Chapter Seventeen

“Dammit, nay,” Adam swore as he saw the blade in Lark’s arm. She whimpered, her eyes closed as she slumped into his chest over the side of the ship. “Watch the blade, but get her down,” he called below him as he lowered her into Beck’s arms.

Adam, Beck, and Callum held themselves, their boots caught in loops that they’d quickly fashioned along the sturdy rope that had been lowering the small boat.

“Keep them busy,” Beck yelled up to him, and Adam drew his sword, slashing out at the line of ugly faces leaning over.

The crew spread out along the rail, their knives out to throw. “Ye bloody foking pirate,” Adam yelled up at Jandeau as he directed a man with a musket.

“Some call me patriot,” Jandeau called back, but Adam was distracted by the snarling, bloodied face of Iain MacLeod.

“Shoot him,” Iain yelled. “Shoot them all, and ye can have the isle!”

Adam slashed his sword across the line of faces, catching both Iain and Jandeau before they pulled back.

Bang! One of the pirates fired a musket, the ball splashing the water.

“Bloody hell,” one of his brothers cursed.

Bang! A second gun fired. Water sprayed up.

“Get her out of here,” Adam yelled as he continued to slash away with every bit of strength he had in his right arm. He glanced down when the rope slackened to see Lark in their rowboat, his brothers diving into the water as Drostan and Eagan rowed. Elspeth helped two other girls climb over the sides of the boat in which she had escaped.

With the rope caught by the end knot in the pulley above, Adam released his foothold, using one arm to pull himself over the lines while he kicked to propel himself sideways. He couldn’t climb aboard and do much except die, but he could continue to slash away to give his brothers cover to get Lark farther out of range. And if he could kill Iain MacLeod, it might be worth dying.

Fingers curled around the rope lines, Adam swung the razor-sharp Macquarie sword at anything that came over the rail. Metal on metal as he hit musket barrels and daggers. French curses as he caught a face or hand.

“Ye will die tonight, Macquarie,” Iain called.

“Come do it yourself, ye coward,” Adam gritted out. As Iain’s face disappeared, Adam slid between the side of the ship and the lines, climbing quickly so that he was under the rail several feet from where he’d been. He looked out to see the rowboat with Lark enveloped by the growing darkness and wisps of fog. Let her be safe.

The barrel of a musket came over the rail, pointed straight down where he had stood. Iain thought to shoot his head off. Catching his feet solidly into the netting, Adam used both hands to raise his sword and threw himself forward toward Iain MacLeod’s unprotected neck. Adam’s shoulder slammed against the hull, and his blade slid through, the musket leaving Iain’s hands as his head toppled. Over the rail, it fell with Adam’s sword, Adam following it to splash into the dark sea.

…

“Here,” Beck said, handing Adam the sword they had taken from above the hearth in his bedchamber.

Wilyam Macquarie’s sword had been sharpened and cleaned until it reflected the firelight in the great hall’s hearth. “To replace the one that took Iain’s head. It is yours anyway as the chief.”

Without barely a glance, Adam slid it into his scabbard. “Dammit,” he swore as he paced to the stairs that led above. “I need to see her.”

“Let Ava and Meg tend her,” Beck said. “Ye will get in their way.”

“But what if she—”

“She will not die. The lass has survived too much to pass from a knife wound,” Beck said.

Tor Maclean strode in through the doorway, Keir next to him. “Cullen MacDonald has two ships out of port, one headed west and one headed north to hunt Jandeau down, though it will be hard to catch sight in the dark.”

“We need a ship,” Beck said, his face firm. “I’ve been learning how to sail from Cullen for years, but we live on an isle; we need our own bloody ship.”

“I want Jandeau dead,” Adam said, ignoring his brother.

Behind Tor and Keir walked the priest from Mull, a pale, small man with a shaved head.

“Why did ye bring a priest?” Adam asked. Eagan had also been hit, but Ava had worked the shot out and he was sleeping. And Lark… “No one needs your last rites, Father.” The man stopped, his eyes going wide.

“He ain’t here for that,” Rabbie said. He pointed above. “Ye need to wed Lark.”

Adam’s mouth dropped open. Rabbie flapped his hands toward the door. “There is no Father Lowder, so ye two are not properly wed. Ye must marry Lark with a real priest.”

Beck ran both hands down his face. “Rabbie. If ye don’t shut your mouth, the priest will be giving ye last rites.”

“The lass ain’t dying,” Rabbie said, his face stern. Beck exhaled in frustration, but Rabbie continued. “We would have Lark on our isle,” he said. “So wed her right.”

“Even if she is a bastard?” Adam asked, his voice low and lethal.

Rabbie sucked on his yellow teeth. “Well, if ye have gotten her with a bairn, then ye must.” He shook his head. “And Beck read me what’s written in the Bible.”

Adam’s fist clenched next to his legs. Beck put his hand on Adam’s shoulder. “He’s old and addled,” he said close to his ear. But Adam looked to Drostan who stood frowning, same as Callum. Did his brothers think that Lark should not be on the isle, should not be his wife with her horrid past? Because he, bloody hell, did not care what they thought. She was his wife, and he… I love her. The realization stole his breath, a momentary quiver cutting through his gut before it firmed.

Aye. He loved her, every bit of her.

Tor Maclean cleared his throat. “The three lasses were returned to Grissell’s cottage. We found the old woman tied to a chair with two white cats guarding her.”

“Bloody devils,” Keir said, wiping a hand over his claw-streaked face. “The lasses had to cut her loose.”

Tor rubbed his chin. “Seems the crone has been taking in children and lasses that have no place to go.”

“To bring more bastards to the isle?” Rabbie asked, frown in place.

“I swear I am going to—” Adam started, but Beck braced his palm against his shoulder to stop him.

Keir ignored the old man. “’Tis a noble cause. Tor promised to bring her resources, and I will ask Grace to help Ava with the pregnant lass. And make sure the other ones are well.”

“Liam says that the holes throughout Ormaig,” Beck said, “were Jandeau’s men looking for treasure from Iona Abbey. Every time they would come ashore over the last six months, Grissell would send them looking somewhere else. Liam was helping them by keeping people away. Iain was supposed to get rid of any Macquaries trying to land. Jandeau said he would alert the French government that they could land on Ulva to set up troops ready to battle England.” Beck exhaled. “And they would protect Mull from Henry’s reds.”

“Without consulting me,” Tor said, his words dark. “If the English caught wind that we were harboring French military, we would lose our rights and land.”

“He seems remorseful that Lark was taken,” Beck said.

“Where is he?” Adam asked, his teeth clenched.

“Gylin has a dungeon,” Callum said, his arms crossed. “I thought it was a larder, but there are bars inside. He’s down there until ye can talk to him without gutting him.”

“He will starve before that happens,” Adam said.

Tor glanced at Keir and then back to Adam. “We will see that his crimes against the Macquaries and Macleans are punished.”

“What are ye thinking?” Beck asked. “Exile? Beheading? The man has been a friend.”

“A friend who conspired to steal our isle and possibly see us dead,” Drostan said, crossing his arms.

Adam looked to the steps, Liam already flown from his mind. “It’s been too long. I am going up.”

“The priest can go up with ye,” Rabbie said.

Fury flared, scorching up inside Adam, and he drew the Macquarie sword that had just been given to him. Beck tried to stop him, but he held his hand up. Adam looked Beck in the eyes and raised the sword high. “Do what ye think to be right as the new chief of the Macquaries,” he said. He turned the sword, point down. With both hands wrapped around the hilt, he thrust it downward. “My wife and I will not be staying in Gylin Castle.”

“Brother?” Beck said, his voice hushed.

Adam released the hilt, leaving the blade quivering in the floorboards, and strode to the steps, taking them two at a time. He would always be a Macquarie, but making a home was far more important than being chief. Freedom, peace, safety, and…love. It was not possible here as the chief. Not with the frowns of his brothers and the foolish words from Rabbie.

Without hesitation, he opened the door to the chief’s room. The hearth fire warmed the space, and candles glowed. Ava and Meg gasped, but he only cared for the figure in the bed.

“Adam?” Lark said, her voice soft.

In three strides, he was around the bed to her side and knelt to be level with her. She wore a clean smock. She looked pale but alert. He took her hands in his. “Lark, thank God, ye are well.” He looked at Ava. “She is well?”

“Yes.” Ava smiled. “Drostan kept the blade stationary and staunched the bleeding.”

“And used more of his kilt to wrap Eagan’s wound,” Meg said.

Ava smiled down at Lark. “We have put some stitches inside and out and covered it with a salve. We will watch it, but I think she will be well. I will have Grace come check it, too.”

“I thank ye.” He met Lark’s gaze even as he spoke to Ava. “Tor and Keir are down below for ye. I will stay the night with Lark.” He climbed onto the big bed next to her as the ladies left the room. His arm curling around her.

“Muriel and the babe?”

“Back with Grissell, as well as her two other charges. They are all well, and Tor will be bringing supplies to help Grissell continue her good work to house lasses with no place to go.”

“I would like to help her,” Lark said.

“When ye have healed.”

“Adam,” she said, trying to sit up. He helped her lean against the pillows. “Iain MacLeod is helping Jandeau,” she said.

“Not without his head,” Adam said and stared in her startled eyes. “He is dead.”

“And Jandeau?” she asked.

He slid his fingers between hers, locking their hands together. “Being hunted with Cullen MacDonald’s two fast ships.”

“And Liam was trying—”

“He is down in our dungeon, protected by bars until I calm down enough not to kill him. Tor Maclean will be more partial for deciding his fate.”

“How did you know where to find us?” she asked.

“Liam said Jandeau liked to dock on the south side.” He took her hand. “And ye lost a slipper for me to find.”

Her lips turned up slightly. “You found the boot.”

“Aye.” Adam smoothed the curls around her hair. It seemed like a lifetime ago he’d found her slipper under the tree at the festival.

Her smile faded. “You did not think I ran away?”

He could lie and say it never entered his mind, but trust couldn’t be built with lies. He leaned in to touch her forehead with his own. “Only for a moment, Lark, but it vanished quickly. I knew ye would return because ye said ye would.”

“Trust,” she whispered. “’Tis a start.”

…

Rap. Rap.

“Thank the good Lord,” Ava said, turning to Lark. “Even wounded I do not think I could keep you in here any longer.” Lark had been awake for two hours with Ava helping her bathe and dress in a green gown, the one sleeve taken off to allow for her bandage.

Lark opened the door and frowned at Adam. “You sleep next to me all night and then leave me with a jailor whom I like too much to stab?”

Ava laughed behind her.

“To make ye rest,” he answered, his eyes searching hers. “Your cheeks have color.”

“I am thankful for such talented care,” Lark said, smiling at Ava, who bowed her head in return.

Adam took Lark’s hand. “I wish to show ye something.”

He helped her down to the bottom of the stairs without a word and into the great hall, Ava following behind.

“Where are we going?” Lark asked.

“I can carry ye if ye tire,” he said, leading her through the empty great hall.

“That is not an answer.”

They dodged around a sword stuck, point down, into the floorboards. “Is that your sword?” she asked.

“’Tis Beck’s,” Adam said and continued to lead her outside.

They walked through the bailey where some of his brothers spoke with Tor, Ava walking over to them. “Thank you, to all of you,” Lark called as Adam ignored them, leading her past the small group.

“Do not follow us,” Adam said, his voice commanding. They walked along in silence, the breeze full of the promise of a mild day. Even the sun was cheerful.

“Was that a priest?” Lark asked as they continued slowly up the path to Ormaig. He was giving her all the time she needed, and she leaned on his arm.

“It seems we are not married since our wedding was conducted by a non-ordained pirate,” he said, stopping at the top of the ridge.

“We are not married,” she said, her smile fading. “And I am a bastard with a shameful past.”

“The shame is not yours, Lark, not one bit of it.”

Her heart squeezed, her lips parting. “Adam, I—”

He caught her cheek in his palm. “Before we talk, I want ye to see something.”

He helped her down the slope into the village. They were not married, so no annulment was needed if they went their separate ways. The tightness in her stomach returned, but she kept one foot moving in front of the other.

The village was empty and quiet, but somehow not as frightening. Perhaps it was the sun or the mystery solved of the giggling and dolls. The windows merely looked like open windows instead of watchful eyes.

Adam stopped before the cottage they had shared during the rainstorm. A woven mat sat before the door, and the lintel above had been scrubbed clean to show the carved flowers. With a press of the latch, he swung the door inward and led the way inside. Lark stood in the middle of the pristine room. It had been swept from rafters to floor corners. A new bed was made up with bright quilts and plump pillows. The table had a plaid cloth on it. Wildflowers bent their heads in a clay crock in the middle, and two sets of dishes sat before sturdy chairs. A privacy screen was set up in one corner, but what caught Lark’s full attention was the large soaking tub set on one side of the fire as if waiting to be filled and enjoyed.

She turned to Adam, her face open. “It is perfect in here.”

“Like a home?”

A smile spread across her lips. “Exactly like a home.”

“Our home,” he said, taking her hand. “When we wed at Beltane—”

“We did not actually,” she said.

He met her gaze. “Then wed me, Lark, knowing we can build a home together here or even off Ulva.”

“You want to leave Gylin Castle?”

“Beck and my brothers can have it and the chiefdom. I want none of it if it means I cannot be with ye.”

She glanced toward the door, recalling the faces in the bailey, the sword in the floor. “What have you done?” she asked.

He brought her chin back around. “If there is any question about your past, I care nothing about it. Our life is moving forward.”

“But you gave up—”

“My mission has always been to find a home. What I did not know was that home is not a place.” He ran his fingers lightly through her hair. She stared back into his deep, kind, gray eyes. “Home is a feeling, Lark. Home is…ye.” His face moved in closer, and his thumb slid across her cheek. “I love ye, Lark.”

Tears gathered in Lark’s eyes as her smile grew. Joy twirled inside her stomach, making a happy sob break from her lips.

“Will ye wed with me, Lark, and live in the home of our making, wherever that may be?”

She slid her good hand up his muscled arm to steady herself as she leaned into him, her lips hovering before his. “Yes,” she said with a small laugh as tears welled out of her eyes. He wiped her cheek, and she smiled. “Because I love you, too, Adam Macquarie.” She felt his shoulder relax under her hand as his lips pressed against hers. A lightness grew within her, a type of happiness and peace she had never known before.

“Can ye two come up to the castle?” Beck’s voice came from outside the cottage.

Lark pulled gently away from the kiss, and Adam exhaled long, their foreheads touching. He stepped back, his eyes still locked with hers. “I ordered no one to follow us,” he called back.

“As I see it,” Beck replied, “I am currently the chief of the Macquaries, and I command ye to come up to the castle.”

Lark smiled and touched her fingers to her mouth to stop a laugh. “We will come up,” she called out. The sound of Beck’s retreat faded.

Lark tugged Adam’s arm. “We should give the priest a reason for coming across from Mull.”

She looked around the room, her gaze stopping on the tub. He leaned to her ear and whispered. “I would have let ye keep it even if ye said no to my proposal.”

“Oh?”

“But ye said yes. ’Twas an oath.”

“But I did not have that piece of information,” she teased. They walked out into the sun and up the path toward Gylin, their hands clasped together. “I will have to let Anna and my sisters know where we settle.”

“Aye,” he said, his face hard. He pulled her into his side as they walked.

Sadness squeezed inside Lark, making her smile fade. “Adam…you cannot leave your brothers.”

He stopped, pulling her around to meet his gaze. “My proposal was my oath, Lark. To ye. I love ye and cannot live without ye.” He leaned in to brush a kiss across her lips and led her forward.

As they entered the bailey, all of Adam’s brothers, Rabbie, the priest, Tor, Keir, Ava, and Meg, all stood waiting. Ava had a broad smile on her face. The brothers looked dumbstruck.

“Something has happened?” Adam asked, his hand going for his sword that was not there.

Beck shook his head, throwing his arm out toward the willow tree. “Take a look.” Along the slender, waving whips of branches sat little green nubs. “There are buds on the tree.”

“Holy God,” Adam whispered next to her, moving forward. The knife was still lodged in the tree, but the tiny nubs gave the limbs a definite greenish hue.

Rabbie shook his head. “And ye have not yet wed before a real priest.”

“Perhaps vows spoken aloud are not as powerful as those spoken with the heart,” Ava said, making Rabbie look at her like she’d gone mad.

Lark walked up to stand with Adam before the Macquarie willow tree, intertwining her fingers with his.

Beck carried the Macquarie sword over. “The chiefdom is yours, brother, wherever ye live.” With his words, his three other brothers thumped their chests and bowed their heads in agreement.

Lark looked out at the small gathering. It was their entire clan plus friends. It was a start, and it was perfect.

Adam pulled her into him. “Ye are my heart, my soul, and my home,” he said, staring into her eyes. “I love ye, Lark.”

Tears in her eyes made her blink. “And I love you, Adam. You are my heart, my soul, and my home.”

He caught her face in his warm hands, his lips pressing against her own.

“But the priest has not married ye yet,” Rabbie said.

“Those sounded like oaths to me,” Beck said, laughter in his voice.

“I now pronounce ye husband and wife,” the priest intoned, and the small group cheered.

Lark wrapped her arms around Adam’s neck, melting into the kiss. For she was truly free, protected, at peace, and most importantly—loved.

Follow Beck Macquarie, in the second Brothers of Wolf Isle adventure, as he rescues a lass marooned off the coast of Wolf Isle, a lass who repays him by stealing his ship.