Sue-Ellen Welfonder - MacKenzie 07 (39 page)

Duncan glared at her, his eye twitch worsening.

He said nothing.

"Is silence your consent?" Darroc spoke into the sudden quiet.

"My daughter will never marry a MacConacher." Duncan snorted. "I'd sooner see her paired with a four-eyed toad!"

"Father, please!" Arabella's face flamed, shame scalding her.

"She's my daughter, too." Linnet joined them, hooking her arm through her husband's. "I would know her happy. And" - she looked up at him, catching his gaze - "if not for this MacConacher, she wouldn't be here with us now."

"So what would you have me do?" He broke away from her and began pacing the galley's single aisle. "Marry her to the enemy?"

"Oh, yes...." Linnet studied her fingernails. "The man who not only plucked her from the sea, but served vengeance on the men who would have killed her, not to mention ridding our seas of - "

"Enough!" Duncan threw up his hands. "I will... consider the match."

"Considering isn't good enough." Darroc pressed him. This time he was the one who went toe-to-toe. "I'd have your answer now."

"Saints, Maria, and Joseph!" Duncan rammed his fingers through his hair. "What if I'm not of a mood to give it?"

Arabella spoke before Darroc could answer. "Did you know, Father, that 'Saints, Maria, and Joseph' is one of Darroc's favorite curses?"

She smiled sweetly, waiting for the explosion.

When none came and he only stared at her, almost cross-eyed in his annoyance, she decided to press her advantage.

Quickly, before anyone could stop her, she bent to seize Mina's basket and thrust it to the MacConacher oarsmen looking on with interest from the birlinn. Then, as soon as Hugh had the basket, she winked at the man beside him.

Understanding, he stretched out his arms and caught her about the waist, lifting her into the birlinn.

Behind her, Darroc laughed, joining her in a wink.

Her father bellowed his outrage. "MacConacher! Dinna think to steal her away!"

"He doesn't have to, Father." Arabella gripped the birlinn's rail, standing tall. "I am going with him whether it pleases you or nae. But" - she leaned forward, not wanting to hurt him - "it would mean so much to me if you'll be happy for us. You know how much I love you."

To her amazement, a smile flickered across his face.

It was gone in an instant, but it gave her hope.

"I saw that!" She beamed back at him, her heart flipping. "Does this mean you'll come with us to Castle Bane? Stay there long enough to get to know Darroc and then see us wed. Our union properly blessed and feasted?"

The smile didn't return, but he jerked a nod. "Where did you learn to be so brazen?"

Arabella laughed. "If you don't know, perhaps you should ask Mother."

"Oh, he knows." Linnet smiled across at them. "He just isn't fond of owning to things that displease him."

"I can sympathize." Darroc returned her smile, willing to come halfway.

"I'm sure you can." Linnet's eyes twinkled.

The rowers on each craft exchanged commiserating glances, clearly of a like mind.

Some even chuckled. Those married for many years nodded sagely.

Duncan scowled at them all. Then, almost as an afterthought, he offered a grudging humph.

Then, before he could voice a more unpleasant protest, Linnet drew him from the rail.

As soon as they moved away, Darroc swept Arabella into his arms and kissed her deeply. Again and again until they broke apart, gasping for air.

Darroc slid a glance at the galley, already pulling away. "I wouldn't say we've won him over, but - "

"It's a fair start, I agree." Arabella could hardly believe it. "Considering how he is...."

"You know what this means, don't you?" He smoothed back her hair, the love in his eyes melting her. "You are mine now, Arabella. All mine, praise every saint in heaven! And, by God" - he cradled her face as if she were the most precious thing in the world - "I'll never ever let you go."

"You won't have to. I've been yours forever, I'm thinking." She slid her arms around his neck, twining her fingers in his hair. "But if ever you do wish to be rid of me, you'll be very sorry."

"Ach, sweetness, I was sorry this time." He kissed her, lightly now. "I didn't last an hour before I wanted you back in my arms. I paced the battlements and prowled about your bedchamber, aching for you."

"Aching?" Arabella leaned into him, letting her body press against his.

"Aching terribly." He brushed the hair from her face again, his gaze going to her father's galley. The other craft beat along beside them, but at a courteously discreet distance. "When night falls, I will show you how much."

Arabella's eyes flew wide. "But we can't - not this trip."

Scandalized, her gaze flitted to the crowded rowing benches. The narrow center aisle and stern-and-bow platforms, both glaringly bare of a sailcloth awning.

When she looked back at him, she knew her cheeks were tinged pink. "Your men would see us."

To her surprise, Darroc laughed. "Sweet lass, I thought you were bold?"

Arabella swallowed. "Not that bold."

"I am glad to hear it!" He laughed again and gave her another fast, hard kiss.

Then he slid a pointed glance at the prow. "But if you're inclined to change your mind and be daring, perhaps it will please you to know there's a new plaid kist tucked away near the bow."

"A new plaid kist?" Arabella blinked.

He nodded. "To replace the one I pitched into the sea on our way to Olaf's isle."

"What's in the new chest?" She had a good notion.

"Ach, just an armful of plaids to make a comfortable pallet and" - he grinned -

"our own special sailcloth screen, brought along just for you."

"You were that sure of me?" Her pulse quickened at the thought.

"Nae." He shook his head. "I was that sure of us."

"Oh, Darroc!" She flung herself at him, her heart bursting. "I love you so!"

"Not as much as I love you." He leaned down to nibble her ear.

Arabella shivered. "Perhaps we can decide tonight who loves who the most?"

He arched a brow. "Are you feeling bold, my lady?"

"I am." She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. "Most bold, indeed."

A CELEBRATION IN THE CLEARING SPRING 1351

"I ask you, did you e'er see anything sweeter?"

Olaf Big Nose waved a parchment scroll in the air, laughing heartily when the dangling wax seals swung on their bright red ribbons.

"This is my island!" He jumped to his feet, looking down the festively dressed table, and at other tables ranged close by. He didn't, after all, want anyone to forget the reason for this gathering.

It was to give thanks for the charter granting him rights to his beloved little isle.

So he began marching to and fro, proudly thrusting the parchment beneath the nose of anyone he could corner and, hopefully, impress.

Truth be told, there was much to wonder at this fine spring e'en on Olaf Big Nose's newly acquired isle.

Newly - officially - acquired isle.

No less than six whole bullocks roasted over open fires, the mouth-watering aroma drifting on the air, tempting palates young and old. And every lavishly set table held not only a wealth of savories and jugs of tasty honey mead, but was illuminated by candle braces cast of pure, gleaming silver.

The guests were no less fine.

And so numerous that extra trestle tables had to be brought from Castle Bane on nearby MacConacher's Isle. Equally astounding, the MacConacher's new lady wife

- it was rumored - had spent months stitching additional sailcloth awnings to accommodate the expected crush of well-wishers.

The most splendid sailcloths gracing the fest were believed to be her work, though the lady herself was too modest to claim the glory.

So it was only right and good that she and Darroc were seated at one of the best-placed feasting tables lining the clearing. They had a splendid view of the grassy area where musicians would soon be playing and those merrymakers so inclined could whirl and jig to screaming pipes and lively fiddles.

Bonfires and resin torches waited to be set ablaze at dusk and already a sense of anticipation and excitement filled the air. Everywhere people milled and conversed, many laughing. Some, perhaps, were enjoying a bit too much heather ale. But on such a grand day, no one minded.

Indulgences were expected and welcome at Norse feastings.

Even so, Arabella declined the potent brew, a sweet secret making her wary of partaking. But she enjoyed watching the revelries. She especially thrilled to see Olaf Big Nose's swell-chested joy in his land charter and the great pleasure of Captain Arneborg and his new wife, Arnora Ship-Breast, in the captain's newly built merchant cog, a gift from her father, in gratitude.

Arabella's heart squeezed thinking about her father.

She missed him so much and wished that he - and all her family - could be here, but Gelis was about to give birth to her first child. A wee laddie, if her mother and Devorgilla had the right of it. So Clan MacKenzie was away in distant Kintail, though Devorgilla and her little helpmate, Somerled, were in happy attendance.

Holding court at the next table, Devorgilla exchanged herbal remedies and spelling charms with Mad Moraig. The two women seemed to get on well, although Devorgilla clearly took it badly each time Somerled accepted a treat from Moraig.

She was quite possessive of her little friend's favor.

"Do you truly think the wee fox put seaweed in the plaid kist?"

Arabella started at Darroc's question. She'd been so lost in watching the clearing fill with late-coming arrivals. But now, she turned to him, pleased when he leaned close to nuzzle her neck.

"That's what Devorgilla said." She glanced at the cailleach, unable to suppress a shiver. "She isn't one to tell tall tales."

Darroc lifted a brow. "And the strange mist?" He nipped his way up her neck to her ear, giving her shivers of an entirely different sort. "I know Geordie Dhu can taste the seas and predict weather, but to summon it?"

"My sister would say suchlike is possible." Arabella angled her head, giving him greater access to the sensitive area beneath her chin. "Gelis believes in all magic.

She would love your Thunder Rod." She glanced down the table to where the relic held pride of place near a softly glowing silver candelabrum.

"The Thunder Rod!" Darroc blanched. "How did that thing get here?"

"I brought it. I thought you'd be pleased because this feast is also to celebrate us."

She glanced at the rod. "A bit of family tradition."

"I'd sooner have none." Darroc reached for his ale cup and drained it in one gulp.

Arabella's face heated. She didn't understand his displeasure.

Truth was, she'd hoped to surprise him by sewing a new tartan band for the rod.

The old ribbon was in tatters and Jutta Manslayer and Arnora Ship-Breast had promised her several colorful ells of cloth.

Now it would seem her surprise might ruin their only night of true revelry since their first visit to this isle.

Hoping it wasn't so, Arabella flashed another glance at the rod and - suddenly - all the hushed murmurings and whispers she'd ever heard about the relic's powers came rushing back to her. Every one, including what the supposedly magical relic purportedly did to unsuspecting females.

How could she have forgotten?

But she answered her own question when she slipped her hand to her slender waist and her heart flipped on the possibility that there might be a new life quickening beneath her breast.

She hadn't thought of anything else in two moon cycles.

Now horror washed over her.

"Merciful saints!" She stared at Darroc, comprehension sweeping her.

He looked even more miserable than she felt.

Only a man who loved deeply and saw his world shattering could appear so lost.

So empty and glum.

Suspicion high, she reached along the table to retrieve the Thunder Rod.

"Is this why you're staring at me as if I've grown two heads?" She waved the rod at him. "Because I've touched the fabled Thunder Rod?"

His expression said it was.

"Why did you take it again?" His voice sounded choked, not his at all. "I know you had it once before. I found it in your bed."

Arabella stared at him. "Of course it was in my bed. I was working on it."

"But why?" He still looked as if he expected the relic to turn into a fire-breathing dragon and gobble them both. "You should never have touched it. It's - "

"It's a piece of wood." Arabella couldn't believe he saw it as anything else.

He clearly did.

She couldn't possibly. So she slid her arms around him and leaned close to brush soft kisses across his lips and cheeks and his brow. "There was nothing wrong with me touching it, I swear to you."

He pulled back from her, his gaze going to the relic. "When did you touch it the first time?"

"Ages ago." She smoothed her hands up his back and over his shoulders, lacing her fingers behind his neck. "I think when I was able to walk after the Merry Dancer wreck. I'd taken it to my room one night and Mungo - "

"Mungo!" Darroc's brows shot up. "You spoke with Mungo after holding the Thunder Rod?"

Arabella nodded. "Of course, but it was Moraig I'd wanted. When I couldn't find her, I went to Mungo. I needed stitching thread and needles."

"I'm no' following you." He did sound confused.

"Have you never noticed how tatty the rod's ribbon has become?" It made perfect sense to her. "I wanted to surprise you by making a new band for the relic. But I didn't have the right kind of tartan cloth, so - "

"But you saw Mungo after you'd touched the rod?" His eyes were still round.

"And" - he pulled a hand down over his face - "nothing happened?"

"What should have happened?" She pretended innocence.

She'd been at Castle Bane long enough to have learned its secrets.

"If you mean the Thunder Rod's magic, you should know by now that I don't believe in such nonsense." She kissed him, breathing the words against his lips.