3 WE MEAN YE NO HARM
SHE WAS GOING to die upon this rock, with only seabirds for company. There was no doubt about it.
Liza’s throat was so dry, she could hardly swallow.
It hadn’t rained since her arrival here. Two long days had passed, and it was the morning of the third.
She couldn’t go on much longer without water. Lying upon her side, she listened now to the cry of gannets and wondered how long it would take for them to feast upon her corpse after thirst eventually took her.
Her wrists were still bound tightly before her, for Leod knew his wife was able to swim. The distance between this lonely rock and Mull’s southern coast was considerable, yet her husband was wise enough not to underestimate a mother’s desperation to be reunited with her child.
Liza stared north at where the wide mouth to Loch Buie beckoned. Heat ignited in her empty belly then, throbbing.
How was Craeg faring without her? Right now, he’d be finishing his morning porridge in his bedchamber. Alone. He’d be wondering where she was, and likely fretting over it. A shudder passed through her then as she imagined his father’s callous response.
The ache in her gut deepened.
Leod thought he’d get away with this, but he wouldn’t. Word would reach her father of her death, and surely, someone would tell him what his son-by-marriage had done. And then Bruce MacGregor would rally his warriors and descend upon Moy Castle.
Regret twisted under her ribs. How she wished she’d managed to get away, as she’d planned. The past autumn, she’d organized a trip to Perthshire, to her family at Meggernie Castle. She’d promised her parents she’d bring Craeg, for neither of them had seen their grandson as yet. But, a day before her departure, Leod had announced that she couldn’t go. Perhaps he’d sensed his wife might never return to him if she visited her kin. But—whatever the reason—he was intractable. Tearfully, she’d written to Makenna, telling her that Craeg was suffering from a grave fever, and she wouldn’t be visiting.
I should have taken Craeg and run. My family would have sheltered me .
They would have, although it was likely she wouldn’t have gotten farther than Craignure before her husband caught up with her.
Tears stung her burning eyes.
When she died, she’d come back as a vengeful ghost. She’d haunt that whoreson until the end of his days.
Pushing herself up onto her backside, Liza pulled her knees toward her chest, tucking them under her chin. She started to shiver then. The wind had a bite to it, for it was only early spring. She wanted to retreat from it, but there was no shelter upon this barren rock.
Teeth chattering, Liza shifted her attention from Mull and let her gaze sweep over the open stretch of water around her. She couldn’t see the mainland at this distance, but she knew it was there, just over the eastern horizon.
Boats often traveled this coastline, and she’d hoped to spy one.
However, ever since Leod had dumped her here, the sea had remained empty.
Liza’s already hurting throat started to ache piteously. The Lord have mercy on her, she was doomed.
A wave of regret washed over her then. About agreeing to become Leod’s wife. About not listening to her wise elder sister. About not keeping in touch with her sisters, Kylie and Makenna. She’d been too unhappy and hadn’t wanted her family to know, but she was sorry about that now.
But one thing she didn’t regret was Craeg.
He was her one light in the darkness. Her son.
Tears trickled down her wind-chapped cheeks then, grief clutching at her chest. I never said goodbye. He’d grow up without her. She’d never see him grow his first whiskers on his chin or hear his voice deepen. She’d never get to throw rose petals at his wedding, when he eventually took a wife, or kiss her grand-bairn.
Leod had stolen it all from her.
Scrunching her eyes shut, she bowed her head, resting her forehead on her knees, and let sorrow take her. There were no more tears now, for her body was too parched to release them, yet the sobs that tore through her made every part of her ache.
Eventually, the storm passed though, and she raised her head, staring out to sea.
This was it. All she could do was wait for the end to come.
And it was then that she glimpsed something.
It was distant, no more than a speck upon the horizon, but her gaze fixed on it. And as one shuddering breath followed the next, she made out a billowing green sail.
Her pulse leaped into a gallop.
She could hardly believe it. Struggling to her feet, she gingerly climbed up to the highest point of the rock, causing the gannets perched on it to take wing, screeching in indignation.
Liza clenched her jaw. Good. The birds would draw the eye to the rock, and to where she stood.
And all the while, the ship drew closer.
It was a cog, its well-maintained clinker-built sides gleaming in the bright morning sun.
“I’m here!” Liza shouted, cursing as the wind ripped her voice away. She started hopping up and down then, wishing her hands were free so she could frantically wave her arms. “Help me!”
Standing upon the castle of The Blood Reiver , hands clasping the great wooden wheel that steered the vessel, Alec’s gaze narrowed. “What’s that up ahead … starboard?”
“A great rock, Captain,” Rabbie, a gangly lad of around eighteen winters, who’d recently joined the crew, called back from where he was coiling rope below the raised platform.
“I can see that,” Alec growled. “Take the plank out of yer eye and tell me what’s on the rock.”
“Birds?” Gunn quipped, unhelpfully, from where he stood next to Rabbie. This comment drew sniggers from other crew members.
Alec cut Gunn a hard look. He’d thought the tavern brawl, followed by his announcement of the night before, would have been enough to improve his crew’s attitude. But it was only the morning of their first day at sea, and already morale was failing. He didn’t like some of the looks his men shared when they thought he wasn’t looking, or the sluggish way a few of them followed orders. Alec wasn’t a fool; he sniffed the stench of a brewing mutiny rising.
It looked as if he was going to have to make an example of someone before long.
However, Gunn didn’t even meet his eye. Instead, he was sharing a loaded look with Egan—a thickset pirate with a bald head that gleamed in the watery spring sunlight.
Alec scowled. Those two were trouble.
Meanwhile, Rabbie put down the rope, neared the railing, and peered out at the rock. “Satan’s turds … there’s someone marooned there.”
Indeed, as The Blood Reiver sailed closer, Alec made out the figure standing atop the rock’s highest point.
His frown deepened. “It’s a woman.”
The wine-red gown she wore flapped in the wind like a sail. She was moving around, jumping up and down, although strangely, she wasn’t waving her hands.
Muttering an oath, Alec spun the wheel. Moments later, the cog lurched right, cutting through the swells toward the lonely rock. “Ready the rowboat,” he shouted.
Thank the merciful saints, the cog was turning, angling toward her.
Relief bloomed hot and bright in Liza’s chest. “Aye!” she shouted. “This way!”
However, as the ship drew closer, she marked something she’d missed earlier. In her desperation to gain the crew’s attention—for she saw them now, watching her from the railings—she hadn’t noticed the flag the cog was flying.
Red.
Blood red.
Liza stopped hopping, cold washing through her veins and dousing the heady relief. And then, she swore—a low, vicious oath that would have made her mother clutch at her crucifix.
She was a clan-chief’s daughter and had grown up sheltered from the harshest aspects of life, but she’d heard of the bloody flag.
Curse her, she’d attracted the attention of pirates.
They’d just dropped anchor too and were now lowering a boat into the water.
Liza’s already shaky legs turned to porridge at the sight. Sinking down onto the rock, she whispered a prayer.
The woman sat atop the rock watching them approach.
Perched at the bow of the rowboat, while his crew rowed in long strokes toward their destination, Alec observed her with interest.
The woman’s dark hair was wrapped in a braid around the crown of her head, although strands had come free and whipped across the sun-kissed skin of her face. She was lovely. Her body was strong and shapely, the dark-red surcote clinging to her curves, and emphasizing the lush swell of her hips and breasts. The fine cloth she wore indicated that she was high-born.
A merchant had once told Alec that he’d met an Arab princess on one of his trips, far to the south. He’d described her exotic beauty, limpid, dark eyes, and the golden cast of her skin. The woman kneeling upon the rock was how Alec had imagined her.
“What do we have here, lads?” he murmured. “A lady in need of rescuing?”
“Now that’s something we don’t get enough of,” Cory called back, causing the other men rowing to laugh.
However, when the boat nudged against the rock, and Alec leaped nimbly off, he marked the fear on the woman’s face: her features were rigid, her eyes wild. She hadn’t moved from atop the rock either, and it was then that Alec realized the woman’s wrists were bound before her.
He frowned. Had someone left her here? Straightening up, he raised his hands. He then moved forward, his gaze fusing with hers. “Fear not … we mean ye no harm.”
Her throat bobbed. “Ye are pirates,” she called down to him. Her voice was hoarse, unsteady.
“Aye, lass.”
“Then how can I take ye at yer word?”
He flashed her a grin, enjoying her defiance. The lady trembled now, yet her voice was steady, and the glint in her eye spoke of strength, not terror. “I swear to ye, my lady ” —he couldn’t help mock her a little— “that no harm shall come to ye aboard The Blood Reiver .”
She swayed then, sinking onto her haunches, the color draining from her face.
He cocked an eyebrow. It was heartening to see that the name still struck fear into some people’s hearts.
Alec climbed the slippery rock to reach her. “So, ye have heard of us then?” he asked, pulling a knife from his belt.
The woman raised her chin, her dark eyes wide. They were as beautiful as the rest of her, fringed by long black lashes. “Everyone’s heard of The Blood Reiver ,” she said huskily. Her jaw firmed then. “Ye must be Captain Rankin.”
He flashed her a grin. “Aye.”
Moments passed, and then a groove appeared between delicately arched dark eyebrows. “Ye are friends of the Macleans, are ye not?”
He inclined his head. “Some of them.”
She cleared her throat. “I’m Elizabetta Maclean, wife of the chieftain of Moy Castle … and I request safe passage back to the isle.”
Alec’s grin slipped. “Ye are Leod Maclean’s wife?”
A nerve flickered under one eye, and then she nodded.
“And why are ye out here, alone on this rock … trussed up like a fowl at market?”
She stared back at him, those lovely dark eyes guttering. “My husband put me here.”
Alec stilled.
He didn’t know what to say to that. No flippant reply came to him.
He was a pirate and had seen much in his time that was unsavory—but what kind of man dumped his wife on a rock and left her to die?
After a moment, he moved forward. He then stretched out a hand toward her.
Lady Maclean flinched, and he halted. Leod Maclean’s wife was used to rough handling, it seemed. “I’m just freeing yer wrists,” he murmured.
She stared back at him for a heartbeat. Then, jaw setting once more as she mastered herself, she held out her wrists so he could cut her bindings.