The Warrior by Greyson Maeve

Author:Greyson, Maeve
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical
Publisher: Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2020-02-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Duncan dragged the crate free of the rocks and frothing waves. He hoisted it up and plunked it down beside the rest of the cargo he’d scavenged from across the shoreline. Pausing to catch his breath, he scanned the land behind him. This stretch of rocky beach hemmed in a gentle incline that became a verdant green hillside. An abandoned structure stood at the top of the hill. The weathered bones of a once-great building destroyed either by man, neglect, or the cruelty of time. People had been here once. But wherever this was appeared deserted now.

Shielding his eyes, he focused on the ruins, watching for movement and cocking an ear for any sounds. A weak wisp of smoke rose from deep inside the structure. “Dammit,” he muttered. The fire he’d built already needed fuel. He had feared it would burn low too quickly.

Tilda lay inside those crumbling walls of stone. He’d placed her there and made her as comfortable as possible. Judging by the carvings and ruined statues, the place had once been an abbey or some such holy place. Most of the roof had caved in, and only some of the walls still stood. With dried grasses he’d ripped from the land nearby, he’d made her a pallet behind the altar in the midst of the sanctuary’s rubble. At least the place provided a bit of shelter while he searched for supplies that would help them survive.

They had washed ashore as the sun sank below the horizon, and Duncan had been glad of it. Tilda still hadn’t awakened, but at least she breathed. Thankfully, he’d found the abbey’s well and praised God above for the fresh water still within it. Any other water he’d found puddled among the collapsed walls had been too brackish and foul to drink.

With a large rock, he broke through the lid of the small keg at his feet, praying it held something edible. They couldn’t survive long on water alone. The cracked lid revealed a black grainy substance. Gunpowder. “Dammit.” Duncan kicked the barrel aside and moved on to the next one. This one was much larger. Surely, it held foodstuff. If not, he’d be hunting for gull’s eggs for their supper. He dashed the lid in two and peered inside. Hope eased the knot in his chest. He reached in the barrel and pulled out a salted chunk of fish. “Praise God!” he shouted.

The gulls keened overhead as though scolding him to keep quiet.

Searching through the remaining crates and barrels, Duncan felt some better after finding several articles that would make their stay on this unknown island a bit easier to bear. Tins of biscuits that looked to be dry enough. Dried beef. One crate even held several bottles of wine; the tangle of barrels roped around it had saved it from the sea. An odd-looking crate, long as a coffin, held bolts of cloth. He’d saved that as well. Tilda had nary on but her chemise, bodice, stockings, and one shoe.

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