To Bewitch a Highlander (Isle of Mull series) (12 page)

She jumped and turned to see who spoke. At first, trepidation constricted her features, but when she saw who stood by, a wide smile spread across her face. He felt an odd gratification knowing it was he who put it there.

“Ronan, welcome”, she said.

“I’m sorry to intrude on whatever it is you are doing,” he said hesitantly.

“We are friends,” she smiled. “You will never be an intruder here. Besides, I pray to the gods today on your behalf.”

“On my behalf?” he said not bothering to conceal his surprise.

“You said your people will soon be at war. I pray for your protection, but I am not finished.”

She moved to stand beside a large rock, which was hollowed out to form a basin. Then she picked up a clay bowl and poured what looked like milk into the rock all the while mumbling an indiscernible chant.

“There”, she said when the bowl was emptied, “I am finished.”

“What did you just do?” he asked.

“The Long-haired one is very powerful. He is a great sorcerer and warrior. I gave him an oblation of milk.”

Not knowing how to respond, he shrugged and said, “to be sure” as though the observance of pagan offerings was a routine occurrence.

“Why do you make war with the Norse?” she asked.

Standing near an oblation stone, next to the hut formerly thought to belong to an evil witch, he was relieved for the change of conversation to something familiar. “I told you of how the Vikings retain ownership of the Western Isles. Scotland’s King, Alexander the III, aims to unite the country, but he was denied purchase of the Hebrides by the Norse King, Haakon.”

“Have you any sympathy for the Norse interest here?”

“Actually, most islanders have Norse ties. In fact, the king is a distant MacKinnon relation through marriage.”

“Then your enemy is also your family?” Shoney asked.

“That was a union befitting the times, but it was a time long ago. Findanus MacKinnon married a Norse princess nicknamed Saucy Mary. Her marriage dowry included lands on Skye together with Dunakin Castle, which are still MacKinnon lands to this day.”

“Saucy Mary is a strange sort of name,” Shoney said.

“Well, she was a strange sort of lass. Mary earned the title after she ordered a chain run across the water from Dunakin to the Scottish mainland in order to halt the passing ships. The chain would drop beneath the water, allowing the ship to pass, but only after the Captain paid a toll.”

Shoney chuckled, “I think I would have liked her.”

Of course Shoney would admire his audacious ancestor. “No doubt you would have enjoyed many foolhardy adventures together, but that was a time long ago. Today, our allegiance rests only with Scotland, and King Alexander plans to seize what he cannot purchase.”

“If war is at hand, Ronan, then you should not delay at introducing me to your father. I can fight. I have the skills of a warrior.”

He threw his head back with laughter. But without hesitation, she seized his dirk from beneath his plaid and pressed the tip just below his waist, silencing his amusement.

“I would not laugh so heartily at my expense, lest you find yourself missing a favored appendage”, she said, smiling sweetly.

 She was swift with a blade. This much he had to concede given she wielded a knife that moments before had been securely sheathed against his own thigh, but her foolish warmongering was reckless. Her mother trained her to strike with steel and find her target, but her slight build rendered her skills worthless. Did she not realize he could break her neck with one hand before she drew her next breath? He grabbed hold of her hand, reclaiming his weapon with ease.

“Women are not warriors, Shoney.”

“You are mistaken, Ronan. My ancestors were great warriors,” she said.

“The men, perhaps, but women have never been warriors, at least not for many, many centuries. Adomnan’s Law of Innocents disproves your claim.”

“The word of my mother is all the evidence I need. I don’t care if your people outlawed women warriors. The Picts certainly did not.”

“Adomnan’s Law did not exclude women; it protected them. It was a decree by the Abbot of Iona some six-hundred years ago and protected not just women but also children and monks during times of war. The decree was accepted as law by all of the kingdoms, including the Picts. Innocents had not the tools, skills, or inclination to make war but were often its victims.”

“With training anyone may fight, and inclination is found when one’s home is under the threat of the torch and one’s life under the blade”, she replied.

She was like no maid he had ever met. Her spirit and sense of honor were unmatched. She stood before him defiant even in defeat. Her unpinned golden curls were perpetually tangled and the confident and stormy depths of her eyes mesmerized.

“You have some skill, Shoney, but not the strength.”

Her eyes narrowed as she turned on her heel and stamped inside. He could not help but admire how the thin fabric of her kirtle revealed her shapely buttocks and the swing of her slim hips. He followed after, wondering how he would soothe her anger once again.

“I never thought I would meet anyone with a temper to match my own”, he said as he ducked his head beneath the door frame.

“I apologize, Shoney,” he began. “I did not mean to suggest that I found women lacking. They are sacred. They hold the breath of God in their bodies. They make and sustain life. Their bodies are meant to be cherished, savored not spoiled by war.”

She turned and met his gaze. He walked toward her and reached out to stroke her cheek. She did not flinch at his touch.

“You are courageous, Shoney, but look at how fine you are.” He took a step closer and inhaled the lavender scent of her hair. His finger traced the stag that adorned her shoulder.

“They are beautiful.”

“They are sacred images of the gods”, she said. “The stag symbolizes Fionn who is a great warrior. The knots and circles represent the Mother of all.”

“And what of the seal and fish?” Ronan asked as he extended her arm and slowly traced a large fish painted on the soft skin of her forearm.

“They are to celebrate Shoney”, she smiled, “who is the god of the sea.”

“You were named after a god?” he asked.

“My mother wanted to ensure an abundance of fish at her table”, she smiled.

“The circles on your cheeks are for the Mother of all, but what of the solid expanse of blue on your chest?” His fingers grazed the delicate skin of her neck and above her kirtle where a deep blue, darker than the rest, covered.

“That is for Skatha. She is the goddess of shadows. Whenever I perform a ritual, I always remember Skatha. Each time I pray she removes my fear of the dark.” She cast her eyes to the ground as she spoke, clearly embarrassed of her weakness.

He despised the isolation of her home. She would be imprisoned come nightfall by her fear. He wanted nothing more than to save her from ever being afraid again.

“I am sorry I angered you”, he whispered.

“It wouldn’t be the first time”, she smiled.

“God’s blood”, he swore aloud as he stepped away from her intoxicating scent and exotically painted and partially-clad form.

He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. He could not stay there one moment longer. She clouded his mind with desire, but it was not a simple desire of the flesh. To be sure, he wanted to tear her kirtle and reveal her proud breasts and slim curves, the memory of which were seared into his mind, but more than that, he wanted to protect her. In her own mind, she was fierce, and she certainly was valiant, but he saw her innocence, her small stature, and fear. Whether she knew it or not, she needed saving. Now he just had to figure out how to surmount the many obstacles standing between Shoney and Gribun.

“I have to go.” His gaze met confused eyes.

“I could go with you, Ronan”, she said, her voice filled with hope.

“Now is not the time, Shoney.”

“The way you so readily offered to take me to the village led me to believe it was a simple matter. Can you not use your sway as laird?”

“Need I remind you I am not yet laird, and regardless, introducing you is no simple matter. We must be careful and patient and wait for the right moment.”

She cast her eyes away to stare at the heavens not trying to hide her disappointment, but there was naught he could do at that moment. He had yet to conceive of how he would bring Shoney into the clan, but he would find a way.

“I promise you, Shoney, you will stand in the village and be welcomed when the time is right.” He cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Besides, I think mayhap your current attire is less than appropriate”, he said as his eyes once again traveled the length of her slim legs to her lean torso and to the gentle slope of her breasts, all of which were barely concealed by her thin kirtle.

“I see your point”, she blushed.

As he waved goodbye and began his cautious walk home, he contemplated how he was going to bring Shoney—his pagan princess, named for a false god—to Gribun. By the time he made it home unseen, he was certain of one thing only. Shoney would never be welcomed by his clan.

Chapter 10

“Where have you been?” Nathair hissed as Ronan took his seat in the great hall. He could feel the penetrating stare of the other council members.

It was a question Ronan was accustomed to hearing as of late. For the past few weeks he had slipped away every chance he could to visit Shoney, and with each passing day demand on both fronts grew. Nathair’s palpable impatience made it nigh impossible to thwart his questions, and Shoney’s disillusionment intensified every time he told her today would not be the day he took her to Gribun. There was a solution that would appease his father and permit Shoney to enter the village; he just needed a little more time to discover it.

“What have you to report?” Nathair asked, addressing the room.

Argyle stood. “The tacksmen have given me a full account, and it would seem the cottars have completed the plant.”

“Thank you, Argyle”, Nathair said. Then he turned and addressed the elder sitting to Ronan’s left. He was a large fellow, bent with years, with a long flowing beard and sharp, clever eyes.

“Alasdair, what of the rents?”

“They will not have to be raised to ready the clan for war. There is enough in the coffer to buy what is needed, and our stores are strong.”

Nathair nodded. “Good”, he said. “There are no disputes to settle, nor is there any news from the king.” He stood, signaling an end to the meeting.

Ronan rose to leave, but a strong hand came to rest on his forearm.

“’Tis interesting what Argyle said about the plant, because the keep’s rows have yet to be ploughed. I believe I asked you to oversee this task, Ronan.”

“Aye, Father”, Ronan said, “it will be done on the morrow.”

“That I do not doubt, but, Ronan, you’ve been distracted as of late. Is there some matter of which I am unaware?”

“Nay, Father.”

Nathair stared unspeaking into Ronan’s eyes for several moments. “Be sure there isn’t”, he said as he turned on his heel and left the keep.

***

With both fists gripping the reins, Ronan walked backward through the field near the keep, managing the six cattle whose bulk and muscle moved the unwieldy plough through the earth. The ploughman, a cottar named Colin whom Ronan’s father showed particular favor owing to his shrewd mind and boundless energy, steered the plough from the side. Meanwhile, Colin’s lanky son, Ewan, encouraged the animals’ progress with a light switch.

“Ronan,” Colin called, “when your father asked you to oversee the plough, I don’t think he meant you should take it up yourself. My son, Errol, will guide the cattle.”

“One clan, one back”, Ronan gritted as he strained to keep the beasts in check. “The honor found on this field is no different than the honor found on the battlefield.”

What Colin did not know was that Ronan welcomed the distraction and the strain of the plough. His mind battled with his growing depth of feeling for Shoney and his loyalty to family and clan, and all the while, he strained to find a solution to honor both. Labor alone seemed to keep his thoughts in check. For the first time in his life he felt helpless, powerless. He was falling in love with Shoney.

Hell, there was no point denying it—he fell long ago.

Although he did not know it then, from the first moment he saw her practiced hand take aim at his stag, he gave himself to her, body and soul, but she was the last woman under heaven his father or the clan would accept as his wife. Better she be a MacLean or even an English woman, because then at least she would be a Christian. A pagan who walked the land as the Witch of Dervaig would never be accepted or trusted. They would argue she had bewitched him.

And perhaps she had.

“No”, he shook his head, ashamed for doubting once again.

He pictured her clear gray eyes and quick laughter. Her candor, unmatched by any maid he had ever known, and her warrior’s spirit combined to create a woman worthy of admiration, yet she was destined to be loathed.

He hoped to find the answers he sought in toil, but when the final row of earth was turned, he released the plough without resolve. Bringing Shoney to Gribun was still unthinkable. He wiped the sweat from his brow. Without the strain of the plough his anger grew unchecked. Fury filled his body, infusing his bones and organs until he felt comprised of rage.

A pagan outcast and the chieftain’s son, it was impossible, and the undeniable truth left the taste of bile in his mouth.

He growled as his hands tightened into iron fists.

“A word, Ronan?”

 He inhaled, trying to restrain the sickening frenzy swelling outwards from the pit of his stomach. He turned to find Aidan standing behind him. His unbearable rage craved a target. He longed to pummel Aidan to the ground. Without release he would burst like a fiery lightning bolt and then dissipate into thin air. But instead of clobbering an innocent friend, he pushed past Aidan without reply. Perhaps the icy spring would cool his ire.

Aidan thankfully had the sense not to follow. Soft green earth and hard stone passed under his feet as he hastened to the spring. The stream of water, which was fed from higher sources reaching as far south as Benmore Mountain, rushed over some rocks and fed a narrow but deep pool and then continued down eventually thinning out and trickling into the ocean.