by Amy Jarecki
What if this God-forsaken island wasn’t even Kerrera? A shrill scream pealed through her throat.
“Where is he?” She rocked in place clutching her hands to her body, tears streaming from her eyes, her nose running. Desperate for answers, she shook her fist at the sky. “Damn you! Where. Is. He?”
Exhaustion claimed her mind. She wanted to curl up in the bottom of the skiff and let it drift. Perhaps it might run aground someplace where people were nice and helpful. She tugged on the oars and shrieked with pain. Her hands could take no more. Slapped by the relentless waves, the boat had drifted further away from the island’s beach.
“Sean, where are you?” she cried, slumping from the rowing bench into the hull. I’m a complete and utter failure. She gazed up at the black clouds and cursed at the heavens. “God in heaven, why will you not help me?”
25
“You think I’m brave? My courage is nothing compared to yours. Before me I see a woman who will not be cut down by a devastating illness, who will look it in the face, grasp it with both hands and fight. Not only today, but every day you continue to fight, to work through your pain and agony so one day this will be behind you.”
Gyllis sat up with a start. She could have sworn she’d heard Sean’s voice—or God’s. More so, she remembered the words he’d spoken after she’d fallen at Dunollie. Only he believed in her strength. He believed she could overcome insurmountable odds.
But could she?
The boat teetered with the waves, the oars clicking in their locks. How long had she been wallowing in self-pity? How far had she drifted? She peered over the hull. The skiff had drifted toward the mainland, but a bit south, too. She could see the length of the island now—quite a long isle indeed.
But there was no time to think of that now.
Sean needed her.
While she drew in a stuttering breath, Gyllis stared at her shaking hands. Her pain did not matter. She would not allow anything to stop her. If the skin on her hands were to rub completely off, she would not stop. If the skies were to open with a deluge, she would not stop. If Duncan were to sail a fleet of galleys to find her, she would tell him to turn back because she would not stop until every last inch of Kerrera was searched for any sign of Sean.
Steeling her wits, Gyllis crawled back onto the rowing bench and wrapped her fingers around the oars. It stung, but she clenched her teeth and bore it. With every stroke of the oars, she grew bolder, pulled harder, worked though the aching agony in her limbs.
Thunder pealed from the west.
She ground her teeth and rowed.
A droplet of rain splashed her forehead and she threw her head back. “Bring forth your vengeance, oh God. I shall persevere like Job.” She pulled again. Why would God favor a man as evil as Alan MacCoul?
She could think of no reason.
Another thunderclap resounded. Gyllis shifted her gaze to the darkening sky. “If you’re listening to me, please help me find Sean. You may rain down on me with pellets of hail, but guide me to my love!”
Rain began to fall in sloppy droplets.
“Do you aim to forsake me?” she yelled at the top of her voice. “Is that why you turned me into a cripple?”
She scanned the shoreline. Still no sign of a cave.
On and on she continued to row until she rounded the southernmost point of the island. Once she crossed to the eastern shore, she’d be at the mercy of the storm and the stronger current.
Please. Help me.
The shoreline cut into a cove, exposing rocky cliffs—hidden both from the mainland and from the Isle of Mull to the east. Gyllis’s heart fluttered. Her arms infused with renewed strength. Could she allow herself to hope? The skies opened with a deluge, the white-capped surf slapped against the skiff, making it bob precariously. Fighting, she rowed the little boat straight onto a sandy bank until it stopped.
She’d have to jump out into the water. But that didn’t matter, she was already wet.
Cold water filled her boots as she splashed into the knee-deep surf. She wrapped the skiff’s rope around her wrist and trudged onto the sandbank, pulling it with all her strength. The wooden hull was none too light, but it was her lifeline to the mainland. Who knew how long she’d be stranded if something happened to the skiff.
And what if I’m wrong?
With a heave, Gyllis dragged the boat out of the water and secured the rope around an enormous boulder, then slung the satchel over her shoulder.
Overhead, a buzzard squawked. Gyllis’s shoulders tensed. Not but fifty paces away, an entire flock of the vile scavengers flew in a circular pattern.
Her heart flying to her throat, Gyllis stumbled toward the revolting birds. “No!” she gasped, trying to keep her footing on the slick ground. “I cannot be too late.”
She reached the crest of a mound and saw it. Gaping like the mouth of a serpent, the cave could have passed for the entrance to Hades.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
She bent down, picked up a rock and threw it at the buzzards. “Go away!”
A bolt of lightning streaked into three fingers overhead. The buzzards screeched and scattered while thunder boomed so loudly, Gyllis crouched and wrapped her arms around her head. Moving as fast as she could, she stumbled toward the cave whilst the rain came down in sheets.
When she stepped inside, she stood against the wall, shivering. With quick inhales, she rubbed the outsides of her arms and peered into the dark cavern. All she could see was blackness. She pushed against her eyes, willing them to adjust to the dim light. Slowly she crept in deeper, sliding her feet, bracing one hand against the stone wall.
“Sean?” Her voice warbled. “Are you here?”
She stood and listened, but the roar of the deluge outside resounded through the cave, so loud it was almost deafening. Reaching her free arm ahead, she continued on, sliding her feet over slick rocks.
The rain eased a bit.
“Sean?” she called, louder this time.
Through the dripping and splashing, Gyllis thought she heard a cough. She took another step. “Sean? Is that you?”
“Here,” a faint voice rasped.
“God in heaven.” Her stomach swarmed with fluttering butterflies. “’Tis you?”
Blinking, Gyllis focused on the source of the sound. She saw the outline of something bulky, immobile. Is it?
Hastening her step, she tried to run. Her toe caught on a rock and she stumbled forward. Straining to keep her balance, she crashed into the wall. “Blast it,” she cursed, ignoring the pain radiating up her elbow, and again sliding her feet forward. If I fall, I’ll be no use to him at all.
The cave brightened, as if there had been a break in the clouds. Then she saw him. Caged in irons like a criminal hanging from the Edinburgh Tolbooth. Stumbling, she made her way across the craggy ground while a sickly burn wrenched her insides.
Blessed Lord Jesus, what has Alan done? “I knew you were here.” She grasped the iron bars and tugged…Nothing moved. The welds were immobile.
“Water,” he rasped.
Sean’s features were shrouded in blue shadows but the whites of his eyes were clear. They gazed at her like a starved and hunted fox. Quickly, Gyllis tugged the flagon from her satchel. “I’ve some watered wine.”
She pulled out the cork and held it up and touched it to his lips through the bars. “I’ll tip it now.”
He opened his mouth and she eased the flagon up until she could hear him swallow. Then he sputtered and coughed.
She stoppered the flagon and set it down. “How can we free you from this contraption?”
“Bust…off the l-lock.”
Heaven’s stars, she’d never seen a man so weak. She rattled the cage and he groaned as if it caused unimaginable pain. “How?”
“Rock.”
“But I could hurt you.”
“Do it.”
Gyllis found a good-sized rock and picked it up with both hands. She swallowed hard and faced him. The lock w
as a black, ugly thing. Her hands trembled as she lifted the stone and slammed it against the iron. The clang echoed throughout the cavern, but the lock held firm.
“Again,” Sean growled.
She nodded and raised the stone. Hitting the lock over and over, Gyllis’s exhausted arms burned. She cried out against the strain, but the blasted thing must have been hewn in the fires of hell. Stopping, she panted. “I-I will not fail.”
“Easy lass.” Sean moved a bit and rattled the irons. “Give me another tot afore you try again.”
Gyllis winced when she reached for the flagon.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
“’Tis nothing.” She wasn’t about to complain about her bleeding hands—not with Sean teetering on the brink of death. She held the flagon to his lips. “You mustn’t drink too much, else your stomach might reject it.”
He sipped without sputtering this time. “I’ll be right.”
She stoppered the flagon and picked up the rock. “Are you ready for me to give it another go?”
“Aye. Aim for the top of the loop. Any padlock will not withstand a direct blow.”
She eyed the lock. “How did you know that?”
“I learned a thing or two serving in your father’s enforcers.” His voice sounded a wee bit better.
“You must tell me more soon.” She raised the stone. “Where it bends, you say?”
“Hit it square.”
Gyllis held her breath and smashed the rock downward. She let out a frustrated groan. “Damn this bloody thing to hell!” Roaring at the top of her lungs, she raised it over her head then slammed it atop the lock using her strength, her body and all the gut-wrenching fortitude she could muster. With a clang, the piece of metal dropped to the ground.
Squealing, Gyllis tugged on the grill. Though it was stiff, the hinges gave way with a screech. Sean fell to his knees, wrapping Gyllis in his arms and taking her down with him. “I’ve never been so weak.” His hand covered his eyes. “I’m a bloody mess.”
“How long has it been since you’ve had food or water?”
“Three days, I think.” He swayed in her arms.
She smoothed her hand over his stubbled beard. “My God. ’Tis a wonder you’re alive.”
He leaned against her—his weight much heavier than she could have imagined. “I cannot believe you found me.” He rocked back on his haunches and averted his face. “I am hideous.”
Gyllis clasped his cheeks with the tips of her fingers and offered a trembling smile. “Nay, nay, nay. You are alive.”
He focused on her eyes with an intense stare. “You are an angel sent from God,” he whispered, his voice dead-level and heartfelt.
Gyllis gasped, holding back her urge to cry, pulled him close and clung to him for dear life. For the rest of her life she’d be atoning for all the cursing she did in the boat. “No one would listen to me, but Alan’s bitter words replayed in my head over and over.”
“When he threatened me at Beltane?”
“Aye, I’ll never forget the hatred in his voice.”
“Those words have haunted me these past days.” Sean rested his head on her shoulder—as if he needed her. Gyllis’s heart swelled. She’d been needy for so long, to have someone need her made gooseflesh spread across her skin. She ran her hand over his head, never wanting to release him.
“He’s my brother.”
She took in a quick inhale of air. “What?”
“MacCoul.”
She gently ran a hand over his hair. “I always thought he was a bastard.”
“He was…is. But he’s my father’s son. My father supported him all along but never revealed his secret.” Sean reached for the flagon, his movement sluggish and awkward.
Gyllis pulled off the stopper. “So that’s why Alan is so bitter.”
“Aye.” Sean guzzled the watered wine. “He not only thinks he should be Chieftain of Dunollie, he aims to claim the Lordship of Lorn for himself.”
“No.” She tensed. “He’s insane.”
“Insane with hate.” He straightened and grasped her shoulder. “I must stop him.”
“He’s seized Dunstaffnage Castle. Duncan and the men are trying to attack, but Alan has amassed an army.”
“I must hurry.”
“You’re on the ragged edge of death. How can you think about going after him now?”
Sean sat on his haunches. “With a bit of food and a few tots of whisky I’ll come good.” He pointed to her satchel. “Have you got anything to eat in there?”
“I’ve some oatcakes, but that’s all.”
“’Tis a start.”
She reached for the bag and inclined her head toward the light. The rain had subsided, but droplets splashed down in rapid succession from the cave’s entrance. “Let us move away from the stench.”
“I’m afraid only a bath will help us there.” He used the wall for balance and chuckled. “My legs are as wobbly as a newborn lamb’s.”
“I ken how that feels.”
Both limping, she led him to a flat boulder where they’d be able to sit and she could see him better. When the light illuminated his skin, she clapped a hand over her mouth. “My God, where are your clothes?”
Sean grimaced. “I’m surprised the bastard left me braies and boots on.”
She focused on the sores peppering his flesh. “What did he do?”
“Blacksmith’s rivets bored holes through my skin. He not only wanted me to die, he wanted me to suffer as long as possible.”
“The fiendish blackguard.”
“Wheesht, Gyllis. I’ve never heard you use such a vulgar tongue.”
She rubbed her aching arms. “Apologies. I’m a bit on edge. No one would listen to me about Alan’s curse. Duncan tried to send me back to Kilchurn. Angus swore you were being held in the castle dungeon—not even he would listen to the reasoning of a crippled woman.”
“How did you find me?”
“Angus mentioned Kerrera was part of the Dunollie lands. I took a skiff from the pier and refused to stop rowing until I found a cave. If I had to cover every square inch of Kerrera, I would have done it.”
“My God, you are an amazing woman.” He grasped her hand and kissed it. “You are my very own guardian angel.” He slid his hand to her upper arm. “You rowed all the way from Dunstaffnage without assistance?”
She closed her eyes as his fingers kneaded her aching muscles. “I do not ken how I did it. If it weren’t for my determination to find you, I would not have been able to continue past Dunollie.”
His hand stopped. “Why are you wearing breeks?”
She chuckled and looked down. She’d forgotten about her clothing. Biting her bottom lip, she gave him a sheepish smile. “They’re Duncan’s. I couldn’t very well slip away from Kilchurn in the dead of night dressed like a lass.”
“You did?” He knitted his brows. “You could have been killed.”
She reached inside the satchel and pulled out the remaining oatcakes. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Aye, but I’m a man.”
“So does that make me any less a person?”
“No, lass.” He shoved a crunchy cake into his mouth. “You’ve proven that it most certainly does not.”
Gyllis blew on her palms.
Sean leaned in and examined them. “Christ almighty, your skin is raw.”
“I told you I wasn’t about to stop.”
He hissed. “Bloody hell. I still cannot believe you suffered so much for me.”
“But I love you.” She blinked back her tears. “I would have moved heaven and hell to save you.”
He brushed his fingers along her cheek. “I believe you would have.”
There was nothing Gyllis wanted more than to wrap him in her arms and smother him with kisses, but he was so weak and needed a bath. He’d require more than a few drops of watered wine and a handful of oatcakes. “Lady Meg is at Dunstaffnage. She can tend your wounds.”
“Dunoll
ie is closer. Jinny will set me to rights and I can gather my weapons and clean clothing.”
“Weapons? You are not planning to fight…”
“Bloody oath I am. I’ll not rest until Alan is brought to justice.” He cradled his head in his hands as if it pained him. “If he’d told me he was my brother I would have honored my father’s wishes and given him land and coin, but now there is no turning back for him.”
“Aye, he must be caught and sent to the gallows, but let Duncan lead the charge.”
“And lick my wounds like a miserable coward?” He tried to stand, but dropped back. “I will not sit idle while other men risk their lives for me.”
Since he’d taken a wee bit of sustenance, a dangerous fire flickered in Sean’s eyes.
Gyllis held his stare. She would not lose him. Not ever again. “But first you must promise we’ll go to Dunollie and find your healer. I doubt you could raise your sword at the moment, let alone face Alan.”
“Agreed. But I will regain my strength. Make no bones about it.”
26
By the time they left the cave on Kerrera, the sun had begun to set. It would be dark before they reached Dunollie. Sean was almost relieved—almost. In no way would he allow Gyllis to row the skiff up the shore. Every fiber in his body ached. His mind was clouded by pain, starvation and thirst. God help him, he’d even swooned a time or two.
They’d filled the flagon with water from a spring, but his thirst would not be assuaged. His stomach rumbled. A few oatcakes made little impact and his fingers shook. Bloody hell, he could barely propel the boat in the seas, given the storm’s effect and his trembling limbs.
Gyllis sat on the bench across from him, her eyes filled with adoration, even in his wretchedness. In no way could he fail her. She alone was the source of his motivation to continue on. The fascinating woman had singlehandedly overcome insurmountable odds to come to his rescue. He loved her before, but now his respect for her soared to a new level. He would love her through eternity. That her beauty outshone any lass in Scotland no longer mattered. If she were to turn grey with age on the morrow, he would love her no less.
