Chapter Six
As we descended the slick, rocky path down to the rocky beach separating the two landmasses, I struggled with my skirts and holding on to both children. The kids were probably a lot more nimble than I, but I wasn’t about to let go of them.
“Let us take the bairns, lass,” Iskair said from behind me. He picked up both children and handed Archibald off to Kenny, keeping hold of Sarah in one muscular arm. I checked the children’s expressions. They didn’t seem particularly troubled by the change in guardians.
“Thank you,” I breathed. I grabbed up my skirts and kept walking, steadying myself against the cliff face with my free hand. The going was slow with so many elderly people, children and babies.
Acutely aware of Iskair’s presence behind me, I wondered if he was married, engaged, involved. There was some mystery about him that the others knew and I did not, and I hoped to discover what it was.
We reached the seafloor and crossed over the wet, slippery rocks. The tide had barely cleared the divide, and waves still ran up to us, licking at our feet.
Everything seemed so much harder with the long, thick skirts, and I missed my hiking boots. Sadly, I hadn’t had a chance to grab them before we left the stronghold. I knew no one would tolerate my jeans, but the hiking boots would have made me very, very happy. Dylan looked comfortable in his, and I envied him.
Another glance over my shoulder revealed Sarah happily chatting in Iskair’s ear as she played with the brown curls hanging down his face. He smiled at her, a warm, playful smile that touched me. I wouldn’t have thought a rugged warrior like Iskair would have such a charming smile.
He caught my eye, and I jerked my head forward. We congregated at the bottom of the path on the mainland cliff face as those ahead climbed slowly.
“Ye seem put out by yer skirts, Mistress Morrison,” Iskair said from behind me. “I ken it must be difficult to climb these cliffs with such unwieldy garments.”
“Our new auntie Debra prefers trews!” Sarah said.
I drew in a sharp breath but said nothing, hoping Iskair hadn’t heard.
“Does she now? And how do ye ken such, lassie?” he asked her.
“She came from the beach to see us this morning in her blue trews. Lovely they were! I wish I could wear such.”
Iskair looked at Sarah, then to me. I eyed him innocently, then shrugged my shoulders as if to suggest that Sarah was being imaginative.
“From the beach?”
“Aye, on the other side of the island,” Sarah added to my dismay. “One minute, she wasn’t there, the next she was...like a kelpie. She fell into the sea though, but our new uncle Dylan rescued her. Auntie Ann said she had come from—”
“Goodness, Sarah!” I interrupted. “I am not sure your auntie Ann would want you to repeat her words.”
“Let the lassie finish. Auntie Ann said she had come from where?”
Sarah bit her lip and looked at me before raising her eyes to where Ann climbed up the path.
“I ken Auntie Debra is right. Auntie Ann would no like me to gossip.”
Iskair didn’t press her but turned to look at me.
“A kelpie, is it?”
He was talking to me, but Sarah answered.
“I didna say she was a kelpie, only that she seemed to come from the sea like one.”
“Perhaps we should talk later, mistress,” Iskair said.
“I don’t know that we should, Mr. Macaulay.” I turned my back on him and followed the group up the path. The sense of security that Iskair’s presence had given me only a few moments before had evaporated. I could keep refusing to answer his questions, but something in his eyes told me he was going to persist. I would have to coordinate some sort of story with Ann, Cynthia and Dylan as soon as possible.
Within half an hour, we reached the top of the cliff on the mainland. Some of the group lingered to look back on Dun Eistean, now devoid of human movement. Iskair and Kenny set the children down, and I took their hands.
“We cannot tarry here.” Iskair spoke loudly, shepherding the villagers forward. “We must hurry. Follow yer mistress and Rob.”
His horse, a big brown, grazed nearby, and the designated rider, one of the gate guards, followed Iskair, Kenny and Euan over to the horse. They conferred for a few minutes, and then the rider took off across the plains.
I moved out, following the crowd, and Iskair and the two men fell into step behind us. We traveled for hours over flat, rolling grassland that held little in the way of trees or protection. I looked behind us to see if we left a trail that could easily be followed, but I was no expert in tracking. I couldn’t say that we had left a swathe in the grass because the wind rustled it straight as soon as we passed. I had no idea whether Angus Macleod would figure out where the village had gone, but I hoped not.
About three hours into the journey, the children lagged, and I had to drag them forward. I turned to Iskair.
“The kids need a break. They’re exhausted, and they need to drink and eat.”
He nodded. “Aye, I have seen them falter. I will speak to Rob.”
As if he had all the energy in the world, Iskair trotted forward. He and Rob surveyed the landscape and pointed to a spot ahead. The group moved forward, and Iskair called the group to a halt near a creek that seemingly materialized out of nowhere.
Ann and Cynthia turned to look for me—or rather the children, and I led them up to the women. I noted that Rob had taken up carrying one of the twins, as Dylan held the other. Cynthia had jerry-rigged her arisaid to tuck her smaller infant against her chest, leaving her hands free.
“Auntie Ann, Auntie Cyn-tya, I am so verra tired,” Sarah mewled on reaching the women. “Can we go home now?”
“We aren’t going home, children,” Ann said. She sat down on the creek bank and pulled Archibald and Sarah down with her. Cynthia scooted in next to Sarah. Catherine took the baby from Dylan and sat down as well. Mistress Glick, keeping up remarkably well, joined them, and each withdrew her drink container.
Dylan settled down beside them, and signaled for me to join. I gave him a half smile but took a seat a few yards away and stretched out my legs. I had no water, no food, and couldn’t make myself ask for any. I didn’t know what kind of chip I had on my shoulder, but I simply couldn’t bond with the women—at least not with Ann or Cynthia. I knew I would need to if I was to survive, but something kept me at arm’s length. More truthfully, I kept them at arm’s length.
“Yer brother seems like a pleasant lad,” a baritone voice said from above. Iskair seated himself next to me and offered me a pouch.
“Drink,” he said. He rummaged in the folds of his kilt and withdrew a handkerchief holding several oatcakes. He handed one to me.
“Thank you,” I said, settling it on my lap. “What is in this?” I asked, eyeing the container in my hand.
“Ann bid me give it ye. She said to tell ye it is water. It is just as well. I am no as fond of the whisky as some, and I drank all my ale on the way to Dun Eistean.”
“So this is water from Ann?”
He gave me a curious look. “Aye. Why do ye ask wi so fervent an expression?”
“No reason,” I said with a shake of my head.
“Nay, I think ye must have a reason for asking.”
“Ann boils her water. Boiling it kills most bacteria. Since I’m not from Scotland, I’m not used to the water here, and it could make me sick.”
What was it that they said about lying? Stick as closely to the truth as possible? My parents’ voices echoed in my ears.
No, honey. Nothing is wrong. Mommy and Daddy are just taking separate vacations because we have different things we like to do. This year, you go with Daddy. Next year, you’ll go with Mommy.
The holidays had ceased to include all three of us in one location, though technically we all lived in the same house for the rest of the year. I had known something was wrong, but as a six-year-old, I couldn’t understand exactly what.
“I wondered about yer accent. Where are ye from then?”
I gave Iskair my wild story about being born in England and growing up in Constantinople. I wasn’t sure he would have known that my accent wasn’t from some remote part of England, but Catherine would have known. And since I had begun the lie, I had to continue it.
“Constantinople,” he murmured, munching on his oatcake. “You are verra far from home.”
“Oh, well, I don’t live there anymore. That’s just why my English accent is flawed.”
“Ye speak with the same accent as Ann and Cynthia. I dinna ken that they lived in Constantinople. Are ye certain?”
He was clever.
“Who are you exactly?” I asked.
“Iskair Macaulay,” he said, “son of Cam Macaulay. My mother was a Morrison.”
“I heard all that. I just think there’s more to your story. I thought I heard that you had been involved in raids on the stronghold? I don’t understand. Why would you attack the stronghold if you’re related to them?”
“Aye, it is confusing, I agree.”
I waited, hoping he was about to “unconfuse” me, but he merely smiled at me and munched on his oatcake.
“It seems that we both have our secrets,” he offered.
“Yes, it does seem that way.”
Iskair reached for the water.
“We must keep moving. We want to put as much distance between the Macleods and us as possible.”
He stood, towering over me like some mystical dark-haired character from a historical film. When he reached out a hand to help me to my feet, my heart thumped. After helping me rise, Iskair favored me with a benign kindly smile, then turned and strode away, leaving me staring after him in open-mouthed admiration. I was certain my budding infatuation with him was a one-way thing, but that didn’t seem to matter—not to me.
I caught sight of Dylan watching me with an inquiring tilt of his head, and I gave him a faint smile. The difference between Dylan and Iskair was the difference between a twenty-first-century academic and a sixteenth-century Scottish warrior. Any physical comparison between the two was unfair.
Iskair moved to the front of the group and raised a silent hand. On cue, everyone rose. Ann dispatched Archibald and Sarah to my side, and I took the children’s hands in mine.
The kids and I followed the group, as we had before, with Iskair, Kenny and Euan bringing up the rear.
We traveled for a few more hours until the children started to lag again. I looked over my shoulder toward Iskair with a silent inquiry. He interpreted my question correctly.
“I ken the bairns are weary,” he said, eying them sympathetically. “We are almost there.”
“How much longer?”
“Not above half an hour.”
I nodded and turned to speak to the kids.
“Okay, guys, just a little bit more. You can do it!”
“We can do it!” Sarah repeated.
Archibald squared his little shoulders and nodded.
“Aye, we can do it.” His enthusiasm was a bit more forced than Sarah’s, and I gave his sticky hand an encouraging squeeze.
With little conception of time, I assumed a half hour had passed when Iskair moved up to our side.
“There,” he said, pointing. “Knockbost Castle. It isna much, but it will have to do.”
I looked ahead to the upper half of heavily ivied stone walls of a fairly large tower house rising above a forest of thick green trees. Beyond, the blue waters of the sea sparkled.
Even from our distance, I could see that the roof was missing, though the castle didn’t look particularly ruined so much as abandoned and neglected.
“How old is the castle?” No expert on all Scottish castles, I had not heard of Knockbost Castle.
“I dinna ken, one hundred years?”
“Oh! Fairly new then.”
“Aye. Tormod Macleod, Angus Macleod’s sire, didna care for the sea air and chose to rebuild inland. It is my hope that Angus Macleod will no think we have come here.”
“You mean this is Macleod land? You brought us into Macleod land, and they’re trying to kill the Morrisons?”
“Aye, where better to hide, no?”
I eyed Iskair.
“Does Ann know?”
“Aye, she does now. If you will excuse me, I must speak to Rob. Kenny and Euan follow you.”
I nodded and watched Iskair stride off to the front of our weary line of travelers.
“Are we almost there?” Sarah asked, probably unable to see the top of the tower house from her short height.
“We’re almost there.”
We kept moving, leaving the plains and entering the forest. We passed through the forest, stopping just at the edge to see the entirety of the tall castle tower. Beyond, a bay sparkled in the distance, and I recognized the area of modern-day Stornoway. I had flown in and out of there once before.
However, the small village of Stornoway that I had seen did not exist in the sixteenth century. The castle was the only sign of habitation, and I dearly hoped no one was there.