“You’re naught more than an annoyance to me, and one I never wish to lay eyes upon again.”
“That’s perfect.” With a soft smile, she lifted up on her toes and murmured in his ear, “Close your eyes and count to one-hundred, nice and slow. Once you’re done, you may open your eyes again and when you do, you’ll find me gone from this place and you’ll be most glad I’ve left.”
“Aye, one-hundred and I’ll be glad to see you gone.” Yet deep inside his heart, it screamed out a denial. Still, he closed his eyes and did as she’d bid. ’Twas impossible to deny her hypnotic request. “One, two, three…”
Slowly, her fingers slipped free of his and his heart heaved.
Pain slashed through him. Damn her ability to compel.
The door shut with a soft snick.
Chapter 2
Sailing along the Sound of Raasay, near MacKenzie land, two weeks later.
Sailing through the choppy waters, Duncan continued his search for the Chief of MacDonald’s nephew. Gavin and his band of men had been slaughtering his cattle for weeks, sneaking onto his land and causing sheer mayhem and now he’d had more than enough. He needed to catch up with the man and halt him in his tracks, and preferably by ensuring his death.
With the ropes in hand, he searched the shoreline as the blustery wind filled his galley’s sail. “All eyes alert,” he bellowed to his men. “We’re closing in on our prey. I can sense it.”
“Do you smell that, Duncan?” Hamish, his second, kept a lookout from the bow.
Nose to the air, he drew in the salty scent of the sea. It enveloped his senses, and there, a hint of smoke wafted on the breeze. “A fire rages.”
“We’re almost at Inverarish.” Hamish’s dark hair whipped about in the wind, the skies darkening as night drew nearer.
“Gavin knows the village of Inverarish falls under my protection.” He wrestled with the ropes, turned the sail a touch and caught more wind as the sun dipped along the horizon and sent a final streak of brilliant red through the haze of dark blue. “We sail to the village, with all haste.”
They rounded the tip, the waves churning and the scent of the smoke thickening. Along the stony shoreline of the bay, flames licked a fiery orange-red across the thatched-roof of a longhouse. Smoke billowed from doors and windows and embers whistled through the wind and snatched ahold of the next rooftop. Villagers swarmed from the houses with wooden pails in hand and herded down toward the water’s edge. In a living line of men, women, and children, they dipped pails into the surf and swung them from one hand to the next.
“All to oars,” he bellowed and dropped the sail. Another house caught alight and more ashy smoke plumed into the night sky and smothered the bay. To the bow, he bounded and as they crested the waves twenty feet from the shoreline, he leapt over the side and splashed through the hip-deep water toward the villagers. Shoving forward, he slogged in then jogged to the head of the line where James, the stocky inn owner, yelled orders.
“You’ve good timing, my laird.” James jabbed a finger toward the forest rising high along the upper rim of the bay overlooking the village. “Gavin MacDonald and his band of men snuck in from the forest and attacked, have filched several horses from our stables and now fled the same way they came. The lass made chase.”
“Which lass?” The winds fanned the flames. He hollered to his men as they spilled from the vessel onto the shore, “The fires must be put out! Aid wherever you can.”
“The lass Ella Matheson. Her brother, Ethan, was with Gavin and his men and she’s been searching for Ethan and arrived here naught more than an hour ago.” James heaved a pail forward along the line. “She said Ethan has successfully infiltrated Gavin’s band of men and attempts to halt Gavin’s devious behavior from within it.”
“She’s a compeller and her clan is allied with the MacDonald’s.” She was also a terrible annoyance, a lass he never wished to see again, and that thought rang like a death knell through his head, had since that night they’d met at William’s tavern.
“Ella took a chest illness a sennight ago, isnae fully recovered yet. Her voice is raspy, her ability to compel coming and going.” James aided a woman carrying a bairn—her face blackened by the grimy smoke—into the spot behind him then lifted the cubby-faced child from her shoulders and hefted the wee lad onto his own. “Ethan is much like his father, Ella too,” James continued. “All here remember Hacon Matheson and how he fought for the rights of all, no matter which clan they belonged to. Ella and Ethan do all they can to honor their father’s memory. Peace is what they desire, no’ war.”