He could have kicked himself. It only made it harder that he was going to say goodbye to her in the morning. He should have kept his feelings to himself.
He had made a mistake, not one he would make again. When he finally slept, he dreamed of nothing at all.
He woke up before her and was immediately on his feet. The storm had died down overnight. As the sun began to slowly rise, he looked out at the island. Water dripped through the ruins of the abbey, the sun sending sparkling whites and yellows across the water of the loch.
A thought occurred to him. He left Rachel asleep where she was, heading across the island to the jetty. He was right. The boat had been destroyed by the storm.
All that was left was a single hunk of wood still bound to the rope that he’d tied the night before. It bobbed in the water as if to mock him.
He looked across at the mainland. Could he swim across? It was a great distance, further than he had ever swum before. What choice did he have? It was that or live on the island in exile for the rest of his life.
He turned from the jetty, looking at the sandy beach to his left. There was something there that caught his eye. What was that?
The tide was going out leaving a strip of shale and sand that curved around to the left. That wasn’t what drew his eye. It was the set of footprints that walked away out of sight. He made his way off the jetty to the beach, following the footsteps. Whoever made them had been barefoot. Had their nemesis made his way to the island overnight. Was Rachel in danger?
He picked up the pace, jogging after them toward a cave in the distance. The land rose around it, leaving a jagged gray stone cliff with a dark hole in the center. The footprints went into the hole and disappeared from sight.
With his sword drawn he headed inside. The waves echoed on the walls, making it hard to hear anyone or anything who might be hiding in there. Creeping forward he stopped, listening intently. Nothing.
Then a flicker of light in the distance. He approached slowly, sheathing his sword as he saw who was there. It was not the barefoot man. It was not a man at all. It was a woman with long white hair tied up neatly with twine.
She was sitting on a tree stump next to a roaring fire. The smoke rose and drifted away through a hole somewhere up above in the rocky ceiling of the cave.
“I’ve been waiting a long time to see you,” the woman said, turning to smile at him. “Come and join me. I have breakfast ready for you.”
She passed him a fish from the fire as he walked slowly toward her. “Who are you?” he asked, taking the fish and biting into its side, spitting out the bones.
“You know who I am, don’t you?”
“You’re the one the thief talked about? You know how to defeat the barefoot man?”
“You can call me Morag. There will be time to answer all your questions soon but we must move. He is coming. We need to be ready to steal his boat for ourselves and get across to the mainland, leave him here to stew for a while.”
“I willnae leave without Rachel.”
“Who?” Morag looked shocked.
“The woman I came with.”
“That makes things harder but not impossible.” Morag talked more to herself than to him. “So be it. Bring her here and be quick about it. We do not have much time. I will cook for her while you’re gone. Go, hurry.”
Cam turned, heading out of the cave more confused than when he entered. How could the old woman have known he was coming?
As he emerged, he saw what she meant about their enemy. In the distance his keen eyes spotted a rowing boat approaching, slowly drawing nearer. It would be some time before it arrived but he had to get back to the abbey and get Rachel to the cave before then. Would he be able to do it?
He broke into a run, not stopping until he was at the abbey. Rachel was not where he left her. There was no sign of her. He ran out of the kitchen into the open, scanning the grass. There, marks in the grass. She had gone that way. He darted after her, turning a corner before stopping dead.
She was standing with her back to him. She had removed her clothes and was washing herself with water from the well in the middle of the cloister. For the briefest of moments he was unable to move. She was stunningly beautiful, her back arched as she scrubbed at her arms.
Spinning on the spot, he looked the other way before calling her name, trying to force the image from his head. “Rachel.”
There was a surprised squawk behind him before the rustling of clothing told him she was dressing as quickly as possible.
“How long were you watching me?” she asked, appearing beside him a minute later.
“No time for that,” he said, grabbing her hand. “We need to move.”
“Where are you taking me?” she asked as they ran.
