The Firebrand by May McGoldrick Page A

mind that you’d be needing to--”
    “Gillie!” The boy stopped dead, waiting obediently for her to speak. “Why don’t you go and let them know.”
    “Auld Coll said that unless the master himself comes down to relieve me, I should not be leaving you alone, mistress.”
    “Gillie!” she said more forcefully this time. “I’d like a moment to myself to get into my own clothes. So just run along.”
    “Aye, mistress.”
    “But do not go too far,” she called gently after him. “I don’t believe I have my strength back, so I’ll be needing your protection.”
    The boy’s quick grin was precious. He nodded once and quietly slipped out of the cabin.
    Pushing the covers aside, Adrianne pushed herself to her feet only to stretch a hand out quickly for the closest solid object. She was weak and extremely wobbly on her feet. Still though, she managed to make her way eventually across the cabin to the table, where she found a bowl of water. After washing herself, she removed the shirt and hurriedly donned her own blouse and dress.
    The effort took a great deal of energy, but the two small windows at the stern of the cabin beckoned to her. Adrianne crossed the chamber and opened them. She closed her eyes and filled her lungs with the fresh sea air. Her stomach, achingly empty, did not complain at all as the gentle swells of the small bay rocked the ship.
    From above the windows, she could hear the sounds of men talking and laughing somewhere on deck. A boat pushed away from the side with the wooden clap of oars against their pegs. She opened her eyes as the boat came into view beneath the stern—four men rowing, five barrels stacked and tied fast in the stern.
    She turned her gaze on the shore and the castle, standing so proud above the bay.
    With its great tower and stout stone walls, Duart Castle was a magnificent structure of strength and beauty. Smiling wistfully, Adrianne recalled the memory of days not so far in the past, when her sisters Catherine and Laura had teased her for seeing beauty in the powerful set of a curtain wall, or in the crenellated tops of a tower, or in the magnificent workmanship of an iron gate.
    As Catherine would dream for hours of books and teaching, and as Laura would find enjoyment in finding a solution to everyone else’s problems, Adrianne had always been fascinated with structures—to the art of building something so significant that would outlast the destructive power of storms and time...and men. She loved the lines of the fortress, the moat, the keep, the tower. It said to your enemies, I can protect myself and my own .
    Self-preservation and independence. They were the reasons behind her lifelong drive to school herself in the art of handling knife and sword.
    Not that it had done her much good when it came to dealing with Sir Wyntoun MacLean, Adrianne thought with a frown.
    Pushing the short locks away and gathering the rest of her hair to one side, she combed her fingers through the thick locks before beginning to braid it. But the situation had only gone from bad to worse, she thought. And in light of the shirt she’d found herself wearing upon awakening, perhaps it was best not to think about him at all. Maybe what she needed was a tower and a moat of her own.
    A knock on the door brought a smile to her lips. Her affectionate and devoted gentleman protector...aged ten.
    “Come in, Gillie,” she called loudly over the sound of men’s voices from the quay.
    The door opened at her summons, but her heart jumped a beat when she saw Wyntoun MacLean duck across the threshold into the cabin.
    “I hope you do not mind, but your wee warrior was needed on deck.”
    For some reason, she couldn’t quite find her voice.
    “Coll will watch out for him, so you needn’t fret. And Alan’s about, as well. The lad needs to know he’s earning his keep.”
    Adrianne, feeling strangely short of breath, deftly finished braiding her hair and pushed it back over one shoulder. His gaze