Page 6 of Bride of the Wicked Laird
“Keep yer eyes ahead and ye’ll dae alright.”
She could swear he was chuckling to himself as she grabbed the side of the birlinn, lifted her head and focused her eyes intently on the dark line of the horizon in the far distance. Even though itseemed to move up and down with the ship it helped a little, but her stomach was still roiling with nausea.
They skirted the edge of the storm, and although the sea was rough and there was a spattering of rain that only heightened Davina’s misery, the ship made good time in the fierce wind.
She was still clinging to the edge of the ship, her eyes fixed on the dark line of the see-sawing horizon, her stomach now emptied of every scrap of nourishment, when Everard joined her again.
“If ye can tear yer eyes away fer a wee moment, ye’ll come tae the first glimpse of Barra.”
He stood beside her and she followed his pointing finger. Sure enough, there was a slight bump on the horizon she’d been studying for the past few hours.
“That wee speck is the Isle of Barra?”
“Aye. ‘Tis me home. And ye’ll be welcomed there.”
This set her to wondering about this man, the Laird of the MacNeils, her rescuer. So far, she’d seen nothing but good of him. His men seemed to respect him. She’d heard naught of grumbling from the crew as they bent their backs over the oars, doing their utmost to outrun the storm. His advisor, Hugo MacRae, had also treated her kindly.
Although she could not recall faces or voices from the days before she’d entered the convent, she’d always been afeared of the harsh, loud, voices of men. Even as a bairn she’d learned to scuttle out of sight like a wee mouse at the first sound of heavy footsteps and angry men’s voices. She’d often wondered if the one she’d feared most had been someone she had known.
Yet this man spoke calmly, although somewhat tersely at times, but he never raised his tone and his words to her had been nothing but gentle. Trust did not come easily to her, but one day it might be possible for her to trust this man who’d helped her simply because of his good heart.
When the ship rounded the low-lying headland and entered Chaisteill Bagh at last, a cheer went up from the crew. There were smiles all round and Davina imagined the men must be thinking of home and of those who awaited them. As happy as she was for them, she felt a little stab in her heart. There was no one awaiting her. She was alone in the world. Except for her friend Lyla who was still in Iona, as far as she knew there was no living soul that cared aught for her.
Only in her dimmest thoughts did she carry a memory of a lad, a little older than she was, who had brought her to Iona many years before, when she was but a child, and left her with the nuns at the convent door.
When she thought back to that distant day and her fear, the one warm memory was the small comfort from that young lad. Yet she had no idea who he was and would probably never know. He’d left her after all, no matter his reasons.
She turned her eyes to the bonny sight before her. A wide expanse of deep-blue bay, ringed by whitewashed cottages along the shore. In the center of the bay was a tiny island, and on the island a gleaming castle caught her admiration. This must be the MacNeil stronghold, Kiessimul Castle. From the turrets a flag displaying the colors of yellow and white flew proudly. She sucked in a breath. All of this was under the rule of the Laird of the MacNeils, Everard.
Once the ship had docked and the men were unloading the cargo, Everard escorted Davina ashore and introduced her to a tall, rangy grey-haired man. She looked around, suddenly fearful of the new place. There was nowhere she could run, for it was surrounded by water.
“This is our sea-master, Ranald Dunbar,” Everard introduced her. “This is Mistress Davina, she’ll be our guest fer a while.”
She glimpsed the puzzlement in Dunbar’s face at the vague remark, but Everard clearly had no intention of enlightening the man further.
“I cannae leave the ship until we’ve finished with the cargo, so can ye ask Mildred tae find somewhere fer the lass tae bide while she’s wi’ us?”
She cringed as this new stranger held out his hand, but he spoke kindly. “Welcome tae Kiessimul, Mistress Davina.” He turned to one of the bairns who were playing together at the water’s edge. “Run tae the keep lad and seek out Mistress Mildred. Ask her tae meet us in the courtyard.”
A second later the lad took to his heels and dashed off.
Dunbar offered his arm and escorted Davina along the slipway and through the entry to the courtyard. Her feet were still unsteady, and she welcomed his support. She glanced around. Along the slipway several small boats bobbed at their moorings, and alongside were two birlinns, much bigger than the one they’d sailed in from Mull. Several small lads sat near the large entrance-gate with a bucket, their fishing lines thrown into the bay. Overhead, gulls wheeled with loud, hoarse, calls.
It was all so different to anywhere she’d seen before, and the castle, its walls rising straight out of the rocks below, was surrounded by water. There was nowhere she could run to. The stormy clouds overhead seemed like a forbidding omen.
She was trembling and her legs could hardly carry her as they entered the cobbled courtyard. A tall, thin figure, her hair braided neatly and wound around her head, clad in a linen kirtle and apron, strode down the steps of the keep and headed toward them.
Davina stiffened, her stomach clenching with horror as she caught sight of the woman.
It’s Dame Maria.
She put a hand to her mouth to stifle the scream rising in her throat.Looking frantically for somewhere she could hide, she was on the brink of wrenching her arm away from Dunbar’s supporting hold, when the woman smiled. Her face was openand the smile was warm and genuine, nothing like the sour, hateful expression Dame Maria customarily wore.
“Ah, here’s Mildred now. She’ll look after ye.”
The tightness rushed out of Davina’s body and she allowed herself to breathe again. It was not the cruel nun who had tormented and tortured her for the past nine years.
Oh, dear God. Thank ye. She breathed a silent prayer and bent to make a small, shaky curtsy to the housekeeper.
