Page 57 of The Lone Wolf's Bride

The girl spoke hesitantly and slowly. ‘Some fisherman met a boat out to sea and the sailors aboard told them they had pulled a mermaid from the water. A black haired mermaid, so beautiful it would make your heart sing to look at her. She was a great prize they said, and they would not give her back to the sea. They were to take their prize home with them.’

‘Stop your foolish blathering Kenna. There’s no such thing as mermaids, it was just sailors’ idle talk after too much rum. She’s a wee bit simple sir, and those fools were teasing the girl,’ said Ciara.

‘They took her home? What does she mean? Where?’ said Murray.

‘Barra sir, the Isle of Barra, and ‘tis a dangerous crossing across stormy seas to reach it. But you don’t want to be going there, chasing myths and nonsense.’

‘Why not?’

Her eyes were wide and fearful. ‘Oh sir, it is a lawless place. A pirate clan holds Barra, bent on raiding and feuding, and they don’t take kindly to strangers.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

She let the wind take her hair and fold it into her face as she looked out to sea, lost in her thoughts. The sun was low and fierce, causing her to squint against it, but it would soon give way to the chill mist rolling in from the water at day’s end, so its warm light did little to soften the grim walls of Haggbowe castle.

It loomed out of the bay, all sharp edges and dark stone, bedded on a tidal island which was little more than a slippery tangle of rocks and brown kelp. The sea relinquished its hold on it each day on its outward path. It was rushing inward now, filling the bay with treacherous currents. They would have to take the boat back or risk racing across the narrow causeway linking the shore and the castle’s feet. The sea was already clawing at its edges.

Ilene tried to ignore the noise of the other women around her, wearily rejoicing in the rich plunder of mussels and cockles which they had prised from the rocks. Quarrelsome seagulls whirled relentlessly overhead in search of easy pickings and their raucous cries picked at the edge of Ilene’s tolerance. The rasping sound of waves, rushing in and out over the shingle, was harsh too. She so wanted peace but it seemed the world did not want to give it to her.

Hearing the crunch of boots on the shingle, she looked over her shoulder, to see him walking slowly towards her. That look was on his face again, as if his world turned on her smile or her frown. How she had come to dread the slow flowering of his regard. She did not want to see it, a liar and a fool was not worthy of it. Heaving a sigh of resignation, she stooped to get her bucket full of slick black mussels, glistening like jet in the sun. Then Ilene turned and smiled back at Raghnall Bain, Laird of Barra, occasional pirate, and her salvation from a watery death.

***

As the boat pulled out into the bay, Ilene could see the torches being lit along the castle walls. Raghnall was looking back at her from the bow. His gaze was always on her as if he was trying to solve the puzzle of who she was and why she had come within a breath or two of death before his strong arms had plucked her from the sea.

A brief pull on the oars and they were at the steps up to the castle which were slimy with algae and treacherous. He reached out a hand, helping her as he had done ever since she had regained consciousness on his ship, blue with cold and in a pool of her own blood.

‘Take my hand. Come,’ he said in a voice of command.

Anyone who did not know Raghnall would think him harsh and would not see the kindness behind his brusque manner.

He was a deal older than her, around thirty she guessed, though she had never asked, tall and rangy, with a long face fringed with a dark goatee and wild brown hair, always whipped this way and that in the stiff ocean breeze. When he smiled, which was not often, it deepened the lines around his eyes and mouth, carved there by years of facing a scouring sea wind, and by squinting at sun bouncing off the water. The loss of his wife two years ago had deepened those lines and had left him with three motherless children to raise. He looked disreputable in a handsome, devilish kind of way, but Ilene sensed there was a deep sadness in him.

‘You look tired. You should not have worked so hard today,’ he said curtly.

‘I wanted to. It is good to get beyond the castle walls and I wanted to do my part, to return your kindness in some measure.’

He peered into the bucket, smiling. ‘You did well today. We’ll make a fishwife of you yet.’

‘But never a sailor I think, for I still hate getting in a boat, even for a short time’

‘Aye, it takes a lifetime to be at one with the sea. But you should not be fearful of it. It may have swallowed you, but it spat you back out.’ He smiled. ‘We are all used to it here on Barra, it is in our blood, in time you will get used to it too.’

‘And me,’ he seemed to be saying, ‘in time you will get used to me.’

His hazel eyes locked onto hers. ‘Did your time in the fresh air help you remember?’

‘No, I could not organise my thoughts. I felt close, but the memories are always just out of reach, slipping from my grasp when I am almost upon them,’ she replied, frowning.

‘Do not fret,’ he said, reaching up to touch the barely perceptible ridge of a scar within her hair, just above her temple.

Ilene froze. She did not want to see the need flare in his eyes as he touched her. For one moment she was fearful that he was going to kiss her. Instead, he traced his fingers through a strand of black hair which had come loose of its plait, his eyes never leaving hers.

‘We have all the time in the world for you to remember and put your past to rest, then we must look to the future.’

He smiled indulgently at her and then walked quickly away.

‘We must look to the future.’ He had said it as if they were one or would be.

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