by Amy Jarecki
Niall leaned against the tree, gasping for air. “And we cannot outrun them.”
Ian pulled Merrin against his body. “We cannot stay here.”
Soaking up his warmth, she snapped her gaze to his face. His jaw set, he held her against him possessively, as if protecting her was his first concern. She clutched his waist, melting into him, if only for a moment.
Niall pulled down the trunk of a sapling until it touched ground. “We may not be able to outrun them, but we can use these to slow them down—trigger them like a snare.”
“Aye.” Ian released his hold and went to work. “You too, Merrin. Tie them down with anything ye can find.”
The wind ripped through her, but she grasped an eight-foot sapling and secured it by shoving the top under a clump of thorny gorse. It might not kill a man when it snapped up, but it’d give him one miserable whack.
Ian pointed to the shore. “They’re launching a skiff.” He turned to Niall. “Give me the bow and arrows—take Merrin and head southeast.”
Merrin grasped Ian’s arm. “Ye cannot stay and let them butcher ye.”
He pulled her into a tight embrace. “Go with your da. There’s no time to argue.”
Merrin’s teeth chattered. “I love you.”
He pressed his lips to her ear. “I’ll find ye, I promise. Now run!”
Merrin wasn’t about to let go, but Niall gave her a tug. “Come. They’re nearly to the shore.”
She gave Ian’s hand one last squeeze. Tears stung her eyes as they ran with Gar on their heels. Her teeth chattered. She could have rolled in a snowdrift and still wouldn’t feel as cold as she did right now.
“Can ye run faster?” Niall reached back and grasped her hand.
Merrin swiped up her fingers, shoving her matted hair away from her face. She pushed her legs harder. Would this night never end? Da led her alongside a stone fence. Merrin glanced over her shoulder. Through the darkness, she thought she saw men running on the thin strip of land.
God help him.
Niall pulled her to a stop. “A horse.”
Merrin’s heart pounded in her chest. “But what about Ian?”
“He’ll find us.” Niall unbuckled his belt. “And mayhap we can stop running if he does no’.”
“Do no’ say that.” Merrin stomped her foot. The mere thought sickened her. “Never say that.”
Niall clambered over the fence. “Bloody women—he’ll be along, blast it anyway. I’ll catch us this nag and Ian will find us.”
Merrin clenched her fists. She should be beside Ian now. This was the second time she and Niall had left him to stand and fight while they ran. Gar rubbed against her, his satchel bumping her leg. Merrin bent down and unfastened them. “If Da and I can ride, the least I can do is ease your burden.”
“Easy, laddie,” Niall crooned over the fence.
Merrin watched her father creep to the horse, a clump of grass in one hand and his belt in the other. The bay appeared old by the relaxed way it carried his head and shoulders, not tense and spirited like a filly or a colt.
The horse raised his nose only high enough to smell the grass Niall offered. He took a step in. Niall slid his arm around the horse’s neck and slipped the belt around. He led him to the fence.
Merrin climbed over. “That was easy.”
“He’s an old gelding, but he’ll take us further than we’d manage on our own.”
Merrin petted his neck. “Have they put ye out to pasture, old fella?”
“Merrin?” Niall pinched her shift. “What happened to your kirtle?”
He’s only just noticed?
“Ian tore it off me.”
“What?”
“I couldn’t run with it—the wool weighed more than a barrow of rocks.” She moved to the horse’s side and placed her hands on his back. “We’ve wasted enough time. Give me a leg up.”
Niall helped her, then led the horse to a fallen log and mounted behind her.
Merrin looked at his rein-less hands. “How are ye going to steer?”
“I’ll use me knees.”
A clap resounded from the water. Merrin jumped and craned her neck. The bright light of musket fire lit up the shore. She counted four, but there could be more men—most likely not everyone would have a weapon as valuable as a musket.
“Hurry, Ian!”
***
Ian crouched behind a tree and counted the number of men rowing ashore. Four? Rewan must underestimate me. Ian glanced over his shoulder. Unless he’s split his forces. Trees and darkness blocked Ian’s sight, but he listened. Only the rustle of leaves and the sound of waves crashing into the rocks—he held his breath but heard nothing more than his heartbeat. He marked Rewan’s bulky outline when the men stepped ashore. He probably knew every one of them. Ian abhorred killing. That he knew the men, some by name, made it worse.
He loaded an arrow into the bow and waited. The men crept slowly. Ian steadied his breathing, willed himself into a deep calm. He eyed his target, the leading man. Too bad it wasn’t Rewan.
He raised the bow even with his shoulder and pulled back the string. He waited. Nearly there. He squinted. Two more steps. Ian released. Ballocks. The arrow soared wide right, only clipping his target in the shoulder.
Musket balls flew past his head to the ear-splitting weapon cracks. Ian snatched another arrow and fired. This one whizzed low and caught a man’s thigh. His bellow echoed between the trees—he’d most likely not rise.
Ian ran faster through the forest. A sapling snapped and a howl followed. Another snap. Ian grinned—their traps were working. Mayhap they’d foiled Rewan again.
Horse hooves pounded the earth ahead. Ian darted behind a rock and peered over. I’ll be the son of a motherless dog. Alick led the charge—straight for him.
Had they spotted him? Ian crouched and fingered his arrow. If he fired, they’d know his position for certain. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied a pathway leading toward the other side of the peninsula. If Ian could make it to the water he might be able to swim through the shallows—at least until they realized they’d lost him. The galley would have to sail clear around that strip of land—if they could figure out where he’d gone in the dark. It just might work.
Ian bent down, half walking, half crawling. He used the rocks’ shadows to conceal his movement. The trees along the path grew sparse, making each step more precarious.
“Where is the bastard?” Rewan shouted behind him.
Staying low, Ian crept through a maze of rocks, willing the water to come underfoot with every step.
“There he is!” someone yelled.
Ian didn’t look back. He sprinted ahead. When the water came into view, he skidded to a stop. It beat against the cliffs fifty feet below. Merciful bloody Mary, I’ll be skewered by me own dirk.
He took one last glance over his shoulder. Alick and his men were driving their horses through the rocks. He’d run out of luck and out of time.
Ian sucked in a deep breath and took a sprinting leap.
Chapter Eighteen
“He jumped,” Alick yelled from the top of the crag.
Rewan slammed his sword into the sand. “Son of a bloody, putrid English harlot.” Clenching his fists, he paced while he waited for Alick and the others, praying that Ian met his end and hit the rocks below. All he’d have to do is find the carcass. If he was lucky.
Alick trotted beside him. Rewan fisted his hips. “Did ye see the bastard’s body on the rocks?”
“’Twas too dark.”
Rewan kicked the sand. “Ballocks.”
Alick dismounted. “Me men are tired. The horses are spent. We’ve been driving them for days.”
Rewan shook his finger. “No one rests until we find him.” He paced in a circle. “We nearly had the bastard.”
“The leap probably killed him.” Alick folded his arms and lifted his chin. “If he’s dead, we’ll have much better luck finding him come dawn.”
Rewan knew his man-at-arms
was right, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit it. Not when they were so bloody close. “Ye take the horses to the other side of the bay and wait.” Rewan signaled to his crew. “Come with me, men. Time to sail around the point and find a corpse.”
***
Merrin’s head bobbed against Niall’s back. Her eyes refused to stay open and her teeth would not cease their chattering. Beyond cold, the wind continued to punish them. Her only comfort was the bit of heat she could steal from her father’s back. From the way he shivered, his discomfort matched hers.
“How much further?”
Niall sat up with a jolt, as if her words had stirred him from slumber. He pointed. “Methinks there’s a chapel atop the hill yonder.”
Merrin followed his finger. “Thank heavens. The wind is cutting to the bone.”
The gelding slowly walked up. He hadn’t done anything but walk, though he’d given their legs a much-needed spell. “Do ye think the horse can trot?”
“I’ve cued him for it, but he seems to have only one gait.”
“Mayhap he’d be a bit more willing when he does no’ have two on his back.”
“I’d say he’s an old nag without much life left.”
Merrin ran her hand along the gelding’s rump. “He’s a bit thin, but he’s been of good use to us, I’ll say.”
“That he has.”
Merrin glanced around Niall’s shoulder. The chapel loomed dark against the night sky—almost eerie. “It looks abandoned.”
“’Tis best if it is. We do no’ need anyone asking questions—and ye’ve lost your scarf.”
Merrin’s hand slipped to her neck. It was gone. So many times she brushed her fingers across it, the movement had become habit. But with their frantic escape, she hadn’t thought of the one thing that protected her from notice. Not once. “God save us.”
Niall tapped his heels against the gelding’s barrel. “We’re in the right place for that.” After cuing the horse to a stop, he helped her down and then slid off the gelding and led him to a patch of grass.
Merrin folded her arms tightly across her chest, shivering more without Niall’s heat. “Are ye just going to leave him there?”
Niall shrugged. “I’ve no rope to hobble him.”
“Do ye think he’ll be there in the morning?”
Niall pointed to a brook. “Why not? It looks like there’s grass and water aplenty.”
Merrin was too tired to argue, but it would be a miracle if the old fella didn’t turn tail and head back to his paddock before morning.
Niall thumbed the latch on the chapel door. It clicked. Merrin rubbed the outside of her arms as they stepped inside. It was even darker. Her boots crunched—thatch?
Niall patted her arm. “There might be a candle on the altar.”
Merrin blinked her eyes and glimpsed the outline of chairs. “Can ye see it?”
“Nay, but an altar is always at the front of a church.”
“Oh.” She tried to force her eyes to focus. She’d never been in a holy place before, though Friar Pat had taught her how to pray. Going to Sunday services on Raasay was forbidden, of course.
Niall’s dark shadow progressed up the aisle, his footsteps echoing off the walls as if in a cave. He stopped with a sweeping sound. Merrin prayed he’d find a candle and a flint. Perhaps there was a hearth to calm the shivers coursing across her skin.
“Here we are.” Niall’s satisfied voice was soft, but echoed as if he’d shouted the words.
She clearly recognized the next sound. Iron on flint, followed by yellow sparks, and then a flame illuminated her father’s body. Merrin gasped. A bronze cross sat atop a stone altar and on the far wall, a beautiful stained glass depicted Jesus clothed in white, holding a shepherd’s staff.
“Beautiful.” The nave was filled with rows of wooden chairs with seats woven with rough-hewn nettle. “The place looks like ’tis still in use.”
“Aye, but ’tis our place of sanctuary for the night.”
Merrin didn’t see the one thing she needed most. “There’s no hearth.”
Niall turned full circle with the candle held high. “’Tis best we do no’ build a fire anyway. The smoke might attract Rewan and his men.” He put an arm around her shoulders and led her to the back corner. “At least we’re out of the wind. We’ll huddle here and keep each other warm.”
Merrin slid down the wall and held out her hands. “Gar, come.” The dog trotted into her arms and leaned up against her. He stank, but his warmth felt good. She patted the floor. “Lie down, big fella.”
Sandwiched between her father and her faithful dog, Merrin closed her eyes. Her heart squeezed. Where is Ian? Dear Lord, please help him find us.
***
Ian hit the water feet first. Though he wore boots, his soles stung like he’d landed on a slab of rock, but the freezing water gushed around him and pulled him under. He fought against the tumbling motion dragging him downward. Over and over he rolled with the riptide as if he were a helpless doll. With a surge, he managed to break away from the pull, kicking with everything he had. Disoriented, he looked for the surface, but darkness surrounded him.
Overcome by his need for air, he bore down and swam with powerful strokes, praying he’d break the surface. When finally an ice-cold gale hit his face, he sucked in life-giving air, coughing and sputtering.
He treaded water to regain his wits. Spinning in a circle, he caught sight of the shore and got his bearings. His energy sapped, it was all he could do to stay afloat.
Ian fought to keep his head above water and let the current pull him across the bay. Without a boat he’d be impossible to detect, but his teeth chattered. The shore was in sight. If he stayed in the sound much longer, he’d succumb to the cold. He’d already had to shake off the blackness twice.
His muscles ached when he heaved through the water to speed his progress. His head spinning, he let his feet drift downward one more time.
Sand.
He resisted the urge to run to the beach ahead. With only his head above water, he turned full circle. No sign of Alick and his horses. Ian scanned the surface as far as he could see above the waves. His gut squeezed. Was that a galley rounding the point? Why on earth would he think the bastard would ever rest? Ian let the surf take him into the shore on his belly, just like it would a seal.
When he hit the smooth rocks on the beach, Ian glanced over his shoulder and pinpointed the galley. It turned into the bay. If he stood, they’d see him. He crawled with his elbows until he reached a giant boulder. Ian slipped behind its shadows and surveyed his options. The galley sailed past, heading deeper into the bay. Still no sign of the Rewan’s mounted men, but Ian knew better than to head west with the galley near. The only other option was south. He turned to study the terrain. His gaze climbed higher, up and up. Just what he needed—a mountain. As he recalled, the cone-shaped peak was named Glamaig. From its summit, he’d be able to see for miles.
Ian crouched low and scurried through the heather until he reached the cover of spindly birch. With a burst of vigor, he tore through the trees. Freezing cold, up he climbed until he met only heather and brush ascending the steep slope.
Again, Ian surveyed the surrounding scene. The moon shone through a parting in the heavy blanket of cloud and glistened off the water. The mountain blocked the westerly. For that he was grateful—his teeth had nearly stopped chattering, though his damp clothing still clung to his skin. At least the exertion warmed him.
Rewan’s galley had moored at the far end of the bay. The dark shadows of men walked along the beach, no doubt searching for Ian’s remains. Bigger than the others, Rewan’s outline hunched as he swept his sword from side to side. He kicked something—definitely not the action of a happy man. Rewan’s thirst for blood would be consuming. They had no idea where Ian was. Teeth resuming their chattering, Ian continued his climb. Now he needed to locate Niall and Merrin before Rewan and his band of murdering bastards found them.
At the summit,
the wind cut to the bone. He scanned the surroundings for any sign of Merrin, but it was too dark to see. If he moved on now, he’d run the risk of missing them. Ian sought shelter by sliding between two boulders and then curled into a tight ball to fight the cold. At first light, he’d find his bearings and do whatever necessary to protect Merrin.
***
A blinding light startled Merrin awake. Gar sprang to his feet with a bark and a ferocious snarl.
The chapel door closed. “What the devil?”
Merrin rubbed her eyes. A holy man gaped at them. He wore a brown habit, similar to Friar Pat’s, and his head was shaved, except for a ring of brown at the sides.
Niall jumped to his feet. “Good morning, friar.” He extended his hands, blocking the holy man from Merrin’s view. “My daughter and I capsized in the night. We found an old gelding, which brought us here.”
The friar tried to peek around Niall, but Da stepped into his line of sight, clearly keeping him from a closer look.
Merrin hugged Gar to her chest and hid her neck behind the dog’s fur. She pulled her hair forward to further conceal it.
“Me daughter was forced to shrug out of her kirtle, lest it pull her under the sea. She needs a cloak.” Niall glanced at her and held up his palm, signaling for her to stay put.
The holy man skirted around him and gave Merrin a good once-over. “I see.” He beckoned with his hand and headed toward the altar. “I have another robe in the sacristy. You must be hungry as well.”
“Aye, we’re starving,” Merrin called from her perch.
Niall whipped around and glared, shaking a scolding finger.
Holy fairy feathers, could she not say a word?
The friar stopped at a doorway. “I’ll fetch the robe and then ye can follow me outside. I’ve plenty of oatcakes and cheese in me saddlebags.”
Niall clapped his hands together reverently. “Thank ye, father.”
“Ye’re lucky ye caught me. I ride the circuit around these parts. I’m only here once a month.” The friar came out holding up a brown robe. “This one’s a bit moth-eaten—left here by the last priest, I suppose, but ’tis far better than running around in one’s undergarments.”