Page 90 of The Highlander's Accidental Wife
Orrick huffed a breath and muttered, “Ye bastard.”
“Ye’re welcome,” Damien said. “Now, go.”
With a sharp nod, his man-at-arms turned his horse around, but then he glanced back. “Damien… thank ye.”
His throat tight, Damien nodded and then watched Orrick vanish into the shadows.
Ye better live.
Listening hard, watching every shadow, Damien urged his horse forward at a slow walk. Then, shouts and cries sounded, and he urged his horse forward faster. They shot through the woods, catching glimpses of distant fighting, until they came to a ridge not far from the beach. It looked down on a small hollow ridged with trees, and while Damien could glimpse the water, he did not see the ship.
Forcing himself to take slow breaths, he brought his horse to a stop and then jumped down. He stroked the nose of his horse in thanks and then urged him to a dark patch of trees.
“If I dinnae return in an hour or so, ye go back to Morighe, ye hear?” he whispered.
The horse gave him a slow blink which he took as anaye.
Slinking down the ridge, Damien went from tree to tree. A few had arrows sticking out of them, but he didn’t hear or sense any archers. Nor did anyone shoot at him. Taking that as a good sign, he continued forward, and then his breath caught as he finally saw the beach.
There, in the dark waters, bobbing on the choppy waves, was Lachlan’s foul ship, theRevenge.
“Foolish name for a fool,” he muttered and nearly grinned, for he’d never sounded more like his father.
Just as he crept forward, he stilled, as though a hand had caught his shoulder and gently squeezed. A chill went over him as three pirates suddenly appeared—three pirates who would have had ample time to injure him or worse.
Barely breathing, Damien watched the gleam in their eyes as they scanned the woods. Then, there was a shout in the distance, and they ran toward it, vanishing.
Damien let out a long, harsh breath. He straightened and then jolted, spinning around, his arms strangely slack, to see that there was no one behind him.
He took a step forward and glanced around again, so sure that he’d sensed someone. But someone who wasn’t a threat.
Faither.
For a moment, Damien felt his father as he had not since he’d lost him, and then it was gone in a rush of wind. He lifted his head then and turned back to the way to the beach, noting the fitful manner of the trees.
Setting off at the fastest run he dared, he did not glance back again. But he had the strangest sense that his steps were watched—protected. Nothing else happened until he made it to the beach and noted that the choppiness of the water had changed. By the shore, it was more agitated, but the water by the ship seemed too still.
Glancing around, Damien was surprised that no one was guarding the beach. Or perhaps his men had lured them all. Then, he pulled up short and nearly groaned.
There were no bloody boats left.
Huffing a sigh, Damien admitted to himself that he should’ve anticipated this. And besides, a boat was a dead target in the dark water. A skilled archer could easily dispatch him.
With a sigh, he secured his blades, shrugged off his cloak, and then took off his boots. Gritting his teeth, he walked into thewater, the cold so sharp and biting that it almost felt like a flame. When he dived in, though, it stole all the breath from him.
Forcing himself to picture Helena’s face, he cut through the water, praying that the tides or some foul sea beast did not kill him. As he bobbed in the cold water, shoving his hair out of his face, the wind changed again. The horizon lit up, and he flinched back, thinking it was cannon fire.
Instead, forked lightning lit up the sky.
“Are yefeckin’jestin’ wit’ me right now?” he blurted out, and a wave slapped his face.
Spitting out salt water, Damien growled and cut through the water faster, trying to suppress the tension rippling up his spine.
But flashes of his uncle’s ship, the hold he’d been tortured in, tugged at the back of his mind. Breathing harder than he should have, Damien nearly lost his bearings, and his mind reeled.
The old gods have a terrible sense of humor,whispered a voice in his head, and his body relaxed. Helena’s voice, something she’d said the day of their picnic, warmed him.
And then the ship was there.
