Page 12 of The Plight of a Scottish Lass
Tamsin did as he asked, slowing her breathing as they slid through the water. The man was huge, his body larger than hers in every way. His feet broke the surface way below where hers did, another testament to his height. The muscles in his upper arm rippled as he moved, the powerful waves not bothering him one bit.
“What island are you from?”
“Ulva.”
“Your husband left you here?”
“Aye. For not giving him a son and burning his dinner.”
“A surly bastard and a mean one too. What’s your name?”
“Tamsin. My husband is Raghnall Garvie.”
“Well, since you live on Ulva, we’ll take you to the Isle of Mull, and you can live with our clan.”
She tensed again. “Nay. My daughter. I must go back.” She couldn’t leave her with the cruel man and his coldhearted mother.
“First, you’ll heal. Then you may return. You need a healer if you hope to live to see your daughter again.”
“Will you help me find a healer? And then help me get back to Ulva?” She didn’t know how else to get back. She surely couldn’t swim.
“I can’t promise that, but I can promise to find you someone who will help you.”
Tamsin relaxed. Even though she knew it was foolish, she had to go back. She wasn’t even sure where her daughter was, but she had to see for herself.
Because she knew that if her husband was heartless enough to kill his wife, he’d do the same to their daughter.
Chapter Eight
Lennox MacVey
The chieftain of Clan MacVey, Lennox MacVey, stared at the chieftain of Clan Rankin, Sloan Rankin. “Why the hell would King Robert gift Duart Castle to anyone in Clan Ramsay?”
“Because the MacDougalls didn’t favor the Bruce. So, our king gifted it to the Ramsays.”
“What know ye of the clan?” Lennox asked. He knew nothing of the Ramsays, probably because he’d been here on the Isle of Mull for too long. His sire had built their castle overlooking the Sound of Mull, and as Taskill, his only brother, was the younger of the two, the chieftainship would pass to Lennox and did the day his sire died two years ago.
He’d been off to Europe traveling and returned home immediately, but his experience was mostly in France and Spain. He knew little of the politics of the region.
His mother, Rut, paced behind the table, her long, plaited hair now gray from age. Her undergown was a stunning gold to match the gold and brown plaid overgown. He’d depended on his mother for most of his knowledge of running the clan—the numbers, the food stores, the boats, everything. But he was a quick learner. She knew something about nearly every clan in Scotland and the isles.
She didn’t pause to explain, instead continuing her pacing. “Clan Ramsay is an honorable clan. They are known for one of the elders, Logan Ramsay, and his wife, Gwyneth. They both worked as spies for King Alexander many years ago. His wife was a renowned archer, as are most of the lasses of the clan. We could use some archers here, Lennox. We must befriend them, not antagonize them.”
Lennox scoffed at the idea. “I’ll stick with my sword skills and so will our guards.”
Sloan said, “I don’t know much more than that, but I’ll gladly take archers to fight. I’d like to train as an archer myself. Have you visited yet? You are the closer one.”
“Nay, but I had someone scout the area, and they have arrived. Three horses, three men, two women. It is said more are on their way. Two of their horses are warhorses.” Lennox looked to Sloan for his reaction. “And they are beauties, so I was told.” Sloan’s arched brow was exactly what he’d expected.
They would all like warhorses.
The Isle of Mull was home to five clans that they were aware of. The MacDougalls, now the Ramsays, held Duart Castle in the northeast. Clan Rankin occupied the northernmost corner of the isle. Clan MacVey sat between the Rankins and Duart Castle. There were two other clans on the isle, the MacQuaries to the west and the MacClanes to the south. Since there were mountains in the center of the island, they didn’t often see either clan.
“Mayhap they’ll rent a stallion out. I’d pay.”
“We all would.”
“When did they arrive?”
