Patience
Kyla lay awake, staring into nothingness. The sun was up. Normally, she’d be out of bed long before it rose, but what reason was there to rise? Her galley was no more, and she was a prisoner in a castle far from home.
She’d slept fitfully, troubled by terrifying memories of her near-drowning, and an aroma on the linens she wasn’t used to. Not unpleasant, just—male.
The prospect of formulating a plan to get herself and her surviving crew home was too daunting to contemplate.
She took a few deep breaths to allay the anxiety churning in her belly. “Be patient,” she said softly.
“That’s what Broderick always says.”
She swiveled her head, surprised to see a pouting lass perched on the edge of the mattress, arms tightly folded across her chest.
Lily!
She sat up and pulled the linens to her chin. “How long have ye been here?”
“A few minutes. I’m Lily. I was waiting for ye to wake up and I remembered what my brother always says about being patient. Then ye said exactly the same thing.”
“I’m pleased to make yer acquaintance, Lily. I’m Kyla.”
“I ken. Why can I nay wear trews?”
“I dinna understand.”
“Doreen says lasses dinna wear trews, but ye wore men’s clothing when ye arrived.”
Kyla hesitated. She had strong feelings about the matter, but contradicting the sour-faced Doreen likely wouldn’t be wise. “I wear garments fashioned after men’s clothing when I am sailing my ship, though they’re tailored specially for me. It makes life easier.”
The pout softened. “But my brother sank yer boat, so now ye’ll wear frocks?”
It was a sharp reminder of the catastrophe, but there was no use railing at the lass for the actions of her brother. “Truth be told, I used to wear boys’ clothing when I was a little lass. I was what they call a tomboy.”
Lily sighed. “I want to be a tomboy.”
Kyla recognized a kindred spirit. “Being a tomboy doesna necessarily mean ye canna wear frocks. I used to like doing things girls are nay supposed to enjoy.”
“Like what?”
A fond recollection emerged. “I was a better shot with a sling than any lad.”
Lily unfolded her arms and inched further onto the bed. “What’s a sling?”
Kyla chuckled. Conversing with this curious little lass wasn’t much different from trying to explain things to her younger brothers. “’Tis a simple weapon shepherds use against wolves and other predators. Most often, ’tis made from a long piece of leather. The shepherd puts a rock in it and swings it like this.” She whirled her arm over her head and then pretended to fling a rock at the door. “And the missile flies to its target. I once saved my father’s life with my sling.”
Lily gaped. “Will ye teach me?”
Kyla hesitated. She couldn’t make promises to this bairn. “If yer brother agrees. But ye must remember, some people will try to make ye feel guilty if ye enjoy things they think ye shouldna.”
“Doreen, ye mean?” the lass replied.
“Ye canna blame her. She’s nay a tomboy.”
When Lily had stopped giggling, Kyla warned, “Like anything worth doing, it takes practice and patience to master a sling.”
Her own father had patiently persevered with her refusal to speak for seven years, but explaining the stubbornness she herself barely understood loomed like a jagged rock in unchartered waters.
The bairn nodded and Kyla resolved to follow her own advice. If Broderick consented, she’d at least have a weapon at her disposal.
“Where did ye sail from?” Lily asked.
Skye seemed so far away at that moment, Kyla didn’t know if she had the courage to speak of her island home.
“Is yer home a long way from here?”
“Aye,” she said softly, “Skye is a beautiful island in the Hebridean Sea.”
Lily lay down on the bed on her belly, chin propped on her fists. “Tell me about it. Do ye live in a castle?”
“Aye, but Dun Scaith isna as grand as this castle.”
Lily’s eyes widened. “Dun Scaith’s a strange name.”
“’Tis built on a rock that’s separate from the mainland.”
“How do ye get to it then?”
“There’s a narrow stone bridge that spans the roaring surf.”
“How could they build a castle on a rock?”
“They say ’twas built by the faeries.”
Lily sat up. “Faeries?” she murmured.
“Aye. They built it for the ancient warrior queen Sgathach. They called it the Fortress of Shadows and protected it with a pit of snakes and beaked toads.”
The lass wrinkled her nose. “Eww. We have toads aplenty in the meadows around our castle, but I’ve ne’er seen one with a beak.”
Kyla chuckled. “Me neither. Folks say Sgathach still haunts Dun Scaith.”
“Have ye seen her?”
“Nay, but that doesna mean she isna there.”
Lily nodded thoughtfully. “True. I sometimes think Caerlochnaven is haunted, but Doreen says ’tis just the wind howling.”
Sharing the ancient folklore of her home—passed on to her in many a bedtime story by her dadaidh—had soothed some of the pain of Kyla’s loss, but now she closed her eyes, hearing again the howl of the wind as it roared off the Little Minch and battered Dun Scaith. “She’s probably right,” she murmured.
“Dinna be sad,” Lily begged, climbing off the bed. “I liked yer tale.”
“Someday, I’ll tell ye about the Faerie Flag, given to a crusader long ago and kept at the castle where my stepmother grew up.”
Lily stared at her for a few moments, hesitating before she asked, “Do ye like yer stepmother?”
Homesickness swamped Kyla again. “I love her like my own mother.”
Lily’s lip quivered. “I wish I had a mother, but my father canna marry again. He’s dead.”
*
Broderick chided himself for rising late. He hadn’t slept well in the strange chamber, bothered by indecision. What was he to do with Kyla MacKeegan?
He’d spent most of the night dreaming of making love to her and woken with the evidence of his erotic dreams on the linens. However, such a liaison wasn’t an option. She hated him for sinking the galley, and he still didn’t know what her relationship had been with Corbin Lochwood. His blood ran cold at the thought of Lochwood putting his hands on her body. Yet the man had put a gun to her head—another troubling image.
He had no grounds to pursue prosecution for smuggling. He’d have to free her and, naturally, she and her crew would want to go home to Skye.
The overland journey would take them weeks. He’d be obliged to furnish horses and provisions. The route was fraught with dangers—treacherous terrain and bandits who’d think nothing of killing every living soul for the horses. After they’d raped Kyla, of course. He refused to contemplate subjecting her to that.
The only way was by sea. If he took her home in his galley, it was unlikely he’d leave Skye alive. Darroch MacKeegan wouldn’t take kindly to losing his birlinn, not to mention the fact Broderick had nigh on drowned his daughter.
If he sent her off with his men, he’d probably never see the gunboat again and he needed the vessel for patrolling the Solway.
He saw to his ablutions, dressed quickly and started out for the mews. Talking things over with Aiglon often helped resolve problems. He simply had to be patient.
*
Lily slid off the bed and tugged Kyla’s sleeve. “I want to go now to ask Broderick.”
Kyla got up and held her arms wide. “I canna traipse about in a nightgown. Besides, yer brother is holding me against my will. He might object if I leave this chamber. Does he even ken ye’re here?”
Lily’s face reddened.
A suspicion grew in Kyla’s mind. “Does Doreen ken where ye are?”
“Er…nay,” the lass admitted with a mischievous grin. “She’s probably hunting for me.”
Kyla bristled. She didn’t need a cantankerous servant as an enemy. But something about Lily’s grin brought her naughty brothers to mind. Perhaps, the Maxwell lass was a tomboy after all. A co-conspirator. “Do ye think ye can sneak down to the laundry and try to find my clothes?” she whispered. “I’d especially appreciate getting my plaid back.”
Lily frowned. “Why?”
Obviously things were different here in the Lowlands. “Where I come from,” she explained, “every clan has its own plaid. ’Tis a symbol of where we belong.”
“And ye dinna belong here,” Lily replied.
The sadness in the bairn’s eyes gave her pause, but homesickness tightened her throat. “Nay.”
“I understand. I’ll find it for ye. Then can we look for Broderick?”
“Aye, though we’d best stay out of Doreen’s way.”
“Oh, she ne’er ventures to the mews.”
“The mews?”
Lily opened the door and peered out. “Broderick will be there, talking to Aiglon.”
Kyla was beginning to feel like a parrot. “Aiglon?”
“His eagle.”
Kyla’s breath hitched in her throat as the bairn closed the door behind her. She remembered the eagle vividly—harbinger of the disaster that had befallen her galley.