Page 5 of Bride of the Mad Laird
“Quick, quick.” Her breath caught in her throat and her heart was pounding so hard she almost expected it to jump from her chest. She moaned as the men headed toward them at a run, shouting words she could not make out.
Tam, the fisherman, pulled hard on his oars while both Tòrr and Edmund unsheathed their claymores and hefted the heavy swords firmly in readiness. As the little craft skimmed across the water Lyra saw the men who were hunting her pushing their boat into the deep water.
“Can ye go faster?” Lyra tried to draw in a breath, but it seemed locked in her throat.
While she might escape, what would become of Mother Una and the sisters, now so unprotected in the nunnery. If the first four men had not hesitated to commit sacrilege by forcing their way into the nunnery and, even worse, striking Mother Una, she expected the others would show no mercy.
She grew cold, her fingers and toes tingled, her head was suddenly dizzy and her hands were stricken with a sudden, uncontrollable, shaking.
Edmund looked at her, a frown creasing his brow. “Are ye all right, lass?”
She shook her head, gasping, one hand clasping her chest as if to steady her heartbeat.
Tòrr caught her eye. “Dinnae fash, lass. We’re away. They’ll nae catch us now. Ye’re safe with us.”
He spoke kindly, but he did not understand. Her fear was not for herself, but for the sisters and Mother Una. She struggled to speak, but the words simply wouldn’t leave her lips.
They were still some way from the shore when Tam put up his oars. “Ye’ll need to slip over the side now. ‘Tis low tide and I cannae take the boat further in for fear of being jagged on those rocks.” He pointed to a row of sharp rocks exposed by the tide.
Edmund leaped over the side, the water well above his knees. Tòrr passed Lyra’s bundle and the wooden box over and Edmund began making his way toward the shore with her belongings under his arm.
Tòrr was tucking his kilt into his belt, paying her little attention. “There’s naething fer it, but fer us tae go into the water and wade tae shore. Tie up those robes, or else ye’ll be wet through.”
Lyra was still striving to draw breath and all she could do was shake her head while her fingers fumbled with her voluminous clothing. Suddenly it all seemed too much.
“Lass, we must away.” Tòrr threw one leg over the side of the boat, tipping it alarmingly, as he stepped into the water.
The boat righted itself and a shaking Lyra rose to her feet, still gasping, struggling to breathe evenly. She took a small step and raised one foot onto the edge of the boat which again threatened to tip. She gave a small, alarmed cry. Tòrr, who was standing in thigh-high water, urged her impatiently.
“Just slide yer leg over, lass, the water is nay deep. “Be quick if ye dinnae wish to be captured again.” He looked up at the sound of shouting from across the water. “They’re nae far behind us.”
Almost out of her wits by now, Lyra slowly lowered herself over the side into the dark water. As both her legs went in, she was suddenly afraid and clutched at the side of the boat, causing it to tip. She fell back, flailing, her feet scrabbling in vain for the seabed as the water rushed over her. Taking in a large, choking, gulp of salty water, she disappeared under the surface of the murky sea.
It was so dark. In her panic she quite forgot to hold her breath and the water rushed into her nostrils. She thrashed her arms and kicked her feet but she was weak and dizzy and it was impossible to tell which way would take her up to the surface and which direction would drag her to the bottom.
Her chest was burning as it filled with water. In one last desperate attempt, she managed to fling her arms wide, opening her mouth in a silent scream as the world became distant. She closed her eyes.
So, this is what drowning feels like.
CHAPTERTHREE
There was a squeal followed by a loud splash that caught Tòrr as he was about to make his way to shore. He hauled in a breath. That bothersome little nun had plunged herself into the water. Pausing, he waited for her to surface, and when there was no further sign of her and no further splashing, he reluctantly dived into the icy-cold shallows.
How could the lass manage tae drown herself in water that is barely covering me thighs?
Within seconds his hands caught the fabric of her robe, and without any further deliberation he seized her by the waist, ignoring her flailing arms and legs he turned her right-side up and dragged her to the surface.
The heavy weight of her woolen robes dragging through the water made it almost impossible to keep her above the surface. Holding her head above water with one hand he withdrew his dirk from his belt and slashed away the long, saturated robe floating around her that threatened to tug her under and made carrying her devilishly difficult. Slinging her over his shoulder he carried her in much the same way as the dead gallowglass had been doing when he first caught sight of her. Only now her little fists were not making a drum-beat on his back but her arms were hanging limply down his side.
Holding her still form, he strode through the water until he reached the rocky shore where Edmund stood, waiting with the two horses they’d left waiting nearby as they’d made their way across to the Isle of Iona in the early morning.
“God’s hooks, Tòrr, is she drowned?”
Tòrr snorted. “Near enough, lad. But she’ll live.” He lowered – the by now spluttering – Lyra to the ground. Her legs gave way and she would have fallen had he not been there to support her.
Edmund huffed and looked up as the sound of the approaching gallowglasses drew nearer. He shook his head. “Ye cannae leave the lass here. She’ll be taken by those uncivilized wretches before ye can count tae ten.”
“Ye’re right lad. I’ll stay wi’ her and seek out somewhere safe fer us tae take refuge in the village. Ye ride on, leading those barbarians away from their prey.”
