Amanda Scott (38 page)

“I heard that, lass. Give me the key now.”

Wanting to cry for her clumsiness, she gave it to him, then listened with a deepening depression while he locked her in the room. Fighting tears, she went to the nearest window to stare out at the storm. Since that window overlooked the courtyard, she could not see the loch, but the room lay at the southeast corner of the castle and a narrow archway led into a small round tower room. From there, she could see rain beating down on the loch. The sky to the west looked lighter than it had been, and she could see the opposite shore, so the storm would soon blow itself out. In the meantime, though, if the cook managed to persuade someone to go for help, perhaps the rain would provide them some cover.

It was a spark of hope in the midst of overwhelming gloom. She had failed Bridget, but worse than that, she had failed Michael and probably ruined any chance they might have had at a happy marriage, now that he knew about Daft Geordie and Red Mag. She was sorry that she had not told him, sorrier still that Bridget had; but Bridget was being punished now far more severely than any misdeed warranted.

Fearing that Michael might even believe that she had purposely kept their existence secret in order to trap him into marriage, Pinkie felt as if her cup of woe would overflow. Much of his reason for marrying her, she knew, had been his determination to protect Bridget from Sir Renfrew, and now she was Sir Renfrew’s wife in name and soon would be his in body, too, if he had not already taken her.

Tears of frustration and failure spilled down Pinkie’s cheeks. Turning from the window, she moved to the bed, realizing that she had grown very cold. A fire lay ready to light in the fireplace between the door and the tower room, but she could find no tinderbox. Shivering, she climbed onto the high, curtained bed, sat back against its pile of pillows, and pulled the coverlets over her.

Shutting her eyes, she concentrated on relaxing and getting warm. Her hair was still damp, which did not help, but there was nothing she could do about it.

She did not think she had fallen asleep, but a noise in the room startled her, and she opened her eyes. Her heart leapt, and she sat bolt upright.

“Michael!”

The figure in the archway between the bedchamber and the tower room turned, and she saw instantly that it was not Michael. He wore the ancient plaid, and the dog standing beside him was not Cailean. Indeed, she had not seen the dog at first, not until she thought about it. Then, there it stood, like a dark shadow at his side.

T
HE FIGURE GESTURED COMMANDINGLY
toward the tower-room window and stepped out of the archway toward the fireplace. Its demeanor was such that Pinkie felt a rush of fear that something dreadful had happened. Slipping from the bed, she hurried toward the little round room. The figure nodded encouragingly, then stepped farther away, gesturing with more urgency than before.

Inside the tower room, she looked out and saw at once what the ghost meant her to see. The wind had shifted again to blow straight down the loch, where a small sailboat pitched and tossed on the roiling waters. She saw two children struggling to manage sail and rudder, their efforts as nothing against the force of nature, and with a surge of horror she recognized Tam and wee Flora.

Whirling from the window, she saw that she was alone again. Just when she needed him most, her ghost had vanished.

He certainly was not Michael or anything like him, she told herself, for Michael would never have been so cruel as to show her the children’s plight when she could do nothing about it.

Neither Sir Renfrew nor his men would heed her screams, and even if she did manage to draw someone’s attention and persuade him to free her, it would be too late. As these frustrating thoughts flitted through her mind, she was nevertheless hurrying to the door, her fists raised to beat the solid oak to splinters if necessary.

To her amazement, when she approached, the door moved as if stirred by a draft, as if Sir Renfrew’s man had never shut it or turned the key in its lock.

Without pause for question or disbelief, she jerked the door wide and flew down the uneven stone steps, screaming for help as she ran. It did not occur to her to fear Sir Renfrew now. Her only thought was to reach the children before it was too late. Had she considered him, she would have dismissed him as a threat, certain that her ghost would somehow keep him at bay. Thus, it was with profound shock that she found him on the landing outside the great hall, barring her way.

“Just where do ye think ye’re going in such a rush, lass?”

“Stand aside, sir, and let me pass in the name of mercy,” Pinkie begged urgently. “Tam and Flora, the cook’s children, are in a boat, and the wind has caught them. The storm will sweep them away if we can’t reach them first.”

He caught her arm, holding her. “What the devil are they doing on the loch?”

“That’s not important. We must get to them!”

When she pushed him aside and passed him, he made no effort to stop her. Behind him, in the doorway, she saw Bridget, clutching the tattered remnants of her gown around herself. The girl’s eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks tearstained. She muttered something, but Pinkie did not hear her and could not wait in any case.

Holding her skirts nearly to her waist, she ran down to the main door. The yett was in place, but she knew the trick of it and had it open in a trice. The iron bar across the door seemed light when she lifted it and set it aside, though she knew it was not light at all. In moments, she was down the rain-drenched wood steps, running across the sodden courtyard toward the water gate.

Men gaped at her, and several of Sir Renfrew’s men moved to stop her.

“The children,” she shrieked at them. “On the loch! Their boat will sink!”

The men approaching stopped, watching mutely as she wrenched open the heavy water gate.

“Hold there, miss!” One of Sir Renfrew’s henchmen, recovering more swiftly than the others, caught her by one shoulder, his grip bruisingly tight. Without letting go of the gate or looking at him, she struggled to get free.

“Release her,” Sir Renfrew snapped, striding up behind and pushing past them both, through the gateway. “There they are, may God save them!”

Following, Pinkie had all she could do to maintain her balance against the heavy wind. Her gaze swept the churning water, and fear threatened to paralyze her when she could not see the little boat. Then, following Sir Renfrew’s pointing finger, she saw its slender mast pitching wildly to and fro in the harsh winds gusting across the water. So fierce was the gale now that raindrops seemed to fly sideways.

Having spied the mast, she found the boat easily when it rose to the crest of a wave, then lost sight of it when the turbulent water seemed to swallow it. Waves and wind tossed the small vessel about like a toy.

In a lull, she heard Flora scream Tam’s name, and the little girl’s terror sent chills racing up Pinkie’s spine. Though she was certain that the children had meant to sail across the narrow part of the loch at its northeast end, the north wind had caught them and swept them into the longer, much wider part It threatened now to blast them right up the loch’s center to the Lynn of Lorne if they did not end in Kingdom Come long before that.

“Man the other boats,” she shouted to the men, now crowding onto the dock behind her. “Go and help them!”

No one moved.

“Hurry!” Grabbing one burly man by a rain-soaked arm, she tugged, trying to push him toward the nearest boat. He didn’t budge. Turning a fierce eye on Sir Renfrew through the rain, she snapped, “Are your louts all cowards, then, as well?”

“They canna swim, lass. Of course they’re affrighted in this tempest. They were afraid, crossing the big loch earlier, but the wind was not so great. These boats are no bigger than that pea-pod one the bairns are in. My men live by the sea. What boats they ken best are larger than these. Even so…”

But Pinkie was no longer listening. Running to the nearest boat bouncing and banging against the dock, she untied it. Holding on to the painter with one hand and her flying wet skirts with the other, she tried to get in.

“Hold, lass,” Sir Renfrew shouted, grabbing her shoulder. “Even if ye could manage that sail or those oars on your own, ye canna reach them in time.”

“Maybe not,” she shouted back, “but at least I’ll have tried!” Tears of frustration and rage mixed with raindrops streaming down her cheeks. “Stand aside, and let me go!”

“I’ll go,” a man said, his deep voice carrying above the screaming wind. Turning, Pinkie recognized the huge MacKellar and realized from his voice that he was the one who had grabbed her shoulder earlier. To Sir Renfrew, MacKellar said, “I canna swim, laird, but I can manage a sail and row verra well, as ye ken. The brave wee lass will never manage on her own.”

“Ye’re a good man, MacKellar,” Sir Renfrew bellowed, clapping him on the back. “Damme if I willna go with ye. There, lass, it’s done. Ye can stay here now, safe and sound, and we’ll see if we canna get to them before it’s too late.”

“Oh, stop gibbering and go,” Pinkie cried. “I cannot see them any longer. They may already be over!”

Sir Renfrew and MacKellar got into the boat, and as they fought to raise the small sail, she jumped into the boat, and would have fallen into the water but for MacKellar’s quick hand to steady her. Awkwardly, she flopped down in the stern.

Holding on to the mast but giving up his attempt to raise the sail, Sir Renfrew snapped, “Damnation, lass, ye must stay on the dock. Ye’ll only slow us down.”

“Too late,” MacKellar shouted, leaping for the rudder. “We’re awa’.”

Wind and current had caught the boat and whisked it away toward the bend in the loch.

“Nothing could have made you much slower,” Pinkie yelled over the wind’s roar when Sir Renfrew, struggling with the oars, scowled at her. Taking care to keep out of MacKellar’s way, she said, “Must I help you with those oars?”

She knew the question was unfair. Even expert oarsmen would have had difficulty under such conditions, but her demand seemed to invigorate Sir Renfrew. He got the oars seated properly at last and began to row. MacKellar had been doing all he could to keep the boat steady, but now he nodded to Pinkie to take the rudder, and moved up beside Sir Renfrew to take one of the oars. When both men began rowing together, their strokes became more efficient, digging deep and true.

Pinkie shouted directions. With rain and her own hair blowing around her face, she could barely see the foundering mast, its sail ripped to shreds, but their boat moved steadily nearer. With wind and water pushing them, the pace seemed unnaturally fast, but even so, by the time they were close enough to see the other boat, it looked as if Sir Renfrew had been right and they would be too late.

“They’ve swamped,” Pinkie cried. “They’re going under!”

The men put more muscle into their strokes, and both rain and wind eased, letting waves settle, so she could see the children holding fast to the foundering boat. The mast crashed to the waves, and the children saw them, as well.

“Hurry, she’s keeling,” Tam shouted, his voice high-pitched, his terror plain.

“Hold fast, lad,” Sir Renfrew shouted over his shoulder, picking up the stroke. “We’re coming! How far yet, lassie?”

“Ten yards,” Pinkie said, fighting to hold the rudder steady. “Straight on! We’ll come up on their starboard side.” The wind picked up again, so that her words seemed to blow away, and she could barely hear Sir Renfrew’s reply.

“Good lass,” he said. “Ease up when we’re halfway, MacKellar. We dinna want to shoot past the bairns.”

The wind blew as fiercely now as before, but the rain was not pelting as hard, and Pinkie could still see the other boat clearly. “Ease up,” she cried. “It’s breaking apart. Oh, careful now, careful!”

As they drew alongside, Sir Renfrew pulled the oar nearest the foundering sailboat from its oarlock and held it out over the water toward Flora. “Catch hold, lassie,” he cried, leaning farther and steadying himself on the gunwale.

The child lurched toward the oar just as a rolling wave struck the rowboat. She missed her mark, and when the boat lurched, Sir Renfrew lost his grip on the oar. A wave snatched it and carried it quickly beyond reach.

“Damn and blast,” he swore.

“She’s going under,” Pinkie cried, rising in horror to her feet. “Flora!”

The little girl disappeared beneath the waves, and without a thought for her own safety, Pinkie dove after her. As the chilly waters of the loch closed over her, she wondered what madness had possessed her. Then she felt cloth at her fingertips, and opening her eyes, she recognized Flora’s shadowy figure. Clutching the child’s body with one arm, Pinkie kicked and stroked with the other one to regain the surface. Her heavy skirts tangled dangerously around her feet when she tried to kick, threatening to drag her to the bottom of the loch. Just when she thought she could hold her breath no longer, her head broke the surface.

Gasping for air, she inhaled a mouthful of water instead when a wave hit her full on. Struggling to keep her head above water, she managed to take a deep breath at last, and heard with relief the child gasping and choking beside her.

“Kick, Flora!” she shrieked. “I can keep us both afloat if you help, but don’t try to climb up me. Wherever is the boat?”

“There,” Flora gasped, waving a shaking hand toward a spot behind Pinkie.

Glancing over her shoulder, Pinkie saw with dismay that the boat was drifting away. She could see MacKellar rowing as hard as he could, but rowing against both wind and waves was impossible. They were too strong for one man alone to overcome, and MacKellar was alone in the boat.

Hearing a shout nearer at hand, she saw Sir Renfrew some ways ahead of them holding Tam with one hand and what looked like a plank from the children’s broken boat with the other. Pinkie knew that she and Flora could not catch up with them, nor would the small piece of timber the others held be enough to support all four of them. Eventually, she knew, they all might make shore somewhere, but she did not think that she or Flora would last long enough to find out where.