“Do you think they’ll come after us?” she asked.
“And leave Mingary unprotected?” He shook his head. “Besides, I made certain there were no boats nearby.”
“You put a great deal of thought into my rescue.”
“Aye, m’lady. I suppose I did.”
“I am indebted to you for my very life.”
“You are my lord and master…och, I mean my lady and mistress. I will see to your protection as long as you should need me.” He steered the skiff through the heavy swells of Loch Sunart. “Once we cross into Argyllshire, we’ll hug the coast to avoid being capsized should the sea decide to turn angry.” He pointed to the dark outline of the far shore. “After we traverse the Firth of Lorn, I reckon we should row through Loch Etive until we reach Taynult. ’Tis but a day’s hike to Kilchurn Castle from there.”
Helen couldn’t imagine hiking through the rugged Highlands along the River Awe with a bairn in her arms. Besides, that would be dangerous. “Kilchurn is the first place Sir Aleck will look, and if I know Duncan, he’ll be so irate with me, he’ll bow to Aleck’s claims before I’ve had a chance to explain.”
Mr. Keith stopped rowing. “What do you recommend, m’lady?”
“After we pass through the Sound of Mull, head across the Firth of Lorn for Dunollie. My sister Gyllis will help us—and we’ll not have so far to row.”
He again pulled on the wooden oars, taking them further from Mingary. “She must be the one married to Sir Sean MacDougall.”
“Aye, she is. And I would trust her with our lives.” Helen shivered as the skiff rocked and bobbed in the swells. Dear God, please keep us afloat. “How long will it take to pass through the Sound of Mull?”
“Once we enter the narrows, the current will help. I’d reckon we’ll reach Dunollie by midday on the morrow.”
Helen groaned. “That will be a terrible strain for you. If only we had a sail.”
“Not to worry, m’lady. There’ll be plenty of time to rest once I am content you are safely away from Mingary.”
The king’s move to Tabert Castle on Kintyre enabled him to amass a secret fleet of loyal clans. Situated at the mouth of Loch Fyne, deep in Campbell territory, there would be no opportunity for Clan Donald to spy on the king and his ever-growing forces.
Before Aleck MacIain joined them, Eoin and his men sailed daily in and out of the Firth of Clyde. They posed as merchant seafarers, running goods up through the Sound of Jura. They were, in fact, spying on the heightened activities of the MacDonalds on the Isle of Islay.
Normally, Eoin had patience for surveillance, but the daily sorties had him on edge. He couldn’t stop thinking about the missive the Bishop of the Isles was carrying to Rome. What if the Pope refuses to grant Lady Helen the annulment? What in God’s name will I do then?
His mind had run the gamut. The only thing he hadn’t considered was walking away. He should have let the MacDonald warrior kill Aleck in Sunart, but Eoin wouldn’t have been able to live with himself if he hadn’t stepped in. His code of honor would never allow such malfeasance. Unfortunately, Aleck MacIain would have to see to his own ruination.
“Ruination,” Eoin said aloud, mulling the word over in his mind. Though he’d welcome MacIain’s ruination, he needed to safeguard Lady Helen’s reputation to ensure she remained in good standing.
“Bloody oath.” Fergus gripped the rail of the galley beside him. “We’ll see to the ruination of Clan Donald before this war has ended.”
Eoin nodded at his henchman, not letting on to why he’d uttered the word. He took in a deep breath of salty air. What more could he do to protect Lady Helen? She was as fragile as fine blown glass. What Duncan had been thinking when he’d arranged her marriage to that bombastic swine, Eoin couldn’t fathom. If he’d been the suitor who’d won her hand, she would have all the luxuries life could afford.
A dark chasm spread through his chest. Again, he reminded himself that he was lord over lands with a stone longhouse, not a castle. Helen has lived her entire life in a keep, her every need catered, as it should be for such a delicate flower. Eoin’s wealth was a pittance compared to the Campbells of Glenorchy or the miserable Clan MacIain of Ardnamurchan.
The galley sailed around the Mull of Kyntire for what seemed like the hundredth time. Fergus pointed toward Dunyveig Castle on the southern shore of Islay. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Eoin chuckled. “They’ve decided to show their hand, have they?” At least thirty galleys moored in the shallows, and though it was too far to see, Eoin didn’t have to guess that they were all flying the MacDonald colors. He circled his hand over his head. “Tack to starboard. Set a course for Tabert. I’ve no doubt this news will interest the king.”
Chapter Twenty
By the time Helen and Mr. Keith had rowed through the Sound of Mull, Maggie could not be comforted. The bairn’s high pitched wails rattled in Helen’s skull, giving her a royal headache, and she had no doubt the poor guard suffered as well. “If only I had some milk for her.”
Mr. Keith dragged the oars through the swells like a man ready to drop from exhaustion. “There’re some oatcakes in the satchel. Try chewing up a bit and feeding it to her.”
Helen reached for the satchel and did as he suggested. Cradling the babe in her arm, she swiped a bit of the paste from her tongue with her finger. “Here you are, darling.”
Maggie howled and thrashed her head from side to side until Helen shoved her finger in the bairn’s mouth. Within the blink of an eye, Maggie sucked the paste from Helen’s finger. Helen worked quickly to feed her more, then grinned up at Mr. Keith. “Did you have children?”
“Not me.” He grunted with another heavy pull on the oars. “I’m a confirmed bachelor, but I was the eldest of twelve.”
“Twelve? Bless your mother.”
“Aye, she was a saintly woman.”
The bairn continued to eat and suckle from Helen’s finger while the waves tossed the boat. Gazing at her daughter’s cherubic face, Helen counted her blessings. Aye, her life was in a shambles, but she had a brave guard willing to row all the way to Dunollie, and praise the heavens, she cradled her daughter in her arms. Better, somewhere out there Sir Eoin MacGregor worked to help her appeal for an annulment.
Helen looked at her attire and sniffed. With matted hair, her gown caked with filth, Gyllis would hardly recognize her.
Mr. Keith rested the oars on the sides of the skiff. “Are you all right m’lady?”
“Aye, just struck by a moment of reflection.” She glanced at him. “I lost track of time. How long was I in the dungeon?”
“About a fortnight.”
“That long?”
“I regret that I was unable to aid in your escape sooner,” Mr. Keith said, wiping his forehead with his shirtsleeve.
Helen took in a stuttered breath. “I thank the Lord for your generous kindness.”
“I could watch you suffer no longer.”
She knew he referred to far more than the past fortnight. The clansmen and women had watched her take Aleck’s abuse for years, but things had grown worse in the past several months.