Page 60 of The Defiance of a Scottish Heart
Taskill
Taskill headed back toward Duart Castle, then down the beach path, vowing to get to the Isle of Iona before the storm hit. Lennox was correct in sensing that there was a squall somewhere. He’d always had the odd ability to know when the weather was changing. Both clans depended on his inklings for the blizzards.
Though it was autumn, the breezes could still be warm. The nights were cool, which made the water even colder, but Taskill could still jump in for a quick bath. He came down the stretch where he could see the beach, surprised to notice a rowboat where there were usually none, but no one was in it. It was pulled up far enough to be out of the water at this point. Who knew what would happen as the waves continued to beat against the shore?
Glancing up at the gray storm clouds, he pushed his horse farther. “Get to MacClane’s, and I promise you a nice stable and a fine dish of oats.” Launching from Tristan MacClane’s land was the best place because it was the shortest route to the nunnery from Mull. Other isles were closer, but this was the best way from Mull.
Once Taskill came upon MacClane Castle, he slowed his horse, surprised to see Tristan waving from the top of the new section of the curtain wall. He brought his mount close and shouted up to him, “Tristan, may I borrow a boat to go to Iona? I’ll be back after the storm. I promise.”
Tristan said, “I have two available, same size, but if you wish to make it safely, you better hurry. You going for a special reason?”
“Going to find Sheona.”
“I’ll be right down. I’m finished.”
Taskill waited, staring over the sea, noting that there were no waves. In fact, it was almost the calmest he’d ever seen this part of the sea. It was what Lennox referred to as the quiet storm waiting for the wild. Lennox was often right. Eerie quiet like this was often followed by a wild storm.
Tristan joined him. “There’s been more activity on Iona of late, and there are storm clouds headed this way, but I think you can make it. Obviously, living where you do, you must be skilled with the oars, and the size of your upper arms tell me I’m right. Help yourself. Leave your horse at the stable. Someone there will help you. I’m just checking everything before the storm comes. We’ve been moving in, and I don’t wish to lose anything. Checking for leaks and loose stones one last time. Getting all the animals tucked into the fine stable the Granthams helped me build.”
“My thanks, MacClane. I’ll return on the morrow.” He waved to his friend and left his horse with a stable lad.
“Godspeed!” Tristan called out as Taskill took the boat out into the serene waters.
Determined to get to the Isle of Iona, he said a quick prayer and headed across the water.
While he rowed, he gave careful thought as to who the bad men could be that Tora had mentioned. What cruel men would be after Sheona? And why?
They’d taken care of Kelvan and all his men, even escorting K’s second-in-command deep into the Highlands to make sure he didn’t take over the bastard’s operation.
Nay, Taskill had to wager that this was something different. Someone different. He rowed in his favorite rhythm, which he did without much thought, keeping his eye on the target. He would aim for the abbey, and if the current pushed him a bit away, he’d be at Ionaland, still not far from the nunnery. And he’d be on land during the storm either way.
So, he focused on Sheona. There were two issues. Were they separate or one and the same? First, the abbess had suggested Sheona had been abused by someone. But who would do such a heinous crime?
Second, who was Tora seeing as the “bad men”? And they’d specifically said “men,” not “man.” Multiple men. Who would dare go after Sloan’s sister?
Who would dare touch Dermot Rankin’s daughter without his approval? The man was older, but he kept himself in good physical shape, his arms still powerful enough to knock someone on their arse before they ever saw him coming. He had that shifty tendency about him, able to hide his intentions better than anyone. And everyone had witnessed how he’d acted when Hagen had gone for a stroll with Sheona. Dermot had been ready to force marriage on the two that moment.
If not for Connor Grant and Logan Ramsay, Dermot would have pushed harder for a betrothal.
No one had ever been able to predict Dermot’s actions, not even Sloan. Who could ever forget that the man had plunged a dagger deep into his own son’s chest before anyone could stop him? He’d turned his back on the dead man and never looked back.
Rinaldo had been evil, fooling many, so he did deserve his sire’s ire. But Rinaldo was dead, so he was certainly not one of Tora’s bad men.
Clyde popped into his head. The way he’d questioned Taskill about Sheona during the fishing competition had bothered him. Hadn’t he said he wished to propose marriage to her? Clyde was a distinct possibility for being one or the other.
He went over the name and image of every other guard he knew on Rankin land, coming up with no one, mostly because none of them were daft enough to attack Sheona.
The old chieftain had killed his own son. What the hell would he do to someone who attacked his daughter?
When he came close to shore, Taskill had been right about the current. He was closer to Ionaland than to the nunnery. Dark would fall shortly, so he pulled his boat onto shore as far as he could, then headed toward the row of cottages. If he was lucky, Simone and Artan would be about. He was more than comfortable asking for assistance from them. The others he didn’t know.
He strode up the path, the gusts gaining in strength, letting him know there would indeed be a storm soon. To his surprise, a lass sat on a gigantic boulder up ahead.
He swore it was Sheona.
Chapter Thirty
Sheona
