Shores Of Love. Alex Ryder

began chattering and as she rose on a heavy swell she saw the stern light of the cruiser disappearing into the night

      At that moment she was far too concerned with her ability to survive in this icy water to feel any sense of triumph at her escape, and in desperation she struck out for the shore. After a few yards she trod water and kicked off her sandals. It would be better to reach land barefooted than not reach it at all.

      A spasm of cramp gripped her thigh muscles and she almost sobbed in despair. The sense of feeling was leaving her fingers and toes and she knew that the numbness would gradually creep all over her until she no longer felt anything. At that point she’d get drowsy and simply give up. It would be the end of everything.

      Slowly she drew nearer to the shore and she heard the rumble of the surf dashing against the rocks. Her strength was ebbing fast and she no longer had the energy to swim. She was completely at the mercy of the elements now. She closed her eyes, sobbed and prayed.

      The tide swept her relentlessly towards the shore then one wave, larger than the others, bore her high in the air then tossed her carelessly on to a large slab of granite. The receding water surged around her inert body and she felt a sharp pain in her head—and then…nothing.

      The dream came later. There was a sensation of floating on a warm, soft cloud and from a great distance she heard a woman’s voice saying, ‘I told you she was coming, didn’t I? From the sea, just like the others. The legend has come true after all.’

      ‘You say that old Gavin found her?’ That was a man’s voice. Deeply resonant. A voice used to command and demanding respect.

      ‘Aye. On the rocks just past the point.’

      ‘But where did she come from?’

      ‘Does that matter?’

      ‘Of course it matters, woman. The legend may or may not be true. I’m going to need a lot more evidence than this. Her eyes are half-open. Have you tried talking to her?’

      ‘It’s concussion. She can’t see or hear anything. All she needs is a good night’s rest and she’ll be as right as rain in the morning—apart from a sore head.’

      The man didn’t sound too convinced. ‘You’re sure there are no other injuries? Nothing broken?’

      ‘Positive. Have a look for yourself.’

      It was a good job it was only a dream, Avalon told herself. The top cover was whisked away, leaving her lying naked on the bed. Then the man’s voice became a face. The shape hovering over her was blurred and indistinct but she had an impression of raven-black hair and piercing blue eyes. Then his hands were exploring her body. She should have told him to stop being so familiar but her limbs seemed to be filled with warm honey and she couldn’t even murmur. Besides…there was something exciting about his touch.

      Finally he stood up but continued to stare down at her. ‘She’s young,’ he remarked. ‘Eighteen or nineteen.’

      ‘And a right pretty wee thing, Fraser. Look at that fine blonde silvery hair and the lovely green eyes. Just like a sea nymph. She’ll make a bonnie bride, I’m thinking.’

      ‘Aye…’ the voice replied gruffly. ‘But I need to know more about her.’

      ‘She’s perfect, I tell you. They wouldn’t have sent her otherwise.’

      ‘Well, perhaps you’re right and perhaps not. We’ll have to wait until she wakes up, then we’ll get to the truth of the matter.’

      Avalon tried to smile up at him and tell him that she came from London but she was too tired, and slowly the faces and voices disappeared as she slid back into the darkness of her mind.

      When she awoke she blinked in the sunlight streaming through the window. For a moment she lay, staring around the strange room, wondering where she was, then the memories rushed back and a shiver of fear ran through her body as she recalled her ordeal in the sea. The porthole…The plunge into the icy water…The roar of the surf dashing against the rocks. She wondered now how she’d ever had the nerve to go through with such a thing. By some miracle she’d been saved and brought here.

      She struggled to sit up, then groaned as a heavy band of steel seemed to tighten viciously round her head. Cautiously, she raised her hand and felt the bump on her temple.

      She opened her eyes again slowly and took in her surroundings. The room was simply furnished—just the bed she was on, a dressing-table and a chair. The walls, like the ceiling, were bare and whitewashed and the only touch of colour about the place was provided by a huge jar of wild flowers on the windowsill. The floor was pine, deeply glossed through years of polishing, and boasting a huge sheepskin rug by the bedside. There was no sign of her clothes, however, and she had no intention of walking around naked looking for them.

      A faint sound from beyond the door caught her attention and she cried out. ‘Hello? Hello? Anyone at home?’

      An instant later the door opened and a woman poked her head round. ‘Well, well! So you’re awake at last.’ She opened the door wider and came in. ‘And none the worse for wear by the look of you.’

      She was a stout, amiable old dear with iron-grey hair and button-bright eyes the colour of hazelnuts. Her ample figure bulged beneath a chunky sweater and she wore thick stockings beneath a tweed skirt. Motherly was the description that sprang to Avalon’s mind.

      From the bed she smiled up uncertainly. ‘Hello…How did I…?’

      The woman raised a hand. ‘Just you wait till I put the kettle on. You’ll feel much better after a cup of tea.’

      As she left the room Avalon looked at the closed door thoughtfully. The woman’s voice had sounded vaguely familiar. She recalled a dream. Or had it been a dream? There had also been a man…Tall…dark…Her frown deepened as she tried to remember the details, then she gave up.

      There was one thing she did remember only too damn well, though. Mr Smith’s threat to deal with her later. They were bound to have discovered about her escape by now. What would they be doing about it? Well, they might think that she’d drowned—but could they take that chance? In all probability they’d have turned round and would be at this very moment trying to find out if she’d managed to get ashore somewhere.

      The first thing she had to do was to notify the local police and let them deal with Mr Smith and his friends. Impatiently she got out of bed and stared through the window. The house seemed to be built on a slight rise but the view, from this window at least, consisted of nothing more than miles of empty, desolate moorland stretching into a purple, hazy distance. It was like no land Avalon had ever seen before and she wondered where she was. The woman’s accent had been oddly soft and lilting, yet it hadn’t sounded Irish. Scotland, then? Some place on the west coast of Scotland? Thoughtfully she climbed back into bed. All right. So she was stranded in some Godforsaken spot in the wilds of Scotland and she didn’t have a penny to her name nor a pair of shoes to her feet. But at least she was still alive.

      The woman bustled in a few minutes later with a mug of hot, sweet tea. ‘Now, just stay there and drink this. And here’s an old dressing-gown and a pair of slippers to wear until I’ve finished drying and ironing your clothes. When you’ve finished your tea you can have a nice hot bath. We must have you looking your best when the Chief arrives.’

      Avalon looked at her with a blank expression. ‘Chief? Chief of what?’

      ‘Of the Clan, of course. Young Fraser of Suilvach. Lord of the Deer and Eagles, to give him his correct title.’ She paused. ‘By the way, you seem to have lost your shoes. I’ll phone the harbour store and have them send up a pair of plimsolls. What size do you take?’

      Avalon’s mouth had been hanging open and now she got her wits back. ‘Er…size four. And thanks, Mrs…er…?’

      The woman gave a hearty chuckle. ‘My name is Kirsty. And it’s Miss. Can’t you tell an old maid when you see one?’

      ‘Well…you’re being