"Strictly a scratch," he said in answer to her unspoken alarm. "I was hit by the ricochet, I think. No harm done."
She hoped to heaven he was right, because little could be done if the wound was serious. Breathing ragged, she continued around the headland.
She turned the final corner, then halted, stunned by the shrieks of thousands of gulls. They had found a seabird colony. Every ledge in the cliff seemed to hold a nest and the sky above was full of wheeling, screaming birds. Swallow-tailed terns and crested shags and dagger-billed gannets nested in the rock, and comical puffins in the grassier slope on the far side, along with half a dozen other species she couldn't name.
Behind her, Michael said pragmatically, "Thank heaven there's a sliver of beach here, though it won't last much longer the way the tide is coming in."
He dropped to the coarse sand, then reached up to help her down. The beach was smooth enough for them to run, but slimy white droppings were everywhere and the stench was unbelievable.
They were three-quarters of the way around the cove when another blast of the rifle announced Haldoran's arrival.
"He'll regret that," Michael panted.
The roar of the gun drove the bird colony berserk. Whirling wings were everywhere and the shrieks numbed the ears. Catherine gave a quick glance back and saw that seabirds were darting about so thickly that the hunters were invisible. Hoping the pursuers got their eyes pecked out, she continued on, one arm raised above her face to protect her from possible attack.
The headland at the far end of the cove plunged straight into the water, utterly impassable. However, centuries of pounding waves had scoured an irregular hole through the stone. Since light was visible, she scrambled up to the opening and crawled through the short tunnel, bruising her knees unmercifully.
She halted at the other end to survey the next stretch of shore. This bay was larger than the last and surrounded by sheer, impassable cliffs. A narrow sandy beach was littered with boulders. On the opposite side the dark mouth of an opening showed in the cliff face. When Michael joined her, she said, "I think that might be our cave."
Michael frowned at the turbulent incoming waves. "We'll have to run to get there before the tide cuts it off. Soon this beach will be entirely underwater."
They climbed down to the beach and started for the cave. For Catherine, it was a nightmare journey. The tide was advancing with unbelievable speed. Waves splashed around their ankles and fell back, then returned to strike with greater force. With no exit at the far end of the bay, they would be drowned or smashed to pieces against the rocks if they didn't reach the cave in time.
A triumphant shout sounded behind them. As the first shot blasted, Michael snapped, "Weave back and forth! You'll be a more difficult target."
Wearily she commanded her exhausted body to comply. Bullets buzzed by as she zigzagged back and forth, dodging behind boulders when she could. Her cousin must be shooting from the vantage of the stone passage through the headland. With time to aim and a skilled reloader, his shots were increasingly accurate, and most of them seemed aimed at Michael.
Her path took her deeper into the water and a wave knocked her from her feet. She went headfirst into the sea, the swirling current sucking her under. She swallowed a mouthful of cold salty water and gagged helplessly.
Michael caught her arm and yanked her to her feet. "Only a little farther! You can do it."
With his powerful arm supporting her, she staggered toward the cave. The lower half of the entrance was already submerged with waves crashing into the stone archway. If this was the wrong cave, with no high ground inside, they were doomed. The water was thigh-high, and the currents so powerful she could not have kept her feet without Michael's aid.
A bullet ricocheted off the stone arch and splashed beside her just before she entered the cave. With her last strength, she ducked and stumbled into the stone tunnel, Michael right behind her. At least they would be safe from bullets. Numbly she wondered if they would drown instead. She almost didn't care.
Haldoran swore furiously as his quarries vanished into the mouth of the cave. "Bloody hell! We won't be able to get at them until the tide has crested and fallen again. It will be after midnight by then."
Doyle said nervously, "If we don't get away, my lord, we'll be trapped here ourselves."
"No danger of that. The slope at this end of the seabird colony can be climbed." Which meant crawling through those filthy puffins, he thought sourly. "If we return to the boat now, we can sail back to Skoal before the storm strikes. That will give me a chance to explain sorrowfully how I couldn't find hide nor hair of dear Cousin Catherine. Frantic with worry about her dear grandfather, she must have wandered off and fallen from a cliff. A tragedy."
Uninterested in his master's alibi, Doyle jerked a thumb toward the cave. "What about them?"
"We'll come back and continue the hunt when the storm blows over." Haldoran gave a last, smoldering glance at the place where his quarry had vanished. "I'll bring dogs. Even if they leave the cave at low tide, they won't get far."
Chapter 36
The laird had been drifting in murky currents for so long that it was hard to believe he had finally returned to the surface. He blinked several times to clear his vision, then decided that the continuing grayness was more outside than in. Dusk, maybe, or an oncoming storm.
He did not try to move. It was enough to savor the knowledge that he was still among the living. Not that he feared death, for then he would join his wife and the others he had lost. But he wasn't ready for that yet. Not when there was so much to be done. He had learned a great deal while lying in bed like a log. People had assumed he couldn't hear, but he could, at least some of the time. He had learned important things that affected the future of the island. Treachery. Betrayal. If only he could put the pieces together… He shook his head in frustration.
A quavering voice said, "Are you awake, my lord?"
It was Fitzwilliam, his old valet. "Yes, and about time." The laird found that his mouth worked clumsily and the right side of his face was a little numb, but the words were clear enough. "Is my granddaughter here?"
Fitzwilliam's eyes shifted. "Not at the moment, my lord. She was nursing you most devotedly, but she… she needed a rest."
"Liar." The laird wanted to say waspishly that after fifty-seven years of close association, Fitzwilliam should know better than to try to deceive his master, but it was too much effort. He must save his strength for more important matters. "Clive?"
"Lord Haldoran has stayed at the castle since your illness began, but he… he went out this morning. We haven't seen him all day. Shall I send to Ragnarok? He might be there."
"No! Get Davin." The boy would know what to do. He always did. And Davin, at least, could be trusted.
Cursing himself for his weakness, the laird drifted into sleep again.
The cave was no more than a narrow tunnel for the first dozen feet Then it opened up. Cautiously Catherine straightened. There was very little light, but the echo of the waves implied that the chamber was very large. The ceiling vaulted at least twenty feet above her head, and the back of the cave disappeared into darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that the pool in which they stood was surrounded by higher ground. The incoming tide would not drown them.
Since she was shaking violently from cold and exhaustion, Michael towed her from the pool with an arm around her waist. She stumbled against him as she climbed the embankment, sand crunching beneath her sopping boots, then sagged to her knees.