Anya hesitated for a moment as the guard’s march continued. Confident she hadn’t been seen, she hastened through the shadows.
“There ye are,” whispered Lord O’Doherty, grasping her elbow.
“The gate is open?” she whispered.
“For the moment. The earl knows of my departure. I informed him I’d received word of unrest.” He hastened forward. “Now hush.”
True to his word, the sea gate had been opened.
By the time they reached the pier, Lord O’Doherty’s men had already hoisted the galley’s sail, but Angus’ birlinn caught Anya’s eye. “A moment,” she said, hastening toward Islay’s boat.
“We haven’t time,” called His Lordship in a loud whisper.
But Anya ignored him, stretched for the MacDonald pennant, and raced back. “We might need this.”
His Lordship offered his hand. “Sit in the bow and keep your head covered.”
She gripped his fingers and allowed him to assist her to alight. “Thank you.”
Chahir gave her a thin-lipped nod before he turned his attention to the crew. “Cast off.”
22
Raghnall did not usually sleep soundly, but when the sentry banged on his door, a fog filled his head as if he’d been asleep for a week. As he forced his eyes open, the pounding came again. “Why the devil will ye no’ leave me be?” he barked.
“An Irish galley is approaching.”
Instantly awake, Raghnall sat bolt upright and shoved his feet into this boots. “Is it Fairhair?”
“Nay, but I swear there’s a woman standing in the bow waving the MacDonald pennant as if her life depended on it.”
Raghnall flung open the door. “How far out?”
“Close enough to cause trouble,” said Gael, his eyes wide. “Shall we allow them to run aground?”
“Aye. Order the archers at the ready upon the wall. Ye said ’tis only one boat?”
“Only one. No other vessels in sight.”
“Good Lord, I pray Islay has not met with an untimely end.” Raghnall belted on his sword, slung his cloak about his shoulders, and started for the stairs of the guardhouse while his stomach roiled. If there was an Irish woman approaching, waving MacDonald colors, it could only be one female who’d risk her life to sail into the bay. “Assemble a retinue of twenty men on the shore.”
Raghnall took two steps at a time while Gael followed. “Where are the archers?” he bellowed.
“Already waiting above the postern gate, sir.”
“Good. No one fires unless I give the order.”
“Understood.”
By the time Raghnall’s boots crunched over the stony beach, the galley was near enough for him to make out Anya’s chestnut locks whipping against the dawn sky.
“They must have sailed all night,” said Gael.
“Aye.” Raghnall hailed the lass with a wave as the crew prepared to pull the boat ashore. But his gut sank to his toes when he made out the worry in her expression.
An armored Irishman hopped over the side and carried Miss Anya toward the beach.
“Raghnall!” she shouted while the man splashed through the surf. “Ulster has imprisoned the Lord of Islay. We must leave at once.”
The Irishman placed the lass on her feet. “I’ve fulfilled my promise,” he said, looking none too happy.
Anya curtseyed. “Thank ye, my lord. Be kind to my sister.”
“Do ye require food, friend?” asked Raghnall.
“Nay, I only ask that my identity be forgotten. I was never here, understood?”
Raghnall gave a curt bow. “Understood.”
Anya tapped his elbow. “This gentleman was kind enough to transport me here, though no one at Carrickfergus knows I’m gone.”
“Ye took great risk to come.”
“’Twas the only thing I could think of to do. Ulster intends to take Angus to London to stand trial—by way of Carlisle. We must leave at once.”
“We?” Raghnall asked, watching the crew in the Irish galley man their oars and head back out to sea.
“Aye, Lord O’…I mean, the man who brought me here said Ulster would not set sail until after the sabbath. He plans to deliver Islay into the Lord Warden’s hands at Carlisle and from there transport him to the Tower of London.” Anya grasped Raghnall’s arm, her grip surprisingly strong for such a wee woman. “And just yesterday they issued him with twenty lashes. I’m afraid he’s in no shape to fight, no shape at all.”
“My God.”
She gestured toward the moored MacDonald birlinns. “Come, sir. We must go.”
“Perhaps, but ships and crew first need to be appointed and provisioned.” Raghnall inclined his head toward the path to the keep. “I’m sure ye are tired after sailing all night, I bid ye go break your fast and take some rest.”
“How can I rest when Islay’s life is hanging on a precipice?”
To that, Raghnall had no response. Nonetheless, one thing was for certain, a rescue mission was no place for a female, even if she had risked life and limb to bring the news.
Since leaving Carrickfergus, Anya had focused on one thought—to free Angus from the clutches of her guardian and anyone else who saw fit to imprison him. But by the time she had entered the Dunyvaig by way of the kitchen, her purpose became even clearer.
“Miss Anya,” said Cook. “I just heard the news.”
“’Tis dreadful. Please tell me, how long will it take to provision the ships?”
“No more than an hour or two.”
“Thank ye. I must find Lilas at once.”
“At this early hour, she’s most likely in her cottage.”
It took but a moment to reach the dwelling, just beyond the castle gates. Anya rapped on the door. “Lilas, are ye within?”
“A moment,” came the reply before the door cracked open. “Miss Anya? Something has happened.”
“Indeed it has,” she said as the healer stepped back and gestured inside, wearing a shift with a blanket wrapped about her shoulders. Drying herbs hung above, making the cottage smell like an autumn garden. Anya quickly explained all that had transpired. “I need a medicine bundle to take along. I’m afraid His Lordship’s wounds are grave.”
“Ye were right to come here. I’ll prepare a salve for the welts and a tincture to ward off fever.”
“Thank ye. I’d like to bring along rolls of bandages as well. Will ye be preparing the violets and whey tincture?”
“Aye.” Lilas took a vial from a shelf lined with stoppered pots and the like. “But ye’ll need this more. ’Tis the oil of avens. There is nothing better to treat open wounds. I only pray they have not already started to fester.”
Anya left the healer’s cottage with a basket filled with everything she ought to need to tend Angus’ wounds. At least she prayed it would be enough.
From there, she made her way to the armory and found a bow. She tested the string for strength, then slung a quiver of arrows over her shoulder.
“What, pray tell, are ye doing, miss?”