She closed her eyes, trying to block fresh tears. Phase, Mama, be alive.

Chapter 38

They left the cave as soon as the tide dropped enough to get the boat through the entrance tunnel. Catherine and Michael lay flat in the boat while he pushed at the irregular roof to propel the vessel forward. They scraped against stone with every swell of water, but eventually they emerged into the pitch-black night.

The back of her neck prickled as she sat up. She felt like a mouse emerging from a hole that was being watched by a hungry cat. But there were no shouts or shots; Haldoran and his men had either returned to Skoal or taken shelter for the night.

As Michael had predicted, the storm had passed, but before he could set the oars in the locks, a wave struck them broadside. Inches of water splashed into the boat, saturating their recently dried clothing. Michael hastily began rowing. As the boat stabilized and moved away from the shore, he said, "Keep a good lookout. This bay is full of rocks."

Catherine nodded and knelt in the bow to watch for low-lying hazards. With his back to the bow, Michael could not see what lay ahead, but she was acutely aware that she lacked his superior night vision. Scudding clouds covered most of the sky and she could see very little. She squinted. There was a paleness just ahead to the left, an irregularity that looked like foam. "Pull right. I think there's a reef on the left."

"Right," he repeated. The boat angled to the side and a half dozen oar strokes took them by a partially submerged rock.

The water ahead appeared clear, so Catherine spared a moment to turn and bail. Thank God the smugglers had left the bucket.

As soon as they left the bay for the open ocean, conditions worsened. The storm had left huge waves in its wake, and they pushed ferociously at the small boat. She wondered grimly if Michael would be able to hold a course among the waves and currents. The chase on Bone had shown that he had a phenomenal sense of direction and a feeling for terrain, but this was water, a channel he had crossed only once, and that in the daylight. They might easily miss Skoal and become lost on the open sea.

She cut off her thoughts. All she could do was watch and bail, and by God, she would do that well.

Amy dozed a little, leaving the window of her room partially open so she could monitor the weather. The stillness after the storm awakened her. She had left a candle burning, and the mantel clock showed that it was almost two in the morning. Perfect. She padded to the window and looked out. There was still a brisk wind, but the rain had stopped. There was no sign of movement anywhere around Ragnarok.

She peeled off her nightgown and donned the boy's clothing she had worn for long rides on the Peninsula. She'd brought the garments in case she went climbing on the cliffs in Skoal. The breeches were a little tight; she'd grown. But they would do.

When she was dressed, she cautiously opened the door and peered into the corridor. As she expected, one of the trolls was dozing in the corridor a dozen feet away. To leave, she would have to step right over him. It would have to be the window.

She relocked the door and retrieved the rope she had made from sheets. After tying one end around a bedpost, she threw the other end out the window. It just reached the ground.

She climbed out the window and started down. The clawing wind made her swing from side to side across the cold granite facade. She'd never been afraid of riding, or of French troops, but she didn't like heights one bit. Determinedly she stared at the wall as she lowered herself. As long as she didn't look down, she would be all right.

Then the sheet began to rip. As she felt the vibration in her hands, her heart spasmed. A fall from this height would kill her. She looked down. One of the ledges was several feet below.

The last fibers of the sheet separated with a horrid rasping sound. Using all her tomboy strength, she jumped toward the narrow ledge, praying that she would be able to keep her footing when she landed.


The journey across the channel was a nightmare without end. Catherine's arms ached from bailing, and her eyes burned from the strain of her vigil. Luckily, a stiff wind was breaking up the clouds. The quarter moon appeared, the cool light revealing a small islet to the right. It was too far away to be a danger, but her gaze sharpened. Islets were often surrounded by vicious little companions. From the corner of her eye, she saw a boiling of water. "Hard left now!"

Michael obeyed, but not fast enough to save them from scraping the jagged reef. The rowboat shuddered and tilted to the left. A wave crashed in, soaking them both. Catherine blinked the water from her eyes. "Now right."

A few minutes of rowing brought them through the danger zone. Then Catherine bailed until most of the water had been removed. When she was finished, she asked, "Do you have any idea how close we are to Skoal?"

Michael paused, letting the oars drift. In the moments before clouds veiled the moon again, she saw his broad shoulders slump with fatigue. He answered, "Not far, I think. Listen."

She strained her ears. There was a heavy, throbbing undernote to the sounds of the night. "Breakers ahead."

"Good." He began rowing again. "If I've judged rightly, we'll land on Little Skoal, not far from Haldoran's house."

She turned to the bow again, frowning into the darkness. "How on earth can you tell?"

"Homing pigeon blood. A useful talent for a soldier."

She hesitated. "My heart wants to go after Amy right away, but my head says we should go to the castle for help."

"Perhaps. But it might take time to persuade anyone that Haldoran is a villain." His voice became grim. "Also, she'll be safer if we can take her out in a quiet raid rather than a pitched battle."

He was right; Catherine would not put it past her loathsome cousin to hurt Amy from sheer spite if he thought he was going to be defeated. She swallowed hard. "Onward to Ragnarok."


* * *

The laird came awake more easily this time. It was still dark, but there was a hint of dawn in the sky. He turned his head. Davin Penrose sat by the bed, his face drawn with concern.

The laird whispered, "H-how long since I sent for you?"

A smile of relief crossed Davin's face. "I got the message last evening, about eight hours ago."

Good. The laird had feared that days might have passed while he slept. "Catherine?"

"She disappeared," the constable said gravely. "We've searched the island, but there's no trace of her. She had been nursing you day and night. It seems likely that she went for a late walk the night before last and fell from a cliff."

"No!" Knowing his strength was limited, the laird chose his words carefully. "Clive kidnapped her daughter and blackmailed Catherine into sending away that so-called husband of hers."

Davin's brows rose. "So-called?"

"Her real husband's dead. This one is a friend or lover or something," the laird said impatiently. "The fellow came back to see Catherine. Clive found them together and captured 'em. He was planning to take them to Bone and hunt them down like rats."

"Good God!" Davin's face paled. "Once or twice yesterday, I thought I heard shots coming from Bone."

The laird closed his eyes, trying to control the unexpected rush of emotion. It might be too late. Catherine had deceived him, but… he'd grown fond of her.

"How did you learn all this?" the constable asked.

"Everyone talked in front of me as if I were already dead." The laird took a deep breath, struggling to organize what must be said. "Clive has Catherine's daughter at Ragnorak. Take some of the militamen and get her out. I don't know if Clive is there, but go armed. He's mad and dangerous. After you have the child, cross over to Bone and see if… Catherine and that fellow are alive. If she isn't…" His voice faded away.

Accepting the outrageous story without question, Davin got to his feet. "I'll be on my way as soon as I can collect half a dozen men. First Ragnarok, then Bone."

"Don't trust Clive."

"I never did." The constable turned and was gone. The laird closed his eyes and tried not to weep. He was an old man. He should be used to loss by now.

There wasn't a single light visible on Skoal, though that wasn't surprising at this hour of the night. As they approached the island, Catherine sharpened her vigil, knowing that this last stretch was the most hazardous.

The currents worsened, whipping the boat back and forth. Michael was panting with exertion as he fought to keep them steady. The boom of the surf intensified, vibrating in her bones. The silhouette of an islet appeared ahead. She warned Michael and he managed to pull away, but a ferocious current grabbed the boat, sweeping it toward a jagged rock. She shouted another warning. The stony pinnacle loomed above her, almost close enough to touch. In the nick of time, Michael pulled them beyond the lethal obstacle.

The moon came out again, illuminating what lay ahead. "We're only a couple of hundred yards out," she reported. "From the sound of the breakers, it's a beach, but I can see boulders."

"Good," he said breathlessly. "That's what the shore is like on the south side of Little Skoal."

The surf caught the boat, hurling it toward land. They were close enough to see the pale, undulating lines of breaking waves. Catherine clamped her hands on the gunwales, frightened by the speed with which they were flying toward shore. One small part of her mind said that they would never survive this wild ride, while another said that Michael could do anything. The rest of her mind, and all of her body, was focused on watching what lay ahead.