Chapter Fifteen

Adam turned at the sound of pebbles crunching outside the gate. Liam and Beck walked up to Gylin Castle from the shore.

“Damn, Adam,” Beck said, his face hard as stone. “Liam told me what Lowder said. Are we headed down to find that arse and cut his tongue out?”

“Which one? Lowder or Montgomerie?” Adam asked, crossing his arms. His gaze slid to the castle where Lark, Ava, and Meg had retreated. His respect for the lady of Aros Castle had increased ten-fold when she’d hugged Lark, whispering to her until Lark’s shoulders relaxed. What she said was between them, but he was grateful for whatever it was. He knew Ava had endured a difficult past in England. Some even whispered that she was born out of wedlock.

“Montgomerie,” Liam answered. “Father Lowder will keep his words to himself. He rowed off in the second dinghy we used to cross over from Mull.”

Beck pointed at the mist swirling in, leaving a hazy look to the trees. “He may have to pray his way across. I do not think it safe for Ava, Meg, and their men to row back tonight.”

“But, Adam,” Liam said, coming closer, “in the morning, I think ye need to come off Wolf Isle. At least for Lark’s sake. She will feel worse if things go poorly here. Ye said yourself that ye never truly supported the clan’s return here.”

“That was before I swore to see it done,” Adam murmured. “I will see my clan strong again.” He looked to Liam. “Here on Wolf Isle.”

“But Lark’s taint—”

“Shut your foking mouth, Liam,” Beck said. “If anything goes wrong, it will have nothing to do with Lark.”

Liam swore beneath his breath, jerking on his short beard, and strode off, passing Ava Maclean as she walked out of the keep. “A word, Chief Macquarie,” she said, her hands clasped.

“How is she?” Adam asked.

“Lark is doing better. She is sitting with Elspeth.” She shook her head. “I would never trust that priest with a confession. If anyone is going to stain this isle with sin, it would be someone like him.”

“He is rowing back to Mull.” Adam crossed his arms.

“He likely feared for his life,” she said. “I will let Tor know he is not welcome when we travel back.” Ava stared outward toward the water. “Likely tomorrow with that fog rolling in.” She turned back to Adam. “Lark is worried that she will prevent you from accomplishing your mission to rebuild your clan here. That is your mission, is it not?”

“I swore to my father I would see it done.”

“Is that the only reason? Because you swore to resettle Ulva to a dying man?” she asked.

Adam looked over her head toward the dead willow. Somehow it did not look so intimidating. He would build up his clan around it. “My brothers and I have never had a true home, despite the hospitality of Clan Maclean. Ulva will be that home.”

Ava touched his arm. “Dirt and stone do not make a home.” She looked up with troubled eyes. “I lived in England on a grand estate, but it was not my home. I did not have one until I came to Aros and Tor, and I fell in love. A home must have freedom, peace, and safety. But above all, a home is filled with love.” She tilted her head slightly. “It is not a place on a map but a feeling.”

His mind turned inward, remembering his mother laughing here when he was a boy. They’d dashed together around the bailey while Beck followed and Callum and Drostan toddled after them. Gylin had felt like a home then, even with the dead willow in the middle.

The doors of the keep flew open, and Rabbie rushed out, arms pumping. “Ye need to get her off Ulva,” he blurted out, his eyes wild. “The curse will keep growing with a bastard on it, especially one with a tainted past.”

The anger Adam had managed to stomp down rushed up within him again. He clenched his fists to keep from grabbing the man by the throat. “Neither of which is any fault of Lark’s.”

“Does not matter,” Rabbie threw back. Behind him, his three other brothers and Liam seemed to tumble out in a pack.

Bloody Liam must have told them all of what was said in the village. Old friend or not, the man was in jeopardy. He should have rowed back with Lowder.

Adam stepped around his brothers to stride toward the castle to reassure Lark if she overheard them inside. Drostan’s hand landed on his shoulder, making him turn. Adam’s lethal gaze focused on him and then his brothers. The unsure stares from all of them stopped him from shoving Drostan away.

“Nothing about Lark’s past is her fault. She came to our wedding a virgin, and even if she had not, it would mean nothing except that Roylin Montgomerie would soon be losing his life in a very painful manner.”

“She is a bastard,” Rabbie said.

Ava clasped her hands before her. “Some of the kindest and highest people in the land are bastards. Even royalty.”

“Pardon, Lady Maclean, but our father made us swear not to bring a bastard on the isle,” Drostan said.

“Da expanded the words of the curse to include all bastards,” Adam said. “Even Ida told Lark that the family Bible only mentions us not fathering any bastards like Wilyam Macquarie.”

“I brought it back with me,” Beck said. “’Tis in the keep.”

Rabbie came closer. “No bastards on the isle! ’Tis always been the rule. And Lark is a bastard, and Roylin Montgomerie touch—”

“Adam,” Ava cut in, her voice carrying, making Adam stop from grabbing Rabbie and shaking him. But Ava did not look to him, she looked at the doorway, and Adam whipped around.

Lark stood there, her face ashen. Adam shoved Rabbie back and walked to her, but Lark held out a hand to stop him from touching her. “Your brothers…are concerned,” she said, pain in her face. “I need to think.”

Elspeth stood beside her with a sharp look of disdain for each of them. “We are going for a stroll while ye realize what arses ye are.” She linked her arm with Lark’s, and the two of them walked across the bailey to the open gate.

“I will meet up with you,” Ava called. “I need to find Meg and fetch my shawl inside.”

Adam watched the rigid set of Lark’s shoulders. How would Gylin ever be her home with his brothers or Rabbie making her feel like her past was her fault?

…

Lark and Elspeth walked down the pebbled path. Meow. The white cat from the village trotted up, rubbing against the pregnant woman’s skirt. She awkwardly bent when the cat raised up on hind legs.

“She likes you?” Lark asked.

“Saint Joan is particular, but we understand one another,” she said, rubbing the purring cat against her face. “We are both bastards.”

Lark’s gaze met Elspeth’s. “You have been living with Grissell.”

The woman looked back toward the castle, her mouth twisted in a wry frown. “Nearly six months now,” she whispered. She lowered the cat and rested her hand on her belly. “Once I found out I was with child. Mistress Grissell takes in girls that have no family to help them. I had heard about her at a festival I attended and made my way to Mull.”

“Are there others living with her?” Lark kept her tone casual.

“Two right now.”

“Did you help hang that…poppet?”

Elspeth gave a little laugh. “The other girls did the heavy lifting, but I helped make it. Grissell was worried the Macquaries would run her off the isle, so we thought we would scare them away.”

The mist was growing thicker, making the boulders along the shore resemble hunched goblins. “Elspeth,” Lark said, catching her arm to make her meet her gaze. “The child you carry…it is not Adam’s, is it?”

The woman pursed her lips, glancing once more behind her. She met Lark’s gaze, shaking her head the smallest amount.

Lark expected to feel relieved, but…she had known Adam told the truth. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered.

Elspeth gave her arm a squeeze as they continued walking. “We tainted women must stick together. If ye decide to leave that rough group of lads, I am certain Grissell would take ye in so ye do not need to return to that devil ye lived with. I know about monsters.” Her hand floated to rest on her bulbous stomach, making Lark’s heart clench for her. I could be her.

With the mist rolling in, unease prickled across Lark’s shoulder blades, and she scanned the thick fog. “We should turn back. ’Tis slippery with the seaweed.”

“We could keep walking to Mistress Grissell’s cottage. It is comfortable there.” The girl sounded like she missed the old woman.

“I need to tell Adam that it was Grissell who asked you to lie.”

“It wasn’t her,” Elspeth said, making Lark stop, peering at her as tendrils of fog seemed to reach out for them.

“Who told you to lie?”

Elspeth leaned closer. “The Maclean who comes across to Ulva all the time. He was here today.”

Maclean? “Liam Maclean paid you to say your babe belongs to Adam?”

“Aye. I told him I did not want to lie, but he paid me ten shillings I can use toward the bairn.” She squeezed Lark’s arm. “Do not tell him I told ye,” she whispered. “A man with a lying heart can turn to violence. I have seen it before.”

“What is your real name?” Lark supported the woman as they walked slightly up an incline to stop at the top of the ridge that marked the shore.

She smiled. “Muriel. I hail from the Gunn family to the east but came this way when I was able.”

“’Tis nice to meet you, Muriel,” she said, her mind churning through details. She needed to tell Adam about Liam. He’d said his friend didn’t support them returning to the isle, but paying a girl to lie was more than that. And why wouldn’t he support Adam and his brothers in building up their clan and isle once more?

Halting them to return, Lark helped Muriel turn around on the slippery rocks. A movement in the mist stopped her. “Ava? Meg?” There was no answer, but the figure continued to approach like a shadow growing into something real. It was a man, closing in with powerful strides across the sand and stones. “Adam?” A shiver slid up her nape at his silence.

Muriel held tightly to her arm. “Lord help us,” she whispered.

“Who is it? Answer me.” Lark held the woman’s arm. She could not run, abandoning Muriel. Glancing back the way they had been walking, Lark’s chest squeezed, and her heart raced.

Two more figures approached. Muriel gasped, clinging to Lark. The two men came close enough for Lark to see two blackened eyes on one of them. Iain MacLeod?

“Lark,” Muriel whispered, her breath coming fast.

She whipped around, and her inhale caught, her throat tight, as she recognized the deep-set, ever-watchful eyes that had condemned her mere hours ago. But he wasn’t dressed like a priest, his long brown robes exchanged for boots, breeches, and a tunic.

“Father Lowder?” Lark asked, her voice pinched with growing panic.

Muriel gasped. “Let go of me, ye pocked son of a whore,” Muriel yelled as Iain grabbed her arms, dragging her away from Lark’s side despite her obvious condition.

The priest’s lips turned up in a broad smile that did not reach his hard eyes. “You may call me Captain Jandeau.”

The name struck like lightning through Lark. The bandits in the woods had been working for Jandeau, and they said he would have her first. The thought was like poison shooting nausea through her stomach.

Before she could reply, he yelled something in French to the man with Iain. The man ran past him, his boots splashing in the water, and Lark saw a dinghy in the mist behind Jandeau. Even though Muriel struggled, Iain was much stronger than her and forced her toward it.

Jandeau kept his gaze centered on Lark, a dark smile on his hard face. He had looked wrong as a priest, but his bulk and subtle leer clearly marked him as a pirate. Without glancing toward Muriel, Lark turned, grabbing her skirts to run. If she could get to Adam, they could gather a force to retrieve Muriel.

Dark laughter filled her ears as Jandeau leaped forward, catching her in two strides. His arms went around her waist, just under her breasts, and his mouth came to her ear. Hot breath rasped against her stretched neck. “Mon chéri. Do not struggle so. ’Tis futile. I sought the Macquarie chief at the Beltane Festival, but once I saw you…” He inhaled along her skin. “I knew you were a treasure worth following.”

Her gaze tried to penetrate the mist before her. Where were Ava and Meg? Between the four of them, could they overpower the pirates and Iain? If only she could grab ahold of the blade secreted in the seam of her long sleeve. “What do you want with Adam?” she asked, her boots churning in the sand and pebbles as he dragged her backward toward the boat.

“I wanted his isle. With only five Macquaries, it should have been easy to kill them off.”

She pushed against his arm, but it seemed made of steel. “Why Ulva?” she yelled. Could anyone hear her?

“’Tis the perfect place for France to land, ma petite. That heathen, Henry, will not expect French coming from the west. And,” he paused as they reached the boat, “the isle is cursed.”

He swept her around to face the boat where Muriel sat held by the pirate. “I have heard ye are a bastard,” Iain said, glaring at her, holding the oars. “Adam will want ye off his isle anyway.”

“Help! Help! Adam!” Lark screamed as Jandeau tried to lift her into the boat. Her boot caught onto a half-submerged rock for leverage, but he was too strong. With another push, her boot came loose, sliding off her heel. Lark wiggled her toes until the boot slipped off. As Jandeau lifted her into the dinghy, she kicked the boot behind her up onto the beach.

The boat teetered as Jandeau threw her to the floor of the vessel. “Row,” he ordered, and Iain began in earnest. Jandeau stared out into the mist as if fixed on a point, a point that grew into the massive bulk of a ship shrouded in fog.