Tess and the Highlander (2 page)

Knowing where he was eased Colin’s mind a great
deal. He was safe here, and it was only matter of time before
Alexander would turn his ship around and come looking for him.

The wind at his back cut through his wet clothing,
and he shivered as he pushed on. It was said that the island had
once been a destination for religious pilgrims, drawing many across
the water year after year. The priory, built centuries ago, had
been dedicated to a St. Adrian, who’d been murdered here by
marauding Danes in the dark time.

As Colin made his way toward the buildings, he
recalled hearing that the monks had deserted the island before his
grandfather’s time. Only an old man and his wife lived out here
now, feeding the occasional pilgrims and lighting a large fire
during storms to warn the ships off.

Colin didn’t remember seeing any fire in his one
glimpse of the island before being swept overboard. But he didn’t
believe the face he’d seen—a face already etched in his mind—had
been very old, either.

He fought off the fatigue that was gathering around
him like a fog, and approached the stone buildings of the old
priory. To his right he saw a protected hollow where a small flock
of sheep huddled together out of the wind. Ahead, he couldn’t tell
which of the decrepit buildings might have housed the couple.

“HULLO!” At his shout the animals shuffled about and
bleated loudly. Colin wished he knew something more of the keeper
and his wife—even a name would have been a good place to start. No
one was showing themselves, and the gray stone buildings showed no
sign of anyone living inside of them.

Crossing a moor of knee high grass, Colin
found himself on a path, of sorts, that led past a little patch of
land protected from the west wind by a grove of short, wind-stunted
pines. The remains of what looked to be last year’s gardens
affirmed that the couple still lived on the island.

It wasn’t until he was past the first line
of buildings that he saw wisps of smoke being whipped from a
recently built chimney above a squat, two-story building. As Colin
grew near, his excitement grew at the tidy condition of the
protected yard.

“Anyone here?” he called up the set of
ancient stairs that lay beyond the door.

The lack of an answer didn’t deter him. The
wind was howling behind him. The steps had been recently swept. A
large pile of gnarled driftwood was stacked neatly at the foot of
the stairs. Colin drew in a deep breath and started up the stairs.
Reaching the upper floor, he saw the glowing embers in the hearth
at the end of the room.

Someone
had
to be around, but the
fact that they weren’t showing themselves didn’t make him feel
particularly comfortable.

“I intend no harm,” he said loudly, eyeing the slabs
of smoked fish and long, looping strands of shells hanging from the
low rafters. His gaze swept every dark corner and crevice. The dim
light coming in through the narrow slits in the walls added to the
faint light from the hearth, but did little to help brighten the
room. “I was swept off my ship in the storm.”

He stepped cautiously into the room. A torn net—half
mended—lay by a small, carefully stacked pile of bleached whale
bones. Something crunched beneath his boots. He looked down. All
around the room, seashells of every size and description could be
seen, and a small hill of them sat on a sheepskin in the corner,
beside a small loom.

The fire crackled and sparked in the hearth,
drawing his attention again. He noticed the cauldron hanging over
the fire. Someone’s dinner. “I think someone…perhaps ‘twas
you…pulled me out.”

One thing that he remembered hearing about
the old couple that lived on the island was that they’d never been
particularly hospitable. But they’d also not been afraid of the
fishermen or sailors who ended up on their shores.

“My people will be back for me soon.” He spoke
louder this time, eyeing the ladder resting against a wall. Near
it, a line of dark boards across the beams created a loft area
above. “I need to borrow a blanket…maybe some food…and I’ll repay
you for it.”

He climbed the ladder and peered into the
darkness of the large open space above. The room appeared to be
used for storage.

“Hullo.” There was no one up here.

Colin climbed back down the
ladder and looked out the narrow slit of a window at the sea. The
storm was still blowing hard, and he could barely see past the
shoreline. He could only imagine how upset Alexander would be right
now. But there was no coming after him this night or in this
weather.

Resigned to spend the night outside, Colin
reached for a thick woolen blanket that sat on a shelf beside the
hearth. As he picked it up, something that had been folded within
the blanket fell onto the floor. He crouched and stared at a small
bundle of mending at his feet. The intricate lace edging on a
child’s white cap caught his attention first. He touched the soft
wool cloth of a dress. Perplexed, he frowned at a child’s linen
apron and again at the cap he’d seen first. He picked up the items
one by one and looked at them intently, wondering why two old
people would keep such things.

He looked about the room again. There was
one wooden bowl near the hearth—one spoon. On the floor in one
corner, there was a small bed of straw and blankets suitable for
one person. He touched the dress again. The dark eyes of a woman
looking down at him flashed through his mind again. Colin carefully
wrapped the bundle of child’s clothing in the blanket and put it
back where he’d found it.

Pushing himself to his feet, he picked up a
more worn woolen blanket that he saw folded by the bed and draped
it over his shoulders. With one more glance around, he descended
the stairs and pushed out into the storm.

Added to the shivering that had taken
control of Tess’s limbs, her teeth were now chattering and she
could not stop it. Her clothes were soaked through from her efforts
to get the man out of the tidal pool. Her skin was clammy, and she
was feeling chilled to the bone. The leather cloak offered some
protection against the bitter wind-driven rain, but her body seemed
unable to produce any warmth as she lay flat on her stomach on the
rocks to the west of the priory.

Tess’s eyes narrowed as the Highlander
finally came out of her house.

She had hoped to go inside and get a blanket
or two and some food before fleeing to the caves on the western
side of the island. In fact, it was much more than a hope, she
corrected. She
had
to get some supplies before retreating
there. Who knew how long the storm surges would require her to stay
hidden or how many days it would be before the Highlander’s people
would return?

Night was quickly dropping its dark cloak
over the island. The storm, though, seemed to have shaken off its
leash. It was now hammering the island with ten times the fury it
had before. A freezing rain had been falling in fits and spurts. It
was not a night to be out.

He was making a fire. She saw him walk back
toward her house a couple of times. Each time he came back carrying
armfuls of dry seaweed and driftwood she had diligently gathered,
she felt herself growing angrier. And if this wasn’t enough, he was
building his fire within the area protected by the priory
walls.

A standing stone wall served as a windbreak.
The location kept away the rain. There he was, safe and warm. But
there was also no chance of any passing ship seeing his fire.

And what was worse, he was building it where
she could not possibly get inside her house without being seen by
him.

She should have left him to swallow more
seawater.

The sparking flames, hissing and crackling,
climbed high into the night. Colin’s clothes were practically dry
now. His plaid, with the added layer from the blanket he’d borrowed
from the house, was keeping the worst of the rain off him.

He was surprised to find that he was even
growing hungry. He considered for a moment the food he’d seen in
the priory building. Making one last trip, he entered and
approached the hearth, picking up the wooden spoon beside the
still-simmering cauldron. One mouthful of the thick, bitter-tasting
brew, though, and his stomach wrenched. Colin ran outside, gulping
down draughts of fresh salt air to keep his guts from spilling
out.

His appetite was now gone, most likely for
good, and he returned to the fire. Even as he walked, he could feel
the eyes of someone watching him from the darkness. He settled by
the wall for the night and thought about the old stories of seals
who became women.

Tess started abruptly. She didn’t know how long she
had been lying on the cold rocks. It was still night, and the storm
was continuing unabated. Her limbs were stiff and numb. The
chattering of her teeth was like thunder rolling painfully through
her head. At some point, she thought, she must have fallen sleep.
But she wasn’t sure.

Lifting her head off the rock required an effort
that surprised her. She pushed the hood of the leather cloak back
so she could see. The sleety rain continued to pelt her, but the
Highlander’s fire was still burning below. In the circle of light
around it, she could see his sleeping form tucked snuggly against
the wall. He must be quite comfortable with
her
blanket
wrapped about him, she seethed.

She glanced at the door of her house and back again
at the Highlander. The light from the fire didn’t quite reach the
entrance of the building. He seemed to have gone to sleep with his
back to it, anyway.

Her first attempt at pushing herself to her feet was
rejected by her stiff, half-frozen muscles, but her second effort
was more successful. Carefully picking her way through the
boulders, she descended, praying that her chattering teeth wouldn’t
alert him.

There were other things that she had to be concerned
with besides the storm. Tess recalled Auld Charlotte’s warnings
about sailors and fishermen…about all men. With the exception of
Garth, there was not a single male in existence that Tess could
trust. The old woman had been blunt about it. And she’d continued
to preach the lesson even on her deathbed.

If the filthy dogs find a young and bonny thing like
ye on this deserted island, they’ll all be thinking the same thing,
lassie. They’ll knock each other down, racing to see which one of
them can lay his hand on ye first. But do not let them touch ye,
Tess. Ye fight them, child, ye hear? Better yet, go and hide and do
not let any of them see ye in the first place.

Tess circled around, staying in the shadows and
crouching as she moved along the low stone wall that surrounded the
ruins of the priory. All the while, she kept an eye on the man’s
sleeping form as she considered what she needed to take.

The door creaked a little as she pushed it open. She
looked back toward the Highlander. He hadn’t stirred.

As soon as she had closed the door behind her, she
stood in the dark and took off the dripping cloak. Feeling for the
familiar peg, she hung her cloak and turned toward the steps. After
so many hours in the cold, her knees protested as she tried to
climb the stairs, but she pushed herself on anyway.

Food. Dry clothes. Blankets. Flints. She wondered if
the pile of seaweed and driftwood she’d gathered and stored in one
of the caves a year ago would still be there. When she reached the
landing, Tess saw there was some red glow left of the dying fire in
the hearth. The cauldron was hanging where she’d left it.

There was nothing that Tess wanted to do more than
dry and warm herself first. In her rush to get to the fire, though,
she slipped and nearly fell on some seashells that the Highlander
must have moved. Quickly regaining her balance, she made her way
more cautiously across the room.

The heat from the embers felt heavenly after her
hours in the bitter wet and cold. She crouched on the hearth and
added some dried seaweed and a couple of small pieces of driftwood
that were nearby. While she waited for the fire to kindle and come
to life, she pressed her hands to the sides of the cauldron and
almost sighed aloud with pleasure from its warmth.

“I shouldn’t eat any of that, if I were you.”

The young woman sprang to her feet and whirled
around with the quickness of a cat. Colin stared at his own dagger,
drawn and ready in her hand.

“I believe that dirk belongs to me,” he said
calmly.

She waved the weapon at him in a motion that he
understood meant that she wanted him to back away. He didn’t want
her any more frightened than she was, but he was as far away as he
could get. Sitting in the dim light against the far wall, he had
seen her enter, only to slip on some of the seashells that
cluttered the room. She had been lucky to not crack her head.

“Why don’t you put that weapon down.” He leaned
casually against the wall.

She raised her elbow a little, ready to strike, and
took a step toward the stairs.

Colin tore his gaze away from the dagger and studied
the rest of her. She was the same woman that he had seen by the
tidal pool. The same dark eyes sparkled in the growing firelight.
But her face was stained with streaks of dirt, and in the dim light
of the room, all he could see was that she was young…well, younger
than he was. Her dark hair was soaked and a loose braid lay on her
back like a thick rope. The woolen dress that she had no doubt spun
and woven and sewn herself was also dripping wet. She was a wee
thing, all in all, and Colin knew he could overpower her if he
really wanted to. But despite the show of toughness, she was
shivering and pale. Colin frowned, knowing that because of him
she’d been forced to stay outside.