Amanda Scott (39 page)

The storm had slowed Michael’s party considerably, although the full force of the wind had not struck them until the horse ferry had deposited those who had crossed with him to the other side of the narrows, where Loch Creran emptied into the Lynn of Lorne. Hunched in their saddles, the men leaned into the wind, pressing on, urging their mounts to dangerous speed on the rocky track. Chuff led, followed by Michael and the deerhound, which miraculously managed to keep pace beside him.

Nearly overwhelmed by the urgency driving him, Michael would have ridden ahead had he known the road as well as Chuff did. He did not know it at all, however, and in the punishing wind and rain, he knew it would be easy to lose sight of the narrow, mostly unmarked, track they followed.

They had hesitated only once, at the narrows, to divide their group and discuss their route after the ferry men told them they had seen three boats enter the loch earlier, carrying armed men.

“You lads send reinforcements from Dunraven,” Chuff said to the two men leaving them to follow the Dunraven road. “We’ve enough men there for an army.”

Once across, however, he said with a worried look, “Maybe we should have gone with them, Michael. We’ve only got your dream to tell us that Pinkie made for Shian, but if she’s at Dunraven instead, and Sir Renfrew followed her there—”

“Then she is quite safe,” Michael interjected, “unless you think Balcardane’s men would hand her or Bridget over to him. No, lad, we go on to the tower house.”

They might have debated longer, but the deerhound lifted its head just then, its long muzzle pointed into the wind. Without so much as a glance at its master, it loped off toward Shian. Silently, they followed—Chuff leading, Michael behind him, with the three remaining men to bring up the rear.

The dog still felt its injury, and its pace was too slow for Michael. As the tension within him grew, he pressed forward, shouting to Chuff, “Can you not go faster? Something is terribly wrong. I can feel it.”

Chuff glanced back, his mouth open to protest, but he did not speak. Instead, he faced forward again at once and spurred his horse to a canter.

It was a dangerous pace. Even the agile Highland-bred ponies had trouble maintaining their footing on the treacherous path. Though the rain had let up a bit, the wind drove it into their faces, stinging their cheeks and blinding them.

Head down, murmuring silent prayers, Michael tried to put his faith in Chuff and the ponies. He thought only of reaching Shian Towers with as much speed as possible. What compulsion made him look up a quarter hour later he would never know, or why he looked out at the loch. Perhaps he’d heard a growl from the great dog struggling to keep pace with them, perhaps a faint cry borne on the wind. What it was did not matter, not then or ever.

First he saw the masted rowboat with its single, straining oarsman. The man was rowing hard against the windblown waves, making no progress in the direction he rowed, being driven steadily toward shore instead.

Although Michael could see the rower’s face, he was certain the man had not seen them. He kept looking back over one shoulder, toward the center of the loch, straining at his oars, grimacing at the effort each stroke cost him; but his movements were sluggish nonetheless, his exhaustion clear.

“Chuff,” Michael yelled when his gaze lighted on something else, in the water beyond the rower. “Look yonder on the loch!”

Chuff’s attention was fixed on the narrow track ahead, but at Michael’s shout he looked at the loch. At the same moment, clearly, Michael saw figures some yards beyond the rowboat, struggling in the water.

“My God,” he cried, “there are people out there, an overturned boat!”

Chuff roared to the man in the rowboat, “This way, man! To us!” Along with Connal and the others, he reined in his mount, then urged it toward the shore.

The rower, energized by seeing help near at hand, whipped the little boat around with a few deft strokes and gratefully let the current carry him to them.

Michael could not wait. Assessing the situation swiftly, he shouted, “You and Connal take the boat, Chuff. I’d only weigh it down. I’m riding on!”

Chuff frowned, and Michael knew that the younger man thought he was abandoning them to ride to Shian. His first impulse was to ignore the look, but instantly he decided against it.

“She’s out there in the water! I’m sure of it. If you and Connal each take an oar, you may reach her in time, but you’ll still need help. With the current behind me, I can swim to her nearly as fast as that boat will take you there.”

Without waiting to see if Chuff had understood, he pressed his heels to the pony’s flanks and gave it its head.

“Go on, fellow,” he muttered, “as fast as you dare.” His impatience communicated itself, for the pony thrust itself forward. Balancing himself on the saddle without effort, Michael kept his gaze on the figures in the water. At first he saw only two heads, but then he saw four, and a jumble of flotsam that looked like parts of a boat. He was upcurrent from them now, but not yet far enough. A rocky point jutted into the water some fifty feet ahead. He reached it in minutes and leapt from the saddle, pulling off his leather jacket and belt as he hit the ground. His boots were next, and he had to sit to shed them, but he knew the time was well spent. He could see the rowboat, and Chuff and Connal amidships, each manning an oar. Even so, it looked like heavy going.

Boots off, Michael flung himself into the water. He hit it flat, arms churning in long, powerful strokes. The waves carried him swiftly, and he saw, as he had expected, that he would reach the struggling figures before the rowboat did.

He realized that his view had grown clearer. The rain had stopped. Till then, he had been swimming with his head up, to see where he was going, but the urgency that had driven him all day grew stronger yet, and he put his head down, knowing he would swim faster.

The next time he looked up, the rowboat had made progress but still had some distance to go. He was closer, nearby there, but to his horror he saw only one head bobbing.

Pinkie fought to keep her head and Flora’s above water. She knew they were drifting, and wished they had something to hold on to, like Tam and Sir Renfrew did. She had lost sight of them in the rolling, foam-crested waves. When she shouted, no one answered; or, if they did, the wind blew their words away.

She could see the shore now. The rain had stopped, and either the wind had shifted, or the shore had moved, for it seemed closer. She blinked. Her thoughts tangled themselves in perplexity. Perhaps she was losing her senses.

Flora sputtered, and Pinkie tried to hoist the child higher but succeeded only in submerging herself. Fighting her way to the surface, she felt dizzy. She was exhausted and numb with cold. She had tried to swim at an angle with the current, but her skirts and the clinging child soon made that impossible. Logic told her they were going to drown. She knew they could not last much longer.

“Where’s Tam?” Flora cried when she could catch her breath. “I dinna see him or that man!”

“I don’t know where they are,” Pinkie gasped, “but we cannot think about them now. Try to float, love. Keep your face up. That’s it.”

The wind’s howling took on a new note, and when the next wave lifted them, Pinkie saw a dark, shadowy shape on a rocky point to the north and a little behind them. It looked like Cailean, but Cailean was dead, so the shape could belong to only one animal. Her ghost must be nearby. He would see them to safety.

The thought warmed her, and she shut her eyes for a moment, but her legs kept tangling in her skirt. She had managed to untie her petticoat strings, and the garment now lay somewhere at the bottom of the loch, but the skirt of Bridget’s wedding dress still impeded every movement of her legs. The shore looked no nearer. The wind still howled, and the water rolled and tumbled around them. Where was he? She could hold on no longer. Her strength was gone. She had done all she could. When the blackness came, she greeted it with near relief.

F
RANTICALLY, MICHAEL SCANNED THE
surface. He saw the boat nearing the lone figure, saw Chuff hold out his oar, saw the little boy grab it. Then, right in front of him, another child’s head broke the surface.

“Oh, help me!” Reaching one small hand toward him, she gasped, “I’ve got hold of her dress, but she just closed her eyes and sank!”

Shouting to Chuff and Connal, Michael caught hold of the child. Chuff was hauling the boy into the boat while Connal held it as steady as he could with the oars. At Michael’s shout, Chuff heaved the boy in, and Connal began rowing, bringing the boat alongside Michael in a twinkling.

Reaching down, Michael had found the child’s other hand and the material to which it clung. “I’ve got her now, lassie,” he said. “Into the boat with you.”

Fearing Penelope’s gown would tear if he yanked on it, he dove and grabbed her arms, then hauled her to the surface, praying that she was not already dead. The boat was but a few feet away, Chuff still pulling the little girl aboard.

“Here,” Michael yelled. “I’ve got her! She can only have been down a moment or two, or she’d have dragged the bairn down with her. Aye—God be thanked she’s coughing!”

“Bless the lass and the Lord above,” Connal bellowed as he shipped oars and, taking care not to swamp their boat, helped Chuff lift Pinkie inside.

“Put her on her side or facedown,” Michael ordered. “She must have taken in gallons of water.”

“The lad says Sir Renfrew was with him,” Chuff said, seating his oar again.

“Aye, he were,” the boy said. “He said the wee board would hold one of us, but it wouldna tak’ two, and he let go. He swam some, and then a big wave came and I didna seen him the more.”

All three men searched the water. “I see no sign of the man,” Connal said, “and the waves are settling. We’d see him or hear him if he were afloat”

“Well, don’t spare any more time looking for him,” Michael growled. “You must get Penelope and the children ashore.”

“Aye, but what about you, laird?” Connal said. “You can hang on if you like, but I dinna believe the wee boat will take us all.”

“I’ll swim,” Michael said. “Don’t fret about me. I can make it easily now that I know my lassie will be safe.”

Chuff glanced worriedly at his sister, lying in a heap at his feet. Then, giving the handle end of his oar to Connal to hold, he shrugged off his wet overcoat. “She cannot get any wetter, but perhaps this will help keep the chill off,” he said.

Bending to the oars, the two men rowed at an angle with the current to the shore, beaching not far from where they had begun.

Michael pulled himself out of the water nearby, realizing only then how tired he was. But the urgency had left him. He was still worried but content.

While Chuff rubbed Penelope’s hands, Connal clasped Michael’s shoulder. “I’ll send a man to fetch your horse, laird.”

“No need,” Michael said, gesturing.

Over the rise trotted Cailean, head high, tail wagging, with the horse’s reins in his mouth. The horse trotted obediently behind.

Pinkie opened her eyes to see her husband’s face close to hers. At first, the rocking motion made her think they were in a boat, but she quickly realized they were on a horse. They were also both soaking wet.

“It was you,” she said. “I’m glad you came for me.”

“Aye, and when you’re better, I’m going to beat you soundly, sweetheart, for giving me such a fright. What madness overcame you to try to swim the loch on such a heathenish day?”

Hugging the endearment to her heart, she said, “The children?”

“Safe now, both of them. Two of my men took them on ahead to Shian.”

She nodded. “I was not trying to swim the loch. You know that.”

“Aye, I do. Tam told us what happened. You’re a brave lass, sweetheart, but I’m still going to skelp you till you screech.”

“They needed me,” she said simply. “I knew you would come, though.”

“I’m not your damned ghost, you know,” he said, as if the thought had just struck him that she might think he was.

“I know, Michael,” she murmured, resting her head contentedly against his shoulder. A moment later, she roused enough to say, “Where
did
you spring from?”

“From Oban, thanks to Connal and Sir Bloody Renfrew Campbell,” he replied. “Connal met us there this morning when we arrived, and he told us that Sir Renfrew had visited Mingary, searching for you and Bridget.”

Remembering how she had left Bridget, and how disappointed he would be at her failure to protect the girl, she stiffened at hearing her name but said only, “How did you know where to find us?”

He hesitated, then said dryly, “I had a dream.”

“A dream?”

“Aye, I’ve had it, or similar ones, since I was a lad, about searching for a castle and something or someone else, and when I described the castle to Chuff and he said it sounded like Shian Towers, I made him come here after you.”

“But we might never have come here. We could have hidden for a time, you know, and then made our way to Mingary after Sir Renfrew had been and gone. That’s where Bridget wanted to go, after all. You could have missed us easily.”

“Aye, I’ve no doubt that I might have, but I knew that Bridget would not be making the decisions. I trusted you to know that Mingary would be the first place Sir Renfrew would search, and to head right away from there.”

“Well, I did think we would be safe here, but he questioned the lad who sailed us across Loch Linnhe until he learned where we had gone. I had thought of making for Balcardane, of course. It is much more easily defended than Shian, or even Dunraven, for that matter.”

“Why did you come to Shian then, lass?”

He did not sound displeased, merely curious, but she would not have thought him a man to follow a dream, so she was not sure she could trust her perception.

“I…I’m not sure,” she admitted. “We had to cross Loch Linnhe, and the wind blew too hard to make Loch Leven, but I knew we could walk or find someone to lend us horses. Then I realized we could reach Dunraven easily. I knew Duncan’s men would be there, but something…You’ll call me foolish, I expect, but the truth is that I thought of my ghost, and suddenly Shian seemed safer. Where’s Chuff?” she asked to divert him, not wanting to hear, despite his dreams, what he might have to say about her ghost. “I tried to get word to him and Duncan at Oxford, so you’d not have to come after us alone.”