Elaine Barbieri (20 page)

The surf crashed over the ring of rock that formed the tidal pool, and the young woman pushed herself to her feet. She drew the leather cloak up to shield her face from the stinging spray of wind-driven brine. When she looked back at the body, the wave had pushed the Highlander deeper into the pool, immersing his face.

Tess immediately dropped her stick and lifted his face out of the water. Glancing over her shoulder, she eyed a flat rock at the far side of the pool. It sat higher than the tide generally rose. Rolling him forward slightly, she held him under the arms just as another wave crested the pool’s rim. The surge of water lifted the body, and Tess quickly
dragged him through the water toward the rock.

He was heavier than she thought he would be. Out of breath, she finally succeeded in getting him partially anchored on the rock.

Auld Charlotte had once told Tess that they’d found her nearly drowned in this same tidal pool. The thought of that now flickered in her mind. She tried to recall the storm and the ship and the day but those memories had long ago faded into nightmares. Now it was all buried too deeply within her to recollect. She wondered if it had been a day like this one.

The dirk at the Highlander’s side caught her eye, and Tess reached down quickly yanked the weapon from its sheath, and tucked it into her own belt.

The wind was howling, and the salt spray was stinging her face. Tess looked out at the frothy, gray-green sea, hoping to see some boat searching for the Highlander lying unconscious beside her.

If they came, she wouldn’t let herself be seen, though. She wanted no news of her presence to be carried to the mainland.

She had been only six years old when the ship had sunk and she had washed ashore. But the little she allowed herself to remember from the time before that day was too painful. Tess had no desire to face that horrifying past ever again. There was no place else that she ever wanted to be but here. This island was the only home she had left.

For eleven years the reclusive couple had kept her existence a secret. And now, with both of them dead, she could only pray to continue her life as before, undisturbed.

Her plan was the same as the one she’d followed dozens of times since washing up on this island. Whenever there was a chance of a fishing boat or some pilgrims coming ashore, Garth and Charlotte would trundle Tess off with plenty of food and blankets to the caves on the western shore of the island. She would remain there in safety until all was well and the visitors were gone.

The only difference now was that she would have to use her own judgment about when it would be safe to come out.

Ready to push herself to her feet, Tess felt a tinge of curiosity that made her reach out and push the Highlander’s wet hair out of his face. Instantly she was sorry for the action, for the man’s features took her by surprise. Even unconscious, or perhaps because of it, he was an extremely handsome man. A high forehead, a straight nose, a face devoid of the beard that she’d assumed all Highlanders wore. He had a face not even marred by scars … yet. Only a few scratches and bruises from his time in the surf.

Angry for allowing herself to be distracted, she started to get to her feet, but one foot slipped, and she had to brace a hand on his chest to catch herself.

His eyes immediately opened, and Tess’s breath knotted tightly in her chest. Blue eyes the color of a
winter sky stared at her from beneath long dark lashes flecked with gold. She didn’t blink. She didn’t move. Holding her breath, she remained still for the eternity of a moment until he closed them again.

She edged off the rock and ran as fast and as far as her legs would take her.

The taste in Colin Macpherson’s mouth was foul as a dried-up chamber bucket.

Rolling onto his side, he felt his stomach heave. He tried to push himself up. He couldn’t see. As he turned, Colin’s hand slipped off cold wet rock, and he tumbled into a shallow pool of water, banging his ribs hard on the stone as he fell.

“Blasted hell.” He groaned, pushing himself onto his knees. Holding his head, he blinked a few times, trying to clean the sand and salt out of his eyes.

Rocks. More rocks. And water. And bobbing heads. He pushed back a long, twisted hank of hair that had fallen across his face, obstructing his vision. He tried to focus on the creatures moving on the rocks.

Seals—a dozen or so—were staring at him from the rocks rimming the pool and from the sea beyond. Their brown eyes were dark and watchful. The image of a woman’s face immediately flashed before his mind, and he struggled to push himself to his feet. A couple of seals barked a warning to those on shore.

“H-hullo!” he called out, only to have the surf and the wind slap the greeting back into his face.

His entire body ached. It had taken great effort to get the words out past his raw, scratched throat, but Colin tried again. He was certain someone had been there only moments before. Or was it hours?

“Hullo!”

This time the shriek of seabirds was his only answer. Taking in a painful half breath, he tried to move his feet in the shallow pool. They moved, though it felt as if they were made of lead. Colin succeeded in taking only three steps before he had to sit down on the edge of a rock. The world was spinning around in his head.

Water. Rocks. And on each side of the protected tidal pool, rock-studded banks dotted with occasional patches of sea grass sloped upward from the turbulent sea.

The Macpherson ship had been sailing north when the weather had taken a turn for the worse. It shouldn’t have been unexpected, though. The Firth of Forth was famous for its foul and quickly changing moods.

Half o’er, half o’er, from Aberdour It’s fifty fathom deep. And there lies good Sir Patrick Spence, with the Scots lords at his feet.
Well, Colin thought, at least he had washed ashore … wherever he was.

The last clear memory that Colin had was of shoving one of the sailors to safety in the aft passageway. The lad was nearly unconscious after being slammed against the ship’s gunwales as the great vessel had continued to heel
before the tempestuous blast of wind.

The storm had come on fast and hard, but they’d been riding it well. Colin and Alexander, his eldest brother, had been standing with the second mate at the tiller when he’d seen the young man go down. The sea sweeping across the deck had nearly carried the lad overboard.

Colin fought the urge to be ill. The foul, salty taste rose again into his mouth.

The lad had no sooner been secured when Colin had heard the cries of the lookout above. The dark shape of land appeared, not an arrowshot to port. And then the ship’s keel had struck the sandbar.

He remembered being bounced hard across the deck, only to have the sea lift him before plunging him deep into the brine. After a lifetime thrashing in the dark waters, he’d finally sputtered to the surface. All he’d heard then was the howling shriek of the wind before another crashing wall of water drove him under again. Somehow he’d survived it all, though he had no idea how.

He stared again at a seal, who was watching him intently. For an insane moment, thoughts of legends told by sailors clouded his reason.

A gust of cold wind blasting mercilessly across the stormy water instantly sobered him. He was soaked through and chilled to the bone. Colin managed to push himself to his feet and climb out of the tidal pool.

Another image of dark eyes looking down at him
flashed through his mind. The eyes of a young woman. He remembered more now. Someone pulling him through the water. Propping him on the rock. She had been no apparition. Colin braced himself against the wind and let his gaze sweep over his surroundings.

“Where are you?” he shouted over the wind. There was not a boat or person, not even a tree in sight, and the rising slope of rocky ground straight ahead hampered Colin’s vision of what lay beyond.

“And where am I?” he muttered to himself.

ELAINE BARBIERI has written thirty-three historical novels that have been published worldwide. She was certain young adult readers would enjoy the excitement of historical romance if given a chance, and she welcomed the opportunity to write
MIRANDA AND THE WARRIOR
for this new audience.

Elaine lives in northern New Jersey with her husband and family, and with Harrison, a demanding male who she is sure would be the ultimate hero—if he weren’t a cat.

Elaine’s adult titles include
WINGS OF A DOVE; DANCE OF THE FLAME
; The Dangerous Virtues trilogy:
HONESTY, PURITY
, and
CHASTITY; EAGLE; HAWK; NIGHT RAVEN; SECRET FIRES: THE WILD ONE
; and
TO MEET AGAIN
.

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