Davin Penrose was giving the visitors a tour of Skoal, explaining the sights and introducing Catherine and her "husband" to the islanders. The Skoalans were reserved with the laird's granddaughter. Slow, thoughtful gazes would go from her to the constable to Michael, then back to Catherine. She would have to prove herself before she would be fully accepted.
Michael guessed that her beauty counted against her, for it was hard to believe a woman so lovely could also be serious of purpose. The islanders would learn in time.
Davin spoke again. "Even though the island is small, the edges are so rough that it's said the coastline is forty miles long." He indicated the rocky path that led down the cliff face. "Below is Dane's Cove. There's a small beach below. You might like to visit another day. It's a good place to picnic."
Catherine smiled. "If the seagulls don't steal one's food. I've never seen so many gulls."
"It's illegal to kill a gull on Skoal," Davin said. "In the fog, their cries warn sailors that land is near."
Michael shaded his eyes and peered into the sun. "Is that another island out there, or a mirage?"
"That's Bone, our sister island. It's almost as large as Skoal. You've not heard of it?"
"I'm afraid not," Catherine replied. "What an odd name."
"Not so odd," Davin said dryly. "Skoal meant 'skull' in the old Viking tongue. The warriors' toast of 'Skoal!' was drunk from the skull of an enemy. Since Vikings named this island, it makes sense that the neighboring one is called Bone." Having earlier received permission from Catherine to smoke when he wished, Davin took out a clay pipe and filled it with tobacco from his pouch. "Bone is part of the Bailiwick of Skoal, so it belongs to the laird."
Catherine gazed out over the white-capped waves. "Does anyone live there?"
"It's an unlucky place." Davin shielded the bowl of his pipe from the wind and lit the tobacco. "There's a huge seabird colony, and sheep and cattle graze there, but no man has lived on Bone for at least a hundred years."
"Why is it considered unlucky?" Michael asked.
"Irish monks built there as well as here, but one Easter they were murdered by Vikings while singing mass. It was a long time before Bone was settled again. Things were well enough at first. Then a plague killed every man, woman, and child. No one has wanted to live there since." The constable gazed pensively across the sea. "There are other problems. The landscape is rocky and the soil not so fertile as here. Also, though the islands are only a couple of miles apart, the waters are so rough and the currents so strong that crossing between is difficult."
Intrigued, Catherine said, "Is it possible to visit?"
"Oh, aye, with a good boatman and a calm day. We go over once or twice a year to shear the sheep and slaughter some of the cattle. Tough beef, but it means that more land on Skoal can be cultivated for crops."
"Skoal is a tiny kingdom, isn't it?" Catherine observed. "Almost entirely self-sufficient, every inch of land known and loved by people whose roots run centuries deep. You must be proud of your part in making it this way."
Davin's teeth clamped onto the stem of his pipe, and a muscle jerked in his jaw. Catherine didn't notice because she was still looking at Bone, but Michael saw, and was surprised. He wondered what caused such a reaction in a man who was usually so calm. One would think the constable would be pleased by the approval of a woman who might become his employer.
After a long silence, Davin removed the pipe from his mouth and said dispassionately, "I merely do my job. Everyone on Skoal contributes in his own fashion. We need and trust each other. There are no locked doors on this island."
As they went back to where their horses were tethered, Glynis Penrose and two young boys strolled into view from behind a stand of wind-gnarled trees. The constable's wife also carried an infant in a sling fashioned from a shawl.
She smiled sunnily at the visitors as the older children skipped up to greet their father. "Good day to you both. These are our boys, Jack and Ned." She grinned. "I think they saw you riding this way, and had hopes of a meeting. You two are the most exciting news on Skoal in years."
Jack and Ned bowed politely when they were introduced to Catherine, but their real interest was in Michael. Jack, about eight years old with vivid island eyes, said, "You were at Waterloo, Captain Melbourne?"
Michael affirmed that he was, and was instantly besieged with questions. Ned, two or three years younger and with blue eyes like his mother, favored the cavalry, while Jack hero-worshiped the Rifles. Obviously a child of outstanding intelligence.
As Michael answered the barrage of questions, Catherine said, "Who is the youngest member of the family?"
"This is Emily." Glynis lifted the baby from the sling. "Would you like to hold her?"
"Oh, yes." Catherine accepted the infant with enthusiasm. "What a pretty poppet. I'm your cousin Catherine. Are you your mama's favorite girl?" She rubbed noses with the child. "Your papa's little sweetheart?"
Emily squealed with delight and waved her plump arms. Soon the two were conversing in the nonsense sounds of baby talk.
The sight of Catherine's radiant face made Michael's throat tighten. She was everything he had ever idealized in a woman. The loving mother every child deserved, and few had. The irresistible woman who had captured his heart. The fiercely caring nurse who had risked her life to save his.
The wife who was not his own.
Yet he could not stop himself from wanting her. In a moment of bittersweet clarity, he recognized that he did not regret his desire, even though it made this mission so difficult. Simply being with Catherine was worth almost any price.
"What a darling," Catherine said as she handed the chortling baby back to her mother. "It's interesting-I've noticed that most islanders either have dark hair, like me and Davin and Jack, or blond hair, like you and Ned and Emily. Almost no one seems to be in the middle, with brown hair." She glanced at Michael with a smile. "Like you, who haven't a drop of Skoalan blood."
Actually, he had gotten more than a drop from her, but he supposed that it didn't count in this context.
"You're right," Glynis said thoughtfully. "I suppose our ancestors were mostly blond Scandinavians or black-haired Celts."
Her husband added, "There's an old legend that the island eyes came from a selkie-a magical creature that's a seal in the sea and a man on the land."
"It's a grand tale," Glynis said. "The selkie loved a lass with raven hair and an angel's smile. But he could only come to land on the full moon, and she could not join him in the sea. They became lovers and she bore him a child. But she was wed, and when her husband saw the sea in the baby's eyes, he took his longbow to Seal Rock and slew his rival. They say the selkie's ghost still calls for his love when the moon is full."
"The moral seems to be that adulterers come to a bad end," Michael said dryly.
Glynis gave him a glance of amused exasperation. "Anglo-Saxons have no romance in their bones."
"I'm afraid not," he agreed. And he was definitely against adultery.
The constable checked the time on his pocket watch. "Since Lord Haldoran invited you for tea, we should be getting on." He gave his wife a private smile. "I'll be home for dinner."
The touring party mounted and waved good-bye to Glynis and the boys. They followed the track along the cliff for half a mile. The fertile fields ended, replaced by tough, wind-scoured shrubbery. The path turned sharply and Davin pulled to a halt. "Lord Haldoran lives on Little Skoal, This is the Neck, the natural causeway that connects the two parts of the island."