Highland Knight of Rapture (Highland Dynasty Book 4) (24 page)

“God’s teeth, I should be here to do those things for you. The thought of your noble hands set to labor goes against every knightly code.”

“You mustn’t look at it that way. I certainly do not.” She picked up Maggie and balanced the bairn on her hip. “I see it as my liberation from helpless lady to independence.”

He placed his arm around them both and escorted them into the cottage. “It pleases me that your independence makes you happy…as long as you still need me.”

Helen stretched up and kissed his cheek. “I will always need you, sir knight.”

***

The sennight with Eoin flew past in a blur. Though half worried out of her mind, Helen couldn’t remain angry with her handsome knight. And having him to share the chores, gave them more time in the evenings after Maggie drifted off to sleep. She and Eoin shared tenderness so deep, she never could have guessed a man and a woman could harbor such powerful love.

Now Eoin had but one night before he must leave again.

After Maggie fell asleep for her midday nap, the sound of an ax chopping wood came from outside. Helen moved to the shutter and peered through the gap.

In one fluid motion, Eoin swung the axe in an arc. With a crack, the log split on contact. Helen shook her head. She would have had to whack that big piece of wood four or five times to achieve the same result.

He worked tirelessly to build up a pile of wood, every swing of his ax cutting deep. Stopping for a moment, he wiped his brow with his sleeve. Then he pulled his shirt over his head.

Helen gasped and touched a hand to her chest. Autumn had begun to turn the leaves golden, and with it came cooler temperatures, though the perspiration glistening across Eoin’s skin testified to the exertion he made.

As he resumed chopping, the muscles in his arms flexed like iron gauntlets. The sunlight highlighted the contours in his back, while every movement rippled with masculine vitality.

A bead of sweat dripped from his hair and slid down his spine. He seemed not to notice, wielding his ax like a well-oiled machine. Simply by watching him, Helen worked up a thirst. She hastened to the bowl, doused a cloth with water, and then she poured two cups of watered wine and headed out the door.

With a crack, wood splinters darted through the air.

She inclined her head toward the wood stack. “Look at all you have accomplished, and in short order.”

Eoin lowered his ax and turned. “I’ll not be having you chop another stick of wood, m’lady.”

She handed him a cup. “You do take care of me.”

He rested his ax on the woodheap and held up his watered wine. “’Tis a responsibility I embrace.”

They tapped their wooden cups together and drank.

“Mm,” Eoin said. “’Twas just what I needed to quell my thirst.”

Helen licked her lips and stepped into him. She smoothed the damp cloth over his shoulders and chest. “Maggie’s asleep.”

A deep chuckle rumbled through his throat and he slid his hand around her neck, plying her mouth with a kiss. “That sounds like a promise.”

“Aye.” She chuckled. “I thought that might draw your attention.”

He grasped her waist and pressed his hips against hers. “Always.”

Blessed desire gripped her nether parts as her passion inflamed. Helen shamelessly rocked her hips from side to side. “My, you have turned me into a wanton woman.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” His voice grew deeper with each word.

She emitted a seductive hum. “Perhaps not when we’re alone.”

Helen loved the look of desire on Eoin’s face when he gazed upon her with a fervent hunger through half-lidded eyes. Their bodies entwined while their lips joined in a languid dance. Warm and enticing, his mouth invited her to sail uncharted waters with him, and after a sennight of passion, Helen’s excitement grew. Every blessed joining brought a new adventure.

Eoin’s hand slid down her thigh and grasped her skirts. Her heart fluttered. Would he take her there, outside with a cold breeze caressing their skin? Anticipation of a new path to pleasure heightened her hunger.

Helen slipped her fingers into the top of his breeks and pulled on the cord holding them up.

An infant’s cry squealed from inside the cottage.

Eoin touched his forehead to hers and chuckled. “It appears we timed things a bit late.”

Helen took in a ragged breath. “Will you remember where we are until we’re alone this eve?”

He nuzzled against her ear. “I’ll be thinking of it every moment until then.”

Maggie’s cries rose until they bordered on panic-stricken.

Helen gave him one last kiss. “Then I shall hold you to it.”

At long last the king had decided to deploy his forces—not a few galleys at a time to quell skirmishes, but the entire armada King James had amassed set sail on course to capture Alexander MacDonald once and for all. It was a chilly October day when Eoin stood manning the tiller of his galley, wearing his helm and hauberk. He and Aleck MacIain flanked each side of the V formation, with Duncan’s three galleys taking the lead, followed by five of the king’s royal galleys.

Finally, they would confront the MacDonald marauders. Eoin only hoped this grand sortie would put an end to the unpredictable MacDonald raids up and down the coast as well as end Alexander’s outrageous claim to the Earldom of Ross.

Manning the cannon, Fergus and Willy stood upon the platform Eoin had built at the stern. With luck, they’d sink a MacDonald galley or two before they ran aground and alighted for the battle. The more MacDonald men they could dispatch now, the better their chances for a swift victory.

Before they approached the shore, he saw a MacDonald ship on the horizon. Eoin watched it change course. Anyone within miles would spot the king’s armada. Aleck’s galley veered off course and headed toward the distant ship.

Bloody hell, he’s splitting our forces
. Groaning, Eoin had no choice but to follow. All the boats were paired to ensure strength of numbers—and Eoin would make certain Aleck didn’t have a sudden change of heart and swap sides.

The MacDonald galley’s sail picked up the wind, speeding to the southwest.

“After them. Due south,” Eoin bellowed the order and countered with pull of the rudder, putting his ship on a direct course to intercept the galley. Aleck’s boat adjusted too, but not as fast. Picking up a hearty gust, Eoin’s men quickly overtook MacIain, gaining on the MacDonald ship.

Once in range of the cannon, Eoin bellowed, “Set your sights, Fergus. I’ll not watch this MacDonald vessel slip away from our clutches.”

The henchman touched the flame to the cannon’s fuse and the big gun blasted with deafening force. The gun recoiled so violently, it trundled to the length of its anchoring chain before Eoin blinked. A resounding splash indicated a miss.

“Raise your sights and blast again,” Eoin yelled, though he could scarcely hear his own voice due to the ringing in his ears.

Willy labored to turn the crank while Fergus used the ramming iron to stoke the barrel with black powder.

Eoin held the rudder steady. The galley rose and fell as it cut through the waves at a steady tack. “We need a direct hit this time, men.”

When the cannon again boomed, the wheels screeched as the barrel recoiled and rolled back until the chains bolted to the hull stopped it from smashing through the other side. The cannonball whistled away and Eoin peered through the thick smoke, praying.

A crash roared across the sea. Eoin ran to the side of his galley, peering through the sulfur cloud. His gut squeezed. The MacDonald galley’s mast was down. Her oars slid out and the boat turned south.

Eoin blinked and wiped his eyes.
They’re heading straight for the Isle of Oronsay
. “We’ll finish it on land, lads,” he yelled while muscling the rudder.

Eoin’s blood coursed faster as their sail picked up the gale and they gained on the crippled galley. MacIain wasn’t far behind. Good, they would make quick work of these scoundrels and then they’d rejoin the king’s fight on Colonsay. “Heave to,” Eoin gave the command to slow as they approached the shore. The men worked quickly to furl the sail and man the oars—a maneuver every man could perform in his sleep.

Ahead, the MacDonald galley groaned and scraped as she ran aground, then listed to port.

Eoin expertly sailed his boat and stopped just as the hull met with sand. “Drop anchor,” he yelled. “Draw your weapons and prepare for battle!”

The MacDonald men scrambled over the side of the crippled boat and Eoin wasn’t about to wait for them to regroup. Clan Gregor warriors splashed into the thigh-deep surf. Eoin pulled his sword as he rushed ahead and led the charge.

Surrounding a man protectively, three burly henchmen moved up the beach. Fighting off a scoundrel with a poleax, Eoin tried to make out the man’s face. As the MacDonalds sped toward his men, Eoin chanced another glimpse at the mysterious lord. One of the big men stepped around a rock, revealing a glimpse of Alexander MacDonald. Bloody Christmas, they’d chased after the scoundrel himself.

Bellowing his war cry, Eoin surged forward. A battleax came from nowhere and swung at his knees. Leaping in the nick of time, the ax hissed beneath him. A lance came from the side. Eoin deflected with a backward slash of his blade. On he fought while Alexander MacDonald and his henchmen raced for the scrub beyond the beach.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eoin caught sight of MacIain charging after them with Grant in his wake. “MacDonald,” Aleck roared. “Stand and fight, you milk-livered coward!”

With a thrust of his sword, Eoin cut down the man with the battleax. The other soldier lunged with his lance. Eoin dodged to the side. The man stumbled forward and Eoin pummeled him on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.

Finally free to run ahead, Eoin challenged two of the henchman while Aleck circled with Alexander MacDonald. Though Eoin wouldn’t lose any sleep if the MacDonald Chieftain won the fight, his duty was to capture the man and, if possible, keep him alive to stand trial in Edinburgh.

Together Grant and Eoin fought the henchmen while Aleck and Alexander clashed in a battle of strength.

Eoin quickly bested his attackers and spun, ready for his next opponent. On the beach, Fergus and the MacGregor army had already taken control and were binding the surviving enemies’ wrists and ankles as MacDonald soldiers lay on their bellies. Off the shore, most of the MacIain men still watched the battle from the safety of their galley.
Milksops, the lot of them
.

They’d chased down Alexander MacDonald and not ended up on a wild goose chase, even though Aleck MacIain had driven them away from the armada. Perhaps the chieftain recognized the galley? It mattered not why. Capture of the MacDonald Chieftain meant Eoin would soon part company with the Ardnamurchan Clan and never need see them again.

Eoin knocked Grant’s opponent in the back with the pommel of his sword. Spinning, Grant used his hips to gain an advantage and cut down his foe. The MacIain henchman readied his weapon and started toward Aleck, but Eoin grasped the younger man’s shoulder. “Let Sir Aleck have his vengeance.”

The MacGregor guard joined them, encircling the fighting nobles. Sweat streaked from Aleck’s brow, his breathing labored. Between bouts, he balanced his great sword on the sand to catch his breath—but doing the same, Alexander was every bit as exhausted.

Though the two proved to be equally matched, Eoin stood ready to pounce if MacDonald gained the upper hand.

He watched as a battle between love and duty warred inside him. Eoin himself yenned to face Aleck MacIain in a fight of swords and brawn, but Alexander MacDonald’s crimes against the crown must not pass by unpunished. If only Eoin and his men had taken control of the beach before Aleck had arrived.

The contenders faced each other, bleeding and haggard, each one barely able to lift his weapon. Aleck sneered with blood staining his teeth. He dropped his sword and staggered forward while shaking his left arm at his side—the one he’d broken.

A dagger dropped from Aleck’s sleeve into the blighter’s palm. “You will never attempt to take my lands again,” he growled, slashing the knife across Alexander’s throat.

Eoin clenched his fists.

The MacDonald Chieftain, descended from the Lord of the Isles, stood for a moment. A stunned look stilled his features as blood flowed down his iron breastplate. Without uttering a word, he crumpled to the sand in a heap.

Aleck swayed on his feet and smirked at Eoin.

Behind them, Duncan and the king strode up the beach.

Aleck raised his dagger in the air. “The usurper has been vanquished by my hand.”

Eoin gaped at the bastard in disbelief.

With a hearty laugh, the king marched straight to MacIain and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You have done Scotland a great service.” King James raised his palms in triumph and walked in a circle. “This day, we have quashed the rebellion against Scotland and I am very pleased.”

Aleck slid his dagger back into his shirtsleeve and grinned.

The young king faced the miserable blackguard. “Sir Aleck, I bequeath to you lands on the former MacDonald Islands of Jura and Islay, for you are the true hero of this battle.”

Aleck puffed out his chest like a strutting peacock, then bowed deeply. “I am forever in your debt, your Grace.”

The king slapped his shoulder. “You are and I caution you to nay forget it.”

Eoin could have taken his dirk and stabbed himself. No doubt the land on Islay included one of the MacDonald castles.

Duncan stepped beside him. “What really happened here?”

Eoin pulled his friend aside. “MacIain had a feud to solve with the MacDonald, so I allowed him to fight.” Eoin thumbed his finger at the MacIain men who were still watching from the safety of their galley. “Half the MacIain cowards are trembling in their boat, while my men have battle wounds to tend. What do you think happened?”

Duncan shrugged. “No matter. The lands will all remain in the family.”

“
Your
family, aye.”

“Of which your clan is a part.”

Eoin bristled. He dearly loved Duncan Campbell, but the man had no idea what it was like to be a Clan Chieftain and owe fealty to another. The Lord of Glenorchy owned lands and castles far greater than anything Eoin could ever hope for.

He summoned his men and headed for his galley. He’d endured just about enough of battles for one season and there was another place he’d much rather be.