Erik hurried to the cliff edge and peered down into the main cove. He didn’t see anyone until he noticed a woman slowly crossing it toward the path out of the cove. Tira, a basket in her arms. Where was Fiona?
“Tira, where is my wife?”
As soon as she heard his voice calling down to her, her pace increased. “Ach, Laird Ross, ’tis awful! I didna see. She went into the next cove. The one that floods. I was coming to seek help.”
Erik swore and called out to the few people about in the village to send help, then ran past Tira down the path, nearly falling from its edge in his haste. He slowed and made his way more carefully. It would do Fiona no good if he killed himself on the way down.
When he reached the bottom, he realized the situation was more dire than he’d feared. The tide shift was well underway. The high tide line in the cove had advanced by several feet, which meant the passage into the next cove would be several feet deep in heaving seawater by now.
He ran, calling Fiona’s name, and splashed into the edge of the passage where the cliffs extended out into the sea in high tide.
“Erik! I’m here. How do I get out?”
Upon hearing her voice, he could have wept for joy. “Dinna try to swim, love. I’ll come to ye.” Her dress would billow and pull her under. He’d heard the story Muireall Munro had related about being trapped with Euan Brodie in that cove. He’d kept her from drowning when her clothes tangled about her legs and the undertow pulled her down.
Erik was less encumbered, wearing trews, but he kicked off his boots and stripped out of them just the same, along with his jerkin and léine. Naked now, he forged into the water, swirling cold and strong around his thighs. He didn’t have much time to carry Fiona back before they both risked drowning.
He made it across, barely, and fell to the sand at her feet.
“Husband, did the water steal yer clothes?”
“That’s how ye greet me when I’ve come to save ye from drowning?” He shook his head and stood. “I left them behind so they wouldna weigh me down in the water. I hoped to be able to carry ye back, but the tidal current is strong. Can ye swim?”
“Aye, but I am no’ a strong enough swimmer for this,” she said, gesturing at the waves pounding in.
“I’ll help ye. But first ye must get out of yer skirts. Those are the most dangerous. Quickly, lass. The sea is rising.”
“Help me.”
Erik ripped away the skirt of her dress, but opted to leave the bodice and her léine intact for whatever modesty it might offer her once it got wet. At least the heavy skirt of the dress was gone. “I will carry ye as far as possible, but I will likely get knocked down. Ye must keep hold of me, any way ye can. I will do the same. I willna lose ye, Fiona.”
“I willna lose ye, either, Husband.”
He picked her up and entered the water. It had climbed to his waist, and the undertow was fierce. With each step, he risked getting knocked sideways off his feet or into the cliff wall he was fighting to get around. Fiona clung to his neck, her hands locked,gripping her wrists at the back of his shoulders. He felt her tense struggle to stay still in his arms, determined to help him stay upright.
But then it happened. He saw the wave coming and shouted a warning. “Hold on!”
They went down, and underwater. Erik kept his arms tight around Fiona, but hers slipped off of him. One hand hit him in the side of his head before she was able to cling to him again. He pushed upward, seeking air, and rolled to keep Fiona from slamming into the cliff wall. He took it on his back, instead. That knocked any vestige of air out of his lungs. He lunged upward and broke the surface long enough to drag in a deep breath and give Fiona a chance to do the same, then pushed off the wall away from the drowning cove toward home. Swimming with her in his arms was not efficient, but he didn’t dare release her. Then he realized she’d started kicking, too, helping to propel them in the direction they needed to go, and giving them enough impetus to get their heads above water every few seconds. If they could keep this up, they would make it out of this alive.
He loved this lass. He did. The realization slammed into him like a tide-driven wave. He didn’t just like her. Or respect her. Or admire the fight in her. He loved her. If they survived this treachery, the first thing he would do was tell her that he loved her. That he’d never loved any other. And never would. And she would see that he meant it.
He believed she felt the same, despite what she’d said about each of them not knowing the other well enough. She’d risked everything for him, given up everything she knew, every familiar person and thing in her life, every coin she claimed as her own. He would not let either of their lives end here.
The next time they popped up for air, he realized they’d made it past where the cliff extended into the sea. They were in the waters of their own cove. He turned them more toward shore tolet the tide help propel them in, and a few harrowing minutes later, felt strong arms pulling both of them above the water’s surface and landward.
He blinked open stinging eyes. “Tormod, ’tis good to see ye.”
“I could say the same,” his friend answered, as he and three others pulled them onto dry land. “Yer clothes?”
Erik canted his head up the beach. “Over there somewhere. Ye shouldha passed them. And send someone to hold Teague and Tira. She did this.” Then he looked to the lass in his arms. Fiona still clung to him, but she was too still. “Fiona? Lass? Are ye well? Fiona!” He released her and rolled her onto her back. Her lips were tinged with blue.
“I dinna think she’s breathing,” Tormod told him.
Erik sat up and pulled her to him on her side, then pushed on her belly and chest, pulsing with one large hand. After several tries, seawater spilled from her lips and nose and she gasped, sucked in air, and her eyes fluttered open.
“We made it?” Her voice was weak, but the best sound he’d ever heard.
“We did, my love. We did.”
