by King, Susan
Ruari crunched across the beach with wide, purposeful steps. Elspeth had never felt so helpless in all her life: trussed and bound, she was in the keeping of a man whose small mind prevented him from understanding that her Sight was no threat to him. In trying to outsmart Ruari, she had only convinced him of her witchery, and had trapped herself. And his intense hatred toward Duncan Macrae had further endangered her.
He stepped into the water and waded out a long way, shallow water swirling around his legs. Niall plodded after them. As Ruari set her down, cold water seeped knee-high through the binding plaid. Looking around, she saw a high rock jutting up behind her, black as ebony in the gray light before dawn.
"This is the only way to destroy the evil in you," Ruari said, holding her up. She twisted in his grasp. He took out his dirk. "I thought that you were only under the influence of the witch of Glenran. I hoped that you would be redeemed once you were taken from her. But that vision you had was an evil thing. You are a danger to my clan."
"There was a reason," he went on, angling the long, gleaming blade toward her, "that God prevented me from marrying with you. Your choice of husband shows your evil nature." He glared at her. "You and Macrae are both the devil's own."
He slit at the confining plaid, pulling it off of her. Cool air hit against her arms and chest through the thin cover of her linen shirt. When he freed her legs, she tried to leap away. Niall grabbed her then, holding her firmly.
Ruari tore narrow strips from the cloth and tossed the long plaid away, where it caught on the rock. He tied her hands behind her back, then tied her ankles.
"I will give you a chance because you were once to be my wife. If the devil is your master, he will welcome you to his hell below the loch. If God watches you—which I doubt, for they who have the Sight are one with the devil—then you will be safe." Lifting her high in his arms, Ruari set her on top of the rock. "I will come back after the tide has risen. If you are still alive, I will take you to the shore. And we will wait for your Macrae to come."
He turned, and waded back to shore, Niall with him. Elspeth called and struggled, but they did not turn, fading into the shadows along the beach.
* * *
The water rushed below the rock, cold and dark in the dim light. Though a faint mist gathered above the surface of the water, Elspeth could see seagulls dip and soar. Dawn infused the mist with pale color. She looked down again; the tide was swift. Already the base of the rock, which had been visible when Ruari had set her here, had disappeared.
Wedge-shaped and pointed like a dirk, the rock had a narrow shelf at one side, where Ruari had set her. Huddling there, she stretched out her stiff legs and leaned against the rough, slick surface. She pulled desperately at the woolen strips that bound her wrists, but the knots were tight in the wet cloth.
A cold wind tore past, beating at her head and shoulders, chilling her through to the bone. The tattered plaid, caught on the rock, flapped noisily. Water swelled and lapped over her feet and ankles. At least her legs, encased in woolen trews and high deerskin boots, were somewhat protected from the cold water.
She thought about leaping off the rock to float to shore on the strong tide currents. Sighing, she bit back tears; with her limbs tied, she would have no control over where she might float. She would flounder and drown.
But if she stayed on the rock and waited, she would have a chance. A deep, high tide could easily cover the rock; if the smallest part of the rock remained exposed, she could survive. Perhaps a fisherman would see her. And even if Ruari returned for her, she would still be alive when Duncan came.
With utter certainty, she sensed in her heart and in her blood that he searched for her. Since the first day that she had been taken, she had felt Duncan's presence, like the compelling lure of a lodestone. He was here, somewhere, in the west.
Ruari had told her that Duncan had been relentless in his pursuit of the MacDonalds years ago, after the death of his father and brothers. That same inexorable will would drive him to search for her without stopping.
She watched the foaming swirl of the seawater. Even if Duncan rode west in pursuit of Ruari MacDonald, how would he find this remote place before the water engulfed the rock?
Fear swelled and surged through her. The water slid relentlessly up the face of the rock, spilling over her knees to pool in her lap. The seawater did not feel as cold, as unforgiving, as she thought it would. Her tears dripped into it, salt into salt.
* * *
He could have razed whatever lay in his path. Surges of anger ripped through him, waves of savage, icy fury. Duncan rode on, every thought forged by blazing anger.
"Duncan," Magnus said, riding beside him. Duncan turned and glowered at him. "We must stop, man, or ruin the horses. I am just as determined to find her as you are, but we are exhausted."
"Not much further now to the castle of John MacDonald," Duncan said. "We will stop there and ask if Ruari has come there."
"You expect them to answer that?"
Duncan shrugged. "What choice is there? Their track is no longer obvious. We know they have gone west. The clan chief will have to offer us hospitality, and I am the queen's representative, after all. We will go to the MacDonald stronghold unless we find some track before that point."
"You would go to the chief of your clan's greatest enemy?"
"And yours," Duncan growled.
Magnus grinned suddenly, a wicked gleam of teeth and eyes in the darkness, and Duncan knew that he was feeling a blood-anger, simmered in revenge. He knew, because he felt the same rage. "There is some of the devil in you, Macrae," Magnus said. "But the horses do not have your endurance."
Duncan nodded, and began to slow his horse. "We should not ask of the animals what we ask of ourselves," he said.
They dismounted to gather within a circle formed by several high fir trees. Sharing what little food they had, they soon rolled up in their plaids. Magnus fell into an exhausted sleep.
Duncan lay down and pulled his plaid over his head, but he could not calm his thoughts. He knew that he had slipped into a kind of rhythm of revenge, without thought, without reason. He had ridden onward, eyes cold and hard, jaw set, his hair whipping like raven wings, his plaid blown back. Magnus, driven by his own anger, had still had the sense to insist that they rest.
He knew that he succumbed to the same rage that had caused him to fight hard, ride hard, and hate so fiercely, many years ago. And now, he rode after a MacDonald once again.
Riding through dark, craggy terrain that he had not seen for years, he had remembered, too vividly, what had happened sixteen years ago, when he had lost part of his family and, he was convinced, part of his soul.
He had not seen the faces of the murderers, all those years ago. He did not even know who it was who had driven a dirk into his own flesh. All that mattered was that he had lived, when his father and two eldest brothers had not. And so it had fallen on him, more than the rest of his family, to seek vengeance, to take responsibility for what happened later, the brutality, the hatred. He had thought the debt paid, the wound assuaged—until he had come to Glenran and had to face MacDonalds again.
And until his wife had been taken by one of that clan.
He felt uneasy, here, sleeping out in the open, two men rolled in plaids. Because of that, he had difficulty relaxing. When sleep finally came, it descended sudden and deep. He did not know how long he slept. But the vivid dream woke him like a wash of icy water—a dream that he had had twice before.
This time Elspeth had been sitting on a rock in the middle of the sea. Mountains rose on two sides of the expanse of water. A huge wave had rushed over her, sweeping her away. Swimming in the cold water, Duncan had lost sight of her.
But he had heard her light, silvery, angel's voice calling his name. And he had tried to answer her, a desperate mumble as he awoke.
In a cold sweat, his heartbeat hammering in his ears, he sat abruptly. He wrapped and belted his plaid, brooching it with Elspeth's pin. Pul
ling on his boots, he stood quietly, touched Magnus's shoulder, and then turned. He walked away from the campsite toward his horse, knowing that Magnus would follow.
He knew, now, where he must go.
* * *
The water surged past her waist, soaking her shirt, floating her breasts, rocking her body. She was shivering, and the taste of salt was on her lips. She could hardly feel her arms and legs for the relentless chill.
Not long ago, as the water rose, she had turned to catch her bound wrists on a protruding angle of the rock to anchor herself against the higher waves that could sweep her off the rock.
Clinging there, striving to keep her feet steady on the shelf beneath her, she had felt angry: at Ruari MacDonald for his ignorance; that he thought her a witch, that he thought Bethoc evil as well. She was angry with herself for falling into this, and with her cousins for not finding her sooner. As for Duncan—
She was not angry, she knew then, but sad, deeply so, and terrified. As the water lapped cold around her ribs, she began to sob, the fear taking hold.
Then she raised her head and took deep breaths of the salty, damp air, until she felt the fear lessen. She had been afraid before, and had lived through to the hope on the other side of it.
There was a way to survive the incoming tide, and she would find it somehow.
She had been raised to be tough and brave, as a part of Clan Fraser's unique legend, she told herself. The only course open to her was courage. To give in to the defeat and humiliation of her predicament was weakness. Her cousins would expect more. Duncan expected more.
Elspeth had felt courage before, knew its heady swirl in her heart and her blood. Many times, with her cousins at her back, she had ridden in the night; had faced MacDonalds, too, although not in battle. But now she was alone in this struggle. The sea was her enemy, the rock her only salvation. It supported her as did her cousins, and Duncan.
Now she felt courage swell and move through her, felt something brave and fine fill her.
She thought of Duncan. When she had warned him of his impending doom, he had not been frightened. He had withstood her insistence, even her petulance, with humor and calm strength. She had never known anyone to ignore a seer's warnings. He had dismissed her predictions—he seemed without fear, perhaps because he had endured so much in his life.
Thinking of him, of his steadfastness, her own fear began to lessen like receding water. She gazed out at the rainwater gray sea, at the thin mist, at the clouds that filled the endless sky. Dawn washed the clouds with pale color. Light moved through the darkness like a sustaining hope.
Straightening, planting her feet firmly on the rock, she pulled against the sodden woolen strips that bound her wrists. She had earlier slipped her bonds over the jagged pinnacle of rock to anchor her. Now she tugged at it, wanting to be free at any cost. If she could free her hands, she could take her chances in the sea; she was a strong swimmer.
She tugged again. The sky brightened. Water washed over her chest, slopped at her throat. She pulled all of her weight on the saturated plaid strip. The cloth bit painfully into her wrists.
And stretched. She pulled, and the strip tore a little.
She watched the dawn's glow, watched the roll of the next wave come toward her, and yanked again.
Chapter 20
`O haud your tongue, my dearest dear,
Let all your follies abee;
I'll show you whare the white lilies grow
In the bottom of the sea.'
~"The Demon Lover"
Duncan stood on a cliff and gazed down at the loch. Dawn brightened the pewter-gray sky, and shed a glowing, eerie light on the misted water and stony beach below. He saw a deserted shore and a narrow loch filling with the morning tide, its rippled surface disturbed only by the jutting tips of a few black rocks. The water near the shore was carpeted with thin, spiky golden reeds. The wind was up, salty and cold.
He had come to this place because he had seen it in his dream. Upon waking, he had remembered where he had seen the strong, unique slant of those mountains, rising so close to the shoreline. He and his brothers had been to this loch, years ago.
He felt no astonishment that a dream had led him here. The same insistent gut-twist that had always told him where to ride on a raid, how far, in what direction, had told him that Elspeth was here. He had followed that instinct unquestioningly, as he had always done in his reiving days.
But to what end? He sighed, despondent. Nothing here showed him that Elspeth had been taken this way. Uncertain what he had expected to find, he felt the black, empty depth of great disappointment. He shook his head at his own folly.
Magnus stood behind him, silent, looking over the cliff at the surging water below. The wind whipped at their hair and plaids, but they stood motionless. Overhead, seagulls called and glided down to the water.
Duncan stepped away from the cliff edge.
"What is that, out there?" Magnus said. "A seal?"
Duncan turned. Magnus pointed toward a black rock far out in the water. The faint mist obscured details, but something waved and fluttered in the water. A long snag of kelp, Duncan thought, but then noticed that it was red, and patterned. Something else was there, too, a coppery smudge moving away from the rock, through the waves and the thin veiled mist.
He looked again. The snag of kelp was a plaid, floating on the waves. The copper-colored smudge was part of a moving body. A seal? Too small, too graceful.
He blinked in astonishment. A mermaid?
"Dhia!" he shouted, and burst into motion, running down the slope of the cliff toward the beach. He had seen a head, a face, floating red-gold hair, as someone swam toward shore.
He stripped off his belt and sword, his plaid, his boots as he ran across the stony beach. He hit the water, diving into it so fast that he had no time to feel the slam of the cold seawater. Sliding beneath the waves, he came up again, looking around, treading water with his arms.
He saw the angle of the rock jutting up. He glimpsed her pale face above the surface, her hair floating out.
"Elspeth!" he called. He struck out diagonally, long, strong strokes, pulling through the fast current of the tide, losing only a little ground as he went. He saw her disappear beneath a washing wave, saw her bob back up again, and go under.
"Elspeth!" He swam, and neared her, and was carried back again by the current. Pulling harder with his arms, driving with his legs, he swam close enough to touch her.
She reached out, her hand grasping at his arm. He found her body with his hands and slid an arm around her waist, pulling her toward him, helping her swim the distance to the shore.
A few moments more, and he stood in the shallows, holding her up. She collapsed in his arms, and he lifted her, uncertain if she were still conscious. As her cousin waded out toward them, Duncan carried her to the beach, dropping to his knees, laying her down.
Magnus knelt too, smoothing the wild tangle of hair out of her face, murmuring to her. Duncan eased his hands up her back to coax any water out of her lungs. His heart lurched with a sudden flood of gratitude when she coughed and sputtered. He held out his hand, like a command. Magnus put a dirk into it, and he sliced through the sodden cords that bound her ankles together; then he cut off a scrap of red wool around one wrist.
Lifting her gently, he turned her into his arms. She coughed again, and circled her arms around his neck wearily.
"I knew you would come," she said, her cold cheek pressed to his. He heard the smile in her voice, and heard the sob that followed. Cradling her head in one hand, he closed his eyes.
"I had to find you." He pressed his lips to her hair and fought back his own sob. He held her to him, and she clung.
Taking her face in his hands, he looked at her. He felt as if he could not take in enough of the sight of her face, her wet, red-gold hair, her gray eyes. He touched his lips to hers, tasting salt, and her arms around his neck tightened. His heart surged.
Magnus approached, having go
ne to fetch Duncan's discarded plaid; he laid it over Elspeth's shoulders. Shivering, she smiled at her cousin. Lifting the plaid to cover Duncan's wet, chilled back, she leaned her head against his shoulder again.
"How did you come to be in the sea loch?" Magnus asked.
Duncan glanced at her and frowned as he recalled something long forgotten. "Did Ruari strand you on a tidal rock?" he asked.
She nodded. "I broke loose." He nodded, hardly surprised; he knew how capable she was, how courageous she could be. He knew she would not have cowered on the rock waiting for the sea to swallow her, and his heart filled with pride to have her so much part of his life now.
Sliding an arm around her beneath the plaid, he felt tremors pass through her body. He pulled her closer, hardly feeling his own chill. He wanted to give Elspeth the warmth of his body; he would have given her his strength if he could have.
"Ruari will be back soon." She sat forward, as if to get up. Duncan held her back.
"Hold here," Duncan said. "We will leave soon enough."
"Why would Ruari strand her on a rock?" Magnus asked, frowning.
"It is a punishment for witchery, done in some coastal areas," Duncan said. "An accused witch is tied to a rock and left to drown in the oncoming tide. I should have thought of this earlier," he said, fisting a hand. "I should have realized that Ruari could do something like this."
"But you did know," Magnus said. "You rode straight here, as if a demon were at your heels."
Elspeth looked up at him then, her eyes questioning, curious. "How did you know to come here?" she asked.
He hesitated. "I saw it in a dream," he finally said.
They stared at him. Then Magnus glanced at his cousin. "I think he means it."
Elspeth nodded. "Tell me."
"I saw you in the sea, drowning. I tried to save you. And I recognized this place." He shrugged. "So I came here."
She frowned. "This was recently?"
"Three times I dreamed this. The last an hour ago."
