Page 38 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

“I pray that is so, lass and I thank ye from the bottom of me heart.” He felt for her hand and took it in his, pressing it against his chest so that she felt the steady beating of his heart.

“Sutherland wouldnae have spared ye. I couldnae stand by and see ye tortured and mayhap lose yer life when it had been me doing that ye were captured in the first place.”

He grunted, laughing softly. “Aye. I have ye tae thank fer me captivity.”

“Hush. Say nae more. We can speak again once we’re safely away from this cursed place.”

They continued down the stairs, treading lightly, saying nothing. Eventually they reached an iron-studded timber door, fastened with two enormous metal latches preventing entry from outside, but providing no obstacle to anyone inside wishing to leave the castle.

Maxwell reached up and wrenched the latches aside and the well-oiled door swung open on its giant hinges. After stepping through a stone archway, they found themselves on the path.

All at once there was the sound of voices ahead of them along the path and noisy footsteps approaching.

They ducked back into the cover of the archway, huddling together in an effort to appear invisible. Aileen held her breath striving to steady her shaking hands, her pulse racing. If they were discovered now, it could be a disaster. They were still too close to the castle.

Maxwell’s strong, reassuring, arm encircled her as the voices and footsteps faded. She allowed herself to breathe again as they set off down the winding, rocky path toward the shore.

There was no more than a glimmer of moonlight, hardly enough to guide them, yet Aileen was familiar with the path, having trodden it many times before. She was able to guide them unerringly down to the tiny inlet, where several of the smaller ships were tied.

At the sight of the distant, dark shapes of a three-man patrol further along the landing, they hunkered down behind a low stone wall.

Maxwell drew the claymore from the loop in his belt, wielding the mighty sword in his two hands. Aileen kept the truncheon clenched in her hand, ready to use it if she needed to.

“There are only three lads. I can deal with them while ye make a run fer it. Find us a neat little craft that will take us away from here with all speed.”

As the men drew abreast of their hiding place, he nudged Aileen “Go” he mouthed. She leaped to her feet and took off, running with all speed toward the moorings. The men turned as if to make chase but Maxwell, rising to his feet, brought them to a halt.

“Hold,” he bellowed. In an instant two of the men were upon him, while the third man dashed in pursuit of Aileen’s fleeing figure.

The two men proved to be able fighters, but they were no match for Maxwell’s hardened, battlefield skill. As one guard came at him, sword arm raised to strike, Maxwell ducked, evading the blow but bringing up his sword, lightning fast, piercing deep into the man’s torso.

With a grunt, the man slipped to the ground, mortally wounded.

The second man came at him from behind but again Maxwell ducked, turning swiftly to bring his sword down on the arm holding a small, round shield. With a scream the man dropped the shield and clutched his arm, his sword clattering to the cobbles. arm. “Ye swine,” he yelled. “The laird will roast ye alive fer this.”

Maxwell kicked the ground from under the lad’s feet and he went down. “He’ll need to catch me before he can light the fire.”

With that, leaving the man, his arm all but severed, breathing his last as his lifeblood flowed over the cobbles, Maxwell raced after the third member of the patrol.

The man had already reached Aileen and was swinging his sword, attempting to evade the deadly ebony rod she swung at him.

The guard’s attention momentarily distracted by Maxwell, Aileen seized the opportunity to leap forward and inflict a hearty blow, catching the man’s shoulder with a loud crack.

He cried out but continued gamely, attempting to swing his sword. Aileen put a swift end to that with a single blow of the rod to the man’s crown, dispatching him without any further noise from him. Now no one would be able to tell she’d left willingly.

Catching her breath, she grabbed Maxwell’s arm. “There.” Further along, a small birlinn was bobbing, tethered to the end of the dock, and they scrambled along the stone jetty to reachit. Aileen stepped on board and began hauling on the single sail while Maxwell untied the mooring rope.

He stepped onto the vessel just as the wind began to catch in the furling sail and the boat moved quickly away from the dock. Grabbing an oar, he steered the tiny craft into the open water and, with Aileen claiming the second oar they rowed with every ounce of strength remaining in their tired bodies, determined to put as much distance between themselves and the dock, now fading into the distance.

“We must go south, keeping as close to shore in the shallow waters as we can., Aileen gritted her teeth, the icy wind, although it was filling their sail, bit hard. “Sutherland will mayhap send one of his bigger, faster birlinns on our tail, but they’ll stay further out, avoiding the rocky shoals along the coast. We’re in luck, the tide is high and we’ll pass through safely.”

She rested the oar for a moment with a tiny grunt of pain.

“Are ye hurt, lass?”

“’Tis naught. The man caught me with his blade.”

Buffeted by the wind, Maxwell gripped his oar with one hand and examined her shoulder where her cloak and tabard had been slashed and a small cut was visible. “Ye’re bleeding lass, I’ll need tae tie it fer ye tae stop the blood.”

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