flew forward on the bony ridge of his back. After nearly throwing her, the horse turned toward the keep to her horror. She quickly grabbed his neck and held on tight, trying to direct him toward the gate, kicking his flanks again, without result this time. Doomed, she waited, shivers shaking her body with vengeance.