“Help me shield the flame!” he said. “This damned wind will blow it out given half a chance.”
She leaned over beside him, using her body to shield the tiny flame from the sea wind as he fed slightly bigger pieces into their little fire.
“How is the priest?” asked Anne when, after a little while, it seemed that the fire was beginning to take.
“I’m worried about him,” admitted Thorvald. “I suspect that without warmth and the ability to dry his clothes, he will take a chill and be like to die of it. He is a scholar, Anne, and a weak man physically. He is not made for adventures like this, and the cold and the fear of death have taken a toll on him.”
She nodded.
“Where is he now?” she asked.
“Where we left him. Still asleep, but muttering and running a temperature. The fever...” Thorvald shook his head regretfully, adding larger pieces of wood to his fire. “I’ve seen it take a man before now. It was much like this.,He was a man who was not in good health anyway, and he went out in the cold and the rain and took a chill. Two days later he was raving, his skin hot as coals to the touch. By the end of the week, he was dead and buried, and there had been nothing anyone could do.”
“How much wood do you think we have?” asked Anne, her mind travelling swiftly along the same route. He nodded, confirming that he too had asked himself that question.
“Not much, to tell the truth,” he replied. “I’ve dragged most of the big bits up here. The mast is cracked into three, and that will burn for some time, but the rest...”
“Oh God, Thorvald...” She clutched his tender left arm so hard that he cried out in pain.
“Sorry, sorry,” she said hastily, “but look! Look, out over there!”
“What is it? What is it?” He asked, desperately scanning the horizon.
“There!” she said, pointing desperately. This time, he looked where she indicated, and after a moment, he saw it too. He grabbed at her, and they hugged each other as mad relief and desperate hope suddenly flooded them again. On the horizon, off toward the mainland but drawing in their direction, was the quick-moving sail of a ship.
Chapter Thirty-One
After they had arrived back on the Endeavour, Iain Grant and his companions managed to get a few hours’ sleep. Then, as the morning dawned bright and sunny with a brisk, cold wind after the storm, they took counsel together over a light meal. Earl William was now fully committed to helping them, and he pointed out on the map to the castle Neil Gow-Sinclair was using as a base.
“It’s not marked,” said Iain with interest.
“Well, it’s not yet a ruin, though perhaps being uninhabited means it’s near enough that it makes no difference,” said the Earl. “This bit of coastline is all dotted with old fortifications. They are not all marked on this map. It is a little odd that this one should not be, though. It’s only been uninhabited for, oh, less than ten years. Ye’d think it would warrant a dot on a map.”
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about that now,” said Alice, recalling them to their conversation. “Iain, will ye give the order tae Captain Morton tae head in that direction?”
“Aye,” said Iain, “that I shall.”
They got underway on the morning tide, the wind catching their sails and the great ship creaking as the structure took the strain and held it. The water around their prow began to foam white as they cut through the waves, heading east.
Alice and John stayed out of the way of the crew, but remained on deck, standing up at the bows of the ship looking out and talking quietly. The Endeavour was a big ship, modelled on a ship-of-the-line in the French style, but it moved fast for all that, and the crew and captain were experienced and skillful. John and Alice both knew that below the deck on which they stood, there was a deck with rows of cannons on fixed rails behind closed hatches, sixteen on either side. It was a warship with a full complement of soldiers, and Captain Morton had fought sea battles before, though not for a long time.
Looking down at the cold, deep water churning past their bows, Alice hoped uncomfortably that this day would not end with cannon fire and boarding actions. However experienced Captain Morton and his crew might be, she suspected that Neil Gow-Sinclair and his men would be more experienced still. Any engagement at sea would be bloody and costly, of that she had no doubt.
“Are ye alright?” said John, breaking into her silent thoughts as he slipped a strong arm around her waist. Alice shook herself as if to dislodge the uncomfortable train of thought and returned his fond embrace.
“Aye, I suppose so,” she said. “But it feels like we are coming tae the end of this adventure now, and I dread that ending, for I do not know how it will turn out for us.”
He squeezed her.
“Don’t fret about it now,” he advised. “There’s little we can do tae stop it. Let us just pray that we see a good resolution and that Iain manages tae fulfil his brother’s dying wish.”
“Aye,” said Alice gloomily, “and that we are not obliged tae make any dying wishes ourselves in the process.”
They had been travelling for less than an hour when they saw the sail. It was off to the north of them, moving fast, and going in the opposite direction from where they were going. Captain Morton joined Alice and John in the bows, with his gleaming brass telescope in his hand. At the sound of the watchman’s cry of ‘sail!’ Iain Grant had come hurrying up, with the Earl close behind him.
Morton gazed through his telescope silently for a moment, then spoke.
“She’s a fast-moving little fighting ship, smaller than us, but heavily armed. She’s flying a merchantman flag, but she doesn’t look like a merchantman tae me. Too slim in the hull, and those are cannon-hatches in her sides. There are more men on deck than are needed for the sailing of a ship.”
“Let me see,” said Earl William, moving forward. The Captain handed him the glass, and William braced himself against the wooden side of the ship to keep steady as he raised the shining telescope to his eye. After a moment’s scanning of the horizon, he found what he was looking for. It did not take him more than a moment to be satisfied.
“Aye, that’s her,” he said grimly. “That’s the Caithness Seal. I’d know her anywhere. That’s Neil’s ship. They must have sailed on the same tide as we did, heading north after the messengers got back tae them from Harrow. Captain Morton, can ye turn yer ship around and give chase?”
“Mr Grant?” asked the captain, turning to Iain. The Earl blushed and muttered an apology, realising how inappropriate it might have sounded to give orders to the captain on Iain Grant’s ship, but Iain smiled at him and laid a hand on his arm.
“I think that’s the best course of action, Captain Morton,” said Iain. “Give chase, but stay out of range of them if ye can. I don’t want tae get intae a fight with them. I want tae see where they are going.”
Captain Morton nodded once and turned to the first mate, who was hanging back, awaiting orders.
“Sickert,” said Captain Morton, “you heard Mr Grant. Give the orders, please.”
Sickert bobbed his head once and hurried off. Before long, the crew were running to and fro across the decks and the rigging, reminding Alice of a colony of ants whose nest has been stirred. She watched with admiration and interest as the barefooted sailors reefed the larger sails and put on new sails at different points, hauling ropes and pulleys to move the angles and catch the wind differently. As they worked, she felt the great ship begin to move, to turn in its course, shadowing the Caithness Seal.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she said to John, forgetting for a moment their danger amid her wonder at the swift-moving crew.
“The way they work the ship, ye mean?” he asked, and she nodded.
“I’ll never understand it, I think,” he agreed. “It just shows what people can achieve when they all work together toward a common goal.”
The great ship heaved round, and eventually put on sail again to catch the wind, now driving them nort
h-west rather than east.
“Load the cannons and open the hatches,” said Captain Morton to Sickert, “and tell the soldiers tae form up and be ready for a boarding action.”
“A precaution,” the Captain said to Alice Grant once the mate had hurried off. “I don’t know what we’re going into here, and I want tae be ready tae attack or defend as necessary.”
“How likely do ye think he his tae attack us if he thinks we are pursuing him?” Captain Morton asked the Earl in a quiet moment, once all was underway.
“I don’t know for sure,” replied William, “but I have a man who reports to me from within his crew. I understand that he has become... unstable... in recent months, though I have not seen him myself for some time. Neil is a hard man, though, and the truth is that I do not know how he will behave if he is crossed. We do not know enough about what has been going on here to make a judgement, and so I suggest that you tell your men to be on the alert, and treat him with extreme caution.”
Captain Morton was only too happy to take this advice. Taking up a position behind the wheel on the quarter-deck, he took direct command of the ship himself, giving orders for the fine adjustments of the sails that would keep their speed at a level to maintain the distance between themselves and the Caithness Seal. The Seal was faster than they were, and unless she desired to close with them, there would be little chance of their catching up. If they were going to engage, however, Captain Morton wanted it to be on his terms if at all possible.
“He has less cannon than we do, and less men, too, by the looks of it,” said Captain Morton to Iain and the Earl, as the three of them took turns at the glass, peering across at Neil Gow-Sinclair’s ship. “I’m confident that we could best him if it came to it, but it would hinge on us being able to get close and get a volley off first, I think.”
“Shall I tell the men to prime the cannons and get ready sir?” said Sickert, the first mate.
“Aye, that would be best,” said the Captain. “But I want no firing unless I give the order, see? Make sure they understand.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” said the mate, hurrying off to give the order.
“Well, now,” said Captain Morton, looking over the map again and clanking at his compass. “We’re travelling parallel tae the south coast of the Orkney Islands. There’s the village of Skylness on the coast there,” he pointed to the map. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Neil were heading for the village, expecting Thorvald tae go there. But wait... what are they doing now?”
As Iain and William watched their quarry, it took them a moment to see what the Captain meant. But then they realised what it was. The Caithness Seal was changing tack. Men scurried about on her rigging, tiny black figures silhouetted against the bright sun as sails were altered and the sleek vessel heaved about, turning sharply.
“What can they be doing?” said Iain. “Are they changing course because they have seen us?”
“No,” said Captain Morton distractedly. “They saw us some time ago. I’ve seen the sunlight glinting on the Captain’s glass as he looks at our ship. No, they are doing something else. I can’t quite...”
He raised his own telescope and scanned the horizon, biting his lip unconsciously as he did so.
“It’s almost as if they have seen something...” he muttered. “If I can just... there! There! Look at that!”
In his excitement, Captain Morton grabbed Iain Grant by the arm, shoving the telescope toward him.
“Look, sir, look,” he cried, “on that wee rocky outcrop away yonder. That’s what’s changed their direction.
Iain lifted the telescope to his eye and ran it across the horizon. At first, all he could see was the choppy sea, then he caught the Caithness Seal in the view. He paused there for a moment, looking at the ship and trying to keep steady as he did so. Tiny figures moved about in the glass, and there, standing on the quarter-deck, stood a man who could only be the captain. His arms waved about in agitation, and men ran to him to receive orders. He was marching up and down, but then suddenly he stopped, and Iain saw him pick up a telescope of his own.
But Neil did not swing his telescope toward Iain and the Endeavour. Instead, he peered off to his right. Iain turned his own glass to follow the pirate's gaze.
“Oh, I see it! I see them now!” he cried. “There are three people out on the rock there, I can’t make them out clearly... they have a fire, and they’ve set up some kind of flag, too! They’re waving their arms and trying to catch our attention!”
“Well, they’ve got it,” said the captain grimly. Alice and John, who had been standing back listening, came forward now and John took a turn at the telescope.
“Aye, there’s three of them there, no doubt about it,” he said after a moment, passing the glass to Alice. “One of them looks like the priest, Father Hallam, though it’s hard to make them out at this distance.”
The packet of papers representing Thorvald’s inheritance sat heavy inside Iain’s tunic, where they had stayed hidden since Rognvald had handed them to him and charged him to find his son. Relief warred with fear inside Iain’s heart. He had found his quarry, yes, but who could guarantee that his quarry would not be snatched from under him by Neil Gow-Sinclair?
“It must be them,” said Iain Grant. “Aye, at last, we’ve found my brother’s son. Let us pray we are not too late.”
Without thinking about what he was doing, he scanned the horizon, looking west over the vast, empty expanse of ocean. He stopped. There was a third sail, still relatively far away but pushing hard toward them. A tiny boat, riding the waves like a cork on a river. There was only one figure in the boat.
“Give me the glass back a moment,” he said, and Alice handed it to him.
“What is it, Iain?” she asked, but he did not reply immediately.
Iain squinted through the telescope and breathed aloud his thought as he saw there the glint of steel and the flash of the sunlight on red hair.
“It cannot be...” he whispered.
“What is it?” said the Earl. “What have ye seen?”
Iain pointed over the waves toward the approaching newcomer.
“It’s Sir Magnus Bain,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Wake up, Father Hallam, wake up!” cried Thorvald, shaking the poor priest awake. He sat up, looking around himself wildly.
“What is it? Where am I?”
“It’s a sail, Father! A ship! Ye must help us tae pile wood on the fire and get their attention, it’s our only hope of rescue!”
“The fire?” said Hallam blearily. Clearly, he was missing several pieces of the story and was confused and frightened.
“There’s no time tae explain now, just come on! Come down tae the fire!”
Hallam muttered, “fire,” and hauled himself up, heading down toward the warmth of the blaze. Anne was there, sweating as she hauled timber from the wreckage of the boat and piled it onto the flames. Thorvald joined her, and Hallam stood for a moment, stupefied by the sudden warmth. After a little while, he seemed to get a hold of himself. He coughed violently, looked around, then began to help – albeit weakly – to haul the timber. As he worked, he warmed up, and his clothes began to dry out a little. After a little while, when the fire blazed hot enough that it was difficult to stand near, Thorvald darted away and grabbed the longest section of the mast which had split into three pieces.
“Help me lift it up!” he said, and together all three of them heaved the mast up and wedged it into a gap between the rocks. From the top, a big piece of ragged sailcloth was fixed, and it flapped in the brisk wind like a flag.
“They’ll have tae see us now!” cried Anne. “They’ll have tae... they... Oh, God. That’s my uncle’s ship.”
With a brutal speed, their mood changed from wild elation to terror. They stood stunned as they watched the ship getting closer, pulling toward them with relentless pace. The sight of the Caithness Seal seemed to trigger some response from Father Hallam, and he suddenly fell to his kn
ees, wringing his hands in the air and praying out loud, “Oh God, forgive me! What have I done? What have I done?”
They both glanced at him in surprise and confusion, but there was no time to think. Thorvald stepped up and took Anne in his arms.
“Well, love,” he said. “We did not hope tae survive this. Perhaps this way we can end quickly and well, in battle, rather than starving or freezing tae death on this rock.”
She looked up into his eyes and, to her own surprise as much as to his, she found a smile. He looked down at her and saw past the grime and exhaustion to her beauty. Her dark eyes flickered with life, and her full lips were parted as she breathed his name, then leaned up to kiss him. The warmth of that kiss was like a draught of wine, and he felt suddenly renewed.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “we will face it together.”
Fighting For A Highland Lass (Defenders 0f The Highlands Book 3) Page 22