12

The rain began to ease as Hoynes pulled up the Land Rover near a pile of slick mud and boulders that now blocked the roadway onto the Piper’s Pass. He shook his head and sighed. ‘Naebody’s gettin’ through this in a hurry.’

‘It’s still passable on foot,’ said Watson sharply.

‘Only a fool would attempt that, Iain. And whoot good wid it do? This Marshall fella wid still be lying spark oot on Geordie’s floor, stuck behind this accumulation.’

‘But it would raise the alarm. They could arrange for one of the helicopters to airlift him out. I know fine it would suit you to string this out as long as you can so that you can devise some way out of the mess you’re in. Well, I’m here to tell you, it’ll not work. I’ll make sure you answer for your crimes, Sandy Hoynes.’

Hoynes looked at the Fishery Officer and scratched his head. ‘You know, Iain, I’ve known for a very long time that you’ve had it in for me. Aye, an’ I think I know fine why.’

‘It’s not hard to work it out. You stole that boat from under his nose. Fair cheated him. By rights, I should be a skipper, not . . .’ He left the rest unsaid.

‘I bought the Girl Maggie fair and square fae your faither. I liked the man. It’s no’ my fault he snuggled up tae John Barleycorn that much he couldna be bothered gettin’ oot o’ his bed tae take up arms against the fish.’

‘But you took advantage of it, and forced him to sell at a knockdown price. You were his first mate, and you fleeced the man who taught you everything!’

‘Man, oh man, but you’re so wrong. I can see this has been eatin’ away at you for near thirty-five years. Nae wonder you scrutinise my catch so closely. But you don’t have the right o’ it, Iain. Not only was your faither tight tae go oot on a wave, he didna lift a finger tae help wae the upkeep o’ the vessel. Och, we tried oor best tae keep her in fettle, but it was jury-rigged at best. I gave your faither too much money, and that’s the truth of it. It cost me a small fortune tae make her seaworthy again, and you know it.’

‘Just enough money to make sure he lasted long enough to die of a broken heart.’

‘Your arse, a broken heart. Though it pains me tae speak ill o’ the deid, aye, an’ my auld skipper, he died starin’ oot the bottom o’ a whisky bottle. You know it fine yoursel’.’

Watson stared belligerently at the fisherman. ‘And you changed her name. Called her after your wee girl, Maggie. Do you know that ended up making you the laughing stock of the fleet?’

‘How so?’ asked Hoynes, temporarily thrown.

‘She’s a neat wee craft, but she’s always been broad in the beam – just how your Maggie turned out.’ Watson laughed harshly.

‘I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: it’s a family thing. All the women on her mother’s side o’ the family have big arses . . . Eh, where are you going?’

The Fishery Officer slammed the passenger door of the Land Rover and began picking his way through the debris left by the landslide.

Winding his window down, Hoynes shouted, ‘Don’t be daft, Iain. Get back in here. We’ll take Marshall tae Kinloch in Geordie’s lobster boat.’

‘I’d rather take my chances up here on the pass than navigate the Mull with you at the helm, Sandy.’ He stormed off, tripping over a small boulder, but managed to keep his feet. ‘The McKinnons’ farm is just on the other side, and they’re good folk – unlike you.’

The fisherman watched him clamber over a large boulder, and soon he was out of sight. ‘You’re a braver man than I gied you credit for, Iain Watson. Who wid have thought you’d bear a grudge a’ these years. I hope you don’t hear the skirl o’ the pipes before you get tae safety – or a boulder doesn’t land on your heid,’ he said to himself. He turned the vehicle round and headed back to the bothy.

Marshall mumbled incoherently as Hamish and Grant carried him out of the back of the Land Rover and down the beach towards a small stone jetty where Geordie’s lobster boat was moored. Though the rain had eased off, the sea was still angry, whipped into white-horse waves by the strong wind.

It took the help of the two airmen as well as Hoynes, Hamish, Grant and Geordie to manhandle the injured man aboard the small vessel safely, as the three women looked on anxiously.

‘Are you sure about this, Sandy?’ asked Grant, a worried look on his face.

‘As sure as I can be. Your man here’s lost a lot o’ blood. I learned in the RNR never tae take a blow tae the heid lightly. In any event, between me, Hamish and Geordie, we’ve damn near a hunner years o’ seafaring under oor belts. If we canna get him tae the Cottage Hospital in Kinloch, who can?’

‘I’d be happier coming, too,’ Grant replied.

‘Oh no, you’re not! You’re staying with me!’ yelled Maggie. ‘It’s bad enough losing my father in a mission of mercy, without waving a hearty goodbye to my intended.’

‘See, there’s an example o’ loyalty for you, skipper,’ said Hamish. ‘Jeest typical o’ the wimmen, tae. Fair calculated that you’ve done your bit bringing her up, and noo that there’s somebody else tae take the strain, you’re expendable.’

‘Just you make sure he’s not expendable, Hamish,’ said Maggie.

‘Och, you wid think we were heading intae Corryvreckan the way you’re all lamenting oor early deaths. A couple o’ hours and we’ll be sitting wae a dram, fair getting warmed up,’ remarked Hoynes. ‘I’d like tae take you all, but as you can see, there’s precious little room aboard as it is, whoot wae this Exciseman floppin’ aboot the deck, an’ all.’

‘You’ve made the right decision, skipper,’ said Hamish. ‘I canna see your pair making it aboard. Beth, nae bother, there’s hardly a picking on her . . .’ He stopped when he caught Hoynes’ eye. ‘Och, I’m jeest meaning they’re fine figures o’ wimmen,’ he continued, with a cough.

‘We’ll send a bigger vessel back for you. Wish us luck,’ shouted Hoynes, as Geordie fired up the boat’s diesel engine in a flurry of smoke and clatter. Slowly, against the swell, they made their way out to sea, leaving Grant, the airmen and the three women on the shore.

‘I can see us having the wedding here, Duncan,’ groaned Maggie, as she watched the small boat set sail.

‘Your father knows what he’s doing. He’ll be fine,’ he replied confidently, biting his lip all the same.

Iain Watson was making better progress than he’d hoped for. He was already more than halfway down the Piper’s Pass. The highest section had been the worst. He’d had to climb over a pile of slippery rocks and mud on his hands and knees, but now he was at the other side, the obstacles he faced were of an altogether less challenging nature. The rain had stopped completely now, and he felt a wave of confidence that, if he was being honest, had been utterly absent when he parted from Hoynes.

‘Push on, Iain,’ he told himself. ‘Just a little while and the MacKinnon farm will be in sight.’

As he uttered those words, his foot caught on a boulder. He fell forwards, landing on his side and winding himself badly. As he sat up, trying to get his breath back, he heard a distant sound. It was barely discernible at first, but after a few seconds it rang clearly, echoing around the high hills that hemmed him into the pass.

‘You’ve banged your head, you daftie,’ he muttered, pulling himself to his feet. ‘There’s nothing there – it’s all in the mind.’ But as he took a few faltering steps, something made him look up.

There, on a small rise up ahead, stood a figure standing stock-still.

‘Bugger me,’ he gasped. ‘It can’t be . . .’