15 FLYING THE BLOODY FLAG

"AYE." EXCITEMENT BUBBLED up inside Astrid before desperation joined it. "But they're too far away … they'll never see us."

"We need to feed the fire … and get some smoke billowing," Finn replied, his voice sharpening. Their revealing conversation was now forgotten, especially since their only hope of escaping this rock was on the horizon. "Start feeding the rest of our wood to the fire while I gather some more. Hurry!"

He didn't need to tell Astrid twice. With a nod, she rushed to the pile of driftwood Finn had carried down from the cave and started to add pieces to the glowing embers, poking the fire to rouse it.

Meanwhile, Finn took off, still barefoot, down the sand in search of more fuel.

Astrid worked feverishly, coaxing the flames high, as she constantly glanced out to sea. The ship was still visible, traveling along the horizon. But how long would it be before it slipped over the edge of the world?

Finn returned a short time later, with more driftwood and a large piece of dried kelp. "We need the fire to smoke … or they'll never see us," he said, adding the items he'd brought to the burning pyre. "Some damp seaweed should do it."

"Right." Leaving Finn to tend the fire, Astrid shot away, running in the opposite direction to what he had earlier, to where a tangle of wet kelp lay on the sand. It was heavy, so she grabbed one end and dragged it behind her, back to the fire.

"Well done," Finn greeted her. He then withdrew his dirk from its sheath at his hip and cut the length of kelp up before feeding it, piece by piece, onto the roaring fire .

Moments later, it began to smoke, sending billowing dark clouds high into the noon sky.

Standing on the waterline, peering at the horizon, Astrid gave a whoop. "The ship is turning … they've seen us!"

"Thank Christ!"

Sure enough, the speck on the horizon was getting larger. With each moment, its shape grew more defined. Initially, Astrid had thought it was a birlinn, yet as it drew closer, its single sail billowing in the wind, she noted its high clinkered sides. "It looks like a merchant's cog," she called out to Finn before swallowing a sob of relief. She couldn't believe it.

Fate wasn't set against them, after all.

She gave a squeal of joy and leaped in the air, clapping her hands.

Finn stepped up next to her then, abandoning the fire now that they'd attracted attention. Astrid spun toward him, meeting his eye, and for a moment, they grinned at each other, momentarily bonded by relief.

Then, to her surprise, he placed his hands on her waist, picked her up, and spun her around—and she laughed, jubilation flooding through her.

They were saved. Once the cog picked them up, she'd do all she could to ensure they got passage to Skye. Loch would get the help he needed.

They were both grinning as Finn put her down. However, their smiles faded when their gazes met.

Warmth ignited in Astrid's belly as their stare drew out, and then she became aware of just how close he was standing. It was disconcerting, and her breathing grew shallow. Lord, the way he was looking at her now was far too intimate—and yet, suddenly, she couldn't break their gaze.

And then, Finn caught her by the waist once more and drew her close. The next instant, his mouth was on hers.

Astrid gasped at the feel of his lips, surprisingly soft yet firm, against her own. But her shock expanded when his tongue slid between them and sought entrance into her mouth.

The act was intimate and bold. She should have jerked away, should have slapped his brazen face, but instead, her lips parted, and she allowed his tongue in. It delved, stroked, and explored .

Before Astrid knew what she was doing, she was kissing him back.

Hungrily. Feverishly.

His mouth tasted of the sea and of him. Astrid welcomed his questing tongue and the feel of the rough stubble that covered his jaw rasping against her sensitive skin. Her hands came up, splaying across his chest. Through the thin material of his lèine, she felt the heat of his body and the thunder of his heart.

Mother Mary, what was this? His embrace made her giddy, set a fire alight in her lower belly, and made her toes curl into the sand. Astrid had never been kissed. Aye, she'd wondered many times what it would be like to have a man's mouth on hers yet would never have guessed that Finn would be her first.

That thought roused her from the enchantment, reminding her of where they were—of who they were.

Pushing back on Finn's chest, Astrid stepped away from him. He let her go, dropping his hands from her waist.

For a few moments, they merely stared at each other, breathing hard.

Astrid saw her own shock mirrored in his gaze. His act had been instinctive, it seemed, and in the aftermath, he had no words. Even so, it was hard not to stare at his mouth, not to step into the cage of his arms again and welcome his embrace once more.

But they'd both forgotten themselves, and it was time to return to reality.

God's blood, this was the man she held responsible for Maggie's death. What was she doing kissing him?

Face flushing, as mortification flooded over her in a hot tide, Astrid looked back at where the cog approached.

She could see it clearly now. The large woven wool sail was emerald-green, and she could make out the outlines of men at the railings. "There's a red flag atop its mast," she noted aloud, cursing her husky voice, and fighting to forget the torrid kiss she'd just shared with the man she hated.

Astrid's breathing caught, and suddenly, it was as if someone had just upended a pail of icy seawater over her head.

All her elation drained out of her, as did her embarrassment .

Finn ground out a curse then, making it clear he'd seen it too. "Satan's cods … they're flying the ‘Bloody Flag'."

Astrid's heart started to pound wildly.

They both looked on as the cog sailed closer still and then dropped anchor. They could see the crew clearly now; most of them were clad roughly, their long, unkempt hair tangling in the wind. And as they lowered a rowboat full of men, Astrid's pulse took off like a bolting hind.

"God help us," she whispered. "What are we going to do?"

Both she and Finn started backing up then, moving away from where the water lapped the sand.

"There's no point in running," Finn pointed out roughly. "This isle is too small to hide from them."

"So, we just wait here and let the pirates attack us?"

Sweat bathed Astrid's skin now. She'd recently met the mercenary Logan Black, who'd sailed a cog that looked a lot like this one. Some folk had called the man a pirate, but he wasn't really—more a privateer with a bone to pick against the Mackinnons. But Black no longer sailed the seas. He was now the chieftain of Croggan and would have traveled to Dounarwyse to aid her brother.

These men weren't like Black, who'd long been a friend to the Macleans, though. The hungry looks on their faces, gleam in their eyes, and savage grins made fear curl in her gut. They reminded her of the group of men who'd surrounded her on the beach that morning after she fled Duart, months earlier. She'd been looking for passage off Mull so she could escape her impending marriage yet had found trouble instead. The mercenaries had encircled her, their faces twisted with lust and cruelty.

She'd pulled out a blade and cut one of them, holding them at bay for mere moments. However, she'd been outnumbered, and things would have gone ill, indeed, if Loch, Jack, and Finn hadn't rescued her.

Astrid cut Finn a sidelong look then, her heart hammering in her ears. He'd drawn his dirk, and his expression was hard and cold. "Get behind me, Astrid," he muttered, not looking her way.

She swallowed. "There has to be at least eight of them," she pointed out huskily. "Ye'll never best them all. "

"They're watching ye like wolves," he replied, a muscle bunching in his lean jaw. "But if they want to claim their prize, they'll have to kill me first."

Panic slammed into Astrid. She then reached down and drew her own dirk. "Ye aren't facing them alone," she muttered, even as her heart lurched into her throat and sweat dampened her armpits and palms.

"Astrid." His voice was a warning growl. "Get back."

"No." Ignoring her roaring pulse, she dropped into a fighting stance. Aye, she was terrified, but she'd fight all the same. She flexed her fingers on the worn bone hilt of her dirk. She'd not stand by and watch them kill him before they threw her down on the sand and raped her.

The sweat that bathed her skin turned cold, and her legs started to shake.

Hold fast! She couldn't let her courage desert her. Not now.

A braver woman would turn the knife upon herself before letting any of these brutes touch her, yet she wasn't strong enough for that.

The rowboat reached the water's edge then, and eight big men disembarked.

Finn muttered another curse. "Keep silent," he warned her. "Let me do the talking."

Despite her churning fear, Astrid bristled at his command. Who did he think he was?

A tall man with wild dark-blond hair and a close-cropped beard led the group of pirates. Clad in a loose lèine tucked into braies and high boots that molded muscular calves, he swaggered toward them with supreme confidence.

His gaze slid over Finn and rested upon Astrid—and the half-smile that curved his mouth stretched into a grin. "What a fierce welcome." His deep voice boomed across the beach, above the roar of the surf behind him. "Anyone would think ye two were protecting buried treasure."

"There's no treasure on this rock," Finn replied, drawing the pirate's attention once more. Cutting her companion another glance, Astrid noted how Finn's fingers flexed around the hilt of his dirk. "Just two shipwreck survivors."

The pirate's gait slowed, his dark-blond eyebrows rising. Behind him, his crewmates exchanged looks. "Aye?"

"Our birlinn came to grief in that vicious storm two days ago," Astrid added .

She felt Finn's sharp look in her direction yet ignored him. This was her mission, and she'd be the one to talk their way out of this mess.

"Aye, and what a tempest it was." The pirate halted, his long hair tangling in the wind. His gaze then raked over her, from head to foot, taking in every detail. Astrid stared back, even as something inside her quailed. His predatory look made her feel as if she were standing naked before him. "Who are ye, lass?"

"Lady Astrid of the Macleans of Duart," she replied, drawing herself up and squaring her shoulders, even as her legs were now shaking worse than ever. "And sister to the clan-chief." She paused then, swallowing hard. "And ye?"

The pirate gazed back at her for a heartbeat longer before he flashed her another wolfish grin. "Ye have the pleasure of meeting Alec Rankin," he drawled. "Legendary spùinneadair-mara and bane of the Western Isles himself."