Luncheon
Kyla paced the chamber. It was nigh on midday and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d eaten. A meal would be served for the household, but she was unsure if she’d be welcome in the Laird’s Hall.
Maxwell had stormed out in a very bad mood, taking his sister with him. She didn’t blame him. She had no right to put the notion into Lily’s head that her brother had said or done anything untoward. Nor should she have criticized the way he brought up his sister. It must be difficult for a man alone, especially considering he, too, was grieving his father’s death.
Kyla’s father had persevered with raising a motherless—not to mention stubborn—illegitimate daughter, even in the face of his own father’s opposition. Yet she’d never heard him utter a word of complaint, and had always basked in the glow of his unconditional love.
Maxwell loved his sister, that much was obvious. The best course of action was to offer an apology for the outburst, but if she didn’t get something to eat soon…
Her spirits lifted when a smiling Lily burst into the chamber, apparently recovered from her bout of grief. She had noticed before that bairns were often resilient and took things in stride better than some adults. She wished she could be as easily reconciled to the sinking of the Lanmara.
“Ye’re to come to the hall for luncheon,” Lily declared.
Kyla spread her arms wide. “Is this outfit acceptable?”
“Weel,” Lily mused, tapping a fingertip against her chin, “I doot Doreen will be pleased, but ’tis fine with me.”
“What about yer brother?”
“He willna care what ye’re wearing. He likes ye. I can tell.”
Feeling more optimistic, Kyla took the bairn’s hand and they left the chamber together.
*
Broderick came to his feet when Kyla and Lily entered the hall, painfully aware he’d failed in his duty as master of Caerlochnaven. His assumption that Doreen would provide victuals for his guest had proven to be wrong. The Highland lass must be hungry, but he’d worried she might be stubborn enough to refuse to come.
He was glad to see her—more than glad, if he was honest with himself. No woman had ever sparked the intense reactions that knocked him off balance when he was with Kyla MacKeegan. He was always careful to control his temper—all his emotions for that matter. He had no intention of following in his father’s footsteps.
Now the mere sight of Kyla wearing his shirt and those intriguing trews…and if he thought overlong on the bounty of red tresses…
He might have known she would hurry immediately to greet her crew. He should have realized she’d be concerned about them. As he watched her tearfully embrace every last man, it came to him she was more than concerned. Kyla MacKeegan wasn’t just a captain demonstrating relief her crew was safe. She truly cared about her clansmen.
It was a pitiful reality that he didn’t know the names of most of his gunboat’s crew, and hadn’t shown any interest in the men from Skye, other than to order they be provided food and allowed to sleep in the hall. He had no idea how many had drowned.
Even Lily was chatting with the sailors as if they were old friends, and seemed particularly taken with a young lad who couldn’t be more than a year or two older than she was.
“High time ye started acting like a laird,” he muttered as he strode from the dais, irritated by the cautious uncertainty in Kyla’s green eyes when he greeted her. For some reason, he craved her trust and hoped coherent words would issue forth from his mouth. “I should have reassured ye about yer men before this,” he admitted.
She nodded. “Aye, only two nay accounted for, which is akin to a miracle when ye consider…”
In an effort to avoid another argument, he offered his hand to the tallest sailor, who seemed to have some standing among the others. “I apologize for yer ordeal. When ye refused to heave to, we thought yer galley was smuggling contraband.”
The man eyed him with suspicion, but finally accepted the handshake. “Nicolson. Navigator. First time in thirty years I’ve lost a ship.”
Broderick had no answer, but Kyla came to the rescue of his confused thoughts.
“That’s the most I’ve ever heard ye say,” she teased, patting her navigator on the back.
Broderick’s gaze wandered to the lad standing nearby; he wasn’t dressed like a sailor, more like…
Lily jumped into the conversation before he had a chance to speak. “This is Adrian,” she informed him with a big smile. “He’s nay a sailor. He’s a valet.”
Broderick narrowed his eyes, not understanding until it dawned on him. “Ye were Laird Lochwood’s valet?”
“Aye,” the youth replied.
He put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “Ye were lucky to survive when yer master didna.”
He assumed the memory of a near-drowning caused the shiver that shook the lad, until he murmured, “Aye. We were both clinging to a bale of cloth.”
A twinge of guilt poked at Broderick.
“Then he pushed me off. I would have drowned but for Master Nicolson.”
Kyla gasped. “Lochwood didna try to save ye?”
Adrian studied his feet. “He was too busy saving himself.”
Broderick bit back the sarcastic retort that was on the tip of his tongue. After all, the wretch had drowned.
*
Kyla shouldn’t have been surprised by Adrian’s revelation about Corbin Lochwood, but was thankful nevertheless for the strength of Broderick’s warm hand as he led her to the high table on the dais. She ought to sit with her men but, perhaps, there was more to be gained from sitting beside Maxwell. A place at the high table befitted her rank as a chief’s daughter and they could discuss the return journey to Skye.
Broderick gestured to a space between him and his sister on the bench. He remained strangely silent as the cold ham and fresh bread was served.
Lily chattered about this and that, then launched her first salvo. “Kyla is going to teach me how to use a sling.”
Broderick’s leg twitched slightly, but Kyla was preoccupied with the warmth of his thigh barely touching hers. Her instinct was to move closer, to put her hand on…
His voice threw cold water on her reverie. “Why would ye want to learn how to use such a primitive weapon?”
She resisted the urge to blurt out her first thought about his knowledge of the age-old weapon. “’Tis true the sling has been used by shepherds for more than a thousand years,” she explained calmly. “That’s because ’tis effective, easy to carry, and anyone can learn to harness its power.”
Broderick swallowed the food he’d been chewing and opened his mouth to reply, but Lily cut him off. “Kyla once saved her father’s life with a missile from a sling.”
His leg twitched again as he furrowed his brow.
Kyla wished she’d not been so open with the lass. Now there was no option but to tell the tale. “Dadaidh had been abducted, and drugged with opium. I knocked Tremaine out with a rock flung from my sling, and helped him escape.”
“Tremaine?”
That was a convoluted bit of clan history she had no intention of revealing. “’Tis a long story.”
“And how old were ye then?” Broderick asked, seemingly satisfied with the lack of an explanation.
She feared he was mocking her, but he’d edged closer and his dark eyes held genuine interest.
“Seven.”
“See,” Lily exclaimed.
The heat from Broderick’s thigh was so comforting, Kyla barely heard his next words.
“I’ll send a message out to the tenants. They keep sheep.”