Chapter Four

Eagan walked through the morning mist toward the cottage at the edge of Aros Village. 'Twas where he and his father and brothers had lived with their mother's sister, Ida, soon after he was born.

The fifty-five-year-old woman went by Ida Macquarie, adopting the last name when her sister married John Macquarie. Even though she was only a bit older than the chief's wife, Ava, she acted like an old woman. Perhaps it was her grumpy nature that aged her.

Eagan shook the water droplets from his hair. The dip in the loch north of the village had helped cool his blood after a night of stimulating dreams about Tessa. Even the scent of his aunt's cottage, lavender and mugwort, hadn't been enough to quell his jack. Luckily, Aunt Ida had been asleep when he'd come in from the fire after Meg had led Tessa away to the castle. He'd left the festival right afterward, not wanting to answer questions from the lads. And he had no desire to find a willing lass after Tessa's kiss.

That one kiss had ensnared his mind like her song had earlier in the evening.

By the devil! He'd wanted to dive into her soft, sweet body right there. Eagan had kissed his fair share of lasses on Mull and at fairs on the mainland, but he'd never been kissed like that. 'Twas as if liquid fire had infused him. Even though it had just been a kiss, he felt like they'd tupped. No, not tupped. That sounded too casual, too light. What occurred between them was more primal, more all-consuming.

And they'd been right out there where everyone could see.

He knocked. "Aunt Ida?" Heaven forbid he walked in on Ida getting dressed. "'Tis Eagan."

"Come inside," she called.

He hadn't wanted to wake her before dawn when he rose to bathe, but she was up now, dressed and spooning out porridge from a small pot sitting in the coals from last night.

Her hard eyes turned on him. "You were off to the loch?"

"Aye."

"Want to smell nice for the new lass?"

"New lass?"

"Aye, the one everyone's talking about. The one you were practically getting with child by the fires last eve."

Eagan's face warmed. She snorted softly, and her frown relaxed into something close to a grin. "Rabbie's going to warn you about not begetting a bastard." That was Ida's way of warning him, too.

Eagan had heard about the curse of Wolf Isle from the moment his eldest brother, Adam, noticed that lasses were more interesting than their male friends. An ancestor of Grissell's, a known witch, had rescued her granddaughter from her daughter's still-warm body after the girl hanged herself in grief. Wilyam Macquarie, the chief, had gotten the girl pregnant but then wed another. Grissell's great-grandmother had cursed the clan, stabbing the willow tree with the knife coated in her own daughter's blood, the knife she'd used to cut the bairn free so it wouldn't die with her. The knife was still embedded in the trunk of the willow tree standing in the bailey of Gylin Castle, unable to be removed.

Eagan sat down, pulling the bowl before himself. The steam rose up from the creamy texture dotted with dark currants. "Thank ye for this."

"You should marry her now. 'Twill stop the town from gossiping and your brothers and their wives from nagging you."

"Tessa won't want to marry me," he said, blowing on the hot porridge. And I'm leaving.

"I hear she's agreed to let you court her." Ida sat down with her own bowl. "I thought you were leaving, going to the northern isles or some such nonsense."

"I'm still planning to go." A pretty lass and a kiss weren't changing his course. "Just not today. I need to take her back to Wolf Isle."

He felt Ida's sharp stare. The woman used a needle-like intensity to wheedle out the truth.

"Or you could stay and marry her," Ida said. "Then the damn curse will be fully broken."

Grissell had told them that the Macquarie curse could only be broken if all five Macquarie brothers learned the truths about love, finding it in another person. That love must be secured with marriage vows so a bastard couldn't be born between them. A bastard would doom the clan again.

"You were all on the brink of dying out," Ida continued. "That bloody willow tree standing barren and dripping blood from the dagger. Now the village of Ormaig on Wolf Isle is filling up with settlers, and the tree has green leaves. 'Tis up to you now to fully break the curse."

"Bloody hell," he whispered and spooned another mouthful. He followed it with a swig of weak ale to save his tongue from burning. The pressure to finish breaking the curse was heavy and made it hard to breathe, which was another reason to leave. Now he understood Drostan's foolish attempt to cut down the willow tree as a lad, how he'd been desperate not to be the one to curse the clan.

'Twas said one couldn't father a child if he touched the dagger or tree. So far, even after three years wed, Drostan hadn't gotten Lia with child. Although they seemed plenty happy trying while tucked away in Drostan's cabin on the far side of Wolf Isle.

Eagan almost jumped when Ida's hand fell on his. It was a solid hold, belying the weakened state she portrayed. "Whatever you decide to do," she said, "you're welcome here, Eagan. Since my sister died soon after birthing you, I've felt like you're my son."

Eagan was aghast at the softness in Ida's tone, and she chuckled, releasing his hand and standing. "Don't look so surprised," she said, going to stir the pot on the coals. "I fed you pap, changed your swaddling, bathed you, and rocked you to sleep. Did everything except nurse you."

She turned and smiled tightly at Eagan. "You're John's son." She nodded. "Yes, I always felt you were mine."

"Thank ye…for all that," Eagan said and stood. "But I don't plan to stay long."

He carried the bowl up to the bucket of wash water and walked back to kiss her soft cheek. "And if ye decide ye don't like aloneness here, ye're also welcome to come to Wolf Isle."

She blinked at him, and he realized when she wasn't squinting, her eyes were a pretty shade of green. "Now why would I move to a cursed isle?" she asked, using the voice he knew so well.

"Because that's where yer clan lives, Ida Macquarie." His smile was as bright as her frown was grim.

"Not if you move away."

He exhaled through his nose. "The rest of yer clan."

"I know." Her face pinched. "Go on now," she said, shooing him away. "But come by here before you leave for good."

"I promise." Eagan marched out of the cottage to find the sun had fully risen. The two bonfires smoldered on the hill, sending up puffs of smoke that seemed to add to the gray clouds gathering in from the sea. He headed toward the castle, nodding to villagers as they hurried to the fields or wharf or stood sweeping their stoops. Most of the women frowned at him. Had they heard he'd decided to court the new lass and would have to leave him alone? The thought floated like a buoy in his chest, making him whistle a light tune.

He rounded the corner and saw Walter Gleeb resting his well-padded arse on a low stone wall outside Cecilia Maclean's cottage.

Eagan's whistling halted. "Loitering outside a new mother's cottage, Gleeb?" he said. "'Tis not seemly."

Gleeb offered a cold smile. "I'm merely making certain no witchery is about."

"There's no witchery about."

"You did something to her." Cecilia's angry voice rose behind the door of the cottage. "The marks! What did you do to her?"

Gleeb's bushy eyebrows rose high on his forehead. "Is that so?"

A quieter voice answered in a calm cadence. Tessa. Eagan recognized the smooth rise and fall of her words.

Cecilia's sharp voice cut through the stone and daub of the walls containing her. "The marks are unnatural."

"Unnatural?" Gleeb said beside him. "Sounds like witchery."

Without knowing more, Eagan couldn't argue with the man. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall waiting next to Gleeb.

"Loitering?" Gleeb asked Eagan. "How unseemly."

Eagan ignored him, focusing on the cottage, where more female voices talked in hushed tones.

The door opened, and Tessa walked out. She wore a practical wool gown in gray and green hues instead of the white she'd come in the evening before.

"I blame you, Tessa Ainsworth," Cecilia called after her.

"Nonsense," Ava replied from back inside the cottage.

Tessa closed the door without looking back. Eagan came forward, worry congealing in his gut. "Are ye well?" he asked, wanting to reach out to her but unsure in the light of day. Her dark hair was pulled back into a loose braid, leaving shorter waves to frame her oval face. She looked up at him, and he saw that her eyes were a soft gray-green color. Tessa was even more beautiful in the morning sunlight, but she didn't smile. Her lips, so soft the night before, pinched.

"Is the child well?" Gleeb asked from behind. His boots crunched on the pebbles as he came even with them.

"The bairn is hearty and suckling," Tessa said.

"What about the unnatural marks?" Gleeb asked.

Tessa glanced at him. "They are birthmarks that will fade. The mother is…not a kind person and given to hysterics."

"I can vouch for that," Eagan said, and held his arm out to Tessa.

"Is it time to leave the isle?" she asked, accepting his arm.

"If ye're ready." Eagan escorted her around the witch hunter.

"I'll see you again on Wolf Isle," Gleeb said.

"Ye'll need permission from the chief, Adam Macquarie, to visit," Eagan said as they walked away. He wouldn't leave for the mainland until Gleeb and his accusations were gone. The delay was necessary, but then he'd escape as he'd been planning.

Gleeb followed. "I'm under royal orders to search all of the Highlands."

"Wee Queen Mary sent ye orders from France?" Eagan asked merely to irritate the man.

" James Hamilton, the Earl of Arran, is her regent and has tasked me to find, judge, and execute those wicked creatures corrupted by Satan."

"Ye can mark Mull and Wolf Isle off yer list then," Eagan said, guiding them around horse shite. Hopefully, Gleeb would walk through it. "We have no wicked creatures corrupted by Satan here."

"They're everywhere, Macquarie. Some of them right under your nose." Gleeb called this last from behind where he stopped in the road.

"He'll be trouble," Tessa said, her voice soft. "Especially if he meets Grissell. She'll fit his description and will never hide."

"Is she a witch?" Eagan asked, something they'd all wondered.

"She worships nature, not Satan," Tessa said, her steps nimble over the rutted lane. "That doesn't make her a wicked, corrupted creature."

They continued down toward the docks, receiving nods from the men and frowns from the lasses. "It seems," Tessa said, "I'm not liked by the female population of Mull." Laughter tinged her tone, showing she didn't care. Tessa was unique, free to think and do what she wanted. Would she want to kiss him again?

"'Tis better than being liked too much by the female population," he murmured.

Her laughter was a beautiful pitch, almost like a song. It wrapped around him like a spell.