When he returned to the boat, he was relieved to find Duncan was awake and able to hold onto Ian’s back. He was a huge man, though, and Ian nearly lost his balance more than once on the slick rock steps. The wind was blowing a thin, icy rain now. By the time they reached the top, Duncan was shivering violently. His body, already taxed to the limit, could not take the cold and wet.
Ian banged through the cottage door and staggered across the room to deposit his burden onto Tearlag’s bed. It was a box bed built into the partial wall that separated the main room of her cottage from the byre, where her cow was mooing in complaint.
Ilysa threw a blanket over her brother while Tearlag shoveled a hot stone from the fire to place at his feet.
Without pausing to rest, Ian returned to the beach for Alex.
“I can walk up, if ye give me a hand,” Alex said.
“No, I’ll take ye on my back,” Ian said. “It’ll be quicker, and I’m in no mood to argue.”
Alex didn’t like it, but that was how it was going to be.
Ian grunted as he hefted Alex onto his back. “God help me, the three of ye must eat like horses.”
Ian’s legs were cramping by the time he reached the cottage the third time. Alex insisted on sitting in a chair. He made no complaint, however, when the women whisked a blanket around his shoulders, a warming stone under his feet, and a cup of hot broth into his hands.
Ian sat down heavily on a stool by the table. He had succeeded in getting all three men here alive, though Connor was hanging on by a thread and Duncan was not much better. Ian was grateful that both women were skilled at healing, though he suspected there was little that could be done now except keep the men warm and feed them broth.
And pray.
“Ye mustn’t tarry,” Tearlag said, fixing her good eye on him. “Your wife is in danger.”
“What can ye tell me?” he asked.
“Only that she’s very frightened,” Tearlag said.
“Take this,” Ilysa said, shoving a wrapped cloth of oatcakes into his hand as he went out the cottage door.
The heavens opened on his return trip, soaking him to the skin. He shouted in frustration when it forced him to bring down the sail and row. As he strained against the oars, his heart seemed to race in time to the rain pelting his face.
If Sileas had not left the dirk with Niall, she would stab Angus with it now. The foul smell of the man surrounded her, suffocating her as they rode. She looked down at the massive thigh rubbing against hers and imagined plunging her blade into it over and over again. Every time he moved the arm around her waist up to press against the undersides of her breasts, she rammed her elbow into his ribs.
Angus made no sign he noticed.
“How many little girls have ye raped since the last time I saw ye?” she said, and jabbed him again.
“I don’t count them,” he said, sounding amused. “Shame ye have grown up, Sileas. You’ll do, but I liked ye better before.”
“Ach, ye are a disgusting beast! Ye will burn in hell for sure.”
“I confess to the priests,” he said. “When I hold a blade to their throats, the penance is no so bad—except for that damned Father Brian. He’s a self-righteous bastard.”
“My husband is going to kill ye before ye have a chance to confess again,” she said. “Ye will die with your soul black with sin.”
“Your marriage is a sham, and everyone on Skye knows it.” He leaned down until his filthy whiskers touched the side of her face and his breath choked her. “But you’ll soon have a real husband—the kind who knows what he’s supposed to do with a wife.”
The taunts she had used to hold back her fear left her. Ian would come for her, but when? He thought she was safe, in Gordan’s care. How long would she be inside Knock Castle with Angus and Murdoc before Ian learned she was there?
As if to dampen her hopes, a cold rain began to fall.
As Knock Castle rose out of the misty rain on the headland, fear weighed down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She had not been inside the castle since the day she escaped through the tunnel after Murdoc beat her. As they crossed the drawbridge, she looked up at the massive iron and wooden gates and shivered. Dear Lord, how would Ian ever get her out?
Sileas wondered if the ghost of the castle would appear to her as she used to. The legend was that the Green Lady, as she was called for the pale green gown she wore, would smile or weep, depending on whether good news or bad was coming to the family who occupied the castle.
The ghost had always wept for Sileas.
CHAPTER 34
By the time Ian finally neared the shore below his parents’ home, the muscles of his arms and shoulders felt ready to tear from the bone. He narrowed his eyes to peer through the freezing rain still pelting his face. Someone was on the beach waving his arms.
It was Niall. Ian’s heart dropped to his boots. Tearlag was right. Something had gone wrong. He jumped out of the boat and splashed toward shore, hauling the boat with him, as Niall waded into the rough surf to help.
“They’ve got Sileas,” Niall shouted over the wind and rain whipping around them, as he grabbed the other side of the boat.
“Who has her?” Ian shouted back.
