Page 163 of Tales of Highland Loyalty

Malcolm sighed. "As if I could, captain!"

James inspected him, fully. "Ye should freshen up, afore we dock, there, lad," he berated him. "Ye dinnae want to frighten the landlubbers!"

"Dock?" said Malcolm, suddenly pricking his ears up. In an excited state, he rushed towards the door, to look for himself. Rushing up to deck, he glimpsed the first outline of the Scottish shore.

"There she is, bonny Scotland!" exclaimed James, who shot him a wry look. "Has she changed since ye last saw her...?"

"Och, help ma boab," he murmured, as the shoreline shimmered into view. It was a harsh winter's day, but the sun blazed against the horizon, casting the harbor in golden hues. "Tis e'en more bonny than I remember!"

He looked at James, and then laughed. "Ye nae sure this isnae some exotic paradise?"

James shook his head. "Tis a wee bit nippy for that, son!"

Malcolm just stared, he felt his heart beat a little quickly. For so long, he had wondered if he would ever see home shores again. He was about to ask where in Scotland, when a familiar sight hit him. Cupping his eyes, Malcolm made out the rocks on the harbor - immediately he recognized it; Kilamory, the small fishing port close to the Duncan clan.

Now they drew closer, Malcolm could not help but gape. Open mouthed, he stared at the coastline. There, was the harbor, the fishermen's boats lined up, finished for the day, behind them, the hills that led to the town, and in the distance, the taverns.

Malcolm felt his heart pang fondly for the snug of the barroom and the warmth of a dram.

Slapping him on the back, James seemed to have read his mind. "Aye, ye can take me for a pint when we get in!"

Malcolm looked at him sideways, "How long has it been?" he asked, quietly. "Ten years?"

James stared into the shoreline, and nodded. "Aye, ten years. Almost to the day..."

Malcolm sighed. Looking down at his rags, he wondered if he would be even recognizable. Since setting sail his appearance had changed; he had changed. Now he was older, wiser, tanned and hard. His hair looked like it belonged to the sea - straggly and wild, the skin on his hands were cracked, and the less said about his clothing the better.

Glancing down at his baggy keks, and loosened leine, he smiled. It did not matter what he looked like. He was happy to be home.

"Thank ye, James," said Malcolm, earnestly. The cold salted air blew at him, as they rounded the harbor to the shore. The screeching of gulls hit his ears, as they pushed closer to the landing. "For keeping yer promise..."

James put his hand on Malcolm's shoulder. For a moment, their eyes glinted. The memory of their pact came flooding back to Malcolm. "Aye, like I said, lad, ye owe me that pint!"

* * *

"Enough!"

James' voice rang around the island, as the rain set in for the day. It had been an ice cold day in early December, almost a year previously.

But he was not captain James then. Back then, he was only the first officer on the Margret Rose.

Malcolm's fingers froze as they gripped into the sand. The pain in his back was unbearable. McGivern's boot was still on his neck, his whip in his hand. He was stuck fast; but then a commotion, and James came bursting in.

"Let him go! Ye have nae right!"

There was a pause. Malcolm could not see, barely being able to turn towards the small crowd that was amassing in front of them. He had been dragged out, from their makeshift tent, to be humiliated in front of all.

Seven weeks; they had been stranded on this tiny island and yet still no one knew how to get away. After capsizing, the Margret Rose had washed ashore, a large hole in its hull. Which so far, was resilient to any efforts of repair.

At nights, it was cold, the bitter wind cutting them hard, and there was little shelter from the freezing rain. The men were mutinous, but kept back by McGivern and a handful of his thugs.

Then, one of them made a run for it. His seeming lucky break inspired Malcolm to do the same.

But it was not to last; the sailor's half eaten body, quickly washed upon the shore, and Malcolm was quickly recaptured.

"I can do as I wish!" snarled McGivern, lashing Malcolm hard. Malcolm shut his eyes through the pain.

Despite his age, McGivern possessed a strong arm, and with plenty of whisky to keep going.