Highland Avenger Read online

  “Trust me,” he said, “the sun will soon be shining upon us. The clouds move away fast.”

  Simon nodded. “Aye, I can see that now. So, at least we willnae be poured upon as we collect our goods.”

  “Something to be thankful for.”

  “Do ye think we will gain as much coin from this ship’s cargo as we did the last?”

  “We should. In truth, I have recently spent many an hour trying to think of a way to make this venture easier on us and on those bringing us the goods to sell.” Brian frowned. “Yet, the secrecy of this venture is difficult to give up.”

  “Aye. The more people who ken about it, the more chance there is of our goods being stolen.”

  “That is the problem that weighs heaviest on my mind. But we are too far from the safety of Scarglas whene’er we make this journey. While our profits are good enough to compensate us for the trouble, ’tis nay always time we have to spare. The long journey home laden with goods also puts us at risk. Howbeit, I have nay found a safer way to do this.”

  “Mayhap we should just change the route we take a wee bit. It might add time to the journey, but we could seek shelter with trusted friends and kin each night.”

  Brian nodded. “That is also a plan I have been thinking on a lot. Yet, I wonder if that would then require us to share some of our bounty with the ones who shelter us, mayhap even have to protect us from time to time.”

  “Losing a wee portion of the profit would be better than losing the whole of it as weel as a few lives.”

  “It would. There is no arguing that truth.”

  And it was just that truth that kept Brian returning to the plan that included stops at places where they could shelter in safety. They would also be places where a few extra swordsmen could be gathered if trouble rode at their heels. Brian knew it all made sense but he had to fight to subdue his reluctance to lose even one coin brought in by this new venture he had begun. The money was helping Scarglas grow stronger. Even more important, it was helping him to gather enough coin that he might, one day soon, be able to get a piece of land for himself.

  The mere thought of holding his own land or owning his own home twisted Brian’s heart with a longing that grew stronger every day. He did not envy or resent his brother Ewan’s place as laird of Scarglas. He also cared for every brother his father had bred, the illegitimate as well as the legitimate. Yet he ached to have something of his own, and there was always someone with acreage or a manor who was willing to sell off a small piece of the family’s land because of a need for some coin. Marrying for a piece of land or house was another way, but he refused to leash himself into a marriage for such gain. The only other way to get some was to gain the king’s favor, and the chance of a MacFingal doing that was very small.

  Perhaps envy did prod him, he decided with an inner grimace. He not only wanted his own piece of land, he wanted what his brothers Ewan and Gregor had. Even what those irritating fools his cousins Sigimor and Liam Cameron had. He wanted his own home, his own family. He wanted a woman to come home to, one who actually cared if he came home at all. He wanted children. The only thing he would not do to gain the land he wanted was marry for it. His craving was also for a woman who truly wanted him, one to love him and the children they would have. Marrying a woman for money, a house, or land was not the way to get that.

  It was a craving he kept to himself. Brian knew that, if he admitted to such a need, some of his brothers might take a moment to think carefully. If they did, they would soon realize he had no bastard children. Even worse, they might realize that he did not take as many opportunities to produce one as so many of them did. Brian had heard more than enough of the teasing his eldest brother, and laird, Ewan had endured for having “monkish” ways to know that he did not want to suffer it, too.

  “Ye are looking verra solemn, Brian,” said Simon as he rode up by his side.

  “Just wondering if the storm has cost us anything,” Brian said, and then frowned.

  The moment the words left his mouth, Brian recognized the large possibility that there was some truth to them. When the storm had struck he had cursed the wet and chill of the rain and wind. Now he considered the fact that what had been annoying to them on land could be treacherous, even deadly, out upon the water. It would not beggar them if they lost the cargo, but several plans he had made to improve Scarglas would have to wait until the next shipment, which could be a long time in coming if he had to make new arrangements for his cargo.

  It would also grieve him if the men he had come to know and trust were lost. He hated to think of the men losing their lives to the sea they had all loved so well. Brian pushed aside a pinch of guilt. He had not forced Captain Tillet to join him, nor any of the sailors with him. They had all wanted the coin such trade could earn them as badly as he did and had been happy for the work.

  Brian shook away his dark thoughts. They would soon arrive at the small cove and he would have his answers, good or bad. He could only pray they were good ones.

  “Weel, it appears God didnae listen to me today,” Brian muttered when he dismounted on the small beach and surveyed the unmistakable signs of a shipwreck.

  “Jesu, Brian, do ye think anyone survived?” asked Simon as he stepped up to flank Brian.

  “There is always that chance. Search the beach,” he ordered, and joined the eight men with him as they spread out to begin the search. “Look for both men and goods.”

  For two long hours they searched the shoreline as bodies and wreckage continued to wash ashore. The pile of salvaged goods grew but Brian’s pleasure in that was severely dimmed by the number of dead they retrieved from the water. They found only five men alive, the burly Captain Tillet amongst them. The bruised and weakened men had been given blankets and were settled by the horses. For now, they would stay at Scarglas.

  It was as he walked toward Captain Tillet, intending to ask the man what he wished to do with the bodies of his crew, that Ned grabbed him by the arm. He frowned at the youth, irritated by the interruption. Aside from the care of the dead, Brian needed to ask the recovering Captain Tillet what he had meant when he had claimed they had been attacked.

  “Look there, Brian!”

  The excitement in Ned’s voice was enough to make Brian look where his brother was pointing. “At the rocks?”

  “Aye, but I saw something moving there. S’truth, I did! I am certain I caught a wee peek of someone watching us.”

  Brian bit his tongue against the urge to scold Ned for having too much imagination. The rocks were too far from the water for any of the crew to have hidden there. Nor was there any reason for one of Tillet’s crew to hide from them. There was a very small chance that someone spied on them, but the cove was so well hidden, the nearest cottage too far away, for that to make sense. When Ned began to stride toward the rocks, however, Brian followed. As they rounded the rocky outcrop, Brian came to a halt and cursed.

  “I told ye I saw something,” said Ned.

  “Aye, that ye did,” agreed Brian. “A shame ye didnae see those knives, though.”

  Two young boys, wet, shivering, and wearing little more than rags, stood over a body sprawled face-down on the rocky ground. Both boys looked terrified but they held the knives in steady hands. Brian knew he could easily defeat them but he held his hands out to his sides and smiled at them. The way they protected what appeared to be a woman’s body deserved such respect.

  “We are nay here to harm, but to help,” he said.

  “Why should we trust ye?” asked the taller of the boys in an interesting blend of French and Scottish accents.

  “Did ye trust the captain of the ship ye were on?”

  “Aye, he was a good man.”

  “If ye look toward the horses ye will see how he fares.”

  “Michel, have a look, and tell me what you see,” the boy ordered the smallest one in French.

  Michel peered over the rocks and answered in French. “The captain is alive as are some of his men. Thes
e men have given them blankets, talk to them, and smile. The captain smiles, too.”

  “The captain was delivering goods to me. We are partners,” said Brian, and then looked down at the body they guarded.

  It was definitely a woman. Now he could see the long matted hair and the feminine curve to the legs bared by the torn clothing. Her arms were splayed out, reaching above her head, and Brian suspected the boys had dragged her up from the shore. One of them had obviously been clever enough to hide all signs of that, however, or they would have been found sooner.

  “Is she dead?” he asked, and then cursed his bluntness when both boys lost what little color they had in their faces.

  “Nay!” shouted the tallest one, while little Michel vigorously shook his head.

  “Then ye had best let me see what I can do to help her.” The moment the boys lowered their knives, Brian moved to crouch beside the woman, praying that he was not going to have to tell the boys that they had been guarding a corpse.

  Chapter 2

  Arianna fought against consciousness when it nudged at her. Despite her best efforts, it won the battle, rushing over her on a wave of pain. She struggled to breathe through the worst of the pain only to be distracted from that effort when her stomach cramped viciously with warning. Arianna groaned out a curse, forced her aching body onto its side, and let her body rule as it forcibly expelled all the water she had swallowed.

  “I told ye she was still alive.”

  Adelar, she thought, and took a moment from her misery to give thanks. One of her boys still lived. When her stomach ceased to torture her, she would find out how Michel fared.

  “Ye should listen to Adelar, monsieur. He is verra clever. Anna says so.”

  Ah, and there was Michel, Arianna noted even as more spasms overtook her. Both her boys were alive. She could die now. Not happily or peacefully, but gratefully.

  Arianna was pulled from her blinding misery by the rough touch of a man’s calloused hands on her upper arms. Her bare upper arms. She wondered what had happened to her clothes but was too sick to truly care. She then wondered why the mere touch of a man’s hands should ease her misery so much, the warmth of his big hands chasing away some of the chill that had sunk its teeth deep into her bones. A man’s touch had never done her any good before.

  “Done trying to rid yourself of your own stomach now, lass?”

  The man’s deep, gruff voice tickled something to life deep within her, something that had nothing to do with fear, pain, or sickness. Nor with the fact that her heart warmed at the sound of a fellow countryman’s voice after being so long away from home. Arianna was not sure what that something was but instinct told her it could cause her a lot of trouble. She no longer had much faith in her own instincts, however, and she was too weak and too wretchedly sick to puzzle it all out anyway.

  Her attempt to pull free of the man’s grasp was thwarted by him with an ease that annoyed her. Before she could gather the wit to protest, she was rolled onto her back. Arianna found herself staring into a pair of dark blue eyes. It took her a moment to yank her gaze away from those fine eyes, just enough to notice well-shaped dark brows and an almost lush growth of equally dark lashes. Whoever this man was, he was unquestionably trouble. She did not have the gift of sight as some of her Murray kinswomen had, but she could foresee that much. Arianna wished she had the strength to grab the boys and run.

  And was that not just her luck? she thought as he efficiently bathed her face. She washes up on shore—bruised and battered, her hair a gnarled, sand-dusted mess, her shift and stockings torn and filthy—and then spends far too long heaving her innards out on the ground. Is she aided by some kindly old crone? A plump, long-wed matron? A lowly servant? No. She is found by a man, a very handsome man. Arianna suspected that fate had chosen to ensure that no man would ever find her an object of his desire.

  It was probably for the best, she decided as he sat her up and poured wine into her mouth. She would not know what to do with a man who desired her anyway. She had certainly failed abysmally with her late husband. Arianna rinsed out her mouth and spit, knowing she did so with more vigor and skill than any true lady should have. She decided to blame her brothers and a vast horde of male cousins for that indelicacy.

  “Better?” the man asked.

  “Nay,” she replied, not surprised that her voice was so weak and hoarse as she was certain she had damaged it while heaving half the ocean out of her stomach. “I believe I shall just lie here and die.”

  “Nay,” cried Adelar as he grasped her by the hand. “Ye must stay with us.”

  She smiled at the two boys looking at her with wide, frightened eyes. “I but jest, lads. Just allow me to rest for a wee bit and we will soon be on our way.”

  “On your way to where?” demanded the man still holding her in his arms.

  “And who might be asking?” She wished her voice were stronger for the weakness of it robbed her words of all the cool haughtiness she had attempted.

  “Sir Brian MacFingal,” he replied, and nodded toward the tall, thin youth standing behind him. “That is Ned MacFingal, one of my brothers. Ye were sailing on a ship I had hired to bring me some goods to sell.”

  Arianna frowned at him, the name MacFingal stirring some faint recognition, yet she was too weary and sick to clearly think of why it did. Or to care.

  “I am Lady Arianna Lucette and these lads are my wards, Michel and Adelar Lucette. We paid Captain Tillet to bring us to Scotland so that I might take my wards to my family.” In her head, she suddenly heard the echoes of the sound of the ship splitting apart beneath the force of the larger ship ramming into it and the terrified screams of the men. “Those poor men,” she whispered as she stared out at the now calm waters. “Did they all die then?”

  “Nay. Captain Tillet and four of his crew survived.”

  After sending up a prayer of thanks, she briefly added prayers for the souls of the rest of Captain Tillet’s men. “A horrible way to die and so verra needless.”

  “So, the captain wasnae mistaken when he said they wrecked purposely,” Brian noted.

  “Nay, he wasnae. A much larger ship rammed into the side of his, destroying it. The boys and I saw it headed straight for us and got off the ship just before it struck us.”

  “Ye jumped into the sea?”

  “I believed we had a better chance of surviving if we chose how we went into the sea instead of just waiting to be hurled in. We shed the heaviest of our clothing and used a few empty kegs to keep us afloat.”

  “Ah, so ’twas your clothing we found in one of the kegs,” said Ned, and blushed when everyone looked at him. “They are safe and dry.”

  “That is good. Thank ye.” Arianna began to recall shedding her gown, cloak, and boots, and then looked back at Sir Brian, refusing to be embarrassed by her state of ragged undress. “If we could but borrow a few supplies, we will be on our way. Once I am with my family again, I will see that ye are weel compensated for your aid.”

  “And that family would be?”

  Brian waited patiently as he watched her mull over all the risks of telling him the truth. She was a mess. It was difficult to judge the color of her hair for it was wet, matted, and covered in sand. All he could tell, by the few hanks of hair that hung loose of the massive snarl, was that it hung to her hips if not farther. Her tattered clothing revealed that she was slim, her well-shaped legs surprisingly long considering how small she was. Despite the bruises and scratches on her too pale face, he could see that she would be a pretty little thing once she was cleaned up and healed.

  Her best feature at the moment was her eyes, even underscored by the shadows of exhaustion as they were and a bit reddened by the sting of the salty water. They were large eyes, almost too large for her small heart-shaped face, and a beautiful amber color. Although clouded with pain and mistrust, he found that he had a very difficult time trying to stop staring into those eyes.

  Arianna tried to clear the fog of weariness from her mi
nd. She needed to think clearly. If she told this man she was a Murray, that would mark her as one of his countr ywomen and might gain her more help. The Murrays of Donncoill were well known, however, as were all the branches of the clan. Admitting who she was could quickly turn her into a hostage for ransom. Recalling that her clan had enemies, she knew that becoming a hostage for ransom might be the least of the troubles she could face as she tried to reach her family.

  She glanced at Michel and Adelar. They had done well so far, but asking them to care for her until she was strong again even as they traveled for many days, alone and unprotected, was too much of a burden to set upon their small shoulders. They were all also as good as captives of this man already, a man whose clan name still tickled at a memory in her tired mind. She could not be certain if it was a good memory or a bad one, or simply that the captain had mentioned it, but she was certain that, at least for a little while, she needed some help. Sir Brian MacFingal was the only choice she had.

  “That family would be the Murrays,” she said. “I am the granddaughter of Sir Balfour Murray of Donncoill. I am Lady Arianna Murray Lucette. My husband recently died and I am returning home.”

  “So, ye are kin to my brother Gregor’s wife, Alanna, and, mayhap, my laird’s wife, Fiona. Fiona was a MacEnroy ere she wed Ewan.”

  “Aye, Alanna is my cousin and I am kin to Fiona MacEnroy, too, but only through marriage, for her brother married my cousin Gillyanne.” She frowned as the memory that had nudged at her mind slowly became more distinct. “So now I ken why the name MacFingal sounded familiar to me. That all happened ere I left to be wed.”

  “So ye see that it is best if ye travel to Scarglas with us and we can send word out to your family.”