Earlier that afternoon, Muriel believed she could not have been more afraid or in more danger. But she’d been proven wrong.

She’d been taken below to the captain’s quarters, where she was tossed onto the bed and left alone. The door locking behind the disgusting man who’d brought her here sent fissures of fear tracing up and down her spine.

Her mind was racing in different directions. She either had to find a way out or a way to end her own life. She’d be damned if she was going to allow another man to do to her what Fergus had done. She’d not sit idly by and become a slave to anyone else.

Before she could act either way, she heard the door unlocking. Terrified, she scooted off the bed, looking for a way out.

A man entered the chamber, carrying a pitcher of water and washing cloths. He was just as vile and disgusting as the man who had brought her here.

“Cap’n Wallace has ordered ye clean yerself up,” he said as he placed the items on a small table in the center of the room. “I’d no’ dally, were I ye, fer he is a man of little patience.”

He looked her up and down before leaving her alone. She held her breath in the hope that he’d forget to lock the door behind him.

He didn’t.

* * *

The sun hung low in the sky, casting the sea and everything it touched in shades of red and orange. Torches were being lit along the docks. Soon, night would descend.

Rodrick did not want to risk waiting until nightfall to board the ship on which he was certain Muriel was being held captive.

He’d been watching from the shadows across the way for nearly half an hour. The men aboard were busy readying the ship to leave on the morrow. They called out and shouted to one another as they checked sails, masts and equipment.

’Twas a three-mast sailing vessel that could be powered by sail or oar. From Rodrick’s vantage point, he could see two platforms located on either end of the ship. The tall masts creaked and groaned as the ship lolled gently from side to side. Numerous ropes ran from the top of each mast to the rails. Thick rope ladders were draped on either side, from mast to deck.

Knowing they’d not leave until daybreak, he’d returned to the public stables to retrieve Caderyn. The horse was happy to be out of the stall and whinnied his approval. Rodrick had left him standing in front of a tavern not far from the ship with the order to stay. Caderyn snickered once before shaking his head disapprovingly. There were times Rodrick swore the horse understood every word he thought.

He returned to his spot in the shadows, keeping a close eye on the sky as well as the ship. Soon, a line of men began to roll barrels aboard, followed by men carrying crates. ’Twas the perfect opportunity to make his way aboard the ship unnoticed.

Grabbing a crate from the pile on the dock, he hoisted it onto his shoulder and made his way up the gangplank. A short man with weathered skin ordered him to take it below.

Following the men in front of him, he descended the stairs and left the crate with the others. But instead of following the men back to the stairs, he slid into the shadows, pressed against the wall, and waited. As soon as he was alone, he went in search of Muriel.

He half expected to find her chained in some dark corner. His search yielded nothing in the lower part of the ship. Leaving the stores, he found a narrow corridor lined with doors. He was about to turn left, when he heard a woman scream with terror.

The sound curdled his blood before turning it hot with fury.

Muriel knew she was staring into the eyes of a madman.

Captain Seamus Wallace.

He was a tall, brutish looking man, with dark blonde hair that fell past his shoulders. His bright hazel eyes fairly glimmered with anticipation. Without warning, he pounced on her at almost the exact moment he entered his chamber. Grabbing her about her small waist, he drew her toward him in a hard embrace. When she resisted — by clawing at his face — he shoved her onto the bed.

“I like a good fight before a good tumble,” he said with a smile. “Fight all ye want, lassie. Ye’ll still be mine before long.”

Before she could scramble to her feet, he was on top of her. She struggled against his kisses as he hurried to push her skirts out of the way.

She was not about to give in without a struggle.

Though he was taller and bigger than she, she summoned the courage to pound her fists against his arms and shoulders. “Let me go!” she cried.

“Nay,” he chuckled sinisterly. “Ye have been bought and paid fer, lass.”

From somewhere deep within, she found the strength and energy to scream. It started low in her belly before climbing its way out of her throat and mouth.

He chuckled again. “That’s it, lass. Scream fer me!”

Panic set in as she fought with all her might. Her fear, her pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears. If anything, they seemed to urge him on.

Suddenly, he stopped, his eyes growing wide with horrific astonishment. Muriel looked up to see a blade pressed against Seamus Wallace’s throat.

A deep voice spoke then, and it was not one she recognized. “If ye try to alert yer men, I’ll cut yer throat before ye can muster the courage to scream.”

* * *

Seamus Wallace swallowed hard before giving a quick nod of his head.

“Up with ye, nice and slow.”

It wasn’t until the captain was on his feet that Muriel could see whom the voice belonged to.

He was taller than the captain and younger by at least a decade. He did not look like he belonged on the ship, for he appeared clean and no whiskers lined his face. A leather thong tied at his nape kept his brown hair away from his face. ’Twas his blue eyes that nearly sent her knees to knocking, for they were filled with murderous rage. She felt no relief at his actions, for she had no idea who the man was or why he was here.

He kept the dirk pointed at the captain, holding out his free hand. “Come, Muriel. I be takin’ ye home.”

Home? What home? She hadn’t had a home in years. She lay there in stunned disbelief. How did he know her name?

When she didn’t move, he chanced a quick glance her way, before turning back to the captain. “Charles has sent me fer ye.”

That was all she needed to hear to get her moving. If she weren’t still so terrified, she might have wept with joy. Charles! He did no’ ferget about me!

Quickly, she placed her hand in his as he gently pulled her off the bed. As soon as her feet hit the floor he realized she was just a slip of a woman. Her head, barely reaching his shoulders. As he shoved her behind him protectively she clung to his arm for dear life.

“Now, Captain, we will be leavin’ yer ship and ye’re goin’ to lead the way.”

Seamus glowered angrily at the two of them. “I paid fer her fair and square, lad. What makes ye think I will let ye leave this ship?”

Her rescuer took one step toward the captain, pinning him to the door with the blade once again pressed against his throat. “Because if ye do no’ cooperate, I will kill ye. It be that simple.”

His tone of voice, the way he stood so confidently, made even Muriel believe every word he spoke.

“What about the coin I paid fer her?” the captain asked.

The stranger who had come to rescue her grunted with disgust. “Consider it payment in exchange fer yer life.”

The captain began to protest until the blade was pressed more firmly against his throat. “Do ye wish to die now?”

He swallowed hard again and shook his head.

“Then turn around and lead the way above. And remember, I would just as soon kill ye as look at ye.”

The captain nodded once and began to slowly turn around.

Muriel swallowed the urge to squeal with delight, for she knew they were not off the ship yet.

When Rodrick had first seen the lass, he thought he had made a mistake. Her hair was not the fiery red he’d seen in his dreams. Nor were her eyes the color of emeralds and green grass. Nay, her hair was as gold as the sun and her eyes as blue as the deep sea.

And she was even more lovely than the image that had spoken to him in the dreams. He could see that even through the blackened eye and swollen lip. He could not help but believe there were more bruises hidden beneath her torn dress.

Even if she wasn’t Muriel, she was a lass in dire need of his help. ‘Twasn’t until he mentioned Charles that he knew she was in fact, Muriel McFarland. He could see the relief in her eyes.

As the captain led the way to the top of the ship, Muriel clung to Rodrick’s arm with a deathlike grip. He could feel her trembling with fear, could hear her rapid breaths as she followed close behind him.

As much as he wanted to kill the man in front of him, he worried more for Muriel’s safety. If he gave in to the urge to slice the captain’s throat, they could very well be found out before they left the ship.

He kept a tight hold on the captain’s tunic as they took the ladder up. Once they were all three out of the darkness, Rodrick scanned the large open space. The gangplank was ahead and to their left.

Rodrick gave him a slight shove forward, his dirk pressed against the captain’s back. They hadn’t taken two steps before someone noticed them. ’Twas the same man who had ordered Rodrick to take the crate below earlier.

“Everythin’ all right, Cap’n?” the man asked, concern etched on his brow.

The captain did not immediately answer, so Rodrick pressed his dirk more firmly into his back. “All is well, Domnall,” he replied dryly as he took a step forward.

Just what gave them away, Rodrick didn’t know, nor did he care. The man gave a loud shout to his mates. “Protect the captain!”

Soon, the deck was swarming with armed men, hell bent on protecting their captain as well as on prohibiting Rodrick and Muriel’s escape.

Thinking quickly, Rodrick pulled the captain against his chest and placed the dirk against his throat. “Back!” he shouted to the approaching men. “Back! Or I swear I’ll gut yer beloved cap’n!”

His words stopped the dozen men swarming toward him dead in their tracks. They were eyeing their captain, as well as Rodrick, undoubtedly trying to come up with a plan of action. ’Twas evident they could see in his eyes that his threat was no idle one; he was ready to act. Each of them took a step back.

Keeping his breath steady, Rodrick looked for another means of escape, in case his first plan to walk down the gangplank failed. He could feel Muriel behind him, her hands still firmly clinging to his cloak. Her breaths were ragged, filled with fear and uncertainty.

To his left was the gangplank; to his right were the stairs that led up to a platform anchoring one of tall masts. Under that platform were the stairs that took them below. He knew that if he retreated below from whence they’d just come, it would mean their inevitable deaths.

“Back, I say!” he shouted again as one of the men tried advancing.

Captain Seamus Wallace decided then to act in a most brave manner. Or foolish, depending on whom one might ask. “Kill them! Kill them both!” he shouted as he tried twisting his body around in Rodrick’s tight hold.

The men lunged forward, but not fast enough. Rodrick gave a hard shove against the captain’s back, which sent him hurling forward. As he collapsed against his men, Rodrick grabbed Muriel’s hand and pulled her up the stairs to the platform. For the briefest moment, he thought of jumping off and into the cold water. But there was no time to ask Muriel if she could swim, and chances were they’d be caught or dead before they could reach the shore.

“Up the mast!” he told her. Placing his dirk betwixt his teeth, he lifted her by the waist and shoved her up so that she could climb the mast. Thankfully, she did not argue or otherwise protest. Like a cat climbing a tree, up she went.

He’d just grabbed the lowest rung when he felt the hilt of a dirk come down hard on his neck. Spinning quickly, with deft precision, he grabbed his own dirk and sliced the throat of the attacker. The man fell as blood spurted from the gaping wound.

Rodrick sent him tumbling back toward three men who were standing behind their comrade. A moment later, he was scurrying up the mast and catching up to Muriel. Her feet had tangled in her skirts, but she was quick to hang on and right herself.

Once they reached the top of the mast, with men clambering up after them, he unsheathed his sword, removed the belt and wrapped it around his wrist twice. Taking the end, he flung it over one of the ropes. “Hold on!” he told Muriel. She draped her arms around his neck without uttering a word.

With her clutching him tightly, he grabbed the end of his belt, wrapped it around his other hand, and gave her a nod. “Do no’ let go!”

Most of their pursuers were still climbing when he jumped. Down the rope they slid, with Muriel clinging to him with all her might. Rodrick clamped his dirk betwixt his teeth and held onto his sword.

They were halfway down when he let out a shrill whistle, not an easy feat considering the dirk betwixt his teeth. But he managed the whistle: a signal for Caderyn to come at once.

As soon as they were near the plank, Rodrick let go. They landed hard on the deck, just a few steps from the gangplank. The fall forced Muriel to let go. He landed on his back; she landed on his front.

Rolling her off, he jumped to his feet, helped her to hers, and shoved his dirk into her hands. Two men with swords drawn were advancing toward them. With Muriel behind him, he braced his feet apart and readied himself for a quick battle.

The first man charged forward and was met with Rodrick’s sword plunging into his belly. As his attacker fell, Rodrick withdrew his sword quickly and sliced the chest of the second man.

“Run!” he shouted over his shoulder to Muriel. “I will be right behind ye!”

She did not wait for him to tell her again. As fast as she could, she ran down the plank toward the dock.

With his heart pounding against his chest, he quickly subdued two more attackers before making his own escape down the plank. Muriel was heading in the wrong direction.

And Caderyn was not waiting for them.

* * *

Rodrick could hear the thunder of heavy footsteps making their way down the plank in fast pursuit. He soon reached Muriel and grabbed her hand. She squealed once until she realized ’twas he and not one of the men chasing after them.

“This way!” he shouted as he pulled her off the main street and into a dark alley.

“Wheest!” he whispered loudly as he pressed his back to the wall. When Muriel didn’t move, he took her about the waist with his free hand and gently shoved her against the wall next to him.

They each held their breath as they listened to the sounds of shouts and booted feet racing down the cobblestone street.

Rodrick counted to ten before letting out his breath.

“Stay here,” he whispered whilst he took a chance to look around the corner. More men were heading their way.

He pressed them farther into the darkness of the alley and they waited for the men to pass. They waited with pounding hearts and sweat-covered brows, while Rodrick planned out their next effort.

Once he felt certain no more men were coming from the ship, he took her hand in his. “We have to get to the ferry, and quickly,” he told her.

Muriel nodded once, her eyes still filled with a good deal of trepidation; otherwise she didn’t utter a sound.

“But first, I have to find me bloody horse!” he whispered harshly.

* * *

Once he felt certain they could leave the alley, he took her hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll have us off this island soon, lass.”

“Who are ye?” she finally asked.

Her voice was soft and low.

“I be Rodrick,” he replied as they made their way toward the dock. He whistled again, not quite as loudly, in the hope that Caderyn was nearby and would finally answer his call.

They passed by the tavern where he’d left his horse earlier. Candle and torchlight spilled out of the window, along with boisterous laughter. But no sign of his mount.

“Bloody damned horse,” Rodrick hissed under his breath.

They came to the end of the block, where he paused to peer around the corner. He could see no signs of the men seeking them, so he pulled Muriel along. They walked swiftly toward the docks, all the while Rodrick cursed Caderyn for not responding.

When they came to the end of the last block, he stopped to look once again.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed under his breath.

“What?” Muriel asked, looking quite fearful.

He had no desire to tell her their pursuers were waiting for them at the ferry.

The two of them had to get off this island tonight. Otherwise, there was a good chance they’d not survive until morning. The men were just as hell-bent on finding him as he was on getting off Skye.

Although he couldn’t hear the conversation taking place between the shipmen and the ferry captain, he could tell that none of them were happy. There was much blustering and shouting and cursing taking place betwixt them.

His mind was racing for a way to get past the men and onto the ferry, when he heard the sound of a horse slowly approaching from the west. Shoving Muriel behind him, he ducked back behind the building. Though ’twas doubtful it was one of the men set on killing them, one couldn’t take too many chances.

A few short moments later, the muzzle of a familiar-looking beast poked around the corner and snorted.