aught good?'
Iain, please." His sister came forward, her free hand extended. "You are making yourself miserable."
"The MacKinnons have made me miserable!" Ian roared and snatched the wine ewer off the table. With a loud, unintelligible cry, he hurled it into the hearth. "Scourges of the earth, they are, God rot their pestiferous souls!"
Gerbert cleared his throat. "Come, my lady," he said, placing a gnarled hand on her ann. "Let us speak to him by the light of day. We can do naught when such misery is upon him.”
As if his two unwelcome visitors had already quit his presence, Iain resumed his pacing, his scowl more thunderous than before, his handsome face a closed mask.
"But the dog hair . . ." Her pretty forehead creasing with doubt, Amicia cast a troubled glance at the overstuffed linen pouch she carried.
" Dog hair ?" Iain lifted a scornful brow as he stomped past her on his unceasing round of the chamber.
"Aye." His sister plunked the sack on a chair. Sidling closer to the old seneschal, she hooked her arm through his and lifted her chin. "Gerbert informed me you have been pushing the men to use great haste while working on the galley a-and. . ."
She let her words trail off when Iain stopped in his tracks and planted his hands against his hips. "What would you intimate, sister?"
"Simply that, in your rush to finish, you've been using an inferior hotchpotch of moss and pitch to caulk the strakes," she blurted. "Donall always ordered animal hair added to the caulk mixture when he oversaw repairs to hull planking, so my ladies and I have gathered dog hair for --"
" By Lucifer's tarse !" Iain exploded. "Think you I have time to comb dogs when my wife's murderers are free to loll about and make merry in their hall?"
"Donall will be ---"
"- well on his way to Glasgow. As the two of you shall be on your way out of here." He raked his sister and old Gerbert with a look intimidating enough to curdle vinegar. “ Now! "
Anger blazed in Amicia's eyes as well, but she gathered up her skirts and sailed through the opened doorway, Baldoon's long-nosed goat of a seneschal tagging along behind her.
"Your temper will see you to your grave," her voice drifted back to him from the gloom of the corridor.
"And if going there would reunite me with my Lileas, 'tis a fate I'd embrace!" Iain countered and slammed the heavy, oaken door.
Still grumbling, he dropped the bar in place, thus assuring his undisturbed solitude.
Peace again at last.
A grim smile stole across his features.
With Baldoon's two most persistent needlers out of his hair, Iain MacLean leaned his back against the locked door and cast a self-satisfied gaze about the darkened solar.
Not a candle flickered.
Even the smoldering hearth fire had spent its last dubious tendrils of warmth.
Nary a spark dared defy him with a single cheery pop.
The jug of wine he'd flung onto the firelog had sufficiently squelched that particular danger.
Heaving a great sigh, he pushed away from the door and resumed his circuitous march around the room. "'Tis right you are, Amicia," he carped to himself as he stomped past the chair with her fool bag of dog hair.
"Temper might well hasten my journey into infinitude, but I am not going there or anywhere until I've sent on a multitude of MacKinnons before me!"
CHAPTER SIX
I am Attracted to him.
Like a persistent gnat or, worse, a swarming cloud of midges buzzing 'round her head, the same five words rang ever louder in Isolde's ears, dogging her hurried progress along the gray-shingled beach.
Bedeviling her with relentless tenacity.
I am attracted to him.
Simple words. Yet possessed of such power. Her face flamed despite the soft mizzle dampening her cheeks and seeping into the very fabric of her clothes.
Without breaking stride, she glanced over her shoulder and drew a deep sigh of relief. No one followed. Not a living soul pursued her along the stony cove's crescent-shaped shoreline.
Thanks be to all her patron
Iain, please." His sister came forward, her free hand extended. "You are making yourself miserable."
"The MacKinnons have made me miserable!" Ian roared and snatched the wine ewer off the table. With a loud, unintelligible cry, he hurled it into the hearth. "Scourges of the earth, they are, God rot their pestiferous souls!"
Gerbert cleared his throat. "Come, my lady," he said, placing a gnarled hand on her ann. "Let us speak to him by the light of day. We can do naught when such misery is upon him.”
As if his two unwelcome visitors had already quit his presence, Iain resumed his pacing, his scowl more thunderous than before, his handsome face a closed mask.
"But the dog hair . . ." Her pretty forehead creasing with doubt, Amicia cast a troubled glance at the overstuffed linen pouch she carried.
" Dog hair ?" Iain lifted a scornful brow as he stomped past her on his unceasing round of the chamber.
"Aye." His sister plunked the sack on a chair. Sidling closer to the old seneschal, she hooked her arm through his and lifted her chin. "Gerbert informed me you have been pushing the men to use great haste while working on the galley a-and. . ."
She let her words trail off when Iain stopped in his tracks and planted his hands against his hips. "What would you intimate, sister?"
"Simply that, in your rush to finish, you've been using an inferior hotchpotch of moss and pitch to caulk the strakes," she blurted. "Donall always ordered animal hair added to the caulk mixture when he oversaw repairs to hull planking, so my ladies and I have gathered dog hair for --"
" By Lucifer's tarse !" Iain exploded. "Think you I have time to comb dogs when my wife's murderers are free to loll about and make merry in their hall?"
"Donall will be ---"
"- well on his way to Glasgow. As the two of you shall be on your way out of here." He raked his sister and old Gerbert with a look intimidating enough to curdle vinegar. “ Now! "
Anger blazed in Amicia's eyes as well, but she gathered up her skirts and sailed through the opened doorway, Baldoon's long-nosed goat of a seneschal tagging along behind her.
"Your temper will see you to your grave," her voice drifted back to him from the gloom of the corridor.
"And if going there would reunite me with my Lileas, 'tis a fate I'd embrace!" Iain countered and slammed the heavy, oaken door.
Still grumbling, he dropped the bar in place, thus assuring his undisturbed solitude.
Peace again at last.
A grim smile stole across his features.
With Baldoon's two most persistent needlers out of his hair, Iain MacLean leaned his back against the locked door and cast a self-satisfied gaze about the darkened solar.
Not a candle flickered.
Even the smoldering hearth fire had spent its last dubious tendrils of warmth.
Nary a spark dared defy him with a single cheery pop.
The jug of wine he'd flung onto the firelog had sufficiently squelched that particular danger.
Heaving a great sigh, he pushed away from the door and resumed his circuitous march around the room. "'Tis right you are, Amicia," he carped to himself as he stomped past the chair with her fool bag of dog hair.
"Temper might well hasten my journey into infinitude, but I am not going there or anywhere until I've sent on a multitude of MacKinnons before me!"
CHAPTER SIX
I am Attracted to him.
Like a persistent gnat or, worse, a swarming cloud of midges buzzing 'round her head, the same five words rang ever louder in Isolde's ears, dogging her hurried progress along the gray-shingled beach.
Bedeviling her with relentless tenacity.
I am attracted to him.
Simple words. Yet possessed of such power. Her face flamed despite the soft mizzle dampening her cheeks and seeping into the very fabric of her clothes.
Without breaking stride, she glanced over her shoulder and drew a deep sigh of relief. No one followed. Not a living soul pursued her along the stony cove's crescent-shaped shoreline.
Thanks be to all her patron
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