Highland Thunder by Lily Baldwin

Author:Lily Baldwin
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Highland
Published: 2014-01-10T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

The Trinity sailed into the Sound of Islay, a narrow strip of water separating the isles of Islay and Jura. Duncan manned the rudder as they approached the Port of Askaig, which sat nestled beneath the shadow of towering cliffs. A small village comprised mostly of peat huts with thatched roofs unfolded before them. The twilight hour revealed quiet streets, but the many empty market stalls told of a bustling village center in the light of day.

They secured their ship and made their way through the docks onto dry land. Duncan’s eyes surveyed the small village with the intention of securing accommodations.

“You there,” he called out to an ancient fisherman still laying his nets to dry. “Is there an inn or tavern where we might find a meal?”

A grin stretched across a toothless mouth as he pointed further down the coast. “The Inn of Islay is along there. ‘Tis easy to find being the only stone building in the lot.”

Duncan smiled at the old man and bid him rest while he made short work of the last of the nets. “I remember when my back was strong like yours,” the old man said, clearly grateful to sit for a spell.

After finishing the task, Duncan stood and gazed across the docks, over the Sound of Islay to where the mountains of Jura towered against the darkening sky. Brenna’s spirit would have soared at the majestic sight. As he stared, the mountains and sky disappeared, replaced by deep blue eyes and a stubborn jaw graced with a sensuous mouth.

“’Tis a fine view, lad, but you’ve lost your kinsmen,” the old man said.

Duncan shook Brenna from his thoughts and looked about realizing the other men had indeed gone ahead.

“’Tis no matter,” Duncan said. “Would you care to join us this night for a meal?”

“I thank you, lad, but nay. My wife waits for my return with a warm meal and a smile a good deal prettier than yours.”

Duncan chuckled as he bid farewell to the old man hurrying off home. The two-story stone inn came into view as he rounded the windy village road that hugged the imposing cliffs. The inn boasted several guests, but owing to Ronan’s great height, Duncan easily spied his kinsmen sitting near the hearth.

No sooner had he sat down next to Ronan then a pretty lass placed a heaping plate of fish and cabbage in front of him. Ravenous, he shoveled the food into his mouth without ceremony.

“What sort of man is the Lord of Islay?” Cormac asked of Ronan.

“I know not,” Ronan replied. “I’ve never met the man. Our fathers were enemies.”

Duncan’s fork froze halfway between plate and mouth. “You plan to enter an enemy’s fortress with only three men and as many swords. Are you mad, Ronan?”

“Nay, Duncan,” Ronan said, “I am hopeful.”

Duncan’s fork dropped to the table. “When I jested before about wishing your age would catch up to you, I didn’t mean it, Ronan. For pity’s sake, what addle-minded plan is this? We are no better than Daniel walking into the lion’s den.

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