Chapter 13 #3
Villains, indeed. Thief-takers were cunning, ruthless, and notoriously corrupt.
They were the worst sorts of scoundrels, and they’d follow Freya to the end of the earth if they believed there was money to make from catching her.
No good would come of one of them getting their greedy hands on Freya or Sorcha.
But that wasn’t even the worst of it.
There was only one reason a pair of thief-takers would chase Freya from Dunvegan all the way to Kyleakin, a journey of nearly forty miles. No one bothered to come so far in pursuit of an innocent lady.
“Clyde Stewart. Is he—”
“Missing. Presumed dead. His body hasn’t turned up, which is curious, given he’s believed to have perished in the fire, but the good citizens of Dunvegan don’t seem to be bothered by that small detail.”
Callum heard what Brodie wasn’t saying. Freya and Sorcha were wanted for the murder of Clyde Stewart, with or without his body. It wouldn’t hold up legally, but that wouldn’t stop the thief-takers the villagers had sent after Freya.
“I saw the two scoundrels who followed me here at Baird’s Pub on the High Street a day ago. I recognized them again when they turned up in Luib. They’ve been behind me since then, and not far behind, neither.”
“They chased you all the way from Dunvegan?” Freya’s voice was faint, and all the color had drained from her face.
“Aye.” Brodie glanced at her, then shifted his gaze to Callum. “You haven’t got much time, Callum. You and the lass need to get into the boat and get away from Skye, now.”
“Wait.” Freya released Callum’s arm and took a step toward Brodie. “My sister, Brodie. Is there any word of my sister Sorcha?”
“No. They haven’t been able to find her. She’s still missing, and Mr. Dunn with her.”
“Thank God,” Freya whispered, even as she sagged against him, her face as pale as a ghost in the dim light from the lantern. “Thank God.”
Callum laid a hand on her arm, steadying her, then turned back to Brodie. “What about Castle Cairncross? Has anyone been there?”
“No, not that I saw. I watched for a day and night, and didn’t see anyone come or go. The place is deserted.”
“And the villagers, Brodie,” Freya asked. “Are they—”
“I beg your pardon, Miss MacLeod, but there isn’t time for this.” Brodie cast an anxious glance toward the road that led down to the shoreline. “You need to go. If the thief-takers catch up to you on this side of the Loch—”
“They won’t.” Brodie was right. They needed to leave, now.
Once they crossed Lochalsh, they’d be safe enough.
Their pursuers would have to wait until the morning to secure another boat.
By the time they got across, he and Freya would be long gone, and the thief-takers would have no way of knowing which direction they’d taken.
They’d lose themselves in the Highlands quickly enough. He’d make sure of it.
“Take Miss MacLeod down to the boat, and see her settled, Brodie. I’ll fetch our things from the cottage and meet you down there.” He didn’t wait for her reply, but ran up the pathway to the cottage, gathered their belongings, and ran back down again.
Freya was seated on the wooden plank at the front of Brodie’s tiny fishing boat, her hands braced on either side of her, her knuckles white. She was as still as a statue, and so pale his chest tightened at the sight of her.
“Here, lass. Take this.” He draped her cloak around her shoulders and pulled it snugly against her throat. “It’s two miles across Lochalsh to the other side. It’ll take an hour or so for me to row us across, and it’s going to be cold, so keep your cloak buttoned, all right?”
She nodded, her green eyes huge in her white face. If she was ever going to fall into a swoon it would be now, but she had enough presence of mind to reach out and take Brodie’s hand. “Thank you. I won’t forget the kindness you’ve shown me.”
Brodie blushed up to the roots of his hair, but he gave her hand an awkward pat. “You take care of yourself now, Miss MacLeod.”
She nodded, then turned to Callum. “I’m ready.”
Before he climbed into the boat, Callum took Brodie aside. “Those men from Dunvegan,” he began, speaking in a low voice so Freya wouldn’t hear him. “If they should try and harass you—”
“Let them try.” Brodie’s chin hitched up, and his dark eyes turned fierce. “They can’t do anything to me. I haven’t done anything wrong.”
No, he hadn’t, but neither had Freya. It didn’t matter much to a thief-taker whether their quarry was guilty, or not. “You may want to go up to McCrory’s place for the night, just the same. You’ll be safer there with him and his brothers.”
Brodie scoffed. “I don’t need McCrory’s protection. I can take care of myself, Callum.”
“I know it, but I’d feel better if you went. I don’t want you to come to any harm, lad.”
Brodie huffed and rolled his eyes, but he nodded. “Fine. I’ll go to bloody McCrory’s.”
“Good man.” Callum squeezed his shoulder, then climbed aboard the boat, seating himself on the center plank, facing Freya. “I’ll see Angus brings the boat back over to you tomorrow.”
“Good enough.”
Callum took up the oars, but he hesitated before putting them into the water. “You’ve done us a good turn, Brodie. I’m in your debt.”
Brodie snorted. “You were in my debt before this.” He waved his hand toward the open water of the loch. “Now go, while you still can.”
So, they went, the loch as smooth as glass, the moonlight catching the drops of water coming off the oars as he took them away from Skye.
Away from Dunvegan, and Castle Cairncross.
Freya stared straight ahead as he rowed them across Lochalsh, her gaze fixed on the shores of Kyle of Lochalsh in the distance.
In the hour it took for them to reach the other side, she never spoke a word.