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“The laird doesna ken I am with bairn,” she said, staring at the ship as if looking into empty space.

“But Uncle Aulay wilna be cross with ye, surely,” Anna said. “Will ye hold this, please, Laoghaire? I will change into my dress.”

Laoghaire rolled her eyes, put her bow on the rocks, and took the edges of the blanket, holding it around Anna. As Anna peeled the wet undertunic from her body and, shivering, put on the dry clothes, her eyes never left the ship.

“They were away for seven moons,” said Anna, pushing her leg through one woolen stocking. Unlike Laoghaire’s, her stockings had moth holes, seams, and patches. “Do ye think they bring news of…him?”

“They” were Uncle Aulay, Uncle Èoin—who was Laoghaire’s father—and his two sons, Colum and Seoras. With a band of the best MacDonald warriors, they’d left for mainland Scotland on some political business concerning her father in February. Since then, rumors had come with travelers about battles with England and some of the other clans.

Leitis didn’t reply, just laid her hand on her swollen belly, rubbing it thoughtfully. Maybe she already knew something and didn’t want to tell it to a twelve-year-old girl.

Anna put on the shoes she’d inherited from her mother. She was buzzing with joy to see her uncles and cousins. A small flutter of hope tingled her. Would they bring news of her father? He knew of her existence; would he finally want her to join him in Carrick? Secretly, painfully, she wished he’d call upon her and have her live at his home, together with his real family.

Once Anna had her shoes on, Laoghaire tied the strings on the back of her blue woolen dress.

“Mayhap Da brings a marriage proposal for me.” Laoghaire yanked the strings and the fabric tore loudly. “It wilna be for ye.”

Leitis shook her head. “Lasses, ’tisna time to quarrel. ’Tis a good time to practice the manners ye’ve been learning to greet important guests.”

“Ye mean, the manners I have been learning.” Laoghaire straightened her back, her neck slightly bowed demonstrating womanly grace and compliance. Her hair was as dark as Anna’s—the MacDonald legacy—but she had the most beautiful, piercing gray eyes. The high cheekbones and perfect bone structure under her smooth skin made her look almost ethereal. A picture of a young noble lady ready to be portrayed in monks’ manuscripts as the ideal of beauty. “Anna has been doing nothing but swimming and running around with the farmers and the shepherds.”

“’Tis enough,” said Leitis. “Let us go to the port.”

Anna was only too glad to comply. The sea was no longer a friend she came to spend fun summer hours with. It was an unpredictable enemy, like a snake, able to kill her whenever it pleased.

In the port, they stood on a wooden jetty and watched the ship move between the two strips of lands that guarded Lagavulin Bay—the cliff bearing Dunyvaig Castle on the left and rocks sticking out of the water on the right. It was a dangerous passage for those who didn’t know the shore well, but the MacDonald navigators knew it like the backs of their hands. Once it was in, it passed smoothly between the anchored ships and boats. The curved bow of Tagradh, which meant “claim,” cut through the water easily as it approached. The sail was furled, and the men rowed the birlinn, oars rising and falling, water splashing. Behind Anna, Laoghaire, and Leitis, MacDonald clansmen gathered and watched the approach of their beloved laird, talking and pointing. Anticipation was as palpable in the air as the scent of fish and algae that always hung in the port from the fishing boats.

Leitis grasped Anna’s hand and squeezed it. Anna felt the quick beating of her pulse against her fingers. Her wet head was cold, but her skin was warm, her stomach twisting in nervous spasms. There he was, Uncle Aulay, standing at the bow, hugging the tall, curved figurehead of a sea monster. He was giant, as broad-shouldered as a mythical Highland hero, his graying hair had grown longer and was tied behind his back. He wore a leine croich, the quilted coat armor cut and patched, and a chain coif. His claymore, as always, hung in a sheath on his belt. Her uncle Èoin stood next to him, his shoulder patched, and Seoras, Laoghaire’s younger brother. Anna couldn’t see Colum, but perhaps he was rowing or on the other side of the birlinn.

Anna waved enthusiastically to the men, while her aunt and Laoghaire stood proud and solemn and ceremonial like true noble ladies. Seoras waved back at her, and Uncle Aulay raised his arm in greeting.

The ship docked, ramparts were put, and the men were descending. Throwing all ceremony to hell, Aulay covered the jetty in four giant steps and scooped Leitis into his arms, burying his face in her hair. Something ached sweetly in Anna’s chest at the sight of them. She always thought she’d never have as great a love as Aulay and Leitis shared.

Then greetings were exchanged between her uncle Èoin, Laoghaire, and Seoras. She watched the closest people welcome one another as she stood alone, like a single tree swept by the wind.

And then another nobleman slowly walked down the jetty towards her. He looked a little lost, and there was something achingly familiar about him.

He was tall and mighty, and as dark-haired as she. Scratches marked his face, and his leine croich was as torn and bloodied as Aulay’s. The sword on his belt had gold and silver cords twisted around the grip.

While the clan gathered around Aulay, she distantly wondered why she didn’t see Colum among those descending from the ship. Her eyes were still on the man while the crowd of clansmen gathering around Aulay, Èoin, and Seoras pushed her to the side of the jetty. She couldn’t take her eyes off the approaching man. He was in his midthirties, she thought. His dark shoulder-length hair with a few silver strands was a little disheveled. His gaze, dark and piercing, looked over the crowd and landed on her. Whether it was because she stood apart from the cheerful clan or because she still had wet hair and didn’t look like a proper noble lady, she wasn’t sure.

Like her, the man seemed to not quite know what to do as the rest of the people hugged and clapped shoulders and talked joyfully together.

And then, an elbow from the crowd pushed her and she lost her balance and flew… Only, strong hands caught her by the shoulders, and the man steadied her on the jetty.

“Careful, lass,” he said in a soft, Lowland accent.

“Thank ye, Lord,” she said.

She should have remembered how a noble lady greeted a guest…

“Did ye have a long voyage, Lord?” she asked.

He stood by her side and then glanced at her, sadness in his dark eyes. “Quite long. Quite hard, too.”

“Oh?”

He swallowed, his gaze wandering to the horizon. Seagulls cried above them, soaring on the wind. The wind threw a salty, fishy gust into her face.