Page 42 of The Highlander’s Illicit Bride (Wicked Highland Lairds #1)

“Aye, bound in chains tae be taken tae the East tae satisfy the appetites of Sultan Osman, of the Ottomans. It seems he desires fair hair and blue eyes above all else.”

“And ye’ve all been…kidnapped?” Annora glanced around in horror.

“Aye.” The woman’s voice hardened. “I was ripped from me bed chamber and dragged tae the shore, where they clamped me in chains and forced me ontae the ship. All the lasses here share a similar tale.”

Once she was shackled like this there could be no escape.

“Who are these evil men?”

“Why, have ye nae heard of the Barbary Corsairs? They menace the coast, stealing us fer slaves.”

Annora’s heart plummeted. Somehow, she had to find a way to get away from that ship.

For some reason they had not yet put her in chains, probably because they were busy setting sail and she posed no threat to them.

But she knew she had very little time before they went looking for her.

She stumbled to her feet clutching her cloak around her and made for the door.

Behind her she heard the woman’s laughter. “Ye’ll never escape except overboard tae feed the fishes.”

All Annora’s reason had fled. She had thought she was escaping a life enslaved to a husband she despised, yet here she’d found herself bound for an even worse fate.

This is far from luck!

Once she was outside the cabin, she leaned against the railing, breathing deeply, trying to steady herself while she vainly sought for a plan of escape. She knew, now, that her idea of being put ashore at the first port of call was in tatters. These men would never allow her to leave.

Peeking around the corner of the little structure she saw the man she recognized as the captain conferring with several other men further along the deck.

She could see from their clothing that they were foreign.

Each of them wore a turban wrapped on his head, their clothing was loose, and they had bare feet.

Tucked into their wide cloth sashes were fierce-looking weapons like sharp, curved swords.

Annora drew back, hoping to remain unnoticed - at least until she could decide what her next move would be.

Looking around in desperation she found a small alcove where she could hide.

She crawled inside and tucked her legs up, holding her cloak around her in an effort to keep out the biting wind.

No doubt the captain would think she was with the other lasses and he’d pay her no attention as long as she was out of sight.

As the minutes passed, the ship kept up a brisk pace, the wind filling its sails, and Annora made up her mind that if they came close to land, she would slip overboard and attempt to swim to shore.

Even if she drowned it would be far better than giving in to what fate seemed to have in store for her.

It was approaching dusk and the sky was turning sunset gold when she dared to creep out of her hiding place and peer into the distance.

Squinting into the west her eyes made out the dark outline of hills against the setting sun.

This could only be the Isle of Skye.

Her heart was pounding, the blood roaring in her ears, as the ship drew ever closer to the shoreline.

Mayhap they intended to go ashore here in search of yet more captives.

She waited, hardly daring to breathe, as the coastline came into view. They were heading for a rocky cove directly ahead. She could make out at least two other vessels riding at anchor in the little bay. If they drew close enough, she could slip overboard and swim toward one of them.

Time seemed to stand still as the passing moments eked slowly by.

Before losing another second, Annora undid her cloak and removed the boots that would weigh her down, and crawled closer to the railing.

They were still in deep water but scarcely moving when she heard the splash as the anchor was lowered. If she was to have a hope of escaping, she had to act quickly, before the men left the ship and moved toward the shore.

She heaved up her skirt and petticoat and threw her legs over the railing, balancing on a small ledge as she prepared to throw herself into the sea.

To her horror she heard a cry go up followed by fast, heavy, footsteps along the deck heading in her direction.

I’ve been seen!

Sucking in a deep breath she struck out for the nearest ship, which, alas, seemed to be much further away than she’d first gauged. Through the sound of her own splashing, she heard shouts coming from the Corsairs’ vessel and realized that the men had followed her into the sea.

Having spent her childhood by the ocean she’d learned to swim at an early age.

But this water was colder and unwelcoming, and despite her every effort, she did not swim with the slickness of a seal dressed as she was.

She was floundering, her skirts tangling her legs, her arms losing strength with every stroke, and the men were gaining on her.

Drawing on strength she didn’t know she had, she kept herself moving through the water, straining her arms, frantically kicking her legs free of the restricting fabric, fighting with every last scrap to make it to the nearby vessel.

And then, wonder of wonders, she saw she was nearing the shore. A flicker of hope ignited, pushing her onward.

Yet the shouts grew louder. Her pursuers were almost upon her as she struggled for a foothold in the shifting sand beneath her feet. The waves, although small, rushed over her head, making her splutter, taking her breath away.

Before Annora could stabilize herself, a hand seized her arm in a grip as strong as a blacksmith’s vice. She screamed with every bit of breath still left in her lungs, struggling wildly against the man who held her fast.

He was dragging her back to the slave ship.

But even he was hard-pressed to manage her.

As her heavy wool skirt dragged her down, his grip loosened and although she fought, bobbing up and then going under, her strength was ebbing fast. She succumbed to the water and the weight of her garments, and despite the hold on her arm, her head sank beneath the waves.

She heard the man curse in a strange language, releasing her as the sea claimed her, pulling her into the depths.

Aware that the shore must be close, she made one last effort to kick her legs free, but it was no use, she was exhausted and the thought of drowning came almost as a blessed release.

Down she floated, her lungs filling with water, her eyes closed.

She was only dimly aware of the strong arms enfolding her body and the cold, crisp air on her face as she was pulled, gasping to the surface.

Again, a man was cursing, only this time it was in a language she understood. If she’d heard such blaspheming in her father’s castle, she would have flushed with heat and shame and hung her head, but now those forbidden words were the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.

He wrenched at her sodden skirts, ripping them away, so that her legs were finally released from the entanglement of fabric. Even in her half-drowned state, the touch of the man’s hand on her bare flesh rippled unaccountably through her, bringing a strange sense of embarrassment.

“Wrap your arms around me neck, lass. I’ll swim us tae shore. But be quick about it, if ye wish tae live.”