9 BAD NEWS

FINN AWOKE TO find his face nestled in a pillow of hair. It was slightly sticky and smelled of the sea, with a faint trace of rosemary, yet it was pleasant, and as the last vestiges of sleep cleared like morning mist, he was reluctant to move away from it.

Yet he did.

Christ's bones, his mouth tasted as if he'd swallowed a pail of seawater. He desperately needed to slake his thirst.

Reaching up, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and then propped himself up on one elbow, his gaze settling upon the naked woman who slept with her back to him.

And when it did, Finn's breathing hitched, and he momentarily forgot his dry mouth and throat. Earlier, he'd been too chilled and traumatized to pay any attention to her nudity. Yet, despite that despair sat like an anvil in his gut, it was impossible not to stare now.

Astrid's body was slender, yet the dip of her waist emphasized the swell of her hips. Lying there, as naked as the day she was born, she looked like one of the merfolk who'd ventured onto land to sleep. Her pale hair, the color of sea-foam, was tangled and wild, and her limbs were graceful, even in repose.

Finn's pulse quickened.

It was wrong to gawk at her like this, but he couldn't help himself.

Aye, he loathed Astrid, but there was no denying she was lovely. Both as delicate as apple blossom and as strong as granite. A woman full of contradictions.

Finn's groin hardened then, and he yanked himself out of his reverie.

Shifting back, he glanced down at where his rod thrust up and was now angled toward her .

God help him, he couldn't remain lying here like this. He had to move.

Heart pounding, he covered Astrid up and then scooted away, retrieving his clothing. It was devilishly uncomfortable to don, still damp and stiff with salt. It would likely chafe, but he didn't care.

He had to get dressed and leave this cave.

He needed to breathe, to regain his equilibrium. His near-drowning had shaken him up. He wasn't thinking straight.

However, he was about to flee outside when the trickling sound of water made him pause. His thirst nagged him again, providing a welcome distraction this time, and he made his way to the back of the cave, where a spring trickled through the rock. Hunkering down, he scooped the water into his mouth, taking grateful gulps until his throat no longer felt raw.

Sighing with relief, he rose to his feet once more and retraced his steps, skirting Astrid's prone figure. Ducking out of the cave, he straightened up and welcomed the sting of the wind on his face.

That was better. Suddenly, he could breathe again. The ache in his groin was subsiding too—and he wanted to forget his rod had gone into full mast over Astrid Maclean.

Thank Christ, she hadn't awoken and seen it.

Pushing the mortifying thought aside, Finn looked up. To his surprise, the sun warmed his skin and a blue sky full of scudding white clouds welcomed him.

It was as if that storm had never happened.

His stomach cramped. But it had—and he'd lost his entire crew.

Thirteen souls swept away into the deep.

His throat constricted then, his eyes stinging as he blinked back tears. No, he couldn't let himself believe it. If he and Astrid had survived, then perhaps some of the others had to. They were all able to swim—he'd deliberately only picked warriors who could.

He looked around him then, his gaze sweeping over the sandy beach below the cliffs. Maybe they'd been washed up here now too.

However, the swathe of sand was pristine, except for a large plank of wood.

The piece of the Sea Eagle that had saved their lives .

Inhaling the briny air deep into his lungs, Finn walked down to the plank, his boots sinking into the soft sand with each step. He then rotated in a circle, craning his neck as he gazed up at the cliffs.

He had no idea where he was. It was likely one of the Small Isles, yet he didn't know which. The first thing he had to do was look for help. Surely, there would be a village nearby where they could find food and shelter?

First though, he returned to the cave with heavy steps, checking on Astrid.

The lass still slept, huddled under the fur cloak like a hibernating squirrel. He didn't want to disturb her, and it looked as if she'd sleep a little longer.

Finn gazed at her a long moment, even as despair continued to press its heavy hands upon his shoulders. What a mess they were in; he didn't know how they'd manage to reach Skye in time to help Loch now.

With a heavy sigh, Finn turned and left the cave once more.

Astrid yawned and stretched, a feeling of wellbeing suffusing her.

However, when she opened her eyes, that sensation fled.

She was alone, in a dank cave, naked save for the fur cloak that covered her modesty.

Pulse lurching into a gallop, she sat up, clutching the cloak to her chest. Her memories of what had happened after they'd washed up on the shore were blurry—she remembered little more than cold and desperation—although she did recall that she and Finn had slept naked, curled up together.

Hot and then cold washed over her.

Where was he now?

Heart still hammering, she rolled to her feet and reached for her clothing. Perhaps he'd needed to relieve himself. It was best she made use of the privacy while she still had it.

Fumbling in haste, Astrid yanked on her lèine and kirtle. Wriggling into her surcote was a little harder, although at least her fingers obeyed her now. It took some work, but eventually, she managed to lace the back. It was a messy job, but she didn't care. She even strapped on her weapons, for having her blades close settled the anxiety that now tightened her chest. Pulling on her damp hose and boots, she then moved to the back of the cave, where water trickled down the damp stone.

Hesitating only a moment, for her mouth felt like a dry strip of leather, she cupped her hands under it and drank. It was a little brackish, yet she knew the taste of spring water.

Slaking her thirst, Astrid then left the cave, emerging blinking into the sunlight.

Finn was nowhere to be seen.

Usually, such a realization would have pleased her. Not so now. There was only the two of them, stranded on a beach in the middle of nowhere.

Astrid's breathing grew shallow then. The bastard hadn't run off and left her, had he?

Trying not to panic, she made her way down onto the beach. Ironically, it was a lovely morning—it seemed they'd slept the afternoon and the night away—and the sea was calm.

An ache rose under her ribs then, twisting hard as she thought about the crew. Steadfast Colin, protective Roy, earnest Dougie, and cheeky Norris—and the others who'd embarked on this journey with them. All brave, loyal men.

Astrid clasped her hands together, her eyes closing as she lifted her face to the sky. She always turned to God when times were tough. Duart Castle's chapel had been her sanctuary during many trials. Indeed, after Maggie's death, and the passing of her parents, she'd knelt at a pew in the echoey silence, seeking solace from the pain that split her asunder. And when Loch had promised her to Kendric Mackinnon, she'd disappeared in the chapel for hours at a time, hoping that prayer might change his mind.

It hadn't—only her illness and reading the missive their father had left him had done that.

But Astrid hadn't given up on prayer, and now she whispered to God to keep their crew members safe. She had to believe that if she and Finn had found safety, some of the others had too.

"Astrid!"

A man's voice intruded then, and she twisted right to see a lean figure, dressed in salt-encrusted leathers, trudging up the beach toward her .

Finn carried a load of sticks under one arm although his expression was grim.

Astrid stiffened at the sight of him, as she always did. She couldn't help it. Now that her life wasn't in imminent danger, she was herself again.

And judging from the coldness in Finn's eyes as he viewed her, so was he.

"Bad news," he said curtly, reaching Astrid and drawing to a halt.

Her mouth pursed. "What? Other than we're shipwrecked, and the rest of our party have likely drowned?"

He nodded, his expression unchanging. "I've just taken a walk around this isle … it's a tiny rock with nothing but gannets and puffins living here."

A chill washed over Astrid. "No," she breathed.

"Aye."

"Where are we?"

"There are a few uninhabited isles on the western edge of the Small Isles; I'd say we've washed up on one of them."

Panic slammed into Astrid, grasping her by the throat.

God's holy rood, they were doomed.

"What are we going to do?" she whispered, cursing the way her voice wobbled.

Finn's lips thinned before he nodded at the armload of driftwood and clumps of dry grass he carried. "I'm going to see about building us a fire," he said curtly. "Then I'll go out again and try and steal some puffin eggs."

"I wasn't talking about that," she snapped. "What are we going to do about the fact we're marooned on a deserted rock?"

Finn flashed her a humorless smile. "Ye were praying earlier … ye might as well return to it." He brushed past her then, heading toward the cave. "Looks like that's the only thing that'll help us now."