Page 54 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

“And, with high tide on us now, we’ll have the lowest of the tide wi’ us when we get there.”

Sure enough, a drizzling rain started to fall, and they both pulled the hoods of their cloaks over their heads to keep even a modicum of dryness. Even so, as the little hull ploughed the growing waves, they were dowsed in spray that was cold enough to freeze their bones.

Still, they kept on. Aileen joined Maxwell at the oar, keeping a steady, southerly route as the little vessel sped through the night.

There were times when their pursuers drew close. On one of these occasions the boat came almost abreast of them. One of the men on board reached his hand across to their stern, a rope in his hand. Most likely with the intention of attaching the rope to one of the metal hooks on the side meant for fishing nets. Then he and the other men on board could haul in Aileen and Maxwell’s tiny craft as if it were their catch of the day.

But the sailors were not so fortunate. As the boat drew alongside, Maxwell seized his claymore and, as the hand reached out, so did the longsword. The hand holding the rope was severed with one blow. The screaming man fell back into the other fishing boat and his fellow sailors rushed to his aid.

The pursuit retreated, the screams faded in the distance, and no other attempts were made to board or to attack.

From then on, until the dawn gave them light enough to see their would-be attackers, Maxwell rowed with one hand on his oar and the other on the claymore. Aileen said nothing, her mouth set in a grim line.

“I reckon they’ll hold off now.” Maxwell considered. “Biding their time until the bigger vessel is with them. Then they’ll have many more men tae come at us.”

“Aye.” Aileen nodded. “I can see by the banner they’re flying from the mast these are Sutherland’s men. And behind them will be one of his birlinns, hell bent on catching us. Mayhap the purpose of their sailing boat…,” she indicated the grey shape looming in the dawn light like a sinister shadow behind them, “…is merely to sit on our tail and relay our position tae the others so they may intercept us further along.”

Maxwell nodded. It had been a long night of hard rowing and his arms ached fiercely. “Me plan would be to catch us around Mallaig at the furthest reach of the loch.”

Aileen huffed. “That would be the place to trap us. The jumping off point fer Canna.”

Maxwell did not offer a reply. He was lost in thought.

Aileen was right. The rips, eddies and rocks through the narrows of the strait were like a series of traps that could, in a flash, lead to a watery grave observed only by legions of seals and otters.

Yet they prevailed, Maxwell using every bit of his strength and Aileen navigating with all the skills she’d learned over her years of evasion and pursuit. Maxwell grunted as he finally eased off the oar.

“Nae fer the faint-hearted, lass.” He rubbed his shoulder with a callused hand and tugged his damp cloak around him. It was protection from the howling wind, if nothing else. “If we rest awhile ashore, we can set off for Canna later in the day. Mayhap we could be there by nightfall. ‘Tis nae far.”

Aileen steered them north-west, hoping they could find refuge somewhere along the southern coast of Skye. As dawn broke, they found themselves enveloped in a thick sea mist that made it impossible to see or be seen.

This could be to their advantage if Aileen could find their way through this white, impenetrable blanket. “Can ye navigate without sight?”

“Aye. I can, if ye’ll only stop talking, MacNeil. I need tae gather my wits and speak tae the water and the land.”

They raised the oars and Aileen slackened the sail so that their little craft was almost becalmed. Then she sat, not moving, eyes closed, breathing evenly and gently, allowing herself to attune in to the world around her.

After a few minutes, she looked up, smiling. She stood and raised the sail again.

“So?”

“Aye. I’m guided by the sound of the water lapping the shore, the tiny splash of a seal entering the water, the rustle of the wind through the trees. They tell me how close the shore is and where the rocks are to be found.”

They continued for some time with only the sail to propel them onwards, while Aileen used her oar to find direction. Eventually, they came to a small headland and once they had rounded it, the fog thinned.

She urged haste. “If the fog lifts and Sutherland’s lads catch sight of us, we’ll never escape them.”

Still shrouded in the magical mist, they made their way to a small sandy beach surrounded by rocks. Maxwell descended over the side without a sound and, wading slowly through the knee-deep water, he took them close enough for Aileen to step out.

Once they’d made it safely to land, they hauled their boat up over the sand behind a rocky outcrop. As they’d done the previous day, they hid it beneath bracken and tree branches, making sure it was invisible from the water. Sagely, Maxwell found a separate hiding place some distance away for the oars.

From some far distant point came the muffled voices of the crew of their pursuing ship, lost in the fog, drifting closer to the mainland.

She was smiling as she crouched beside Maxwell. “I dae believe we’ve managed tae evade those sons of goats.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Maxwell groaned and stretched his arms above his head. “And ye’ll have me rowing again this night?”

---