Farewell
Kyla spent the happiest week of her life making love to her husband, getting to know him better. They learned new ways to pleasure each other, and shared stimulating discussions about literature and life in general. She’d never expected to marry a man who understood and even encouraged her literary aspirations.
Broderick began teaching his sister how to play the fiddle; the resulting ear-splitting racket led to lots of hysterical laughter.
Her father took over the sling lessons and proved to be a better teacher than she was. Her husband and stepsister improved their aim a great deal.
On the seventh day, Cook laid out a grand spread for the first meal of the day—smoked ham, fresh bread, crumbly cheese, and even venison left over from the previous evening.
But Kyla had no appetite. Her father was leaving. She’d known the inevitable day would dawn, but it was hard to face the fact she might never see him again.
She and Broderick stood with him on the banks of the Nith watching the last of the provisions and trade goods being loaded aboard the Banamhara.
Lily stood a little ways away with Adrian. The youth had decided to accompany Nicolson and begin a new life in Skye.
“Ye ken I hafta go home,” her father said. “Ye’re in good hands.”
She nodded. “I ken, but I’ll miss ye. I’ll miss everyone at Dun Scaith.”
Her sire raised an eyebrow. “Even yer brothers.”
She laughed. “Even them.”
“Isabel will be anxious to hear all about yer wedding, and ’tis glad I am I can assure her ye’re happy.”
“Tell her I love her.” She hesitated, not wanting to reveal too much. “Tell her I value her advice, and canna thank her enough for it.”
Her father’s puzzled expression deepened when Broderick winked mischievously and added, “I’m grateful too—very grateful.”
“Aye, weel. I’ll convey the message.”
Kyla could well imagine the grin on Isabel’s face when she received the message.
Broderick proffered his hand. “Seriously, Laird MacKeegan, I swear to do everything in my power to honor and protect my wife.”
“I trust ’tis so,” came the reply as the two men she loved most in the world clasped hands, “and I look forward to establishing a regular trade route between our clans.”
“Definitely.”
She couldn’t stem the tears as her father hugged her fiercely. “Ye’ve been lucky to find a good mon ye love, Kyla MacKeegan. Honor him in return.”
“Safe journey,” she said, nodding as he jumped aboard his birlinn.
Broderick put his arm around her shoulders and raised a hand in salute as the oarsmen pulled the vessel away from the bank.
Lily joined them. “I think Adrian made the right decision,” she announced with a maturity beyond her years. “He’s better off far away from the Lochwoods, and Nicolson thinks of him as a son.”
Kyla and Broderick exchanged a glance, the relief evident in his eyes, but then he asked, “Did I mention yer father drew up plans?”
“Plans for what?”
“A birlinn. I’m going to build one to replace the one I sank.”
“But ye have a galley—yer gunboat.”
“That’s fine for the Solway, but we’ll need a birlinn when we sail to the Hebrides.”
“Ye would travel to Skye?”
“Of course. I am acquainted with someone who’d be the perfect captain.”
She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I love ye, Husband.”
He pressed her to his body, nibbled her lip and whispered, “I’ll wager no one in the Hebrides has e’er seen a birlinn with an eagle at the prow.”
She wasn’t sure if he was teasing her or not but, in any event, she had to agree. “I suppose I have to resign myself to getting along with Aiglon.”
“Dinna fash,” he laughed. “She’ll learn to love ye.”
“I’m partial to hounds myself. Could ye learn to love a dog?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Ye’ve called my bluff, lass. I suppose it would have to be a blue dog?”
“Aye.”
*
Darroch MacKeegan stood at the stern of his birlinn until the towers of Caerlochnaven disappeared from sight.
A thousand memories assailed him. He was leaving behind the wee lass who’d tugged at his heartstrings the moment he first set eyes on her, who’d refused to speak for years, and then only to a dog, who’d blossomed into an intelligent and courageous young woman—not to mention beautiful.
He clenched his jaw. There came a time when every father had to let his bairns fly free of the nest, but ’twas hard.
Isabel would be sorely disappointed to have missed the wedding. He hoped Kyla’s message of thanks made sense to her, because he got the feeling there was more to it than met the eye. And why would Broderick be grateful to Isabel? He’d never met her.
He braced his legs and walked to the prow, matching his gait to the movement of the boat. The birlinn sat low in the water, manned by his own crew and those who’d survived the sinking of Kyla’s boat, including Adrian. Now that was a surprise, Nicolson taking the lad under his wing.
As the tide carried them out of the Solway an hour later, Darroch slapped his forehead. “I’m an idiot,” he shouted, thankful when the wind muffled his outburst.
He might have known Isabel would feel it her duty to prepare Kyla for the marriage bed. A brief chill prickled his nape. He only hoped his wife hadn’t let slip some of the more inventive…
“Nay,” he reassured himself. “We canna have a lass thinking her father indulges in such antics.”
A short time later, his gaze fell on Adrian. Nicolson was explaining something to him, no doubt about navigation and the like. He’d be a good mentor for the lad, teach him things…
He slapped his forehead again. “Crivens,” he yelled.
Isabel had made sure Kyla was informed about sexual congress, but he’d done naught to prepare his sons. True they were still young, but the day for them to wed would come soon enough. He’d run wild as a youth, without the benefit of good advice from a loving father. Kyla had been the result of his careless indiscretions—a blessing as it turned out, but her mother hadn’t survived the birth. He’d carried the guilt around for years.
Grig approached. “Fair winds,” he declared. “We should be home in a sennight.”
“Aye, and the first thing I’m going to do when I get to Dun Scaith is sit down with my lads and have a talk about…”
He suddenly felt foolish. Auld Grig—seventy if he was a day—would think he’d gone daft if he uttered the word sex.
“…er, about learning how to captain a ship now we’ve lost Kyla, and ye and me, we’re nay getting any younger.”
He couldn’t recall ever seeing the dour-faced Grig laugh before in all the years he’d known him.