Page 51 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
MacIver looked pleased at this. Although he was short in stature, he made up for it with a broad chest and wide shoulders. His weathered features were testimony to the years he’d served on Maxwell’s galleys.
“I am here tae visit Mistress Davina,” Aileen said, stepping up beside the men. “I thought she might be in need of some womanly company.”
Maxwell gave a short laugh. “Indeed. That is most thoughtful of ye Aileen.” His mind rattled over this morning’s events. “Nay doubt Davina will have much tae tell ye.” He could only hope she would be sparing with detail.
While the three men headed for Everard’s study, Aileen was happier to stay in the comfort of the solar in front of the fire.
Mildred was waiting as they entered the keep and the kitchen staff were already preparing refreshments. “There’s jugs of ale already awaiting ye in the study.”
Although Everard was more than eager to hear whatever news MacIver had brought with him, he first attended to his duty as host, pouring tankards of ale and drams of whisky for all three. They took their seats on the chairs by the fire rather than the more formal position at the table.
It was Maxwell who spoke first.
“I made enquiries about the stranger who’d appeared at the market. It seems he’d been around the village fer a week or more, asking about Kiessimul, the laird, and even meself and Aileen. From what I gathered, fer once the villagers were reluctant tae gossip. Only one day after ye’d come upon him when he encountered Mistress Davina at the fair, he was gone.”
“And returned tae Pabhay?”
“Nay one kent where the man had gone, only that he was nae longer there.” He glanced at MacIver. “It was then I recalled Angus was at Scalpay, so I sent a message requesting he make enquiries on me behalf.”
“Aye. I made it me business tae visit Pabhay. It’s a good place tae find produce. The farmers there are few, but the isle provides an abundant harvest. I can tell ye this much tae start. While I was there, the man in question was still absent.”
Everard scratched his chin. “So, after he left Castle Bay, he didnae return at once tae Pabhay.”
Maxwell chuckled. “Between the Island of Barra and the Pabhay there are a score of islands. Yer man could be on any one of them. Mayhap he’s on Eriskay, the closest tae Barra.”
“Hmm.” Everard thought this through. “Ye’re right. There’ll be nay finding him if he’s nae on Pabhay. If the lad has remainedclose by, mayhap he hasnae finished with his business on our Isle of Barra.”
“And we’ve yet tae ascertain what that business is.” Maxwell added. “What we ken now is that he is interested in our family. Mayhap it was nay accident that he accosted Mistress Davina.”
Maxwell leaned forward, eager to hear what further information MacIver had brought them.
The man continued his story. “Once I was on Pabhay I spoke tae many of the folk there. The young ones were of little use. Their knowledge of the man was scant, but the elders had much tae tell me.”
“Go on.” Everard refilled MacIver’s tankard and the man gulped another mouthful of ale, whetting his throat to talk some more.
“Dùghall MacKinnon is the Laird of Pabhay. Although during his many absences over the years a man by the name of Dunkan Ramsay, with a connection tae the MacKinnon Clan, has been his deputy.”
“Did ye have a chance tae speak with this Ramsay?” Everard took a mouthful of his whisky, wincing as it burned on the way down.
“Aye. I spoke wi’ the man. He was full of words until it came to a mention of Dùghall MacKinnon, his laird. I’ll give the man a good score fer loyalty. All I kent from him was that the lairdwas away across the western isles and he didnae ken when he’d return.”
“That was old news. So, he didnae tell ye the reason fer his visit tae the west?”
MacIver folded his arms and shook his head. “Blood out of a stone, that one.”
“Well, man,” Maxwell sounded impatient. “What is the news ye have fer us? So far all we’ve learned from ye is that that MacKinnon is the Laird of Pabhay.”
Everard gave a snort of laughter. “In the way of all good story tellers, methinks MacIver is leaving the best to last. Curb yer impatience, braither, the lad will out with it now.”
MacIver nodded. “I’ve gleaned a great deal, yet some of it may simply be old women’s gossip.” He glanced from Maxwell to Everard, offering a sly grin. “But I’ll tell ye all and ye can decide what may be truth or nae.
As a wee lad, Dùghall was sent away to become a squire at Freuchie castle, the seat of the Clan Comyn, near to the River Spey. It is said – mind, this is gossip from the grey-hairs – that while he was there, he fell in love with Sorcha, the daughter of the Laird Comyn, and she with him.”
“Did the two wed?” Everard sat up as the story began to take shape.
MacIver shook his head. “Nay, it seems our lad was left wi’ a broken heart when the lass was forced tae wed his distant cousin, Laird Murchadh MacKinnon of Mull.”
Everard pondered this. Now the story had come closer to home. It seemed there was a connection between the Laird Dùghall and the MacNeil’s old enemy, the MacKinnon of Mull.
