by Willa Blair
Donas’s broad hand had clapped over Muireall’s mouth and nose as soon as she came around the headland. She struggled in his grasp, but he prevented her from making more than a squeak and nearly prevented her from breathing at all. Then they waited, eerily silent for so many men, for long minutes, as if Donas expected someone else to round the headland behind her.
Finally, when no one came, he canted his head. One man ventured the way she’d come, soon returned, and shrugged. The saints be praised, he hadn’t seen any sign of Euan.
They moved, three men before her, Donas, hand still clapped over her mouth with his other gripping her arm tightly enough to bruise, and two more behind. She stumbled as they started up the cliff path. Donas’s rough treatment weakened her knees and made stars dance in front of her eyes, much as they had when she hit her head on the cave wall. She could not see where she placed her feet.
With an oath, Donas hauled her onto his shoulder, bruising her ribs and forcing the breath she’d gasped out of her lungs. He kept climbing as though she weighed nothing while she fought for breath.
What would Euan do? Would he have time for it to get dark enough to sneak away before Donas and his men went looking for him? She had to buy him as much time as she could. No matter what Donas did to her, she would not tell him about Euan.
At the top of the cliff, Donas dumped her off his shoulder. She landed in a heap, adding a bruised backside to her list of complaints.
“Did ye swim all day?” he demanded, grinning at her gaping cloak.
“Ye ken I couldna do that,” she answered, shoving her wet hair over her shoulder and pulling her cloak tightly together in front of her. The wind whipped damp strands of hair back across her face.
“Then why are ye still alive? We know that cove floods. Did ye have help?”
“Nay. I climbed on a rock until the sea rose, then a higher one. Each time the sea lifted me I swam to a higher rock. I hit my head once,” she added, lifting her hair to show the lump. “’Twas a long, terrifying day.”
“And how is it no one heard ye cry for help?”
“I did cry out once,” she lied, “but I dared no’ do it twice. The rocks were so slippery, even a deep breath made me fear to fall. I didna ken how many times I would have the strength to climb out of the water if I fell.” At Donas’s skeptical expression, she knew she must dare more and turn his questions back on him. “I prayed someone would come for me in a boat. Why did ye no’?”
Donas snorted, sending fresh chills down Muireall’s spine. “Risk a boat on those rocks, or against that cliff, for such as ye? Ye are daft. I’d sooner toss ye off this cliff and be done with ye.”
Muireall gasped. Blood drained from her head, leaving her pale and shaky. She tried to scoot away from Donas, and away from the cliff’s edge, but her wet garments only tangled around her, holding her in place and throwing Donas and his men into fits of laughter.
“What do ye think, Erik?” Donas asked when he got his breath back. “Do ye think ye want this half-drowned lassie to wife, or should I kick her over the edge?”
Muireall didn’t know what to react to first: Donas’s threat to kill her, or the revelation that he planned to give her to Erik, his second-in-command. She didn’t dare look at the man in question. Of the Ross men, Erik was one of the most pleasing to look at, large and well-muscled, with dark hair and dark eyes, but he had a dark and silent disposition, and she’d been told, a fearsome temper to go with them.
So, provoke Donas into killing her now, or let Erik do it later? She had little hope for anything better. She was trapped between the cliff and the village. Between Donas and his men. Euan could not possibly free her from this village. One man against all of these? Nay, better he steal a boat and sail for home, and never think of her again. Muireall dropped her head into her hands. Perhaps, if she was fast enough, she could throw herself over the cliff and settle the matter, once and for all.
Then someone grabbed her elbow and hauled her to her feet. Blinking she looked up, and up again, into Erik’s grim countenance.
“She’ll come with me,” he said and led her away, their progress followed by the guffaws and jeers of the other men.
Ach, nay. He couldn't mean to do what she feared. Her next moon blood had not come yet. The men all waited for that to prove a lass was not heavy with another man’s child. Muireall’s mind whirled furiously as Erik dragged her along, trying to think of an argument that would prevent what she saw coming.
To her shock, when they reached the center of the village, he handed her off to Silas. “Clean her up and get her warm. Donas says she’s to be mine in a few days.”
His gaze raked her and made her feel naked as well as chilled.
“She’s no good to anyone in this condition. Worse if she sickens from spending the day wet and cold.”
At his surprising kindness, Muireall’s knees folded, and she dropped to the ground. Erik cast one disgusted look in her direction, then turned back to Silas. “Do it now.”
Muireall didn’t see Silas nod, but in moments, the woman was calling for the clan’s one wooden tub and clean water to be heated in the large pot someone had found on the beach. Hers, she supposed…or Euan’s. Either way, it seemed fitting that its first use would be for her.
Silas walked toward the cliff, leaving Muireall in her cold, sodden heap. She wrapped her arms around bent knees, her thoughts on Euan and his whereabouts. Long minutes passed while she recalled all the ways he’d ignored his own pain to save her. She prayed he would be safe and away from danger, if not by now, then very soon. She barely noticed when a lad ran up to Silas and urgently but quietly spoke to her, gesturing down toward the men and the beach.
Silas turned and gave her a long look.
Muireall frowned, waiting to hear the worst; that Euan had been found and killed.
Silas just shook her head and sent the lad away.
Helpless to do anything else, Muireall rested her head on her knees. Despite her discomfort, fatigue made her doze until Silas pulled on her arms.
“Get up.” Her tone brooked no argument. Preparations must be complete. Then she knelt and unclasped the cloak from Muireall’s shoulders. “Up, lass,” she commanded and rose, taking Muireall’s arm, pulling her to her feet. The tub sat, steaming, a few feet away, not in her cot, as she’d expected, but in full view of the entire village. The men—arms crossed and grinning—had arrayed themselves around it—and her. Several women stood behind them, peeking between broad shoulders and jabbing each other in the sides with their elbows. Muireall quailed, but couldn’t prevent Silas from plucking at the torn hem of her thin shift, and stripping the useless garment over her head. Naked and covered in chill bumps, Muireall wrapped her arms around herself and fought the urge to cry.
“Why…”
Donas gestured and Silas handed him Muireall’s shift. He examined it, then tossed it aside. “Ye sat on a rock all day…by yerself?” He looked her up and down, and angry glint in his eye, but a smirk on his lips. “Yet the sun failed to color yer face. Did the rock tear yer shift?”
She froze, hope and fear filling her at the same time. She knew why she’d been stripped bare in front of the entire clan. Euan had left the cave.
“So,” Donas continued, “where did that rope come from that we found hanging from a cave, and how did it get there, I wonder?”
Muireall looked around for an ally, but all she found were angry faces, or hungry looks that scared her more than the angry ones admiring Donas’s handiwork.
Silas took her arm and led her to the tub. “In,” she commanded.
Muireall set one foot in the water and yelped.
“Yer betrothed wanted ye warmed up. That’ll do it,” Silas said, with no trace of pity or remorse. “Now get in or I’ll let him throw ye in.”
Betrothed. Muireall gulped. She got her other foot in the hot water and dropped to her knees, fighting not to cry out at the painful heat. Her skin reddened alarmingly. She feared she’d have blister
s, but in a few moments, her body adjusted to the temperature, and it became if not comfortable, at least soothingly warm.
“Dunk yer head.”
That was Erik. So he wasn't missing the chance to inspect his prospective bride, and to see to it that she met with his approval. She wanted to glare at him, but knew she’d regret it, if not today, then later. She kept her head down and curled onto her side into the tub, hissing as the hot water hit her back and breasts. Then she held her breath and dropped her head into the water, rinsing the salt out of her hair, all the while wondering if Donas would decide to hold her down and drown her. That would be ironic, after Euan fought so hard to save her.
As she came up for air, someone grabbed her hair. She fought, clawing at large hands. But rather than forcing her face back underwater, they yanked her head back.
“Who helped ye?”
It was Donas, of course. Was he going to shove her head underwater again and again until she gave him the answer he wanted? Erik stood nearby, but made no move to help her…or Donas.
“I dinna ken…”
“We checked the cave. Nay sign of anyone being there for long. So it was someone from that wreck, aye? Ye tore strips from yer shift. He’s injured. Or did he rip that before he got between yer thighs?”
Muireall let her silent disdain answer for her.
With an oath, Donas released her hair and turned to the other man. “She’s yer problem, now, Erik.” Then he waved an arm in a broad sweep. “The rest of ye, back to work. There’s a man somewhere nearby. Find him. And ye,” he pointed to one man who’d stood at the back of the crowd, “I told ye to stay with the boats. Get back down there before one goes missing.” Without another word, he stomped away.
Muireall glanced at her intended. A small crease between his eyebrows gave her the only hint of what he was thinking. But he wasn’t frowning at her. He was watching Donas. That interested her. Was she the source of tension between the chief and Erik?
Silas handed her a palmful of soap as the men filed away, several giving her assessing looks as they went.
“Who knows,” Silas taunted. “Perhaps ye’ll be wed at Candlemas. I hear that’s lucky.”
Muireall ignored her and washed her hair, doing the best she could to keep the rest of her body below the surface of the water, more or less out of sight. Not that Erik—and most of the rest of the clan—hadn’t already seen all there was to see. She needn’t have bothered. Silas ordered her to stand, then at her direction, two other lasses poured clear, cold water over her head and body. The shock of it made Muireall gasp.
One of the lasses was Ella, tears in her eyes. She had witnessed Muireall’s humiliation, and worse, been forced to be part of it. Muireall caught her gaze and shook her head, slightly, trying to tell her not to cry. Ella had already been through much worse in Thomas’s bed.
But worse waited for Muireall, a few days hence, once Erik got his hands on her. If what she’d heard about his dark side was true, and if she was lucky, he’d kill her quickly. Not that her luck had been very good over the last month. Maybe that changed when the Tangie broke up in the firth and Euan washed ashore.
If only she knew what had happened to him. Had he gotten away?
Calum’s body was nowhere to be found. As Euan made his way to the cove where the Rosses beached their boats, he searched as quickly as he could, all the while watching for a Ross patrol or even a lone guard. The tide must have pulled Calum out into the firth. Surely the Rosses hadn’t carried his body up to the cliff for burial when the sea was so much closer at hand. So much simpler.
As Muireall had described, there was one large birlinn. Several smaller craft were pulled above the high tide line. But unlike what Muireall had led him to expect, no one watched over this cove. Where were the Ross guards? Based on what she’d said, he expected more, not fewer…or none. Because of Calum, they had proof someone had survived the shipwreck. Why would they fail to post a guard over their boats, especially as night fell? The lack made him even more uneasy than prowling around Ross coves already had. Did they know he was here? He blended into the deeper darkness near the cliff and stood as still as he was able. Where could they lay in wait for him? The boats were as empty as the pebbled ground around them. There were no other hiding places.
Nothing moved but the eternal rush and slide of the waves against the shore.
He was sorely tempted to take one of the medium-sized sailboats and head out. His first loyalty had to be to his men. If any had survived and, unlike Calum, avoided the Rosses, they would have made their way down the coast, intent on getting around the firth and back to Brodie. He might find them, or he might find their bodies washed up on shore.
Muireall’s silent disappearance still worried him.
His gut twisted with indecision. Take a boat and go now? Or delay and risk capture?
Staying won. He had to know if she was dead or alive. He couldn’t just abandon her to the men who’d snatched her from her home and family, and who planned to force her to wed one of them. He’d take his chances on stealing one of these boats when the time came to leave.
Euan continued down the beach. As he went, the clifftop rose even higher than at the Ross coves. He doubted any of his men could have climbed here. They would have continued down the beach if they were able. Then, in a little over a mile, a slope trailed gently down to the water, forming a hillside covered with dry grasses, winter-brown shrubs and starting about halfway up, small leafless trees. This looked promising. Avoiding sandy areas in favor of gravel and water-rounded stones that would hide his tracks, he ascended the slope.
He wanted to approach the Ross village from the landward side. They would not expect shipwreck survivors to go inland, but to stay near the coast to search for fellow sailors, and to hope for rescue by a friendly boat. The chance to come at the village from higher ground was an opportunity he hadn’t foreseen. With good cover, he might be able to overlook the village and actually find out what had happened to Muireall from a distance. From there he could double back using any cover the land offered to avoid Ross patrols and look for his men. Only then would he steal a boat and leave. It was a good plan, but he’d fought enough battles to know how seldom any plan survived being put into action.
Even in the early darkness the view of the coastline from the clifftop was spectacular, if unrewarding. The sea sparkled whenever moonlight broke through the clouds scattered across the sky. The beach gleamed, a pale ribbon between the restless sea and the dark cliffs. He saw no sign of wreckage or bodies from the Tangie past the coves he’d already searched. Nor could he see the Ross village on the clifftop below him for intervening hillocks and trees, but the wind had shifted and carried the scent of smoke. Cooking fires, most likely.
He turned away from the sea, carefully crossed a meadow filled with chest-high grasses, and entered a sparse grove of evergreen trees. Trees meant water. He needed only to find a downhill slope where trees grew taller and thicker to find a burn. Or take his chances and head directly toward the Ross village. There had to be a burn or small loch near it where he could slake the thirst that was becoming a fine torture, more painful even than the hollow pinching of his empty belly. He knew he’d regain some strength if he could find fresh water, but he’d rather not have to do it on an enemy’s doorstep.
A rustle in the undergrowth alerted him and he crouched next to a tree trunk, barely daring to breathe. Was it an animal? Or a Ross sentry? All too quickly, he could become the hunted rather than the hunter. Other than his damaged hands, he had no weapon. He’d left the rope hanging from the sea cave nearly two miles down the coast. He’d lost his dirk in the firth, along with his ship and his men…most of them. Not Calum. Pain filled his chest at the thought of what had happened to him, making him wince.
The rustle sounded again. Euan held his breath and watched. He couldn’t let himself be distracted, not with his survival at stake—and more. Muireall counted on him to rescue her, and he had to get home to tell his clan wha
t became of his crew.
A shiver of movement in the undergrowth gave away the position of whatever made the noise. A Ross patrol would have no reason to hide in the undergrowth so close to their village. They’d search openly and walk confidently in an area they likely knew very well.
Hope flared in his chest and he nearly stood, so strong was his need to see another of his men. Calum was dead at the hands of a Ross. If they’d made it to shore, the others might be alive—and one of them might be just a few feet away.
Whoever it was made a soft choking sound, then moaned. At that, Euan got slowly to his feet, careful to keep the tree trunk between him and the person in the brush. They sounded troubled—injured or ill, he couldn’t tell. He peered around the trunk, but could not see enough to recognize one of his men. He was going to have to take the chance and get closer.
Muireall was grateful when Ella stayed behind her from the tub to her cot, shielding Muireall as much as possible from the men’s view with her full skirts. Laughter followed them until they got inside and Ella firmly shut the door.
“Ach, Muireall…yer back…”
Muireall held up a hand. “Dinna start, please. If ye think to number all the insults against me up to this day, ye’ll have me weeping, too.” She went to the small chest in the room and pulled out a kirtle and undershift. “I’m going to clothe myself and act as though none of that ever happened. I must be strong.”
“No matter how strong ye be, Erik will be stronger.”
“Aye, and there’s nothing I can do about that. But I can, I hope, gain some small measure of respect by not cowering in front of the clan. He’s a prideful man. Perhaps he’ll treat me better for it.” She pulled the shift over her head and continued through the cloth as the kirtle followed it, billowing over her head and down her body, “’Tis no’ as if I have anything else left to me.”
Ella’s uncharacteristic silence made Muireall turn to her as soon as the dress was on her shoulders and she could see.
Ella stood off to one side. The cottage’s door was open, filled with Erik’s large body.