Page 73 of The Highlander's Pirate Bride

“Milady, surely ye’re nay intending tae sail now. I’m under orders tae let nae body enter or leave the castle this night.

“Oh, Ranald.” She smiled sweetly. “I couldnae sleep and Maxwell bade me take a wee sail tae clear my head and ease the stiffness in me arms and legs.”

To her great relief, Ranald nodded, his rugged features offering what might even have been a conspiratorial grin.

“Ye’re a lass after me own heart. Nothing beats a turn around the island wi’ the wind in yer hair and the smell of salt in yer nostrils. Go, lass, but mind ye dinnae stray near the entrance of the bay.”

As she stepped on board, the uncoiled rope in her hand, he gave the little boat a push so that she floated out beyond the slipway. The sails caught the wind and in moments she was away. She waited until Ranald had turned and was walking back to his boat-house before she pulled on the oar and turned the boat to the east and the open sea.

For a brief while, being at sea again brought its own pleasure and she was able to forget her purpose and where and why she was sailing, but she was quickly reminded of the task she’d set herself and the knot in her belly tightened painfully.

The clouds were too thick for her to see the stars and properly get her bearing. She was sailing by instinct, feeling the ebbing tide and sensing the direction she must take, confident she was sailing southeast toward the Isle of Canna.

All at once she became aware of a glimmer of light to the west, a mere flickering visible out of the corner of her eye. She turned on the wooden bench amid a wash of despair. There was another ship, not far away, sailing from the direction she’d come from. And it was approaching rapidly.

It was not long before the other boat – a small birlinn – came alongside. In the gloom she could make out several oarsmen and two other men standing in the prow.

One man leaped nimbly onto the deck of her small craft, a rope in his hand.

There was no point in struggling or attempting to flee. This boat was bigger and faster than hers. Her only hope had been that she could make her way under cover of darkness, without discovery.

It was Maxwell.

He growled at her as he fastened the rope to her sailboat. “Ye traitorous witch. Did ye think ye could sail to the Isle of Canna and find yer lover there?” He seized her arm in a rough grip. “Did ye think ye could tell him of our plans? Was this all false? Luring me into yer bed, following me tae me home tae then wait fer me braither tae give his orders only fer ye tae tell everything tae Sutherland?”

The wind was whipping her hair around her and, for once, she’d lost her voice. Maxwell’s rage was like a white-hot blaze consuming her.

He thinks I was betraying him and the others when me only thought was to save them from Sutherland’s wrath.

“Ye’re wrong,” she managed, as Maxwell hauled her into his arms and handed her onto the birlinn, quickly leaping up beside her.”

Once she was on board he turned and joined the oarsmen, turning his back to her, ignoring her. With the wind against them, it was down to the men on the oars to propel them back toBàgh áChaisteilland Castle Kiessimul.

She huddled in the prow, under the watchful eye of Ranald Dunbar, her limbs stiff with cold, yet she was fearful of making a move.

“When I saw yer sail heading beyond the bay and out to sea, I roused milord Maxwell from his slumber. I kent he’d nae wish tae see ye taken by the enemy.”

She grunted heavily. “Of course, ye did the right thing, Ranald.”

Everard and several of his men were waiting when they arrived at the slipway. Maxwell did not even spare her a glace and this hurt more than any wound she had ever had.

As they pulled in and Dunbar tied the birlinn to its mooring, Everard stepped forward, gesturing to the two guards beside him. Without further ado, they took both her arms and escorted her onto the jetty and into the castle.

Looking around frantically she searched for Maxwell, desperate to speak to him and explain. But he had his head down, tyingtheir small sailboat to the quay. Breathing in sobs, she was hurried into the castle and up the stairs to a small chamber.

The room had no fireplace and it was deathly cold, its only furniture several rough wooden chairs and a large table. She was ushered in by the guards and left to stand alone in the middle of the room, her only light coming from a candle on the table and the starlight streaming in the small window.

Slumping into one of the uncomfortable chairs she at last succumbed to the tears that had been burning behind her eyes ever since she’d seen the birlinn closing in.

After she’d cried out every tear and sob, she dried her eyes on her sleeve, sniffed, and lowered her head onto her arms and surrendered to a fitful sleep.

It was light when she woke, thirsty and hungry, her back aching and a cruel crick in her neck that made turning her head difficult.

Still, what could she expect? She’d crept away without a word to any soul in the castle. Of course their thoughts would have turned in the most obvious direction. She was fleeing the castle exactly after Everard’s arrival to join Sutherland and expose their plans to him.

Now she must cool her heels, locked in this forbidding place, knowing that Maxwell believed her to be false.

Wrapped tightly in her warm fur cloak, her back to the door, she gazed unseeingly out of the window, struggling against a wave of despair when the door opened. Footsteps entered the room but she did not turn. She was not ready to see Maxwell’s tortured eyes or to hear the bitterness of betrayal in his voice.

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