Sisters
“I sometimes chafe at the responsibility of raising a young lass,” Broderick admitted to Aiglon, “but after Mother’s death and Father’s flight to France, it fell to me to see to Lily’s upbringing.”
Perched on his padded shoulder, the golden eagle cocked her head to one side, eyes fixed on the dead mouse in his gloved hand. She was well-trained and wouldn’t take the meat until it was offered.
Some might think him off his head, confiding in a bird, but he usually felt more at peace after visiting the mews each day. Who else was there to share his concerns?
“I’ve spared no expense in providing nursemaids, tutors, dressmakers, even playmates,” he continued. “But a lass needs a female influence, a mother. What can a young man of three and twenty ken about a little girl’s thoughts and fancies?”
Aiglon accepted the dainty morsel, devoured it and beat her wings, just for a moment. He’d raised her from the day she pecked open the shell, and named her Eaglet. He never worried she would abandon him, though she was now fully grown and probably weary of his daily ramblings.
“I fret over what might happen to my sister if I marry. Few women want to be burdened with a bairn that isna theirs. In theory, Lily is old enough to wed, but she’s nay ready for that. Marriage to the wrong man would destroy her.”
Aiglon preened the feathers of her breast, head bobbing as if in agreement.
“I dinna have time to search for a bride,” he conceded ruefully, “although ’tis my duty to sire heirs. My father’s bloody reputation doesna help matters.”
He had other duties, onerous ones placed on his shoulders by the king, and was determined to prove that James’ trust wasn’t misplaced. He would do his utmost to ensure the newly established peace on the borders wasn’t threatened by gunrunners, opium peddlers and whisky smugglers who sought to ply their trade up and down the Solway.
As well, there was the upkeep of a large castle and servants to provide for. The king’s measures to stop reiving had at least brought a respite from the killing, thieving and kidnapping that had gone on for generations. Tenant farmers had begun to show more optimism about the future. Crops were being sown again.
However, gone, too, was the lucrative practice of ransoming captives back to enemy clans.
“Times are changing. We must find other sources of revenue,” he told Aiglon as she hopped back onto her perch.
The falconer tipped his cap to Broderick when he closed and latched the grilled gate of the mews. “I heard tell Laird Lochwood is dabbling in trade to fill his coffers.”
It was an inescapable reality that peasants and servants always knew things well before their masters. He suspected falconers in particular had some sort of network. “What do ye ken of this?” Broderick asked.
The wily old man, who’d worked for the Maxwells for years, scratched his bald head. “Gone to the Isle of Skye to parlay with the MacKeegans. Plans to bring back woven cloth and hides to sell to the English.”
Broderick rubbed his hands together. Odds were that Lochwood planned to unload his cargo in Annan, and to get there he’d have to sail up the Solway. He wasn’t the kind of man to deal solely in mundane goods like cloth and hides. This might be an opportunity for Broderick to catch his clan’s nemesis red-handed. A charge of smuggling would put paid to Lochwood’s aspirations to be Warden.
*
Kyla had spent twelve years sailing the seas of the Hebrides. Her father often boasted she was a more accomplished sailor than he was, a high compliment, indeed, and one she’d aspired to.
The journey south would take them into previously unknown waters, but she had confidence in her skill and her crew. The navigator chosen by her father had traveled to the Solway before.
Lochwood took his leave of her parents affably enough, and seemed unflustered by the notion of a female captaining the birlinn. Despite his outward charm, Kyla mistrusted him and didn’t like the way he looked at her as if she were a chattel he was considering purchasing.
Once the Lanmara was underway, she inhaled the salty air and looked back at the place of her birth. She’d bidden her family farewell many times from the docks below Dun Scaith, but couldn’t rid herself this time of a premonition she would never return. Wiping away tears brought on by her stepmother’s fierce hug, she told herself it was Lochwood’s unsettling presence causing such maudlin thoughts.
“Horrible looking place,” her passenger sneered, raising her hackles, though she’d once shared his horror of the gaunt edifice, rumored to have been built by the faeries. No human hand could have constructed such a fortification in an impossible location atop a rock sitting in the roiling surf.
As a bairn, she’d hated Dun Scaith, thanks to her grandfather’s determination to deny the existence of an illegitimate granddaughter and cast her out. She’d even refused to utter a single word to anyone for the first seven years of her life. She regretted the torment she’d inflicted on the father who’d defied his own sire to love and protect her.
The arrival of Isabel MacRain had changed things at Dun Scaith. She’d even managed to turn the crotchety old chief into a doting grandfather, and birthed four healthy sons.
Kyla readily admitted to being the tomboy her father had always claimed. She loved her brothers, but sometimes wished for a sister. Isabel treated her like her own daughter and they shared many interests and confidences, but a sister…
She shook off her melancholy and turned to Lochwood. “Did ye ken an ancient warrior queen dwelt in Dun Scaith? They say Sgathach still haunts the castle and doesna take kindly to folk who speak ill of it.”
“Warrior queen?” Corbin’s pale-faced young valet whispered.
Lochwood scowled at the lad. “Old wives’ tale. Be off and find me a comfortable place to sit.”
Sorry she’d caused Adrian to become the brunt of his master’s displeasure, she gave the command to hoist the sail as they entered the sound. “Keep a southeast heading,” she shouted to her navigator.
“Aye, Captain,” Nicolson replied.