by Willa Blair
She pressed her lips together and kept on, gaze skimming the clifftop above them, alert for watchers.
Before she realized what happened, she found herself sprawled on the sand. She’d tripped! She struggled to her hands and knees, wondering why the men had not rushed to help her up. She glanced around and met Euan’s and Calum’s grim expressions. Then she realized the impediment underneath her was not driftwood, but a body, still damp and cold from the sea. She scrambled up and sank back on her heels, clearing the body before her. “One of yers,” she murmured, knowing there could be no doubt of that. “Oh, God, ’tis only a lad!”
Euan knelt by her, wide-eyed, and with gentle fingertips closed the eyes that no longer saw the stars above them. Muireall knew his heart was breaking. She jammed a fist against her mouth to stop her cry of sympathy, tears pricking her eyes.
“James,” Calum muttered an explanation. “I saw Eduard and Dugal with him on the ropes as the Tangie went down.”
Euan nodded, pain tightening all his features into an immovable mask in the starlight. “Likely the undertow pulled them out into the firth, or they’d be here, too.” He reached out a hand to Muireall and helped her to her feet, then kept his arm around her. “I’m sorry ye found him in this way, lass. Ye wouldha liked the lad.”
“What will ye do?” She was certain they could not leave him lying on the beach. Nor did they have time or tools to bury him.
A muscle jumped in Euan’s jaw. “Keep on as we are, and once we have a boat, come back for him.” He squatted by the body for a moment, then stood and glanced around, as if he was fixing landmarks in memory. “His family will want to bury him properly.”
“Even if we’re seen taking a boat?”
“’Twill be a risk we’ll have to take. The lad must go home to his family.”
Behind Euan’s back, Calum, his gaze on the clifftop, shook his head, whether in disagreement, or in dismay over the fate of their young friend, she couldn’t know. His lips were pressed into a thin line, mirroring Euan’s grim expression.
“Let’s go,” Euan ordered. “Morning will come all too soon.” Without a backward glance, Euan continued down the beach.
Calum gestured her forward.
She followed Euan the rest of the way to the cove where the Rosses kept their boats. At the entrance, both men knelt behind rocks. On the far side, the tide drowned the narrow strip of beach leading to the cove where she and Euan had been trapped. She was glad. A band of Ross warriors could not be lurking there, waiting for anyone who dared steal from them.
“That one,” Calum whispered, pointing to a skiff sitting just out of the encroaching tide. Euan nodded his agreement, then pointed out the guard, sitting in the sand, back propped against the cliff wall behind him.
He appeared to Muireall to be sound asleep. Positioned behind the two Brodies, she had to strain to see what the men indicated in the cove, so after spotting the guard, she kept an eye on the clifftop above them. Nothing moved. The stillness there should also make her happy, but somehow, it only increased her anxiety. Surely by now Donas’s companions had woken up, discovered his body and reported back to Erik with their injured clansman. And surely Erik would guess where the castaways would go next.
Euan signaled for her to stay put, then he and Calum made their way into the cove. Using the boats for cover, they moved carefully, the soft sand mixed with pebbles muffling the sound of their footfalls. In moments, they flanked the sleeping guard. Euan cracked him over the head with the hilt of his dirk, sending him into a deeper sleep.
That thunk sounded like the fall of a blacksmith’s hammer on a wooden stump, startling Muireall and making her even more vigilant about movement on the clifftop. But the night remained still and quiet, save for the gently lulling surf. Donas’s guards must still be unconscious, or slowed by their injured man.
They put the swords in the craft they’d chosen. With Calum’s one-handed help and Muireall pushing, Euan dragged the skiff into the water and beckoned for her to get in. He lifted her into the bobbing boat, then helped Calum before pulling himself over the side and grabbing the oars. “I dinna want to raise the sail yet. It will be too visible from the clifftop.”
“I can row,” Muireall told him. “With Calum to help,” she added, with a glance at Euan’s companion. After his nod, she added, “We can take one side and ye the other. It might spare yer hands.”
“Aye, we can,” Calum seconded and took a seat beside her on the bench. Euan relinquished one oar without comment.
Before long, her arms shaking and hands stinging, Muireall knew blisters must be forming on her palms, but she gritted her teeth and gamely kept time with Calum. The pain in her hands kept her mind from the twinges in her back as each pull on the oar pulled her newly formed scars. Euan seemed to be allowing them to set the pace, mindful of Calum’s injury and her lack of strength—or because gripping the oar with his injured hands was too painful. Despite their grim errand, she was glad to let the tide push them onto the beach to retrieve James’s body. Euan allowed her and Calum to rest while he did what had to be done.
All too soon, they were back on the water, this time fighting the tide as they rowed for distance from shore. But before long Euan raised the sail, letting them ship the oars. As soon as she caught her breath, Muireall pulled Donas’s sleeve from her bodice and dunked it over the side. The salt water stung her palm and fingers fiercely, making her realize how brave Euan had been. Her few blisters hurt, but his hands were scraped and torn and bleeding, and had been for days. She shuddered, imagining how badly his must hurt. His need to find the rest of his men and return home drove him to ignore his injuries, but he couldn’t do that much longer.
Still, she had to ask. “I ken ye feel honor-bound to return home as quickly as ye are able,” Muireall ventured while she washed Donas’s remaining sleeve, “but I feel the same and Munro begins only a few miles down the coast. Ye could get help with yer search…if anyone is left alive there.”
“Your Munro village is several miles into the Cromarty firth and inland, aye? I hear ye, lass, I do,” Euan told her. “But ye ken what my answer is, and why. I’ll no’ take another chance with Calum. Or James. Or ye gettin’ trapped on this side of the firth and back in to Ross hands. We go to Brodie.”
“It makes nay sense to sail across the firth…” she told him, wringing out the cloth and wincing. She reached for Euan’s hands to check whether the bindings still protected them, but he drew back.
“To ye, perhaps, but I am the master of this vessel. She goes where I decide.”
Muireall glanced at Calum’s profile. She’d find no help there. He had to be in pain, and eager for this misadventure to be over. But by sea, her home was so close! She opened her mouth to argue, but after another glance at the lad’s body laid out in the prow, she wisely clamped her mouth shut.
Irritated, she’d been tempted to point out how well Euan had done as master of his last vessel. That really wasn’t fair, not after the storm they’d ridden out. They’d almost made it to shore, likely mostly due to his skill. Perhaps a bad decision had kept them on the water too long, but bad luck had killed his crew, and Euan had no escape from the reality of their deaths, not while James’s body sailed with them.
Euan knew they weren’t the only boats on the firth this night, and the Rosses weren’t the only ones who could be unfriendly, so they kept a close watch during the dark hours of the crossing to Findhorn Bay. The sun was rising in their faces by the time they beached their borrowed skiff and made their way, Euan carrying James’s body over his shoulder, to the Brodie village and keep.
Shocked stares and silence greeted them as they passed through the thatch-roofed cots on their way to the chief. With a murmured word as they passed her, Calum added the healer to their party. He had to be using the last dregs of his strength, and his arm needed tending yesterday.
Muireall appeared as dazed and exhausted as Calum. Despite the grievous burden Euan carried, she stayed close by his
side as they made their way through the villagers. Euan decided it would be best to leave her with the healer. She could keep Calum company and get some rest away from the curious eyes of the clan.
By their presence, it was clear that the others were not coming home. Euan could not meet the resigned gazes of the families of the men he’d lost. When they reached James’s family’s home, the lad’s parents and younger brothers quickly took charge of his body, relieving Euan of the physical burden. But the emotional burden would not be lifted so easily. Euan made his apologies to the tearful family, Muireall and Calum by his side. Calum looked pinched and white around the mouth, so they went next to the healer’s cot, where he ordered both Calum and Muireall to remain.
He would face the laird alone, as was his right and his responsibility.
Now lacking an escort, he trudged up the last slope into the keep and found Iain in his solar, standing by the open window overlooking the path he’d just trod.
“I saw ye coming up from the beach,” Iain said by way of greeting. “I’m glad to see at least two of ye made it back.”
Euan expected sorrow and anger, so the ambiguity of Iain’s greeting surprised but did not sway him from his purpose. “’Tis my fault we lost James. Eduard and Dugal, too, as far as I ken. We stayed overlong and the storm four nights ago caught us…”
“That storm came up so swiftly, I misdoubt yer boat was the only casualty that night.” He indicated they take seats. Once they’d settled, he said, “Tell me what happened.”
Euan crossed his arms, reluctant to relive that night, yet fully aware he owed his chief an explanation.
“The fishing was good. We had nearly a full load and wanted to bring home as much as we could carry.” In truth, even though they’d noticed black clouds piling up on the horizon at sunset, Eduard had argued they had hours yet before a storm would reach them, and Euan had let himself be persuaded, seduced by the idea of bringing in such bounty. “The storm rolled in so fast, we had only an hour from the time it appeared before it blew us out across the firth. When the wind shifted, we fought the sail and tried to take it down, but the Tangie heeled over and sank off the Ross coves.”
Iain shifted in his seat. “Were ye caught? Is that how Calum was injured?”
“Nay. Calum said waves tossed him against rocks and snapped his arm. I found him the next day after…well, ’tis a long story that involves the lass ye saw with us.”
“Before ye get to that, what happened to the others?”
“We…I…dinna ken. I saw them last clinging to the ropes as the Tangie went over. Once we found James, we became convinced the others drowned and are lost in the firth. We searched along the shoreline for as long as we dared and saw no sign of them.”
Iain sighed. “Good men, and a good lad. Years of sailing experience lost in Eduard alone.”
Euan nodded. Of all of them, Eduard should have been savvy enough to survive, yet he was among the missing.
“And the lass?”
“Stolen by Ross with two others from Munro. Only she remained unclaimed—unwed—and determined to escape. She aided us, but Donas Ross and some of his men followed her and found us hiding. They dinna ken who we were, only that we were shipwreck survivors on their land. I never named my clan.” Euan tensed, expecting his next words would break through Iain’s calm demeanor. “We fought. I killed him.”
Iain reared back. “The Ross chief?”
“Aye.”
“God. Ye canna help yerself, can ye? Trouble follows ye like…” he paused and grimaced. “I was going to say a dark cloud, but…” He shook his head. “If the tales I’ve heard are true, ye did his folk a favor.”
Euan accepted the censure. “If the tales ye have heard are anything like Muireall’s, I did, though I dinna ken whether they’ll see it that way. Especially his widow, Silas.”
Iain stood and paced to the window looking out over the firth. “Damn it. We dinna need a war with Ross.”
Euan cringed, glad Iain had his back to him and could not see how those words stung. There was the reaction he’d expected. Not only had the men on the Tangie died, his actions put even more Brodies at risk if Ross found out who had killed their chief. He’d brought another disaster home.
“What of the men who you said came with him?”
“Calum and his slingshot…even with a broken arm he was able to knock out the two holding Muireall. He distracted the one with the knife to my throat, and I broke that man’s leg getting free. He passed out. But Donas was determined to kill me. I had nay choice but to grab a blade and fight.”
Iain nodded. “I’ll send Kenneth and some men to sail the Ross coastline and see if they can spot any sign of our two lost men.”
“I should go.”
“Ye should rest and eat and take care of the lass ye brought to us.”
“About Muireall. She wants to go home to Munro. Donas Ross told her they killed her people.”
“Until we ken what the Rosses are likely to do, I’ll no’ send more Brodies ashore on that side of the firth save to rescue one of ours. Nor will I have ye seen by a Ross and known as a Brodie. No’ yet. But I will speak to her…nay, no’ now,” he added as Euan stood, intending to fetch her. Iain waved toward the door. “Get ye to the healer and see to Calum and the lass, then get some rest.”
Euan frowned. “I’d rather ye give me leave to go with Kenneth. And to find out about Munro.”
“I will no’. He’ll do better without ye. And Munro will have to wait while we search for our own men. Now get ye to the healer.”
Euan stood and left the room, seething. If anyone should continue the search for the missing men, it was him, but Iain was right. He was trouble.
Muireall spent the day under the healer’s watchful eye. She’d ordered her to rest and eat and help her keep Calum on the same regimen. Calum complained at regular intervals that he didn’t need their coddling. He needed to help find their missing men. When word came down that the chief had sent others to do that job and that Euan had been ordered to the healer’s cot, Calum had gone silent, his complaints overruled by the chief’s action.
Only then did he stretch out on a pallet and turn his face to the wall.
She knew he had to be hurting, and not just his arm. Left behind, and too injured and worn out to attempt to change the laird’s mind, he could only do as ordered—eat, rest and heal. She wanted to comfort him, but had no idea what would ease his pain. And with the healer’s watchful eye on her, she dared not approach him.
She was a stranger. And while the healer gave her the same gentle care she gave Calum, there was still that hint of distrust, of distance, in her demeanor that kept Muireall from feeling truly comfortable in her new circumstances.
Voices from outside the cottage carried wails of grief, and Euan’s name, spoken angrily.
“Where is that laddie?” the healer muttered.
Muireall supposed she was asking the air, since neither of her charges were privy to that information. Where was Euan, indeed? Avoiding her? Or had he stowed away on a Brodie birlinn in hopes of being there when their men were found. Or their bodies recovered. If so, she wished him well. His laird would likely have his head when he found out, but in the meantime, Euan would be doing what he thought was right. And if she knew one thing about Euan Brodie, besides how he made her breath catch and her heart beat faster, it was that he had a strong sense of honor, of right and wrong. He felt responsible for the loss of his men and his ship. He wouldn’t take kindly to waiting like a bairn for news of their fate.
Once Calum started snoring, letting them know he was asleep, the healer bade Muireall to wash. Someone had brought in the tub earlier and set it by the fire, so the water was still warm. With a glance at the sleeping Calum, Muireall stripped and laid her gown over her cot. Despite her having tripped over James’s body, some sand and salt spray from sailing across the firth were all that marred the cloth. Then she noticed a few spots of blood on the back of the skirt and paled.
<
br /> Discovering her monthly bleeding had come was disconcerting. A few days from now, as soon as her courses finished, if Donas Ross had been alive to have his way and she was still his prisoner, she would have become Erik Ross’s unwilling bride. And he her unwilling husband.
She told herself her narrow escape didn’t matter. She was safe now. But the shock of it made safety feel tenuous and unreal.
The healer saw the blood and gave her a sympathetic nod. She fetched what Muireall needed from a chest, then moved behind her to the tub to rinse the blood from her skirt.
Muireall knew the second the healer got a look at her back. How could she have been so careless?
The woman kept her voice low, but her shock and anger were evident in every hissed syllable. “My God, lass, who…”
Muireall shook her head, dismayed, embarrassed and praying Calum would not pick now to wake up. “Dinna tell anyone,” she pleaded in a whisper, forcing herself to make eye contact. “What’s done is done, and it doesna matter anymore. The stripes are nearly healed.”
The healer gave her a long look, frowned, and nodded. “I’ll keep yer secret, but whoever did this to ye should answer for it.”
“He already did.” Those three words felt final, as though they should have allowed her to put Donas and all he had done utterly and forever behind her. But with her eyes closed against the healer’s watchful gaze, she could still see her hands cutting away the sleeves from his dead arms as if watching someone else do the deed. If that image stayed with her, how much worse a vision did Euan see when he closed his eyes?
Keeping her gaze on the glowing coals in the hearth, she got in the tub. Her skin prickled and she forced herself away from thoughts of her last bath, under the angry and lustful stares of her captors. This time, no one watched, and it felt good to rinse the salt from her skin, even if she had to put on the same dress she’d worn for the last day.