Arianna frowned at him, the name MacFingal stirring some faint recognition, yet she was too weary and sick to clearly think of why it did. Or to care.
“I am Lady Arianna Lucette and these lads are my wards, Michel and Adelar Lucette. We paid Captain Tillet to bring us to Scotland so that I might take my wards to my family.” In her head, she suddenly heard the echoes of the sound of the ship splitting apart beneath the force of the larger ship ramming into it and the terrified screams of the men. “Those poor men,” she whispered as she stared out at the now calm waters. “Did they all die then?”
“Nay. Captain Tillet and four of his crew survived.”
After sending up a prayer of thanks, she briefly added prayers for the souls of the rest of Captain Tillet’s men. “A horrible way to die and so verra needless.”
“So, the captain wasnae mistaken when he said they wrecked purposely,” Brian noted.
“Nay, he wasnae. A much larger ship rammed into the side of his, destroying it. The boys and I saw it headed straight for us and got off the ship just before it struck us.”
“Ye jumped into the sea?”
“I believed we had a better chance of surviving if we chose how we went into the sea instead of just waiting to be hurled in. We shed the heaviest of our clothing and used a few empty kegs to keep us afloat.”
“Ah, so ’twas your clothing we found in one of the kegs,” said Ned, and blushed when everyone looked at him. “They are safe and dry.”
“That is good. Thank ye.” Arianna began to recall shedding her gown, cloak, and boots, and then looked back at Sir Brian, refusing to be embarrassed by her state of ragged undress. “If we could but borrow a few supplies, we will be on our way. Once I am with my family again, I will see that ye are weel compensated for your aid.”
“And that family would be?”
Brian waited patiently as he watched her mull over all the risks of telling him the truth. She was a mess. It was difficult to judge the color of her hair for it was wet, matted, and covered in sand. All he could tell, by the few hanks of hair that hung loose of the massive snarl, was that it hung to her hips if not farther. Her tattered clothing revealed that she was slim, her well-shaped legs surprisingly long considering how small she was. Despite the bruises and scratches on her too pale face, he could see that she would be a pretty little thing once she was cleaned up and healed.
Her best feature at the moment was her eyes, even underscored by the shadows of exhaustion as they were and a bit reddened by the sting of the salty water. They were large eyes, almost too large for her small heart-shaped face, and a beautiful amber color. Although clouded with pain and mistrust, he found that he had a very difficult time trying to stop staring into those eyes.
Arianna tried to clear the fog of weariness from her mind. She needed to think clearly. If she told this man she was a Murray, that would mark her as one of his countr ywomen and might gain her more help. The Murrays of Donncoill were well known, however, as were all the branches of the clan. Admitting who she was could quickly turn her into a hostage for ransom. Recalling that her clan had enemies, she knew that becoming a hostage for ransom might be the least of the troubles she could face as she tried to reach her family.
She glanced at Michel and Adelar. They had done well so far, but asking them to care for her until she was strong again even as they traveled for many days, alone and unprotected, was too much of a burden to set upon their small shoulders. They were all also as good as captives of this man already, a man whose clan name still tickled at a memory in her tired mind. She could not be certain if it was a good memory or a bad one, or simply that the captain had mentioned it, but she was certain that, at least for a little while, she needed some help. Sir Brian MacFingal was the only choice she had.
“That family would be the Murrays,” she said. “I am the granddaughter of Sir Balfour Murray of Donncoill. I am Lady Arianna Murray Lucette. My husband recently died and I am returning home.”
“So, ye are kin to my brother Gregor’s wife, Alanna, and, mayhap, my laird’s wife, Fiona. Fiona was a MacEnroy ere she wed Ewan.”
“Aye, Alanna is my cousin and I am kin to Fiona MacEnroy, too, but only through marriage, for her brother married my cousin Gillyanne.” She frowned as the memory that had nudged at her mind slowly became more distinct. “So now I ken why the name MacFingal sounded familiar to me. That all happened ere I left to be wed.”
“So ye see that it is best if ye travel to Scarglas with us and we can send word out to your family.”
“Nay, I couldnae ...”