She handed him a cup. “You do take care of me.”
He rested his ax on the woodheap and held up his watered wine. “’Tis a responsibility I embrace.”
They tapped their wooden cups together and drank.
“Mm,” Eoin said. “’Twas just what I needed to quell my thirst.”
Helen licked her lips and stepped into him. She smoothed the damp cloth over his shoulders and chest. “Maggie’s asleep.”
A deep chuckle rumbled through his throat and he slid his hand around her neck, plying her mouth with a kiss. “That sounds like a promise.”
“Aye.” She chuckled. “I thought that might draw your attention.”
He grasped her waist and pressed his hips against hers. “Always.”
Blessed desire gripped her nether parts as her passion inflamed. Helen shamelessly rocked her hips from side to side. “My, you have turned me into a wanton woman.”
“And that’s a bad thing?” His voice grew deeper with each word.
She emitted a seductive hum. “Perhaps not when we’re alone.”
Helen loved the look of desire on Eoin’s face when he gazed upon her with a fervent hunger through half-lidded eyes. Their bodies entwined while their lips joined in a languid dance. Warm and enticing, his mouth invited her to sail uncharted waters with him, and after a sennight of passion, Helen’s excitement grew. Every blessed joining brought a new adventure.
Eoin’s hand slid down her thigh and grasped her skirts. Her heart fluttered. Would he take her there, outside with a cold breeze caressing their skin? Anticipation of a new path to pleasure heightened her hunger.
Helen slipped her fingers into the top of his breeks and pulled on the cord holding them up.
An infant’s cry squealed from inside the cottage.
Eoin touched his forehead to hers and chuckled. “It appears we timed things a bit late.”
Helen took in a ragged breath. “Will you remember where we are until we’re alone this eve?”
He nuzzled against her ear. “I’ll be thinking of it every moment until then.”
Maggie’s cries rose until they bordered on panic-stricken.
Helen gave him one last kiss. “Then I shall hold you to it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
At long last the king had decided to deploy his forces—not a few galleys at a time to quell skirmishes, but the entire armada King James had amassed set sail on course to capture Alexander MacDonald once and for all. It was a chilly October day when Eoin stood manning the tiller of his galley, wearing his helm and hauberk. He and Aleck MacIain flanked each side of the V formation, with Duncan’s three galleys taking the lead, followed by five of the king’s royal galleys.
Finally, they would confront the MacDonald marauders. Eoin only hoped this grand sortie would put an end to the unpredictable MacDonald raids up and down the coast as well as end Alexander’s outrageous claim to the Earldom of Ross.
Manning the cannon, Fergus and Willy stood upon the platform Eoin had built at the stern. With luck, they’d sink a MacDonald galley or two before they ran aground and alighted for the battle. The more MacDonald men they could dispatch now, the better their chances for a swift victory.
Before they approached the shore, he saw a MacDonald ship on the horizon. Eoin watched it change course. Anyone within miles would spot the king’s armada. Aleck’s galley veered off course and headed toward the distant ship.
Bloody hell, he’s splitting our forces. Groaning, Eoin had no choice but to follow. All the boats were paired to ensure strength of numbers—and Eoin would make certain Aleck didn’t have a sudden change of heart and swap sides.
The MacDonald galley’s sail picked up the wind, speeding to the southwest.
“After them. Due south,” Eoin bellowed the order and countered with pull of the rudder, putting his ship on a direct course to intercept the galley. Aleck’s boat adjusted too, but not as fast. Picking up a hearty gust, Eoin’s men quickly overtook MacIain, gaining on the MacDonald ship.
Once in range of the cannon, Eoin bellowed, “Set your sights, Fergus. I’ll not watch this MacDonald vessel slip away from our clutches.”
The henchman touched the flame to the cannon’s fuse and the big gun blasted with deafening force. The gun recoiled so violently, it trundled to the length of its anchoring chain before Eoin blinked. A resounding splash indicated a miss.
“Raise your sights and blast again,” Eoin yelled, though he could scarcely hear his own voice due to the ringing in his ears.
Willy labored to turn the crank while Fergus used the ramming iron to stoke the barrel with black powder.
Eoin held the rudder steady. The galley rose and fell as it cut through the waves at a steady tack. “We need a direct hit this time, men.”
When the cannon again boomed, the wheels screeched as the barrel recoiled and rolled back until the chains bolted to the hull stopped it from smashing through the other side. The cannonball whistled away and Eoin peered through the thick smoke, praying.
A crash roared across the sea. Eoin ran to the side of his galley, peering through the sulfur cloud. His gut squeezed. The MacDonald galley’s mast was down. Her oars slid out and the boat turned south.
Eoin blinked and wiped his eyes. They’re heading straight for the Isle of Oronsay. “We’ll finish it on land, lads,” he yelled while muscling the rudder.
Eoin’s blood coursed faster as their sail picked up the gale and they gained on the crippled galley. MacIain wasn’t far behind. Good, they would make quick work of these scoundrels and then they’d rejoin the king’s fight on Colonsay. “Heave to,” Eoin gave the command to slow as they approached the shore. The men worked quickly to furl the sail and man the oars—a maneuver every man could perform in his sleep.
Ahead, the MacDonald galley groaned and scraped as she ran aground, then listed to port.
Eoin expertly sailed his boat and stopped just as the hull met with sand. “Drop anchor,” he yelled. “Draw your weapons and prepare for battle!”
The MacDonald men scrambled over the side of the crippled boat and Eoin wasn’t about to wait for them to regroup. Clan Gregor warriors splashed into the thigh-deep surf. Eoin pulled his sword as he rushed ahead and led the charge.
Surrounding a man protectively, three burly henchmen moved up the beach. Fighting off a scoundrel with a poleax, Eoin tried to make out the man’s face. As the MacDonalds sped toward his men, Eoin chanced another glimpse at the mysterious lord. One of the big men stepped around a rock, revealing a glimpse of Alexander MacDonald. Bloody Christmas, they’d chased after the scoundrel himself.
Bellowing his war cry, Eoin surged forward. A battleax came from nowhere and swung at his knees. Leaping in the nick of time, the ax hissed beneath him. A lance came from the side. Eoin deflected with a backward slash of his blade. On he fought while Alexander MacDonald and his henchmen raced for the scrub beyond the beach.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eoin caught sight of MacIain charging after them with Grant in his wake. “MacDonald,” Aleck roared. “Stand and fight, you milk-livered coward!”
With a thrust of his sword, Eoin cut down the man with the battleax. The other soldier lunged with his lance. Eoin dodged to the side. The man stumbled forward and Eoin pummeled him on the back of the head with the hilt of his sword.