by Willa Blair
“Nay, but…” Ella blushed and dropped her gaze to her feet.
Muireall cringed, embarrassed for her friend and by the coarse comments directed at her.
“Nay men,” Thomas spat with a frown at his pretty new wife. “Must be dead.”
Muireall hid a shudder. Had she been cursed with the kind of beauty Ella possessed, she might be the unlucky one under Thomas every night. As it was, no man had chosen her—yet. They awaited her moonblood, to prove she carried no other man’s babe before one of them got about putting theirs in her. If she’d counted correctly, she didn’t have much longer to wait before hers arrived. Then she’d be doomed.
“Bodies’ll wash ashore in a day or two,” Donas interjected, “and we’ll see if they’ve got anything of value on them.”
Muireall gave a grim nod to that pronouncement. Aye, they would. She’d heard these men boast around the evening fires about what they’d done when unpredictable winter storms pushed an unwary ship their way. There might be coin, or leather goods, even weapons worth the salvage, along with the ship itself, or what was left of it, not lying on the bottom of the sea.
“Come on, lassies, let’s see what the lads missed,” Silas ordered. Wife to Donas, their chief, her word was as much law as his. The women would look for food, crates of fish, metal implements—anything useful in the village, while the men focused on the ship, weapons, and taking care of survivors. Allies got escorted to the village. Enemies went back into the sea, throats cut for being foolish enough to survive a shipwreck onto Donas Ross’s land.
Muireall’s neck prickled at the thought of survivors, but Thomas had said there were none, so the women would be safe enough heading down to the cove.
Silas frowned at her and gestured, clearly giving her no time to dress. Obedient, she gathered her cloak about her and followed the other women to the beach. Waves lapped at the shore, now the roar of last night’s storm was over. The men had not exaggerated. They’d reap a good, if grim, harvest from this wreck. From what she could see, there might be enough left of the birlinn to rebuild it without too much work. The men aboard her must’ve drowned, sucked below the waves in the darkness. This morning, the sun was breaking through leaden clouds, shafts of brilliance dancing on the crests of bigger waves out in the firth. The sea had yet to settle, so more from this doomed ship might wash ashore over the next day or two.
Muireall headed downwind, in the direction the tide should have carried more of the wreck. Ella quickly joined her and the two walked the shoreline, happy to get away from the other women. They searched for small items in the cove and splashed along the shoreline, hoping to find something of value that would win Silas’s and Donas’s favor. She expected the sea had carried the smaller, lighter things farther down the coast. The women she and Ella left behind might find little of use staying close to the wreck.
“They won’t worry about us?” Ella fretted, looking back over her shoulder.
Muireall snorted. “Of course no’. There’s nowhere to go from here.” Cliffs lining the next cove extended into deep water on the far side, blocking access to the northward coastline from the beach.
“I see Tira is sticking close to Silas.”
Ella’s frown was an expression Muireall had seen all too often since they’d been taken, and more so since Thomas had claimed her.
“She’s making the best of a bad situation, I suppose,” Ella continued, charitably, which was more like the Ella Muireall knew.
“Teague aspires to Donas’s inner circle,” Muireall reminded her. “Tira thinks gaining Silas’s favor will help.”
“It might, aye.”
“And what about Thomas?”
“He seems more interested in enjoying his new bride than currying favor with Donas.”
Ella’s bleak tone made Muireall glance sharply her way. Aye, her lips were pressed together and her fists clenched. Muireall took her friend’s fist in her hand and tucked her fingers under Ella’s. “I wish there was something we could do to get away from here.”
“There is naught to do but learn to live the life we’ve been given,” Ella replied. “At least for Tira and me. There’s still hope for ye.”
Muireall shook her head and kept walking, trying to put the Rosses out of her mind. She knew several of the men had their eye on her. She just didn’t know which one Donas would award her to.
“Hope? The only hope I have is to die before one of them can claim me.”
“Ach, Muireall, dinna say that. Dinna even think it. It’s no’ so bad, truly. Thomas is kind enough…at least when he’s no’ around Donas and the other men. I just miss my family.”
Muireall heard the lie in Ella’s voice. She missed more than her family. She missed the life they’d had, and the prospect of marrying the lad she had loved, a future now lost to her. At least the lad Muireall had left behind would not pine for her for that reason.
“And ye ken I worry for Georgie. ’Twas a selfish thing to say. I want to get back to him…”
“Ye have tried. And suffered for it. Twice. Ye must give up trying to escape.”
She thought of the stripes nearly healed on her back and stiffened her spine. “Nay, I’ll never.” The first time she’d snuck away, she’d been confined to a croft, a guard posted at the door, with no food or water for three days. The second time, she’d run and been caught before she got out of sight of the Ross village. Donas had striped her back for that. Three lashes, while stripped to her shift. It could have been worse—he’d threatened to strip her of the meager protection the shift provided, but Silas had intervened, so he’d told her the next time she would suffer more lashes. But she’d learned her lesson. The next time she ran, she’d be better prepared. Until then, she did everything she could to appear meek and cowed, unlikely to defy the Ross chief ever again.
She glanced back at the women blocking the climb to the village—and to the next cove behind them. That way lay home, just not today. “I canna escape from here, so let’s make the best of this so we can get back to a warm fire.”
Before long, she found an iron cook pot tumbling in the surf and both she and Ella got soaked to the thighs retrieving it. They dragged it above the high tide line and set it in a depression in the sand to collect on the way back. If they were lucky, none of the others would have looked up from the beach at their feet to see them retrieve it, or notice it in the sand if they came this far, and claim the find for their own.
They moved back to the waterline. Then Ella went after something washed higher on the beach. Muireall, eager for solitude after their conversation, walked on, eyes darting from sand to surf and back again.
She was around the curve of the cove and well into the next beach before she realized how far she’d come. The cove was shallow, with a narrow strip of sand and rocks tumbled against the cliffs as if pushed there by the relentless tides. A glance behind her proved she was out of sight of the rest of the women. She kept going, enjoying the illusion of freedom the unexpected solitude gave her. When she saw a length of rope tossing in the surf, she waded out until the water reached her knees, grabbed what she could reach and pulled it onto the sand. The men always wanted more rope.
By the time she noticed the tide encroaching on her path, she’d collected an empty crate, a net bag and a canvas-wrapped package containing mushy, waterlogged bread. Suddenly, a memory chilled her of a tale told around the fire one evening about how this cove flooded to its walls. The sliver of beach bordering the cliff dividing the coves was no wider than her foot, and shrinking fast. She was in danger of being cut off by the rising tide, and until the tide fell again, there was no exit from this cove save the one she’d just traversed.
She ran.
* * *
Euan watched the lone woman walk the beach, searching, no doubt, for anything useful from the remains of the Tangie. Early on, when he’d heard the men approaching as the gloaming lit the storm clouds, he’d retreated around a projecting bluff to the next cove. The cove holding the
Tangie boasted sand, gravel and water-rounded pebbles all the way to the cliff face and nowhere to hide. Tumbled rocks that gave him good cover lined this one. If he was not mistaken, its steep cliffs also boasted a sea cave or two he had yet to explore. One could serve as shelter for a few days, especially if it hid a spring or trapped rainwater, and he could stay alive here long enough to determine his mens’ fate. Hope made him linger—he would risk capture rather than leave so soon and abandon his men, should any remain alive. Once he found them, or delayed as long as he could, he’d wait until nightfall, then he’d steal a skiff or find another way for the survivors to make their way home. With luck on their side, they’d soon be home with families and friends.
The lass didn’t look threatening. Pretty enough and sad, aye, wrapped in a woolen cloak. Perhaps with her mind on the fate of the men on the wreck, having a heart good enough to mourn the loss of men she didn’t even know. Or perhaps she was just wet and cold.
Don’t be daft, he chided himself. This is Ross territory. Let the lass know a Brodie observed her and she’d start screaming out her lungs before he could reach her. Instead, he watched her slowly make her way across the cove, her attention on the waterline. Her cheeks were ruddy from the cold, her lips in contrast, pale. He could not see the color of her eyes, but they were framed by delicate brows that furrowed and slanted as she searched, signaling her excitement as she spotted something in the surf, then disappointment if she rejected it. The storm had tossed up plenty of sea grass and other odds and ends, little of use. Her cloak gaped as she squatted to go through a pile of detritus and Euan realized she still wore her night rail. The pale fabric clung to her legs, transparent from shapely thighs to hem from the wet, her feet bare. She’d been dragged from slumber to assist in the search, with no time to properly dress? What sort of laird led these Rosses?
Then she looked behind her, jumped to her feet, and started to run back the way she’d come. Her sopping garments tangled between her knees and slowed her down until she grasped handfuls of cloth and freed her legs.
The day revealed what the night had hidden. Waves crashed against rocks where she had crossed into the cove. The tide blocked her escape around the cliffs to the cove holding the Tangie’s remains. She was trapped.
And so was he
Worried now, he searched for the high tide line and found it on the cliff wall, several feet above his head. Damn. And worse, the lass was attempting the surf, trying to make her way back to her kin. In the rushing seawater, her cloak and skirts tangled around her legs and brought her splashing down, then dragged her under the surface before she had a chance to scream for help.
With an oath, Euan broke cover and ran for the lass.
* * *
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About the Author
Willa Blair is an Award-winning Amazon and Barnes & Noble #1 Bestselling author of Scottish Historical, light Paranormal, and Contemporary romance. She has been featured on and contributes to USAToday’s Happy Ever After romance blog, Savvy Authors, Romance University, and more.
Her books have won numerous honors, including the Marlene, the Merritt, National Readers’ Choice Award Finalist, The Reader’s Crown finalist, Historical Romance finalist and Honorable Mention in InD’Tale Magazine’s prestigious RONE Award, NightOwl Reviews Top Pick, and InD’tale Review’s Crowned Heart.
A life-long student and reader, she has been a stained glass artist and instructor, a foreign language teacher, a computer scientist, an analyst, a manager and an executive. She has visited five continents and can get by in several languages. She loves scouting new settings for books, and thinks being an author is the best job she’s ever had.
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Acknowledgments
My beta-readers, Lisa and Laura, have saved me from myself more times than I can count.
My editor, Maureen Sevilla, helps me make sure my books are polished to a high shine.
I couldn’t do this without all of you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!
Afterword
His Highland Rose is the prequel to my new His Highland Heart Scottish historical series. I hope you’ll enjoy the adventures—and romances—of the clans around the Moray Firth…and beyond. Look for the first book, also called His Highland Heart, in early 2017.
His Highland Rose (His Highland Heart Prequel)
His Highland Heart (His Highland Heart Book 1)
His Highland Love (His Highland Heart Book 2)
His Highland Bride (His Highland Heart Book 3)
And find the rest of my books on my website!
Heart of Stone (Highland Talents Prequel)
Highland Healer (Highland Talents Book 1)
Highland Seer (Highland Talents Book 2)
Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3)
The Healer’s Gift (A Highland Talents Novella)
When Highland Lightning Strikes (A Highland Talents Novella)
Sweetie Pie (A Candy Hearts Novella)
Waiting for the Laird
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