Page 39 of Highlander’s Claim

Coming from behind the green hills and barren rocks of the Isle of Achleith, about one mile away, was a big ship, a cog. It bore a single mast with a square sail. A merchant?

Watching the Isle of Achleith had been heart-wrenching because every curve and every crease reminded him of the beautiful spoils he’d found on the island and had left back in the castle. Even now in the sea, with danger facing him, he couldn’t stop thinking about Jennifer. Beautiful Jennifer saying preposterous things and making him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Bringing urges to the surface he didn’t want to follow.

Urges for her body, the need to be in her company and touch her, have her nearby.

In the very early morn, before the Matins, they’d buried Beathan and the other fallen warriors. Their absence on the ship, but especially that of Beathan, was an aching void, a dark hole in Aulay’s heart. All he could do now was to honor their memory by protecting their families in Islay.

Especially by protecting Ailis and Una. Beathan would have wanted that.

After the burial, they’d gone to sea. Tagradh had already been repaired and reinforced, and his shipbuilders now worked on the rest of the birlinns. Back in Dunyvaig, the farmers and tradesmen from the village, as well as the young warriors, kept training on swords, bows, and Lochaber axes.

They’d sailed Tagradh around Clachgheur—a good place for a shipwreck, as Colum had suggested—but they’d seen nothing on either side. They’d been in the open seas since early morning. They have passed by Rathlin Island and Portrush, seeing Ireland from afar, but staying far enough away not to attract any unnecessary attention.

After that unsuccessful search, they came back to the Isle of Achleith because they had never searched its other side. Aulay wanted to circle around it to see if there was any sign of the shipwreck on the southern coast.

But that was where the ship had come from. As their birlinn drew closer to the cog, Aulay saw a crow’s nest on top of the mast with the draping of a flag: a red square with three golden lions.

Not a merchant. An English warship.

“God’s arse,” Aulay muttered. Colum was already on his way to him. There were thirty men on Tagradh. They were all in full armor and ten of those warriors were bowmen.

“English,” Colum said as he stood next to Aulay.

The ship dipped with a strong wave, and Aulay gripped the gunwale. “Aye.”

“That ship is big,” Colum said.

“Aye. ’Tis a cog. A merchant vessel originally, nae doubt.”

“Which means ’tis much slower and less maneuverable than Tagradh.”

“True. If there are a hundred warriors in there, I wouldna be surprised. ’Tis three men for one of ours.”

“God’s arse,” Colum echoed. “They didna find the treasure ship, surely?”

The other ship was drawing closer and closer. Aulay strained his eyes to see who was on the vessel and what their intentions were.

“Only one way to find out,” Aulay said. “Politely ask them.”

He squeezed the handle of his claymore. He was not one to run from a fight, even outnumbered, especially if it meant taking that treasure away from the enemy. Something flew into the air and landed in the water about three hundred yards away from the English ship.

“A longbow,” said Colum through gritted teeth. “Only a longbow arrow can fly three hundred yards.”

“Aye. A warning shot. They’re ready to attack.”

“What do we do?” Colum asked. “We’re still too distant for them to reach us. Those English longbows can destroy us. I’ve seen the arrows pierce a man through armor and exit out the other side.”

Aulay’s teeth clenched. “Aye. But we’re the lords of the seas. We will win in close combat, and we’re swift enough to run from them if needed. I say we greet them.”

Colum nodded, his eyes darkening, his face gaining that haunted, resolved expression that he wore every time there was mention of the English.

“Get ready for battle!” Aulay yelled to his men. “Prepare to take cover from the arrows. Archers, at positions!”

The men roared and thumped their swords against their shields and Tagradh filled with MacDonald war cries. “Clann Domnhnaill! Clann Domnhnaill!” The waves roared around them, crashing against the ship.

They must have been about four hundred yards away when Aulay could distinguish the row of the longbowmen along the port side of the ship, as it slowly started turning. Their arrows flew like a dark rain cloud, but none of them reached Tagradh. Closer and closer the two ships approached, the sea driving them towards an inevitable clash. The longbow arrows started hitting the ship around them. Aulay and the men crouched and raised shields over their heads. The arrows hit the shields with loud thonks, splinters flying.

“Archers!” roared Aulay when the attack stopped for a few moments as the enemy nocked their arrows.