The Promise (Highland Lairds of the Crest #4)

Prologue

PROLOGUE

Eight-year-old Brianna O’Roarke awoke with a start. Though the heat of the sun had started to warm her face, she was still so cold her bones hurt. She whimpered and tried to open her eyes, but they stung so much that she quickly gave up. She was confused for only a moment before she remembered: Papa’s boat. Something had happened, something bad.

Slowly, memories trickled in, scary flashes that caused her to flinch as she realized why she was soaked to the skin. She was clinging to the hull of Papa’s boat, the biggest piece that was left. Brianna’s mouth twisted at the realization, and she swallowed hard, then winced at the raw feeling.

“Mama? Papa?” she croaked. Her throat was so dry and scratchy that she hardly recognized her own voice. She felt around herself blindly, and encountering only the cold metal of the hull, started to panic. She concentrated on opening her eyes, swollen from the spray of salt water and the sun. Then :

“We’re here, Breea.”

“We won’t leave you, sweetheart.”

At the reassuring tone in her parents’ voices, and the confirmation that they were still with her, Brianna finally calmed, letting her lids fall.

Tuning out the sound of the waves and trying to ignore the clammy feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her, Brianna imagined they were back at home, that her mama had just wrapped her in her favorite pink robe after a hot bath. She sighed, picturing the familiar hallway as she skipped to her bedroom, and the soft fluffy rug squishing between her toes as she climbed onto her bed.

As quickly as she’d conjured it, the image of her bedroom at home faded as Brianna tried to piece together what had happened on the boat, and how she’d gotten to where she was now. She couldn’t remember exactly what they were celebrating this time, just that they’d set off on Papa’s new boat for a sailing trip. They always seemed to be celebrating something; her parents made even the smallest things feel special, saying that it was all possible because of the ‘wee bit of magic’. Brianna had never asked what they meant by that, but it was true that her life felt special—whether that was because of her parents’ efforts or because they’d actually been sprinkled with some kind of fairy dust didn’t really matter to Brianna. It just was. But that was before this latest trip. Now, trying to ignore the icy feeling in her bones, she wasn’t so sure she believed in magic anymore, any bit of it .

Usually, Brianna loved their family sailing trips—she loved any trip they took, really—but this time, something had gone horribly wrong. She’d just settled into her bed, a cozy little nook, with fluffy pillows and a few of her favorite stuffed animals when her mama had cried out sharply. Before Brianna could understand what was happening, she remembered that she’d heard her papa on the radio, his voice stern, repeating “Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. This is Excalibur…” She might be just a kid, but Brianna knew that “mayday” meant “help.” She’d been startled, too, at his tone and had wheeled around to face him. Papa had caught her gaze and she remembered how his eyes had warmed and stayed on hers as he continued speaking, repeating a bunch of numbers while he pulled her in close, checking the clips on her lifejacket.

Her mama had appeared then, right behind her, muttering “I’ve got it,” and handing Papa something that looked like a flashlight. Papa had attached it to the hook on Brianna’s vest, twisting it until it glowed. Brianna remembered it being so bright she’d had to close her eyes. Then lightning had flashed right above them, followed by the loudest clap of thunder Brianna had ever heard.

“Arthur!” her mama had screamed, and the next thing Brianna knew, her papa was pushing Brianna toward her mama, shouting, “Get her out, Mere! The life raft! Go, go, go !”

Mama had picked Brianna up and started to run, but she’d taken only a few steps when a huge wave hit the boat and they were thrown. Brianna remembered feeling a rush of heat and icy cold water all at the same time, her arms and legs tangling as she tumbled over and over again in the waves until she didn’t know which way was up. Just when she felt like her lungs were about to burst, Brianna had felt Papa’s strong arms pulling her up, his gentle voice reminding her that she could float on her back. At some point, he and Mama had found the piece of the hull and helped her climb up onto it.

That had been a day and night ago, maybe more. Brianna wasn’t exactly sure how long they’d been in the water, but last night before falling asleep, she’d thought she’d heard her parents whispering.

“They have to be close,” Mama had said.

Papa agreed. “I’m sure they are, but they’re not going find her tonight,” he’d whispered.

Brianna had wanted to know who they were talking about, but she’d been too sleepy to say anything. “It’s taking on water again,” Mama had whispered, just as Brianna had noticed water pooling under her on the hull.

“I know, love.”

Brianna knew deep down that something was wrong, that they weren’t supposed to still be out on the water, but she also knew her parents would keep her safe. They always kept her safe, no matter what. The last thing Brianna remembered as she’d fallen asleep the night before was the sound of their voices as they sang her a lullaby .

And now it was morning. Mama and Papa were speaking quietly to one another again, and Brianna let herself be soothed by their voices as she returned to imagining her nighttime routine at home. After climbing onto her bed, she would line up the books she wanted her parents to read to her. She’d just picked one up in her mind, when she heard a noise, a whirring, roaring sound that grew louder and louder until she heard her Mama’s voice: “They found her, Arthur. They found her!”

“Breea, wave your arms, baby.” That was Papa. Wanting to please him, Brianna waved her arms and kept waving them, smiling when she heard his voice say, “Good girl.”

Mama and Papa kept encouraging her, their voices loud and clear even through the sounds of the helicopter that was now hovering right above them. Brianna cracked her eyes open just enough to see it but had to squeeze them shut against the wind twisting her hair around and the water spraying her face. She heard another voice calling her name, a man, but not Papa. “Brianna. Brianna O’Roarke.” Then, suddenly, she was being wrapped in a blanket. It felt so good to be warm again, she groaned.

“I’ve got you,” the same man said loudly over the noise. “Are you hurt?” His hands were gentle but firm as he checked her head and then her body. “You’re going to be alright. You’re safe now,” he said, securing her to his gear with big hooks and clips while holding her tight. Before Brianna could register what was happening, he was lifting her from the small piece of hull, talking to her the whole way through. “You’re going to be okay,” he was saying. “You did it. You’re so brave. Your grandfather’s waiting for you. Let’s get you home.”