Chapter Four

“Welcome to Wolf Isle,” Adam said.

Lark inhaled, and the tang of saltwater warred with the fresh pine scent of the trees above the rocky beach. It was sweet and fresh and wild. My new home.

Sharp pebbles poked through her slippers, bruising the arches of her feet as she walked up the slip of beach to the bluff while Beck and Rabbie led the horses from the barge they had poled across. “So Ulva means Wolf?” she asked, her voice loud in the lull of wind.

“Aye,” Adam said. “In the ancient language of the Norsemen who found it.”

Where the docks of Mull bustled with people, Ulva’s dock was vacant. “Do wolves live here?” She looked toward the span of trees that loomed in the dark ahead. The twisted pines bent and creaked in the wind of an incoming storm.

“Not for generations,” Adam said.

A chill blew in to slide up her spine. She felt a gaze on her, as if the trees watched her intrude upon their isle. “You said you have brothers? Do they live close?” she asked, looking away from the dark forest.

“Quite close,” Beck said. “Our isle is only fifteen square miles.”

“But the mountains in the middle rise up tall and are bonnie for sheep,” Rabbie said. “There are a number of lochs with fish in them and clear, clean spring water.”

They trudged toward a path that led into the forest, the horses behind them. “How far away is your home?” she asked, tipping her face up to look at the nearly full moon. Clouds raced fast, covering it.

“A bit up the coastline,” Adam said.

Beck came up beside them. “Castle Gylin overlooks the strait we just crossed.” He pointed up the strand.

A large mass perched farther up, looking like a mythical dragon staring out toward Mull. As thick clouds rushed to cover the moon, it became a dark shadow. “There are no torches lighting it,” she said, squinting.

“The Macquarie brothers do not need to waste candles and oil when they don’t know we are returning tonight,” Rabbie said.

“Of course.” She wrapped her shawl closer about her neck. Lark startled, jumping forward, when Adam touched her lower back. “Sorry,” she murmured.

Adam’s boots crunched, and the wind tugged her hair as he led her through the narrow copse of trees. “Is there a chapel?” she asked.

“Not one that is fit for use,” Rabbie said, he and Beck leading the horses behind them.

“A school for the children? I can teach them how to read and write if there is need for a teacher. I know how.” She would be an asset to the village. Perhaps teaching would give her a way to get the local people to trust her enough to take her cures, too.

“No school,” Beck said, his voice without humor.

Exhaustion was making Lark twitchy and given to wild worries. Of course, the darkness and storm blowing in did not help ease her anxiousness. “I can always hold school in a vacant cottage. Are there any about?”

Rabbie marched up next to them and yanked at his fuzzy beard. “A good number of vacant cottages, lass. Ye can do with them as ye like.”

“We can make one into a church and another into a school,” she said. They would need to find a priest to visit, one from Mull perhaps. Hopefully, he was nothing like Father Lowder at the Beltane Festival, his judgmental gaze following her around. If she was going to confess to a priest, he must be someone with a kind heart.

Adam led them across the narrow moor of tall grasses and easily found a path that led toward the castle. Lark turned her head this way and that, but she couldn’t see anything in the darkness. They broke through another narrow copse of trees onto a cliff above the strait. The moon was a hazy glow behind the clouds as thunder rumbled closer. Thank the Lord they weren’t still on the barge tossing on the angry sea. The wind whipped against her, making her clutch the shawl even tighter. The outline of Gylin Castle sat on the highest point ahead of them.

“Where is the village?” she asked.

“Ormaig sits behind the castle,” Adam said near her ear, the words battling against the rushing sound of the newly unfurled leaves above.

“I smell no hearth fires blowing this way,” she said, twisting to meet Adam’s gaze. “Where is everyone?” she asked.

“Most likely up at the castle,” Beck said.

“The wind is blowing the other way,” Rabbie said on top of him.

Their quick answers sent another trickle of apprehension through Lark. She didn’t bother to hide the questions on her face as she studied Adam.

“Let us get out of the storm,” he said. “And I will explain everything.”

Explain everything? What was there to explain? She knew the castle and town needed work to right it. She would use the skills that her mother taught her to benefit her new clan, and she would be trusted and renowned for her compassion and wisdom. She would create a place of safety and comfort for her family and herself. Her heart squeezed in warning, holding tightly to her hopes as if the gusts of wind might snatch them away.

As they approached the closed portcullis, Adam released her hand to cup both of his around his mouth. “Macquaries return,” he yelled out, making her jump.

“Mo chreach,” she murmured.

Lark looked past the fortress to the dark outline of the tops of cottages beyond, but she saw no glow of hearth fires. Was everyone already abed?

“Ho there,” someone called from the watchtower. “I was about to go inside.” A dark figure leaned over the low wall. “Bloody hell, ye brought back a woman.”

“She is a bride,” Adam said.

“And she is standing next to ye, Adam?”

“She is my bride,” he said.

“By the devil,” the man called and disappeared inside to crank the gears to raise the pointy-toothed portcullis. At least it looked solid enough to keep any possible wolves out. “I thought the plan was to bring a bride back for Beck.” His words came out with a grunt as he worked.

Unable to stop herself, Lark turned narrowed eyes up at Adam. “Plan?”

“We mentioned we were looking for brides,” Beck said, leading his and Adam’s horses forward. “A man must make plans if he is to create a family.”

“A family in the eyes of God. No bastards here,” Rabbie added.

Lark’s face snapped toward the old man who led his horse behind him. But Adam’s hand clasped hers, tugging her along. She faced front as he led her toward the rising bars, dodging one of the points in his haste to enter. The bailey was a circle of packed dirt and was completely dark like the rest of what she’d seen of Ulva Isle.

The silhouette of a tree stood in the middle, its twisted trunk seeming to cling to the rocky ground like a talon. Lightning splintered across the sky, revealing bare tendrils of branches tossing like whips. A willow tree. Thunder rumbled like the angry voice of God, making Lark’s shoulders rise higher as she stared at the leafless, snapping limbs. “Is that tree dead?” she asked.

“We have hopes it will come back.” Adam took the lead rope that was hooked to his horse’s bridle. Fat drops of rain began to pelt them. “We need to shelter the horses,” Adam said.

Lark raised her skirts, glancing once more over her shoulder at the willow, and followed the three men to a set of stables along the side of the castle. The smell of freshly hewn wood mixed with the sweet tang of the incoming rain. She heard more animals shifting in the dark stalls.

“Can you even see what you are doing?” she asked, looking around for a torch that could be lit.

“Aye,” Beck said. “We could untack and tack up our mounts blind. But the lightning helps.”

Crack! Thunder split the sound of the wind and rain with a close lightning strike. Lark pressed against a stall where a horse neighed. Its large head moved over the door, brushing against her hair. Lark shot forward, away from its mouth that had been ready to lip at her hair. She knew nothing of horses. Surely, if the creature were a biter, Adam would have warned her. She swallowed hard. Wouldn’t he?

The tapping of rain increased on the roof. “At least it’s dry in here,” Beck said. “Let’s hope the castle is, too.”

Every word out of their mouths made Lark’s stomach tighten more. Pray for her? No fires? Why would it not be dry inside a stone fortification? Questions mounded up so high within her that she began to feel buried under their weight. Questions to which Adam had the answers, answers he kept silent about over the last two days of travel.

Lark gasped softly as a man appeared in the open entry, lightning illuminating him like an unholy presence, but she realized it was the guard from the gate tower. “’Tis blasted wet out.” He walked up to Lark, but in the dark, it was hard to see much more than that he was as tall as Adam and Beck. A flash of lightning showed a lopsided grin set under a straight nose and surrounded by a close-cropped beard. “I am Callum, Adam’s brother.”

“Greetings,” she managed to say. “I am Lark.”

“Like the bird?”

“Yes.”

Callum came closer to her in the dark to run a hand down the nose of the horse that had nearly eaten her hair. Lark took an involuntary step into Adam’s side. Four large men, surrounded by lightning and snorting horses, soaked through with darkness… Lark pressed a hand against the pocket where she had wrapped the sgian dubh Adam had given her, wiped clean. “Can we go inside where there is some light?” The heaviness of the dark made it difficult to draw breath, making her words sound weak when she very much needed to be strong.

“Aye,” Adam said. “We will start a fire. There is peat inside?” he asked, his words taking on the authoritative tone of a father asking his son if he’d done his chores.

“Aye, ’tis taken care of,” Callum said.

“And the roof?” Rabbie asked.

“Mostly,” he answered. “Ye arrived a few days before expected.”

Lark felt Adam take her hand firmly. Did he think she would run away screaming? Well, if it wasn’t pouring, lightning, and terrifyingly dark, and she wasn’t stuck on an island, she might run away cursing.

Lightning hit close by, making her jump, her heart pounding. “I am not staying out here,” she said and pulled away from Adam’s hand. At her tug, he let go, and she trudged out into the storm. The rain was cold and blew directly into her face. The bailey was quickly turning to mud, and her slippers squished as she ran across the bailey, skirts raised high. To think she’d jested that she danced in the rain.

Lightning flashed, illuminating the dead tree. Its evil tendrils lashed out toward her as if trying to catch her. She squeaked and dodged around the churning limbs. With her shawl clutched under her chin, Lark bolted up the steps that led into the stone dragon of a castle. The door latch gave way, and she rushed inside…into more darkness. Holy Mother Mary! It was like being blind.

She headed for an arched doorway and a soft glow of torchlight. She halted just inside, her ruined slippers leaving a muddy puddle on the wooden floor. The cavernous room rose to two-story rafters. Beams, some split and some whole, ran overhead, supporting the walls of gray stone. A faded tapestry hung lopsided across the far wall next to a cold hearth coated black with soot. Another tapestry hung by one corner against a second wall. Flaming torches sat in two sconces near a long wooden table covered with dirty plates, tankards, and bowls as if left over from a drunken celebration. The smell of stale spirits twisted Lark’s stomach with memories.

Two men jumped up, drawing their swords, faces fierce and stances battle-ready. “Who are ye?” one asked, his hair hanging to his jawline, framing narrowed eyes.

The other lowered his sword, his lethal stare turning to shock on his boyish face. “’Tis a bonnie lass. I claim her as mine.”

The frowning man still held his sword. “Are ye a kelpie or a witch?”

“Neither,” she said, her voice breathless.

“She is Lark Montgomerie Macquarie.” Adam’s deep voice filled the shadowed great hall. “And she is mine.” Lark opened her mouth to retort that she was no man’s but stopped herself. Hadn’t she pledged to be Adam’s before a priest? Good Lord.

The frowning man lowered his sword. “Ye are back?”

“Obviously,” Rabbie said, pushing his way inside. He shook his head like a dog, spraying rain out from his bushy hair and clothes. “And Adam found himself a wife. Now light the hearth and find us some ale.”

“A wife?” asked the one who’d claimed her on sight. He had a swath of light-colored hair that fell over his forehead into his eyes.

“Aye,” Beck said. “The oldest daughter in a family of five lasses.” He nodded as if that meant something.

Lark crossed her arms, her fingers curling into the wool of her shawl. The room grew lighter with two more sconces lit. One of the men threw a torch into the hearth for it to catch the dry peat. Light pushed back the shadows, revealing floating cobwebs and a few broken chairs stacked with some bedding along the stone walls. There was nothing soft, new, or clean in the whole space.

Before her stood Adam, Beck, and three other large men while Rabbie shuffled down the table checking tankards until he found one with something in it. The men were about the size of Adam, large with muscular arms and wide shoulders. They stood with legs braced apart as if they could plunge into battle whenever needed. They stared at her, making Lark’s knees wobble behind the folds of her gown, and she glanced at Adam. He wouldn’t let anything befall her there alone and nearly defenseless with five formidable men. Her gaze slid back around to them, and she inhaled to steady her nerves. “Who are all of you?”

Adam nodded to Beck. “Ye know Beck and met Callum out in the barn. Beck is the second brother under me. Callum is the third.”

“I am Callum’s twin, Drostan,” said the frowning giant. From the candlelight, she could see that his hair hung lower than Callum’s, but they looked quite similar otherwise. “I came into the world second that night, so I am the fourth brother.”

“Greetings, brother Drostan,” she said.

“And I am Eagan,” said the one who had claimed her. He smiled openly.

“The babe of the group,” Drostan said, making Eagan’s smile fade to an annoyed frown.

“With Lark here, we have something to celebrate,” Beck said and set the whisky that Lark’s father had given them as her dowry into the middle of the table. Eagan laughed deeply, and Callum knocked his fist hard on the table as if cheering.

The sharp rapping startled some birds roosting in the rafters. Lark tipped her head back to watch them fly around, their wings disturbing dust that filtered down. She took a backward step toward the wall behind her, hoping one wouldn’t shite on her. The way her day was going, she was a certain target.

“I will find a tap,” Rabbie said and strode off into the dark, perhaps toward a kitchen.

“Aye,” Eagan said. “A woman on Wolf Isle. This calls for a celebration.”

“A woman on Wolf Isle?” Lark repeated, her gaze snapping to Adam. “What does that mean?”

The three newly introduced brothers turned to Adam, too. “Ye have not told her?” Drostan asked, his jaw slack. “Fok, Adam.”

“There was no time,” Rabbie said, a tap in his hand, which he held up as if in victory. “Ye sots left one in the hall.” Were they also heavy drinkers? Like her father? The thought of six drunken men shot a knife of panic through Lark, nearly knocking the wind from her.

She swallowed deeply, turning her thoughts away from her nightmare to focus on her anger. “We have been traveling for days,” Lark said without taking her gaze from Adam. “And you said nothing?” Hearing the question out loud strengthened her spine. She tried to remember exactly what Adam had said when he took her aside to speak with her before their brief exchange of vows. A lot of work. Ill-used castle. Not many people. He’d failed to mention that there were no women at all.

Adam inhaled fully. “Rabbie thought ye might not come with us if ye knew.”

“Knew what exactly?” Cold, tired, confronted by five huge men who liked to drink, and bound to a husband who had not taken the time to explain the reality of her new life, Lark’s anger blasted through her initial fear.

“That we are the only ones living on Wolf Isle right now, and ye are the only woman,” Adam said.

“And,” Callum said, holding up a tankard, “the isle is cursed.”

Bloody hell.

Adam ran a hand through his rain-damp hair. Why hadn’t he told her everything on the way there? It had been a rapid journey and an unpleasant discussion. Bloody poor excuse.

“The isle is cursed?” Lark repeated, her gaze sliding to each brother, one by one, as if they would tell her more. “What the hell does that mean?” She finished with a pointed glare at Adam. “And I am the only woman here? And you six.” She threw her arm out to encompass them. “Are the only men on the whole isle?” She looked up. “And we might not have a roof, and there are birds roosting in the great hall, and there are no hearth fires or lights in the village because we are the only breathing things on this rock sitting in the ocean.” Her voice had risen as the questions and words tumbled out.

Callum tipped his head. “Well, there are other breathing things, sheep and such, and then there is old Grissell living on the south side.”

“I suppose she is considered a woman,” Beck said. “So that makes ye the second woman on the isle.”

“Grissell is a witch, not a woman,” Eagan said, crossing his large arms. “We would run her off, but she does no harm.” He shrugged. “And she might put another curse on us if we tried.”

“A witch is a woman,” Drostan said. “A woman who worships Satan.”

Lark stared at them, her lush mouth dropped open, her delicately arched brows raised high, as she turned back to him. “I am second to a witch on an uninhabited isle that is cursed.” Her gaze moved to the barrel of spirits. “And you all love to drink whisky?”

The damn birds startled again to fly about the hall as if to emphasize the wretchedness of the situation.

“Rabbie and Eagan are the only two who drink so much they pass out,” Drostan said, his voice low.

“Says the sot who wandered out into the night swinging his sword like a drunken lunatic,” Eagan said.

“Ye arse, Da had just died. ’Twas his wake,” Drostan said, his voice heavy with warning.

“Drank so much, ye puked on your own boots,” Callum added, making Adam run a hand down his face.

“At least I did not piss in Lady Grace’s garden to be run off by her husband,” Drostan said to his twin.

Callum’s teasing grin faded at what he surely remembered as a screeching reprimand by the lady, who held back her wee granddaughter, and a fist in the jaw by her large husband.

Drostan shoved the chair before him across the floor, upending it. Its crash was emphasized with Drostan running across the space to tackle Callum to the floor.

But Adam focused on Lark where she had pushed back against the stone wall. Her eyes were wide in her beautiful face, her frown deep, and the sgian dubh back in her hand as she watched his brothers roll around like ill-mannered pups.

He sighed, dropping his hand. She looked like a cross between a nervous kitten and a wildcat about to take down anything that came close.

Adam turned toward his brothers, where Eagan was laughing, which added to Drostan’s anger. “Enough!” Adam yelled, and the birds flapped down again, landing on the iron chandelier above them that still had strands of cobwebs like wispy garland.

“Fok off!” yelled Drostan as he got in one more kick, the curse seeming to echo in the large room as silence fell.

Adam breathed in through his nose. “First off, there will be no drinking whisky tonight,” he said, his gaze moving to pin each of his brothers and Rabbie. “The whisky belongs to Lark, and she decides when it will be tapped. Second, is the bloody roof on above stairs?”

“Aye,” Callum said. “For the most part. We are putting in the last windowpanes in the room way down on the left. Then we will replace the old thatch with rock.”

Adam looked around at the pallets set against the walls on the stone floor of the great hall. “But the roof over the chief’s bed chamber is sound?”

“Aye,” Drostan said, touching his cheekbone where Callum had gotten in a punch. “Not too clean, but dry.”

Adam turned to Lark. Her slender shoulders were hitched up high, and she pressed back against the stone wall. Her lush lips were pressed into a thin line, and she clutched her dagger in a tight fist. She stood surrounded by darkness and filth, and yet she did not weep or scream like Liam had said a woman would if any of them dared to bring one over to Ulva.

The sgian dubh disappeared into a pocket under Lark’s skirt. She tipped her chin higher as she stared right back at him and stepped away from the wall. “Third,” she said, her voice strong, “someone will find me a bathing tub. And fourthly, water will be brought up to… whatever chamber that has a full roof where I can sleep.” She paused. “Without rats.”

“There are no rats in the castle,” Eagan said.

“No true bathing tub, though,” Beck said.

“We have been using a sound trough that we cleaned out,” Callum said and wiggled a tooth to see if it was loose.

“We can sit it in your room,” Eagan said and jogged out the door. Adam noticed a slight softening of Lark’s shoulders, but they still sat too high.

He grabbed one of the enclosed lamps that had oil in the base and lit it from a torch. “I will show ye above stairs.” He took up her two satchels and walked toward the twisting stone steps. The workmanship on them had been perfectly stacked, so it had survived with little damage through the ages. Thank God for the meticulousness of the early Macquaries.

“This way,” he said and listened to the squish, squish, squish of water and mud saturating her slippers as she followed. The rain had made the night even worse. Was she thinking about escape? Or perhaps revenge? He held the lamp high to light the steps so she wouldn’t trip. He opened his mouth twice to tell her how structurally sound Gylin was. That a good cleaning would see the castle right again. That she would help him bring it and his clan back to life. But in the dark, with the rain beating outside the open arrow slits as they passed, any words would likely make things worse.

It was enough that she was following him. At least for the moment.

They reached the top of the curving tower of stairs, and he stopped before the wooden door of the chief’s chamber that stood on the right, a long corridor of smaller, empty rooms off to the left. Even though he’d slept below with his brothers, he had planned to move into the chief’s room. Although he doubted it would be that eve.

“This is the chamber,” he murmured and pushed inside. He held his breath and thanked the lord when nothing scurried or fluttered or dripped as he stood there. “Welcome.”