Page 51 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

This time the sale was completed in quick time. Aileen had already handed Sheonagh over half the contents of her purse in gold coins and now Davie handed over the oars.

Their business done, Sheonagh and Davie wished them Godspeed as they hastened off, heading to the shore once again.

Once they’d stepped aboard the tiny boat, Maxwell took his place at the oars and Aileen tended the sail. It was not long before they were on the water, the sails filling with the stiff breeze and, keeping the shoreline close enough, they made their way through the Loch heading toward the open sea.

And, if their luck held, onward to their destination.

While Maxwell toiled over the oars, Aileen kept her eye on the expanse of blue sky above. The sun would soon be setting and if they kept to their easterly direction, they could well almost reach the open sea by nightfall.

“’Tis close to a full moon, MacNeil. If we keep sailing through the night, we’ll be well on the way by morning.”

He groaned. “Ye’re a cruel captain. D’ye expect really expect me tae row through the night?”

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll grant ye a short rest.”

“And I’ve had naught in me belly since the last of our berry tarts last evening. Cannae we pull in somewhere and get some supplies?”

“Mayhap that would be the very place we’d find our enemies waiting tae trap us.”

He sighed a loud sigh. “Ye’re right, lass. Methinks we’d best sail right past the last inn. Just pray that the grumbling of my empty belly doesnae give us away.”

It was a relief for them both when just on dusk they spotted several fires on the shore where they could see silhouetted a number of people, children, dogs and cooking pots in what appeared to be a communal feast. They pulled the boat in and stepped ashore, Maxwell in the lead.

As they drew closer to the group, Maxwell raised a hand in greeting and one of the older men got to his feet and strolled over, greeting them with a friendly smile.

“I’m Rab Mackenzie, celebrating the marriage of me niece Eufemia tae young Colin Boid.” He met Maxwell’s gaze nervously. “We have the laird’s permission tae take one of his sheep.”

Maxwell was familiar with the custom among some of the clans for the laird to make a gift of a sheep or a deer from his estate to his tenants on the occasion of a wedding.

“Congratulations tae the family.” He shook the man’s outstretched hand. “Ye’ve nae call tae fash lad. I’m nae here on behalf of the Mackenzie. Merely a traveler in search of a means tae fill his belly. We…” he indicated Aileen who was in the shadow behind him. “…saw yer fire and heard ye celebrating and thought we might spare us a bite or two. We can offer ye a gold coin in return.”

Once Maxwell had introduced himself and Aileen, Rab’s welcome was wholehearted. “Join us. ‘Tis good luck tae welcome strangers tae a wedding and treat them tae Highland hospitality.” When they joined the large group of people, they learned these were the extended family members and closest friends of the bride and groom. Some were fisherfolk and others were shepherds and cattle minders. There was a cauldron of shellfish stew bubbling over the fire and they were roasting a sheep over the coals. The feast was being washed down with lashings of ale and hot mead.

They followed Rab across to the beaming bride and groom who were pleased to welcome them to their wedding feast. Aileen presented them with a few of her precious gold pieces as a wedding gift and their smiles widened. She tucked the now almost empty purse away under her belt.

Before long, Maxwell and Aileen were seated among the throng, eating their fill and drinking the bride’s and groom’s health. Many a toast and tipsy cries of “Slàinte Mhath,” rang out across the water as the night wore on.

Maxwell was deep in conversation with one of the older men, an experienced sailor. With a sharp stick the man drew a rough map on the sand, showing where they were and how far it was before they reached the open sea.

“Ye’re at a place the two sides of the loch almost come together. If ye leave here while it’s still dark, ye can be across to the other side before dawn. Wait until the dark falls, and follow the shoreline until ye reach the open sea.” He shrugged. “After that,ye must take yer chances with the weather and the ships chasing ye.”

Maxwell looked at him askance. “Ships… chasing?”

“Aye lad.” The man chuckled. “The two of ye have ‘fugitives’ inscribed all over ye, from head to toe. Isnae yer lady fleeing wi’ ye tae escape her cruel husband?”

Maxwell felt his cheeks burning at the man’s astute observation. “Aye. Something like that.”

The man grinned. A romantic at heart. Maxwell found himself contemplating his words, admitting to himself that there was a great deal of truth in them.

When the fiddler and the accordion appeared and the wild dancing started up, he whispered to Aileen, “Methinks we’ll nae be fit tae sail much further this night.”

She laughed. “What Highlander could ever resist a wedding cèilidh and a flagon of ale?”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The ale may have helped, but despite Maxwell’s assertion that he would never be able to sleep a wink with all the noise the wedding guests were making, they both hunkered down in their little sailboat and caught a few hours of sleep, waking before dawn.

The breeze was up, and though it caused them both to shiver mightily, they were soon bouncing over the waves on the loch, leaving the warmth of Highland hospitality behind them.

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