On a Highland Shore (28 page)

“Aye.”

“Have you gone to Kirkwall?”

Kirkwall, the capital of the Orkneys. That would be his next destination, Gannon thought, to talk with Orkney’s leaders. “We thought we’d talk to ye first, as an ally of both Ireland and Scotland.”

“I’m sure the thane will look into it.”

“I’m sure he’ll tell us that he will, then do nothing.”

Leod arched an eyebrow. “Ye have a poor opinion of the man.”

“No one in the Orkneys did anything when my father was killed.”

“Ah,” Leod said, nodding. “The wound must still be fresh.”

Gannon bit back a sharp reply. “Where would ye look?”

“For Somerstrath’s son?”

“Aye.”

“In the Orkneys, ye mean?”

“Aye, or anywhere. Where would ye go?”

Leod’s expression grew thoughtful. “Most of the islands are alike. No trees, lots of rock. Some have standing stones. I’m not sure which of them would be the best to see.”

“I’m looking for men who go Viking, not a spot for a holiday.”

“What about Norway?”

“Ye think the raiders are from Norway?”

“It’s happened before.”

“Long way to go home between raids. They’d have had to stay somewhere closer to do all these raids so quickly.”

“So you’re thinking they’re in the Orkneys?”

“Or on another island.”

Leod leaned forward abruptly. “They’re not here.”

“Have they been here?”

“No one came here and told me of his intention to raid Ireland or Scotland.”

“But ye’ve had visitors.”

Leod leaned back. “Of course I have.”

“And if those who did the raids come here? Will ye welcome them?”

“I will offer them whisky and listen.”

“Do ye buy slaves?”

“No.”

“Do ye shelter men who do?”

Leod smiled slowly but did not answer.

“Will ye join them in these raids?”

“I will offer them whisky.”

“And if the men who have done these raids are found and destroyed…?”

“I would listen to the story of how it happened.”

“Would ye join in revenge for them?”

“I’d listen first.”

“But ye’d no’ rule it out?”

“Depends on what happened. I’m not overfond of William Ross.”

“Yer mother was a Ross.”

“Your mother was Irish and your father was Norse. Surely you, more than most, can understand my position.”

“Do ye ken who it is?”

Leod smiled again. “I hear a lot of things.”

Gannon stood. “I thank ye for yer time and for the whisky, sir.”

“You’ll stay the night,” Leod said, rising to his feet. He came around the desk and gestured to the window. “It’s already late. I’ll send for your brother to join us.”

When Gannon hesitated, Leod laughed.

“I give you my word I will not harm a hair on your head. You and your brother and your men will be safe. You can leave in the morning and go back to tell O’Neill and Ross that I was at least hospitable.”

“But not talkative,” Gannon said.

Leod laughed again and slapped Gannon’s shoulder. “Your father should have come to Skye. I could have used him and his sons. Send for your brother.”

“I’ll go and get him.”

“What did you do, leave him with orders to sail if you didn’t return?”

Gannon smiled. “He’ll be glad to hear my hair will be safe here.”

Tiernan’s relief was obvious when Gannon came back down the hill, but he frowned when Gannon said they’d been invited to spend the night.

“Think we should?” Tiernan asked.

“We dinna have much choice. If we leave now, we’ll insult him, and we dinna want to do that.” Gannon shrugged. “Maybe we’ll learn more.”

Tiernan glanced up the hill. “I’ve heard about his fortress.”

“He’s a wealthy man, and his whisky is very fine. We’ll be verra comfortable, I’m sure. Wait until ye see how careful he is. We can learn from him.”

“If we live.”

“He gave his word.”

Tiernan grunted, but he followed Gannon back up the hill.

The evening meal was lavish, the whisky and ale free-flowing, and Leod at his most charming and talkative, but Gannon learned nothing more of value. When Leod began to yawn, Gannon excused himself, saying he needed to check on his men and ship.

“Listen and see what ye can learn,” he whispered to Tiernan as he left.

Outside the fog was thick, swirling in spirals around his head as he moved. Swallowing the walls he knew surrounded him and leaving him in a gray cocoon. The men at the gatehouse were shadows, then suddenly loomed from the mist, greeting him politely. He told them he’d soon be back and they nodded, not surprised. He wondered if his every movement had already been reported to all of Leod’s men. The sea was not visible outside the walls, but he could hear the waves lapping on the shore somewhere to his right, the clink of shackles from the dock ahead. All was well on
Gannon’s Lady
. His men were wrapped in their cloaks against the dampness, but said the meal Leod had sent down to them had been generous, his ale delicious. He left them in good spirits and headed back up the hill, stopping halfway up when he heard his name.

“Gannon Magnusson.”

H
e looked carefully around him, his flesh rising. The whispers. His name, his Norse name, was spoken softly from the fog, then again, this time closer. Not the whispers then, but still unnerving.

“I am here,” he said.

The woman walked slowly toward him. He did not move as he watched her body take form, her clothing come into view. She was tall, wraith-like, her hair as gray as her cloak, as pale as her face. She was no longer young, yet not so old that he couldn’t see the traces of the beauty she had once had. She came closer and stared up at him, as though she already knew him. He had never seen her before. She moved closer and raised a hand. He thought she’d touch his face, but she pulled her hand away.

“You are so like him. I would know you anywhere as his son.”

“Did ye ken my father?”

She laughed, the sound as brittle as she appeared. “Aye. In another time.” Her manner grew brisker. “The man you seek, Gannon Magnusson, the man who has been raiding Ireland and Scotland. The man you came to ask Leod about, Magnus’s son. His name is Nor Thorkelson, the son of Thorkel. Fathers and sons. Some so alike. Some so different. I heard that your father was killed by Orkneymen.”

He stared into her eyes. “Aye.”

“The patterns of life continue.” She circled him, her eyes brighter now. He did not move, and at last she stopped before him. “Leod cannot tell you about him without breaking his word. He has agreements with King Haakon of Norway.”

“And with the laird of Ulster and the king of Scotland.”

“Aye. And with the thane of Orkney. You see his difficulty.”

“No. Who is this Nor Thorkelson?”

“An Orkneyman. From Ketelsay.”

“You’re sure he’s the one?”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Why do ye tell me?”

“I am no friend of Nor Thorkelson’s.”

“Why?”

“He took something from me that cannot be replaced.”

Gannon waited for her to explain, but instead she took a step backward. He clutched her arm, surprised at how firm it was. “Wait! Tell me more. Why does he raid? What does he want? Why do ye tell me?”

She paused, a strong emotion fleeting across her face. “I knew your father; I was fond of him. He was a good man. I am hoping his son is as well. Why am I telling you this? I want you to stop Nor.”

She looked at his hand on her arm, then at him. He released her.

“He took my daughter, used her, and threw her away when he was finished.”

“Ye are from Ketelsay?”

“No. He came here. He’s been to Skye many times, Gannon Magnusson. He has had men here too, sometimes staying for weeks.”

“Where?”

“South of here. South of Bracadale, but not as far as Sleat. His men come here for women.”

“And Leod kens this?”

“I don’t know what Leod knows. I only know what I needed to tell you.” She took another step back. “Find him.”

“Does Nor raid for Leod?”

The woman shrugged.

“For King Haakon?”

“I do not think so.”

“Why does he raid?”

“I cannot tell you why Nor raids. The priest would tell you about good and evil.”

“And what would you tell me?”

“About what is. Nor is. Death is. Gold is.”

“He does this for gold?”

“I cannot answer that. Perhaps for gold. Perhaps for power. His father died not long ago. His older brother, who should have led the men of Ketelsay, has disappeared, as has his younger brother. There are whispers that he disposed of them.”

“And Leod kens all this?”

“Leod has been told many things.”

“Did Leod tell ye to tell me this?”

She smiled, stepping back into the mist. And was gone, leaving him staring, his flesh crawling at her sudden disappearance. Like a spirit, he thought, staring into the fog, unable to see any trace of her. But no, she’d been real, a woman as alive as he was, who used the mist like an actor used the stage. Nothing more. He looked up the hill. He had some new questions for his host.

But Leod was as wily as ever, and despite his best efforts, Gannon went to his bed with no new information. Every question he’d asked had been parried with a ready answer that gave nothing away. He’d even asked who Nor Thorkelson was—and had been met with a blank stare and a change of subject. But a flicker of Leod’s eyes let him know he’d been right.

He’d had only a few moments to tell Tiernan of his encounter with the woman, of the name and information she’d given him, and then his brother rejoined Leod’s captains, loudly playing dice and drinking heavily. Gannon retreated to the comfortable room he and Tiernan were to share for the night, stretching out on the large bed, grateful that at least Leod’s household understood the needs of a tall man, but worried that his brother, full of Leod’s ale, might give too much away. He stared at the bedhangings, then closed his eyes. But he did not sleep, for his mind was too full of images, of Leod, of the woman in the mist. Of Margaret, who was probably Lachlan’s wife now. And this her wedding night.

Tiernan came in at last, his movements lax. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. “Good ale, but I had far too much of it.”

“What did ye hear?”

Tiernan crossed the room, peeling his outer clothing from him. He threw himself on the bed with a sigh, sitting against the headboard and waiting while Gannon pulled the one chair in the room to the side of the bed and sat astride it.

“They ken who he is,” Tiernan said quietly. “He is an Orkneyman, just as she said. He’s been here several times in the last few months. Leod’s men dinna trust him, say he cheats at dice—I lost, by the way. Ye need to pay me back for that—and he likes to fight. He cheats at that, too. He thinks he’s brilliant. He’s very vain.”

“They all talked of him?”

Tiernan shook his head. “No, just one, young and not too drunk to be a bit cautious at least; he waited until everyone else was gone or asleep. He says that many of Leod’s men and the Skyelanders are angry about Nor. They think he’s likely to drag them into a war they dinna want. He says many of them think Leod should cut his ties with Norway and Orkney, that the Scottish kings have wanted the Hebrides for decades and that they’ll either buy them or find another way to rule them. D’ye think they’re playing us for fools, telling us that Nor is doing the raids and having us go running off to Orkney? Perhaps it’s not Nor, and they’re in league with whoever it actually is.”

“And sending us off to insult an innocent man in Orkney and irritate the jarl there?” Gannon nodded. “Perhaps. But we dinna have to play it like fools. Or perhaps it is Nor, and everyone wants us to rid the world of him. Who kens what the truth of it is? All we ken is that one woman told me a name and a story to go with it.”

“And a man confirmed much of it.”

“A trip to Orkney will tell us and I’m thinking that’s exactly what we’ll do.”

Gannon woke from a nightmare to stare into the dim morning light, then take deep breaths, telling himself he was on Skye, that Tiernan slept nearby, that all was well, that it was the whisky he’d had that had brought the dream, or the talks with Leod. Nothing more. It meant nothing. He sat up, his body tense and stiff, then climbed from the bed. He would not seek slumber again. He held his hands before him, seeing them tremble, and clenched them, forcing them to steady and his heart to slow. A dream. He leaned his forehead on the sill of the window and breathed the cool morning air, then straightened as he realized the cliffs in his dream had been much like those just outside this opening. It was, he told himself, nothing more than the pieces of the recent past, nothing more than a mix of his experiences. Nothing more than his acknowledgment of the responsibility of this visit, of the importance of discovering who the raiders were. The dream was only a symbol of the tension he felt. And his fears. In the dreams he always failed.

It had been Margaret’s shrill, frightened voice, her screams, which he’d heard, that still echoed in his mind. Calling his name. Not a memory this time, unless there was some way to have lived this all before. And dear God let it not be a foreshadowing. He could not bear to hear her terror. He’d not been alone, nor she. There had been others, too, screaming, but he’d paid them little mind, hearing only her voice, knowing death was at hand.

He rubbed his hand across his forehead, then pulled on his clothing with shaky movements that annoyed him; he slowed his body until it once again moved as it should, and, dressed now, he opened the door. He might never drink whisky again, just in case.

Hours later Gannon bid farewell to Leod at the dock, then turned his attention to the task of wending their way back through the loch to the open sea. Leod had grinned as they left, and Gannon had the uncomfortable feeling that his amusement was at their expense. He looked away from the older man, looked over the water, thinking of what he’d learned. He’d been right all along; it was Orkneymen who had done the raiding. And he had a name of the man who might be their leader. Before they returned to Inverstrath he’d search Skye for dragonships in hopes that he might find a man to accompany the name.

Morning brought rain to Inverstrath, but still no priest. He could not be found, they were told, although that was strange, for he was a man of regular habits. No matter, William said, when she brought the news. He sent for the monk who had been there the day before.

“He’s not a priest,” Margaret said.

“He will do,” William said briskly.

The monk arrived that afternoon, dusty from travel and bearing news of more raids in the north. William listened with a grim expression, then told Margaret to prepare for the wedding.

“I’ll be leaving shortly thereafter,” he said. “Let’s get this done.”

Nell brushed Margaret’s hair until it gleamed, then helped her dress in the light blue silk bodice and matching overskirt that she’d worn to her audience with the king. Nell thought the color perfect and the styling quite lovely—even if the clothing had brought her no luck last time. The sisters had said little while they readied Margaret for the wedding, but Nell had expected that. She brushed Margaret’s dark hair one more time, then spread it over her shoulders, pleased with her work.

“Ye look beautiful, Margaret.”

Margaret gave her a wan smile. “Thank ye.”

“Are ye afraid?”

“I’m sad.”

“About marrying Lachlan?”

“Aye, that and…it doesna matter.”

Nell put her hand on her sister’s cheek, and Margaret’s eyes filled with tears. “And what?” Nell said quietly.

Margaret sighed. “I keep thinking of how Mother would be scolding us, and the boys would be running around under foot. Sometimes it doesna seem real, that they’re all gone. I forget, and think ‘I’ll tell Mother that’ or ‘Rignor best not say that in front of Father.’” She smiled tearfully. “I’m so sorry, Nell. It’s none of it like we thought, is it?”

“Maybe the worst is over. Maybe Lachlan will be a good husband to ye and ye’ll fall in love with him and he ye.”

“Aye.”

“Maybe we’ll find Davey soon.”

“Would that not be bonnie?”

“What do slaves do?”

At Margaret’s puzzled expression, Nell continued. “D’ye think Davey’s working in a field? Or sweeping floors? What would they have him do? He’s only small; he couldna do much. He might be able to watch cattle.”

“I hadna thought on it.”

They were quiet as Margaret laced on her shoes and smoothed her skirts, the silk soft under her hands. She pushed her hair over her shoulders and bent to let Nell place the wreath of flowers on her head. She’d delayed as long as she could. It was time. William had sent a man to say that all was ready. Rignor waited in the hallway to escort her downstairs. She said a prayer, then lifted her skirts. Her brother smiled and stepped forward when she opened the door, offering his arm. Nell slipped into place behind them.

“I canna thank ye enough, Margaret,” he said.

He spoke as though they were discussing a small favor, not the matter of the rest of her life. It was just as well, she told herself, that he had no idea of what was in her heart.

“I’ll make it up to ye.”

“How could ye possibly, Rignor?”

“Once I get Somerstrath strong again, I’ll be a wealthy man. I’ll send ye jewels. Ye’ll see; it’ll all be worth it. We’ll both be wealthy.”

She stared at him. How could he know her so little? “Jewels.”

“Aye. As soon as I get Somerstrath rebuilt, we’ll change things; we’ll be wealthier than ever. And I’ll remember what ye did here today. I promise ye that.”

“Rignor, I dinna want jewels.”

They did not speak again as they walked down the narrow stairway, nor when Rignor took her arm again and led her across the hall, filled with men who shuffled their feet and looked away from her, clearly uncomfortable, or smiled, blithely unaware of the tension in the room.

Lachlan, standing stiffly next to the monk, was finely dressed in soft wool and saffron-dyed linen, the gold of his brooch and rings catching the light as he smoothed his shirt and kilt below. The groom, she noted, was nervous. And better dressed than his bride.

Don’t think
.

Uncle William stood between Rory O’Neill and Rufus, his expression somber. She met his gaze, saw his discomfort, and looked only at Lachlan then, not allowing her gaze to sweep across the assembled men in search of one tall blond man. Surely if Gannon had returned, someone would have told her. Or perhaps not. It would undo her, she knew, if he gave her even the slightest hint that she should not do this. Nor did she turn to look at Nell, who had followed them without a word, her silence more telling than anything she could have said.

Father, Mother, I do this for you, for your honor, as I promised
.

The monk stepped forward. He smiled at her. She looked away. The rays of afternoon sunlight streamed through the open doors, turning the shadows of the hammered ceiling black and calling dust motes to dance in the light. Her skirt swished against the floor. Behind her Nell moved restlessly, her gaze darting from left to right as though expecting someone to interrupt them.