Devils Highlander (Clan MacAlpin 1)

He heard her yelling, over and over, “Row! Get closer! Row, damn you!” The sound was like a clarion call, guiding him up from hell.

Finally, his hand slapped the hull of her boat, and Marjorie leaned over the side, reaching out to them. “Give him to me,” she urged, hauling the child up to her. She wrapped an arm around the boy, stretching the other to Cormac. “Thank God. Thank heavens. ”

Their gazes locked. She looked beleaguered and bedraggled and scared, and she was the dearest creature he could ever imagine.

Cupping Cormac's cheek in her palm, she gave Cormac a gentle smile. Her hand was warm against his frigid skin.

He knew then he'd do it all over again just to see the tenderness in her eyes.

“I love you, Ree. You believe me now, don't you?”

“Aye,” she said, and she was laughing, despite the tears she scrubbed from her face. “As I love you, Cormac. As I always have. ”

He sighed heavily, relieved. She was his, as it always had been, as it always would be.

But then it struck him. He looked around in confusion. “Where's Aidan?” Swimming alone, his brother should've beat him there, or at least been right behind.

The sun was beginning to lighten the sky to slate. He shielded his eyes, not from the light, but to make sense of the monotony of gray horizon smothering gray sea.

But all he saw was the tip of the mainmast submerged into water the color of steel.

Chapter 39

His arms sliced rhythmically through the water, and Cormac imagined himself a fish, streaking back to the schooner, now completely submerged.

They weren't so far from shore, the water not so very deep. The Oliphant had struck the bottom and was canting toward him, slowly tilting onto its side. He shifted, stroking through the water with an eye trained on the empty space marking the ship's grave.

There.

A head bobbed up, then back down again. Aidan was clawing at the water as though trying to climb an invisible ladder with one hand.

Cormac dove back under, launching toward him. Close now, he saw the web of ratlines floating like kelp just beneath the surface of the water. Aidan was snagged among them, like a trapped fly.

The schooner continued to tip, a languorous movement, like Poseidon reclining upon the seabed for a rest. Aidan gasped for air, then disappeared for good.

Cormac surged forward until the muscles in his arms strained with the effort. The Oliphant was easing onto its side, dragging Aidan to the bottom. He would not lose his brother a second time.

A final, hard scissor kick brought Cormac's fingertips to the fringe of lines. He gripped tight, fighting the panicked, helpless sensation of being tugged down. Hand over hand, he climbed along the ratlines toward Aidan.

Cormac could just make out his brother beneath the surface. Aidan was on top of the lines, his legs braced against the mast, struggling to untangle his arm from a thick snarl of ropes, his movements a dreamy slow motion.

Cormac reached for the dirk at his back and cursed the empty scabbard. His knife was long gone.

Sucking in a huge breath, Cormac dipped his head below the waves. Inch by inch, he felt his way along the knots toward Aidan. Panic clawed at his mind like a hungry rat. He shut his eyes, forcing his muscles to ease. Alarm would only steal the last of his breath.

Imagining a slowed heartbeat, he ran his fingers along the lines. He was a fisherman. He'd untied hundreds of knots, blinded by as many storms. This was no different.

Aidan's struggles slowed. Stopped. His body drifted beside Cormac like a wraith.

He forced it from his mind. He had to trust the cold to keep his brother.

He probed the nest of lines, ignoring the increasingly shrill pleas of his body. Holding his breath took all the force of his will. His lungs were emptied of air, but rather than collapsing inward, the sensation was that his chest might burst. He compelled himself to stay submerged, feeling as though he bore the weight of the sea itself on his chest.

The knot.

He found it. A single knot trapped Aidan's forearm. Cormac traced his fingers over the long oval of it. A sheepshank. Sailors tied it in the middle of a line to shore up damaged rope. But there was a trick. Simply remove the tension, and the knot will slip loose.

Cormac worked frantically now. Though he fought the spasmodic urge to inhale water, still it found a way to seep in, tearing at his throat. Folk said drowning was a peaceful thing, but it wasn't. Drowning was a violent thing.