Page 21 of The Scot Who Loved Me (A Scots Through Time #3)

Chapter

Fifteen

“ M ind yer step there,” Angus cautioned as Harper climbed into the boat, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. His red hair was dampened by sea spray, making it appear darker against his pale, freckled skin. “The tide’s running strong today.”

William helped her settle onto a rough wooden bench, his hand lingering briefly on her shoulder before he turned to secure their meager belongings.

His face remained impassive, jaw set firmly as he worked, but the tightness around his eyes betrayed his unease.

The memory of Ian’s body swinging from that ancient oak tree seemed to hang between them all, unspoken yet impossible to forget.

The small boats rocked violently against the choppy waves, each laden with supplies and men preparing to leave Eriskay behind.

Salt spray misted her face as she gripped the wooden gunwale, her knuckles white with effort.

The gray morning had turned even more forbidding, clouds hanging low and heavy over the sea like a shroud.

Not a single villager had come to see them off.

No friendly faces, no waves of farewell.

Only the haunting cry of gulls accompanied their departure, a mournful sound that matched the hollow feeling in her chest.

William sat beside her, his broad shoulders providing some shelter from the biting wind. Though he didn’t speak, the warmth of his body against hers offered a comfort she hadn’t realized she needed. He constantly scanned the horizon, one hand resting near hers on the bench between them.

Prince Charles was in the lead boat, his elegant profile silhouetted against the gunmetal sky. Even in these humble circumstances, he maintained a regal bearing, chin lifted as if already viewing the kingdom he intended to claim.

It wasn’t long before the French frigate Du Teillay loomed before them, its weathered hull and billowing sails a stark reminder of the foreign support upon which the Prince so heavily relied.

Climbing aboard proved treacherous as the sea grew rougher, waves slapping angrily against the ship’s sides.

When the boat pitched to the side, his hands came around her waist, keeping her steady.

“Easy, lass,” he murmured, breath warm against her ear. The thin scar along his jawline was stark against his freshly shaved face. His eyes never left her as they approached the ship’s ladder, his powerful frame blocking the worst of the spray as he easily lifted her from the boat to the ladder.

Onboard, she found a spot against the rail out of the way while William went to see about places for them to sleep. Callum appeared, looking happy as the boat rocked back and forth. “Keep yer eyes on the horizon if yer feeling peely-wally. It helps with the sickness.”

For a moment she blanked, then remembered her cover story. “Once we get moving, I’ll be fine.” She took a deep breath. “I was just remembering... the storm last time.”

He went red-faced. “Apologies, mistress. I forgot ye were washed overboard and lost yer husband.” He handed her a flask of whisky, and with a nod she took a sip, grateful for the warmth in her belly.

The crossing proved to be as turbulent as her thoughts.

Lightning flashed and rain fell in stinging sheets, turning the deck treacherous.

For a moment she wondered … but instead of calling out to see what might happen, she pressed her lips together, something…

or someone holding her back. Sailors shouted commands in French as they worked the rigging, immune to the storm.

The ship rose and fell beneath them, its timbers creaking in protest with each swell as they pushed northward, reminding her of stress fractures in limestone under pressure.

She heard Angus talking about how crowded it was belowdecks, and shuddered at the thought of being down there in the dark.

The prince and his closest advisors claimed the captain’s quarters, while everyone else made do with hammocks strung in compartments so cramped they’d violate modern building codes, or simply found space on deck on the damp wooden planks.

The ceiling beams hung so low that William had to stoop constantly, his shoulders nearly brushing both walls of the narrow passageway.

The ship smelled of tar, brine, and damp wood, with undertones of gunpowder from the small complement of cannon lashed to the deck, the scents not unpleasant but different.

Lanterns swung with each pitch and roll, casting eerie, dancing shadows across weathered bulkheads scored with the initials of countless sailors who had come before.

She traced her fingers over these makeshift petroglyphs, wondering about the men who’d carved them.

As day faded to evening, the Du Teillay took on an almost ghostly quality, silhouetted against the darkening sky, its profile cutting through mist and spray, a vessel of desperate hope carrying its cargo of would-be revolutionaries toward an uncertain future.

And somehow, inexplicably, carrying her along with them.

“Think we’ll find more welcoming folk in Arisaig?” Angus asked, passing a flask to Callum.

“If the wind holds and we dinna sink first,” he replied, taking a swig before offering it to her again.

She accepted the flask, whisky burning a path down her throat, momentarily displacing the chill that had settled in her bones.

“The prince seems confident,” she ventured, passing the flask back.

Angus snorted softly. “Aye, well, confidence is easy when ye’ve never seen what English cannon can do to Highland flesh.”

“Hush,” Callum warned, his voice low as he glanced around. “Such talk doesn’t help.”

“Nor does blind faith,” he countered, though he lowered his voice further. “I fight for the clan, for Scotland, not for some man who’s never set foot on Scottish soil before yesterday.”

This glimpse of dissension unsettled her. History books mentioned divisions among the Jacobites, but experiencing it firsthand, seeing doubt in the eyes of men about to risk everything, made the coming tragedy all the more painful to witness.

The men continued their conversation, falling into Gaelic that flowed too quickly for her limited vocabulary. Their voices created a comforting backdrop as she closed her eyes, exhaustion finally overtaking her.

A hand on her arm startled her awake as she blinked to find William beside her.

“I’ve found you a place to sleep,” he said quietly. “It’s small, but private.”

He led her below deck to what she could only describe as a closet, though it contained a built-in bed and small table. Despite its size, the thought of having her own space made her unexpectedly grateful, even if it was belowdecks.

“Thank you,” she said, running her hand along the rough wooden wall. “Where will you sleep?”

“Up on deck,” he replied, his leather vest encrusted with salt. “I dinna care for being below.”

She hesitated, suddenly aware of how accustomed she’d grown to his presence. It’s going to be odd without you nearby.

He stepped closer, pulling her against him in a brief, fierce embrace that sent warmth cascading through her. Then he stepped back, his expression guarded once more.

“You’re a widow, lass. I must conduct myself appropriately, for your reputation if nothing else.”

His words stung more than they should have, especially after the heated kisses they’d shared. She nodded, keeping her expression carefully neutral despite the hollow feeling spreading in her chest.

“Of course,” she said. “Goodnight, then.”

Sleep brought no peace. Ian’s face appeared in her dreams, his eyes wide with terror as the rope tightened around his neck.

His features shifted, becoming Sarah’s, smiling coldly as she accepted credit for Harper’s research, then morphing into her father walking away without a backward glance after dropping her off at her grandmother’s while her parents forgot about her.

All the betrayals and abandonments of her life swirled together in a terrible parade until she jolted awake, gasping for breath in the darkness.

The tiny cabin was stifling. She slipped from her narrow berth and made her way topside.

The rain had stopped, though the deck remained slick beneath her feet.

The night air was bracing, carrying the tang of salt and the promise of dawn still hours away.

Stars pierced the sky, impossibly bright and arranged in patterns both familiar and strange.

She leaned against the railing, breath forming small clouds in the chill air.

The ship creaked and groaned around her, a living thing moving through the darkness as sailors went about their business.

Memories of Ian’s execution played relentlessly behind her eyes.

She pressed her palms against her closed eyelids, willing the images away.

“Ye shouldna be alone with such thoughts.”

William’s voice startled her. He stood a few paces away, his form outlined against the starlight, plaid draped across his broad shoulders. He moved to join her at the rail, his presence solid and warm beside her.

“I keep seeing him,” Harper admitted, her voice barely audible above the waves. “Every time I close my eyes.”

He nodded, his profile stern in the dim light. “The first death stays with ye. It doesna get easier, just... more familiar.”

“How do you bear it?”

A muscle worked in his jaw as he stared out at the black water. “By remembering why we fight. What we protect.” His fingers tightened on the railing. “I’ve seen too many die already. Hamish had his whole life before him when Captain Mercer cut him down.”

Harper turned to face him, truly seeing the weight he carried. “You still believe you could have saved him.”

“I should have been the one to die,” he ground out, his voice roughened by memory. “Not him. Not my parents. They were good people who had done nothing wrong.”

“That’s why you’re here now. Fighting for the prince.”