Must Love Kilts by Allie MacKay

Author:Allie MacKay [Mackay, Allie]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Margo’s second thoughts kicked in as she let Magnus lead her across the strand toward his warship, the Sea-Raven. Pausing at the tide line, she stood with one hand holding the bearskin cloak against her nakedness. She puffed her bangs off her forehead, wondering where in the world she’d find the courage to board a medieval ship.

She’d never been keen on boats.

And in addition to looking like a fire-breathing sea serpent, this one was crewed by hard-faced, fierce-bearded men who bristled with arms and surely whetted their sword tips every morning. They were all staring at her. And each one appeared eager to test his blade’s sharpness on her. Without exaggeration, they looked hostile.

Some might even say murderous.

Only Orosius was friendly, flashing a broad grin at her before he threw back his plaid and strode into the sea. Head high, he splashed through the surf as if he loved every step, and then vaulted over the side of the waiting longship.

Margo swallowed.

She had to board the Sea-Raven.

It wasn’t like she had an alternative.

Even if she scrambled back up the cliff, the coastal road would no longer be there. And the Old Harbour Inn wasn’t even a blip in anyone’s imagination. Empty hills and wilderness would greet her. Perhaps a few villagers who’d take one look at a naked, bearskin-cloaked woman and, thinking the worst, do what Magnus had implied could so easily happen: they’d burn her as a witch.

Hanging around here alone, waiting for the real witch to return, was equally unappealing.

The dice had been cast.

And, as so often, she didn’t much care for the luck of the throw.

“Oh, dear.” She could feel her eyes rounding as the Sea-Raven tossed in the surf. Men were raising the ship’s square red-and-white striped sail. Others already sat at the rowing benches, ready to get going.

Margo would almost swear the ship looked impatient, straining and eager to shoot forward, cleaving the waves.

Her stomach tightened at the thought. Dread skittered along her nerve endings and her heart was beginning to beat much too fast. Even her palms were growing damp and her mouth had gone bone-dry.

This was so not like her fantasy of time travel.

This was, in two words, the pits.

“We’ll no’ journey far this day. A wee inlet, Badachro Bay, just off Loch Gairloch, is where we’re headed.” Magnus was looking down at her, his voice deep, calm, and reassuring.

He knew exactly why she’d stopped so close to the water’s edge.

He’d sensed her fear and wanted to take it from her.

Margo shivered a little, his hero image beginning to return.

“My business is a bit south of Badachro, at a place called Redpoint.” He reached to draw the bearskin closer together and then used a huge Celtic pin he took from his own plaid to fasten the cloak more securely. “Some of my men must travel there overland to lay preparation. We’ll spend this night in Badachro.

We’ll moor the Sea-Raven at Sgeir Ghlas—”

“Where?” Margo blinked. She was glad to be distracted from the

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