Rescued by a Laird

by Fiona MacEwen

  “Ye have nay choice, lass, ye and I are to be married and there is nothin’ which ye can dae to prevent it, now be a good lass and get into the ship,” he said, leaving her to hobble across the beach towards the long boats which were now pulled up to the surf.

  “Are ye sure we should sail now, Laird? The weather is becoming dangerous, is it nae?” one of the clansmen asked, but Stewart dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

  “And let us be targets on the beach for a Dunbar attack? Nay, we shall be back on McKinnon island by nightfall, I will nae have my throat cut in the night resting here on the beach, ye hear me,” Stewart said.

  “Aye, I hear ye, Laird,” the man said, but there were mutterings amongst the men, and as they pushed the longboats out into the sea, it was clear that a storm was brewing out in the channel, the little ships tossed up and down, as they returned to the large vessels moored out to sea.

  It was already growing dark when Ailsa was brought aboard, still struggling against Stewart’s grip.

  “Feisty lass, ye are, now stop yer strugglin’ and be quiet, there is food below for ye. Dinnae worry, I will nae mistreat ye,” he said, pulling open the cabin doors and pushing her inside.

  He placed her in a chair by the table and settled himself opposite, having given the order to cast out into the channel and make for home the ship already banking up and down as it began to ride the waves. The cabin was lit by several precariously balanced candles, which guttered in the draught coming from beneath the door. Stewart McKinnon cut some meat from a haunch on a platter in the middle of the table, handing some to Ailsa, and taking the bigger share for himself, along with a glass of whisky.

  “So, ye have fallen in love with Bryce Dunbar, or so ye say. What was it he did to ye that resulted in such bewitchment, or was it that old woman who cast a spell on ye?” Stewart said, as Ailsa sat tight lipped opposite, refusing even to meet his eyes.

  The door to the cabin banged in the wind and the sound of a wave breaking over the bow could be heard, the candles spluttering and one extinguishing itself, causing Stewart to mutter inaudibly under his breath.

  “Dinnae think that I will put up with this silliness forever, lass, ye are betrothed to me and the sooner ye accept that and begin to realize ye are mine the better life shall be for ye. Ye can be comfortable and well looked after, is nae that what yer father wanted for ye? That was what he told me when I met him,” Stewart said.

  Ailsa remained quiet for a moment, but then, looking up she scowled at him, knocking the food onto the floor.

  “And what is all that without love, Stewart McKinnon? I have spent but a few hours in yer company, but already I know that I could never love ye, not after the disgustin’ way ye have behaved, not after the way ye have inflicted such sufferin’ upon innocent folk. The Dunbar’s rescued me and took me in. I would be dead if it were nae for them and they have been the kindest and gentlest folk I have ever met, and then ye come along and snatch me away, as though I am the prize in some fight,” she said.

  Stewart shook his head and took a drink of his whisky just as an almighty crash came from outside, another wave breaking over the bow of the ship, darkness having now fallen around them.

  “In time, ye shall see that I was right in what I did and that ye had nay right stayin’ there at the castle of the Dunbar’s, the man treated ye as his own, just because he rescued ye he thought he could make ye somethin’ ye wouldnae be,” Stewart said.

  “I love him,” Ailsa declared, “and I shall dae everythin’ I can to return there and escape from ye.”

  “Then ye shall be locked up and learn some obedience, lass, ye hear me,” he said, and he threw his glass across the cabin in anger, as another wave broke across the bow of the ship.

  The storm had picked up now an was battering the ship from side to side, causing the hull to bank and rock, as the currents took hold of it. Stewart McKinnon strode out onto the deck where several of his men were battling with the sail.

  “Put yer backs into it men,” he cried as one of the sails ripped itself apart in the strength of the wind.

  “It is nay good, Laird, we cannae keep the ship on course,” one of them cried just as a great splintering thud came from out to sea.

  Turning, Stewart McKinnon saw one of the other ships floundering on rocks some fifty yards away, its hull split open on a rock, as the men onboard looked helplessly out from the deck. The clouds had descended, and a thick blackness now obscured the moon and stars above, the sea raging and throwing up the ships as though they were child’s toys.

  “I told ye we should nay have made the crossing,” one of the men shouted at Stewart, but the Laird turned and knocked him down, yet another wave bursting over the bow of their ship.

  “Pull down the sails, we shall be dashed upon the rocks if we go any further, weigh the anchor, we shall sit it out,” he cried, looking out at the other ship, the crew of which were now being engulfed by the waves and behind them the other ship was being to flounder, caught in the currents as it was swept further off its course.

  Stewart strode back down the deck. Steadying himself on the rigging and pulled open the cabin door, where he found Ailsa clinging on for dear life, as the ship rocked back and forth.

  “See what ye have done, ye have sacrificed us all and for what? Yer own misguided sense of victory,” she cried.

  “Be quiet, or ye shall find yerself overboard,” he said, snarling at her, as she looked at him with contempt.

  “I would gladly go overboard, if only to get away from ye,” she said as he tried to grab hold of her.

  “Stay here, ye shall be safe enough, we shall sit out the storm and continue at first light,” he said, but as he spoke the whole ship lurched to one side and he fell, the candles all guttering and casting them into darkness as they extinguished.

  Ailsa screamed, falling over and catching hold of Stewart who also stumbled and fell. Outside on deck, the men were calling for the Laird, the ship was on the rocks and now the rain had started to fall, battering them as the wind whipped up the seas around.

  “Laird, the hull is splitting, we’re on the rocks, the waves will take us to our graves,” one man cried, pulling open the cabin door and calling to Stewart, who crawled out, dragging Ailsa with him.

  “Save yerselves then, jump if ye need to, get to the longboats, let them down and try to get to shore again,” he cried.

  But it was no good, the waves were overwhelming the hull and with a mighty crash the mast came tumbling down, splintering in two as the deck was enveloped by the sails.

  “Take hold of my hand, Ailsa,” Stewart cried, catching at her just as another wave came over them.

  She screamed, soaked from head to foot in another wave, and clutching hold of Stewart the two fell down together on the deck. The hull was now in two parts, a great wave having thrown it upon the rocks. Now the water was flooding over the deck, the waves seeming to grow bigger with every swell and surge of the sea.

  Chapter 9

  The Bravery of a Lad

  Bryce Dunbar stood at the window of the Great Hall, looking out over the courtyard and towards the sea. As soon as the McKinnons had disappeared from the castle, he had ordered the gates to be shorn up as best they could and posted guards to watch from the battlements. From the Great Hall he and his mother had watched sadly as the figures on the beach made their way to the longboats and pushed out to sea, whilst the clouds gathered and blackened on the horizon.

  “If a storm brews up out there, they’ll nae survive, Mother,” he said, shaking his head and turning to Lady Dunbar who sighed heavily and put her arms out to him.

  “Oh, Bryce, the poor lass, and that wicked man. Does he have nay sense to him, nay compassion, or mercy? The poor lass will be terrified, taken out to sea in this and if …” she began, her words trailing off.

  “If they make it, ye mean, aye, then she shall have a life of servitude at the hands of that man, it dinnae bear thinkin’ about,” Bryce replied, and he turned bac
k to the window, the rain now falling heavily in the courtyard.

  There was no appetite amongst the men for the little food which remained, and a fire was kindled in the hearth. Casting a little warmth and cheer on the otherwise dejected assembly. Several of their number were dead, and many others were injured, Lady Dunbar doing her best to tend the wounded who sat around the walls of the Great Hall, lamenting their lot.

  The Laird was watching the sea, and the waves crashing on the rocks far out. He could just make out the McKinnon ships, rising the waves in a three formation, about to swing round the point of the bay and out to sea.

  “They will never get around the bay head,” he said, shaking his head.

  The wind was whipping up the sea into great jets, as though an army of white horses were charging across towards the islands, and from his vantage point Bryce could see that they did not stand a chance of surviving the storm.

  “Dinnae watch, Bryce, come now, sit beside the fire,” his mother said sadly, taking his arm, but Bryce shook her away.

  “I cannae dae nothin’ Mother, I have to help them” he said. “I have to save Ailsa, she dinnae deserve this, she has already survived one storm, how will she survive another.”

  “What can ye dae, Bryce? The storm is too fierce, any ship would be dashed to pieces on the rock. We must pray that she will be alright and that the good Lord will deliver her,” Lady Dunbar said, shaking her head as she too looked out at the storm.

  “I cannae leave her Mother, I have to go,” Bryce said. And turning, without heed to Lady Dunbar’s protestations he rushed from the Great Hall and down the steps to the courtyard.

  The rain was falling heavily now, bouncing up from the flagstones and causing the gutters to run. A streak of lightning forking across the sky, and thunder rumbling all around. Bryce ran through the gates, much to the surprise of his men, who called after the Laird, but he paid them no heed. He cared for nothing now but to see Ailsa safe.

  He cursed himself for not challenging Stewart McKinnon to fight him, and for allowing Ailsa to slip so easily through his fingers when he knew just how much he loved her. He had been a fool. But now he was determined to make amends and as he ran down the track towards the village, he knew precisely what he must do.

  The Lairds of Dunbar had always been skilled on the sea. It was his father who had taught him to sail, taking him out in the boats of the fishermen at an early age and teaching him the rudiments of life at sea. He often liked to sail out alone on the waters and had his own boat moored close to where the fishermen’s hut lay in the little harbor beneath the village.

  Now he intended to put all his skills to use and rescue Ailsa from the doomed ships which lay out at the end of the bay. The storm would surely have dashed them upon the rocks, and he could not believe how foolish Stewart McKinnon had been to risk the lives of his men just to return to McKinnon island that night.

  “Ye are surely not takin’ a boat out at this time of night, Laird, are ye?” one of the fishermen said, emerging from the hut as the rain pelted down around them.

  “Aye, there are stricken ships out at the bay end and I must go to them,” Bryce cried, pushing past the man, who shook his head is bewilderment.

  The Laird had kept this boat since he was but a boy, he knew every part of it and it was not long before he had it on the water. Pushing desperately against the waves, which were rolling into the harbor around him, in he leaped, pulling at the oars and gaining some distance from the shore before he pulled up the sail. The strong wind catching it, as the little boat swung out into open waters.

  But the wind here was in his favor and instead of driving the boat into the rocks, it sped him along the shore and out into the channel beyond. He could see the faint lights of the castle on the crags above. The rocks jutting out to form the bays on either side and as he came to the end, the current took him and swung him around.

  “Dinnae fail me now,” he cried, pulling at the rigging as the sail almost buckled under the wind which whistled around him, a wave raising him up and throwing him down into the churning waters.

  The waves were crashing on the rocks of the headland and Bryce could barely see through the darkness as he skillfully brought the boat around. He had sailed in conditions like this before, but never so close to the rocks and watched cautiously as the bow of one of the stricken ships came into sight. The sea was breaking over the bow, as though claiming it for its own. Dragging it down into the swirling depths below.

  “Is there anyone there,” Bryce called in desperation, squinting into the darkness for any sign of life, but there was no answer and he sailed around the side of the ship’s hull, the current catching him again as he came into the bay below the Dunbar castle.

  “Can anybody hear me, call out if ye can, or try to swim towards my voice,” he cried, but it was as though his voice were swallowed up by the wind and rain, which drove across the bay.

  He was soaking wet and shivering, the little boat affording him no protection from the elements, as again the swell lifted him up and brought him back down, almost landing himself upon the rocks.

  “Can anyone hear me,” he cried, desperate for signs of life, for signs of Ailsa for whom his heart was breaking.

  He had rounded the headland now and as he did so, the moon appeared from behind a cloud, illuminating the waters in its white light. The bows of the ships casting shadows upon the water, which frothed and foamed in an everlasting swirling, churning, cauldron of misery. Ready to claim Bryce for itself if he did not complete his task quickly.

  He was giving up hope of finding any sign of life, the ships were all damaged beyond repair. Broken in two and dashed upon the rocks. In the moonlight he discerned the grim sight of bodies floating in the water and swallowed hard at the thought of one being Ailsa.

  “Please God, no,” he whispered.

  He brought the boat around, sailing ever closer towards the rocks. In the desperate hope that some survivors may still be clinging there. Despite his treatment at the hands of the McKinnons, Bryce had no desire to see them all perish at the mercies of the sea and he was desperate to find any trace of Ailsa.

  “Hello, can anyone hear me, please, I am here to rescue ye, let me help ye,” he cried out, his voice stuttering with emotion as he sought any survivor amidst the carnage of the wrecks.

  But just as he was about to give up hope a plaintive cry came on the wind, faint and almost inaudible.

  “H ... el … p,” it said, carried away on the wind, as Bryce spun around, searching for the source of the cry.

  “Hello, are ye there, where are ye?” he cried, peering through the darkness.

  “Help, is that ye Bryce, help us,” came the voice, it was Ailsa, and Bryce pulled up the sails.

  He swung the boat around and steered it through the wreckage, to where he thought the voice was coming from. The rocks rose up like mighty mountains, and the seas roared around like hungry wolves looking to devour their prey. But Bryce could think of only one thing and that was Ailsa. He pulled hard upon the sail, the boat battered from side to side as once again she called out for help.

  “I am coming, Ailsa, dinnae fear,” Bryce called back, desperately trying to control the boat as it banked in the waves.

  Then he saw them, surprised to not only see Ailsa but also Stewart McKinnon. Floating together on an upturned piece of hull, the waves sweeping over it and threatening to drag them both into the depths. They were both soaking wet, Ailsa clutching at herself, as Stewart McKinnon held on for dear life.

  “I cannae get the boat in much closer, ye shall have to jump over,” Bryce called, leaning out precariously from the boat’s edge, as it rocked from side to side.

  “Be careful, Bryce, ye shall fall in too,” Ailsa cried, but Bryce was already reaching out for her.

  “Just a little further, ye must jump, Ailsa,” Bryce cried.

  “Jump, ye foolish lass,” Stewart McKinnon cried, as another wave crashed over him and his hold lessened upon the hull piece.


  Ailsa looked fearfully across at Bryce and back towards Stewart McKinnon. The water was surging around them and another roar of thunder echoed overhead. She was terrified but knew that this was her only hope and summoning every ounce of bravery she possessed she jumped.

  As she did so, Bryce’s boat banked again in the surge, tossing it upwards so that it landed into the swell with a crash, almost throwing Bryce out. Ailsa screamed as she landed in the churning sea, her head going beneath the water as Bryce struggled to reach her. Mercifully their hands met, and he pulled he into the boat. She was spluttering and crying, her whole body shivering and the pain in her leg almost unbearable. Desperately, she clung to Bryce, and the two held onto one another, as the sea sent up yet another swell, sending the boat reeling backwards.

  “Lie down, hold on,” Bryce cried to her, “I’m going to get Stewart.”

  And pulling around the sail with all his might, the brave young Laird pulled on the oars and forced the boat back towards where Stewart McKinnon was clinging to the hull of the ship. He was barely holding on now, his strength failing him with every crash of the waves. Soon he would have no choice but to let go, pulled into the sea and lost forever beneath the waves, but Bryce was determined to save him too.

  “Leave me ye fool,” Stewart cried. “Save yerselves, else we shall all perish.”

  “And allow the McKinnons to blame me for their Laird’s death? I think not, and besides, a good deed owes another, and perhaps ye will think twice before burning down my gates again,” Bryce cried, the spray and squall battering him, as tried to steady the boat.

  “Bryce look out,” Ailsa cried, as part of the hull from the ship crashed down around them, almost knocking the young Laird into the sea.

  “Steady there,” Bryce shouted to her, and Ailsa ducked back into the bow of the boat, holding on for dear life.

  “Ye shall have to jump too, Stewart,” Bryce called out through the darkness.

  “And let ye see me drown beneath the waves,” he called back.