Page 4 of Bride of the Sinful Laird
Having spent her childhood by the ocean she’d learned to swim at an early age. But this water was colder and unwelcoming, and despite her every effort, she did not swim with the slickness of a seal dressed as she was. She was floundering, her skirts tangling her legs, her arms losing strength with every stroke, and the men were gaining on her.
Drawing on strength she didn’t know she had, she kept herself moving through the water, straining her arms, frantically kicking her legs free of the restricting fabric, fighting with every last scrap to make it to the nearby vessel.
And then, wonder of wonders, she saw she was nearing the shore. A flicker of hope ignited, pushing her onward.
Yet the shouts grew louder. Her pursuers were almost upon her as she struggled for a foothold in the shifting sand beneath her feet. The waves, although small, rushed over her head, making her splutter, taking her breath away.
Before Annora could stabilize herself, a hand seized her arm in a grip as strong as a blacksmith’s vice. She screamed with every bitof breath still left in her lungs, struggling wildly against the man who held her fast.
He was dragging her back to the slave ship.
But even he was hard-pressed to manage her. As her heavy wool skirt dragged her down, his grip loosened and although she fought, bobbing up and then going under, her strength was ebbing fast. She succumbed to the water and the weight of her garments, and despite the hold on her arm, her head sank beneath the waves. She heard the man curse in a strange language, releasing her as the sea claimed her, pulling her into the depths.
Aware that the shore must be close, she made one last effort to kick her legs free, but it was no use, she was exhausted and the thought of drowning came almost as a blessed release.
Down she floated, her lungs filling with water, her eyes closed.
She was only dimly aware of the strong arms enfolding her body and the cold, crisp air on her face as she was pulled, gasping to the surface.
Again, a man was cursing, only this time it was in a language she understood. If she’d heard such blaspheming in her father’s castle, she would have flushed with heat and shame and hung her head, but now those forbidden words were the sweetest sound she’d ever heard.
He wrenched at her sodden skirts, ripping them away, so that her legs were finally released from the entanglement of fabric. Even in her half-drowned state, the touch of the man’s hand on her bare flesh rippled unaccountably through her, bringing a strange sense of embarrassment.
“Wrap your arms around me neck, lass. I’ll swim us tae shore. But be quick about it, if ye wish tae live.”
CHAPTER TWO
Gulping in a desperate breath of air and coughing up a lungful of water, Annora grabbed the man’s shoulders as he swam strongly to the shore.
She marveled at the man’s strength and the way he’d come to her rescue without hesitation.
It was not far to the shore, but two men from the ship still pursued them.
The man’s feet touched bottom and he took a few steps until he was wading and the water was only up to his knees. Once they had made it to the shore, he lowered her and turned to meet the men scrambling on his heels, shouting fierce-sounding, unrecognizable, foreign words, brandishing their strange, curved swords.
Annora stumbled onto the rocky sand, coughing up water, spluttering mightily, rasping her throat. She curled on the sand,watching helplessly as the two assailants followed them onto the beach and circled her lone rescuer.
All that stood between her and an uncertain fate was this brave warrior.
One blow from those weapons could separate a man’s head from his body, yet her rescuer, a much bigger man than his lithe opponents, and with arms like tree-trunks, was every bit as nimble. While they might have evil-looking weapons, the man who had saved her drew a short-sword from his belt that was every bit as wicked.
The fight between the three men raged on before her as she crouched helplessly on the sand, her heart in her mouth, observing the battle. Praying silently, she shook all over, only too aware that her freedom – if not her very life – depended on this Scottish warrior’s strength and skill.
Still coughing, she closed her eyes briefly, too fearful to watch. At the sound of a piercing scream her eyes flew open to see one of the pirates falling, doubled over, his hands clutching his belly, blood pouring onto the sand. Her heart jumped. Now the odds had shifted in her rescuer’s favor. If only the man could prevail over his enemy, it was possible she would be saved.
Bent low, he circled his foe, and she was suddenly aware that this warrior was not only an imposing figure, but, despite the grim-set of his features, also darkly handsome. His nose was straight, his mouth generous and his jaw was chiseled marble. His wet hair slicked back displayed a broad forehead and dark brows.
His enemy whirled, his wet clothing spraying droplets of water through the air with the speed of his movement,
The painful knot in Annora’s belly tightened as her warrior—why dae I think of him as me warrior?— stumbled slightly, clearly put off by the sudden change of tactics. Yet, in a heartbeat he had miraculously regained his balance. The corsair raised his sword to deal a death blow, but the warrior moved with equal speed. The moment his foe raised his arms, he leaped forward and up, centering his sword so that it pierced the man above his belly, penetrating deep into his heart. The strike that would have ended the warrior’s life sliced his sleeve only a glancing blow. His opponent fell back, his mouth forming a silent ‘O’ of surprise. After landing with a thud on the sand, he lay prone at the water’s edge. He did not move again.
The Scot stood over his enemy until it seemed he was satisfied that the man was dead, then turned to Annora with a grim smile. In two strides he was crouched beside her brushing her hair back from her face.
“Thank ye…” she began, but her voice came out as an odd croaking sound. She shook her head and whispered hoarsely, “I cannae speak.”
He grinned. “Dinnae fash, lass. There’s time enough fer ye tae tell me yer tale. Fer now, we’d best be away from this place before more of the privateers come searching fer ye. Ye’re safe enough now, lass, yet they may still pursue ye. If ye wish tae accompany me, I’ll dae me best tae keep ye from harm.”
She nodded, unable to form the words.
