The Firebrand by May McGoldrick Page B

rested momentarily on the tear in her blouse.
    “I see you have already found your clothes.”
    “I...I have.” She stopped, trying to calm the wild beating of her heart. What was done, was done, she told herself. His gaze still lingered on the tear in her blouse. She gathered it quickly.
    “I must mend this as soon as I have a chance...”
    One of his eyebrows arched. “Not on my account, I hope.”
    Adrianne felt the heat rising in her face, and she turned her gaze away. “That...that drink you gave me when I was ill. I slept like the dead. What was in it?”
    “Folk of the west are not known to part easily with their secrets.” He went to the bunk and picked up the tartan shawl Gillie had offered her before.
    When he placed the tartan around her shoulders, she felt the strength in her legs suddenly drain out. She could smell his good masculine scent of sea and leather, and the effect of his nearness was dizzying.
    “We’re at Duart Castle,” he said, stepping back. Adrianne quickly crossed the ends of the tartan over her chest, covering the tear in her blouse. “Anytime you’re ready, a boat will take you ashore.”
    “What about Gillie?”
    “The lad will be staying at the castle for a while.”
    She nodded, considering the best way to ask him his intentions for the boy. Though he couldn’t know how difficult life was for Gillie on the island, she knew this was probably not the best time to press him on the matter.
    “Your stay at Duart Castle will be brief.” He closed and latched the small windows in the stern. “As I told you before, you’ll be remaining here only until I can equip a number of trusted men to take you north.”
    “The map?” Adrianne asked, crossing to the table. There was no sight of the packet or the wooden casket.
    “Fear not. It has already been brought safely ashore. I will hold it until such time as you’re ready to depart. We both know it will do no one any good without the portions that your sisters possess. ‘Twill be safely kept, mistress.”
    What he said was true. It made no difference. Nichola’s letter to them had said as much—all three portions of the map were needed to find the Treasure of Tiberius.
    “We’ll say nothing to the laird of it, however.”
    “The laird?” she replied, surprised at his words. She had assumed that Wyntoun was laird.
    “Aye. My father, Alexander is the MacLean and laird of Duart Castle. He has already been told of your arrival, but I’ve said nothing to him of the map...or the treasure.”
    She watched him as he crossed to a sea chest. Inside, oiled leather packets lay stacked in tidy rows beside a black leather-bound book of some sort and a stack of carefully folded garments. The very vision of order, she thought.
    “I have also sent word up to the castle of your...of your lack of clothing necessary for traveling into the Highlands, so Mara is having someone see to your needs.”
    “Mara?”
    “My father’s wife. She will make certain that your stay at Duart Castle will be comfortable and uneventful.”
    She nodded again as she hastily tucked the ends of the tartan shawl into her skirt, trying to create some semblance of order out of her ragged and ill-used island clothing. Adrianne started at the sound of a knock. Wyntoun tore his attention away from the contents of the sea chest.
    “If you’re ready, a boat has been prepared for you.” He stood and turned to her, his face serious. “Have a pleasant stay, mistress.”
    She let her gaze travel upward, fixing on those eyes of green. This man seemed so different from the one whose throat she held a dagger to less than two days ago. That man had been reckless and dangerous. He’d been a man of daring...one with no fear of death. One who, in fact, had considered her threats to be no challenge whatsoever.
    This one standing before her seemed so...so trustworthy. True, this Wyntoun MacLean was somewhat distant, and yet he was so compliant to her wishes.
    Suddenly, she