“Aye,” Charles said, though he sounded skeptical.
“If we light the candle,” Fiona said in a rush, “we can cover the flame and lift the cover over and over again in a sign to come this way.”
“That is a great idea,” Brogan said.
Charles passed them the candle.
“Have ye a flint box?” Fiona asked him.
“That I dinna have,” Charles said. “I usually lit it from the fire.”
“And who lights the fire?” Fiona asked, growing only mildly frustrated.
“That’d be me,” James said, pressing the flint box toward her.
The night grew darker as Fiona tried to light the stubby candle with the flint box, but every spark was unsuccessful. Frustration mounted as the last of the sun finally disappeared. Damn her fingers for not working! She cursed under her breath, gritting her teeth as she made one attempt after another. Of course, of all nights this would be the night that she wasn’t able to get it done.
“Let me try.” Brogan gently took the flint from her and tried his own hand at it, finally striking a good enough spark to light the crumbling wick of the candle. All of them let out a collective breath of relief.
“Oh, thank heavens,” she murmured, taking the candle Brogan held out.
Fiona held the base of the candle in one hand and placed her other hand in front of the flame, blocking the light from those at sea. Then she withdrew, revealing the light. This she did over and over, praying that the men on the boat saw it as they pushed the prince through the water.
Though the moon shone in a half sliver above, it didn’t illuminate the sea enough for them to get a good look at anyone approaching. The prince’s boat would be quiet and unlit. She prayed they caught sight of her signal before the candle burned out. Already hot wax dripped over her fingers and down the back of her hand. Saving the prince was worth the pain.
The quiet of their concentration and silent entreaties was shattered when shots rang out from down the shore.
“No!” Fiona hissed. The dragoons must have spotted the prince’s boat and thought him close enough to shoot.
The men cursed, several scrambling up the rock to get a view of what was happening.
Fiona’s heart plummeted into her stomach. She crossed herself and the men followed, each of them mumbling prayers. Dear God, they’d not been fast enough.
“Dinna stop,” Brogan whispered. “If they did see ye, they’ll need to steer themselves this way. We canna abandon them now.”
He was right, and Fiona kept up the signal, praying the whole of the king’s navy wasn’t off the shore, seeing the signal, too, and coming toward them. She closed her eyes, breathed in deep, making the motions in front of the flame, and prayed that it would work.
Shots continued to crack the silence and shouts of anger too. It was hard to tell if all the noise was one-sided or if the prince’s boat had also engaged in the fight.
Please dinna let this all be over… We need our prince… Our country canna survive without him.
What felt like an interminable time later, the shots faded and so did the shouting. There came and went the sound of hoofbeats, and Fiona and the men all hunkered against the rocks, trying to keep themselves and their horses hidden from view. Fortunately, there was an overhang that hid them well. And the dragoons were not looking for anyone on shore but instead coming from the sea.
All the while, Fiona kept up her pace, even as the candle burned nearly down. At last there came the sound of splashing in the water some distance off.
“They come,” Brogan said.
Fiona moved her hands faster as if that would make their oars dip any more speedily. The sounds drew closer, and in the dark, the looming oblong shape of a boat and several passengers came into view. They made their way into the narrow creek, and everyone stilled, waiting.
“Who’s there?” came a woman’s voice filled with trepidation that Fiona did not recognize.
And Fiona couldn’t blame her. This, too, could be a trap for all they knew. “Fiona MacBean and seven men of Clan Grant.”
“Lady Fiona!” This time, she did recognize the voice as that of the prince. “You have saved us.”
Oh, thank God!
“Not yet,” Fiona said, relief flooding her and causing her knees nearly to buckle.
Brogan slipped his arm around her waist to hold her up, not saying a word about her sudden weakness, and she thanked him silently for it.
“We must get ye out of here. The troops are patrolling the shoreline, and ’tis only a matter of moments before they see ye here.”
They drew closer and in the dimness of the tiny candle, she could make out two women and five men. None of whom were the prince. She’d sworn she’d heard the prince. How was it possible she didn’t see him?
“Get in the boat, the lot of you. There is room. We will leave when the dragoons have cleared out.” There was Prince Charles’s voice again, yet it was coming from one of the…women?
Fiona leaned closer, holding out the stub of the candle and squinting her eyes as if that were somehow going to help her see that the prince was dressed in disguise.
“Are ye…?” Fiona started.
The woman waved her hand and nodded. “I am Betty Burke,” said the prince. “A maid traveling with my lady Flora MacDonald. I’ve taken a note from your book, Lady Fiona, and put on my best disguise.”
Fiona would have laughed, she would have doubled over and let all of her frustration and relief out at once in a hearty guffaw, but that would no doubt have alerted the dragoons to their presence.
The candle let out a sizzle and pop as the last of the wick burned out.
Fiona let out the breath she’d been holding and picked away at the wax that had hardened on her skin.
“Did the dragoons see ye row this way?” Brogan was tense beside her, finding no humor in the situation, which was probably how she should also be.
Sometimes in stressful situations, however, humor was a good escape.
“Aye, likely they spotted us,” the other woman replied. “They’ve been shooting at us since we arrived.”
“Were ye hit?” Brogan asked.
“No’ our bodies,” she said, “but it did skim the rail of our vessel. Nothing to sink us, though.”
A cold sweat broke out on Fiona’s back. How close the prince had come to an execution! If he’d been killed, the whole of their operation would have been turned on its head. The country would be in mourning, and everything she’d lived for her entire life would have died with him.