The Kindling Heart by Carmen Caine

upon the largest beast. He raised his arm and they wheeled their mounts, cantering down to the beach.
    A short distance away, Bree could see a ship bobbling in the restless sea. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. She eyed the dipping mast, uneasily.
    “Ye’ve naught to fret over.”
    Startled, she was surprised to find Cuilen had pulled up alongside them.
    “Dunvegan’s nae far,” he grunted. Shifting to Gaelic, he spoke to her father.
    Bree strained to decipher the words, but was interrupted when Domnall lifted her from the horse and tossed her into a small dingy. In moments, they had rowed her out to the ship, helping her board with gentle hands and escorting her to the back. She huddled on the wooden seat under several warm plaids provided by sympathetic and smiling men. Too tired to care anymore, she buried her head in her arms.
    Suddenly, an ear-splitting screech strongly resembling a strangled goat shrieked through the air, and she sprang to her feet in alarm.
    The men laughed, the most amused being her father. “Aye, lass, ‘tis only the piper! He keeps the men rowing.”
    Several of the men brandished their oars, grinning.
    Embarrassed, she eyed the man with the pipes dubiously. She’d never seen such an odd instrument before. Cautiously, she settled back into the plaids.
    The journey was torturous.
    The piper never stopped playing, striking one melancholy air after another. The sound grated. The ship heaved and rolled, and she soon discovered she much preferred the boney back of a horse. She spent most of her time seized with giddiness and retching over the side. Hours later, her father sat quietly down beside her, an odd expression upon his face.
    “Here, lass,” he murmured, offering a silver flask.
    The pungent smell made her want to retch again.
    She hurriedly pushed it away.
    “’Twill nae be much longer, and then we’ll be home,” he reassured, slipping a comforting arm around her shoulders.
    Sadness and pain in his eyes caught her attention, pulling at her heart. Pain was something she could understand. An unexpected wave of emotion arose, and for the first time she truly felt this man was her father. Exhausted, she leaned into his embrace and took comfort. Here was a man she could finally trust.
    As the day wore on, storm clouds descended and unleashed a torrent of rain that forced them to weigh anchor in a small inlet. They took refuge in a nearby cave. It was cold and damp and Bree slept fitfully. She was relieved when dawn finally arrived, but the wind was still too wild to sail. It was not until late in the afternoon that their journey resumed. By then, she was exhausted, shivering under the plaids and dozing fitfully.
    Sometime later, she woke abruptly and sat up in alarm. The banging of the oars mingled with calls from men on the boat. Voices answered them from the darkness around them, and then the twinkling light of torches reflected on the calm surface of the water.
    “Aye, lass,” her father said as he loomed up before her. “We’ve arrived.”
    As the tall, forbidding walls of a castle rose in the gloom, Bree felt a wave of apprehension. “Arrived?” she repeated, throat dry.
    “Dunvegan,” Cuilen answered, appearing suddenly. He pointed to the dim outline of a castle perched on a small island of rock, separated from the shore by a narrow ravine.
    Stiffly, Bree scrambled to her feet, but Cuilen pushed her down.
    “The sea-gate is the only way in, lass,” he said roughly. “Sit. We’ll be there soon enough.”
    Daunted by Cuilen’s cold demeanor, she sat back down as they began the slow approach to the sea-gate. She frowned. Her father had never mentioned he lived in Dunvegan Castle. Several smaller boats appeared out of the mist and joined theirs.
    Bree squinted, peering ahead as more torches dotted the castle walls.
    It looked like a gloomy place, chilling, with an inhospitable air. The boat hugged the castle wall, and it finally paused by a gate that opened