Chapter Eight

“All of you stand still,” Lark said as she inspected Adam’s brothers.

They wore clean shirts and crisp wrapped plaids about their hips with swords polished and snug in their scabbards. They looked like a small military force ready for parade before the queen. “Hands out,” she said, and one by one, they put out their hands, palms down.

“Lasses will not be looking at my fingernails,” Beck said with a wicked grin. “Not with all this.” He puffed up his chest.

Callum snorted. Adam stood apart from his brothers, looking deliciously impressive in his kilt, the end of the long length of wool sashed over his broad shoulder to cross his chest. A circle of twisted silver pinned the sash in place. The Macquarie brothers were handsome in a raw type of way, but Adam, with his serious intensity, was by far the one who would attract the most lasses if he were still unwed.

Unwed. Lark tamped down the wild thoughts that had plagued her since their trip to see Grissell three days before. She hadn’t invited Adam into the bed in the now clean chief’s room, at least not in the flesh. But he stroked her thoroughly in her extremely vivid dreams.

They’d all been busy scrubbing Gylin castle, and she had climbed the stairs exhausted and alone even though she’d felt his gaze, as if he waited to see which way her favor swayed. And with each day they worked side by side, righting the tapestries and washing the beauty back into the castle’s carvings, she swayed more and more toward him. But if she laid with him, consummated their marriage, would she be thoroughly trapping him in it? Trapping him and destroying his chance to rebuild his clan?

I will tell him after the Maclean wedding today. What exactly? That she wanted an annulment? That she would bring down the curse on his isle?

“Are we presentable?” Eagan asked, his light-colored hair shorn so it stayed out of his eyes.

Lark blinked, forcing a steady inhale. “One last check,” she said and walked along the line, checking their hands and shirts for dirt. “We are not going to a festival but a wedding. Cleanliness is important, and if you want to find wives, you do not want anything to frighten them off.”

Like a secret that could destroy their lives. I do not believe in curses. Adam’s words seemed so distant now.

Drostan huffed softly. “If the curse does not keep them away, I doubt a bit of dirt will.”

Lark held up a finger. “If anyone mentions the curse, you smile and make light of it, saying that you have seen no signs of darkness on Ulva.”

“So…trick the lasses?” Callum asked, his brows high. “I would think being a lass who was tricked into wedding our big brother, ye would not condone something of the sort.”

“A swollen lip or black eye will also keep the lasses away,” Adam said, his legs braced and arms crossed. The Macquaries, without a mother about, had grown into a rough and tumble sort of family. It was different from dealing with her squabbling sisters, but overall, siblings aimed to hit each other in the most sensitive area.

“Blacken his eye after the wedding. They are finally clean and dressed,” she said as if they were recently breeched lads. She turned her gaze on Callum. “Complete honesty about the perceived curse must be revealed before any wedding can take place, but at the start, ’tis best to let the ladies find they like you.”

Her gaze moved to each brother. “So no fighting or talking about hanging poppets and undug graves, or there will be no more tarts like the ones you sampled this morn. Understood?”

“Lord help me, I would sell my soul to Satan for a lifetime of your tarts,” Beck said, his easy smile wicked.

“Then you should stand near the dessert table at the celebration and find out which lady baked your favorites,” she said.

“Clever,” Drostan said, nodding in approval. “I will watch the lasses dance. The ones who laugh have a happy disposition.” Happy disposition? Of all the brothers, he frowned the most, his greenish eyes a soulful mix of sadness and discontent.

“A kiss is all I need from a lass to choose one for a wife,” Callum said with a broad smile through his neatly trimmed beard.

Lark exhaled. “God help us.”

Rabbie chuckled. “Glad I ain’t needing a wife.”

Lark turned to the elderly warrior. “You need to remind them to behave or else this isle will never prosper, curse or not. I would not let my daughter wed into a family of fools.”

Lark felt Adam walk up beside her, and her heart beat fast as she inhaled his fresh scent that reminded her of the open sea and wild moors. He presented his arm, and she lay her hand upon it. “Ye look quite bonnie,” he said near her ear. She was wearing one of his mother’s gowns made of fine, thin wool in the same red and green plaid from which their kilts were made. For good or for bad, they would certainly stand out as Macquaries.

“The tarts,” Lark said, and Adam grabbed the large basket she had packed with the raspberry, honey, and blaeberry tarts, which she’d been baking over the last two days. “It is heavy,” she said and then realized how ridiculous that sounded. She’d seen him training that morning with his brothers before they all went to wash in the freshwater pond east of the village. Adam had muscles that mounded and stretched like a legendary warrior. What would it be like to touch that strength? To feel that strength touch her?

“I will take care,” he said, the edge of humor in his voice. His bicep mounded through the crisp white tunic he wore as he easily lifted it with one hand. The obvious strength made her breathless, and she looked away. I will tell him on Mull. Then he could decide if he wanted an annulment before she did something foolish.

His brothers strode ahead, disappearing through the door in the wall, which Adam had fit with an iron lock. With the portcullis down and the door locked, only Grissell’s white cat, who continued to keep close to the castle, could climb in and out of Gylin while they were away.

“You say your aunt on Mull has the family Bible where the curse is written,” Lark said, avoiding a puddle from the night’s rain.

“Aye.”

“I would like to see it. Sometimes handed down information becomes skewed and misinterpreted. Not that I believe the curse,” she said as lightly as she could, “but your brothers and definitely Rabbie do.”

“Aunt Ida will probably come to the wedding,” Adam said, studying her. “I will ask.”

Thank goodness she could read. Never before had she needed to read something so urgently.

…

The ceremony was short and the celebration loud with smiles abounding. Even with the presence of the MacLeod Clan, who were related to the groom marrying Liam’s sister, Adam remained lighthearted. ’Twas true Lark had not invited him to her bed, but she had not insisted on an annulment, either.

Adam led Lark over to the table where her tarts were being devoured and Callum was tasting and complementing every bonnie baker. Chief Tor Maclean and his wife Lady Ava stood to one side, chatting with their daughter, Meg Maclean, who was of marriable age. She had beauty and wisdom from both her father and mother. But would the chief let his daughter marry into a family considered cursed?

Meg hurried off when the bride waved to her, and Adam came before them. “Chief, Lady Ava, this is my wife, Lark Montgomerie Macquarie.”

Ava reached both hands out to take Lark’s, smiling with genuine warmth. “So nice to meet the woman who captured the chief of the Macquaries.” Even after twenty years in Scotland, Lady Ava still possessed an English accent, but Lark smiled back warmly and bobbed her head in greeting.

“You have a lovely home here,” Lark said. “And such a prospering town.”

Tor snorted. “As long as the damn English keep to themselves.”

Ava frowned his way. “That is no way to talk at a wedding.”

“I completely understand,” Lark rushed to say. “King Henry will not be cowed by our hatred. It seems to make him push even more for the Queen Mary to unite with his son, Edward. Scotland must band together to meet the English threat.”

Tor’s eyebrow rose as he considered her. “I agree.” He looked to Adam. “A wife who is bonnie as well as intelligent.” He nodded and put his arm around his own wife’s shoulders. “It is a blessing and keeps things from ever being dull.” He kissed his wife’s head.

Ava smiled up at him and then reached out to catch Lark’s arm. “I am certain we will be close friends. Here, let me introduce you to my sister, Grace. Do not mind the ferocious look of her husband. Keir growls but will not bite. Unless they threaten Grace. Oh, and Adam’s aunt, Ida Macquarie, is over there,” Ava said and leaned in conspiratorially. “Now that lady might bite.”

Adam watched Lark walk away. The gentle swing of her hips in the Macquarie plaid was like a beacon, drawing his gaze. Her wavy, red-gold hair dipped and curved down her back from the ribbons where she tied some up on top.

“Once ye finish ogling your wife,” Tor said, “I need to talk with ye.”

Adam turned in time to see Tor’s smile fade. “What about?” Did the chief of the Macleans have an issue with him moving his clan back to Ulva? The Macleans had used the isle for grazing their sheep before, but otherwise, they had left it alone.

“Cullen Duffie spotted a ship without colors sailing toward Ulva a few weeks ago. He thinks it is the same ship that he has seen numerous times over the last six months. I sent a group of my men to my southeast shore, and they’ve seen the ship sailing toward Ulva’s southern shore, close enough for a landing party to row over.”

Adam’s forehead tightened. “I have not seen the ship, but several of our sheep have gone missing. Perhaps they are pirates.” For if they sailed without flags or colors, they represented only their own affairs.

“Ye have not seen anyone else on Ulva?” Tor asked, his frown as grim as Adam’s. “Perhaps French? They seek a base to attack England.” Henry VIII’s son Edward was next in line to rule England. Even though Scotland’s Queen Mary was only five years old, the English king was determined to see her wed to Edward, unifying Scotland and England into one country. But Mary’s mother, Mary de Guise, was French and preferred her daughter marry the French king’s son, Francis. King Henry had declared war on the Scots, sending troops into their country to force Mary Queen of Scots’ regent into signing the wedding contract.

Adam shook his head. “Grissell is the only one living on Ulva. Although we think someone lives with her, helping her.”

Tor’s mouth quirked to the side. “I doubt the woman would house French pirates.” His gaze slid across some of his warriors walking down by the docks below the hill. “I can send some men back with ye to protect Ulva.”

The word “protect” grated on Adam’s pride. For generations, his family had sought protection from the Macleans of Mull when the Macquaries had fled Ulva in the wake of the curse.

“I appreciate the offer,” Adam said thoughtfully. “I will send word immediately to Mull if they come ashore with evil intent. But I think my brothers and I can handle it.”

Tor smiled and gave a nod. “I thought ye would say as much. Ye are a strong chief, Adam Macquarie. Yer father would be very proud of the work ye are doing to bring back your clan.”

“Thank ye,” Adam said. The Maclean chief was wise and strong, even as he aged. No wonder his people were loyal to the last breath. “I have grown up with a good example to follow.” He obviously meant Tor Maclean. Even though he loved his da, John Macquarie had given up on the clan when his wife died on Ulva. He had given into Aunt Ida’s demands that he bring his sons back to Mull, certain that the curse had stolen her sister’s life.

Adam watched Cullen Duffie, chief of Clan MacDonald on the neighboring isle of Islay, walk up, his easy smile absent. He nodded to them both. “Ye told him about the ship?”

“Aye,” Tor said. “He has not seen anyone, but some of his sheep are missing.”

Adam exhaled long, realizing he hadn’t told Tor everything. “And…someone made a doll to look like a woman and hung it from a noose over the dug-up bones of the original Macquarie chief that brought the curse to Ulva.”

Both chiefs turned to look at him, their bearded jaws dropping open. Cullen’s eyes opened wide. “Well now. Ye may not want to tell any of the marriageable lasses, whom your brothers are circling, about that.”

“And my Meg is not marrying one of them,” Tor added, his thick arms crossing his chest as he looked past Adam to where his daughter spoke with Lark and his wife.

Cullen frowned. “And neither is my sweet bairn, Camilla.” His gaze moved to his own bonnie daughter, who had inherited her mother’s French beauty. Ava was introducing Lark to her, and Beck sidled up to them as he chewed a tart.

“Excuse me,” Cullen said and strode directly toward them, a da bent on chasing off a suitor from a cursed isle. Adam exhaled.

“Ye did not mention that part earlier,” Tor said. “Sounds like ye do need assistance over there.”

“I think it was Grissell trying to frighten us, with the help of whomever is living with her. Curses are not real.”

“They are if people believe in them,” Tor said.

Hadn’t he said the same? Adam gazed off toward the west where his isle sat, lonely and waiting to be filled again with life. “Good thing I do not.”