“ . . . but before we reached Scotland, the crew heard us foolishly whispering about our powers and went to the ship’s master. When he forced the fragments from our grasp and joined the Wheel as one, the ship was torn twice asunder, and death claimed many lives. The four of us, each carrying our portion, knew what we must do. Not knowing if the sea or man would kill us, we set out to the four corners of Scotland to wait for our summons . . .”
From the Chronicle of Lugh
The trip to Wick was far better than Innes thought it would be. Choosing to ride in the cart with Lachlan, she could watch Conall riding ahead on his chestnut steed without feeling the pressure of being too close to him. She glanced back at the mare, tied to the back for her, in case she changed her mind.
In the stables around dawn, Conall and Innes had exchanged nothing more than casual pleasantries. The farther they got from the castle, the more at ease she became. The steward loved to talk. Each patch of land they passed seemed to have a story, and Lachlan had to tell her about it.
“Do merchant ships arrive at Wick often?” she asked.
“Nay, m’lady. The harbor takes heavy swells from the bay when the wind blows from the east. Makes coming into the port dangerous.” She waited, already knowing the man would say more. “Wick has two harbors, which you’ll see shortly, but they both sand up bad after the fall and winter storms.”
“So this is the best time for merchant ships to come in.”
“Aye, and that’s when the fishing is at its best, too. Wick is a great herring port, don’t you know. We at the castle get our share, of course, but the lads take enough to supply fish all the way to Edinburgh.”
Innes imagined riding back with a cartload of herring. She deserved to reek of fish after refusing to ride the beautiful mare trailing behind them.
“Does the earl accompany you to Wick often?”
“Only when it’s time for setting the prices.”
“Setting the prices for what?”
“Sinclair wool and even cloth, of late. Also, he helps to negotiate the price of herring for the fishermen,” the steward added. “What they decide on today will support many a family through the long winter months.”
Innes’s gaze followed Lachlan’s as they both stared at the back of the man sitting so comfortably on the horse. She couldn’t look at him without the twist of attraction.
“Many lairds rely solely on their tenant folk for income,” she said. “The Sinclairs are doing things differently.”
“That was the way with Sinclairs, too, until this one stepped in. No disrespect to their father, but Conall and Bryce have their own way. The first thing Conall did was to put a stop to our people sending the wool south and getting practically nothing for it,” Lachlan explained. “He said the cottars needed to bring all of our wool in together and sell it as one. He said we buy what we need when the ships come in; it’s time we sold our own goods the same way.”
“And the farmers went along?”
“Oh, there were a boneheaded few. There always are. But Conall brought them in and convinced them.”
“And it worked.”
“Aye, mistress. It worked all right.”
Innes’s eyes were again drawn to the earl. In a way, she realized she’d been disappointed this morning when he didn’t complain that she preferred the company of Lachlan to his own. She tore her gaze away, disgusted with herself. She was a whirlwind of contradictions, and that was not her way. He did this to her. She moved forward one step, then ran back five. She welcomed his attention, but as soon as he reached out, she scurried away and hid. She was surprised that he hadn’t already tired of this game.
“The clan had a tough go of it when the earl was away,” said Lachlan.
Innes studied the steward’s lined face. Everyone knew the Sinclairs to be tight-lipped about their affairs, and she already sensed the old man’s loyalty to Conall. For Lachlan even to utter such a thing, Innes knew that he must have accepted her on some level.
“After Solway Moss, you mean,” she said gently.
“Aye. Word came back he was among the dead. We lost so many brave men there. The news arrived from Falkland Palace along with word of King Jamie’s death. It wasn’t until months and months later that we learned Conall was rotting in an English dungeon and there was a chance we could get him back.”
And none of his people had seen what she’d seen. How he’d suffered.
“I’m not one for rumormongering, mistress, but they said he wouldn’t tell them who he was. They knew he was highborn and good for ransom, but he wouldn’t tell.”
Innes shivered, once again remembering the pain of the lash. Her heart ached with sadness imagining what other torments he was exposed to while in captivity. She stared at the black gloves encasing her hands. Her gaze drifted to the pouch at her waist containing the relic.
Perhaps no one knowing of the scars on his soul allowed Conall to keep going. He was a proud man, and he bore his past alone. And here he was clearly pursuing her, not knowing how exposed he’d be.
“There it is, m’lady,” Lachlan said as they came to the crest of a small rise. The village lay before them, and they descended into it.
Three miles south of Girnigoe, Wick was a prosperous-looking village. Spreading back from the river and the harbor, the place consisted of rows of squat stone houses topped with thatch, a church, a square tower with a bell, and a market cross at the center that teemed with merchants and buyers. Two ships lay at anchor in the harbor, and another sat tied to a good-sized dock. Men were busily moving goods off her.
Conall appeared beside the cart and helped Innes down.
“You stay with Lachlan,” he told her. He nodded toward a large barnlike structure and a number of long, low stone buildings by the docks. “My business shouldn’t take me past noon. I’ll come and find you then.”
The sun was well up in the sky, and the good weather and market day seemed to have brought the entire village out. Merchants and farmers looking to sell their goods to the castle accosted Lachlan before he was even out of the cart.
Innes tugged at his sleeve. “I’ll just browse around for a while. Don’t worry about me. There’s nowhere I can go to get lost.”
The steward sent a wary glance at the back of the earl disappearing through the crowd.
“Trust me. I’ll be fine,” she said, striding off before the old man had a chance to object.
Innes walked the streets, smiled at people, shook her head at the merchants eager to make a sale. She no longer did this when she was at home at Folais Castle. She no longer visited the Munro villages for she felt the disappointment of the clan elders. As the older daughter of the clan chief, she recognized that they expected her to marry. But she didn’t welcome suitors. And when she sat with her father at the clan gatherings, she knew many of the men did not receive that well. So, she gradually retreated from the world. And the more she retreated, the more difficult it became to change. The more she withdrew, the more she feared . . . and the less she trusted.
Today, she didn’t have to worry about any of that. No one knew her here. She was a stranger, like so many others walking the streets of the bustling village. She was free.
Innes lost track of time as she continued to explore. For a while she sat on the bluff to the south of the harbor, watching the fishing boats. All along the stony beach below, seabirds were in a constant frenzy over the buckets of herring being brought in. She wished she had her paper and charcoal.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, she started walking again. At the bottom of a hill, she took another intersecting lane. She turned her steps toward the dock. As she reached the long, low buildings, a swarm of children surrounded her, running in every direction. A young lad barreled into her legs, and she caught him before he fell back.
Innes was still smiling when she spotted Conall in conversation with a man who must be the master of one of the trading vessels moored in the harbor.
As if he were expecting her, he turned and looked directly at her.
The man continued to speak, but Conall heard nothing more. He stood gazing at Innes as time stood still. She looked so serene, so at ease in the midst of the chaos. She didn’t try to hide her smile.
He’d been so relieved this morning to find her already in the stables when he came down the stairs. Perhaps she was just heeding his warning. Or perhaps she wanted to spend the day with him. He preferred to think it was the latter.
He finished his instructions to the ship’s master and strode to her.
“How do you like the village?” he asked.
Another child ran around her, using her skirt to hide from a pursuing toddler. Innes laughed, and he had an almost overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and kiss her.
“It’s lovely,” she said, looking around. “Such activity. You don’t have to stop what you were doing, you know. I’m quite capable of amusing myself.”
“Let me amuse you,” he said, taking her gloved hand and tucking it into the crook of his arm. “But first I need to look in at one of the warehouses.”
Leading her toward a building near the wharf, he felt such a sense of well-being, of possibilities for the future. He loved this feeling, but knew he had to rein himself in.
“Are you finished with your business dealings?”
“I am. Lachlan told you what we’re doing?”
“He’s quite proud of all you’ve accomplished. He feels that he’s a part of something quite special. I think it’s brilliant.” She squeezed his arm. “I know my father would love to speak to you about the wool exporting.”
He guessed she knew the business herself. “What do the Munros do about it?”
“The wool agents go from village to farm, paying the least they can.”
“Agents, transporters, traders, merchants, other merchants selling to still more merchants, and eventually it gets to Edinburgh,” he said, shaking his head. “And the farmers haven’t much to show for it, do they?”
“Just as it’s always been.”
“I know. We were in the same place not too long ago. Now, we’re cutting out a number of those middlemen and garnering the profits ourselves.” He pressed his hand on hers, relishing the warmth of it, even through the thin leather glove. “I would be happy to speak with you and your father about it. It took some planning, and there were initial costs, but it’s achievable and worthwhile.”
Moving past several rows of buildings, Conall led her inside one closest to the dock.
“This is no warehouse,” she whispered in surprise. “You have looms. You’re using your own wool to produce cloth.”
“Aye, and fine warm stuff, too, as you can see.”
They walked by rolls of woolen cloth, stacked and ready for shipment. Workers bustled back and forth, some carrying large spools of spun wool, and others carrying rolls of finished material.
“I need a few minutes’ time to discuss my morning’s meeting with the master weavers.”
“No hurry. I’ll wait right here.” She withdrew her hand from his arm and walked away.
The people that he needed to speak to gathered around him. Conall gave them the terms that had been agreed upon this morning, drawing comments of approval. Meanwhile, his gaze never strayed too far from Innes.
As she moved along, she nodded to the workers, asking questions. By one of the drawlooms, she pulled off a glove and caressed the cloth. He stared at her delicate fingers, so pale against the vibrant colors of the wool. A worker stepped up and said something. Innes smiled and responded, pulling the gloves back on.
She repeated the same thing at another loom. She tested the quality while speaking with the seated weaver and the drawboy. A few moments later, as she stepped away, Conall saw the glove being donned once again.
When his business with the weavers was finished, he followed Innes to the next building. Here, in a room beyond the dyers, the spinners plied their trade, preparing the combed wool for the looms. Gesturing to the women not to give him away, he approached her from behind. Her naked fingers sank into the puffy shreds of wool. She picked up a piece and tested the softness against her skin, held it to her nose and breathed in its smell.
Her slow, delicate movements and her smile bewitched him.
The image of her fingers on his own skin pushed into Conall’s mind. He wanted her hands on his body. He imagined himself holding her, touching her. He looked at her mouth, wanting to ravish it.
Her fingers sank into the pile again, and she didn’t know he was upon her until his hand dove in and joined hers. The skin was softer than silk. A surprise gasp escaped her lips as he entwined their fingers, holding her captive. She turned, her gaze flying to his face.
He wanted to kiss her and explore every sweet recess of her mouth.
She swayed and her lips parted. Her gloved hand flattened against his chest.
He wanted to undo the buttons of that dress and press his mouth to her throat, down the neckline of the dress. He wanted to taste her flesh and run his tongue against places that would make her cry out with pleasure.
The gray eyes darkened, and her gaze dropped to his lips.
He wanted to run his hand over her naked body, cupping her breast, touching the folds of her sex.
Innes gasped and leaned toward him.
She had no idea the effect she had on him. An urgent need rushed into his loins. He wanted her, and he wanted her now. She was in danger of being ravished in the middle of a room filled with women at work at their spinning wheels.
“We have to leave,” he muttered. “Now.”
She nodded. Her face was bright red. She pulled her hand away, and Conall saw the fingers trembling as she hurriedly pulled the glove back on.
Those few moments gave him every answer he’d been searching for. He’d seen the desire banked like hot coals in her eyes. He wouldn’t let her play that hiding game again. As long as she stayed at Castle Girnigoe, he would draw her out and pursue her.
He led her out of the building. Neither said a word. He directed her up a small rise toward the place where she’d left Lachlan.
They hadn’t gone ten paces when the sudden wail of a child yanked her to a stop. They both looked over at a toddler facedown in the dirt. She went over and helped him up.
“There, there. This is not so bad.”
The child’s cries only became shriller. A lump the size of a goose egg was quickly forming above the boy’s eyebrow. His chin was scratched, as well. His nose was running, and dirt mixed with his tears.
Innes lifted the boy into her arms and rocked him as she checked his injuries.
Conall looked around for a mother or for other children. No one showed any interest in the wailing boy who now called for his mama.
“Where is she?” he asked. “Where is your mama?”
The lad buried his face in Innes’s neck and only cried harder.
“Why don’t we take him back inside?” Conall suggested. “One of the workers is sure to know who this urchin belongs to.”
Innes was taking off her glove. Using her skirts, she wiped the boy’s tears and then caressed his face. She took his hand and pressed soft kisses on his scratched forearm.
She suddenly stood and looked away down the lane. “I think I saw him this morning and he was with his mother.” She started back toward the harbor.
Conall was surprised. It was market day, ships were being unloaded, and so many people were about in the village. Gangs of children played underfoot everywhere. And to him, one child’s face looked much the same as any other. But she seemed fairly certain.
“I remember,” Innes said when Conall caught up to her. “They were near the water’s edge. A sandy place, it is.”
“There’s a wee stretch where the fishing boats are dragged ashore,” he said, taking the road. “This way.”
She continued to hold the boy’s hand, whispering soothing words to him. The child’s cry was now more of a mournful hum, with occasional calls for his mother.
“And bread,” she said. “His mother sells loaves out of a basket.”
The lane became a mere path that hugged a stretch of sandy beach. They passed a number of bakers—male and female—hawking their bread, but Innes ignored them.
“This way, I’m sure,” she said, glancing at the lad in her arms.
She turned away from the water and unerringly weaved through a cluster of cottages at this end of the village. At the center of it, a woman with a basket over her shoulder was just drawing water from a well.
With a cry of recognition, the child dived into the young woman’s arms.
The mother’s surprise turned to a scowl after Conall explained where they’d found him. “Och, them brothers of his were supposed to be watching after him. Wait till I get my hands on them. I’m so sorry, m’lord. And m’lady. I cannot think what got into them lads of mine.”
Innes immediately made excuses for them. “Your boys must be searching all over for Kade right now. I may have reacted too quickly. Probably worried sick, they are.”
“And with good reason.” The mother pushed a lock of hair back from her face. “They know I’ll be worrying their backsides for them when they come home.”
The toddler dived back into Innes’s arm and allowed her to give him a kiss on his muddy cheeks before wanting to go back to his mother.
Conall gave the woman a coin and dragged Innes away by the arm before she could say more.
“How did you know his name was Kade?” he asked as they walked back in the direction of Lachlan, the cart, and the horses.
“The boy?” she asked.
“I didn’t hear the mother mention it, but you knew the lad’s name.”
She stretched the gloves over her fingers. A blush had once again crept into her cheek. “I must have overheard it. Perhaps when I saw him playing with the other children in the lane. Or perhaps it was earlier when I passed the mother selling bread.”
He placed a hand in the small of her back, pulling her toward him as a cart went by. “You always find a way to impress me.”
“Then you impress easily.”
He shook his head. “Your talent in drawing. Your sense of direction. Your memory. Your intuition in seeing through Bryce and Ailein’s pretense of marital problems.”
“You forgot to mention my brilliant chess play.”
“That is where I draw a line,” he told her. “Happily, in that at least, you could use some instruction.”
She smiled up at him. “And let me guess. You are the man best suited to provide that instruction.”
“You see? That intuition again. Very impressive.”
When they reached their horses, a lad was waiting with them. The steward and the cart were gone.
“Where is Lachlan?” asked Innes.
“He took a few things back to the castle.”
Innes eyed her mare and then frowned at Conall. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
“That I did. Very clever, wouldn’t you say?”
She shook her head, but it obviously amused her. “Should I assume you have another destination in mind before we return to Girnigoe?”
He nodded, leading Innes toward her horse. “I want to introduce you to a rare bird or two.”
She allowed him to help her onto the mare’s back. “So I finally get to meet some of my own kind.”
There was sadness in the castle when I returned. My brother’s wife was dead. Two boys need raising, they told me.
But where is my own child? Torn from my arms in that convent in France. A bastard. A devil’s child. A product of my sin. Do not concern yourself with this one, they said. Concern yourself with the penance that may someday redeem your blackened soul.
So I prayed and I worked and I became useful in the eyes of God and men. I wore an apron of purest white in memory of the love that died in the courtyard of his keep. In memory of the angel they took from me.
And then my brother wanted me back. My hated father, who murdered my beloved, was dead. And now I was needed to raise my brother’s sons.
He needed me. His sons needed me. His wife had been taken, like so many, when the fever struck. So I came.
I think of it now, seeing them for the first time. They stood by the doors of the Great Hall. Conall, so dark and sad and noble. Bryce, so young, focused entirely on his older brother.
And from that moment, I loved them. I love them still. More than life itself.
In loving them and raising them as my own, I found a life that I never imagined would be mine.
And I shall not lose it now.