Page 2 of To Claim His Highland Bride

Marcus shifted his gaze to the sails billowing in the wind. They would reach the Atlantic in no time if the winds held. Then their adventure would truly begin. The scent of the sea surrounded him as his gaze shifted yet again to a seabird following in their wake. Marcus would take that as a favourable sign since their ship was named for the otherworld goddess of the sea who took the form of a seabird during the day.

A smile pulled up the corners of his lips when a shout came from the crow’s nest above. “Shipwreck ahead to the port side.”

“Lower the sails. Maintain our distance to keep us away from unseen dangers,” Marcus called to his men as he grabbed his spyglass and moved to the port railing. As the crew gathered the sails and tied the ropes, Marcus peered at the flotsam in the water, identifying parts of a ship but no survivors. Then he spotted a larger portion of the ship’s hull and a sodden lump farther from the rest of the wreckage. To his first mate, who had taken the tiller, he shouted, “I see a possible survivor two points forward of port beam. Proceed slow and steady.”

When the ship was within range, a rescue boat was lowered. Marcus watched as four of his crew rowed towards the object in the water. They pulled a body into their boat and rowed back to The Cliodna. It wasn’t long before they had the man stretched out on the deck. Marcus knelt beside him and placed his cheek close to the man’s mouth. A soft whisper of breath came from the survivor’s mouth. “He’s still alive. Bring me several blankets.”

As the blankets were placed about the man, Marcus moved the wet strands of his long white and grey hair away from his cheeks to reveal a weathered face. His skin was leathery and pale. The survivor was perhaps seventy, but it was difficult to say as a result of how long the man had been floating in the water and subjected to a chilly autumn wind.

“’Tis a miracle he’s alive,” Marcus said. “Take him to my cabin and place him on a cot. Bring a bucket of hot rocks to warm him.” The crew dispersed to do as Marcus asked while he followed those who took the man to his quarters.

When the survivor of the shipwreck was settled and the crew had departed, Marcus moved a chair closer to the man’s cot. They had no one aboard with any kind of medical training except Marcus’s own basic survival skills. He hoped that would be enough to help the man before him.

Marcus pulled the covers up higher to better warm the man as heat from the hot rocks warmed the captain’s quarters. Several minutes later, Marcus had to remove his surcoat. As the temperature in the chamber increased, the man on the cot started trashing about, though he did not wake.

A knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” Marcus bid the unseen crewman.

Eck MacFarlane entered and quickly shut the door behind him to maintain the heat. “How is he doing?”

“Not well,” Marcus said. The man on the cot looked pale and weak, though the thrashing of his head back and forth indicated an inner strength. Perhaps that would be enough to see him through this ordeal.

“Will he live?” Eck asked.

Marcus shrugged. “It’s really up to him now that he is out of the water and warmed. I got him to take a few sips of broth.”

Eck leaned against the cabin wall. “What do you suppose he was doing near Cape Wrath? Everyone who lives near here knows how dangerous that section of water is to navigate. ’Tis not called Cape Wrath for no reason.”

“Trea . . . sure,” a gravelly voice said.

Both men turned towards the cot. The older man’s eyes flickered open. His eyes darted about the cabin before coming to rest on first Marcus and then Eck. “Where . . . am I?”

“You’re safely aboard The Cliodna,” Marcus assured him. “Your ship went down. We found you in the water.”

The man swallowed roughly. “Anyone . . . else?”

Marcus pressed his lips together as he shook his head.

“The entire crew? Seven-and-eighty men.” The man closed his eyes and sank back against the cot. A mournful sound escaped him.

“We’ll give you some time to yourself,” Marcus said as he stood and moved towards the door with Eck.

“Nay,” the man said. “Must tell you. Before I die.”

Marcus and Eck shared a glance then returned to their previous positions. Marcus leaned closer to the cot. “Save your energy. You need to rest.”

The man shook his head sadly. “So cold. I can . . . feel death creeping . . . over me.” He struggled to sit up, but was too weak.

Marcus reached for the pillow from his own bed and placed it behind the man’s head, raising him slightly. “What is your name?” Perhaps his identity would give them a clue as to why he was sailing dangerous waters.

“Jacob Thorne.”

Marcus straightened. He’d heard that name over the years associated with some of the most fantastical treasure-hunting stories shared amongst the clans. It was only a couple of years ago that a tale had spread of Jacob Thorne finding the legendary Spanish galleon, El Grande, that sank in sixteen hundred and eighty-three. Only four of the four hundred and ninety-six men survived, but not one of them could tell where the ship sank after encountering a hurricane. The ship was said to be carrying silver bullion, spices, gold, pearls, and emeralds.

“Is it true that you found the El Grande?” Marcus asked as he carefully studied the man’s face. Looking for any signs of deception.

“I did.” The hint of a smile pulled up Jacob’s lips. “And I brought its treasure back to Scotland.”

The pride momentarily shining in Jacob’s eyes validated the claim. Marcus’s stomach clenched. ’Twas exactly the type of treasure he himself needed to discover in order to establish a life for himself and Rowena. “If you found such a treasure then why were you out on the sea looking for more?”