Drew grinned again. ‘Have you still not learned to trust your Uncle Drew? Hold on, now.’
Irene shuddered as she eyed the small islet to which Drew steered. A fury of frothed sea and spindrift shrouded the rocky shore, but there was a small bay on the north side, with deep grooves in a rocky beach and a copse of wind stunted rowan trees clustered around the ruins of an ancient building. Hardly slowing down, Drew guided the boat straight toward the moss-furred walls. ‘Duck!’
Irene did so, and Drew eased through a dripping archway into the dark interior. ‘That was the sea gate,’ he said, ‘and this is an old stronghold of the Macraes,’ he said. ‘They were the local hard men, the body guard of the Mackenzies, and they used this castle as an outlying fort to guard Coigach.’
The walls were of blocks of stone, streaked with birdlime and moss, with vegetation spouting from the upper courses. Irene ducked as a wave splashed against the wall, slopping cold water onto her coat. ‘So this was a castle then?’ She tried to imagine the romantic old clansmen here, with their claymores and targes, but instead saw only piracy, poverty and pain. ‘In America, we would have preserved this as a national monument, with an interpretation centre and a shop.’
‘I know. But we’ve got so many crumbling ruins in Scotland that we can neglect most of them. Anyway, it’s handy for people like us.’
‘Why are we here?’ Irene swatted at the first of the midges that searched them out. Smaller than the summer mosquitoes of the States, they were even more persistent.
‘We’re hiding from Kenny Mossman; he’s a tenacious wee bugger, he saw us in the boat, so he’ll be on the water directly. And we’re waiting for a lift.’
As the light dipped, the number of midges increased, so Irene spent more time slapping at them than worrying about the possibility of discovery. Twice she saw Drew busy texting on his mobile, but she said nothing. Once she heard the drone of an outboard motor, but nobody probed into their refuge.
‘The locals know about this place,’ Drew told her quietly, ‘but they won’t tell the outsiders. Kenny’s fine in Edinburgh, but he’s lost out here.’
‘Does he not have a map?’
‘Probably,’ Drew said, ‘but this castle is only marked as a ruin. There are no details.’
‘So how do you know?’ Irene clawed a score of voracious black insects from her face.
‘One of my lads came from here. You’ll meet him later. Now keep still and keep quiet.’
Covering her head with her jacket, Irene endured the swarms for two hours as the light slowly faded. At length, when she felt as though the voracious insects were crawling through her hair and exploring every part of her body, Drew nudged her. ‘Irene. Go right into the bows and look forward. Tell me if you see anything.’
Irene crept forward, staring into what seemed the most evocative ocean sunset that she had ever experienced as Drew extended the oars and eased the boat out of the sea gate.
‘The Macraes used to bring their birlinns in here,’ Drew murmured. ‘They were good seamen in those days, using only oar and sail power.’ He grinned to her. ‘Now we have to emulate them, but with the Society after us.’
Irene blinked as they passed through a tangle of vegetation, until she realised that a falling tide had enlarged the opening so there was more headroom but less water under the keel. She peered out to sea.
‘Don’t look at the sun,’ Drew warned. ‘It’ll kill your vision. Look toward the land; can you see any other boats?’
At first Irene could not make anything out save the sombre shape of Scotland, and then she saw the pricking lights from Alltgobhlach reflected on the sea. There was a definite black dot near Eilean Mor.
‘I think that there’s something there.’ She pointed.
‘Fine. That’ll be Kenny.’ Still using the oars, Drew eased the boat round, keeping close to the island despite the surge and crash of waves shattering against the rocks. Only when he was in the lee of the island did he start the motor, steering out to sea.
‘Keep alert,’ Drew ordered, ‘but look toward the land. Tell me the moment that you see anything.’
Irene scrambled astern. For years, Central Park was all the Great Outdoors she experienced, but here she was playing pirates in the back of nowhere, with her future and freedom in the care of an enigmatic Scotsman. She peered into the mustering dark, searching for the elusive speck of Kenny’s boat. ‘They’re moving!’ She grasped for the binoculars but found it hard to focus. ‘I think I can see white water under the bows.’
‘Are they coming this way?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Concentrate! Is there a white wake?’ Although Drew kept his voice low, there was no mistaking his intensity.
‘No,’ Irene swallowed away the fear that blocked her throat. ‘No. There’s only a white splurge!’
‘Damn. He’s coming this way then. He’s better than I thought.’
Irene recognised affection behind the insults but said nothing. She could clearly hear the drone of motor now, and looked at Drew. He nodded. ‘Aye, that’s our Kenny. Sound like a powerful beast he’s got, so he’ll be with us shortly.’
‘What can I do?’ Irene recognised the plea in her voice. She could never have asked that of Patrick.
‘Ignore Kenny now,’ Drew sounded as calm as ever. ‘Go into the bows and look seaward. Look for anything that should not be there.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Scrambling forward, Irene positioned herself as far forward as she could, leaning over the prow with the binoculars pressed to her eyes.
‘Keep the engine going and row,’ Drew said. ‘If I row like hell, we might outdistance Kenny.’
Irene felt the boat rock as he moved, then she heard the kiss of oars in the sea. She stared forward as the brilliant red sky gradually fading to the colour of watered pink silk, tinged with grey. When the sun slithered behind the distant gloom of Lewis, the sea took on a more sinister aspect. Oily waves rose around them, bubbled beneath their keel and surged astern in a swathe of frothy white. She started when something large splashed nearby.
‘Just a basking shark,’ Drew soothed her. ‘Nothing to worry about.’
‘Where are we going? That island over there?’ She pointed with the binoculars. ‘Are we going to Lewis?’
‘I’ve told you already. We’re going to America,’ Drew said. ‘I hope you have your passport. And your toothbrush.’ He glanced astern and swore again. ‘I can’t see Kenny now, but I hear his motor.’
Irene was aware that the growl of the diesel engine was steadily increasing. Irene tried to find Kenny with the binoculars but with could make out nothing against the dark loom of the land. ‘At least he won’t see us either.’
‘No. He’ll go for the sound. Noise travels for miles out here.’ Leaning forward, Drew cut the engine, and then eased himself back onto the central thwart. He grabbed the oars, sighing. ‘I’ll have to row like a galley slave.’ There was silence for a few minutes, save for the creak of the oarlocks and the swish of water.
‘He’s still coming.’ For the first time since she realised that the sceptre was safe, Irene began to panic. ‘He’s coming right for us!’
Drew rested on the oars for a few seconds, listening. ‘I think that you are right,’ he said. ‘He must be using night glasses. Clever man, our Kenny.’ Swiftly shipping the oars, he restarted the engine. ‘No point in silence then. Hold on, Irene.’
As Drew gunned the engine, a powerful light gleamed from the other boat. Irene watched as it reflected from the now dark water, gradually creeping closer. She blinked in the sudden glare, and ducked her head.
‘They’ve seen us!’
‘Grab an oar,’ Drew ordered. He pointed to a forward thwart. ‘Sit there and row like buggery!’
Irene looked at him. ‘I don’t know how.’
‘Then learn quickly, girl.’ Reaching out, he sat her ungently down on the unforgiving wood. ‘Grab one oar in each hand; dip them in the water and pull.’
He swore as the light returned, highlighting the shape of his cheekbone and jaw. ‘It’s your freedom, rogue-woman, so work for it.’
Irene felt for the oars. They felt cold and very heavy, the length clumsy as she dipped them in the water.
‘Row!’ Drew commanded. ‘Dip!’
She obeyed, copying his movements.
‘Pull!’
She leaned into the stroke, feeling the drag of water against the concave blades of the oars.
‘Now out and back, and don’t splash too much!’
Gasping with the effort, Irene obeyed, following Drew’s instructions as best she could, until her muscles ached with the strain and her hands seemed to turn to claws, but still Kenny’s harsh light glared on to her.
‘Andrew Drummond!’ The voice was metallic, obviously carried by a megaphone. ‘Stop where you are. There is nowhere that you can go!’
‘No!’ Irene tried to stand, to shield her eyes from that relentless light, but in doing so one of the oars slipped free and arrowed into the water. She watched it float away as despair took her hopes.
Chapter Twenty-Two
North Atlantic, August
When Drew looked up, squinting into the light, Irene saw his chin out-thrust in determination. ‘Bugger you, Kenny Mossman! If you want me, come and get me!’
The roar of engines increased and as the searchlight shifted its angle, Irene saw the other craft. It was twice as large as their boat, with double inboard motors and a tripod to hold the searchlight. Silhouetted against the light, she could clearly see a man standing. He held an AK-47, which he swivelled toward her.
‘Iain has you covered, Drew,’ the metallic voice sounded urgent. ‘So don’t be foolish. It’s not you we want; it’s the Clach-bhuai, and the girl.’
There was the sharp crack of a shot, and something smashed against the gunwale, shaking the boat and showering splinters over Irene.
She screamed.
Drew pulled her close. ‘You hurt?’
Irene shook her head.
‘Fine.’ Still holding her, Drew lifted his voice. ‘You’re too late, Kenny, son,’ he said. ‘Look ahead.’
The unlit vessel seemed to loom out of the water, dominating their boat like some powered island, but Drew manoeuvred skilfully to the opposite side.
‘We’re safe now, Irene,’ he said softly. ‘Even a Borderer would not be reckless enough to shoot us in front of witnesses.’
A man appeared on the gunwale, ‘in you come, darling.’ He hauled Irene over the handrail and inboard. She collapsed on the deck, her legs trembling.
‘Oh thank God. Drew?’
‘Coming!’ Drew grinned up at her and tossed in his fishing gear and the bait bag with scent regard to the priceless contents. He vaulted the rail. ‘All right, Irene?’
She nodded, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder for a long second as she relished being on a deck that still swooped and tossed but felt far more stable than the open boat she had just left. ‘How about Kenny?’
‘How about him?’ Drew hugged her briefly and kissed her forehead. ‘Behave now, little rogue.’ He looked up as somebody approached. ‘All right, Willie?’
‘All right.’ The man was as tall as Drew, but with the subtly different Highland accent. He smelled of diesel oil and fish. ‘Is this your girl?’
‘This is Irene. She’s helping me leave Scotland for a while.’
The man’s hand encircled Irene’s like a clamp. ‘Willie MacRae.’ Used to the flabby grip of office workers, Irene winced involuntarily. Willie immediately opened his hand and apologised.
‘Not at all,’ Irene said. ‘You caught me by surprise.’
‘You’re Canadian,’ Willie accused.
‘American.’
When Willie apologised for any offence, Irene immediately liked him.
‘See that boat there?’ Drew pointed to Kenny’s craft. ‘There’s a man with a gun on board. He doesn’t like me very much. Shall we get under way?’
‘Aye, aye sir,’ somebody said, with more than a touch of sarcasm.
‘Are you absconding with his wife?’ Willie looked Irene up and down and nodded approvingly. ‘Good choice. Better class than the tarts you used to pick up.’
Unsure whether to feel complimented or insulted, Irene contented herself with a whispered comment to Drew that they would discuss his previous women later. She started as a powerful engine suddenly roared beneath her feet.
‘Where are we going?’
‘Straight over to Portsmouth, New Hampshire,’ Drew told her, ‘non stop, so you had better get some rest.’
Irene looked up, realising that she had not slept for over twenty-four hours. As the adrenalin drained from her system, the rush of tiredness took her by surprise, but she still gathered up the bag containing the sceptre before following Willie MacRae down below.
Irene had never seen anything quite like the vessel that carried her across the Atlantic. It was a millionaire’s plaything, a yacht of such power that it made light of the three thousand miles of Atlantic waterway. She spent most of her time on deck, watching the long bows smash through the waves, but made occasional visits to a galley so modern it made her New York kitchen looked antique. Even Ms Manning would have been proud to own such a yacht.
‘Is this yours, Drew?’ Irene wondered, and felt slightly disappointed when he shook his head.
‘Not on your life. I just know the skipper. Willie’s what you call a ferryman. He picks up yachts for paying clients and delivers them wherever they are wanted. Some American billionaire bought this one and I hitched a ride.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ Irene said. When she ran the Manning Corporation, she would buy a boat like this and call it Johnnie Armstrong’s Revenge. The thought was cheering.
The fog came unexpectedly and Irene huddled into her coat when they nosed toward the North American coastline. However luxurious the boat, it did not run to a wardrobe of warm clothing for any female passengers that they happened to pick up, and even a July fog was chilling at this latitude.
‘You all right?’ Drew slid an arm around her as she stood on the greasy foredeck, staring into the amorphous mass ahead.
‘Fine.’ Irene suppressed a shiver. ‘Typical, isn’t it? We cross all those miles of sea and sail into this stuff just off America.’
‘Shocking,’ Drew agreed. ‘I’m sure that the Pilgrim Fathers never had this trouble.’ He gestured back to the cabin. ‘Would you not be better inside? It’s a hell of a lot warmer.’
‘I’m fine,’ Irene said. ‘Besides, if we hit something, I can get off easier out here.’
Drew shook his head. ‘We won’t hit anything. Not with all the electronic equipment that she carries. According to Willie, she has integrated Simrad Radar, GPS, Chart plotter and echo sounder. It’s like the starship Enterprise in there,’ he nodded to the bridge.
‘Thanks, but I’m not keen on boldly trekking.’ Irene looked around her. She could see a yellowing glow ahead, as if America was calling to her through the fog, but even the powerful lights of the yacht could not penetrate the murk. On an impulse, she yelled out, only to hear her own words bounced back, distorted and unintelligible.
‘Don’t get too cold,’ Drew advised, and returned back below.
With her radar circling steadily, the yacht crept on, engine hushed by the fog, her two-man crew quietly efficient and only Irene on deck. She shivered and pulled her coat closer to her throat, wondering how efficient the United States Customs would be, and how Ms Manning would greet her.
The yellow glow increased, shone bright for a second and vanished. America lay over there, just beyond that light. That was her home, her land of opportunity. For a long moment Irene stared into the fog, and then she fingered the Luckenbooth brooch and glanced upward at the bridge. She could see Drew, bowed over the controls, his face frowning in concentration, and she smiled. He was a good man, and whatever had motivated him into helping her, he deserved a reward.
‘Drew.’ Ire
ne crept up behind him as he examined the fluorescent green dials that gave their position and bearing. ‘Are you driving this boat?’
He turned around, shaking his head. ‘Just being nosey.’
‘Then leave that to Willie. I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.’ She crooked an enticing finger and he followed, with that slightly puzzled look on his face that meant he did not trust her.
Reaching out, Irene took hold of the front of his jacket and pulled him down the short ladder to the accommodation below. ‘A toast to America,’ she said, opening the door to her cabin.
The bunk was only a little narrower than Drew’s bed in Edinburgh, and the steady motion of the boat had an almost aphrodisiac effect as she slipped off her clothes and stood naked before him.
‘Well now,’ Drew began to unbutton his shirt, his hands slow and easy.
Irene positioned herself directly in front of him, staring unsmiling into his eyes as she completed his undressing and ran her hands down his flanks and up the curve of his hips, where she stopped, running her thumb over her nails.
‘This is a nice surprise,’ he began, but she put a finger to his mouth.
‘Shhh. Don’t spoil the mood,’ she said, straightened her fingers and patted the warm bulge of his buttocks. With Drew, there was no desire to hurt. ‘Come on, now.’ Lying slowly on top of the bed, she guided him on top of her.
The lighthouse at the entrance of Portsmouth harbour glimmered briefly through the porthole, illuminating the play of muscles on his body as he responded to her requests, and then Irene grinned, cupped his face and asked exactly what he wanted.
‘A present from America,’ she said, smiling, ‘I promise not to be shocked.’
Drew shook his head, ‘don’t make promises that you cannot keep,’ but his response pleased her and they made gentle love in the cabin until he dozed to sleep and she could slip away in the quiet light of morning.
Irene had never been in New Hampshire before, but she liked the brightly painted wooden houses of Portsmouth and the yellow-suited fishermen busy on the State Fishing Pier. She liked the bright American flag that hung limp from its pole and the long, measured accents of the men on the quay. She liked the pick-up trucks with their nautical contents and the women in tight denims who exchanged calm words over steaming mugs of coffee.
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