Unknown (17 page)

The wind had strengthened and her blue cardigan over a thin white cotton dress was little protection, but his smile warmed her. “There’s an old jacket of mine in the cabin. Put it on if you’re cold.”

She found the tweed coat, smelling of tobacco, heather and salt water, wrapped it round herself and came out on deck again.

He landed in a sheltered cove where the outgoing tide had revealed a strip of sand below the shingle. After a bathe, they ate the food that Judith had brought with her and Stuart rummaged in the galley store cupboard for tinned fruit and biscuits and cheese.

“I feel like a basking seal,” she murmured, lying on the warm sand. “This is heaven.”

The tide had now gone down far enough to expose the causeway between Callamore and the small island opposite.

“Have you ever been across there? she asked. “Has the island a name?”

“It’s called Bradda. I’ve been a few times. It’s quite uninhabited except for gulls and seals—sometimes puffins, too.”

They went together, splashing along the rough, stony isthmus, but when she was safely on the island, Stuart returned to fetch the small dinghy he usually carried on the cruiser.

“Go straight across the island and I’ll row round to the other side. There’s a small ledge where I can land.”

So the afternoon drifted away while they talked or were silent. Gulls wheeled and dived tirelessly searching for food. Stuart lay on his back, hands clasped behind his head. “Are you going to live here permanently?” he asked suddenly.

His question sounded idle, but she hoped he was really interested in her answer. “To some extent that depends on Barbara and Andy. If they decide to leave, of course I shall go with them.”

“Why ‘of course’? D’you want to?”

She longed to cry out an emphatic “No! I want to live here for ever!” Instead, she sat hugging her knees and answered casually, “On a day like this the future seems too far off to think about.”

“There’s a Highland Ball next month. Can you think as far ahead as that?”

Her interest kindled. This was almost sure to be ‘he same function that Graham had spoken about. “Yes? When is it?”

“About the middle of September at the Roxburgh. Barbara usually comes over to our house to dress for these affairs. You could do the same.”

“I shall be delighted to come—that is, if I’m being invited.”

“Of course. We always take a large party along with us.”

This last remark was a dash of cold water, but she should not have leapt to the conclusion that he was inviting her as his special guest. In any case, she preferred to be with Stuart’s party rather than be included with Graham Mundon. Barbara could do as she chose.

Stuart picked up her wrist to glance at the time by her watch. “Mine’s in the cabin,” he explained. “Half-past three. About another hour before the tide will be over the causeway, but I have the dinghy this side in case it’s high.”

“You’ve never told me the legend about the inn on our island. You said it was called ‘Bride of Kylsaig.’ ”

Today this tiny, uninhabited island jutting out into
in
expanse of silver water seemed an appropriate setting for telling legends. Haze hid the sun and created a timeless atmosphere.

“It’s a simple enough tale,” Stuart began. “The original name was ‘The Kylsaig Inn’ and about a hundred years ago it was kept by a man who had a beautiful daughter, Margaret. Several men wanted to marry her, but she couldn’t decide which she wanted. One night there was a
ceilidh
at the inn—you know what that is? A gathering of a few people for a sing-song, dancing, playing the flute —just to amuse themselves.

“Margaret was in a provocative mood, playing off one man against another, and eventually two of them, a fisherman from Cruban and an island crofter, came to blows, broke up the party and went outside to finish the fight. Neither of them won, but the fisherman declared that he’d make Margaret his bride before the next full moon. Unfortunately, he went out next night with the fishing fleet and was lost in a storm. Poor Margaret went wild with grief.”

“Was he the one she really loved?” asked Judith.

Stuart wrinkled his nose. “I’m not sure. She might have been the kind of girl who wants the cake as soon as it’s whisked out of sight. Anyway, she refused to marry any other man, saying that she was already the promised bride of the fisherman. For many years, they say, she wandered by the shore at the time of every full moon, calling the man’s name. Then on? night she said she could see the lights of a ship and her fisherman was calling to tier. She ran down to the slipway and nobody ever saw her again. Her father renamed the inn and it was known as ‘The Bride of Kylsaig’ until it became empty and fell into ruins.”

For a few moments Judith remained silent. Then she said quietly, “Thank you for telling me. Do you think her ghost will haunt the new inn when you’ve rebuilt it?”

“Who knows? If the next innkeeper has a daughter, perhaps she’ll make up her mind before it’s too late.”

“You won’t get the new inn finished this season before the winter, will you?”

He shook his head. “No, but we can do most of the outside structure before the worst of the winter, then finish the interior next spring.”

“D’you think Graham Mundon seriously wants to build a modern hotel on the island?”

Stuart gave her a quick, searching glance. “Has he spoken to you about it?”

“Only vaguely. I wondered if he were pretending opposition just to annoy you.”

Stuart stirred the sand at his feet with a small stick. “I think he’d consider any project if he thought it would make money—even a luxury hotel on Kylsaig. Sometimes he’s talked about a holiday camp, with all. built-in entertainment.”

“That would spoil Kylsaig for me, whatever attraction it might have for holidaymakers.”

He slanted her an approving smile. “Oh, well, Mundon doesn’t realise all the snags that stand in his way. I think he had a hand in that affair of the slipway. It wasn’t only the gale that dislodged the rocks. I’ve since found out that two men were seen there the previous evening, but, naturally, people assumed the men were sent by me.”

“So the damage was deliberate?”

“It was easy enough to pick-axe the cemented parts before they were properly set. Then the sea did the rest.”

“But what good would that do Mr. Mundon?” she asked.

Stuart smiled. “If I could be persuaded to abandon my silly ideas, he could probably buy some of the land cheaply.”

They talked for some time about Stuart’s development plans for Kylsaig’s future. Then Judith shivered, for a wind had sprung up and the sky had darkened. She glanced at her watch.

“Stuart! My watch must have stopped! It’s still at halfpast three.”

He sprang to his feet at once. “Lucky I brought the dinghy, but the causeway may not be covered yet. Go across and see if it’s clear and give me a shout, but don’t attempt to cross by yourself.”

Heavy rain started and the wind tore at her hair as she climbed towards the middle of the island. From the highest point she looked down on the other side. No causeway was visible. Rough, choppy water divided the two islands.

“We’re cut' off!” she yelled, not knowing whether the wind might toss her words away, but evidently Stuart understood, for he waved to her to come back to the dinghy.

“Jump in!” he commanded when she arrived, breathless and already wet through. “I’ll run before the wind and try to round the island from this end. Was the
Cloud
still there?”

“Yes.” She did not tell him that driving rain had almost blotted out even the nearer shore of Callamore island and she could not be entirely sure that the cruiser was still anchored.

“I hope the anchor holds or she’ll be driven on to the skerries,” he muttered.

She crouched low in the dinghy, seeking protection from the force of the wind that blew gusts of slanting rain across her face. The little boat climbed towering crests of waves, then plunged with sickening dizziness into the troughs. Neither she nor Stuart were clad for such conditions and blinding curtains of spray swept over them.

Lightning zigzagged across the darkened sky, followed almost immediately by thunder.

“Afraid of storms?” he shouted.

She managed to shake her head. But she knew fear in this moment. Thunder and lightning experienced on land seemed almost harmless by comparison with the angry, tossing sea.

“Keep well down,” he warned her as he steered into the wind. Towering walls of water deflected the boat, lifting it broadside, then slapping it down onto the water. “I’ll have to land where I can.”

They were almost ashore when a huge wave swept right over the boat, there was a thud, a harsh, grating sound on the keel. Stuart jumped out into waist-deep water and dragged the dinghy towards the shelving shingle.

Stiff and chilled to the bone, she clambered out as best she could, for Stuart gave her no helping hand. The bottom of the boat was awash, and when he turned it over to empty it, Judith could see the gashed planks in the keel.

“I’m sorry, Stuart,” she began. “This is all my fault—”

“No time to waste now,” he said roughly. “Let’s get along to the
Cloud,
or we shall find she’s gone for a trip by herself out into the Atlantic.”

But the difficulty was now to board the larger boat. When they had left to cross the causeway to the small island, the tide had been much lower. Now with flood tide, wind and storm together, the cabin cruiser was separated from the shore by a wide strip of boiling surf.

The dinghy with her stove-in bottom was useless.

“I’ve got to get across there somehow,” Stuart muttered. “You’d better stay here until I can get aboard and start up. Then I’ll try to run closer inshore. No sense in both of us getting half drowned. Here, take these.” He gave her his shoes and plunged head first into the oncoming waves.

Judith’s thoughts concentrated on Stuart’s safety. The cruiser rocked and tilted alarmingly and seemed on the verge of capsizing. She breathed a prayer of thanksgiving when she saw Stuart hoist himself over the side, although the next moment a wave crashed down on the boat and she could not see if he was still aboard or had disappeared into the sea.

“Are you all right?” she shouted, knowing how ludicrous the question must have sounded in their present forlorn plight.

There was no answer and she shouted again, calling his name, “Stuart! Are you there? Are you aboard?”

Faintly, an answering shout came over the noise of the pounding surf, and her knees went weak with relief and the sudden snapping of tension. She sank down on the rocky beach, hardly knowing or caring that the tears pouring down her face mingled with the unceasing rain and salty spray.

At last she became aware that somebody was calling.

“Judith! Come and give me a hand!”

She roused herself and scrambled over the rough rocks to the water’s edge. Stuart’s head rose on the crest of a wave, then disappeared, but the next wave landed him in the shallows and she saw he was now wearing only bathing trunks. A rope was tied round his waist and he was trying to haul in a large package wrapped in black oilskins.

“Can’t start the
Cloud
,” he gasped, “but I’ve brought some dry clothing. Get those wet things off—and we’ll try to find a hut or croft somewhere.”

“You mean—we can’t get back tonight?”

He gave her a brief glance that she found disconcerting.

“Does that worry you?”

“Barbara and Andy will wonder what on earth’s happened to me,” she began, but quailed under the cold stoniness of his eyes.

Then he turned away to unwrap the bundle of clothes. “Not very suitable, I think, but you’ll have to make do.” He handed her a pair of jeans and an old sweater. In happier circumstances, she would have been delighted to wear Stuart’s old clothes, but now she scurried quickly behind some rocks, stripped off her own soaked dress and underwear and put on the dry clothes.

When she rejoined him, he was dressed in old corduroys and jacket and was tugging on his wet shoes. He gave her the oilskin coat he had been sitting on. “Put that on. It’s not very dry inside, but it’ll keep out any further rain.” The wind still thundered but was behind them as they trudged up the slope to the headland which formed an arm of the sheltered inlet where the
Flying Cloud
was still tossing and leaping at anchor.

“Will the boat be safe there?” she asked timidly.

“No. I’ll find somewhere for you to spend the night and perhaps I can get help to go back and tow the
Cloud
to a safer place. She’ll break up where she is—lot of rocks underneath.”

“Stuart, I must—” she began, but he interrupted her with, “Save your breath. No apologies are needed. If we find a house with a telephone, you can let Barbara know.”

Out at sea the banks of dark grey cloud had lifted slightly and a luminous strip of sky appeared between them and the horizon, but soon faded into the growing darkness of twilight.

She had no idea of the time, but guessed that the stormy evening made the hour seem later than it was.

“There’s a road not far away, I think,” Stuart told her, to her great relief, for her thin sandals were too flimsy for such rough walking. But the road, although discernible in the faint light, was even stonier than the previous ground. The only consolation was that probably it led to dwellings of some sort.

Far off, a light winked, and her hopes rose that there would be a house, but soon it disappeared, and she supposed it could only have come from a bicycle.

Then, unexpectedly, the road looped behind the shoulder of a hill and welcome lights streamed out from a farm cottage.

Judith heard Stuart make brief explanations. A grey-haired woman listened, then wrapped a plaid round Judith’s shoulders.

“Come away in and get some broth into you.”

Judith’s legs felt stiff and wooden, as though she could not bend them to any other motion than the piston-like action of stepping along the road. She sat down by the fire and gratefully drank the bowlful of broth.