Amanda Scott (47 page)

“Trust in God,” he shouted back, “and mind the Campbells don’t get you! Even your precious Calder will think you helped a clansman escape, and are just making up fairy tales to protect yourself and your clan. Farewell, lass.”

She barely understood his last words, for the current speedily swept the boat away. Only then did she realize that the lee side of the rock shot straight down into the sea, and understand how he had managed to put her ashore without wrecking. Even so, he had risked all three of their lives just to spite her.

The sadness that had edged her fear from the moment she realized what he had done now threatened to overwhelm her. For him to accuse her of not showing proper loyalty to her clan, then leave her to die out of simple spite, seemed truly ironic. She would have liked to indulge in a good cry, but when a wave crashed against the far side of the rock, swirling water and foam at her feet, she realized she was not safe even for the moment where she stood.

The rough rock felt wet and cold beneath her fingers. Finding footholds was difficult, but she knew the tide was turning, and although the water would rise no more swiftly than usual, she had little time to decide what to do. Climbing carefully, testing every handhold and foothold, putting all thought of the water’s awesome power out of her mind, she inched her way to the crest. The rock had sheltered her from the wind before, but now she stood fully exposed, and it felt much colder now that she was wet from the spray.

She was breathing hard, her gasps audible even above the sounds of wind and surf. A shooting star slashed the heavens. Her ancestors would have taken it as an omen. Wistfully following its course, her gaze came to rest on the dense shadow beyond the tip of Lismore and the Lynn. It was Lorne, the part of Argyll south of Appin, and she saw a light gleaming in the darkness at the far north end.

The light seemed to lie beyond Lismore toward the northeast, about where Castle Stalker stood, but she knew her imagination was deceiving her. The narrow island looked small only because she faced its southernmost point. From her low vantage point, she could not possibly see any land beyond it to the north.

At least she had her bearings. Mull lay behind her, the tip of Lismore and the mainland of Lorne ahead. As her gaze drifted right, she saw more lights, a dim cluster of them. She decided they originated from Dunstaffnage, another infamous Campbell stronghold, which stood near the town of Oban. That decision made, she found it easier to pretend that the tiny distant light in the north came from Stalker.

Unable to bear the chilly wind any longer, she crouched lower on the rock, seeking a place where she could snuggle against its rough surface and be sheltered for a time. She had to think. Staring at distant, imagined castles would do no good.

Though she could swim, she knew she would not last long in the icy waters of the Firth, certainly not long enough to swim to Mull where she would be safest. Peering up from her shelter at the dense black shadow that was her family’s formidable ancient home, she sighed with regret. Even if God were suddenly to calm the waters and warm them, she was not certain that she could swim so far.

A roar and crash of water caught her unaware and terrified her, dousing her with heavy spray, reminding her forcefully that the sea would swallow her before it swallowed the Lady Rock. Waves crashed higher and harder by the minute, and the first one that swept across the top would rip her from the rock, no matter how good a handhold she had found. Then it would fling her back and rip her away again, dashing her to pieces in moments.

She had believed she had hours to decide her best course before she would face dire peril. Now she knew she had very little time at all.

Although the wind had decreased, waves now broke with more power against her side of the rock. The tide had turned. Shifting upward from her crouch, she tried to keep her feet clear of the rushing water, only to realize that the next large wave could catch her unaware. She would be safer on the north side now.

As she made her way to a declivity that sheltered her momentarily from both water and wind, she wondered if anyone was trying to find her.

Would Neil have gone for help despite Allan’s warning? Surely Mam would have made him go. She could not possibly fear Allan more than she would fear Diana’s fate at his hands. Or would she? Allan was a Stewart, after all, one of Mam’s own clan. Mam would trust him to keep his word to her.

And what of Mary? Diana sighed, fearing she could trust neither Mary nor Neil to act. Neil rarely made decisions on his own, and Mary grieved too much over her loss of Ian to think of anything else. Although Diana knew Mary loved her, she could not be sure her cousin would realize that more danger would come from silence than from sending for help.

Even if someone decided to get help, would they go to Rory? And if they did, would he be able to do anything, or would Balcardane or Duncan call the tune? Would they arrest Neil rather than listen to him? Would any Campbell care that she was in danger? Perhaps they would come though, if only to capture Allan.

She had got that far in her thinking before she realized that even if Rory moved heaven and earth to save her, he would not know where to look. All Allan had said was that he was meeting a ship, not where or when. He had spoken of Oban, but that had been only to throw them off the trail. It would not help them.

Rory would not even know they had taken a boat, so at the least, he would waste time trying to find someone who had seen them, and no one had.

“You are on your own, Diana Maclean,” she said aloud. The sound of her voice was comforting, and she went on, “You are clanless now, my lass, abandoned by your own with none to come for you. So what will you do? Will you just sit here helplessly until the Almighty takes you to His arms?”

The wind dropped suddenly, making her last words sound loud. Then a huge wave crashed against the far side of the rock, and she winced as cold water sluiced down her back. More surged up to lap at her boots.

Although nearly ten feet of rock still stood above water, she had no time left to decide what to do, nor any idea how long she had been sitting. Time passed slowly, and although it felt as if she had been there for hours, it had probably not been nearly as long as it felt. The distant light still glowed and when she looked toward Dunstaffnage and Oban she saw the cluster of lights still burning there as well.

She remembered from her time at Stalker that military castles kept lights burning through the night, because there were always guards awake and prowling. Looking back at the first light, she wondered why she found comfort in thinking it was Stalker and decided it was because she would welcome even Campbell shelter now. Not that she would have to go so far, of course. There would be shelter in Lorne, too, if she could reach it. Even her enemies would not turn her away now.

Depression settled over her. First she had to get off the Lady Rock, and there would be no passing fishermen to find her here, the way fishermen had rescued the long ago Lady Elizabeth. She was on her own. She could not swim to Mull against the tide, and she realized even as the thought flitted through her mind that she had dismissed that alternative long before.

It occurred to her then that she had never looked for more signals from the ship. She could see nothing in that direction now. She had seen nothing, in fact, since Allan and Fergus had sailed away. She could not recall hearing even the noise of their sails, or the clink and rattle of the rigging. The wind had been with them, of course, blowing sound away from her. Still, it had been almost like a magician’s trick. One moment they had been with her, the next they were gone.

The darkness to the south was no different from the darkness all around her. She could tell land from water, sky from land, but she could see nothing moving, certainly nothing that looked like a ship or a boat. She realized that she had harbored a faint hope that Allan would have second thoughts, that he would make them come back for her, to put her ashore at Mull or farther south, on Jura or Islay.

Biting her lip, she knew she had been indulging a mere wish over reality. Allan would not return, nor would his accomplices allow him to do so. The captain of the ship would rightly refuse to put his vessel and crew at risk, even should Allan voice such a whim, which was more than doubtful.

She was putting off the inevitable. The plain fact was that she could not swim to either shore, nor could she stay where she was. Looking up at the starry heavens, she murmured, “If it’s all the same to you, given a clear choice between drowning and being battered to death on this horrid rock, I think I’d prefer to meet death with dignity rather than wait in terror for it to burst upon me.”

Her mind made up, she knew it was no time to think of enemies or friends, only of giving herself the best chance to survive. Now that the tide had turned, the power of the sea would be with her if she swam toward the northeast. The south tip of Lismore was nearest, so if she aimed for that distant light—at least until she could no longer see it—perhaps the sea would help her swim the distance.

She stood carefully, skirts clinging damply around her legs. The wind had fallen to a gentle breeze, which was just as well, she thought, since being blown over would not help matters. Then new fear washed over her, for she knew that getting off the rock would not be easy. She might die just by attempting it.

Resolutely suppressing the new fear, she let Mary’s shawl slip from her shoulders. Her frock laced up the front, so she undid it easily, but her courage nearly failed her when the next large wave crashed against the rock, soaking her thoroughly. White froth pooled just inches below her feet. She had little time left to indulge her terrors.

Letting the frock fall, she pulled off her wet shift. Then shivering in the cold night air, she sat on the wet pile of clothing and tugged off her wet half-boots. She had nearly tossed them aside before she realized she might well hurt one foot or the other trying to jump from the rock. Fear would provide distraction enough without adding pain or loss of blood.

Setting the boots down where they could not slip away, she pulled off her stockings and put the boots back on without fastening them. Then, standing, she debated whether to try to walk around the rock and find a sheltered place to slip into the surging water, or just to jump from where she was and take her chances.

A moment’s thought told her she would be foolish to jump without knowing what lay beneath her, and the only place she knew at all was the leeward spot where Allan had put her off the boat. Remembering the steep, nearly straight slope into the sea, she knew that would be the safest place.

Creeping back across the top of the Lady Rock, she faltered at sight of the pounding waves. The tide swept in from the south now, battering that side. Still, she knew it was deep there, and it was the side closest to the mainland.

Watching the water, she soon sensed its rhythm. Waves heaved in, then rolled out again, the water surging up, then down. Occasionally, a much larger wave roared in, sending foam and spray soaring into the air, dousing her with cold water. She was glad it was not winter, when near freezing water would kill her long before she would drown. That might still happen, but not nearly so quickly.

The whole rock was wet now and running with rivulets. She could wait no longer. Timing the rhythm, waiting until a big one hit and fell away, she leapt out as far as she could, feeling the cold water close over her, swallowing her, trying to pull her down and down as the sea eddied back and away from the Lady Rock.

Kicking hard, as much to free her feet from the boots as to propel herself upward, she swam to the surface and struck out hard toward the coast of Lorne. The tide would carry her toward Lismore, toward that distant light, but she could no longer see its comforting glow.

Fighting momentary panic, she forced herself to calm down. She was too low to see the light, that was all, but she could still see the ones at Dunstaffnage and Oban. If she kept them behind her and swam at a slight angle to the current, surely she could reach the southern tip of Lismore.

The thought that the current might carry her into the Lynn of Lorne was not one upon which to dwell. She would be wiser, she knew, simply to accept the fact that she was staying afloat till it pleased the Almighty to claim her for His own.

She concentrated on swimming, on letting the waves carry her. When she tired, she would float, either on her stomach for the few moments she could hold her breath, or on her back. The first time she turned to her back, she recalled with bitter irony that she had been ten when Allan taught her the trick of it.

At first, the feeling of the water on her naked body was almost pleasant, even stimulating. She felt as if she could swim forever. Then, as she grew chilly, it occurred to her that most likely it
was
forever, that it could be her last act on Earth.

It would behoove her, she decided, to pray. The prayers she selected were childhood ones that she could recite in her mind while she swam, for she could not say them aloud. It was hard enough to avoid breathing in salt water when she turned her face up just in time to meet a wave breaking over her head.

She paddled more than she swam, because she found it easier to swim with her head out of water, even if it meant getting a mouthful now and again. The shore seemed to be growing closer, but was still a long way off. Farther away than it ought to be, surely. She had swum for so long.

She turned to her back again, feeling the kiss of the night air on her bare breasts. Her prayers fell silent, replaced in her mind by Rory’s image. He seemed to frown, and although she did not see his lips move, she heard his voice say urgently, “Open your eyes, Diana. You must not sleep now.”

The voice was so clear that she did open her eyes, realizing that she had nearly dozed off and that she was not ready yet to meet her maker. Turning over, she swam strongly for several moments, then settled back into the paddling rhythm that had served her so well before.

The waves seemed higher. A sliver of moon had risen above the blackness that was the mainland, and there were odd dancing lights on the water now, as if moonlight or the stars reached down to welcome her.