Good heavens, Ulster might arrange her marriage to some smelly old buffoon. At least Lord O’Doherty was near her age. He most likely wouldn’t beat her. Of course, the man was nowhere near as handsome as the Lord of Islay. But Anya had never met anyone as braw as the pirate with whom she was marooned—the man she’d scandalously slept beside last eve.
The man she absolutely must not allow to seduce her. Not even with a smile. If only she could fashion a pair of blinders for herself.
Saints preserve me!
6
True to his word, Islay had spent the night sleeping beside the chapel door while Anya nestled at the far side of the tiny nave. This morning, she busied herself putting away the chapel’s things in a drawer hidden in back of the altar, while His Lordship stood on a chair and rehung the tapestry. When he hopped down, he brushed off his hands. “I’d best hunt for some crabs. If the weather grows any worse, Raghnall may be waylaid.”
He wasn’t wrong. The wind had been blowing a gale all day. “Do ye reckon ’tis safe enough to sail at the moment?” she asked.
“Aye, as long as the boats hug the shore. Though after surviving the storm that stranded us here, I’ll nay take any chances. We’ll need food afore the day’s end.” He headed for the door. “I recommend ye stay here, ’tis a mite warmer inside.”
Anya listened to his footsteps crunch over the stony shore and fade. Climbing into an enemy boat might not only ruin her, it could mean her end. If she was going to find a way back to Carrickfergus, now was the time to do it. Surely her guardian had sent out all manner of ships and fishing boats to search for her. Though, how would they have any idea to where she’d disappeared? By now, Finovola would have told them Anya had oft slipped out her secret passageway to draw. Mayhap one of the soldiers saw her hasten for the pier? The Earl of Ulster was a shrewd man, he must have pieced together the clues.
Anya cracked open the door and peered out. Fairhair was mostly hidden by the bluff, all but his mane of blond hair whipping with the wind. When he stooped down to where she could no longer see him, she darted out of the chapel and hastened up the hill until she reached the highest point.
Of course, Islay had tried to discourage her from searching for the English fleet, but that was because he’d thrown in his lot with the outlaw Bruce. It didn’t take a seer to know if Anya waited for the man to take her back to Carrickfergus, she might be an old maid when she next set eyes on her beloved Ireland. Yes, he’d been kind—far kinder than she would have expected for a vile rogue, but he was not concerned about anything but returning to Islay. She even doubted he gave a wit about her upcoming betrothal.
It didn’t take long to spot a cog’s square sail on the horizon, but the ship was too far away and heading northward. Anya shivered as icy wind whipped across the skerry and cut through the weave of her woolen kirtle as if it were but a linen shift. She crouched in the grass and wrapped her arms tightly across her body, keeping her gaze trained to the south.
Good heavens, she missed her cloak. She missed the warmth of a hearth and the comforts of the chamber she shared with Finovola. As soon as she arrived home, the first thing she planned to do was linger in a hot bath. Aye, she’d been cold before, but this little isle was miserable, especially without a mere blanket to wrap around her shoulders.
Anya had tolerated about as much misery as she could when she checked over her shoulder. “Thanks be to Mother Mary and Joseph!” The boat that had been heading north had turned and was sailing directly toward Nave, and they were flying King Edward’s colors. Springing up, Anya waved her arms, hopping up and down. “Here! Help! Help!”
As the ship neared, a man in the bow waved a hand over his head, then pointed his finger, indicating toward the beach. Of course, the high point was no place to moor a ship with the craggy rocks down below.
Excited out of her mind, Anya headed down the slope at a run. “Islay!” she hollered, spotting him on the shore. “There’s a ship!”
He mustn’t have heard her above the rush of the wind and surf because he didn’t even glance her way. But he did look to the sea when the cog ran aground on the beach. Dropping the crab in his fist, he drew his dirk as at least ten men leapt over the side of the boat with their weapons at the ready.
“No!” Anya yelled, right before her toe caught on a rock, sending her stumbling forward onto her hands. Something jagged sliced into her palm. With no time to fuss with it, she cursed her clumsiness and sprang to her feet, clutching her bleeding hand against her waist.
Ahead, Islay backed in a crouch while the English sailors converged. “No!” she shouted as the big Highlander lunged with his dirk. The men attacked on all sides, blades slicing through the air in a blur. Islay put up a valiant fight, yet he let out a rumbling bellow as he took a blow to his shoulder and dropped to his knees.
Frantic, Anya dashed onto the beach just as a cur leveled his blade across the Lord of Islay’s throat. “Stop, I say!”
“Stay back,” shouted the leader, thrusting his palm at her face.
She looked on, wrapping her fingers around her throat while they secured a rope around His Lordship’s wrists. He was bleeding from his shoulder and the corner of his mouth. Why had she not foreseen this? “This man saved my life. He does not deserve to be bullied and bound like a criminal.”
“This is not your concern, miss. We’ve not only found ye, we’ve been waiting for our chance to seize this MacDonald scourge. Fairhair attacked Edward’s army at Loch Ryan.” The man-at-arms kicked Islay in the belly, making him double over with an oof.
Anya dashed in front of His Lordship, shielding him from the English crew. “Do not harm him, I say. If it hadn’t been for the Lord of Islay, I would have drowned.”
“Did he not abduct you?” asked the leader, eyeing her. “Ulster has ordered half the northern fleet to patrol these waters.”
Dear Lord, what was she to say now? Admit to hiding in His Lordship’s birlinn like a child? “I was not abducted.”
“You willingly went with this man?”
“Not exactly willingly. I happened to be in his boat when they set sail.”
“And he didn’t stop to allow you to step ashore?”
Clutching his stomach, Islay met her gaze with an anguished furrow to his brow.
“Please,” she said, gripping her hands over her heart. “It was not his doing. He-he didn’t know I was aboard. I heard the fighting and was afraid. Thinking I’d climbed into a fishing boat, I hid beneath a tarpaulin.”
“Well, it matters not.” The man sauntered so near, he made her take a step away. “We must take ye back to Carrickfergus and this outlaw will be sent to Carlisle where he’ll join the traitors Thomas and Alexander Bruce. I reckon he’ll arrive just in time to be executed alongside them.”
Executed? The word took the breath from Anya’s lungs. “His Lordship acted with chivalry. Not once did he raise a finger to harm me.”
“Mayhap not, but this rogue has sided with the outlaw Bruce. That in itself is an act of treason against a king to whom he swore featly.”
“My brother took the oath. Under duress, mind ye,” Islay mumbled, earning another kick to the ribs.