Bridget, Shauna, and his mother were up and waiting for Alasdair when he returned to the house well after midnight. He’d expected that, but he’d hoped his brothers had gone out to see what could be salvaged from the wreckage that would be floating to shore. Instead, they were all clustered around the kitchen table as he and Robert walked in followed by the five bedraggled sailors.
Joanna jumped to her feet. “Did everyone survive?”
“Aye,” Alasdair replied, giving his brothers a wary look before adding, “I brought them here for what remains of the night.”
Gavin exchanged a look with Braden and Niall. “They’re MacLeans.”
As if he couldn’t deduce that himself from the tartan sashes they wore over their shirts. He heard Shauna gasp and winced. If there had been any other place to take the men at this hour, he would have spared her seeing Owen again. Alasdair had mentioned as much to Robert, who’d reluctantly agreed he was right. Now Robert had a grim look on his face as he put his arm around his wife.
Owen’s dark eyes took in the territorial gesture and he shifted his gaze to Joanna and gave a slight bow. “We are beholden to ye.”
Rauri nudged Ewan. “Ye cannae trust a—”
“Enough.” Alasdair would have preferred the MacLeans weren’t in his house either, but centuries of Highlander hospitality were ingrained. Not even an enemy was denied food and shelter if survival depended on it. Except for the incident of having been shot on MacLean lands last spring, with no proof of who the culprits were, the MacDonalds were not feuding with the MacLeans. At least, not at present.
Joanna gave the lads a stern look. “Ye will do well to remember your manners.”
Both boys flushed. “Yes, Mither,” they muttered together.
She turned to her older sons. “Ye can show these men to Aiden and Lachlan’s rooms and get them some dry clothes before they catch a chill in those wet things.”
From the set expressions on their faces, Alasdair felt sure they couldn’t care less if all five MacLeans took a chill and fever, but none of them were about to get themselves chastised by their mother. All three of them rose.
“This way,” Braden said and headed for the doorway just as Margaret came down the stairs and into the kitchen. Barefoot, with her wrapper open, her hair loose and tousled, and eyes heavily lidded from sleep, she looked almost Fae.
“What is going on? I heard…” She paused, her eyes widening as she noticed the five strange men, and quickly pulled her wrapper together. “Who are ye?”
“Never mind.” Niall gestured to the MacLeans. “Follow my brother.”
“Aye,” Gavin said, “go on with ye.”
The men filed silently past Margaret, who gave them an openly curious look. Owen was the last one out. He paused and gave Margaret a slow smile. “I am Owen MacLean. At your service, lass.”
Margaret’s mouth dropped open, and for once, no words came out as she watched all of them leave.
Alasdair sighed, hoping he hadn’t brought the devil home to roost.
* * * * *
Shauna paced back and forth in front of the unlit hearth in the parlor—or rather, she stomped. The morning sunlight streaming in the east window did little to soften her angry face. Bridget considered trying to calm her sister down but decided it would be a futile effort. However, Joanna probably wouldn’t appreciate a flattened path in her carpet.
“Ye might stop wearing out the rug,” Bridget said. “Owen is nae here.”
“Why was he here in the first place?” Shauna halted, although her stormy look didn’t diminish. “Doona answer that. I ken he was shipwrecked and Alasdair had to take him somewhere, but I want to ken what that mon was doing in a boat in these parts to begin with.”
“Before Alasdair escorted them all to the public house this morning, Owen told him they had been headed to the isle of Eigg, but the storm caught them.”
“And what would they be wanting on Eigg?”
“To find out how much kelp production can be done there.”
“Kelp? Since when…och, I remember now.” Shauna sank into the chair opposite Bridget. “Cousin Shane talked to him about the demand for kelp and soda ash last spring. I thought they would be using Loch Shiel, nae coming this far west. Eigg belongs to MacDonalds.”
“It did,” Bridget said. “One of Owen’s men was quick to point out the MacDonalds on Eigg had been massacred by MacLeods.”
Shauna’s eyes narrowed. “’Tis just like a MacLean to stir up trouble over something that happened two hundred years ago. Did Owen think he could revive a feud between us and Robert’s brothers?”
“I doona ken. Luckily ’twas only Alasdair and the young lads at the table when it was said. Robert had already taken the others to work on the house.” Bridget smiled, thinking how Alasdair had coolly stared down the man who’d spoken.
“Is something funny?” Shauna’s voice still had an edge to it.
“Mayhap.” Bridget held up a hand to still her sister’s protest. “I was going to explain to the MacLeans that no one remembers what started the original feud, but it was MacDonalds who captured MacLeods, then set them adrift in the Minch with their hands bound, only Alasdair told the story before I could.” She smiled again. “I guess we both read the account Walter Scott wrote three years ago of finding the bones in the Cave of Frances that brought those stories back to life.”
“Owen must have read the same thing,” Shauna replied. “Only he wanted to use it to stir up trouble. Arrogant man.”
“Owen may have his faults—”
“He has too many to count,” Shauna said.
“Still, he is a good businessman.
Shauna frowned. “If ye count that he tried to buy me for his wife.”
“I think ye made it quite clear how ye felt about that.”
“Aye, but I probably went about it wrong.”
“Perhaps.” Bridget grinned at her sister. “But do ye remember the look on the faces of all those men—both MacLeans and MacDonalds—when ye announced it was nae a man’s right to decide who a woman should marry?”
A corner of Shauna’s mouth lifted. “Truth be told, I was more concerned with what Ian would do to me after that statement.”
“Ian may be our chieftain, but ye ken he would nae make ye marry a mon ye dinnae want.”
“I ken it now, but I would still rather nae have to deal with Owen. His pride was hurt. Who kens if he doesnae seek revenge?”
Bridget knit her brows in thought. Her sister could be right. Eigg was a good way west of MacLean lands, as Shauna had said. Was he really after kelp? “Well, at least he willnae be under Joanna’s roof any longer. The whole lot of them should nae be here but a few more days to salvage the boat.”
“A few days that will seem like an eternity,” Shauna said.
“Doona fash. Alasdair will keep them away from here.”
“Alasdair does nae need to get any more involved with my problems. Robert will protect me.”
“Ye are nae the only problem Alasdair is concerned about.”
“Nae? What then? Does he think Owen is here for another reason besides kelp?”
“I doona ken.” Bridget hesitated, wondering if she should go on. “Alasdair wants to be sure Owen has no contact with Margaret.”
“Margaret?”
“Aye. She looked a bit moonstruck last night, especially after Owen said he would be at her service.”
Shauna’s eyes widened. “I had nae noticed, upset as I was.”
“Margaret is young and impressionable,” Bridget said, “and Owen’s social skills were well-honed in London.”
“Ye must talk to Margaret.”
“I could try,” Bridget replied, “but something tells me the more we try to caution Margaret nae to do something, the more likely she is to plunder right in.”
“But we cannae just let her be taken in.” Shauna frowned. “I knew Owen would be trouble. The sooner he is gone the better.”
Bridget nodded. She suspected all of the MacDonalds would agree as well.
* * * * *
Alasdair joined the MacLeans and several other villagers on the shore later that morning. As much as he didn’t want to spend time away from Robert’s house to help the MacLeans, the sooner they salvaged the Alana—if it could be salvaged—the sooner they’d be on their way. He also wanted to see for himself what condition the vessel was in so no excuses could be made for prolonging the MacLeans’ stay.
He watched as several of the locals provided skiffs for the MacLeans to row out to where the Alana was aground in the now calm seas. Owen and his captain—the man who’d reminded everyone of the MacLeod-MacDonald troubles this morning—were in the first skiff. The captain had been rather clever to bring up that ancient feud. It had served as a red herring to defuse another feud that happened around the same time involving the MacLeans and MacDonalds and lasted seven years.
Distrust still remained since Scots, descendants of Viking and Celtic warriors, tended to keep defending their ancestors’ actions. Had Owen succeeded in creating an alliance with the MacLeods through marriage to Shauna, who knows what discord might have been revived.
For now, a shaky peace of sorts was in place. And he intended to keep it that way.
Villagers in a variety of rowboats, coracles and dinghies were already near the high side of the listing boat, throwing hooks to pull it upright. As Alasdair neared the vessel, he could see a gap in the hull near the bow, probably caused when the boat had bashed against the rocky breakwater. He rowed closer to where Owen and his captain were standing in their skiff, hands braced against the hull for balance, and discussing repairs. Two of the crew had gone on board while the other pair had taken their skiff around the stern and now joined Owen and the captain.
“The rudder is in good shape.” one of the sailors said.
A crew member looked over the rail. “The tiller is in one piece, but there’s water in the hold.”
The captain scowled at him. “Of course there is. We have a hole in the hull.”
Owen looked at Alasdair. “Do ye have the means to do the repairs here?”
Alasdair looked at the damage. None of the ribands that made up the basic frame of the boat appeared to be broken. Pieces of two clinkered planks had been torn off though. To do the repairs properly would require pulling off the entire planks and replacing them with fresh-cut oak that would need to be steamed and shaped to fit the hull, the seams filled with Oakum and then caulked. That could take weeks. Neither Robert nor Shauna would be happy about that, and Alasdair didn’t want Owen here long enough to give Margaret any ideas either.
“Loch Nevis, up the coast a wee bit by Mallaig, has a larger marina where proper repairs can be done,” Alasdair said. “I think once ye right the boat, the hole will be well above the water line. We could do temporary repairs to patch the gap with wood and pitch.”
“Will that hold well enough to get us to Eigg first?” Owen asked.
Obviously, MacLean was more businessman than seaman. “It could if the seas stay calm. I’d nae risk it if your crew cannae swim a few miles.”
Owen frowned and his captain cut in before he could make a decision. “A patch will get us to Loch Morar. We will stay close to shore just in case.”
“How long will the patch take?”
“Once the boat is righted, we can nail the patch in place, but we need to wait for the pitch to set and dry.” The captain shrugged. “A couple of days.”
Better than weeks. “We have extra pieces of wood from Robert’s repairs,” Alasdair said. “There should be something that will work.”
Owen didn’t look pleased, but he nodded.
Since there was nothing they could do until the villagers had the boat floating, they returned to shore. Isobel stood waiting on the steps of the marine office.
“Who is that?” Owen asked.
“Isobel Howard, the parson’s daughter,” Alasdair replied. He found himself reluctant to add that she was his betrothed, so he simply introduced them to each other when they reached the steps.
“I heard a ship wrecked last night,” Isobel said, looking at Owen. “Was it yours?”
“In a manner of speaking,” he replied. “I leased it out of Lochilort to sail over to Eigg, but the storm caught us.”
“Why ever would you want to go to that tiny island?” she asked.
“Kelp. It has become a very lucrative trade. I’m always looking for successful business opportunities.”
Isobel eyed him speculatively. “Are you an English businessman? Your accent sounds like you have spent time in London.”
Owen smiled at her. “Very astute, Miss Howard. I went to boarding school north of London and then clerked for Nathan Rothschild in the city. I came back recently to extend my father’s holdings near Glenfinnan.”
“So you intend to stay in these parts?”
“I will probably be spending most of my time in Glasgow, setting up shipments with a line there.”
“I absolutely love Glasgow,” Isobel said. “It is such a modern city.”
Alasdair gave Isobel a sideways glance. Was she interested in Owen MacLean? She certainly asked a lot of questions, and Owen was acting attentive. Perhaps he should encourage their conversation.
“I have to get over to Robert’s,” Alasdair said to Owen, “but you can wait inside the marine office until the boat is upright. Miss Howard sounds like she wants to hear more about Glasgow.”
Isobel narrowed her eyes slightly and then quickly changed her expression to a smile.
Owen cast a questioning look at Alasdair who managed to nod. “It does get a wee bit lonely out here for a city lass.”
Owen raised an eyebrow in interest as he looked down at Isobel. “You are from Glasgow?”
“Yes. I have some excellent social contacts there that might be of use to you.” Isobel showed a dimple. “If you have the time.”
He gave her a slow and easy smile. “I have the time.”
“I’ll be off then,” Alasdair said as he turned away, barely able to keep himself from grinning. If Owen MacLean took an interest in Isobel, he might prove useful after all.
* * * * *
Isobel watched Alasdair leave, not quite sure why he was being so agreeable. Perhaps he wanted her to find out more about Owen MacLean’s business aspects. They were rivals in a way, since they both were involved in the kelp industry. Maybe Owen had business contacts she could use—or more correctly, who would aid her in attaining a Parliament seat for Alasdair.
Or maybe Alasdair was trying to shunt her off on to Owen. She knew there were no warm feelings between herself and Alasdair. Not that it mattered. Her goal was to attain status for herself, as well as a townhouse in Mayfair, but to do that the stubborn man had to marry her.
She looked at Owen with renewed interest. She had met many men of his ilk…suave and sophisticated, smooth talking and sure of themselves, used to getting women into their beds.
Perhaps she should act the part of a besotted girl. The sooner she got herself with child, the sooner she could convince Alasdair the baby was his. Then there would be no question about marrying her. She looked around. The villagers—the ones who weren’t actively working on the boat, were standing along the shore gawking. Alasdair and his brothers would be working on Robert’s house. Now was as good a time as any to try out her plan.
Isobel linked her arm with Owen’s. “Instead of waiting here for the boat to be readied, would you like to take a walk in the hills?”