Always the most daring of the Campbell sisters, Gyllis laughed. “Aye, but it was fun.”
Helen glanced outside the doorway to ensure Mr. Keith hadn’t overheard. “I cannot believe you speak so freely of such personal matters.”
“Only to you.” Gyllis bit her bottom lip. “Though given the circumstances, I should have held my tongue.”
Heat flooded Helen’s cheeks right down to her toes. God forbid she would never utter a word about her unpleasant experiences in the bedchamber.
Thank heavens Mr. Keith stepped across the threshold with his arms laden. “All the parcels are unpacked.” He set them on the table. “Is there anything else you need, m’lady?”
Helen surveyed the abundance of stores, still unable to believe her fortune. “I think not. Thank you ever so much for your fealty. You will have a place in my employ as long as you should require it.”
He bowed. “’Tis my pleasure, m’lady.”
“And you will carry my message to Sir Eoin and let him know exactly what has happened?”
“Aye.” Mr. Keith narrowed his eyes. “You are certain we can trust him?”
“Sir Eoin is a most dear friend of the family,” Gyllis said.
Helen had to agree. “And he carried my missive to His Worship. He will help us for certain.”
“Then I shall meet with him discreetly.” The guard bowed.
“Thank you.” Helen walked them outside and bid good day, anxious to move on with a new chapter in her life.
Chapter Twenty-One
As usual, after he’d reported news of the MacDonald galleys mooring alongside Dunyveig on the Isle of Islay, things hadn’t moved fast enough for Eoin.
They’d been at Tabert Castle for a sennight, and yet their tenure wasn’t near long enough for the king. And Eoin didn’t argue in the assembly when all the nobles agreed that the longer they remained hidden, the more confident the MacDonalds would grow. Everyone seemed to be content to remain idle except Eoin.
This morn while they were breaking their fast, he’d had a gut full of listening to Aleck boast about how the MacIain Clan fended off Alexander MacDonald’s attack, and how Aleck wanted the bastard’s head served on a platter. To hear the Chieftain of Ardnamurchan tell it, he and his men were all Scotland needed to bring the isles in order.
Eoin wanted to upend the table and shove Aleck’s face in a bowl of scalding porridge. He made eye contact with Duncan sitting opposite. Though he was MacIain’s brother-in-law, the Lord of Glenorchy rolled his gaze to the ceiling and shook his head. Duncan could be an arse about some things, but the man knew when he was being fed a pile of shite—unlike the young king who appeared to be lapping up MacIain’s every word.
Well, Eoin had enough. He beckoned his men and headed to the wharf.
Fergus hurried beside him. “I thought we had orders to stay away from Islay.”
“Did I say we were sailing to Islay?” Eoin couldn’t very well tell his men he’d reached his limit of pompous nobles blowing flatulence out their arse-holes, instead he scowled and gestured for the men to follow. “We have rigging to tend and I want to inspect the hull. A sea captain is a dead man if he sails into battle with a galley that’s about to sink.”
Eoin’s boat was in top condition, but presently he’d do anything for some fresh air. God’s bones, it had only been three sennights since he’d seen John…His Worship. How the devil would Eoin be able to wait another month or more? And now that the whole goddamned Scottish army was stationed in Tabert, how would Eoin come up with an excuse to visit Lady Helen once he’d received word from the Pope?
A small birlinn tacked toward the wharf, flying the MacDougall colors. Eoin paid it no mind and started his daily inspection of the hull. “Fergus, make a note. The port side timbers need pitch.”
“Again?” The henchman sounded a tad astounded.
“If we do not—”
“Stay on top of it, the timbers will rot without us being the wiser.” Fergus looked to the skies. “I ken. You needn’t tell me.”
“Ahoy the shore,” someone yelled from the MacDougall galley.
Eoin pointed toward the castle. “Sir Sean is in the great hall with the rest of the nobles.”
After mooring the boat, sailors jumped over the side, their feet clomping on the wooden wharf. One MacDougall wore a great helm and mail and kept himself apart from the others.
Eoin watched him out of the corner of his eye. He never trusted any man who