The Thistle and the Rose(59)

“What would you say to going for a sail?” Colin asked, waving his torch at the number of boats resting on the sloping stone quay. They had been sailing a number of times using larger craft from the harbor, but this was the first she knew of these smaller boats, so much like the ones she had sailed in her days at court, after her freedom had been restored by the patronage of the earl of Huntly.

Colin placed the torch in a holder in one of the great stone pillars as Celia untied one of the boats and made a futile attempt to push the vessel down the slope.

Coming up from behind and giving her no opportunity to object, Colin wordlessly lifted her up bodily and placed her in the boat. Then, with ease, he pushed the boat down the stone slope and jumped in. It occurred to Celia with pride that three strong men were generally needed to put these boats in the water. Colin had done it barely flexing a muscle.

As she worked her way to the stern past the mast and sail stretching most of the boat's length, Celia glanced around at their subterranean surroundings. It appeared in the flashing torch light that there were high-water marks far up on the rock walls.

“How much time do we have to sail?” she asked.

“The cave entry becomes inaccessible about an hour before high tide,” he told her. “Then the bluffs are sheer rock. You wouldn't even know there was a cave here. But even if you try to come in at low tide, getting through the narrows is treacherous.”



“Could I try?” she asked, her eyes sparkling at the challenge.

Colin looked across at the low opening and back at Celia. He'd heard from enough people about her considerable skills on the water, and he'd seen some of those skills in the last week of sailing together. But the cross-currents and the wind that hit you at the aperture of the cave took practice to master. Well, no better time to start than now, he thought to himself. The water’s not all that cold.

“Aye,” he responded. “But first let me tell you what the difficulties are.”

Celia nodded, taking the tiller and listening patiently. As Colin propelled them toward the low opening, he catalogued a list of possible problems she could face, illustrating them with an amusing history of his own wrecks and minor mishaps.

Colin watched her as she steered carefully, comfortable at the boat's helm. Her beautiful face was intent on her task as they glided across the cave. Then, inexplicably, she broke out into a wide grin.

“You'd better duck, Lord Campbell.” she laughed, and Colin did just that, narrowly avoiding bumping his head on the overhanging stone of the cavern entrance. Celia, too, stooped quickly as a swell lifted the boat as it moved out into the open water, and they both laughed heartily.

As they slid smoothly through the center of the opening, Colin sat in the bow, chuckling to himself at his own underestimation of her skills.

Once through the rocky aperture, Colin stepped the mast and with amazing speed attached the lines. Celia moved forward slightly and began to haul the sail up when the mast was supported, and Colin met her with a kiss, taking the line and sending her back to the tiller.

“You certainly handled that with ease,” Colin said, admiration in his voice. “Now I know why Ambrose was so impressed with your sailing.”

“You know that Ambrose was just playing the courtly gentleman.”

“I can just see it. You must have left them far behind.” Colin beamed proudly, watching Celia flush with embarrassment at his praise.

“I've always loved the water,” she said, changing the topic. She was never very comfortable handling compliments. “I've always been more at home on the sea than anywhere else.”

“I know what you mean,” Colin said, pausing to look back affectionately at his bride. “We say out here that the sea is our mother. Perhaps that's even more true for you and me than for most folks.”

They sped along the base of the rocky bluffs, and Celia could see the orange line of the tide left by the brightly colored seaweed. And all along the cliffs, sea birds wheeled in great circles or hung motionless in the air, as if suspended by invisible strings from the deep blue vault of sky above.

As they moved away from the shoreline, Celia felt the rush of sense and emotion that she always felt on the water. That feeling of being in control of the sea force, and yet under her control at the same time. Of being free and alone in a single moment in time, and yet still a part of something else—something greater, deeper, inclusive, and everlasting.

And she looked forward at the man she loved. They were alone now. Their sail was the only one in sight. Their privacy was complete and shared. This sea and this sky were theirs and theirs alone.

The boat was comfortable and fast, and Celia loved the feel of the tiller in her hand as they skimmed over the open water. Her hair whipped about her, and the cold saltwater droplets stung her happy face. But looking at her magnificent raven-haired warrior setting the lines to her specifications, Celia felt a stirring that she'd never known while sailing. And when Colin came back to the stern to sit beside her, wrapping his arms around her waist, she felt her pulse rise. When his hands began to explore and his mouth began to press warmly against her neck, Celia felt her concentration beginning to lapse.

“Need some help back here?” he whispered, his hand caressing her waist, her breasts, brushing the silky skin of her neck.

“Colin,” she admonished weakly, making no attempt to stop his hand as it wandered to her hip, to the outside of her leg, to the inside of her thigh. “I'm trying to steer.”

“Aye, Celia,” he responded, his breath warm on her ear.

“Trying to keep our course in the wind,” she sighed as his hand pulled up the material of the dress that draped to the deck.

“Aye, Celia,” he breathed, suckling her earlobe as his fingers tenderly reached the junction of her thighs—feeling her, caressing her.

“Just a moment, Colin Campbell,” she gasped, an exhilarated shudder coursing through her entire being.

Reaching forward, she looped two lines over the tiller to hold their course, and then Celia turned her full attention to the man she loved.



Like a bolt from a crossbow, the boat rocketed toward the rocky bluff. Timing her approach carefully, Celia caught a swelling wave as it rolled toward the shore. Colin paused momentarily at the mast, wondering how she would control the boat's speed and direction. Well, he thought, it's too late to worry about that now.

“Now, Colin,” she shouted, and the giant heaved the mast from its step, lowering it easily into the belly of the boat.

We're not going to make it, he thought, his hands gripping the gunwale of the boat. This roller is going to take us into the side wall of the opening. We're not going to...

But his thoughts were interrupted by Celia's slight change of angle on the rudder. Colin felt the boat dip slightly, and suddenly the wave was sweeping them directly toward the mouth of the cave. Looking back at Celia in raw admiration, he saw her return his gaze with a loving smile before turning her attention back to her task. His wife was incredible.

In the wink of an eye, the cliffs were upon them. And without any change of speed at all, the boat slid into the cavern like a dagger into its sheath, skimming across the short distance of water before smoothly climbing the slight incline to its berth between two other boats.

“You are amazing,” Colin said warmly, sitting momentarily in appreciation of the impressive economy and mastery of the performance.

“Beginner's luck.” Celia laughed, blushing at his words. “But that was fun.”

“All of it,” Colin said, gazing at the scarlet cheeks of his smiling bride.

Suddenly, from the passages leading down from the kitchens, Runt ran toward them, torch in hand.

“M'lord,” he panted. “Lord Alec's cousin John has arrived with a message from the Macphersons. He's with Lord Hugh. It's trouble, I think.”

“Well,” Colin said gravely to Celia as they climbed out of the boat. “We knew it would be coming sooner or later.”

Turning back to Runt, he ordered, “You go ahead. Find Celia's uncle and Emmet, then have them all go to the library. Celia and I will meet you there.”

As Runt ran off, Celia felt a freezing fire at the base of her spine that spread through her like the onset of plague. She turned to Colin, unsure of what to say, but found words to be unnecessary as the giant wrapped her in his arms.

“Come on, my love,” he growled, taking her hand. “We've got a vermin problem that needs attending to.”



When they entered the library, Lord Hugh and Edmund were already seated at a great round table before the open shutters of a small window. The messenger, a young knight, stood restlessly pacing the room. The men immediately rose when they saw Celia, and Lord Hugh moved forward to greet her. Emmet hurried through the door as the group settled around the table.

“Well, John,” Colin said with concern. “What news do you have for us?”

As Celia listened to the young fighter repeat his message from Alec, Lord Hugh put his paw-like hand over hers on the table.

Refugees were fleeing northward, arriving every day in greater numbers at Benmore Castle, the Macpherson fortress in the Highlands. These unfortunate people were just ahead of a large force of English soldiers under Danvers and Scottish renegades under Argyll, and they were ravaging Argyll's own lands to the south of the Macpherson holdings.