Atop the wall-walk, the ram’s horn sounded with three consecutive blasts, announcing visitors were approaching by sea. Anya exchanged glances with her husband. “Whoever could it be?”
Angus’ jaw tensed. “Go on to the stables. I’ll meet ye in the hall after I’ve found out whether ’tis friend or foe.”
Anya tightened her grip around her reins. “Surely Raghnall would have sent someone to fetch ye if there was trouble.”
“Just do as I say,” he said, though when he caught a glimpse of her pointed frown, he added, “Please, m’lady. I wouldn’t want ye to be harmed.”
Groaning, she gave in. “Very well, oh master protector.”
“’Tis music to my ears to hear ye refer to me thus.”
“Do not grow accustomed to it,” she whispered under her breath, sure he couldn’t hear her above the growing shouts from atop the curtain.
After parting from Angus, she hastened to the stables and was met by one of the grooms straightaway. “Have ye heard whose ship is on the approach?” she asked.
“The only news is the pennant is Irish.”
Anya dismounted while the hair on her nape stood on end. “Is it the Earl of Ulster?”
“Not certain, m’lady. Would ye like me to go investigate?”
“Nay, please attend my horse and give him an extra ration of oats. He has earned it this day.”
In a time of war such as this, Anya knew better than to dash across the courtyard to the sea gate. Aside from inviting Angus’ ire, she might put herself in harm’s way. And if the visitor was Ulster, the earl might very well try to put her in irons. She hastened to the nearest corner turret, ducked inside, and pattered up the stairs. But when she reached the top, the view of the beach was blocked by a stony promontory.
“Blast,” she cursed, hastening toward a row of bowmen. “Whose colors are they flying?”
“Not certain, m’lady, but…”
“But what?” she asked, stopping beside him and looking out to sea.
“I reckon since there are only two boats, they’ve come on friendly terms. Though in wartime, one can never be certain.”
As the boats approached, there was no mistaking the long blond tresses billowing from beneath a woman’s veil.
Gasping, Anya ran toward the north tower. “Stand down, I say! ’Tis my sister!”
Her toes barely touched the steps as she descended through the narrow, winding stairwell. “Angus!” she cried. “Angus!”
Raghnall met her as she dashed through the sea gate. “M’lady, ’tis not safe.”
“But my sister is in one of those boats.” Her gaze darted to the crowd of MacDonald guards, but she was so short, all she saw was mail-clad backs. “Angus, ’tis Finovola!”
Raghnall clutched her arm. “He already kens, but ye are to remain here until he is certain it isn’t a trap.”
With a tsk of her tongue, Anya strained for a glimpse at the approaching galleys, but still could not see a thing. “For the love of Moses, there is no chance any boat bearing my sister would approach meaning to do us harm.”
“Ye are most likely right, but His Lordship would skewer me if I allowed ye to race to the shore. Just give it a moment, m’lady.”
A moment seemed like forever as shouts were exchanged, imperceptible over the roar of the surf. “What’s happening?” she asked, ready to force her way through the men.
“Angus has confirmed the party has come in peace. He’s allowing them to step ashore.”
“May I go now?”
Raghnall held up his palm. “A bit longer.”
“By the rood, ’tis my only sister who has come to call.”
“Look there.” The man-at-arms pointed.
“Look where? Given my height, all I can see is soldiers.”
“Angus has given me the signal of all clear,” he said, moving forward. “Make way, men!”
Unable to wait a moment longer, Anya pushed her way to her husband’s side. “Did ye see, my dearest? ’Tis Finovola.”
He offered his elbow. “And Lord O’Doherty. It seems the man has become accustomed to ferrying O’Cahan sisters to my island.”
“Anya!” Finovola called while His Lordship carried her ashore.
Goodness, it was wonderful to see her sister, especially after fearing she might never be in her company again. Laughing aloud, Anya waved. “Whatever brings ye to Dunyvaig this fine day?”
When His Lordship set Finovola on her feet, she fell into Anya’s outstretched arms. “Oh, sister mine, we happened to be sailing past…”
“Truly?” Anya asked, unable to release her embrace.
“In a word, I suppose, though we’ve come bearing a message from the earl.” Finovola kissed her cheek. “Now tell me true, are ye happy?”