Chapter Three
“Ye’ve got her,” Ian MacLeod, Alec’s second-in-command and best friend said.
“And ye kissed her,” his cousin, Kenneth MacNeil said. “Which as far as I can tell, had nothing to do with the dogs.”
Alec ignored his statement. It wasn’t a question anyway, and he bloody hell didn’t have an answer to any questions regarding Mairi’s request for a kiss. She’d obviously thought he was someone else, but why would she have kissed someone other than her groom on her wedding day? Perhaps she didn’t want to wed Geoff MacInnes. Her kiss had certainly pointed toward that, how she’d melted into him and met his lips fully. She was soft and full of curves and smelled of flowers. Like a newly sharpened claymore, she’d cut right through his discipline with her honest response and heat.
The three of them sat in the empty great hall at the long table. Cinnia had left the breakfast she’d prepared and fled to her room like she was wont to do since Joyce had died. Weylyn had grabbed a dark roll and mumbled something about seeing to the new dogs. “What are ye going to do with her?” Ian asked and drank from his ale cup, his brows lifting.
That was a question he could answer. “Make her marry me,” Alec said. “I need a new lady of Kisimul.” He ground his teeth against the burned edge of a chunk of cured ham. But he’d never complain. It would bruise his daughter’s tender heart.
“She didn’t seem too receptive to the notion,” Kenneth said with a wry grin.
“Give her a week in the dungeon, and she’ll come around,” Alec said. “A lass likes a bed and a private jakes.” He’d make certain she was fed and given warm clothes, but the lass needed to comply. Since his wife had been killed and her help had fled, the household had fallen apart. He needed a mother for his two children, and someone to direct maids and a cook. But more importantly, he needed revenge.
“Once she weds me, we will send word to her kin,” he said. “And the MacInnes.”
“She was set to marry one of them this morning,” Kenneth said. “The new chief, Geoff MacInnes. He’s not the son of Fergus MacInnes. Don’t know where that bastard, Normond, is.”
Ian snorted. “Now that’s some wolfish luck,” he said and nodded toward the large wolf crest over the cold hearth. “Catching her before she wed, else ye’d have to kill that MacInnes to make her a widow again.”
Although perhaps that would have satiated his blood lust for revenge. When Alec had discovered that Fergus MacInnes was safe from his sword, by dying before he could reach him, Alec had vowed to seek revenge against his family. But with the constant raids from the MacDonalds of South and North Uist and continual advancement of English along the mainland, Alec had been unwilling to leave Barra Isle unprotected. Even though the island was small, its white sand beaches, fertile soil, and dense game populations made it exceedingly coveted by other clans. The Lord of the Isles had deeded the isle to the MacNeil clan nearly a century before, and Alec, the Chief MacNeil of Barra, was not about to give it up.
Alec stood. “I’m going into the village. Ian, ye can stay behind today.”
Ian grunted, running a hand through his red hair. “Cinnia and Weylyn keep to themselves. They don’t need me staying back.”
“Weylyn’s only seven and Cinnia is ten,” Alec said, dismissing his friend’s words as he tapped his leg, calling his two wolfhounds from their spot near the hearth. They leaped up to follow him, their large, shaggy bodies like gray rugs come to life. “A protector with more years than they combined must remain here.”
Kenneth slapped Ian on the shoulder. “Years, not brains.”
“I’ll be telling Cinnia to give ye an extra helping of dinner this eve,” Ian said, making Kenneth laugh.
Alec strode out of the keep, his wolfhounds following on either side of him. He paused to bend down to each one, rubbing around their eyes and scratching their heads. “Good pups,” he murmured. “Time to meet some new friends.” They followed him through the bailey and around to the courtyard where he trained his dogs.
Weylyn had taken the female dog to his room to meet his own dog, but the two males were lying in a spot of sun. They jumped up, trotting over. Alec stood back while the four dogs sniffed, growled, and quickly decided that Geri, his largest wolfhound, was the leader of the four. Raising the whistle he wore on a cord from his neck, Alec blew two short bursts. Immediately, Geri and Freki returned to flank him, allowing the two new dogs to come up to him.
Alec rubbed their thin coats, noting the protruding ribs. Yet their eyes danced and tails wagged. “Ye’re friendly, aye,” he said, bending to greet each one. “I think I might have a good home for ye.”
Millie, the sixty-year-old woman just north of the village, needed a companion. Her hearing had faded to silence, and a dog could warn her of incoming raiders, possibly even keep them from coming into her cottage. He’d need to train the dogs first, but they seemed eager to please.
If only the MacInnes lass was similar. From his periphery, he saw the dungeon window cut into the base of the family quarters at the far end of the grassy yard. Did she still sleep? Or did she watch him now, cursing him with each breath? He could go down there, but it was imperative to make her feel alone, forgotten, if he had any hope to sway her. Years of working with his dogs had taught him that the threat of solitary exile was stronger than the threat of death for most living creatures.
Cinnia brought her a meal each day, but that was it. His discipline, which matched the stony strength of Kisimul, kept him from even looking directly at the window. Unless, of course, she called out. It had been only a night and day, though, and Mairi MacInnes seemed a much harder woman to tame.
“Go on,” Alec said, releasing the two wolfhounds to run about the yard. He threw a thick stick from a pile he’d had his oarsman collect from the woods while waiting for them on Kilchoan. Barra had very few trees, so Alec found them for the dogs on other islands and the mainland. Freki, the female, collected the stick and trotted it back to Alec for another throw. Over and over he threw the stick for the small pack until their tongues lolled out of their panting mouths.
The wind shifted, spiraling down into the courtyard, and the faint smell of roses teased Alec’s inhale. Surely it wasn’t from Mairi. He glanced toward the window and spotted the rosebush growing along the left side. Of course. He pushed the smell and the feel of the woman, riding before him, from his mind. He was a disciplined warrior and had no time for damned roses and a foolish woman. His patience was legendary, with dogs, bickering clansmen, untrained warriors, and family.
He blew the high-pitched whistle twice, and the two new dogs followed his hounds to his side. Aye, they would learn quickly. Striding toward the arched exit into the bailey, one of the dogs barked. Over his shoulder, he saw one running to the dungeon window. He poked his nose inside.
“Come,” he called and blew again, his tone like a firm bark without a hint of question, and the dog returned to follow him out of the courtyard. No visiting with the prisoner. Solitary exile would be Mairi MacInnes’s existence until she agreed to wed.
…
Mairi held the dog’s neck. “Nay,” she whispered and held her breath as Alec turned to lead his four dogs away. Had he heard her dog bark, calling to one of Geoff’s male dogs? If Alec knew she had the sweet pup, he’d probably take her away. Mairi clung to her, resting her cheek along her side. “Shhh, Daisy.”
She peeked, her eyes level with the grass, but the courtyard was empty. Thank God. She exhaled, relaxing against the rough wall. “Damn man,” she whispered, her forehead tense. She rubbed it. How could he be patient and kind to his dogs and steal away an innocent woman? The beasts seemed to love him. She’d always trusted the instincts of dogs, but they were wrong this time. Alec MacNeil was a devil.
Daisy licked the side of her face and squirmed until Mairi released her.
“She probably has to piss.”
Mairi turned to the boy, one hand to her thumping heart. “Weylyn, ye need to announce yourself.”
He frowned at her without a word, tapping his leg, and the thin dog pressed through the bars.
“Will ye bring her back?” Mairi asked.
“If Artemis wants to return, I’ll let her.”
“Her name is Daisy,” Mairi said. “Thank ye for letting her in last night.”
“Her name is Artemis after the goddess of the moon and wild animals. Da always names his dogs after Greek and Norse myths. His wolfhounds, Geri and Freki, are named after the wolves of the Norse god, Odin.” As if he realized he was saying too much to a prisoner, he turned and stomped away. Daisy followed behind him, thin tail wagging.
Irritating, just like his father.
Mairi quickly used the exposed privy hole in the back corner of the cell, replacing the flat wooden cover as she heard footsteps coming down the slanted walkway. She combed fingers through her hair, the knots catching. The footsteps were light, not at all like the heavy boots of a stubborn scoundrel.
Mairi pulled the hair to her back, dividing it to braid, as she watched Cinnia set the wooden board of blackened bread and yellow cheese between the bars. “The porridge burned, so all I have is toast and cheese to give ye.”
“Porridge can be tricky,” Mairi said. “Ye must stir it constantly when the fire is hot.”
Cinnia’s unsure expression tightened into a vexed look. “I know now. I thought I’d seen cook just cover it and leave it.”
“When the fire is very low.”
She pointed at Mairi. “How do ye do that?”
“My hair?”
“Aye.” Cinnia pulled her long tresses to the side, the tangles giving her a bushy look.
“First ye have to comb through it, which I’ve been trying to do with my fingers. It doesn’t work as well.”
Cinnia watched, her little mouth scrunching up. “If I bring ye a comb, will ye teach me to braid my hair?”
Mairi stopped, one eyebrow raised. “If ye bring me a privacy screen with the comb, I will.”
The girl’s little mouth pinched in thought. “There are some empty rooms now that everyone’s left Kisimul.” She pulled her thick hair to one side. “Agreed.”
“Artemis,” Weylyn called from the ramp as Daisy came running back down, her nails clicking on the stone to echo about the dungeon. With a wiggling back end, she squeezed through the bars. Weylyn halted at the bottom. “I guess she’ll stay with ye. I have Ares to look after anyway. He’s my dog.”
Cinnia grabbed her brother’s hand. “Come help me,” she said, dragging him up the ramp.
By the time Mairi was done feeding herself and Daisy, Cinnia and Weylyn were carrying down a privacy screen painted with purple thistles.
“I don’t think prisoners get to have privacy,” Weylyn said as they slid the folded screen to Mairi through the bars.
“How is she supposed to use the privy out in the open?” Cinnia said, hands on her hips, which gave her a much older appearance. She huffed, making one of the curls framing her face pop upward. “It takes ye an hour to cuck, and that’s in the privacy of your own room.”
“Hold your tongue,” he hissed.
Mairi set the screen around the privy hole, her heart light. Only one day in a dungeon, and already the simple things in life could make her smile.
“And here’s the comb,” Cinnia said. Instead of throwing it through, she held it between the bars so Mairi could take it. She had a comb for herself as well, which she used to rake through her terrible tangle of hair.
“Ease the comb through,” Mairi said, showing her how to tease out the knots by holding the hair and picking lightly at the tangle. The girl was pretty, though dirty, with smudges on her forehead and black under her nails. When was the last time either of them had bathed? “Hair is easier to manage when it’s clean,” she commented.
“Ye brought her a privy screen and a comb so she’d teach ye to do your bloody hair?” Weylyn asked. “Wait until I tell Da.”
Cinnia snapped around to glare. “And I’ll tell him ye gave her Artemis, who now answers to Daisy.” As if the dog understood the conversation, she stood on her hind legs, letting out a little bark before jumping onto the middle of the stained pallet.
“Bloody lasses,” Weylyn grumbled and walked off, kicking a rock that struck the stone wall of the tunnel. Cinnia’s confident smile told Mairi that they didn’t have to worry about her brother.
…
Alec watched the small herd of sheep that two boys and a dog prodded down a pebbled path through the village. He tipped his head to the baker’s wife as she handed him some fresh bread. “Ye taking care of those children up there in Kisimul?” she asked, her gaze shifting to his wolfhounds on either side of his horse.
“Aye. Cinnia is learning to cook, and Weylyn continues to help with training the dogs,” Alec said. A few words to Ruth and the whole town would know. The only way to communicate quicker was to stand before the chapel and yell it out at midday.
“’Tis a shame there’s no woman there to care for them,” she said, hands on her wide hips. She clucked her tongue. “Joyce wouldn’t want her household to run amuck.” The woman must envision dogs tearing through the bedrooms and shitting about the great hall.
“I will endeavor to find another lady of Kisimul as soon as I can.” Alec watched a pair of oxen pull barrels of wine from the dock. The mid-aged priest, Father Lassiter, stood haggling with the tradesman on God’s price for his communion wine. With the way the man ran through it, Alec wondered if maybe the good pastor was doing more than just sampling the drink.
“Well, don’t be treating the next lady like one of your bitches,” Ruth said, reminding Alec that he had way too much to do to keep talking with the village gossip. “Ladies don’t like to be kept on a leash. It’s why all the women of Kisimul up and leave.”
He turned back to look down at Ruth, his voice low. “Perhaps if I had leashed Joyce, she would be alive today.” Would she still walk the halls of Kisimul, running his household, caring for their children? Or would she have left in another fashion? They had wed for alliances, not love, and although she seemed faithful, she hadn’t seemed happy. And then, one day, she had left.
“Good day,” he said and tipped his head as Ruth’s lips pursed tight, and he tapped Sköll to get the horse moving. He needed to check on Millie, hunt for some game, and end the day in the village square, where he would sit to judge some complaints between villagers. An orderly day was a productive day.
Alec nodded to Kenneth on the way up the path into the hills. The two rode silently, keeping their bows nocked in case a stag jumped from a thicket. They caught two hares before halting in front of Millie’s cottage. She stood in the yard, throwing feed to her chickens. She raised her hand in greeting, her weathered face creasing even more with her smile.
“Still strong,” Kenneth said. “She must be getting up there in age.”
“Don’t let her see ye saying as much,” Alec said about the woman who had been the only constant in his life. A friend of his father’s and frequent visitor to Kisimul after he died, she had cared for Alec when his mother had deemed him old enough to rule the clan on his own and abandoned him for Iona’s Abbey, leaving him alone. He’d been sixteen years old.
She didn’t talk now, as if not being able to hear had stolen her words. Alec didn’t like her living out here in solitude, but the stubborn woman refused to live at Kisimul. She wanted her freedom, she’d told him when he’d turned twenty, and he’d ferried her over to the village where she found this cottage. She visited for Christmastide but never stayed.
“All is well?” he asked and moved his fingers in their own language that they’d developed over the last year. She’d resisted at first, realizing quickly that some of the signs were ones he used to control his dogs. So, she’d created signs of her own and taught him. She could also read the movement of lips.
She nodded and ushered them inside, out of the constant wind that skirted the low hills of the western islands. The cottage smelled of stew, and she dished up two bowls immediately. Did she know that he and Kenneth were nearly starving from the burned rations they currently endured at Kisimul?
“Would ye come back to the castle with us?” he asked, using a mix of words and his finger signs. She shook her gray head. “Why not? The children are lonely.” He didn’t actually know if they were or not. They’d never complained, preferring to stay safely surrounded by the walls of Kisimul, especially after their mother had been slain going into the village.
Millie’s fingers moved, and she poked him in the chest.
“What did she say?” Kenneth asked.
Alec sighed. “The usual.”
Kenneth grinned at her. “Aww now, Alec’s not lonely on Kisimul. He’s got me and Ian and the children and a pack of dogs.”
“Two, Kenneth. I have two dogs, not a pack.”
“Right now ye have five, and Weylyn’s got another.”
Millie made the sign she used often, linked fingers to look like a chain. She was also reminding him that she wouldn’t be locked up on Kisimul.
“Ye could come and go with a ferry,” Alec said. “And have your own small boat.”
Her lips turned wry, as if she didn’t completely believe him. He placed his hand to his heart. “I promise.”
“Tell her we would pay her to cook for us,” Kenneth said, scraping the last bits of stew out of his bowl with a crust of bread.
In the end, Alec left Millie again at her small cottage. She’d protected him after his mother left, and yet she wouldn’t let him protect her in her old age. Highly frustrating. But unlike dogs, who could be ordered by the alpha male, Millie made decisions for herself. Hopefully she would take in the two MacInnes dogs once he trained them. Alec would leave them there, anyway, and Millie’s soft heart wouldn’t allow them to starve. She’d take them in eventually, and they would protect her if she wouldn’t let Alec.
Kenneth and he hunted, bringing down one red deer that would feed the five of them and the six dogs currently living in Kisimul. Millie had sent them away with two loaves of bread to add to the one Alec had purchased from Ruth. He settled two disputes in the village square: the first about a herd of sheep that one farmer wanted to move across a valley where others grazed, and the second was a punishment given to three foolish boys who would build Millie a wall in recompense for taking a small boat into the bay without permission.
Alec stood as the people dispersed, stretching his shoulders in the late afternoon sun. The day had followed his plan. Just as it should, for he, Alec MacNeil, was the Wolf of Kisimul, the one who kept order on Barra, the one responsible for the lives before him. His discipline, planning, and strategy would rebuild the confidence of his people after the MacInnes had stolen their security.
Father Lassiter stood up from the steps of the chapel and ambled over. He fiddled with the large cross he wore around his neck. “A blessing to have ye exceedingly wise in the way of judgment,” he said, nodding to Alec.
“Small issues are easy to judge wisely, but thank ye, Father.” He strode toward Kenneth where he loaded cut peat on a sled tied to their two horses.
Father Lassiter walked quickly to stay next to him, his face growing red with exertion. “Son, have ye thought about the judgment ye should make against the MacInnes for their foulness? It’s been ten long months since the savage deed.”
When had Alec not thought about revenge? He’d walked the empty halls of Kisimul night after night while making plans to seek retribution. “Aye,” he answered, not looking to the priest.
“The village is behind ye, Alec,” he said, placing a staying hand on his arm. Alec stopped so he wouldn’t drag the man. “Fergus MacInnes is likely burning in Hell right now, but the MacNeils support a war against the MacInnes. I thought ye should know.”
Alec had kept his plans to seek revenge on Clan MacInnes a secret to all but the few men who’d helped him retrieve Mairi, and he’d made sure they were men he could trust to keep their mouths shut. He preferred a united Scotland, where the clans could join together to defeat the larger beast, King Henry and his English forces. Until he ascertained that Fergus MacInnes had the support of his clan against the MacNeils, he would seek revenge on only the bastard’s house. Alec was a patient man and had sought answers before acting. But answers were few, no matter how many people on the isles he questioned.
“Ye’ve earned the ear of the village,” Alec said in response. “’Tis good they are trusting ye now.” The priest had arrived on Barra the previous year, having been assigned by the Catholic Church to replace the elderly priest who had shepherded his parish for fifty years before dying peacefully in his bed.
Father Lassiter smiled. “Aye. It’s taken many months.”
“Excuse me, Father,” Alec said, nodding to the man and grabbing a sack of grain that he’d had milled into flour. Humph. More bread for Cinnia to burn.
He glanced up as he heard feminine laughter. Several lasses stared, the dark-haired one smiling coyly. Kenneth leaned back against his horse’s side with a grin. “Ye could just wed one of the town lasses. It’s been nearly a year since Joyce’s death. One of the lasses from the village would come back to Kisimul, take care of your children and cook for us.” He crossed his arms and tipped his chin toward the young women. “Just pick one and love her so well she won’t care about a curse.”
Alec lowered the flour onto a wooden sled tied to Sköll and walked back toward Kenneth. “There is no curse, and I have a wife back at Kisimul,” he said under his breath. A lovely, rose-scented wife with a delicate sprinkling of freckles over her nose and a body shaped with soft curves.
Kenneth snorted. “Ye have a locked-up she-wolf in the dungeon. There’s a big difference, and if ye don’t know that, the last ten months have taken more of your brain than we thought.”
“My brain is sound. Exile, with a good dose of discomfort, will make Mairi MacInnes agree. I’ve a solid plan, and it will go as I’ve ordered it.” It would work if he could just win against his nagging desire to go see her. He must keep his mind off Mairi MacInnes.
“Solid plan, huh?” Kenneth asked, pushing away from his horse to look out toward the bay, his brows gathering. “Does your plan involve the castle being on fire?”