11
Finlay had discovered something interesting about himself. If anyone had asked him two or three sennights ago if he would worry so much about a young woman feeling ill while she traveled with him, he would have laughed in their faces and told them that if a lass could not hold her own in a boat or on a hike, then she had no reason being on one. But with Isla, it was different.
After every few oar strokes, he felt compelled to look up to check if the blacksmith’s daughter was alright. Each time, her face was wan and pale. If she caught him staring at her, she would give him a weak smile and then go back to cradling her head in her arms.
“Are ye checkin’ on yer investment?” Alex was seated next to him on the oar bench, holding the other oar. When Finlay ignored what his friend had said, the young man continued to chafe at him. “Six thousand sovereigns!” Alex whistled. “If she were to fall overboard, I swear ye’ll have men ready to marry the mermaids in case the blacksmith’s lovely daughter turned out to be one o’ them! The girl’s dowry is a fabulous sum o’ money. It would be enough for us to hire mercenaries an’ put an’ end to this feud for once an’ for all.”
All Finlay said by way of reply was, “I’ve never been one to jump the flag, Alex. We have a long way to go before we can think of such things.” His friend’s exhilaration was evident in his voice, even though Finlay could tell Alex was trying hard to suppress it. “Think about such things as what, Fin?”
But all Finlay did by way of an answer was to pull at the oar harder.
All the Dougal men had had no more than a few moments of sleep for two days now, but if their laird carried on rowing, then so would they. “Hie closer to the shores o’ yonder islet, men!” Finlay shouted loud enough so that even the men in the other long boat would be able to hear him. “We must rest before we go any further!”
The order was an unusual one for Finlay to make, but they did as their captain commanded. Poor Master McDonnell was almost asleep on his feet as he stumbled off the hard wooden bench and helped Finlay carry Isla ashore. She retched weakly as they laid her on the ground but tried to stagger to her feet when she saw the men setting up canvas shelters by using the ropes and sails from the longboats.
Finlay pushed her back down. “Wheesht, lass. Stay right where ye are. Ye can stay with yer faither inside the abandoned bothy across the way.”
He helped her walk to the tiny croft a few yards along the shore. It was more of a hovel than a proper croft. A fisherman must have once used it, but it looked as if it had not been inhabited for many years, sitting perched on the black rocks with its shutters flapping and banging in the wind.
He went in first to check for vermin or other unwelcome guests like spiders and insects, but the bothy was empty except for a few sheep droppings. After Isla followed him inside, she found an old besom in the corner and began to sweep the floor. It used up the last of her energy. Finlay held her elbow when he saw Isla’s knees shake and buckle.
“Come, lass, this is nay time to be housecleanin’.”
Finlay waited for Isla to untie her traveling cloak and hand it to him, whereupon he laid it down beside the little hearth.
“I’ll be back, Isla,” he told her. “I’m off to fetch kindling and warn the men to keep an eye out for McTavish shepherds. There are obviously sheep left to graze on this islet.”
The soldier he had left to guard the boats had spent most of his time gathering driftwood and dried branches and bundling them for firewood. Finlay commandeered one and then walked back to the bothy. Isla was sitting on her cloak, shivering like a trembling leaf.
“Every time I see yer faither walkin’ around the camp with yer underskirt wrapped around his shoulders, it brings a smile to me face.”
He was encouraged when she smiled and answered him.
“He’s stopped wearing it around his shoulders, sir, which ye would say so if ye kent more about ladies’ undergarments. Faither has stuck his head through the waistband and tied the riband around his neck!”
They laughed together and suddenly the stiff sea breeze blowing outside the cracked window shutters seemed to be a bit warmer. There was a thick log of wood next to the fireplace. The top had been hacked at with an ax to make wood chips. Finlay lifted up a few splinters of the wood chips by using the sword the boat guard had given him.
“I’ll have ye nice an’ warm soon, Isla. Or should I be callin’ ye Lady Isla now? Ye have so much more gold than I do.”
That made her chuckle, and the sparkle came back into her eyes.
“Faither has always been a plain soul. A bowl o’ porridge at the break o’ day, a bannock an’ cheese for dinner, an’ a bowl o’ barley broth for supper. The only time I ever got to taste sugar was when I visited Cook at the castle kitchens. After all me mither’s finery was looted during one o’ the raids, we never bothered to replace them. An’ now that I see how frequently soldiers lose their swords in battle an’ combat, I understand how Faither managed to save so much money.”
Finlay was enjoying this conversation more than he had enjoyed any event in the past year. When he sparked his flintstone onto the bone-dry driftwood in the grate, it smoked and sputtered for a few moments before bursting into a blaze of blue and green flames. Neither one of them was surprised by this phenomenon. They had grown up close to the seashore and knew the effect had something to do with the salt trapped in the wood.
“Yer faither is a fine example of a Highlander—an’ a Dougal Highlander at that. Me faither was the same, but maybe that was because we had to spend all our gold on war. It’s a costly business keeping farmers’ crops safe from raids because that’s where the bulk of our taxes come from.” Isla shook her head. “So many farmers have left their furloughs empty and gone to live in the towns instead. It’s a thankless task sowing the seeds in spring, only to have the McTavishes come an’ burn the crops down right before the harvest.”
He sat down on the wood chip log and stared at the fire. “Isla, me faither was wrong, and I have nay doubt that the whole clan was sick o’ him an’ none too sad at his death. Ye see, I have been doin’ much the same thing over at the McTavish estate—burnin’ crops and raidin’ the village. It was a vicious circle. I should have seen the effects it was havin’ on both the Dougal an’ McTavish estates, but I was never at home long enough to pay attention before me faither would send me out again on another foray.”
Isla had been sitting on her cloak as close to the fire as she could be, with her legs pulled up close to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. But after he confessed his father’s lack of good judgment, she put one hand on his knee to comfort him.
“Dinnae be downhearted about it, sir. Yer faither only inherited the war; he did nae start it himself. I have the feelin’ that ye would have changed things once ye heard that ye were laird an’ yer faither was dead. Those tales o’ warrior lairds goin’ off to do battle an’ leavin’ his estate to fend for itself might make very interestin’ stories, but they are an impractical way to run a castle!”
Her emphatic tone brought a smile to his face. “Aye, ye’re right, but the McTavish is on his last legs anyway since his harbor full o’ mercenaries went up in smoke.” He held the hand she had placed on his knee. “I should go an’ get ye something to eat, lass.”
He left her sitting in front of the fire and went back to the small encampment the men had set up. The blacksmith was fast asleep with a satisfied expression on his face, and Finlay smelled the reason for it before he saw the pieces of mutton roasting on sticks over the fire. His men had managed to catch one of the sheep roaming on the island and butchered it for the meat.
He took two of the sticks with mutton back to the bothy. The sticks the men had used had been cut from a rosemary bush; they had dug up some salsify and roasted it too. A delicious herby aroma followed him as he returned to the bothy.
They ate together in silence; Isla taking dainty little bites of the food before using the rosemary twigs and leaves to clean her mouth.
“I would give a smile for a loaf o’ bread right now,” she said to him as they walked down to the stream together to wash. “Belike we’ll have it soon when we arrive at this Berwick Harbor ye have told me about.”
“These islands have even been a source o’ war between us pure Highlanders an’ the men from the lands o’ ice an’ snow to the north. The place where we are now is called one name by the Scots an’ another by the Norsemen.”
Isla looked interested. “An’ what are those names, sir?”
“Sviney by the Norse; Swona by the Highlanders.”
When they entered the bothy, and he walked around closing the shutters to stop them banging, Isla went to sit back in front of the fire. He moved to the door, but she said, “Don’ leave, sir. I will sleep better if ye stay.” And she patted the thick woolen cloak on the floor, showing she wanted him to sit beside her.
