Page 12 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

Finn laughed. “He was as much on fire as ye were, lass. D’ye nae see the way he looks at ye? Why I reckon he would eat ye alive if ye gave him half a chance.”

Aileen caught her breath. “There is danger in this, Finn.”

“Aye.” Finn nodded gravely. “If?—”

“If Sutherland derives an inkling of this?—”

Finn completed the sentence as Aileen’s voice faltered. “He’ll have the MacNeil’s head on a pike suspended outside the castle walls.”

“Nae one must know this” Aileen pressed a hand to Finn’s arm. “We must never speak of it again. Promise ye’ll nae say it aloud.”She closed her eyes for a second. “And I must cease thinking of him as I dae.”

“If only ye could leave Sutherland. Loosen his clutches on ye and make yer own way in the world.”

Aileen sighed. “That is something I long fer. But me faither’s safety depends on me doing whatever Sutherland orders. There can be nay escape fer me as long as that evil man lives.”

Finn shook her head. “I’ll dae as ye ask, ye have me promise. But I’ll never cease me search fer a way fer us all tae find our way tae a better life.”

Finn reached for a bannock, biting her lower lip, her face expressing her sorrow.

“Come now,” Aileen took her hand. “We must press on. We’ve a journey tae complete and a prisoner tae deal with.” She poured the mead into a mug from a jug on the table and took a mouthful.

Both grew silent, Aileen contemplating her return to Dunrobin. She was under no illusion about the scorching anger she’d be met with once Laird Sutherland was aware that Everard MacNeil had slipped through her fingers. She shivered. His rage would not only be for her. He would vent his fury on Maxwell.

The two were sinking into quiet despair when a loud rapping sounded at the door.

“Come.” Aileen looked up as Ewen McAllister, the Sail Master, entered the room. He doffed his cap and gave her a small bow from his waist, remaining on his feet.

“Ewen, what brings here you so early?”

“Captain, there’s a brisk enough breeze today. I’ve raised the sails and we’ll nae be requiring the oarsmen if the wind keeps up. I’m here tae request yer permission tae set them tae washing the deck and mending the sails and other chores I’ve a mind tae.”

“If our chief oarsman has nae objection, Ewen, I’m in agreement. Let us hope the weather holds.”

He gave her another brief bow, clicked his heels and was gone.

Moments later Aileen rose. “’Tis time I took over the rudder and allowed Sea to break his fast.” She gathered her cloak around her, smoothed on a pair of long kidskin gloves and strode off, Finn hurrying beside her.

On her way to the stern in the pre-dawn light, Aileen looked around. The men were already hard at work, some sluicing the deck with buckets of seawater, others fully engaged in mending one of the torn sails under Ewen’s watchful eye. To her surprise she caught sight of Maxwell, head bent over a patch on the tough woolen sail, his fingers nimbly working the large needle and heavy thread.

He looked up and a ripple of warmth coursed through her as their eyes met. He nodded, a brief salute, his lips forming a mocking smile before he dipped his head and continued at his task, ignoring her.

The next few hours were spent in what, for Aileen, was a blessed time of peace. The sailing was smooth and the little birlinn bounced over the waves as if guided by some unseen hand. They were in sight of shore and making good progress.

Around midday Finn brought her a jar of broth for nourishment and a measure of ale. As the day wore on, despite the steadiness of the breeze, dark clouds began to gather. When Sea arrived to relieve her, late in the afternoon, he frowned up at the sky.

“Could be we’re in fer a storm taenight.”

She shrugged. The birlinn was sea-fast and rode heavy waves with ease. “Nay matter.” She flicked her braid over her shoulder and brushed a strand of bright hair out of her eyes. “But just in case, keep close tae shore.”

“Aye.” Sea raised his eyes again to the gathering clouds. “Yet, if we’re beset wi’ a storm, we’re many hours away from anaustwhere we can find shelter. The rocks along this coast…” He sighed gesturing to the distant, dark, shoreline as he took hold of the heavy oak rudder.

Darkness was falling as Aileen made her way along the deck. The men had ceased work for the day, save for the few who mannedthe sails. The others, including Maxwell, were seated in a circle, engrossed in a game of dice.

She nodded to Ewen and paused to watch the game. Custom was to allow the men some time of leisure after a solid day’s work. It helped to keep them from the discontent and displeasure of boredom.

Maxwell rolled the dice and a cheer went up. “We’ve won again, lad,” one of the older men declared, leaning in to pat Maxwell’s shoulder.

It was clear from the broad grins on the faces of the crew that Maxwell had been accepted by them. She was forced to admire his ability to win over the trust of the men in such a short time. His leadership skills were obvious.

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