“It is time.”
Will nodded to Kieran in response and began lowering the sail on their small birlinn.
They’d agreed that once they’d crossed roughly half the distance from Girvan to Ailsa Craig, they would drop the white canvas sail to avoid being spotted from the island. Even though it was well past midnight, Kieran had feared the sail would glow pale blue in the moonlight. As it was, their only advantage was the element of surprise, which they could not risk wasting.
Just as Kieran had told the King they could, they’d made the ride from Scone to Girvan in only a little more than a day and a half. Still, that meant it had been six days since Vivienne had been taken from the cottage.
Six long, dark days. Kieran had nigh driven himself mad with thoughts of all that could have happened to Vivienne in that time. It was only thanks to Will, Niall, and Mairin that he’d maintained his threadbare hold on sanity.
Will didn’t waste words on empty reassurances. Instead, he reminded Kieran in a bluntly logical way that de Soules had wanted Vivienne to suffer, which meant she was more than likely still alive. Oddly, it was a comfort.
Niall had been the one amongst them whose energy never flagged. Though he was the youngest man in the Corps, and English, Kieran realized he’d misjudged him. The lad was steadfast and even-keeled beyond his years. What was more, he seemed nearly as determined as Kieran himself to reach Vivienne. There was no doubt he was fiercely loyal and protective.
For her part, Mairin was mostly quiet, but just as they’d been departing Scone, she’d fixed Kieran with those wary gray eyes and said, “She is a strong one. I kenned it as soon as I met her.” Then dropping her gaze, she’d murmured, “Ye’d be surprised just how much a lass can endure when she has to.”
Kieran only knew the vaguest of details about Mairin—that her brothers Logan and Reid were both members of the Corps, that some event in her past had made her skittish and guarded—but he sensed that despite her youth, she knew a thing or two about strength herself. He’d clung to her words as they’d ridden like hell across Scotland.
Once they’d reached the wee town of Girvan, his hopes were bolstered further when they’d set about securing their birlinn for the crossing to Ailsa Craig. Even though dusk had settled over the town, the small harbor had been abuzz with the news that one of the fishermen’s birlinns had been stolen the night before.
It only confirmed what Kieran knew in his gut—de Soules and his men had passed through on their way to Ailsa Craig. With Vivienne in tow, he prayed.
The King had given Kieran and the others more coin than they could have spent in a year to make their trek easier, so Kieran had not only paid handsomely for the use of another birlinn, but had also repaid the man whose boat had been stolen by de Soules.
And now they were nearly to the island. Without the sail hoisted, they would have to row the rest of the way. Though the wound on his chest was tight and achy from the hard treatment it had received in the last few days, Kieran relished the opportunity to throw his strength against the waves separating him from Vivienne.
Will took up the other oar, and they rowed in silence for a while before Niall forced Kieran to rest and took over his oar.
“Mayhap now is a good time to discuss our plan,” Mairin ventured as Kieran caught his breath.
Will and Niall looked at each other, then Kieran.
“Save Vivienne,” Kieran ground out. “That is the plan.” He would hack through every last man himself in order to reach Vivienne.
Will, who had the mind of a strategist, cocked the light brown brow over his eyepatch. “Ye said de Soules had at least five able-bodied men, and mayhap some of the wounded have recovered as well. That would make it nearly two to one.”
“Aye, but we are Highlanders.” Kieran glanced at Niall, who wore a frown. “Well, no’ counting the lad.”
He’d never seen any of them fight, but he couldn’t be questioning their abilities now, not when he’d finally set aside his pride and acknowledged just how badly he needed their help.
“We all earned our spot in the Corps one way or another,” Kieran added, meeting each of their eyes in turn.
“Fair enough,” Will replied. “Still, we’d best circle around the island a wee bit so as no’ to be caught off-guard if de Soules’s men are about. And we ought to stick together.”
They all nodded in agreement.
“We can sort out the rest when we see what we find on the island,” Kieran said.
Just then, an enormous, shadowed blob loomed up from the ink-dark waters before them. Ailsa Craig. Its sides were sheer, but the top of the isle was rounded, like a domed loaf of bread taken out of a pan.
Will lifted a hand from his oar to point off to the left, silently indicating that they make landfall there. As they drew nearer, Kieran saw the wisdom in the man’s decision. The eastern shore of the island, which they’d been approaching head-on, was the obvious choice for a landing. In the moonlight, Kieran could make out a sandy, flat beach that extended toward the water from the otherwise steep cliff sides.
Will and Niall guided them around the beach to a rockier, sheltered cove. When they’d rowed as close as they could, Kieran jumped out into the cold, knee-deep water and hauled the birlinn partway onto the rocks.
Once the boat was secure, Will and Niall both hoisted themselves over the birlinn’s side into the shallow water, but when Mairin moved to do the same, Niall plucked her up into his arms without a word.
Mairin gasped and likely would have bent Niall’s ear—either with words or with her hand—had the need for silence not been so great. For his part, Niall simply carried her to the dry rocks higher up on the shoreline before setting her down.
With a nod to each other, they all drew their swords, except for Mairin, who left the short sword on her hip in its sheath and instead took up the bow she had slung across her body. Kieran would have marveled at the way the wee lass bristled with weapons if he didn’t need to stay focused on the task at hand.
Dinnae think of Vivienne. He forced himself to concentrate only on the fighting about to take place, else his fears for her would spiral out of control.
He motioned the others forward, and they began creeping toward the beach behind the cover of the large rocks at the base of the island.
As they drew closer, a flicker of light and the rumble of distant voices reached them. They rounded a rock outcropping that opened onto the beach, and Kieran threw up a fist to halt the others.
“…stop us?” a man said, his voice filled with anger.
“Aye, are we to sit on this bloody island forever?” another demanded. “No’ without another payment, we arenae.”
Several others shouted in agreement.
“Silence!”
Kieran’s skin pricked and his hands tightened around his sword. That was William de Soules’s voice.
Cautiously, he leaned out from behind the rock outcropping until he could see the beach. A birlinn rested on the sand nearby, and beyond that, at the base of the sheer rock cliffs, a group of men stood together.
Or rather, a group stood squared off with two men—de Soules and the giant he’d called Bevin.
The mercenaries—Kieran recognized them as the men who’d attacked the cottage—shouted de Soules down, threatening to take the birlinn and leave him stranded unless he produced more coin.
Bloody hell, they’d walked in on an insurrection. Kieran’s mind raced. He hadn’t heard or seen a sign of Vivienne yet, but if de Soules’s men were turning against him, they could use that to their advantage. There was no better time to strike than now.
He turned to the others, and judging from the way their eyes shone with anticipation in the moonlight, they’d come to the same conclusion.
“Ready?” he murmured.
At their nods, he lifted his sword and stepped from the cover of the rocks.