“The sea is bitterly cold,” Mackenzie said gravely. “A strong swimmer would struggle in these harsh conditions.”
A loud slapping and an almighty gasp of breath drew their attention to Ursula who bobbed and thrashed amid the waves. “Help me!”
“Quickly,” Fabian shouted. “Try to remain calm. Try to grab ahold of the oar.”
“I can’t. It’s so cold. It’s—” A rolling wave swept over her and then she was gone.
Mackenzie shrugged out of his coat and stood. “Damn foolish woman. She’ll be the death of all of us.” Without another word, he dived into the icy depths.
“For the love of …” Vane blurted.
Fabian watched the ripples subside as he waited to glimpse his friend. Mackenzie had been his companion for seven years. To lose him now … heaven help him, he didn’t want to think about it. “Mackenzie!”
After what felt like an eternity, a hand burst from the water and grabbed onto the side of the boat. Mackenzie appeared, one arm wrapped around Ursula’s waist. He gasped and heaved as he tried to catch his breath.
“Thank heavens.” Fabian’s racing heart settled. “For a moment, I feared I might never see you again.”
“Aye, my life flashed before my eyes for a second there, too.”
Vane dragged Ursula out of the water. It took both men to haul Mackenzie out.
Fabian stared at his friend. “One minute you tell me that the strongest swimmer would struggle to survive, the next you jump in after her.”
“That water might be cold to you, but compared to the lochs in the Highlands, it’s as warm as a steam bath.”
Ursula sat shivering on the bench, her wet hair plastered to her face. “I’m sorry. Please.” Her teeth chattered, and she gulped for breath. “I’ll do anything to make it right. Anything.”
“Good,” Fabian said, struggling to feel an ounce of sympathy for the woman. “Because you’re going to take us to my wife.”
Chapter Nineteen
In the confines of the dark cave, it was impossible to gauge the time. Hours had passed since Ursula left them to convey the message. God help the woman. Lillian pitied anyone forced to stand in front of Fabian and Vane and deliver such devastating news.
Mary had spoken little. Guilt formed the basis of her reticence. She had apologised numerous times on Doyle’s behalf, despite the man showing not the slightest sign of remorse.
“It should not be long now,” Lillian said merely to bolster Mary’s spirits. “His lordship may find us yet.”
Mary looked unconvinced. “Ursula’s a sly devil. There’s no telling what she’s up to. She’s been close to Doyle for a couple of years, though having seen them earlier something has changed.”
“Your husband is a heartless man.” Lillian pictured Doyle’s snarling grin as he ripped the locket from her neck. “I don’t imagine he’s pleasant company when things don’t go his way.”
“You have the measure of him, although he wasn’t like that in the beginning. When his lordship banished him, I hoped never to see him again.”
Lillian’s heart went out to the woman. When the person who was meant to fight at your side turned traitor, what hope was there? Mary needed a man like Mackenzie. Strong and dependable.
“Mrs Bell found your cloak pin in the pantry. I left it in my bedchamber and shall return it to you once this is over.”
“The pantry? I thought I'd lost it in the cottage.” Mary’s countenance brightened. Were her hands free, Lillian imagined she would have hugged them to her chest. “It belonged to my grandmother, and her mother before that.”
“Having a heart to heart are we?” Doyle approached them. He poked the tip of his boot into the fire and stubbed out the dying flames. “That’s enough talking. On your feet. We’re leaving.”
Though it took effort, Lillian stood. She would spit in Doyle’s eye if he dared offer a hand to assist her.
He came to stand in front of Mary, dragged her up by the elbow and pressed his nose against hers. “Don’t think you can run from me.” He drew a blade from a sheath fastened around his waist and waved it in front of Mary’s face. “Stay close else it will be your mistress who pays the price.”
Fear should have crippled Lillian, but a sliver of excitement coursed through her when she imagined all the ways Mackenzie would make Doyle pay.
Stuffing his beaten-leather bag with remnants of food, Doyle slung it over his shoulder, waved the knife and gestured for them to walk.