Much Ado About Highlanders (The Scottish Relic Trilogy) by May McGoldrick Page B

Jock warned them. “To be sure, the English will be waiting for you.”
    Kenna and Jock helped Alexander out of the boat and through the shallow water to shore. She had questions for the boy about this Donald Maxwell but doubted he knew more than he’d told them already. She definitely didn’t know the man. Never heard his name. She didn’t understand why anyone—especially a renegade Scot—would be working with the English to find her. Unless it was ransom they wanted. But why not Emily, rather than her?
    In all the years of running wild in the Highlands, she’d never thought even once about being kidnapped.
    Jock was staring at Alexander’s shirt. The wound was bleeding badly again. “And the hills are too high for climbing.”
    “The fishing huts are just through these trees?” Kenna asked.
    “Aye. Tumbled down, mostly. Put up before Noah and his animals, they say. Some folk who fish here in season use them now and again.”
    She had to get Alexander under cover where she could see to his wound and do whatever she could to stop the bleeding.
    “I can take you to my folk at Knipoch.”
    “Nay, lad. We’ll be fine,” Alexander managed to say. “From here, we’ll follow the loch down to the sea. I’m thinking we’re not a day’s walk from Oban.”
    “Aye, that’s about right.”
    Alexander reached into his sporran and held out some coins. Jock backed away.
    “I didn’t help you for gold. And I’d never give you over to no English pissling or Lowlander, neither. I’ll not say a word to anyone, not even to my kin.”
    “We know. Take it, lad.” He gave the coins to Kenna, who put them into the boy’s hand. “Be on your way now.”
    Kenna pushed the boat off, and Jock rowed away into the fog. Trudging out of the water, she found Alexander sitting on a boulder. He looked pale, his face drawn. Blood was running through the cloth he held to his wound and dripped steadily from his fingers.
    Panic arose in her, causing her heart to drum loudly in her ears. She’d never been squeamish at the sight of blood, but now she felt vaguely ill and wet and cold. She’d sewn up many wounds at the priory. She’d looked after many men. But none were this badly hurt. And none had been Alexander.
    She glanced out into the fog. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to call Jock back. They should have gone with him to Knipoch. But she understood Alexander’s thinking. He didn’t want to lead the devil to the door of helpless fisherfolk.
    Now was the time to be strong. She’d use whatever shelter they could find, and she’d tend to his wounds. They were too exposed here. There was no assurance that those pursuing them didn’t have a boat. They needed to get away from the beach.
    How the feeling between them had changed, she thought. Whatever had kept them apart was behind them now. At this moment, all that they had was each other. Alexander saved her life fighting the English raiders. Kenna was his only help now.
    “Don’t forget your promise,” she told him. “No dying on me today.”
    “If you start fretting and whispering sweet nothings in my ear, wife, I’ll know I’m a dead man.” He stretched his right hand for her to take. “Where’s the she-devil I married?”
    “Right here. Though I don’t know why I shouldn’t be running even now.” Kenna helped him to his feet. “I’m staying to help you for only one reason.”
    “And what would that be?”
    “I’ll not have some weedy, plume-plucked Englishman killing you. I’m the only one who has the right to do that.”
    “There’s my woman,” he said, leaning on her heavily as they walked.
    Kenna led him inside the protective line of trees. Three low mounds of earth and stone, with doors cut into the sides, sat in a circle. The cottages. Two of the roofs had caved in. Near the third, a number of drying racks for fish had been erected, but they too were in various stages of ruin. She looked and listened for any sign that other people might be around,