by Carmen Caine
The rat inched forward.
“Be gone,” Sean bellowed, followed by a fit of dry coughs. The rat stopped and sat up on its haunches and stared at him, his nose twitching. Sean rattled the irons. “I’m not dead yet, you mongrel bastard!”
The rodent paced back and forth in front of Sean and his irons as if he knew Sean was helpless. The closer the creature came, the more Sean rattled his irons, the rivets digging into tender flesh.
When the rat stopped at Sean’s feet, all he could do was cast his gaze downward. The first bite sunk into his shoe leathers. Stomach roiling with bile, Sean rattled his cage and slammed his foot against the unbending metal. The devil’s spawn could feast all they liked after he was dead. Not before.
***
Gyllis should have known a man wouldn’t listen to her. Men all took pity on her as if she were afflicted in the brain as well as in the legs. She snatched her arm away from Angus’s grasp. “I am perfectly able to return to my brother’s tent on my own. There is no need for you to assist me.”
“Och, I’d be no kind of gentleman if I didn’t see you delivered safely to his side. This camp is rife with young Highland lads who might get the wrong idea seeing a woman dressed in a pair of breeks.”
Gyllis glanced toward the pier. It would be futile if she tried to run. Besides, she’d probably fall on her face like she’d done a hundred times before. Ahead, the camp started to stir, but the flutter of a blue mantle caught her eye. She smiled broadly—affecting her most innocent countenance. “There’s Lady Meg. She accompanied me on the ride to Dunstaffnage. I’ll join her. Duncan is arranging our transport home momentarily.”
“Very well.” He drew out his words slowly as if considering. “If the Lady of Glenorchy is here, I reckon I can leave you in her capable hands.”
Gyllis continued to keep her voice low. She didn’t want anyone else realizing she was female. “Thank you, sir. You have been most helpful.”
Hastening her step, she caught up to Meg not far from a large tent and tapped her shoulder before her sister-in-law reached for the flap. “What are you doing?”
“Gyllis,” Meg said in a loud whisper. “I should be asking you the same.” She looked side to side. “Duncan could be here any moment.
“I need your help in creating a diversion.”
A crease formed between the lady’s red eyebrows. “Honestly, Gyllis. You should take Duncan’s advice and return to Kilchurn. Things here are worse than I’d imagined.”
A pained moan came from within the tent. Of course Meg would have already connived to see to the injured before she left. “And you’re not?”
“They need a healer for the hospital.”
“Please. Keep Duncan’s attention diverted as long as possible—at least until I can…ah…slip away—tell him I’ve decided to stay so that I may assist you.”
Meg frowned. “Have you gained more information? Where are you off to now?”
“I’d rather not say, lest Duncan intercept me.” Gyllis balled her fists. “I will not be stopped.”
Meg clasped her hand to her chest. “Promise me you will stay safe.” She moved her lips close to Gyllis’s ear. “Do not let on to anyone that you are a woman.”
“I promise—just keep Duncan occupied. Can you do that?”
“I’ll do my best, but you know your brother.”
Gyllis jumped at a loud commotion booming from the direction of Duncan’s tent. Hopefully the noise had nothing to do with her, but she didn’t aim to stay around long enough to find out. “I’ll see you upon my return.”
Meg gave her hand a squeeze before she released it. “Go with God.” She pulled the satchel with the oatcakes and watered wine from her shoulder. “Take this. You may need it more than I.”
Slipping away, Gyllis again tugged the hood low over her forehead, but she wouldn’t again make the mistake of greeting anyone she knew. She picked up a sturdy stick and hunched a bit so she’d be mistaken for an old man with a limp. Moving as quickly as she could, she headed for the pier.
One thing she knew for certain, the longer she remained in the foreground of Dunstaffnage, the greater the risk that Duncan would tie her to a horse and drag her home. Fortunately, all the fishermen must have set sail before dawn, because Gyllis saw not a soul. She hid behind a moored galley and held up the flap of the hood to better see. At the very end of the pier, a skiff bobbed in the water. It was exactly what she needed.
Before she set out, she peered over the galley’s hull and looked toward the camp. A skirmish had erupted between the outlaws on the wall-walk and the soldiers below. Volleys of arrows traversed through the air while Duncan’s men bellowed and slammed the pommels of their dirks against their targes. Gyllis crossed herself and offered a silent prayer for the good health of her brother and his men.
She hastened to the end of the deck, untied the skiff and carefully climbed into the tiny boat. She and her sisters often rowed a similar skiff across Loch Awe on summer days—but the Firth of Lorn was not a loch. It formed a major part of Scotland’s sea trade and men sailed hearty galleys through her white-capped waves.
As she grasped the oars, she prayed the weather would hold while she pointed the boat south. Of all her problems, the greatest was that she had no idea where on Kerrera the cave might be. Would she be able to see it from the water? How far away was the island? Angus said you can see the island from Dunollie. How much further can it be?
But asking for help had proven futile. Everyone was positive Sean was being held within the walls of Dunstaffnage Castle. Gyllis would have believed it herself if she hadn’t heard Alan MacCoul’s threat.
She heaved on the oars, dragging them through the swells. Doubtless, it would take a Herculean effort to row four miles to Dunollie and then only heaven knew how much further. Gyllis gritted her teeth. Nothing would stop her, no matter if she had to row all day and night.
By the time she reached Dunollie, the sun had traversed to the late morning sky. She’d been rowing for at least two hours and her arms were sore. Her back and neck punished her like she’d climbed the tower stairs on her hands more than fifty times.
Rowing a heavy wooden skiff was hard work. Though the current was running southwest, she fought the swells to keep from being pushed toward the mainland.
Blisters had begun to form on her palms and she changed positions frequently to shift the pressure to different points on her hands. When the castle came into view, she paused her rowing, shaded her eyes and searched. True to Angus’s word, an island loomed off the coast—quite a bit further away than she’d hoped. Through the haziness, the shore sloped up into green hills, allowing no clear view of its size. But one thing was certain, she had quite a bit more rowing to do.
Her entire body ached. Even if she weren’t recovering from a bout of paralysis, she’d be tired. She dared glance at her palms. Three big blisters on her right hand and two on her left. How in God’s name will I make it? She pulled an oatcake from the satchel and washed it down with a gulp of watered wine.
Again, Alan MacCoul’s damning words rang in her head. “I will imprison you in irons and laugh while your body rots in a dank and musty cave.”
She blew on her palms and ground her teeth. “Damn you, Alan MacCoul!” she yelled at the top of her voice. Gyllis steeled her mind to the searing pain, and with each pull of the oars, sailed closer to Kerrera.
***
Working against the current, the passage across the sound took twice as long to traverse as it had taken to row from Dunstaffnage to Dunollie. When Gyllis finally glimpsed a clear view of Kerrera’s northernmost point, her hands were completely raw, she could hardly move her arms and the muscles in her back and neck burned and tortured her with every pull of the oars.
She scanned the shore and beyond for any sign of a cave. A narrow, beach transitioned into grassy, rolling hills, filled with purple heather and spotted with trees. Gyllis wanted to scream. There wasn’t one rocky outcropping that looked like it might hou
se a cave. To the east, the surf was rougher, angered by wind and dark clouds. Whitecaps topped the waves coming across from the Isle of Mull. The westward current would be even stronger and all the more difficult to navigate.
She could scarcely drag the oars through the protected waters from Dunstaffnage to Dunollie. She gazed at the shore with desperate longing. If only her legs were strong enough to traverse the sandy beach or the craggy land beyond, she’d pull ashore and allow her hands a rest—but as sure as she breathed, the boat would be faster than walking. What would she do if she hiked away from the skiff and her legs failed? She didn’t even have one crutch and she’d left the old stick on the pier at Dunstaffnage.
After blowing on her palms to cool the burn, she grasped the oars and gave them a solid pull. Crying out, she snatched her hand into her body and crouched over it. Searing pain shot through her palm. Blood dripped onto her breeks. Opening her trembling fingers, the blisters had rubbed raw. Blood oozed across her palm and dribbled into the hull.
Tears streamed down her cheeks while she clutched her arms to her body and rocked. Why couldn’t someone have trusted her? Why did the men believe they were so damned right? More tears welled, blurring her vision and making dark splashes on the coarse leather. Wailing, her voice box grated. Gyllis looked up at the ominous sky. What if she was wrong? What if she’d come all this way and Sean wasn’t there? How would she make it back with her hands blistered and bleeding? If only someone would have believed her—tried to help, but instead they all looked upon her as if she were an invalid—a burden no one wanted.
What if this God-forsaken island wasn’t even Kerrera? A shrill scream pealed through her throat.
“Where is he?” She rocked in place clutching her hands to her body, tears streaming from her eyes, her nose running. Desperate for answers, she shook her fist at the sky. “Damn you! Where. Is. He?”
Exhaustion claimed her mind. She wanted to curl up in the bottom of the skiff and let it drift. Perhaps it might run aground someplace where people were nice and helpful. She tugged on the oars and shrieked with pain. Her hands could take no more. Slapped by the relentless waves, the boat had drifted further away from the island’s beach.
“Sean, where are you?” she cried, slumping from the rowing bench into the hull. I’m a complete and utter failure. She gazed up at the black clouds and cursed at the heavens. “God in heaven, why will you not help me?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“You think I’m brave? My courage is nothing compared to yours. Before me I see a woman who will not be cut down by a devastating illness, who will look it in the face, grasp it with both hands and fight. Not only today, but every day you continue to fight, to work through your pain and agony so one day this will be behind you.”
Gyllis sat up with a start. She could have sworn she’d heard Sean’s voice—or God’s. More so, she remembered the words he’d spoken after she’d fallen at Dunollie. Only he believed in her strength. He believed she could overcome insurmountable odds.
But could she?
The boat teetered with the waves, the oars clicking in their locks. How long had she been wallowing in self-pity? How far had she drifted? She peered over the hull. The skiff had drifted toward the mainland, but a bit south, too. She could see the length of the island now—quite a long isle indeed.
But there was no time to think of that now.
Sean needed her.
While she drew in a stuttering breath, Gyllis stared at her shaking hands. Her pain did not matter. She would not allow anything to stop her. If the skin on her hands were to rub completely off, she would not stop. If the skies were to open with a deluge, she would not stop. If Duncan were to sail a fleet of galleys to find her, she would tell him to turn back because she would not stop until every last inch of Kerrera was searched for any sign of Sean.
Steeling her wits, Gyllis crawled back onto the rowing bench and wrapped her fingers around the oars. It stung, but she clenched her teeth and bore it. With every stroke of the oars, she grew bolder, pulled harder, worked though the aching agony in her limbs.
Thunder pealed from the west.
She ground her teeth and rowed.
A droplet of rain splashed her forehead and she threw her head back. “Bring forth your vengeance, oh God. I shall persevere like Job.” She pulled again. Why would God favor a man as evil as Alan MacCoul?
She could think of no reason.
Another thunderclap resounded. Gyllis shifted her gaze to the darkening sky. “If you’re listening to me, please help me find Sean. You may rain down on me with pellets of hail, but guide me to my love!”
Rain began to fall in sloppy droplets.
“Do you aim to forsake me?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Is that why you turned me into a cripple?”
She scanned the shoreline. Still no sign of a cave.
On and on she continued to row until she rounded the southernmost point of the island. Once she crossed to the eastern shore, she’d be at the mercy of the storm and the stronger current.
Please. Help me.
The shoreline cut into a cove, exposing rocky cliffs—hidden both from the mainland and from the Isle of Mull to the east. Gyllis’s heart fluttered. Her arms infused with renewed strength. Could she allow herself to hope? The skies opened with a deluge, the white-capped surf slapped against the skiff, making it bob precariously. Fighting, she rowed the little boat straight onto a sandy bank until it stopped.
She’d have to jump out into the water. But that didn’t matter, she was already wet.
Cold water filled her boots as she splashed into the knee-deep surf. She wrapped the skiff’s rope around her wrist and trudged onto the sandbank, pulling it with all her strength. The wooden hull was none too light, but it was her lifeline to the mainland. Who knew how long she’d be stranded if something happened to the skiff.
And what if I’m wrong?
With a heave, Gyllis dragged the boat out of the water and secured the rope around an enormous boulder, then slung the satchel over her shoulder.
Overhead, a buzzard squawked. Gyllis’s shoulders tensed. Not but fifty paces away, an entire flock of the vile scavengers flew in a circular pattern.
Her heart flying to her throat, Gyllis stumbled toward the revolting birds. “No!” she gasped, trying to keep her footing on the slick ground. “I cannot be too late.”
She reached the crest of a mound and saw it. Gaping like the mouth of a serpent, the cave could have passed for the entrance to Hades.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She bent down, picked up a rock and threw it at the buzzards. “Go away!”
A bolt of lightning streaked into three fingers overhead. The buzzards screeched and scattered while thunder boomed so loudly, Gyllis crouched and wrapped her arms around her head. Moving as fast as she could, she stumbled toward the cave whilst the rain came down in sheets.
When she stepped inside, she stood against the wall, shivering. With quick inhales, she rubbed the outsides of her arms and peered into the dark cavern. All she could see was blackness. She pushed against her eyes, willing them to adjust to the dim light. Slowly she crept in deeper, sliding her feet, bracing one hand against the stone wall.
“Sean?” Her voice warbled. “Are you here?”
She stood and listened, but the roar of the deluge outside resounded through the cave, so loud it was almost deafening. Reaching her free arm ahead, she continued on, sliding her feet over slick rocks.
The rain eased a bit.
“Sean?” she called, louder this time.
Through the dripping and splashing, Gyllis thought she heard a cough. She took another step. “Sean? Is that you?”
“Here,” a faint voice rasped.
“God in heaven.” Her stomach swarmed with fluttering butterflies. “’Tis you?”
Blinking, Gyllis focused on the source of the sound. She saw the outline of something bulky, immobile. Is it?
Hastening her step, she tried to
run. Her toe caught on a rock and she stumbled forward. Straining to keep her balance, she crashed into the wall. “Blast it,” she cursed, ignoring the pain radiating up her elbow, and again sliding her feet forward. If I fall, I’ll be no use to him at all.
The cave brightened, as if there had been a break in the clouds. Then she saw him. Caged in irons like a criminal hanging from the Edinburgh Tolbooth. Stumbling, she made her way across the craggy ground while a sickly burn wrenched her insides.
Blessed Lord Jesus, what has Alan done? “I knew you were here.” She grasped the iron bars and tugged…Nothing moved. The welds were immobile.
“Water,” he rasped.
Sean’s features were shrouded in blue shadows but the whites of his eyes were clear. They gazed at her like a starved and hunted fox. Quickly, Gyllis tugged the flagon from her satchel. “I’ve some watered wine.”
She pulled out the cork and held it up and touched it to his lips through the bars. “I’ll tip it now.”
He opened his mouth and she eased the flagon up until she could hear him swallow. Then he sputtered and coughed.
She stoppered the flagon and set it down. “How can we free you from this contraption?”
“Bust…off the l-lock.”
Heaven’s stars, she’d never seen a man so weak. She rattled the cage and he groaned as if it caused unimaginable pain. “How?”
“Rock.”
“But I could hurt you.”
“Do it.”
Gyllis found a good-sized rock and picked it up with both hands. She swallowed hard and faced him. The lock was a black, ugly thing. Her hands trembled as she lifted the stone and slammed it against the iron. The clang echoed throughout the cavern, but the lock held firm.
“Again,” Sean growled.
She nodded and raised the stone. Hitting the lock over and over, Gyllis’s exhausted arms burned. She cried out against the strain, but the blasted thing must have been hewn in the fires of hell. Stopping, she panted. “I-I will not fail.”
“Easy lass.” Sean moved a bit and rattled the irons. “Give me another tot afore you try again.”
