Chapter Five

Lark stood in the center of the filthy bedchamber. Her eyes trailed along a dusty tapestry hung haphazardly on the far wall that was so full of dust and soot, she couldn’t see the stitched depiction. An enormous bed jutted out from the wall with the door. Curtains, which probably contained a century’s worth of dust, surrounded it.

If she slept in it after her bath, she’d need another in the morning. She was no pampered lady unused to toil, but the Montgomerie House, which she had run, was spotlessly clean. Comparatively, this was a decaying grave of a dwelling. Could spirits of dead Macquaries watch, despising her for intruding? She looked up and released her breath. At least there was a ceiling of timber eves without dripping holes or birds.

Adam said nothing more, as per his usual. Lark’s face tightened, her gaze landing on him. “No one else lives on this isle,” she repeated from downstairs. “No other Macquaries or MacDougalls? No castle cook or maid or blacksmith or priest. And no women? At all?”

Lark kept her voice even, tamping down her temper with the last of her strength, and walked over to Adam. She stopped in front of him, tipping her head back to meet his eyes. “At all?” she repeated. She waved her hand. “Not including the old woman your brothers have labeled a witch.”

His lips pinched together. “Not currently.”

She inhaled the dust-heavy air and glanced around the catastrophe of the room. Anger, disappointment, and something that felt like betrayal rolled around inside her. “How long has the isle been abandoned?”

Adam cupped the back of his neck. “The castle…a score and four years. The village…for the most part, a century or more. The town was abandoned because of superstitions, forcing the Macquaries to live on Mull under the hospitality of the Macleans.” His words came slow. When silence stretched out, he dropped his arms by his sides and continued. “Many Macquaries married into the Maclean clan, leaving only a few of us left. My father was the last chief. He tried to retake the isle two decades ago. We lived on it for a few years, but then my mother died birthing Eagan. Da moved us back to Mull because my aunt convinced him it was unsafe for his sons.”

Lark looked toward the once grand bed. Did his mother die in it? Had anyone cleaned away the birthing or had they all packed up and left that day? She shivered at the thought.

Adam cleared his throat. “Slowly my father’s desire to re-strengthen the Macquarie clan grew stronger than his grief for his wife and worry about us. He raised the five of us to one day come back here, to rebuild.” His words grew firmer.

“Rabbie MacDougall was his friend and stayed on with us when Da died last winter. The five of us swore to bring the isle back to life when we buried Da here, so we began as soon as the snow melted.”

Lark watched the lines of shadow across Adam’s face. He looked…tired. For several long seconds, silence sat between them as her numb mind pieced the bits she’d learned together into a picture. “And you went in search of a wife,” she whispered. “Like you said at the festival.”

“’Tis time for Wolf Isle to be re-established and the Macquarie clan to grow in number and strength again,” Adam said, his hands fisting against his kilted thighs. Determination hardened his face, cut by shadows and firelight from the lamp.

“So…you got yourself a woman.” Her gaze slid to a large armoire. If she opened it, would his mother’s old clothes still be in there undisturbed from the night she died? Did her spirit haunt the castle? Cold slid up Lark’s spine, and she turned in a tight circle, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Not just any woman,” Adam said, making her gaze stop on him. “A woman with strength, an instinct for family, someone who can help build a home.”

“You know nothing about me.” How could he when he’d only met her three and a half days ago?

He took a step closer, and she braced herself not to back up. “Ye bravely handled the bandits,” he said. “Ye took care of four sisters after your mother died, and ye ran her home. That all speaks to your abilities and talents, lass.” He stopped before her. “And the rest I will learn in time.”

Oh, Anna! She missed her and her little sisters even more in the shadow of such disappointment. Lark looked up, meeting his gaze. “And what have I learned about you, Adam, over these two days of silence?” she asked, trying to keep her words firm and strong.

“I have brought the tub,” Callum said with a grunt, but Lark held Adam’s gaze.

Behind him, his brother pushed an animal trough in through the bedchamber door. Callum set it before the hearth and strode over to where they still stared at each other. He stopped to look between them. “Well…I will leave ye two to keep looking at each other like there may be a murder tonight.” He dipped down slightly, his gaze shifting between them. “Adam, from what I see,” he whispered, “your bride is winning.”

“Get out,” Adam said, breaking the stare to glare at Callum.

“We have the water,” Drostan said as he, Eagan, and Beck marched in with three large buckets of water.

Lark turned to the tub. It looked damp from what she hoped was a fresh scrubbing.

“There is a heating cauldron in the trough,” Callum called. “Come on.” He waved his brothers to follow him out, the floor creaking with each step. “Let us leave the newly-married couple to themselves.” The door shut behind the last of them, and Lark could hear them stomping down the stairs.

Did they think this was humorous? This trickery to bring a woman to the isle?

You demanded that he marry you. She closed her eyes on the painful truth. Her head dipped, and she let her face rest in her hands, letting out an audible sigh.

Adam strode over to crouch before the hearth, and she turned her face to watch him. His shoulders were broad, the muscles in his biceps pressing against the confines of the rain-dampened tunic he wore. Even performing a menial task of starting a fire, the man was brawny. Her cheeks warmed as she remembered the way they had touched each other the night before. Would being stranded with no one but him be all that bad? Right then, exhausted and angry, she could not decide.

It took him long minutes to get the damp peat started, but he didn’t curse, just kept working until he had results. Adam stood, turning toward her, the growing fire behind him casting him in darkness. “It should heat the room and the water.”

She walked toward him to reach the fire and held her hands out to the growing flames. “Adam?”

“Aye?”

“Where will you be sleeping?” she asked, turning to look at him across the room.

The light cast him in dim gold. He looked pained as he met her gaze. “I hope one thing ye have learned about me, Lark, is that I will not touch ye unless ye wish it.”

She met his gaze. “You could have warned me, Adam. On the ride…while we ate at the fire…before you…before we kissed in the tent.”

He knocked his fists together, one on top of the other. “Rabbie thought it best not to tell ye anything more in case that made ye run away from us on the journey here.”

“And you thought listening to Rabbie was the wisest course of action?” she asked, her voice rising despite her wish to remain calm and uncaring.

“Nay,” he said and dropped his hands. His gaze penetrated her own. “Do ye… Will ye leave here now that ye know? Seek an annulment?”

Leave there? How exactly could she? “I am surrounded by water.” She flung her hand out toward the dark window flanked by heavy curtain. “Where would I go?”

“If ye wish, I will take ye back to your father,” he said.

Her heart sped, and she swallowed against the terror wedging itself into her throat. She would never return to Roylin’s house. And her neighbors would not take her in after what he had spouted while drunk. They would say that Adam had turned her out. That she’d begged him to wed her, and then he’d turned her away when he discovered her past.

Adam’s face was grim. Could she ask him to help her find a safe place to live on her own? Even prostitutes live in houses with other ladies. No Montgomerie lass is living alone. Roylin’s words twisted inside her.

“I could speak with Tor Maclean about finding ye a place at a cloister, or perhaps my aunt could take ye in,” he said. They stared at one another, Adam waiting for her next words and Lark waiting to figure out what they should be.

She had said she was used to hard work, vowed to be his wife until death, and begged him to marry her. She drew a deep breath. “I will stay until I can figure out what to do.” And see how big an omission Adam had made.

Rap. Rap. They both turned to the door, which slowly opened. “Lark?” It was Beck. His gaze went from her to the tub, touching briefly on Adam. “Callum forgot to ask…”

“Any of you could have asked,” came a voice from behind.

“She and Adam were having a conversation,” said another.

“They were not even talking when I walked in.” It sounded like Eagan.

“It was a silent, staring, frowning conversation.”

“Ye see,” Beck said, raising his voice over the others in the hall. “We would…I mean, we usually take a bath in the order oldest to youngest. Of course, ye can go first. Not that we think ye are older than Adam,” he finished quickly.

“Not that Adam is old,” one of the brothers called. “He is the perfect age for a husband.”

Lark saw Adam’s eyes go to the ceiling like he was beseeching help from the angels. The brothers, her brothers now, thought to use the bath like her sisters did, one at a time to wash in the same water. The difference here, though, was that instead of her bathing last because of her servant status in Roylin’s house, she was afforded warm, unmuddied water.

She sighed and glanced at the rafters above. No angels sat amongst the cobwebs.

…

Whoever said things looked better in the morning had never visited Wolf Isle. Lark finished plaiting her still-damp hair as she looked out at the heavy clouds over the white-capped ocean.

The wavy glass panes in the window kept out the wind and rain but not the feeling of isolation and imprisonment. She was on an isle, surrounded by angry sea, trapped with six men. “And one witch,” she whispered. Restless sleep in a room, in the very same bed, where a woman had died, made the weight of the morning feel even greater.

She rubbed her hands down her face. I can laugh or I can weep. “Or I can stab someone,” she said to the empty room. With the dawn, she’d crawled from the heavy blankets. They were relatively clean considering the twenty-five years of neglect coating the rest of the chamber. And there had been no evidence of birthing, thank the good Lord.

She walked to the hearth that she’d stirred back to life and ran a finger along the intricately carved mantel. The line through the dust revealed a deep, polished oak with vines and flowers carved within it. She sighed. “What beauty lies beneath all this dirt?”

Her gaze drifted about the room. With the increasing light of morning, she picked out more carvings: along the bedposts, the headboard, a heavy trunk made of beech wood, and the wardrobe.

Lark dodged the tub where her brothers had bathed after her while she waited on the steps, the water now a cold, murky pool to be emptied. Stopping before the wardrobe, she tugged the worn knobs, and the hinges creaked with misuse. Several gowns hung there, likely Adam’s mother’s. She could alter one to use. Lark had hemmed and cinched her own mother’s gowns for her sisters.

But the item that brought a smile to her face, the first one since setting foot on Ulva, was a pair of boots tucked in the corner. Pulling them out, she examined the well-worked, soft leather. She hurried to sit on the bed, shaking them upside down first to make sure nothing lived within them, and forced them onto her stockinged feet. They were only a little snug and would stretch with further wear.

Laced up, she stood and grabbed her shawl. “Best to see how bad it is,” she said. Despite the dread that had enveloped her in her exhaustion last night, she was curious. An abandoned village? What treasures might lie in it like the carvings under the dust of the mantel? Even if her marriage sat on the shifting ground of omission, she could forge ahead to find answers for herself. Her mother had taught her to go undaunted into life, making the most of what she had and striving for happiness despite the ugliness around her.

The turning stairwell was dark with only a few window slits around every second turn. They were open to the outside, letting in the dank coolness of morning. She would inspect the situation today. Then what? Adam had offered to take her to Mull. She could ask for an annulment. Could she buy a cow and make butter to sell? What other talents did she have? Reading, writing, and taking care of children. Did Mull need a teacher? Would they let her live alone unharassed?

Letting a deep breath out in a whoosh, she entered the great hall but found it empty. Pallets were stacked along one wall. “At least they are not still abed.” She walked around the room, inspecting the two tapestries that clung to the stone walls like exhausted prisoners chained there. Take outside and beat. Her gaze shot into the hearth as a list started to form in her head. Sweep and fix the grate and spit. She straightened, her gaze going to the cobwebs in the chandeliers and in each of the wells around the windows. Cut through and paned, that sat way up high. Dust and sweep everywhere. Hands on her hips, she turned slowly, her gaze dropping to the entryway at the far end. Her inhale stopped.

Adam stood there, watching her. “Have ye eaten?”

“No.” It was then she noticed that there were two oat bannocks on a plate set on the table, and the dirty dishes from the night before had been removed.

He indicated a cup next to the plate. “The milk is fresh. Eagan traded for a milk cow while I was gone.”

I can make butter. The thought was a mere whisper against the tether of Adam’s gaze.

“Did ye sleep well?” he asked, pushing off the wall where he’d been leaning to walk to the table. “The bedding should have been fresh.”

“Yes,” she said, keeping her spot near the blackened hearth. She was definitely not telling him how she kept the covers over her head and listened for spirits.

“I will send my brothers up to empty the bathing trough, but we have no servants to see to the privy pot and washstand.”

“I have never had servants, something I think you likely deduced by meeting my family at the festival,” she said. “’Twas what you were searching for, was it not? A woman who could work hard for you without complaint or lofty expectations?” Lord, she sounded like a shrew.

Adam picked up the plate and cup and walked it over, stopping before her. “Ye chose me.”

Heat surged up Lark’s neck into her cheeks as her anger erupted. “To escape. Yes, I was desperate and foolish in gambling to win my freedom when in fact…” She spun around, her arms wide to indicate the room. “I have landed in prison anyway.” Her voice had risen until the birds overhead were startled enough to fly and flap. You chose me.

She caught her face in her hands, a hollow feeling inside at her own selfish-sounding tirade. Taking a deep inhale, she turned around and froze. The look on Adam’s face… It was as if he’d transformed into the granite that surrounded them, hard and severe, yet there was something like pain in the tightness of his eyes that made her chest feel hollow. A movement at the edge of her gaze made her glance to the archway where Beck, Callum, and Drostan stood. How much had they heard?

Her gaze returned to her husband. “Adam…”

He set the plate and cup on the floor at his feet since there was no table nearby, pivoted on his heel, and walked to where his brothers waited awkwardly.

Beck nodded to him. “We need help setting the window in the tower room, but the roof is nearly finished.” His voice was solemn, devoid of his usual cheerfulness. Blast it.

Lark felt her shoulders sag, and she exhaled. As the Macquaries turned away, disappearing into the darkness of the arch, she sunk to the floor, crouching on her heels to pick up the plate and cup. But she stayed there, bowing her head as she held them.

He should have said something on the way here.

…

“Thank the good Lord she picked ye,” Beck said after the four of them finished climbing silently to the hall above.

“At least she is not weeping,” Callum said. “I never know what to do when a lass weeps.”

Drostan plopped his hand on Adam’s shoulder and shook his head. “I do not see any bairns coming along soon.”

“Hold your tongues,” Adam said, his voice low in warning. “None of this is your concern.”

“I suppose it is if we want to repopulate the isle,” Callum said with a grin. He was asking for a fist in his bloody smile.

Drostan removed his hand and nodded to Beck. “I guess ye better be finding a wife soon then.”

Beck frowned. “No need to tie ourselves to wives in order of oldest just because Adam fell into the trap. I may start sailing with Cullen MacDonald.”

“’Tis a bonnie trap, though,” Eagan said, glancing behind him as if he wished Lark stood there.

“Enough,” Adam said, going over to grab one side of the window frame.

“I suppose if ye have not consummated the union yet, one of us could woo her,” Callum said, his foolish smile tipping Adam over the edge. He nearly dropped the window, its iron frame banging on the floorboards. In two strides he had his fist under Callum’s chin as he rammed him backward into the plastered wall.

“No one is trying to woo Lark. She is my wife. If ye so much as wink—”

“Fok, Adam, I was jesting,” Callum said. His wide eyes narrowed. “It takes more than a jest to make our serious chief-brother lose control of himself.”

Adam pushed a little harder and dropped his fist. He glared at Callum, the biggest rogue of the family. “So much as a wink,” he said, leaving the consequence off.

Adam walked back to the window, the muscles in his back stiff. “That goes for all of ye.” He ignored the looks shooting between his brothers. Let them think what they wanted, but Lark was not someone they should notice as anything other than a sister. Unfortunately, she was unavailable to him as well. Bloody hell.