Black Raven's Lady: Highland Lairds Trilogy (17 page)

Keir could do nothing but watch and pray that Colin didn’t attempt a boarding. If the
Yorkshire
carried as many Macdonalds as the
Osprey
, that decision might prove fatal. The
Hawk
’s crew would be hopelessly outnumbered.

From high in the
Sea
Hawk
’s rigging, her top mainmast suddenly dropped, with all its immense weight, straight as a caber to the deck of the
Yorkshire
. The massive projectile punched a hole through the carrack’s main deck and—with luck—went right on down through the hull. ’Twas an old tactic in sea warfare which could still work if the enemy was caught unaware.

Before the crew of the English ship could throw their grappling hooks and lash securely onto the
Sea
Hawk
’s gunwales, Walter MacRath raced to her stern and hacked through the ropes tied to the fallen mizzen with a boarding axe. Freed from the drag of the heavy mast, the
Hawk
leapt forward, leaving behind the
Yorkshire
, slowly sinking into the sea.

Chapter 15

F
OR THE SECOND
time that summer, the three Scottish galleons entered the wide harbor of Dùn Bheagain. But this time the
Raven
and the
Dragon
were shepherding the battered and limping
Sea Hawk
into the safety of the loch.

From his quarterdeck Keir looked across the waves to the
Hawk
. In the clear morning air, he could see the redheaded Colin standing on the ship’s forecastle with his father, Walter MacRath
.
They had repaired the top mainmast and replaced the lost mizzenmast at sea with extra spars. Their ripped and shredded sails had been patched or new ones sewn. But the crew had suffered a brutal beating under the
Yorkshire
’s repeated close-range broadsides.

Raine and Barrows had transferred over to Colin’s ship when the extent of the injuries had been ascertained, leaving Macraith to finish binding up the few injured seamen on the
Raven
. Unsure of how long she’d be needed on the
Hawk
, Raine had taken her leather satchel containing her medicinal remedies and her canvas bag with the few pieces of clothing she possessed. For the past six days she’d been on the
Hawk
, out of sight and out of reach.

The ships had signaled to one another at regular intervals, so Keir knew the lass was well and safe from harm. What he didn’t know was if she was safe from the snares of Colin MacRath. Still ’twas better than having her on the
Sea
Dragon
with that gilded-haired Tam MacLean, a known womanizer. At least Colin had been faithful to his married mistress—as far as anyone knew.

Being a realist, Keir had to chuckle inwardly at the rancor of his thoughts. His own reputation for seducing the ladies was probably unsurpassed. Raine must be well aware of his rakehell life. In the past, he’d wanted her to know about his unsavory repute, certain it would keep her at a distance.

Hell, he’d proposed marriage to Lachlan’s pregnant mistress in front of the entire Scottish court, knowing Raine was there and would be shocked and disgusted by his behavior. She’d called him an idiot at the time, and she’d been right. He’d been a damn fool idiot to think he could ever stop wanting her. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the raging jealousy that erupted inside him at the very possibility of another man touching her.

Keir knew that Alex Cameron had received at least four proposals for his niece’s hand from wealthy noble families across the Highlands. At the royal wedding Raine had been surrounded by young men vying for her favor. Later Lachlan had told Keir that her uncle and guardian had turned down every offer, saying the lass was needed by her widowed mother. Keir knew that meant Raine hadn’t become enamored of any of them.

God Almighty, if Lady Raine Cameron had stayed at Archnacarry Manor where she belonged, he wouldn’t be going through the hammers of hell now.

As the
Black Raven
luffed into the harbor alongside her sister ships, Macraith came to join Keir on the quarterdeck, providing a welcome interruption to his unhappy thoughts.

“Och, I’ll be glad to see the backsides of our sour-mouthed prisoners,” his uncle stated gruffly. A scowl deepened the lines on his craggy features. “Those wretched pirates are worse than the Macdonald traitors. And we still didn’t catch the fish we were after.”

Keir nodded absently. “I’d hoped Donald Dubh would be among them,” he agreed. “Along with MacMurchaidh. But the English sailors have no reason to protect treasonous Scots.”

“God’s bones! Not one of the filthy maggots could even tell us who paid their drowned captains to sail into Scottish waters. And under al-Rahman’s questioning, the bastards would have sold their grannies to Beelzebub in exchange for an easy death.”

Keir smiled. “The Moor has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

Macraith chuckled mirthlessly. “Words backed up with that bloody scimitar he carries. Abid’s blade can cut a fine slice on a man’s bollocks. The mere mention of it and a captive’s jaw clacks like a shopkeeper’s on market day.”

“How are our injured crewmen doing?” Keir asked.

His uncle propped his big hands on his hips, looked up to the brilliant sky and shook his head. “To tell the truth and shame the devil, I’ve never seen wounds heal so completely and in such a short time.”

Keir glanced at his forearm where Raine had sewn the deep gash with her needle and thread. There wasn’t a sign he’d ever been hurt. Not even a faint white line where her tiny stitches had pulled the torn skin together. “Aye, the lass has a talent for healing,” he said, half to himself.

“A’course, you recognize there’s something special about Lady Raine, don’t you?” Macraith prodded. His serious brown eyes revealed the intensity of his question. “Something that goes far beyond mere skill as a healer?”

With a frown of irritation, Keir stared at his uncle. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“Raine told me at the time that she warned you about the English ships. And you refused to listen. She wanted me to reason with—”

“What was I supposed to do,” Keir asked sardonically, “hide out in Calgarraidh Bay like a sniveling coward?”

“Nay, that’s not what I’m saying and well you ken it!” Macraith retorted, his gravelly voice rising in aggravation. “We had no choice but to continue our search for Donald Dubh. What I’m saying is that she’s
special
.”

“Dammit,” Keir exploded, “you think I don’t ken how special Raine is?”

They both became aware, at the same moment, that they were the center of attention on the deck and in the yards. Heads turned at the sound of their raised voices. Though the hardheaded captain and his equally stubborn uncle had openly clashed in the past, they’d never before argued about a woman. And the sound of Raine’s name had carried clearly in the harbor’s calm air.

“Nay, I don’t think you do understand,” Macraith answered in a much lower tone. He leaned closer and continued. “Lady Raine Cameron has the second sight. She had a vision of the armed Sassenach carracks overflowing with Macdonald soldiers. That’s the point I’m trying to make, if you’ll let me get a damn word in edgewise.”

Keir gave a snort of derision, but lowered his voice as well. “I don’t believe in such nonsense. Her daft aunt filled Raine’s head with foolishness from the time she was naught but a wee lassie.”

Macraith ran his large hand down his dark braided beard in complete exasperation. “You don’t ken what you’re saying, lad. I, for one, have great respect for the myths of our Celtic tribes. Aye, and a firm belief in magic, too. And by the by, she’s nay a wee lassie anymore. She’s a woman grown and able to make a woman’s choice about which man she fancies. And for all your fretting about Colin MacRath and Tam MacLean, you’re too blind to see that she’s already chosen.”

Furious, Keir leaned in to make his own point. His words came low and terse and filled with an irrefutable finality. “Raine is too goddamn young and naïve to make that choice. I refuse to allow it.”

For whatever reason, Macraith suddenly saw the humor in their disagreement. He gave a whoop of laughter. “Dod, man,” he said, his sea-weathered face creased by a wide grin, “have it your way. You always do.” Still chuckling, he turned and shaking his head, he left the quarterdeck and moved to the forecastle.

A
WEEK
EARLIER,
Alasdair MacLeod’s godson had returned to Dùn Bheagain with the laird’s clansmen and his ten galleys—empty-handed, but ready to fete the arrival of the three warships nonetheless. It seemed as though everyone in the castle was in a celebratory mood.

Everyone except Keir MacNeil.

Keir had sent the
Sea Dragon
’s flirtatious lieutenant, Tam MacLean, out into the countryside to purchase enough cattle to feed the three ships’ crews as they continued their search for the traitors. Colin was busy overseeing the repairs on the
Hawk
. Both young men would be kept occupied for days to come.

In the center of Dùn Bheagain Castle’s great hall, however, a circle of MacLeod admirers wearing their colorful dress tartans surrounded Raine after the midday meal. This time there’d be more than smooth-cheeked lads to entertain their lovely guest on the dance floor after the evening’s banquet.

“Why so glum?” Fearchar asked as he joined Keir and Macraith. They were standing near the wide entrance to the large hall watching the people mingle.

Before Keir could say a word, Macraith answered for him. “Och, man, there isn’t a MacLeod here worthy enough to court Lady Raine Cameron, but that’s nay keeping a single one from trying.”

Fearchar grinned. The giant’s blue eye sparkled mischievously. “The devil, you say!” he boomed in his deep baritone. He readjusted his black patch, making the flaxen braids at his temple swing gently.

“Aye,” Macraith continued. “The cheeky knaves ken all too well that good manners demand we share the bonny lass at the dancing tonight.”

“Hah! Balladmongers and chattering baboons and none worth a docken!” Fearchar agreed. “By morning we’ll likely be celebrating a MacLeod wedding and us all the poorer for it.”

Ignoring their raillery, Keir left his chortling kinsmen and shoved his way through the ring of aspiring beaus surrounding Raine. “If you’ll pardon us, gentlemen,” he said, “I believe Lady Raine deserves a bit of peaceful solitude after the noise and confusion of warfare at sea.” He met her sparkling jet eyes and forced a smile, trying to make his next words sound like an invitation and not a command. Though of course it was a command, since he wasn’t prepared to accept a refusal. “I suggest we take a ride.”

“We’ll be pleased to accompany you.” MacLeod’s godson had a toothy smile and not a mark on his handsome face.

Several other kinsmen immediately affirmed the good-natured proposal.

“Not necessary,” Keir answered as he offered his arm to Raine.

Though she fairly glowed with health and vitality, Raine didn’t dispute the need for peace and solitude. She placed her hand on his sleeve and smiled in approval. “ ’Tis such a beautiful day,” she said, “I’d enjoy going for a ride with you, Laird MacNeil.”

T
HE WA
RM AFTERNOON
offered perfect weather for a gallop. Raine and Keir raced their borrowed mounts along the mossy edge of Loch Dùn Bheagain.

Raine had accepted the loan of a dress suitable for riding from the castle’s good-hearted young chatelaine, Lady MacLeod. The outfit came complete with a rust-colored archer’s hat adorned with a long pheasant’s feather. Her riding partner had changed from his green-and-black MacNeil tartan to breeches and high leather boots. Even on a lighthearted outing, Keir wore his broadsword at his side, his dirk in his belt and his huge claymore slung across his back.

As they raced along the bank, Raine glanced at him from the corner of her eye, admiring the way he controlled his restive mount with easy grace. The stableman had brought the magnificent hunter out for Keir to look over, saying the chestnut gelding had come from Ireland two summers ago and would have the stamina needed to carry the large laird. Then Keir had chosen a spirited black cob for Raine. The mare had a white blaze on her pretty face and a short arched neck, which she tossed in happy expectation of the coming jaunt.

Slowing the horses to a walk, they rode side by side, content to enjoy the stillness of the afternoon and the entrancing view of the loch’s azure-blue water against the verdant summer grass of the countryside.

“When we sailed into the bay,” Raine said, “I spotted a small island in the loch not far from here. There looked to be a ruin among the trees.”

“Aye, ’tis the remains of Saint Finian’s Abbey,” Keir replied. “Would you like to explore it?”

“I would!” she exclaimed.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, and she belatedly realized he’d planned their route for that very purpose. “Let’s go, then,” he said with a wicked grin. “We’ll see if those old monastery walls are enchanted.”

She laughed at his teasing tone and shook her head. “I hardly think a ruined abbey a few hundred years old can compare to the ancient stones of Calanais.”

They continued along the loch until they came to a shallow crossing. The horses splashed across the sandy bottom and then bounded up the sloping bank. Through the leafy woods, Raine spied the remains of a bell tower ahead.

When they came to the ruins, they found a stone monument, broken and half tumbled to the ground. But the writing carved on the base must have been etched deeply by a master stonemason’s chisel and hammer. The cloister dedicated to Saint Finian had been established in the early tenth century by the monks of Saint Columba, who’d sailed from Ireland to spread the Christian faith throughout the Hebrides.

The abandoned setting proved to be stunning. A dappled light shone through the canopy of trees that had grown up around the wrecked buildings. Moss half concealed the stones scattered throughout the open area once used for quiet contemplation.

Keir and Raine left their horses tied to a bush and walked together beneath an arch that led to the destroyed chapel. Broken walls covered in ivy rose up to the open sky above.

Keir watched his lovely companion studying the ruins with her innate sense of curiosity and wonder. He’d seen that same look as she’d turned her face up to the night sky, learning to identify the constellations. Raine was unlike any other woman he’d ever known: courageous, perceptive, and keenly intelligent. She was also willful and stubborn to a fault. Had she been born a man—with her education and noble birth—she could have become a powerful councilor in King James’s court.

She pulled off her gloves and tucked them into the purse on her girdle, then looked up to catch him watching her. She tipped her head quizzically. “You look so serious, Laird MacNeil. What are you thinking of?”

“I was thinking I’m glad you weren’t born a man.”

She burst out laughing, believing, no doubt, that he’d spoken in jest. “Well, I’m just as happy that you were,” she replied, wrinkling her nose impishly. “Born male, that is.”