“That something would be called your brother and your current search for him and Gavin MacDonald.” With the fog smothering them, he rose to his feet and tried to peer through it across the waves. “I sense we’re getting closer to Skye’s shoreline and I’ve no wish to sail into the rocks.”
“Go if you must. I understand.”
“I’ll return soon. Stay right here.” He strode into the soupy mist and disappeared.
Something sloshed over her shoulder and she wriggled around. Her skiff was tied to the stern only naught was visible other than the rope secured to it.
“’Tis about time my laird left you alone.” A hand clamped around her mouth then another around her leg. “Can you swim, lass? The shoreline is close, a mere few strokes away. I apologize, but I cannae have you compel us to our death, which will surely happen should you remain.” He tossed her overboard and she splashed into the darkened depths and went down.
Something scraped over her head. The hull of her skiff. Hands shoved up, she pushed against the underside and sank deeper and only once assured her boat had passed safely overhead did she kick free of Duncan’s fur and heave back up to the surface.
Stupid cloying fog, and stupid lost voice. She couldn’t even yell and alert those on board she’d gone over. Which of his men had thought to do her harm? Clearly whoever it was feared her fae skill and what she could do, just as so many did. She let out a long sigh, so not surprised. With only a few uttered words she could send a man to his death, not that she ever would. Never mind. She’d swim to shore and continue on with her mission regardless of Duncan and his men, her lost skiff too. She’d been caught in worse situations.
She rolled onto her back, scooped water at her sides and tried to get her bearings. The moon, a mere pinprick of light through the hazy gloom above, did naught to aid her or light her way. She rolled over and kicked in what better be the right direction.
With sure strokes, she swam at a good pace until a playful seal pup darted around and underneath her. The waters in these parts teemed with wildlife, which included some sea creatures she had no wish to meet, or become a tasty meal to. Goodness. The warrior had said the shoreline was close, a mere few strokes away. It clearly wasn’t.
With the cold water penetrating deep into her bones, she tried to kick harder but with each stroke her arms slapped heavier into the water and her legs, so chilled and numb, became no help at all.
Hot tears pressed behind her eyes and her greatest fear rose with striking force. Her death, and leaving Mama and Ethan to cope with the turmoil of their grief. That kind of heartache wasn’t something she’d ever allow them to go through, not after they’d already lost Papa. She had to make it to land, wherever that dratted land was. She floated, the waves washing over her and salt stinging her lips and cheeks. The tide moved her and waves crashed somewhere up ahead. Land. Finally. She’d almost made it.
A wave crashed and she got washed up onto a cluster of rocks. Heaving to her feet, she stumbled to keep herself upright. Over the slickness, she clambered then staggered onto a pebbly beach. Shudders raked through her. Keep moving. She had to find shelter, mayhap within those trees swaying so very close. She walked and wobbled, black spots dancing before her eyes. Only a few more steps.
Pain slammed through Duncan’s chest and he stumbled to his knees at the bow where he maintained a lookout for the rocks bordering Skye’s coastline. ’Twas as if someone had taken a sword and thrust it straight through his chest. He patted his heart to make sure no one had, the erratic beat burning and making him gasp for air.
“Duncan?” Hamish hauled him up by the arm. “Are you all right?”
“I—I—” Ella’s face wavered before his eyes, as if the pain wasn’t his, but hers. He lurched through the fog to the end of the galley and searched for her. Hell. Where was she? “Ella!” He bellowed her name. “Damn it, Ella. Answer me!”
Only the slapping of the waves against the sides of his vessel broke the silence.
“All eyes on the water,” he yelled to his men. “Ella’s gone overboard.”
The wind lifted, sent tendrils of the hazy mist swirling, enough that he caught sight of the rocks bordering Skye’s craggy shoreline. He turned the rudder and sent them directly toward land where the surf washed into the bay. They crested a wave, the hull scraping the sandy sea floor and as it did, he bounded over the side along with a score of his men. He searched the crashing waves where they came into shore, his heartbeat a raging mess, his men right beside him as they searched as well.
“There!” From the bow, Hamish pointed toward the darkened tree line.