Beauty and the Barbarian

by Amy Jarecki

  Merrin clamped on to Gar’s collar. “He’s making a good show of clamming. Do ye think he noticed them?”

  “I’ll bet he did. Increased his efforts, he has.” Ian pulled her behind a tree. “Stay hidden. If Niall doesn’t lose his head and race up here, they may not suspect him.”

  It seemed to take forever for the galley to pass. When it finally slipped out of sight behind the stony cliffs of Skye, Niall collected his bundle and hastened up the hill.

  Merrin started to run to him, but Ian caught her by the arm. “Stay under cover of the trees. If they have one thread of suspicion, they’ll double back.”

  Merrin nodded and tightened her grip on Gar’s collar to prevent him from running to Niall. Rewan and his men had already heard him bark. Seeing a dog would only increase suspicion.

  Niall huffed into the clearing. “Did ye see?”

  “Aye.” Ian’s fists found a home on his hips. “We should be down the coast by now. Do ye think they suspected you?”

  “I put on me best show to ensure they did not.”

  Ian glanced to the skiff. “We must leave tonight.”

  “But the pitch isn’t cured.”

  “It will have to do.”

  Niall stepped closer to Ian and craned his neck. The two men faced each other with determined scowls.

  Merrin tapped her father’s elbow. “Da. We must go.”

  Niall stopped and ran his fingers over the pitched hull. “I do no’ know…”

  “Ye have a better idea?” Ian glared. “Take the pots in case we need to bail water—Merrin, pack all the food we’ve gathered and what remains of the pork. I’ll set to work on finishing me arrows. We leave at dark.”

  Merrin ran to the cottage and grabbed her satchel.

  A pained bellow roared from outside. Have they found us already? Merrin dashed to the doorway. Her heart flew to her throat. Ian crouched, doubled over. “What happened?”

  He took in a deep breath, his face too pale. “’Twas just a twinge.”

  Merrin marched forward. “From the sound of it, I thought ye’d been shot again. I knew ye were pushing yourself too hard. Come, ’tis time I dressed your wound.”

  “Nay.” Ian stood, his jaw set. “I need to finish me arrows.”

  “Ye can sit on the log and work while I tend ye.” She shook her finger and stood her ground. “I’ll not take your back-talking. Set your arse down.”

  “Merrin,” Niall scolded.

  “Pardon me vile tongue.” She stomped her foot. “We do no’ need a bellowing warrior succumbing to fever.” She glared at Ian. “Or worse.”

  Merrin marched into the shack and grabbed the poultice. The bandages had long since been used, but he needed a fresh dressing.

  Ian was on the log, whittling his arrows when she stepped outside. She stood a little taller and smoothed her hand over her hair. At least someone listened to her when she cursed and made a royal fuss. Gar trotted to her side and she gave him a scratch behind the ears while sidling up to Ian’s back. “I’m glad I did no’ have to strong-arm ye.”

  He chuckled. “That would have been amusing.”

  “Och, ye tease me.” She pulled his shirt from his waistband.

  “Only because ’tis so much fun.” He glanced over his shoulder and gave her a wink. “Besides, Ye’re right.”

  She giggled and removed his bandage. The wound seeped, with a reddened ring around it. She leaned closer and sniffed. Not putrid, thank heavens.

  “What?”

  Merrin un-stoppered the pot. “It looks angry. Ye’ve been pushing yourself too hard.” Frowning, she ran two fingers around the inside. “And there’s only enough poultice for one application.”

  Niall sauntered over. “No more, aye? We’ll have to use salt water to cleanse it.”

  Ian arched his back. “That’ll burn worse than a flame.”

  “But ye’ll live.” Niall patted his back. “I’ve heard it takes a man a near six months to recover from a musket wound—if he survives. Ye’re no’ even to a month yet.”

  Merrin pulled out her knife and lifted her skirts.

  “Merrin.” Niall yanked her kirtle down. “What are ye on about?”

  “There are no more bandages. I aimed to cut one from me shift.”

  Niall knit his bushy brows and examined Ian’s wound. “Wait a moment.” He unsheathed his dagger. “Cedar bark will help him heal and protect the wound.”

  Niall crossed to a cedar tree and began carving while Merrin massaged in the poultice.

  Ian picked up an arrow shaft. “You pair are a good team for a warrior to have around.”

  ***

  Ian stood behind a tree and looked across the sound to his island home, wondering if he’d ever set foot there again. With Brochel Castle hidden over on the east side, the island looked uninhabited. Dùn Caan presided above the land like a mighty monolith.

  Twilight was approaching. The clan would be assembling in the hall, preparing for the night’s feast. His mother would be above stairs, dressing, ensuring her hair was properly covered by a silk wimple. Lady Anne always had a flair for fashion.

  Alexander now occupied the laird’s chamber. His older brother had proceeded with an arranged marriage near two years. From the few letters he’d received, Alexander’s wife Ilysa, a daughter of Laird Ross, was a good match and she’d given him an heir. Alexander had always been serious as a lad. Ian wondered if he was happy. He should be. He’d inherited the family’s wealth of silver and gold whilst Ian took a few meager pieces of finery and left to serve their uncle.

  Merrin ambled up behind Ian. “Do ye miss your home?”

  “Aye, and me ma.”

  “She’s a special woman, is she not?”

  “None finer.” Ian bit his lip. “More refined, I should say.” He brushed the back of his finger against Merrin’s cheek.

  “Aye, but she’s a real lady.”

  “Ye mustn’t belittle your own value. Ye are more beautiful and have a loving heart, just like me ma.”

  She bit her bottom lip. “What was it like? Being a laird’s son?”

  Ian looked up and watched the trees sway and rustle against a backdrop of clouds and sky. “’Twas a life of privilege that was no’ to last. At least not for me.”

  “It must have been marvelous—gatherings and celebrations, the music.” Merrin twirled in a circle. “I can only imagine.”

  “There was always something going on. But as a laird’s son, much was expected of me as well. I couldn’t just sneak off into the shadows and play with the other lads. Me ma watched me like a hawk. ‘Education is the weapon of all great men,’ she’d say.”

  Merrin smiled and looked across to Raasay. Ian took her hand and threaded his fingers through it. He’d dearly love to take her there. The grandeur alone would make her giddy, and she’d taste rich, exotic foods imported from the corners of Europe. But his musings were a dream. He kissed the back of her hand. “Are ye ready to go once it turns dark?”

  “Aye. We haven’t but a few satchels among us.” She glanced back at the shack. “I ken ’tis no’ much, but I shall miss this musty old place.”

  ***

  As soon as darkness cast its shadow across the Sound of Raasay, Ian and Niall hefted the skiff down to the beach. Gar trotted ahead, laden with satchels of food that Merrin had tied to his back. Behind the boat, she followed with Niall’s broken pots cradled in her arms. Ian hoped the boat would hold. It wouldn’t take them long to row to Eilean Donan. With a favorable wind and calm seas, Ian thought they might make it there before dawn.

  “We’ll need to stay close to the shore.” Ian glanced over his shoulder. “Can everyone swim?”

  Merrin’s eyes looked like round scallops shining in the darkness. “Ye want us to swim?”

  “If we take on too much water, ye may need to.”

  “As a wee lass I learned to float in the caol with Da.” Her voice vibrated with her footsteps. “But me woolen skirts are too heavy—they’ll drag me under
if we sink.”

  Ian strained to keep the boat from tipping to one side, though it was much easier to haul the blasted thing downhill—and his strength was returning. “Sit close to me once we launch the skiff. I’ll help ye if we capsize.”

  Ian continually shifted his gaze across the sound, watching for any sign of life. He crunched onto the beach’s smooth rocks then stopped short. Niall tripped over a boulder and dropped his end. Something dark moved ahead. “Sh.”

  The cloud cover made it all the more difficult to see. Ian squinted. Two forms moved. Gar barked and bounded after them.

  “No!” Merrin yelled. “Come behind.”

  Gar skidded to a stop. Ian had hoped for a quiet getaway?

  The dark forms squirmed toward the surf, barking—of sorts. “Seals.”

  Niall huffed behind him. “Let’s hope they’re the only creatures we encounter this night.”

  Ian watched them wiggle into the water. “Aye. If it were another time, I’d make Merrin a sealskin cloak. She’s earned it.”

  Merrin stepped beside him. “Well now, mayhap I can hold ye to that someday.”

  Her face appeared surreal in the darkness. If only he could kiss it. “Come.”

  They carried the skiff to the surf and Ian shoved off, splashing through the waves until the water buoyed the boat. During their time in the shack, Niall had fashioned another oar. Ian picked them up and rowed with long, powerful strokes, facing Niall and Merrin seated on the bench across. The ease of handling two oars proved far better than managing with one. But the pain the motion caused sent stars across Ian’s vision. Six months to heal from a musket shot? Ten days was already more than he could afford.

  He swallowed his pain and strengthened his stroke. “Keep an eye out for sailing vessels. Even if it’s not Rewan, we do no’ want anyone to see us.”

  Niall nudged Merrin. “Watch for leaks.”

  She patted Gar, who’d already curled up at her feet. “I think the big fella will tell us if it gets wet.”

  Ian looked down. No sign of water.

  They made good progress across Loch Portree, which fed into the sound. With Raasay to the east, Ian wanted nothing more than to pull ashore and ask for protection, but Merrin wasn’t safe there. Besides, he couldn’t bear the thought of bringing Ruairi’s wrath upon his clan.

  Ian groaned when they skimmed near a peninsula jutting into the water. White caps crashed into it on the other side, but still, it would be easier to row around than to carry the boat across the craggy turf.

  The detour took them into deeper water. Gar stood and shook. Water droplets sprayed Ian in the face. He dropped his gaze. A good inch of water sloshed in the bottom of the boat.

  “We’re leaking,” Merrin said.

  Niall handed her one of the cracked pots. “Set to bailing. I said the pitch needed more time to cure.”

  Ian groaned and rowed harder. If they had a sail, they’d be twice as far by now. But nothing could be easy.

  Merrin dumped a pot of water over the side. “’Tis no’ too bad this time.”

  Now they’d navigated past the peninsula, Ian pointed the skiff toward the shore. They must row to shallower water in case the boat sprang a nasty leak.

  An earsplitting clap resounded across the cove. Ice filled Ian’s veins. He’d never forget that sound.

  Gar whimpered and crouched.

  Ian whipped around. Where the hell had the shot come from? “Holy Christ!” Ian ducked.

  A flash, a clap. Merrin screamed. Musket fire lit up the outline of a galley hull that waved the MacLeod of Lewis pennant.

  Ian grasped Merrin’s arm. “Are ye hit?”

  “Nay.”

  “Get down, both of ye.”

  Niall pulled Merrin below the skiff’s rim. Arms clinging to her father, she looked up, eyes filled with horror. “What are we to do?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was only one thing he could do before Rewan’s men had a chance to reload their muskets.

  Ian turned the skiff, and with two strong pulls of the oars, he set it on a course for the peninsula—deep water, no beach, no place for a boat to moor. Ian drew the claymore from his back.

  Niall held up a hand. “No!”

  Ian held the sword above his head, its point aimed toward the hull. “Tie the bow and arrows to your back. Merrin, take off your cloak and wrap your arms around an oar. Quickly!”

  Another volley of musket fire erupted from the galley. Changing course put them with the wind, and the boat skimmed toward the rocks. The galley was slower to turn. Its sail fluttered. Musket balls slapped the water just beyond the tiny skiff. The galley’s sail would soon pick up. Guaranteed, the next volley wouldn’t miss.

  Ian slammed his sword down. The rotten wood splintered. Gar yelped. Merrin shrieked. Ian hit the hull again and again. Icy water sloshed over his hips. Sinking, he secured the sword on his back. Losing it now would mean certain death.

  Deathly cold water hit his chest. He forced in a gulp of air. Niall could fend for himself, but where was Merrin?

  Ian’s gaze darted, blocked by angry swells and dim light.

  There. Her head bobbed alongside Niall’s. Ian sprang from the sinking skiff and latched on to her arm. Good. She clutched the oar for buoyancy. Ian rolled to his back and supported her atop his body, kicking with his legs. The weight of Merrin’s skirts and his claymore sapped his strength fast.

  “Where’s Gar?” She tried to stop, but Ian strengthened his grip and forced her onward.

  “He’s fine.” He couldn’t look for the dog. Not now. If they didn’t hit the shore soon, all would be lost.

  Merrin’s movement slowed. “I cannot go much further.” Her teeth chattered.

  Ian glanced ahead. The shore’s craggy outline might as well have been a mile off. A riptide snared his legs and dragged him under. Holding Merrin above him, Ian kicked harder than ever before. Merrin thrashed—he held her up. Ian’s lungs burned.

  His head shuddered. He needed air. His grasp on Merrin slipped.

  No!

  Ian pressed his ankles together and kicked both legs together. His free hand fought the current while his other groped for Merrin. Stars crossed his vision. He clasped her hand. His arm pulled. When blackness blinded him, his head broke through the surface.

  Sucking in life-giving air, he heaved Merrin up. She sputtered and gasped. “I cannot.”

  “Ye can!” Ian looked to the shore—still so far to go. He pulled her onward. “Kick your legs. Do no’ give up.”

  Merrin strained, her body sinking. Ian took a quick glance around. Niall was nowhere in sight.

  A wave crashed over them from behind. All momentum lost, the air whooshed from Ian’s lungs. The force of the water spun him out of control. He clamped down on Merrin’s hand. Her small fingers yielded under his torturous grasp.

  His head hit something hard. He tugged Merrin’s hand. Again his head broke the surface. Hot blood oozed into his eye. Merrin sputtered. Thank God, she still lived.

  Another wave crashed over them. Ian collided with a rock. He yanked Merrin behind him. She slammed into his back. Ian heaved in a breath of air, pushing aside his pain.

  He grasped the rock above. “Put your arms around me neck.”

  Merrin latched on to him with a choking gasp. Every sinew strained as he pulled their bodies up and peered beyond the rock. “We’re nearly there.”

  “That wave must have pushed us.”

  “Aye, but it nearly killed me.”

  “Do ye see Gar?”

  “Nay.”

  “Da?”

  Ian’s gut clenched. “’Tis too dark to see much of anything.” He had to spirit her to safety before he could worry about the others. Rewan. Ian snapped his head around. The galley loomed in the distance, cutting through the angry swells, its sail full.

  He couldn’t worry about that now. Ian pulled them around the rock. His feet touched and slipped. Merrin tightened her grip. He grasped her arm. “I…cannot�
�breathe.”

  Her arms loosened “Sorry.”

  Ian levered them forward. Fierce wind cut through his body as they cleared the surf.

  Merrin took her own weight. “’Tis so cold.”

  “Aye. Wring out your skirts.”

  “Gar,” she called.

  Woof. The dog bounded toward them, satchels still attached.

  Ian scanned the shore for Niall. A heap lay over a rock fifty paces away.

  Merrin wrapped her arms around the sopping deerhound.

  Ian dashed to Niall. His eyes were closed. Ian felt for a pulse. It was faint, but Niall wasn’t moving. Ian shoved his back. “Niall?” He rolled the old man to the ground and pounded on his chest.

  Water spilled from Niall’s mouth with a fit of coughing.

  Merrin dashed to his side and dropped to her knees. “Da!”

  Niall held up his head. “Merrin? I thought all was lost.”

  Ian snapped his gaze to the sea. A shock of light blazed, followed by the crack of a musket. “We must run. Quickly!” He pulled Niall up and grasped Merrin’s hand. “Run!”

  Niall raced for the trees, but Merrin lagged.

  “Ye must keep up.”

  She yanked her hand from his. “Me gown is too heavy.”

  Ian looked over her shoulder. The galley was heading them off. They must head inland. Grasping his dirk, he held out the front of her kirtle and cut the laces. He shoved it off her shoulders and ripped it down past her hips.

  “But—”

  “Ye want to live?”

  She climbed out of the dress and snatched his hand, her thin, wet shift clinging to her body like skin.

  Ian sprinted, pulling her into the safety of the tree line. He tugged Merrin behind a birch, shielding her with his body. Gar circled beside them. Niall lumbered up, coughing.

  The galley’s sail had been furled.

  Ian sucked in a breath. “They’ll be coming ashore.”

  ***

  Merrin shivered and leaned into Ian’s warmth. Her kirtle was gone. Come daylight she’d be all but naked—on the run in her thin linen shift. She’d nearly died when Ian tore off her kirtle. But he’d done right. Trying to run in a soaked woolen gown was impossible.