Amanda Scott (20 page)

On the pier, Hector said to Michael, “We have fifteen boats now, so we’ve decided to put our ladies and their maidservants in two near the end of the flotilla, with one other boat following as rear guard. We’ve plenty of men armed with bows, arrows, and their dirks, and other weapons at hand if they prove necessary. But we want to keep the women as safe as we can, and away from any action.”

“Aye, ’tis a good notion,” Michael said. “And with respect, sir, I’d suggest that you, the admiral, Hugo, and I ride separately.”

Hector said, “But we may find need to confer from time to time.”

“Aye, sir, but I know my cousin Waldron’s methods. He believes in cutting the head off any beast that attacks him, so I believe that if he sees us all in one galley, he may ignore the other boats and send all of his forces to destroy that one.”

Hector nodded. “’Tis not the usual way of battle, to be sure, being suicidal for those who attempt it. But ’tis true that if a commander be willing to sacrifice boats full of men to defeat one ship out of a flotilla, he could well succeed.”

“Aye, because a headless beast dies quickly,” Michael said. “Or so Waldron says. You need not worry that Hugo or I might put ourselves forward to countermand orders that you or the admiral may issue to the men in our boats,” he added diffidently. “Although Hugo is a fine soldier, and understands Waldron as well as I do, we also know how to follow orders. Moreover, we both know the pair of you to be outstanding commanders.”

Isobel, long adept at reading Hector Reaganach, noted the shrewd look he shot Michael as he said, “I don’t worry about insubordination, lad. Instead, I’d say that if either of you sees an opportunity to affect the outcome of whatever confrontation befalls us, you will have the good sense to follow your instincts.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Isobel shifted her gaze to her husband, wondering how many personalities existed within the man. When he spoke to Hector he did not in any way resemble the man who had so easily followed her lead at the cavern and afterward. If anything, he sounded as if he had agreed to follow Hector only because he already knew and respected Hector’s reputation as a soldier.

“I’ll take you to the other women, lass,” Michael said.

“I don’t want to ride with them,” she said, certain that although Brona and Mairi’s woman, Meg Raith, might respect her new status long enough to forget they had known her since her arrival at Lochbuie, and might therefore refrain from quizzing her about her marriage bed, Cristina and Mairi would not.

“That is not a point for discussion,” Michael said. “We may well find ourselves embattled as soon as we reach the opening of the Sound. At such a time, a lead galley is no place for a woman.”

“Do you honestly believe that any cousin of yours would attack a boat with a woman in it?” she asked.

“Aye, I do,” he said. “You heard what I told Hector Reaganach, and you have met Waldron yourself and should therefore understand that he sees only the goal he seeks. He would not have hesitated to hurt you at the cave, because he believed he could make me tell him all I knew if he did.”

“But you have said you know nothing that would help him.”

He looked at her. “Exactly so,” he said. “I might even have been able to persuade him of that fact—in time.”

She turned away, looking across the water as she digested his words. Understanding was neither pleasant nor persuasive.

“We have fifteen boats, several fitted with battering rams,” she said. “They cannot possibly have so many. Nor, despite what you say, can I believe that your cousin’s oarsmen will have so little regard for women, even if he does.”

“Make no mistake about Waldron,” Michael said, his tone harsher than she had yet heard it. “He has no one working for him whom he does not trust implicitly to obey him, and his men know well the penalty for disobedience. They will die for him, lass, without question or pause, or he will kill them himself.”

“Faith, what manner of man is he?”

“He is an assassin at heart, a soulless killer of men. Remember that.”

“I do not know that word, ‘assassin,’” she said, frowning.

“’Tis a word from another language,” he said, “a word I learned from my father that he learned from his. One can only hope it never becomes so common here that everyone knows it, but you must understand it to understand Waldron.”

“But what language? I thought he was your cousin, a man of your own clan.”

“He is, but from the French side,” Michael said. “Members of our clan came to Britain from Normandy with William the Conqueror. Waldron speaks both English and Gaelic fluently because he learned both languages, and French, from birth, and other languages that were a part of his training as a soldier. But we have no time for more of this now,” he said, looking past her into the distance.

“But that word ‘assassin’ is not Gaelic, English, or French,” she protested.

“Sakes, lad,” Hector boomed behind her, “have done with your trifling and get the lass aboard that boat. We’ve others to load as well, and little time for it.”

“Aye, sir,” Michael said with a rueful smile. “I apologize, although I warrant you know the source of my lethargy. Behave yourself, lass,” he added, kissing her soundly and handing her into the women’s boat before she could think of a retort that would not instantly make Hector wonder things she did not want him wondering.

Welcomed enthusiastically as she took her place on the cushioned bench between her sister and Lady Mairi, she noted that their women sat in a second boat, likewise boasting twenty-six oars and flying the little-black-ship banner of the Lord of the Isles over that of Clan Gillean.

She noted, too, that Michael went at once to the
Raven
to confer with Sir Hugo, who greeted him with a broad smile and a clap on the back. They talked for only moments, however, before Michael made his way to Hector and Lachlan, who were talking at the end of the pier nearest the cliff stairs.

To her relief, Mairi and Cristina said nothing about her bedding, talking quietly of other, trivial matters instead and generally leaving her to her thoughts. A short time later, she saw Princess Margaret and her two waiting women making their way down the cliff stairs. It seemed no time after that before Lachlan handed her grace into the women’s galley and saw her settled near the stem-post with her women seated opposite her, the three of them thus occupying the seats most sheltered from wind and spray.

“I do apologize if I have caused any delay,” Margaret said. “His grace sent for me because he desired to know that the embroidered sail he is sending as a gift to Sir Henry for his lead galley had got safely aboard. It had, of course.” Smiling at Isobel, she added, “This must seem a strange way to begin a marriage, my dear.”

“Oh, no, your grace,” Isobel assured her. “I love adventure, you see, and to travel so far north in such a company for such an event seems most exciting.”

“I see. Well, Lachlan Lubanach informs me that we should make Skye tonight if those ships lingering near Mingary do not delay us overlong. He will send a boat on ahead of us once we are clear of danger, he said, to warn Macleod of Glenelg and Gowrie of Kyle Rhea to expect us, and invite them to join our flotilla.”

Isobel nibbled her lower lip.

“What is it?” Cristina asked her in a low tone. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, aye,” Isobel said hastily. “I was just thinking that Father will soon know that I have married. What he will say I don’t even want to imagine.”

“Sakes, do you fear he will be displeased?”

“Aye, sure,” Isobel said. “Any plan that is not his own displeases him.”

“Your marriage into the St. Clair family will not, however,” Cristina said. “Hector has told me they possess wealth beyond one’s imagining. Such a connection can only increase the power of the Macleods, Isobel. Not only will Father approve but so will Macleods throughout the Isles.”

Isobel frowned. “I have heard that, of course, and mayhap Sir Henry is wealthy, but I still don’t know that Michael is. To be sure, he seems to have his own galley, or at least the use of one of his brother’s, and he is Master of Roslin Castle, but that is only a styling. ’Tis Henry who owns the castle.”

“Hector told me that Sir Michael was most generous in your marriage settlements and that Sir Henry has naught to say to them unless he wishes to add to them,” Cristina said. “No one, least of all our father, will condemn your marriage.”

Her voice had risen, catching the attention of Mairi, who had been conversing quietly with her mother but who turned now and grinned at Isobel.

“Cristina is right,” she said. “No matter what else happens today, Isobel, you need not worry about your father’s reaction to your marriage. My father has had much to say about him over the years, but he has ever agreed that Macleod is nearly as practical a man as his grace is himself, and few men are more practical than he. Is that not so, madam?” she asked Margaret.

“You and Lachlan Lubanach certainly found him so,” Margaret said dryly.

“Aye,” Mairi said with another grin. “And so you will find Macleod, Isobel.”

It crossed Isobel’s mind then that even if Macleod did approve, she was by no means certain that she had been wise to marry Michael St. Clair. She would know the truth of that only after she came to know him better, assuming of course that he survived the encounter that lay just ahead.

Michael dozed lightly on and off in the galley to which Hector had directed him. The helmsman had his orders, and the galley’s own captain was in command, giving Michael to hope that he need have no hand in whatever took place when they reached the western mouth of the Sound of Mull.

The rhythmic beats of the helmsmen’s gongs drummed in his ears, but he found the rhythm soothing. Although he was as relaxed as a man could be in a moving vessel on sheltered, if swift-moving water, his eyelids rarely shut all the way, allowing him to watch enough through his lashes to catch the occasional smile of a resting oarsman who glanced back at him, and he had no doubt that others he did not see smiled, too. That they did so did not disturb him.

He also kept watch on the twin sons of Gillean in the two lead boats. Hector’s boat, he noted, rode some distance ahead of Lachlan’s, as one might expect, since it was Hector’s duty to protect the Lord High Admiral. Michael noted, too, that Lachlan stood near his helmsman and seemed to watch the north shore of the Sound rather than the water ahead. More than once, Michael saw signals flashed from hilltops there, either lighted torches waving back and forth, or reflective materials that caught the sunlight.

At one point, the admiral’s oarsmen eased their pace to allow the
Raven
to move alongside, and Michael heard Lachlan shout to Hugo, “Six ships, not four! They wait in ambush a short distance west of Mingary.”

Hugo waved, and Michael did, too, to let Lachlan Lubanach know that he had heard. The admiral’s boat continued its slower pace as if expecting him to catch up, too, and he was tempted to do so if only to make certain Lachlan understood that six ships posed a great threat even against a dozen if their commander was Waldron of Edgelaw. But he had taken the measure of the Maclean twins and, certain that neither man left such details to chance, he waved Lachlan on. He could now see Mingary Castle dead ahead, where the Sound curved sharply to the west.

Looking back to make sure the women’s boats lagged well behind, and noting that rather than just one boat following them, two others had slowed, so that three well-armed galleys now protected them, he knew he need have no concern. Their own captains had orders to turn about at the slightest hint that the leaders might fail to control the conflict ahead, and to make all speed back to Ardtornish.

Nor need he worry that Isobel might try to take matters into her own hands. Even she would not be so bold as to defy Princess Margaret, let alone try to sway his grace’s oarsmen, helmsmen, and five captains from their sworn duty.

That the battle group had thus reduced itself to ten ships did give him pause, but as the lead boats neared the mouth of the Sound, all looked serene ahead. Just four gongs beat now, but Michael watched Lachlan’s boat, and when a third banner, bright red, suddenly shot up its pole to join the other two, he looked for the three boats fitted with battering rams.

Although the beat of the four gongs continued without changing, oarsmen in the three ramming boats increased their pace to double-time, quickly passing leaders that fell in behind them, their own speed increasing to match the rammers. The men, taking their cues from their captains’ silent hand signals, rowed their boats into formation, and Michael knew that anyone listening but unable to see the ten galleys would hear only the gongs from four.

The area for miles around—including the Ardnamurchan Peninsula to the north, the north coast of Mull to the south, and the Isle of Coll to the west—was MacDonald’s territory, firmly controlled by the Lord of the Isles and his loyal followers. Therefore, chance was slim that any spy other than MacDonald’s own lurked near enough to see that the boats numbered more than twice as many and were moving twice as fast. But Michael had long since learned not to count Waldron out if the slimmest chance existed that his cousin might out-think him.

As that thought flew through his mind, memory stirred of Hector’s warning that the Green Abbot of Iona and other members of Clan Mackinnon would be likely to support Waldron if only because he claimed to represent God and the Vatican.

The Isle of Mull contained not just MacDonald’s people and members of Clan Gillean but also a good many Mackinnons, any number of whom might be watching from the south shore of the Sound, just as Lachlan’s men watched from the north. And those Mackinnons might be as deft at signaling each other, and might even manage to signal Waldron’s boats, which could easily lurk to the south, out of sight, in the sea lane between the Holy Isle and the west coast of Mull.

Michael made certain that his dirk was ready to hand in his boot, and that his small sword and targe lay nearby. The likelihood that he would need the targe was better than that he would need dirk or sword, because arrows posed the greatest threat in a sea battle, but he liked to be prepared for any possibility.