Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
T he ale may have helped, but despite Maxwell’s assertion that he would never be able to sleep a wink with all the noise the wedding guests were making, they both hunkered down in their little sailboat and caught a few hours of sleep, waking before dawn.
The breeze was up, and though it caused them both to shiver mightily, they were soon bouncing over the waves on the loch, leaving the warmth of Highland hospitality behind them.
Aileen rubbed her arms. The tiny sail was full and Maxwell’s oars set them on a course that took them due south. It was not long before they saw the dark shape looming and, as the man had told them, they were rapidly approaching the southern shore of the loch where dark cliffs loomed above. Once they’d approached the shore they sailed on until they found a section of the shoreline where the steep cliffs gave way and they could go ashore.
They hauled their boat up over the pebbly beach to a small area covered in bracken and sparse bushes. Fortunately, there was enough bracken for them to hide the small craft. Then, confident they would not be visible to any passing sea patrols, they curled again into their cloaks and drifted back to sleep.
It was bright daylight when Aileen awoke and there was no sign of Maxwell. A cold stone plunged in her gut as she looked around, trying to clear her head and get her bearings. Where was the pesky lad?
She peered out across the loch and was able to make out the place where they’d caroused last night with the wedding party. If Maxwell’s guide was correct – and there was no reason to think otherwise – once darkness fell, it would take little time to sail through the loch and into the sea. From there they would sail south until they were close enough to Canna. After she’d gone ashore there and farewelled Maxwell, he would sail the short distance further on to his home on the Isle of Barra.
The thought of their parting brought a sudden pang of loss. She felt it in her heart, like a sharp blade slicing through her. For all their time together, she’d never allowed her thoughts to stray to the moment when they would part. It did not sit well with her.
She turned away with a sigh. No doubt Maxwell would be desperate to return to his kinfolk and be rid of her for once and all.
As the time moved on and there was still no Maxwell, Aileen decided to go and search for him and not wait any longer. She found a rough track leading up from the beach and followed it, guessing he would have gone this way. She walked on, keeping a close watch for him through the scrubby headland. It was not until she reached the very top of the cliff that she saw him.
He was lying flat behind a large rock. From where he lay, he would have a clear view of the western side of the loch and as far as the place where it met the open sea. He must have heard her, despite her stealth, for he swiveled as she came closer and signaled with his hand to get down. She crouched and semi-crawled over to where he lay.
“What have ye observed?”
“I’ve kept an eye on all the comings and goings about the loch. The fishermen’s skiffs are easy to identify, there are several larger craft that mayhap are ferrying goods or people across to Skye or the other islands.
“Nay sign of Sutherland’s men?”
He pointed low toward the point where the loch joined with the sea. A large birlinn came into view, crossing diagonally over the water. It was a big vessel with more than twenty rowers by the looks of it.
“Is it…?” He pressed a finger to her lips.
“Hush lass. We dinnae ken how voices carry in this place or who may be close enough to catch our words.”
She watched as the birlinn made a slow, wide, turn and progressed back in the direction it had come from. It sprang across as the wind filled its capacious sails and the oarsmen rested their backs.
“I’ve been watching it since I came here. It’s been repeating its passage back and forth fer the past hours.”
Her heart sank. “Sutherland’s birlinn?” She kept her voice at a whisper.
“I can only guess, but I’d say it is prowling these waters, looking out fer us should we attempt to sail through. I assume he has another ship waiting further down the coast at Loch Kyle.
Aileen peered down to the small cove nearer to where the birlinn was sailing. She gasped, putting a hand to her mouth to silence her cry. “Look!” She pointed to a small dark speck at the foot of the cliff.
Maxwell peered closely to the spot she was pointing at. “Well, I’ll be the chicken’s uncle ,” he proclaimed. “From here it looks like a wee boat resembling the one we’re sailing in.” He focused his gaze. “Yet, I count at least eight men there. Too many to sail on board such a vessel.”
“Puzzling.” She thought on this for a few moments. “I think I can figure this. The birlinn is likely Sutherland’s, as is the fisherman’s dory. He’s prepared fer us tae be coming this way. The light, fast, boat can hunt us and, if we’re captured, he has men onshore ready to keep us from escaping until we are loaded onboard the birlinn to sail back to Dunrobin.”
“Och.” Maxwell exclaimed with a hint of admiration in his tone. “That’s a good plan. One I’d use meself if I was in Sutherland’s shoes.”
“And you can be certain he has another birlinn and another skiff waiting further south.”
“Hmm.” Maxwell pondered on this. “If I was setting a trap, I’d have another ship posted around Kyle of Lochalsh. He’d ken we’re nae prepared to sail the long route around Skye, but we’d likely make a dash through the narrow passage. Once we pass Kyle his birlinn couldnae catch us.
“But the smaller boat could move with the same speed as we can.”
He shrugged. “Can ye sail those treacherous waters? I’m nay navigator when it comes tae the inlets and coves and rocky shoals. I’d rather sail on the open sea any day.”
She gave a short laugh. “I ken these waters about the islands and every inch of the shore and coastline. Nay pirate would survive long without knowledge of every possible hiding place, MacNeil. D’ye have a plan fer how we might make our way from here?”
“If we leave in the night, we’ll have a better chance of making it through. Once we’re sailing, we can watch the birlinn. When it’s at its furthest, before it turns back, we make a run fer it.”
“What of the smaller craft? Will it nay be watching fer us too?”
“If they see us, it will be a case of outrunning it. We’ll be depending on yer knowledge of these waters.”
Heart pounding, Aileen nodded. She’d led pursuers on more than one merry dance along this stretch of the Scottish coastline and there was a rare excitement in outwitting and outsailing them. She turned to Maxwell and kissed his lips. “I’ll dae me best tae takes us through. But we’ll be depending just as much on yer brawn and yer strong arms pulling the oars tae give us the speed we’ll be needing.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Strong? Like this?” He held her tight, taking her mouth, rolling her under him. With one hand he undid the string holding her britches together and wrenched them below her knees. She groaned, kicking one leg out of the fabric so she could open to him.
“Like this, lad. Hold me tight and let me feel ye inside me. I’ll be needing some of yer strength this night.”
Maxwell needed no further urging, so he kissed her again. An urgent, greedy kiss, consuming her with tongue, teeth, and lips. It robbed her breath blotting out every sense save for the sound of his breath, his moans, his touch, his taste of the sea and the wind and his dark man-scent.
This time she ground her hips against his and pulled aside his kilt. “Ye’re hard already.”
“Aye. Fer ye, it seems I’m hard most of the time.” Then he bent his head to take her hardened nub into his mouth. Cupping her other breast with his hand he rolled the sensitive nub between his finger and thumb.
She gasped as the white heat plunged between her thighs and she lifted her hips to feel him against her. She was mad for him, desperate. “I want ye, Maxwell. Dinnae wait. Take me now on this wild headland, under the stars that will guide us on our way.”
He met her need with his own wanting, driving his shaft into her so that she cried a hoarse, harsh cry from her depths that she muffled with her arm, until she grabbed his buttocks with two hands, sliding him deeper, urging him higher, faster, her desire like a fire that was burning out of control.
They found their rhythm, and she tangled her hands in his long hair, holding him, kissing his mouth, compelled by the beauty and ferocity of what she’d come to feel toward him. Her man.
She screamed his name, once again muffling it for fear of it being carried by the wind. “Maxwell,” and then the breaking waves took her, washing over her, until there was nothing left of her for she was joined as one with Maxwell.
Slowly they sank into the peace of each other’s arms. He kissed her forehead, holding her close so that they breathed in time and her heartbeat slowed with his.
“I forgot I was meant to whisper.” She laughed. “How could I?” She was about to tell him that, with him, she forgot everything, and that nothing else mattered but being with him, being held and that she had never made love before. But those were words she could never get her tongue to speak.
Does he feel as I dae?
He gave nothing away.
It was already dusk when they at last disentangled their limbs, separated the strands of their hair that had entwined, and made their way down from the cliff to the place where they’d concealed the skiff.
Once night had fallen, with only a sliver of new moon to light their way, they uncovered the boat and slid it into the loch from the pebbled shore making as little noise as was possible. They clamored on board, and Aileen unfurled the sail. Once it was up, she took the oar beside Maxwell. The job of steering the craft would fall to her, as she was the self-appointed navigator.
“We’ll keep close to shore,” she whispered. “And nae venture beyond the loch until ye’re satisfied the prowling birlinn has sailed across tae the other side.
With that, they set off as silently as possible, dipping the oars long and slow with scarcely a splash. They rowed against the tide and it took all their strength to keep to the direction they’d set. Once they had moved well beyond the protection of the shore the sail filled, and the boat gathered speed.
By the time they neared the open sea their eyes had become accustomed to the darkness and they could see the dim lights of the birlinn way to the north. They steered to the south, feeling the pull of the deep water as they left the loch. Their tiny boat leaped like a deer into the swell.
But, they’d all but forgotten the other small skiff they’d observed from their position atop the cliff. As they rounded the headland, they heard a yell from the base of the cliff and the sound of a wooden hull rattling across pebbles.
Aileen’s stomach lurched. Their sail had been sighted and the small boat they suspected had been lying in wait for them was about to give chase.
“Row,” she commanded, handing her oar to Maxwell. She scampered up to attend to the sail, making sure it was positioned to catch the wind now they’d changed direction.
Although they had a head start on the other boat, it was a slightly bigger boat than theirs and she guessed from its bulk, had two sets of oars. That meant possibly four men rowing to their one.
She reached into their small bundle of possessions and removed their weapons. Handing over his claymore to Maxwell she whispered. “Pray ye dinnae need this.” He grunted his assent as she laid the big sword at his feet.
Her heart was in her mouth. Maxwell was strong and a great warrior, and she would fight with all the fierceness of a wildcat, but they were only two against four or five on the other boat. Their best chance for escape was to stay ahead.
Inevitably, the other boat slowly ate up their lead and despite their best efforts the gap between them was shrinking.
“If we can hold them off until Kyle, we’ll have a good chance of making it.” She held the sail steady, capturing the wind so that they could keep well ahead of their pursuers. “The tide is high now, and if we are in the Kyle strait at the dead-low tide, there are many rocks and treacherous eddies in the shallows that make it too dangerous fer the birlinn tae pass through. They’ll have tae wait until the tide turns and by then we’ll be halfway to Barra.” She gave a crisp little laugh. “All this depends on the weather, the tides and yer strong back, MacNeil.”
Already bent and straining at the oars, he snorted. “And the weather?” He lifted his head; the wind was blowing fiercely. “Thanks be tae heaven there is nae rain tae dampen me cold flesh. If this wind holds, we may well maintain our lead after all.
“I cannae predict the weather. ‘Tis Scotland, so by morning it could be blowing a gale with a blizzard of snow descending on us. Or it could be fine and still. Me hope is a half-hearted gale that will fly us down the coast and leave those poxy sailors tae drown in our wake.”
“I pray ye’re right, Aileen. By me calculations, if our luck holds, we’ll be in the strait at dawn.”
“And, with high tide on us now, we’ll have the lowest of the tide wi’ us when we get there.”
Sure enough, a drizzling rain started to fall, and they both pulled the hoods of their cloaks over their heads to keep even a modicum of dryness. Even so, as the little hull ploughed the growing waves, they were dowsed in spray that was cold enough to freeze their bones.
Still, they kept on. Aileen joined Maxwell at the oar, keeping a steady, southerly route as the little vessel sped through the night.
There were times when their pursuers drew close. On one of these occasions the boat came almost abreast of them. One of the men on board reached his hand across to their stern, a rope in his hand. Most likely with the intention of attaching the rope to one of the metal hooks on the side meant for fishing nets. Then he and the other men on board could haul in Aileen and Maxwell’s tiny craft as if it were their catch of the day.
But the sailors were not so fortunate. As the boat drew alongside, Maxwell seized his claymore and, as the hand reached out, so did the longsword. The hand holding the rope was severed with one blow. The screaming man fell back into the other fishing boat and his fellow sailors rushed to his aid.
The pursuit retreated, the screams faded in the distance, and no other attempts were made to board or to attack.
From then on, until the dawn gave them light enough to see their would-be attackers, Maxwell rowed with one hand on his oar and the other on the claymore. Aileen said nothing, her mouth set in a grim line.
“I reckon they’ll hold off now.” Maxwell considered. “Biding their time until the bigger vessel is with them. Then they’ll have many more men tae come at us.”
“Aye.” Aileen nodded. “I can see by the banner they’re flying from the mast these are Sutherland’s men. And behind them will be one of his birlinns, hell bent on catching us. Mayhap the purpose of their sailing boat…,” she indicated the grey shape looming in the dawn light like a sinister shadow behind them, “…is merely to sit on our tail and relay our position tae the others so they may intercept us further along.”
Maxwell nodded. It had been a long night of hard rowing and his arms ached fiercely. “Me plan would be to catch us around Mallaig at the furthest reach of the loch.”
Aileen huffed. “That would be the place to trap us. The jumping off point fer Canna.”
Maxwell did not offer a reply. He was lost in thought.
Aileen was right. The rips, eddies and rocks through the narrows of the strait were like a series of traps that could, in a flash, lead to a watery grave observed only by legions of seals and otters.
Yet they prevailed, Maxwell using every bit of his strength and Aileen navigating with all the skills she’d learned over her years of evasion and pursuit. Maxwell grunted as he finally eased off the oar.
“Nae fer the faint-hearted, lass.” He rubbed his shoulder with a callused hand and tugged his damp cloak around him. It was protection from the howling wind, if nothing else. “If we rest awhile ashore, we can set off for Canna later in the day. Mayhap we could be there by nightfall. ‘Tis nae far.”
Aileen steered them north-west, hoping they could find refuge somewhere along the southern coast of Skye. As dawn broke, they found themselves enveloped in a thick sea mist that made it impossible to see or be seen.
This could be to their advantage if Aileen could find their way through this white, impenetrable blanket. “Can ye navigate without sight?”
“Aye. I can, if ye’ll only stop talking, MacNeil. I need tae gather my wits and speak tae the water and the land.”
They raised the oars and Aileen slackened the sail so that their little craft was almost becalmed. Then she sat, not moving, eyes closed, breathing evenly and gently, allowing herself to attune in to the world around her.
After a few minutes, she looked up, smiling. She stood and raised the sail again.
“So?”
“Aye. I’m guided by the sound of the water lapping the shore, the tiny splash of a seal entering the water, the rustle of the wind through the trees. They tell me how close the shore is and where the rocks are to be found.”
They continued for some time with only the sail to propel them onwards, while Aileen used her oar to find direction. Eventually, they came to a small headland and once they had rounded it, the fog thinned.
She urged haste. “If the fog lifts and Sutherland’s lads catch sight of us, we’ll never escape them.”
Still shrouded in the magical mist, they made their way to a small sandy beach surrounded by rocks. Maxwell descended over the side without a sound and, wading slowly through the knee-deep water, he took them close enough for Aileen to step out.
Once they’d made it safely to land, they hauled their boat up over the sand behind a rocky outcrop. As they’d done the previous day, they hid it beneath bracken and tree branches, making sure it was invisible from the water. Sagely, Maxwell found a separate hiding place some distance away for the oars.
From some far distant point came the muffled voices of the crew of their pursuing ship, lost in the fog, drifting closer to the mainland.
She was smiling as she crouched beside Maxwell. “I dae believe we’ve managed tae evade those sons of goats.”