Tempest in the Highlands (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  She took a deep breath, once again unable to take in enough air.

  “You asked, and I’ve spoken the truth,” he said. “Now say something. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m thinking, what made me save your life . . . twice?”

  Chapter 15

  Miranda was frightened, and damn him if he could blame her.

  Rob didn’t know what in the devil’s name made him tell her the truth.

  True, he was attracted to her. He couldn’t wait to see what she looked like out of those clothes. But he’d found many women attractive in the past and never told them about himself. No, what he was feeling went deeper than that. She had spirit. How many women—or men, either—had the courage she possessed? She’d boarded his bloody ship pretending to be a man and then jumped overboard in the middle of a tempest to save his life.

  He’d only intended to calm her down, help her get through the panic she was feeling at being stuck in this shaft. The kiss had not been premeditated. It had just happened. But blast it if he hadn’t felt almost honorable when he ended it. He hadn’t been prepared for the passion in her response, her willingness, the perfect fit of her body against his. He’d needed to stop it before he went too far. If they had made love right there, they would have both probably drowned.

  But making love to Miranda wasn’t what he wanted right now. Not the only thing. For some reason, he needed her trust. That’s why he told her about what he did for the Crown.

  It didn’t work out the way he planned.

  He watched her dive and come back up a moment later, pushing her hair back out of her face. He wanted to go to her, hold her in his arms, taste her lips again, and wash the lingering look of distrust off her face.

  “The tide is going out fast. There’s a strong draw in that passage.”

  He heard the slight tremble in her voice. She was avoiding his gaze.

  “You asked and I answered,” he said. “But I don’t want you to be frightened of me.”

  She pressed her back against the blanket of sea moss now exposed by the receding waters. It shouldn’t matter, he thought, but it did. She was under his skin in a way no woman had ever been before. He wanted to see the smile back on her lips. He wanted her to look into his eyes and only see him and not some henchman of a king.

  “The work I do for the Crown only targets other Englishmen,” he told her.

  “Only Englishmen?” Her skepticism was obvious. “No French?”

  “Nay.”

  “No Spaniards?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “No Scots?”

  “Only English,” he told her. “I admit that King Henry has other men in his employ to do his killing, but he doesn’t ask me. He knows not to ask me.”

  Her eyes lifted hesitantly to his. “Have you ever killed a woman?”

  “Never. Nor children, either.”

  He was relieved that she was finally asking questions. Once again, she seemed interested in the answers.

  “Why the double life?” she asked. “Why sail your ship as a privateer while serving as an agent of your king?”

  “Those tasks I accomplish for the king have given me the financial means of establishing myself . . . independent of my father. And that matters a great deal to me. I’ve sailed the seas for most of my life, but the Peregrine is the first ship that is mine.”

  Rob frowned, thinking of his ship. He didn’t want to think that it might be gone. He wanted to imagine the vessel anchored somewhere nearby and his crew searching for him.

  “Why is your independence from your father so important?”

  He didn’t know where to start. After his mother’s death, he’d been treated less like a son and more like an embarrassment. After all, he was half Scottish. William Hawkins had been married to Rob’s mother, but after her death he was handled more like a bastard than a firstborn. When he was barely more than a child, he’d been expected to serve on his father’s ships and earn his keep. Hawkins had not helped him. He’d abandoned him to his fate. But Rob had embraced that life. He’d done well and learned all he could about the sea and about men.

  Miranda was waiting for an answer. He decided to tell her what troubled him most. “My father has plans for his fleet that I want no part of. I do not intend to sail any ship of his.”

  “What are his plans?”

  “To transport Africans to the Spaniards in the New World.”

  Even in the dim light, he could see that she paled. “Does he intend to steal humans and sell them?”

  “It’s happening now. The Portuguese and the Spanish are doing it. When the king is finished fighting in France, William intends to cut into the trade.”

  Rob didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to repeat the arguments he’d had with his father about how despicable his plans were.

  “The Peregrine is mine,” he said shortly. “Finding and killing Sir Ralph Evers will set me up for the future, and the world will not miss him. My father and I have already parted ways over the manner in which we conduct business. That’s all there is to say about it.”

  This time, he was the one who went under to check how far down the water had gone and whether they could use the passage as a means of escape. He didn’t need to go deep; the tide was going out quickly and the top of the opening was little more than a hand’s span below the surface.

  Underwater, Rob had a moment to cool his head. Even speaking of his father’s ideas set his blood boiling. The old man’s greed had suppressed any sense of morality. Rob was no angel, by any means. He pursued his own ambition, and perhaps he was fooling himself, but he liked to think that he followed a code of conduct that was based on some sense of integrity.

  Miranda looked relieved when he returned to the surface. “How does it look?”

  “You’re right. The water is moving through the passage with some force. You can feel the top of the opening yourself. If it keeps up, we might be able to crawl through there before long.”

  He moved around the moss-covered wall. He had to stop thinking of the past. He needed to focus on getting out of here. She watched his every move. It might have been his imagination, but Rob thought some of the guardedness in her expression had vanished.

  “I know it was difficult for you to tell me all of that.”

  A feeling of relief flowed through him. She believed him. Rob never spoke of his family or his other profession. Men talked, of course. He had a good relationship with his first mate and with his crew. But he had no real friends or family in whom he could confide.

  “I was going . . .” she began to say before starting again. “I was going to Duart Castle with the hope of reuniting with my brother.”

  The priest at Tarbert Castle had said nothing about a MacDonnell sibling. A brother. Rob had assumed that Evers was after Miranda, but perhaps he was going to Duart looking for the laird’s son. But why was still a mystery.

  “We’re twins, separated at birth,” said Miranda. “I only learned about him before I went away.”

  “Why were you separated? Why is he at Duart Castle?”

  “My father,” she started, letting out a shaky breath. “Gavin—the real Gavin—was born with something terribly wrong with his skin. My mother told me that no matter how she threatened, the nursemaids wouldn’t go close to him. They were afraid it was catching. Muirne . . . well, she feared that he’d not survive my father’s cruelty. She sent away the nursemaids. Luckily, Angus was away collecting rents from the cotters. In a few days, she and my grandmother announced that the boy had died. No one was surprised.”

  “But he wasn’t dead. How could she know her bairn would do better under someone else’s care?”

  Miranda looked him in the eye. “She knew my father. She knew he would see a scarred or sickly son as a mark of dishonor to him. She feared Gavin would fare far worse if he stayed.”

  “Did she know someone at Duart Castle? Someone she trusted?”

  “All I know is what she told
me before I went. Gavin had made a home with the MacLean clan. He knows nothing of his own people, or that he has a sister.” Miranda’s voice quavered. “He is . . . he was my only hope. The MacDonnells at Tarbert won’t have me because they believe I deserted my mother and ran away. My future lies with Gavin. That is, if I ever find him.”

  The urge to hold her, comfort her, and assure her that he’d do everything humanly possible to unite her with her brother won out over his good intentions of keeping his distance. He went across to her and took her hand, pulling her through the water toward him. She came willingly.

  “Why did you run, Miranda? Where did you go? You couldn’t have known that Evers was coming.”

  She started, looking up suddenly.

  “Quickly,” she snapped. “We have to get down.”

  He looked up. There was no one at the top of the shaft. No sound filtered down. “What do you mean?”

  “Dive.”

  She propelled herself downward, grabbing him by the belt and pulling him with her. Before they even reached the bottom of the shaft, a sound like an explosion went off above them, and Rob looked up to see a huge stone sinking to the bottom.

  Someone had thrown a boulder down at them. And from the size of it, he had a good idea who it was.

  Chapter 16

  Miranda felt ill and her chest was about to explode from lack of air, but she couldn’t return to the surface for fear of what she’d seen. In her vision, a stone smashed directly onto Hawk’s head. There was blood everywhere, on the walls and in the water.

  Hawk finally grabbed her by the arm and they shot upward.

  “Breathe,” he ordered.

  She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the top of the shaft. The dark silhouette of the giant was visible, and he was raising another boulder to hurl down on them. This time, Hawk saw it, too.

  Hawk pulled Miranda to the bottom, and a moment later, a stone twice the size of their heads landed with a boom and sank past them.

  He motioned to the wall. With the ebbing tide, the water was now just at the top edge of the passage. He held up one finger, pointed to the surface, and then motioned to the opening. She understood what he was telling her. They would take one more breath and then try to escape the well.

  This time, he took her hand as they moved upward to the top. In her mind, she saw Hawk in a narrow tunnel, surrounded by walls that were only inches away from his face. He was not moving forward. Something was stopping him.

  They reached the surface as another huge rock landed in the water, just missing her this time.

  “We need to go now. If the water gets any shallower, we won’t have any way to protect ourselves.” He pushed her toward the hole. “Keep your face toward the top. Let the current take you and look for pockets of air.”

  Miranda hadn’t really thought of being trapped in the passage, and now the realization of going into that hole panicked her.

  Her body became rigid with fear. Acting with a will of their own, her hands locked onto the sides of the opening. She couldn’t do this. She wasn’t going in. She’d die in there.

  “Go, Miranda,” he urged calmly. “I’m right behind you.”

  A boulder scraped the wall of the shaft and boomed into the water just inches from her shoulder.

  He pushed her arms above her head, and she took one last breath before he shoved her into the passage.

  Miranda shut her eyes and held her breath as her entire body shot through the stone tunnel. Almost immediately, she banged her shoulder as the passage turned slightly, but the current carried her past the bend. The pressure on her boots told her Hawk was right behind her, pushing her along. But she was constantly aware of the narrowness of the space as her hips and shoulders brushed against the walls.

  Air. She needed to breathe.

  Opening her eyes was a mistake. The roof of the tunnel was directly in front of her face. Her mouth found a shallow pocket of air near the top, but she breathed in as much seawater as air and began to choke. She forced the water from her mouth and nose, and knew with all certainty that this was the end. Her heart was exploding in her ears; pain gripped her chest. She clawed at the wall, no longer knowing where she was or how to get out.

  A hard shove from behind propelled her down the passageway and a moment later out of the tunnel into a broad pool.

  It didn’t matter. Miranda felt herself sinking, a strange numbness taking hold of her limbs. She looked up and saw the surface of the water moving away from her. Everything around her drifted slowly away. The will to fight was draining from her body, limb by limb.

  A strong arm encircled her waist. Miranda was pulled against a hard body, and then her face was above the water.

  She burst into a fit of coughing and gasping. Her lungs were impatient for air, but she could not control her body.

  “Breathe,” Hawk ordered calmly, turning her around in his arms. He pushed the hair out of her face and held her against his chest. “Slow, easy breaths.”

  Miranda watched his mouth and tried to follow his instructions. Still, the coughs were slow to subside. Being cold and wet for so long was finally taking its toll. She started to tremble and she couldn’t stop.

  “We need to get you out of the water,” he said, taking her with him toward the edge of the pool.

  Their surroundings came slowly into focus. They were still underground and, like before, dim light filtered down from somewhere above. The cave was large, however, with a towering ceiling that extended far above them. On one side of the pool, the floor of the cavern rose in successive steps until it disappeared into darkness.

  The water that carried them here continued past this open space. She watched it slip beneath an overhang of rocks at the far end of the pool. Pieces of driftwood, as well as sticks and debris that had come through the passage with them, were piled up at that overhang and on the lowest rock ledge.

  Hawk followed her gaze. “We’ll rest here and see how far down the water drops before trying that one.”

  She never wanted to go into a passage like that again. Never. Ever.

  Miranda realized her feet were touching bottom, but her knees buckled when she tried to stand up. He held her by the waist, and as soon as they stepped up onto the rock ledge, she stopped.

  She was surprised when he lifted her off her feet.

  “I can walk,” she said. “I just need a moment to—”

  “Hush. Let me.”

  The thick pile of debris showed just how high the tide would reach. He carried her a dozen steps beyond it and gently put her down against a rock wall.

  Miranda drew her legs to her chest, resting her chin on top of her knees, hoping to conserve the little heat that she might have left in her body. She couldn’t stop the constant trembling that went to her very core.

  “I am going to see if anything is dry enough to make a fire,” he told her. “It looks like some of it might take. In the meantime, take off your boots and empty the water out of them.”

  Miranda would, if she could make her arms move. They appeared to have locked themselves permanently around her legs.

  She watched Hawk gather sticks, seaweed, whatever looked dry enough to catch fire. She gazed up at the ceiling of the cave. She couldn’t see the actual opening, just a crevice of some kind where light was coming through. Her gaze wandered to the pool of water again.

  She realized they might be trapped here, but Miranda considered it a huge improvement over where they’d been. It was a miracle that their hands had touched; otherwise, she’d have never seen the boulders being cast down on them. Wherever they went, it seemed, danger was pursuing them in the form of one of those figures from her vision. The future Miranda imagined for herself was quickly becoming a fairy tale. Each obstacle they faced made her realize that there might not be a next moment, a next day.

  She looked back at Hawk, crouching near her and breathing air into a steady stream of smoke now rising from the debris he’d gathered. She stared at the lines of concentration
in his handsome face. Those lips blowing air into the flickering flames had also kissed her. She’d felt a fire building in her, as well. Those moments were like nothing she’d ever imagined.

  Learning about Hawk’s past and the work he did now only exaggerated the divide between her heart and her mind. It seemed she only feared and desired him that much more.

  She watched him remove his boots and pull off his jerkin and shirt before breaking up more sticks and adding them to the tentative flames. It was impossible to not admire his bare, muscular chest and powerful arms. Heat moved through her where cold had held a strong grip not so long ago.

  The fire caught and climbed to the top pieces of wood, and she gazed with a sense of appreciation at the purple and blue flames.

  “Give me your feet.” He didn’t wait for her to extend her legs, but sat in front of her, took hold of her boots, and drew her feet into his lap. At least a barrel of water drained out of each boot as he removed them. “Do you have any feeling left in these?”

  Her breath caught in her chest and her back straightened as he rubbed her feet—first one, and then the other. Caressing the sole, flexing the toes, pushing her breeches up to expose her calves before rubbing warmth into her legs. She kept her gaze locked on his hands as liquid heat pooled in her belly.

  She jumped when he ran a finger along the sole of one foot. He was watching her.

  “Very well,” he said. “Your shirt next.”

  Her face caught fire. “I . . . I think it will dry.”

  “It’ll be either the shirt or the layers of cloth you have beneath it. One of them has to come off.”

  He was right. She’d been wet for days, and she was so cold.

  “Turn around,” she said.

  “I can help.” He reached for her shirt, and she slapped his hand away.