13 DIGGING UP SPOOTS

FINN CAME TO an abrupt halt, his brow furrowing. "What are ye doing?"

Astrid gestured to the sling she'd created with her skirts, which was rapidly filling with thin, tube-shaped shellfish. "Digging up spoots … and ye are about to chase them away!"

The glint in her eyes, and the delight she was trying hard to throttle, made Finn's breathing catch.

He'd never seen Astrid like this. As the laird's daughter, she had an important role, yet there was a cloak of aloofness and dignity that she always maintained. But out here, on this empty rock in the middle of the sea, with only him as a witness, she had not a care about tying up her skirts and collecting shellfish like a fisherman's wife.

And for the first time in a long while, Finn caught a glimpse of the lass he'd once longed for.

Trying to ignore the strange tug in his chest, he raised an eyebrow. " How exactly do I risk chasing them away?"

"See those little spouts of water shooting out of the sand?" She gestured with the wicked knife she grasped. Its blade glinted in the sunlight, and Finn recognized it as a throwing knife, one that she'd drawn from the belt about her hips. "That's the spoots fleeing." Her mouth quirked. "They can feel yer footsteps approaching … the trick is to sneak up on them."

Finn folded his arms across his chest. "With a knife?"

"Aye … like this."

She leaped forward then, nimble as a sprite, and plunged the throwing knife into the coarse, wet sand where water had just jetted to the surface. She then plunged her fingers down next to the blade.

A moment later, she plucked a long tubular shell out, holding it aloft. "Ye cut into the sand and then push the knife alongside the shell to stop the spoot from fleeing … it makes it easier to root them out."

Finn couldn't help it; he smiled. "It looks like ye have quite a few already," he noted, impressed.

"Aye … I need to collect as many as I can before the tide turns." She paused then, glancing over her shoulder at the glinting water in the distance. "I'm so hungry, I could eat a mountain of these."

Finn's stomach rumbled in agreement. He inclined his head then. "How does a clan-chief's daughter learn to gather spoots?"

Her gaze fused with his. "Maggie taught me," she replied, her tone cooling. "She was a fisherman's daughter, after all."

An awkward silence fell then before Finn cleared his throat. After their exchange the night before, he was wary of responding to any comments about Maggie. "Right." He heeled off his boots and rolled up his braies. He then drew his dirk. "I'd better help ye."

Astrid cast him a wary look as if she expected there to be a jibe underneath the offer.

However, for once, there wasn't.

"Put yer dirk away," she said after a pause before drawing a blade from her belt and holding it out to him. "These work better."

Finn nodded, resheathing his dirk and taking the knife from her. "Very well," he said, inclining his head. "Give me another demonstration of how it's done."

Astrid's dark eyes glinted once more, and then she took a few slow steps backward, casting her gaze over the wet sand. Moments later, spying a jet of water, she danced sideways, sliced her knife through the sand, and then extracted another shell with her free hand. "Go on," she said, a challenge in her voice now. "Let's see if ye have any luck … I suggest ye walk backward though, as I just did, so ye can see them ‘spoot' … and move slowly ."

Finn nodded. He wasn't one to shy away from a challenge, and fortunately, he was light on his feet. He was grateful for the distraction too—collecting skittish shellfish was easier than dwelling on their predicament.

Even so, catching spoots wasn't as easy as Astrid made it look—and it took him several attempts before he grabbed his first one .

Straightening up, Finn threw his catch to Astrid. "See that?"

However, Astrid merely cast him a wry look as she deposited the spoot in the bag she'd made with her skirts. "Aye … although could ye hurry yerself up? At this rate, ye'll catch three by the time the tide comes in."

Taking her point, Finn got back to work. And once he got the knack of it, he did speed up.

They both retreated into silence, working to collect more shellfish. And as he surveyed the wet sand for the tell-tale spouts of water, Finn's thoughts kept straying to their situation. He wasn't a man who let fate dictate his path through life, but right now, he'd never felt so helpless.

There was literally no way off this isle.

There was also nothing here to attract visitors.

They were at Fortuna's mercy now, and Finn hated it. His mind scrabbled, exploring every avenue, yet he always arrived back at the same place. Stuck.

"If yer scowl gets any deeper, the spoots will bury themselves even farther into the sand in fright." Astrid's rueful voice intruded then, and Finn's chin kicked up.

His gaze met his companion's, and he pulled a face. "I hate feeling this powerless," he admitted roughly. "I'm used to being able to take action when things go awry … but all I can do is wait."

Astrid's delicate features tightened, her gaze shadowing as she nodded. "Aye," she agreed softly. "Loch will be battling the Mackinnons now, and I'm supposed to bring him help." Her shoulders sagged then. "He was relying on me, and I've failed him."

Finn's gut clenched at the thought of what was unfolding at Dounarwyse. "We both have."

Once they'd caught enough spoots, Astrid and Finn walked back across the tidal flats toward the beach. It was a warm morning, so Finn brought a stack of wood down from the cave and built a fire on the sand above the tideline.

There, they cooked the spoots upon a bed of embers, watching as each one popped open to reveal the long thin strip of meat within. They then used sticks to lift the tubular shells from the fire.

Finn yelped in pain as he burned his fingers .

"Here." Astrid drew one of her throwing knives from the belt about her waist and passed it to him. "This should make it easier."

Sucking his injured fingertips, Finn nodded his thanks. Meanwhile, Astrid pulled out another of her precious knives and plucked the flesh from the shell she'd removed from the fire. She then popped the shellfish in her mouth, stifling a sigh of pleasure. The spoots were a little gritty, as they hadn't soaked them in fresh water first, but the meat was both sweet and tangy, and she was starving .

"These do the trick nicely … useful for catching spoots and eating them." Finn held up the throwing knife, its thin blade glinting in the sun. Like her, the juice ran down his chin, yet he paid it no mind. "Although I can't get used to seeing ye bearing weapons."

Astrid pulled a face. "Ye're no better than Loch." She ate another mouthful of spoots before continuing, "While ye were all away chasing after the English, I learned how to defend myself with a blade … how to fight."

Finn's mouth pursed. "Aye, ye are a menace with a knife."

Astrid stilled. Of course, he was referring to that incident last year when she'd thrown an eating knife at him in Loch's solar. It had embedded into the wall, just inches from his head. "I deliberately missed that day," she replied after a pause. It was the truth. Her aim was good enough that she could have killed him.

Finn scowled. "And why is that? Ye had yer chance to rid yerself of me … yet ye didn't take it."

Their gazes fused, and Astrid considered his question for a few moments before she answered, "I'm not a murderer."

Not like ye .

Finn stiffened. She hadn't said the words, although they hung in the air between them all the same.

They resumed their meal then, silence settling between them. However, the fragile rapport that had developed while they collected and cooked the spoots was now gone. Their conversation had reminded them both of their feud and the reasons they couldn't stand each other.

Aye, Astrid had focused on filling their bellies this morning, but she hadn't forgotten what he'd told her the day before—the vile tale he'd woven of her beloved friend. In the aftermath, she was unsettled, unsure, but she wanted to make it clear that she hadn't accepted his story.

She wasn't sure she ever could.

Gradually, the pile of shells beside the glowing fire grew, and eventually, they finished the last handful of shellfish.

Astrid's belly was full now, a relief indeed.

Sitting back, she wiped her mouth and chin with the back of her hand. It occurred to her then that, as delicious as their meal had been, there wouldn't be an endless supply of shellfish. However, sourcing food wasn't the biggest problem for them. There was little fuel for fire upon this barren isle, and their only fresh water supply was the trickle that ran down the cave wall.

"What is it?"

Astrid looked up to find Finn observing her. His expression was shuttered, yet, as often, his eyes were sharp, assessing.

"Just contemplating our future upon this isle." She swallowed, as fear tightened her throat. "It wasn't a happy thought."

Finn's lean face tensed. "Aye … there's a reason why no one has ever bothered to settle here."

Astrid's full belly churned. "I can't imagine never seeing Duart again … or Loch and Mairi." Her voice caught then. "Maybe Loch will send out a search party."

"Aye," Finn replied, his gaze holding hers. "He might … if he survives the coming days."

Astrid's stomach pitched once more. "I only just got him back," she said, severing eye contact then. "It's not fair."

"Not much in life is."

Astrid cut Finn a sharp look. "Ye aren't helping, MacDonald. Is there anything that comes out of yer mouth that isn't cynical?"

He snorted yet didn't dignify her with a response.

Astrid's gaze narrowed, her fear and dread drawing back as she focused on the vexing man seated opposite. "How does a man get such a dark view of the world?"

His eyes glinted. "Oh, I don't know … being accused of a crime ye didn't commit might do it."

Astrid stiffened. She wasn't going to discuss Maggie with him again. "Maybe … but that isn't the only reason ye sneer at the world. Ye were always distrustful … even when ye first arrived at Duart. "

He shrugged. "It's my nature."

"What? To be unpleasant?"

His gaze narrowed, his mouth thinning. "Perhaps … why do ye think my parents sent me away?"

Despite her simmering temper, Finn's response intrigued Astrid. "They sent ye to foster at Duart to rid themselves of ye?"

"Aye."

Astrid harrumphed. "Surely not … ye were only seven when ye turned up at our door."

"Old enough to be a terror. I'm the youngest of five sons … the difficult one my parents never knew what to do with. My father tried to beat it out of me, but that just made me sneaky … so when the chance to have one of his sons foster at Duart arose, he eagerly took it."

His words surprised Astrid. How had she not known this about him? Silence fell between them for a few moments before she cleared her throat. "So, ye believe ye were born with a poor character?"

Finn made an irritated sound in the back of his throat. "We can stop talking about me now."

Astrid drew herself up. "Not when the conversation is this interesting. Answer my question, MacDonald, and ye can ask me a thorny one too."

His eyebrows shot up. "Is this a game now?"

Astrid pulled a face. "Hardly … but since we're stuck together, we might as well entertain ourselves. Otherwise, there will be a lot of silence in the coming days."

"I like silence."

"Just humor me."