The wind howled, black clouds boiled into mountains above, lightning flashed, casting jagged bolts of light into the rising waves, and she threw up her morning meal over the ship’s railing.
“You must come back to the captain’s quarters, my lady,” Agnes’s maid clutched the railing and commanded Eilis, although her brusque manner revealed a hint of fear. Could the maid of steel be afraid of the storm?
Eilis hoped so, as much as her own insides quaked.
The waves lifted the ship toward the heavens then dropped it, crashing it into the next black trough. The elderly woman shrieked, her face as gray as her eyes.
“I am sicker down there than I am up here. Leave me be and go inside with you.”
“Nay, I cannot leave you alone with the crude men on this ship.”
The woman had to be daft. “They will have naught to do with me! They are too busy trying to keep the ship afloat!”
“I order you, my lady, come back inside.”
Command this! Eilis heaved the last of her oatcakes over the side, tears splashing down her cheeks, mixed with fresh rainwater and the salty sea. If she fell overboard, she would not have to marry the old Dunbarton chief. She would not have to lie about who she was and forever fear he’d find out.
But she was a coward, and the small nagging voice in her head said she had to return for her brother and rescue him some day. Staring into the angry waves capped with white foam, dashing into the ship’s hull, beating it with horrible vengeance, she couldn’t jump.
“My lady—”
“Nay, go away. Leave me be.” Mayhap a wave would wash Eilis overboard when she hadn’t the courage to do it herself.
“You cannot mean to throw yourself over the side. Our clan will be punished for it, and you will be hated for all eternity.” The maid curled up her lip. “Besides, your uncle kept Ethan as an added bargaining tool in case you get other notions.”
Eilis glared at Wynda, her pasty face angry and determined. How could Eilis hope to survive Dunbarton’s scrutiny when she could keep no secrets from even Agnes’s maid?
The woman’s eyes bored into her like icy gray daggers. “Think you I do not know what you are planning.” She grabbed Eilis’s arm, her fingernails digging into the flesh through the long-sleeved kirtle. “Come with me, my lady, or I will fetch the guard. He will not be as gentle as me.”
As if the woman had ever treated her with even a wee bit of gentleness. But thank God he was just as seasick as Eilis, and she was sure he couldn’t deal with her at the moment.
Early this morn, she’d overheard Wynda speaking with the personal guard, poised to protect Eilis, when in truth he served as a spy for her uncle to ensure she did as she was told. Agnes’s maid accompanied Eilis for the same purpose. To instruct her, to keep her in line, to monitor her every move.
At sometime or another Eilis feared she must have offended God, although she did not know when. It had to be the reason her life was in such dire straits. Yet she wondered, mayhap Dunbarton would not be as bad as she dreaded.
She shook her head and fought being dragged from the railing. Dunbarton was ancient and had buried two wives already, both who had died in childbirth and their bairns along with them. She would be next.
She caught a glimpse of a wave rising like a mountain, growing higher and higher. Her mouth dropped open, and the cry she would have made, died on her lips. Cresting, the wall of seawater buried the ship as if it were dunking a small wooden toy.
Crushing cold water, no air, total darkness, cries of alarm, the cracking and splitting of wood filled her with mute terror. Swept off her feet, she slid across the deck. Something struck her shoulder, her head, her legs, the sharp pains cutting through to the bone.
Then silence.
Eilis knew she’d died until men’s ragged shouts brought her to full consciousness. Clinging to bits of ship that floated up and down the massive waves, she held on tight. Her head pained her something fierce, and the chill from the water seeped into her bones. She was only vaguely aware she was no longer on the ship. Although in the dark she could not see any signs of it.
Even more frighteningly, the men’s shouts died away. Rain splattered across the top of the sea, thunder grumbled, waves splashed into each other, and the wind cried in the darkness. But no sound of a human soul penetrated the black night, and sheer panic rose in her breast. ‘Twould be easy to let go and end the misery she was sure to face, but she couldn’t do it. Coward, she chided herself. No, not a coward. Somehow, she had to save her little brother.
Left to shiver endlessly, she gritted her teeth to prevent them from clattering, the ship’s remnant keeping her afloat. Fervently, she listened for any human groan or cry, but there was none but the storm and the sea’s harsh melody.
They had left her behind, she fathomed. When would they discover she was missing? Too late, she suspected.
The waves settled into a choppy rhythm, up, down, up, down, with no long lulls in between, making her head ache and her stomach roil with new upset.
Near morn, the rain and wind died down to a gentle patter and whisper.
Worrisome thoughts plagued her. Would her appearance anger the Dunbarton chief? Aye. Would the sailors be able to salvage her wedding gown? Her other gowns?
She would not look like the MacBurness’s precious daughter but her half-drowned cousin. She lifted her head. The motion sent streaks of pain across her skull while she attempted to observe any signs of land. Still too dark to see anything but the cold, black water.
How far out to sea was she?
It didn’t matter that it was the middle of summer, except that the sun would rise early. The water was as frigid as a loch in winter. Watching the sky for the beginning of light, her eyelids grew heavy. Worse, she could no longer feel her fingers or toes, but better, she was not feeling so cold. In fact, she was feeling rather warm.
And for the moment, she was free of Agnes’s nagging maid. But waves crashing on a beach quickly quashed her weary relief. The tide yanked her perilous perch into the rocks farther out, but she couldn’t avoid them, nor leave the safety of her floating home. Her energy spent, she clung to the ragged piece of wood with as much strength as she could manage, her arms aching.
Men shouted in Gaelic from the direction of the beach, and she lifted her head to look. Thinking someone had sighted her and were bound to rescue her, she saw instead six men attacking two others. The two fought valiantly against the onslaught, their swords slashing against their enemy’s.
She stared at the sight, barely believing the irony. Clinging to life, she couldn’t fathom how others would kill each other when she was in such dire straits and needed rescuing.
Unable to resist admiring the bearded man and the slighter built one fighting overwhelming odds, she prayed they would survive. But when the two men finished the last of the brigands off, she reconsidered. Were they the brigands? Which clan had set upon which? Worse, would they find her one of the enemy?
The younger man shouted in her direction this time. “Yo, there! Hold on!”
Then he and the bearded man commandeered a small boat. Resting her head against the wet splinters of wood, Eilis tried to concentrate, but her mind drifted. They would rescue her and then where would she be?
If they were not from an enemy clan, it would only be a matter of time before they set her upon a horse and sent her to Dunbarton to seal the lie her uncle had forged. If he should discover her uncle’s deceit, Dunbarton could very well be angered enough to end her life for the treachery.
“Hold on!” the young man shouted again, closer this time. “We will rescue you! Just do not let go!”
Her floating home lifted on a sharp swell, drawing her closer to the jagged rocks. Then the wave bashed her against the boulders. Her arms too numb to hold on, she lost her precious driftwood and was delivered atop a ragged rock.
“God’s teeth, hold on!” the young man hollered.
Another wave crashed into her, and she choked on salt
y water, fell against the boulders, and hit her head hard. Sharp pain radiated through her skull, and the sun instantly vanished from the sky.
Chapter Two
“‘Tis a sweet lassie near drowned,” a gruff man said. He wrapped her in a blanket while the boat tossed about in the rough breakwater. “Lass?”
“Is she dead?” the other man asked, his voice not as aged as the other’s but just as concerned.
She heard the men’s voices, understood their language but couldn’t open her eyes for the life of her. Her temple throbbed with such pain she could barely think straight.
The boat rose and fell with such a terror, she knew it would soon break up in the surf. No ship would ever be big enough again to protect her from the sea. Then the waves and the boat crashing in the turbulent water, the smell of the salty sea, and the feel of the sun on her cheeks faded away.
A short while later, she heard a grinding noise, and the boat quit rising on the swells. ‘Twas sitting on the beach now, she thought. And her stomach began to settle, although she felt she was still rolling with the waves. One of the men lifted her out of the boat and held her close. Instantly, she felt a wee bit warmer, although her body trembled without end, and she clenched her teeth lest she jar them loose from her head.
“Lass, your name? The name of the ship you were on?” he asked, his voice harried, but coated with warmth and reassurance.
Her name? Panic rose in every bit of her. Her name? Why could she not remember her name?
“She is half drowned, Eanruig. She will never make it to Castle Craigly,” the younger man said.
Eanruig snorted. “She is a Scotswoman, Niall. She will make it.”
“Are you thinking what I am thinking?”
“Aye, if you are thinking the comely lass would be a good offering for your cousin James.”
Nial laughed. “‘Twould be something, would it not, if she were not betrothed or wed, to fish the half-drowned lass out of the sea and present her to the only clan chief in the region who refuses every offer of a wife, and he accepted her? Except we have no idea which clan she hails from nor if we are at war with them. And as choosy as my cousin is…” His words dropped off, and he said no more.
Was she betrothed? She could not recall. She could not remember anything, and the panic returned with a vengeance. Opening her eyes, she squinted at the brightness of the sun, saw the tanned face of the dark bearded man who carried her, his black hair hanging loosely about his shoulders, dripping wet like she was. Wet and cold.
“But bonny Catriona will catch James’s eye, and that will be the end to this madness. ‘Tis not fair he has had four offerings and has turned them all down.” Niall glanced down at her. “She is awake.” His voice was tinged with hope. “Lass, your name?”
She looked at the younger man, his dark brows furrowed with concern, his brown eyes wide. He stood tall and lean, his posture straightening as if to impress her of his height. She was impressed. High cheekbones and an angular face were covered in a shadow of a beard running along his chin and jaw, giving him a slightly roguish look. A steady breeze tugged at his wet, tangled auburn hair. He seemed familiar somehow. Was this good or bad?
His lips curved up slightly. Was he amused at the way she so boldly considered his attributes? She only wished to consider the men more closely who had rescued her. Would they soon place her in a dungeon?
Mayhap they would, if she was one of the clan who had attacked these two. Beaten by the waves and wind and rain and rocks, she was too weary to care what happened next.
The older man, Eanruig, the other had called him, stared at her for a moment, then watched again where he was going, his long stride carrying her farther away from the waves crashing against the beach. “No other survivors. But the lass does seem a wee bit familiar.”
No, not him. She didn’t recall having seen the older man before.
“It was God’s will we found her when we did, or she might not have made it.”
“Aye, if Dunbarton’s men had not set upon us, we might not have paused at the beach and seen the lass. Which makes me wonder what they were doing there in the first place. Although our men are still trying to learn about the ship that Dunbarton was interested in. I am wondering if their cargo was on the same ship the lass was on.” Eanruig smiled. “If so, he has lost his precious cargo at the bottom of the sea.” He gave a shake of his head. “As for your cousin, he rejected the last four lassies, Niall. Think you he will not reject Catriona also? He is a hard man to please.”
“Aye, my aunt has always said so.”
The two men laughed.
“Catriona will be here on the morrow to catch James’s eye,” Niall said. “Think you I will have a chance with this one?”
Eanruig considered her further. “She is a bonny lass, lad. You stand a chance if she is not from an enemy’s clan. Unless she is already betrothed.”
She closed her eyes, wishing she could sleep then wake and know who she was and where she was bound, whether she was wed and if so, had she lost her family aboard the ship? Her heart sank even further into a pit of despair. But she could conjure up no feelings about the matter, no sense of what had been, and it was more than terrifying.
“James will be enraged when he hears of this latest attack against us.”
“On his own cousin, no less,” Eanruig said.
Then the sun, the smell of the man’s fishy woolen clothes, or even her own, the touch of his warm body, and the smell of the horse he lifted her onto, all faded into nothingness.
Sometime later, although she was not sure how much except the sun hovered high above, the rhythmic clip-clops of the horses woke her. She observed the inner bailey of a sandstone castle that appeared golden in the sun’s rays. Several men, women, and children ran to greet the two men and stare at the stranger in their midst. Worse, she was as much a stranger to herself as she was to them. Yet something deep inside her begged her to keep her identity secret as if it was best no one ever knew her. What evil had she done to warrant feeling in such a manner?
“Who is the lass, Niall?” an older woman asked, her brown eyes warm and kindly, her equally dark brown hair tinged with a light smattering of gray, braided down her front.
The ends wrapped in silk, and metal tassels extended them even farther for the longest, most beautiful tresses. Having her hair adorned with expensive trinkets and fabric indicated she was the lady of the castle. She had the same eyes and mouth as Niall. A relation, no doubt.
“Half-drowned in the sea, my lady, and the ship carrying her lost forever,” Eanruig said. “As fiery colored as her cheeks are, I fear she has taken a fever.”
The woman placed ice cold fingers on her temple, and she shivered. “She is burning up. Take her into the guest chamber next to the laird’s.”
Niall’s brows rose. “Aunt Akira, I thought you bid the servants prepare the chamber for Catriona.”
The woman huffed, her eyes narrowing. “Think you she arrives on time? Nay, the willful lass sends word she is coming in a fortnight.”
“You have told James?” Niall asked, his voice dark.
“Nay. Mayhap a miracle will occur, and Catriona will arrive on the morrow as she had promised. No sense in borrowing trouble. Who is the lass, Niall?”
Their words echoed off the massive stone walls of the keep.
“She has not spoken a word, my lady.”
“We have no idea which clan she comes from?”
“Nay, Aunt,” Niall said. “And naught from the wreckage to identify the ship.”
“Verra well. I will be right up to see to her. And Niall?”
“Aye, my lady?
“You and Eanruig, no word to His Lairdship concerning the lady.”
“Because we know not who she is?”
“My verra thoughts, nephew. ‘Tis best James not know who she is until we do. He has had his own battle this morning with more raiders and is not in a verra good mood.”
“And if she is from the enemy’s cl
an?”
“We will deal with that when we have to.”
Then the interrogation would truly begin, and her deepest worry beset her. Who was she truly, and was she from an enemy clan? Was she in league with those who had attacked her rescuers? She would die if she was, after the kindness these people had shown her.
****
In his solar, James listened intently to what his seneschal and his cousin had to say about the attack at the beach, both looking a little worse for wear. “Have you no idea what the precious cargo was they were seeking? The ship would have docked at the seaport. Why would the brigands be so far away from the docks? And why were you not with the rest of our men?”
Niall cleared his throat and glanced at Eanruig as if waiting for him to explain. His seneschal didn’t seem to have an answer any more than his cousin did, but then Niall spoke. “The ship had broken up in the storm. ‘Tis our guess they were searching to see if anything survived. Our men were still trying to find records of a ship coming in at the docks. We had not thought Dunbarton’s men would be at the beach and not at the docks, but they must have seen the debris as well, and gone to investigate.”
James rubbed his chin, his thoughts dark. “I have to know what the cargo was that Laird Dunbarton deemed precious.” He considered Niall’s bloodied sleeve. “Your blood or theirs, cousin?”
“A wee bit of both.”
“Have Tavia see to your injuries.” James turned his attention to Eanruig, the man as big as the one he had bested earlier in the day and the perfect choice as a bodyguard for his cousin.
Although neither Eanruig nor he would ever let on to Niall that was the purpose Eanruig served whenever they left the castle. With his three brothers gone to seek their fortunes, James was not about to lose his cousin, who had been raised as their brother, to a band of rogues. Beyond being incensed Dunbarton’s men attacked him and James’s seneschal, the business of a shipment coming to port that carried some goods for Dunbarton’s clan, intrigued him. Good that the ship sank and left them without. But he had to know what precious cargo the ship had held. No doubt Laird Dunbarton would pay for another shipment, and James would have to stop that one next.