Lowri was not impressed with Ireland. They came ashore later that day in a small boat. Its prow lurched to a halt on a stony, deserted beach. There was no shelter, nor were there any dwellings, and the wind was spitefully cold, folding Lowri’s skirts against her legs. She could see nothing except sand dunes stretching for miles on one side and rugged black cliffs rising on the other. Thunder rumbled overhead, and rain began to fall. Cullen leapt out of the boat and reached out his hands to her.
‘Come, lass. I will carry you to save your skirts.’ The bite in his voice showed his anger had not abated.
Lowri fell into his arms. She didn’t want to touch him, but she let him lift her out of the boat and carry her out of the water. With a few grunts of goodbye, Rabham’s crew rowed away, and Cullen beckoned to her, his face grim. ‘Follow me,’ he shouted.
‘Where are we going?’
There was no reply. He just kept walking down the beach, looking intently up at the cliffs as if searching for something. Eventually, he stopped and looked out to sea. The other men had managed to row through the swell and were a shrinking dot amidst the waves.
Lowri looked around her. Her situation could not have been more miserable - alone in a strange land, exhausted and friendless. Thunder cracked overhead, making her start, and the horizon lit up with forks of lightning. Massive wavesnow inundated the beach, sending salt spray at them, stinging Lowri’s face, sucking back on the sand with a hiss.
Cullen came up to her and began rubbing her arms vigorously. She leapt back.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Trying to warm you, lass. You are pale with cold.’
‘If you want me warm, why have you dragged me down this beach in the wind?’
‘I’ll not drag you further. There is a path alongside these cliffs to my home, a ways further along.’ He glanced up at the sky. ‘But I doubt we’ll make it home before this storm hits, so we must take shelter.’
Lowri shrugged. ‘Where?’
Cullen grabbed her hand and dragged her around a large rocky outcrop. ‘In here,’ he said.
Lowri’s throat closed as if a fist had been jammed down it. There was a jagged gash in the cliffside, nestled between the rocks. It looked black, cold and forbidding.
‘I’m not going in there.’
‘Aye, you are,’ said Cullen, dragging her closer. When she resisted, he said, ‘Just trust me.’
Lowri was pulled into the hole. The walls were slimy, stinking of sea rot, pressing in. ‘Please,’ she cried, but Cullen kept on dragging her into darkness. The ground sloped upwards as she felt her way along the rock wall, her fingers growing numb.
‘Bend over, the passage is low here,’ said Cullen, pressing her head down. ‘Almost there.’
Lowri’s vision blurred. Her heart hammered. She wanted to claw her way out. She almost gave way to screaming panic, but then the darkness softened and she stumbled into a cave. Rays of light shot in through several gaps in the rock overhead, just enough to give an eerie light to the place. It was hushed save for the drip of water and the sea pounding outside. Barrels, flagons and sacks lay haphazardly on the ground.
‘What is this place?’
‘We call it the Witch’s Cunny,’ said Cullen with a smirk in the half-darkness.
‘That’s a name I’ll not forget in a hurry.’
‘Best you do, lass. And you must never tell a soul about what you’ve seen here.’
‘Why not?’ she stuttered.
‘Best not to ask questions, you don’t want answered. I am trusting you with this.’
‘Don’t fool yourself that there is any trust between us, Cullen,’ she said.
He grabbed her by the arms and shook her fiercely. ‘I mean it, lass. For your own good, tell no one.’
Lowri shook him off. ‘What is all this?’
‘Salt, silk, whisky in the barrels. And tea and tobacco over there, too.’
‘Stolen?’
