Tempest in the Highlands (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) Page 4

  “You are good at this,” he said when they paused some time later. They’d reached a stone outcropping, and he decided they should use it to rest a moment. “You climb like a monkey.”

  Miranda looked down. She could see nothing of the beach or the water through the mists below. From the muffled sound of the waves, the sea might have been miles away. She guessed they were high enough that their brains would be splattered on the boulders if they were to fall from here.

  Floating effortlessly and sailing in and out of the mists, hundreds of gulls and other seabirds were watching them with curiosity. On either side of her, every crevice and ledge on the cliff face, as far as she could see, was dotted with nests.

  Miranda turned her attention upward, where the mists seemed even heavier. She couldn’t tell if the top of the cliff was six yards or six miles above them. If there even was a top.

  Black Hawk was standing too near the edge, surveying the cliffs.

  “You should get away from the edge, Captain.” She motioned to the void below them. “This rock is slippery from all the rain.”

  “You’re a strange lad,” he said, but he moved beside her and leaned against a protruding boulder. “Tell me something. Did the waves sweep you overboard, or did you jump in after me?”

  When she looked at him, his gaze was fixed on her face. They were standing too close. He had hazel eyes. The lashes were dark and long. His face already showed the growth of a day’s beard. Miranda wondered what it would be like to touch it. She quickly looked away.

  “No disrespect, Captain, but who would do something that stupid?”

  “That’s exactly my point. Nobody else tried to save me, and I’d like to think no one saw it happen. But you did and you acted without a thought of your own safety. Why?”

  She shrugged, rubbing her palm against her shirt. The cuts from opening the oyster shells stung with all the dirt from the climb. “I don’t always use my head. I just do what must be done.”

  He grabbed her wrist again and looked at the cuts. They were still oozing blood. “You should have wrapped your hand in a rag.”

  Standing there with her hand in his, Miranda saw that image again. Rocks and mud were falling, knocking him off a ledge. A ledge. Her mind cleared. She took back her hand.

  She could change the future. Her mother did it all the time. The gift was now hers. Every time, she needed to remind herself of that.

  “We need to go.” She didn’t wait, but grabbed an outcropping of a shrub and started climbing.

  “Did you ever want to do anything other than work in a kitchen?” he asked, catching up to her.

  She wanted to get to her brother. “I want to earn my keep . . . and that’s where the food is.”

  He was climbing beside her. Miranda looked up, wondering where and when the avalanche would start.

  “You’re fast on your feet and strong, and you obviously don’t mind heights,” he said. “When we get back, perhaps I can start you training as a rigger. The work is lot better than sweating away below decks.”

  She knew what the rigger did. “I save your life and you reward me with the most dangerous job on your ship. How generous, Captain!”

  He smiled. “I know my cook, and I’ve already heard enough of your tongue to know you won’t be much safer in that galley.”

  Miranda recognized the imminent danger when a few pebbles showered her. He was only an arm’s length away. She did the first thing that came to mind. Jumping toward him, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and sent the two of them sliding down the face of the cliff.

  “What the devil?” he cursed.

  With her arms still holding tight, they slid together for a few yards before a clump of bushes stopped them.

  He shoved her off of him.

  “You could have killed both of us. Have you lost your m—?”

  His words were cut off as an avalanche of rock and mud rained down around them. She pushed him back, flattening herself over his body. A boulder tumbled past them, crashing on the ledge where they’d stood only moments ago and carrying it away. Miranda winced in pain as branches and mud and debris struck her head and shoulders.

  As quickly as it had started, the assault ended. She sputtered, wiping mud from her face. Pushing herself away from Black Hawk, Miranda leaned back against the side of the hill and felt for the stone in the pouch at her waist. It was there, still safe.

  “By the devil, lad. You saved us. How did you see it coming?”

  She shook a clump of mud out of her hair and tried to wipe her eyes. He, too, was covered in dirt, but more from their slide than the rain of mud and stone.

  He touched her shoulder, and she winced, jumping away. “You’re bleeding. Let me see that.”

  “I’m fine.” She flexed her neck and moved her arm. She reached up and felt the blood soaking through her tunic. “It’s only a scrape, I think.”

  He reached for her again, but she backed way.

  “We need to keep going. That could happen again.” Miranda started her climb ahead of him.

  “The way things are going,” he called after her, “I’ll be making you first mate by the time we find my ship and crew.”

  Her shoulder was more painful than she would admit. It was slowing her ascent, and he was right behind her, too close for her liking. She realized he was making certain she didn’t slide.

  “I don’t need help, Captain. Fend for yourself.”

  “The way you do, I suppose.”

  “Aye, that’s it.”

  He was beside her now. “Well, what you said about acting before you think? You should know I’m in favor of it, as far as you’re concerned. Twice you’ve saved my life.”

  “Who’s counting?” she muttered.

  “I am,” he replied. “And while we’re at it, you can call me Hawk. All my men do.”

  They continued to climb, but soon the air began to change. The light was brightening. Suddenly, the sun was shining in a blue sky above them. A moment later, the two of them crawled up over the edge of the cliff. She remained on her knees for a while, stunned by what she saw.

  Only once before had she experienced such beauty.

  Last fall, when she knew her mother was dying, they’d made a pilgrimage to a shrine in the Lowlands. The MacDonnell group had traveled for nearly a fortnight through mud and rain, and they were exhausted long before they reached their destination. Arriving at the shrine as a wet, gray day faded into dismal night, they gratefully accepted the offer of hot broth, dry clothing, and a hard bed for the night.

  At dawn, while her mother still slept, Miranda went looking for the Mother Superior to thank her. Led by a novitiate through the gloomy building, she stepped through a heavy oak door into broad garden filled with bright sunshine and blue sky, flowers of every color and scent, and a greensward as lush as any carpet.

  She remembered feeling she’d crossed the threshold to heaven. That was how she felt now.

  “Beautiful,” she said under her breath.

  Mountain peaks loomed above them to the north and east; rolling meadows and woodlands spread out under the late summer sky. Not an arrowshot away, a glittering loch emerged from an oak forest, nestling into the natural pastureland patched with heather and wildflowers. When Hawk stood to take in the view, a flock of startled white-faced geese took off, their wings beating the water before they soared into flight. On a meadow rising toward the peaks, a herd of deer raised their heads, sensed no danger, and returned to their grazing.

  The line of cliffs extended to the south, clouds hugging the edge like an ermine collar. Beyond the loch and meadows, a line of craggy mountains ended abruptly at the coastline where the rocky base disappeared downward into the clouds.

  Miranda looked back beyond the edge of the precipice. The thick cloud stretched out like a blanket for as far as she could see. There was no sign of the ocean, and if it weren’t for the seabirds rising up into the sunlight and darting back down into the mists, she would have thought she could
walk across the top of that cloud to the end of the world.

  Hawk was frowning at the mountains to the east, at the summit of one in particular. Two peaks rose like horns. Below the peaks a section of the rock face had fallen away, and the shadow produced gave the appearance of an eye.

  He turned and looked at the cloud bank cutting them off from the sea.

  “Do you know where we are?” she asked.

  “I believe I do.”

  The stern tone of his voice warned her that he was not happy about where they’d been shipwrecked.

  “Where are we?”

  Hawk stared at her for a moment before walking to the edge of the cliff. “The Isle of the Dead.”

  Chapter 5

  As they crossed through the knee-high grasses of the meadow, Rob turned his attention to the young man walking beside him. Gavin was enduring his injuries with admirable stoicism.

  It wasn’t the size of the dog in the fight, he knew, it was size of the fight in the dog. And this lad was a perfect example of it.

  Mud and dirt from the avalanche still covered them, but Rob saw the blood coming through the lad’s tunic.

  “Here, let me take a look at that shoulder.”

  Gavin ducked him and moved away.

  “Nay, I’m fine,” he said.

  “Look, lad, you’re still bleeding. I’m not about to have you drop dead on me from a scratch.”

  “You said it yourself. It’s only a scratch. Shouldn’t we get moving?”

  “Who’s in charge here?” Rob snapped. He gestured toward the loch ahead of them. “When we get there, we’ll wash your wound clean.”

  The lad said nothing and trudged along beside him.

  Rob looked back at the thick bank of clouds hemming in the island. Somewhere along here, he thought, there had to be a break where he could get a view of the water. Either his ship was crippled in the sea not far to the west, or it lay wrecked and gutted on the island’s rocky shore. In either case, some of his men must certainly have washed up here. They’d travel south along the cliff edge looking for survivors and wreckage, but right now they needed fresh water.

  “Why do they call it the Isle of the Dead?” Gavin asked.

  “Some of the old sailors call it that. It’s supposed to be special to those following the ancient religion. It’s almost always cloaked in fog or wracked with storm.” Rob pointed at the two horn-shaped peaks to the east. “Only occasionally does anyone get close enough to see the peaks. The sailors know it by that mountain. They refer to that as Balor’s Head.”

  “Strange name.”

  “The story goes that Balor was some horned devil with a poison eye. That’s the eye just below the horns.”

  Gavin swung his gaze back to Rob. “So why the Isle of the Dead?”

  “Well, that’s the thing. Some believe that the island is an ancient burial ground for the defenders of the old faith, for the warriors and Druid priests and high kings.”

  They stopped at the edge of the loch.

  “Aye, the Druids,” Gavin said. “I know something about them. They hold the trees and the earth sacred. They believe in reawakening after death. Some say our souls can live on in an animal or a plant.”

  “It’s all foolishness, of course,” Rob said. “I’ve heard variations on the stories every time I’ve sailed into the western seas.”

  “What else do they say? About the island, I mean.”

  “The legends say in the old times the dead were laid in boats, and with no one touching an oar, the boats were drawn here. The island revived the dead. This is the place of the afterlife.”

  The lad looked wary. “What do they think it does to the living?”

  “Only the dead can live among the dead. The sailors say that no one lives here. No one comes here.”

  Gavin’s courage, boundless before, didn’t seem to extend to the otherworldly. Rob saw his hand go to the handle of the knife at his waist as he looked around.

  “Do you believe any of it?” The young man frowned, gazing at a thick grove of trees on a small peninsula near them.

  “I only believe in what I see with my own two eyes. Nothing more.” And right now he saw the dark stain on the back of Gavin’s shoulder had grown larger. He was still bleeding.

  “But this place questions my belief.” Rob pointed at the trees. “Look there.”

  Gavin started, and Rob grabbed him by the arm, yanking him closer to look at his back.

  The lad had other ideas, and the fight the wiry little animal put up took Rob by surprise. Kicking and pushing, Gavin tore his arm free and scrambled off to a safe distance.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Rob snapped. “What sense is there in fighting like some cornered wildcat? Do you think I’m going to hurt you?” The shrug was back. “You listen to me, you cockered minnow. I was only trying to—”

  “I know what you’re trying to do, but I need no help. I’m fine.”

  “Bloody hell, boy.”

  Gavin was glaring at him like a riled banty cock. Rob nearly laughed, considering the lad’s size.

  He turned away and crouched by the edge of the loch. The water was clear in the shallows near the shore, but grew dark quickly where the bottom dropped away. He owed his life to Gavin. Twice this lad saved him from certain death, risking his own life in both instances. In Rob’s entire life, no one had done so much for him. This was one special young man, and he owed him indeed. Still, discipline and order needed to be maintained. He sat on a protruding boulder and pulled off his boots.

  “You seem to pride yourself on being an ornery cur.” He pointed one of his boots at the undersized churl. “But I’m still your captain and this is a direct order. Strip out of that tunic and wash that wound. If it’s not serious, as you say, and it needs no dressing, I’ll leave you alone.”

  Gavin opened his mouth, but Rob gave him no chance to speak.

  “No more discussion. You might be the last member of my crew alive; I won’t have you die from loss of blood or a festering wound. Now take off that shirt.”

  The lad walked to the water and paused.

  Finally, Rob thought. The blasted Scot is going to follow a direction.

  Without looking back, Gavin stepped into the loch, boots and clothes and all, and dove in. Rob stared in disbelief as the boy swam out from the shore and then turned his strokes toward the wooded peninsula.

  He shook his head, but couldn’t help but be amused. Gavin gave new meaning to the word insubordination. He was cleaning his clothes and the wounded shoulder his own way.

  Ah well, he thought, watching the boy swim away. There was nothing he could do.

  Rob stripped off his leather jerkin and shirt. He knocked the now-dried mud off the outer garment and laid it on the ground. Walking into the shallows, he bent down and scrubbed his shirt clean before laying it out in the sun to dry.

  He waded back into the water and looked to the south. They’d work their way around the loch, stay close to the cliffs, and see what came. That was his best plan. Perhaps they’d find more survivors.

  Scanning the water, he saw no sign of the lad. An odd and unexpected pang of worry struck him. He already knew Gavin was a good swimmer, and Scots prided themselves on living in a hard and unforgiving land fraught with peril. And this appeared to be an ordinary lake. Even so, this was a strange island and who knew what dangers might hover along the shore or beneath the surface. Rob didn’t want to lose this young man who’d done so much for him already.

  “Gavin!” he yelled, waiting for a response. There was none.

  He stepped farther into the loch, continuing to look for the boy. By the peninsula, a flock of white birds startled and took flight. As quickly as they rose, they settled back down on the surface of the water. As they did, Rob thought he caught a glimpse of something swimming just beyond them.

  “No point in worrying when you can do something about it,” Rob muttered to himself.

  Reaching the edge of the shallows, he dove in and swam toward
the tree-covered peninsula. Another huge flock of birds took flight, their cries loud. Their wings flashed across the blue sky.

  As he drew near the end of the protruding point of land, Rob saw the boy’s shirt laid out on a rock by the trunk of a tree. Not far from it, he saw Gavin standing in chest-deep water with his back to him. He was reaching over his shoulder and cleaning the wound.

  Rob was about to call out when Gavin slipped under the water.

  When he came back to the surface, his blond hair was slicked back from his forehead. He was a good-looking lad, to be sure, Rob thought.

  Treading water quietly, Rob became perplexed. Something about this fellow was not right. Rob gazed at the slender neck, the well-defined bones of the narrow shoulders, the arms that lacked the muscle bulk of a young man. Seeing Gavin now without his hair pulled down over a dirty face, half-hidden inside the collar of his tunic, he realized the lad’s features were not just effeminate—they were beautiful.

  The realization was unsettling, but short-lived. Gavin moved toward the rock where he’d left his shirt. With each step, he emerged from the water. Rob’s eyes opened wide at the sight of the cloth binding over the breasts and the band of creamy skin on the narrow waist.

  A woman.

  Rob sank below the surface.

  Chapter 6

  Miranda looked with alarm at the wet tunic molded to her body as she stepped out of the loch. The layers of cloth she’d wrapped around her chest, flattening her breasts, were clearly visible beneath it. She pulled the material away from her skin, hoping it would dry fast in the sun.

  She was relieved Hawk was standing with his back to her, his attention fixed on the sky and the path that led back toward the cliffs.

  She picked up a handful of mud and smudged her face with it. Straightening up, she gazed at his broad, bare back, the skin glistening in the sunlight. At his finely muscled arms. His hair was wet, and a momentary panic sparked in the pit of her stomach. Could he have seen her? Beyond the peninsula, she’d needed to remove her shirt to clean the cut on her shoulder, but she’d done so quickly.