Chapter Seven

“Ye should take her back to Mull,” Callum said where he ate across from Adam in the great hall. “It was definitely a warning against women being on the isle. Grissell must have heard that we are settling the village and castle again, looking for wives.”

Adam glanced toward the stairs where Lark had gone after he’d walked her back from the village. She’d been above for two hours. “We are six strong Scotsman,” he said. “And yet we would let one insane old woman stop us from rebuilding our clan?”

“Damn, Adam,” Callum cursed and looked back down at his plate. “It was bloody creepy.”

“And she pulled up the floorboards of the church to find Wilyam Macquarie’s grave?” Beck asked. “How? It was built under the church so the witch couldn’t desecrate it. ’Tis consecrated ground.”

“We found other holes dug throughout the village,” Drostan said. “Like she was looking for him even though his marker was in the church.”

“How the hell could an old woman dig holes or get that thing tied up in the chapel?” Callum asked.

“Help from the Devil?” Eagan asked, but a slight grin made it more of a jest.

Callum’s brows rose. “’Tis a possibility. We should have a priest come here to bless the isle and village.”

Rabbie passed the sign of the cross before him. “We need to carry Grissell off this isle.”

“And what?” Adam asked. “Burn her to keep her from coming back?”

“If she is a witch,” Rabbie said. “We can find a witch hunter to check her.”

“They accuse and doom anyone who is different to the flames or water,” Adam said. “I will not rebuild our clan on the blood of an old woman.” He let his gaze slide to each of his brothers and Rabbie, looking for a challenge. Only Rabbie looked obstinate. “We will find out why and how Grissell did this then reason with her or exile her.”

Rabbie stared at the brothers. “Ye think ye can handle carrying one old woman off the isle?”

“Not if she poisons us with a touch or calls demons to carry us away,” Callum said and bit into a bannock.

Adam gathered some oat cakes and smoked fish onto a plate. He pushed back from the table.

“If ye are going up to Lark,” Beck said, “ask her if she knows how to bake tarts. I am getting bloody tired of bannocks.” Eagan, the one brother who had any sense in the kitchen, threw one of the bannocks across the table, smacking Beck in the forehead. It exploded into oat crumbs to pock his face and lodge in his hair.

History predicted a messy brawl would ensue. Adam walked toward the dark stairs. He didn’t know what he’d say to Lark. Certainly not, “Can you bake tarts?” But he needed to make sure her trembling had stopped. Damnit. Despite her slapping at him and poking him in the chest, she had been shaking like a sparrow who had been dropped by a cat. Did Lark worry that the poppet was meant to be her?

He paused before the chief’s door. Rap. Rap. “’Tis Adam.”

“I am well,” she said from inside.

“Can I enter? I have food and drink.”

“You can leave it outside the door, or you can enter if you also have answers to my questions.”

Releasing a full breath, he pushed the door inward. The muted sun from the windows made it light enough to see even without a fire. Lark stood at one, peering out through the wavy glass panes. She had taken a shallow bath and fixed her braid that had been snagged falling into the crypt. Dark water spots, where she’d scrubbed, marked her dress.

Lark turned to him, her face firm. A few fiery red curls framed her high cheekbones.

“I heard giggling right before I saw the cat in the chapel doorway,” she said, making him stop halfway across.

“Giggling? Laughter?” He still held the wooden plate of food.

“Yes, like a child. There was a banging sound, a shutter, I think. It was several cottages over. I convinced myself the laughter was the wind, but…” She walked to stop right before him. “Are there children on this isle?”

“None of which I am aware.”

She took the plate from him and set it on the bed, which was still the cleanest part of the room.

“Unless Grissell, the witch of Wolf Isle, can break through floorboards, dig holes, and hoist a heavy poppet into the rafters by herself, the crone has help,” she said. She picked up a dry bannock and bit off a piece, chewing. Swallowing, she set it down.

“Callum thinks she conjured help.”

“Satan would not bother to play with poppets.”

“Agreed,” he said. “I will be riding to her cottage on the south side of the isle to talk with her.”

“I am coming with you,” Lark said, dropping her arms. Her mouth was firm, her face determined as if ready to argue if he refused her request. But he would rather have her with him than leave her back at Gylin Castle by herself.

“Aye, perhaps she would be more willing to speak with a woman. The few times we have come across her, she has fled or chanted as if to throw a curse on us.”

“An act,” Lark said.

Adam shrugged. “Cursing the cursed seems unnecessary.”

Lark’s frown relaxed a bit. “I thought you said you do not believe in curses.”

“I believe people make curses real by believing in them.”

She nodded. Thank God she did not seem frightened. Aye, Lark was made of sterner stuff. “Ulva Isle needs strong lasses, and ye are very brave.”

She crossed her arms. “But not brave enough to try to swim across to Mull.”

Mo chreach.

“Am I trapped on this isle?” she asked when he said nothing. She studied his eyes as if to catch any lies.

“Nay,” he said.

“But the rowboat was hidden. Did you order that?”

“Nay.”

“Did you know about it?”

Damn. “Aye.”

“So, I am trapped on this isle.”

“Nay, but Lark, I ask that ye give the isle a chance to grow on ye. It has so much potential. But I need people to believe in her.”

“Her? Wolf Isle is a woman?”

“Nay,” he said and glanced around, noting how time and emptiness had saddened the place that used to be his parents’ bedroom. “The land is fertile, the fields bonny, the bounty plentiful. Aye, I suppose it is a woman.” He dropped his hands. “Life cannot flourish, and our clan cannot grow without a woman, Lark.”

Her voice was low although she met his eyes. “This is what should have been happening on the journey here.”

Did she mean instead of ravishing each other in the tent?

“Trust is the one thing I must have in a marriage. I told you that.”

He nodded. “I will not lie to ye, lass.”

She seemed to weigh his words. “You have said that there are no women on the isle but not why. Did Grissell scare them away with this curse?”

Adam walked to the hearth and looked up at the spot where his great-great-grandfather’s sword rested. One of his brothers must have hung it back up. It belonged to Adam now as chief, although there was not much honor in the blade.

“Three generations ago, our great-great-grandfather wooed a lass on the far side of the isle. When he wed a different woman to form an alliance with another clan, the lass hung herself. Her mother blamed our ancestor, Wilyam Macquarie.”

“The remains under the church floorboards?”

He turned to her, leaning against the mantel. “Aye. They were buried there so she could not desecrate his grave.”

“And Grissell is keeping the threat of a curse alive? Why?”

“She is the dead lass’s great-granddaughter.”

Lark shook her head. “How could she be if her great-grandmother killed herself?”

Adam rubbed at the back of his neck. “’Tis a gruesome story, Lark.”

“I doubt it is as gruesome as picking the dust of someone’s brittle bones out of my fingernails,” she answered, holding her hand up, the flats of her nails toward him. “How is Grissell a descendant of Wilyam Macquarie?”

“The sorrowful lass was pregnant, large with child, when Wilyam left her to wed another, and she hung herself. Her mother found her soon after. The lass was dead but not the child moving within her. The woman lowered her daughter down and cut the bairn from her still-warm body. She raised the wee lass to hate the Macquaries, the same with every generation since. As far as we know, Grissell is the last one. She has no offspring.”

“Unless they are hidden, running around and giggling while digging holes and hanging warnings about.”

“It is possible, but they would be grandchildren by now.”

Lark glanced up thinking. “So, Grissell has Macquarie blood within her. She is part of your clan.”

“She does not take our name even if the blood is there.”

He watched Lark nibble on her lip, the white edge of her teeth showing. “And the curse was against all women?” she asked. “It seems the grieving mother was punishing the wrong sex.”

“She wanted Wilyam Macquarie to suffer the loss of his wife and clan. ’Twas worse than death. The people believed the curse when Wilyam’s wife and daughter died in childbirth within the year. They began moving off isle. The Macquarie clan all but died out, intermarrying elsewhere. Even off Wolf Isle, lasses did not risk taking the Macquarie name in fear that the curse would follow them, killing any daughters born to them. It is possible that half the people on Mull are more Macquarie than Maclean.”

Lark bent to pick up a second bannock and a piece of salted fish. “Fear is powerful, making people act irrationally. Love and pain can do the same.” She shook her head. “Killing herself and almost her unborn child. There was more than sadness there. My mother cared for a woman once who lived with sorrow even when her life was far from desperate. It is an illness as deadly as consumption.”

Lark ran her hand lightly over the large bed’s coverlet as she walked toward the door of the room. “What will you do with Grissell when we find her?” Her eyes widened enough to show her concern. Did she think he would strike down an old woman?

“Exile if she will not listen to reason. Off the isle, and we would guard against her return,” he said and watched her blink, her shoulders relaxing. He stopped before her. “Ye do not know my character yet, but I do not judge and execute someone unless they are trying to kill me or my family.” Like the men from Captain Jandeau, whoever the devil he was.

She stepped out into the hall. “Will I ride my own horse?”

“I haven’t a mount for ye yet.”

She shrugged. “I have not ridden since I was small.” She stepped lightly down the turning staircase. “So…what is your favorite color, how old are you, and do you like having cats about?” She turned to look up at him as he followed.

Adam breathed deeply, his shoulders relaxing. “Blue, nearly a score and ten, and no.”

“Hmph,” she said, turning forward again. “That will have to change.”

“Very well,” he said. “Green.”

The light, brief chuckle he heard from her opened his chest and relaxed his tight mouth more than any cup of whisky. Such a small sound, but within it sat something so powerful. Hope.

…

Lark felt every shift and brush of Adam’s body behind her as they rode across the open field of spring grasses. Even though he’d slept elsewhere, he’d touched every part of her in her dreams, leaving her achy when she woke.

In her sheltered life, Lark had only ever known men to try to take things from her. A kiss, a fumbling touch, her hand in marriage. Adam had taken her away when she’d asked, and he’d given her a taste of passion that now tormented her. But he had kept so much from her.

Will you tell him your secret? Anna’s question twisted inside her. Lark’s past was a plague upon her. Adam had kept secrets, and so would she.

They entered another copse of trees. Except for the trees near Gylin, most of Ulva was grassland moors and rocky outcroppings with small clusters of oak, beech, and evergreens. “I see no other willow trees on Ulva,” she said, her words caught in the wind that shifted and swirled about them.

Adam let his horse wind among the tree trunks, his hands slowing its gait, letting his brothers ride farther ahead. “It is said that Wilyam’s grandfather brought the small willow tree from the mainland when he built Gylin. Wilyam’s father nurtured it, as did Wilyam. The long green foliage that the wind caught reminded the clan of the waves of the sea surrounding the isle. The Macquaries felt they were more of the sea than of earth. The tree reminded them of their freedom from the quarrels of France, Spain, England, and Scotland.”

“And then it was stabbed and died,” Lark said softly. She twisted in her seat to look at him. “Eagan said it cannot be cut down.”

His gaze raised over her head. “Wilyam tried to chop it down when his wife and daughter died, then many Macquaries after him. It became a right of the new chief to come over to Ulva and try to yank out the knife and rid the isle of the dead willow until my father forbade us from trying.”

“Why?” Lark couldn’t imagine Adam, with his huge biceps and strong back, not being able to chop down a dead tree.

His gaze met hers. “Each person who tried ended up not being able to father a single child, lad or lass. Our grandfather tried to chop it down when my father was five years old. He never had another child. Each time, the ax would pitch chunks of wood out from the cut, but the chopper could never reach the middle of the trunk or push it over. It is said that by morning, the cuts would be healed. Our father made us swear an oath not to touch the tree or dagger.”

“How much of that story is mere legend born of retellings and exaggeration?” she asked.

He shrugged his broad shoulders and met her gaze directly. “The tree is still standing even though it is a hated reminder of the fall of our clan. If it could be felled, it would have by now. Yet something keeps it standing in our bailey.”

“A curse you do not believe.” She watched the lowering of his brows. His eyes, in the light of day, were a deep gray color that looked almost green as they rode under the spring leaves. She could get lost staring into their stormy depths at the flecks of blue like tiny shards of blue glass.

“Nay, but I believe in my oaths to my father,” he said. “I will not touch the tree or dagger until I have a brood of children.” She watched him swallow, and he gazed back down at her. “I promised my father I would resurrect our clan here, and I will do what I must to see it happen.”

Lark turned forward again, her gaze following the movement of a hare through the grass. “Have you and your brothers fathered any bastards or would you consider that?” She held her breath as he brought his mighty bay to a stop inside the tree line, his brothers ahead halfway across the wide moor.

“Lark,” he said, his voice a low rumble. He waited, and she knew he would wait until she looked at him.

She turned and he held her gaze, a small ache of awareness growing in her middle as he spoke. “I have no bastards and will have none. I cannot.” The way he emphasized the last word strummed a chord of worry inside Lark.

“So you are trapped in this marriage if I choose not to have bairns,” she said. “Because I forced you to wed me at Glencoe.”

The horse began a slow walk as if they had all the time in the world to enjoy the spring afternoon. Adam’s brothers had completely disappeared up ahead.

“When I was a lad of five, I decided to live in a tree,” Adam said.

Apparently, he did not want to talk about her trapping him. “I thought you could not touch the tree,” she said.

“’Twas another tree on Mull. I was angry at my ma for making me apologize to my aunt for telling her she was a mean old woman.”

“Was she?” Lark asked.

“She still is and lives on Mull.” Lark heard him inhale. “I left home and climbed a tree. My da told me to come down. So did my ma. A storm came up, and even Beck climbed up to try to pull me down when our ma said I would be struck dead by lightning. The rain came, yet I remained in the tree for two days before I decided I wanted to come down.”

She glanced back at him. “Two full days? No food or water?”

“There was plenty of rainwater, and I had planned ahead to pack some bread and cheese, but pissing from the branches at night grew tiresome.”

She snorted softly. “You must have driven your mother to throw cabbages at you.”

“She almost did. Da said I had a determined streak that would see me living a long life. Ma thought I was a stubborn fool who would fall out of the tree and die at five years old.”

“What does this have to do with me forcing you to marry me?” Lark asked.

“My parents were both right. I am determined and stubborn, and no one can ever make me do something that I do not want to do.” She turned, and he met her gaze without blinking. “If I had not wanted to wed ye, I would have stolen ye away instead. So ye would not have to wed or take a nun’s vows.”

Her brows rose high. “With Fergus and Giles raising a party to go after you?”

“I am not afraid of jackanapes.” She watched his gaze move out across the meadow. “I would have seen ye away and set up where ye wished to go. Instead, I married ye.”

Her heart squeezed. “Why?”

His gaze dropped to her eyes, his eyebrow rising. The look bordered on seductive, and it increased the warmth growing in her middle. “I liked the way ye churned butter,” he said.

She thought back to how she plunged the cream, fast and hard, and a flush rose up her neck. He looked back out over her head. “But if ye wish to leave here, I will petition for an annulment. Despite the boat being hidden, ye are not trapped on Ulva.”

Not trapped? She’d been trapped her whole life. What did it feel like to have choices?

Callum called to them as his gray horse broke from the forest ahead. “There is smoke rising from one of the stone cottages on the edge of the south shore.”

“Grissell,” Lark said and leaned forward as Adam pressed his bay into a canter.

Adam slowed them to a walk when they reached his brothers before the cottage. He circled it once and stopped near the front door. The dwelling had a curved stone roof that made it look like a giant mushroom. The front door was rounded to match and remained shut as if trying to keep out the world. A large, well-tended garden sat off to one side where it would catch the southern sun. Flustered chickens hurried into the woods, flapping their useless wings. A milk cow and two sheep stood in pens, but there were no barns to be seen.

“I will talk to her,” Adam said.

“And have her spit, chant, and disappear again?” Lark said. “’Tis time to try something else.”

Adam dismounted and helped Lark down. “Grissell,” he called. “Come out to explain your actions against the Macquaries.” His voice was like thunder, full of power and vengeful promise.

Eventually, the door opened inward. A hunched woman with a long white braid over her shoulder walked out using a carved tree limb as a crutch. She definitely looked like a witch with her bent frame and weathered face. But it seemed she could barely lift herself, let alone a doll fashioned of rocks and peat.

The woman’s milky eyes fell on her. “Mighty brave, lass,” she said and smiled to show surprisingly intact teeth. “Coming to the cursed isle of wolves.”

“There are no wolves here.” Lark’s arm swept out toward the cow and sheep. “For your pens would do little to stop them from eating your animals.”

Adam stood beside Lark. “And there is not a curse on this isle. What there is, however, is a woman who continues to hold a grudge over wrongs committed over a century ago, wrongs that have nothing to do with the current Macquarie clan.”

The woman met Adam’s lethal frown with one of her own. Such bravery. She stood alone before five large Macquaries and one fit MacDougall without flinching as if she had weathered much worse.

“My great-grandmother’s curse stands,” she said. “Until Macquaries learn the truth about love.”

“Witch!” Rabbie yelled. She smiled wickedly in reply.

“What truth is that?” Lark asked. “There are many regarding love. Love is patient, love is kind, love gives instead of taking, love requires sacrifice and compromise and trust. I am certain there are more.” She felt the Macquaries looking at her, but she kept her gaze on Grissell. “Which truth must they learn?”

Even Grissell looked unsure for several heartbeats until her face relaxed into a toothy grin. “All of them for the curse to lift.”

Lark shook her head. “But how will you know if one is learned?”

“I do not lift the curse,” Grissell said. “It lifts itself when the payment is met.”

Lark let her arms go wide and looked around the clearing. “So this curse…it hovers around and watches us to see if one of these descendants learns all these truths?”

Grissell frowned and waved her one free hand. “I do not know how it works, but Macquaries will not have a strong clan again until these five, the great-great-grandsons of Wilyam Macquarie, learn all the truths about love.”

“We should make a list, then,” Lark said. “So they can cross them off once completed.” She looked at the brothers. “I suppose you will all need to find women, then, in which to fall in love.”

“To break the curse?” Rabbie asked, his voice stilted.

Lark nodded. “It seems the logical plan.” She pointed at Rabbie. “Lucky for you that you are a MacDougall.” The old man’s eyes blinked shut for a moment as if relief robbed him of his Scot’s strength.

Lark turned back to the woman. “The Macquaries want to build a strong clan but cannot with a curse scaring people away.” She flipped a hand toward the brothers. “Mistress Grissell says the curse will lift once all five of you learn about love, and it is not going to happen with just me on the isle. So yes, wives would be a start.” She frowned, glancing between each of the large brothers. “Unless any of you want to take the holy vows of a priest. Then your love would be only for God.” She looked back at Grissell. “It should exclude him, would it not?”

They all stared at Lark. Eagan cleared his throat. “I…I do not want to be a priest.”

“Nor I,” Callum said.

Drostan and Beck shook their heads, pinched expressions in place.

Lark smiled. “Then wives for all, and you, Mistress Grissell, will stop trying to frighten people away from Wolf Isle.” Lark looked at Adam. “Maybe you should stop calling it Wolf Isle.”

“I have done nothing to frighten anyone away,” Grissell said, her gaze steady as she met Lark’s.

Lark’s eyebrow rose. “You have not made a doll to look like a hanged woman? Or dug holes to find the bones of Wilyam Macquarie?”

Grissell lifted her chin. “I can barely tend my chickens or walk away from my bit of isle.”

“I would see inside your cottage,” Adam said.

Grissell turned to the side. “Do as ye wish.”

Lark followed Adam to the doorway. Small windows, with four panes each, were open, allowing in light under a freshly thatched roof. The cottage had a privacy screen, large bed, cooking hearth, and shelves of crocks and bunches of dried herbs. It looked like an apothecary shop or a witch’s kitchen.

Adam glanced under the bed and behind the screen but didn’t find anyone hiding.

“It is me, my animals, and my cats,” Grissell said.

Lark looked about but didn’t see any. “White cats?”

“Aye. I have two. They prowl about the isle on their own.”

“One was in the old village yesterday.”

“Likely Saint Joan. She has been moussing for days now,” Grissell said.

“You name your cats after saints?” Lark asked.

“So ye did not go to the village and hang a doll?” Adam asked at the same time. He looked too large in the one-room cottage.

Grissell ignored him. “My cats do not like people. I am surprised you are not scratched.”

“Answer the question,” Adam said.

“No, I did not go to the village. I am but an old woman, living alone. I do nothing to encourage the curse. It is up to ye and God and my ancestor to bring it to an end.” With her final words, Grissell pointed a finger, bent and bumpy, toward the door.

“Be warned, Mistress Grissell,” Adam said. “If ye do anything to endanger my wife or my clan, ye will be exiled from this isle.”

“Be warned, Chief Macquarie,” Grissell responded, “if ye and your brothers do not learn the lessons at which your ancestors failed, your people will completely die out. There will be no Macquaries left to bring sorrow on Eve’s women again. Respect your women. Bring no bastards onto the isle. Learn the power in love.”

The old woman’s words ticked away inside Lark. Bring no bastards. Grissell turned on her heel, her gaze going directly to Lark. Her cloudy eyes seemed to delve into her, seeking out the secrets Lark had tried to leave behind.

Lark caught Adam’s fisted hand, feeling dizzy. She tugged him to gain his attention. “Help me up onto the horse,” she whispered. What did she mean by bring no bastards onto the isle?

“Are ye well?” he asked.

She nodded. “I just… She has nothing more to say.” And Lark certainly had nothing to say. Curses were not real, and secrets should remain tucked away.

Adam led her over and cupped his hands for her to set her foot in, lifting her high to straddle the horse. Her legs were sore from her fall, but she kept her groan inside. He climbed on behind her, bringing the horse around as the old woman watched them leave. Weaving through the few trees behind his brothers to the shoreline, Adam rode along the rock-strewn beach where a half-broken dock jutted part way out into the sea.

Adam stopped, his brothers pulling even with them.

“There was no one in the house?” Beck asked. “Someone who could drag that wrapped poppet to the village?”

“Nay,” Adam said.

Lark looked back toward the cottage tucked into the woods. “Someone definitely lives with her.”

Adam nodded his agreement.

“Are ye certain?” Drostan asked, twisting in his seat to peer through the trees as if a person might show themselves.

Lark looked at Adam. “The bed is large. A woman living alone has no need for a privacy screen, and the jars on the top shelf were dusted. No cobwebs in the rafters, either. On a good day, Grissell might be able to reach those with a broom. But not to dust the jars without knocking them off.” Lark nodded.

“The thatching was fairly new, too,” Adam added.

“There is definitely another person on Wolf Isle,” Lark said, thinking back to the wind blowing through the abandoned village. “A person who giggles.”

“Giggles?” Drostan asked.

“Lark heard a laughing child before she found the hanging poppet,” Adam said, his face grim.

“A child?” Rabbie squawked. He turned in a circle as if trying to spy one.

Beck shook his head at the old man. “No need to panic.”

Lark watched their faces, all of them pinched with worry. Even Adam looked grim. “If there is a child, I would hardly think there is need to panic,” Lark said. How could such large warriors be worried over a child playing pranks?

“Grissell has never wed,” Callum said.

“The child could be without wedded parents,” Drostan said.

She swallowed. “And what does that matter?” Her voice sounded small before the men staring at her.

“A bastard cannot be on the isle,” Rabbie said, his hands moving wildly with each word. “’Tis part of the curse.”

Lark looked back toward where the cottage was hidden in the trees. “But Grissell was probably born out of wedlock.”

“Another reason to exile the witch,” Eagan said.

“’Tis her ancestor who cast the curse,” Adam said, shaking his head. “I think Grissell is exempt. But we guard against other bastards coming onto the isle and will not bring one into the world ourselves.” All four younger brothers shook their heads in unison. The comicalness of it would have made Lark laugh if she had not lost all her breath.

“Aye,” Rabbie said. “If we are to save this clan and make this isle our home, no bastards are allowed. Damned from birth for the sins of their parents.” He shook his head, making his wild hair stick out even more.

Sparks started to appear in Lark’s periphery, and she made herself inhale. “No bastards,” she repeated, her whisper hardly heard. Even left a hundred miles away, her secret had followed her with tenacious cruelty.