Daring Lords and Ladies

by Emily Murdoch

  “Still,” Eve said, “I do not believe my father will believe you went willingly to be married. It’s hopeless.”

  Lord Rushton’s lips twitched in amusement as he popped the last of the roll into his mouth. “I feel certain he would, in fact, believe just that.”

  She shook her head. “I cannot see why. He knows you have no plans to actually marry me—or Grace, for that matter.”

  “On the contrary, he is certain I will marry you.”

  Lord Rushton rose, rooted out two tin cups from a cupboard, and poured wine. He buttered two more rolls, then set a cup in front of her and reseated himself.

  He took a long swig of his wine. “Drink it. Wine relieves tension.

  Eve took a swallow and grimaced. “What is this?”

  “A very bad wine. Finish it up.” He drank the rest of his.

  She eyed the contents, but took another gulp. “Not as bad the second time around.”

  “It never is.”

  “How do you occupy yourself, my lord?” Eve bit into her roll. “We see you only in passing on our walks, and not always then. Surely you aren’t keeping yourself confined down below as we are?”

  “You are not down below, Miss Crenshaw. The second mate gave up his private cabin for you.”

  Eve nodded. “I knew the cabin belonged to an officer. You must have paid a pretty penny for this excursion, my lord.”

  He grinned. “The very reason I enjoy full freedom of the ship—as much as the captain, in fact.”

  “I suppose I should consider myself fortunate to have been allowed even the privilege of slaving away in the galley.”

  “You were not pressed into service.” He ripped his roll apart and ate the piece. “You begged to be allowed to cook. But had I known what a skilled baker you are, I would have chained you here and stood guard myself.”

  “You must have eaten half a dozen of those rolls,” Eve said. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

  “It would be worth it. When did you learn to make these? They really are the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Our cook is the finest in Manchester. That is the one area where my father insists upon the best.”

  “I heartedly agree,” Lord Rushton said. “She taught you well.”

  “She did, to my mother’s mortification. When I was eight, I begged Mrs. Larson to teach me. I have no doubt it began as an indulgence, but by the time I was twelve, I had mastered hot cross buns and pigeon pie, to name two of my favorites. At a dinner party my mother hosted she discovered the bread she served to guests had been prepared by my hand and nearly had an apoplexy. She threatened poor Mrs. Larson with unemployment. My father warned me to go into the kitchen only when my mother was out of the house and demanded Mrs. Larson give the first of my fruits in payment for his silence.”

  Lord Rushton grinned. “I can see you sitting on a stool at the counter alongside the honorable Mrs. Larson.”

  Eve laughed with the memory. “I was a sight. I had a terrible habit of getting as much flour on me and the surrounding table and floor as I did in the bowl.”

  His gaze traveled down her frame and her cheeks heated. “You aren’t quite as much of a mess now.” He reached across the table and she froze when he brushed at something on her right cheek. “A smudge of flour,” he said. “Some things never change.” He grinned. “You will likely need a bath after this.”

  Eve turned her attention to her stew. “One can only dream.”

  “The captain has a tub in his quarters. Perhaps I can arrange something.”

  She snorted. “You are being cruel. I cannot believe you would allow Grace and me a bath when you will barely permit us to leave our cabin.”

  “It would be a great risk,” he said with gravity. “If the men knew there were naked woman aboard ship that would most assuredly incite mutiny.”

  “My lord, you make them sound so ferocious that I wonder how in heaven’s name you have managed to control such a motley crew.”

  “It hasn’t been easy,” he said. “Did it occur to you that I spend my time fending them off?”

  Eve rolled her eyes. “They have not so much as glanced our way.”

  “Oh, they have, indeed, glanced your way.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I know because I am a man. It would be impossible for them not to look.”

  A tremor rippled through Eve’s stomach. “Not all men are like you,” she ventured.

  He grunted. “Indeed not, but in this respect, these men are like me. Unlike me, however, some would not hesitate to force their attentions upon you.”

  “You did force your attentions onto me.”

  He flashed a smile so charming her breath caught. “You are too irresistible to resist.”

  Eve blinked. He laughed, clearly comprehending that she hadn’t forgotten his kisses—and more—and she quickly said, “Where the sailors are concerned, I think you are trying to scare me.”

  “I am, but it is only because it is the truth.”

  “You have a flair for the dramatic, my lord.”

  “I promise you, on this, I do not exaggerate.” His attention was on his roll and he dunked it in his stew with obvious relish. “I left no doubt in their minds that I would kill them if they disobeyed me.”

  “Kill them—you are teasing me. No one would actually hurt us.”

  “Invariably, there is always one bad apple, and that is more than enough to do damage. Now,” his eyes shifted to her, “what payment should I extract in exchange for arranging your bath?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Erroll took the final step from the lower deck onto the upper deck and sighted the captain on the port side of the ship. The bow lamp in the binnacle had been dimmed, but moonlight illuminated the looking glass he peered through, aimed at the Scottish coastline. Erroll crossed to him.

  “My lord,” the captain said, as Erroll stopped beside him. “Have a look at this.” Captain Mercantile handed him the spyglass. “To the north there, in the small cove.” He pointed.

  Erroll fitted the glass to his eye and slowly scanned right until moonlight illuminated the tip of a mast beyond the rocky crags on the coastline.

  “I would say the ship is a brigantine,” the captain said.

  Erroll discerned a second mast. “You have a good eye.”

  “According to my map, they set anchor in a small cove just around that bend ahead,” Mercantile said. “Well away from any port. Do you have much trouble with pirates in the channel here?”

  “None.” Erroll lowered the glass. “With Trafalgar behind us and the Barbary Coast War nearly two years past, the seas are safer than they have been in decades. If Jefferson steers clear of our ocean we might be able to deal with Old Bony post haste and settle back into our lives.” Such as they were. Erroll returned the glass. “I suspect the brigantine anchored in that cove in order to deal with an unexpected problem.”

  “Might they have gone ashore for water or hunting?” the captain asked.

  “If the captain has a taste for game bird.”

  Erroll thought of the excellent meal he’d shared with Miss Crenshaw earlier that evening. If the brigantine’s captain had a cook as skilled—and beautiful— he would certainly find reason to keep her busy in the galley…and his bed. Something Erroll should be working on, instead of stopping to help a ship in trouble. The lady had agreed to bake another batch of bread thus ending the negotiations for her bath with his acquiescence.

  The thought of indulging in more of her rolls tomorrow—and the thought of her naked in the captain’s massive tub at this very moment—were enough to induce Erroll to order Captain Mercantile to slow their speed. He would hate to reach their destination before he’d had a chance to enjoy more rolls…and her. A mere fantasy. Oscar wasn’t about to let her out of his sight long enough for Erroll to kiss her, much less strip her naked. Not to mention, Somerset stood guard along with the brute to ensure the ladies’ privacy while they bathed. That left only the pleasure of the morr
ow’s bread making for Erroll to enjoy.

  “Do you know this area?”

  Captain Mercantile’s question intruded upon the mental picture of Miss Crenshaw at the counter pounding her bread batter into submission wearing nothing but a white apron.

  “Yes, I do,” Erroll said. “My father owns land on this side of the island. Travel by coach is impossible from here, which is why I wanted to put in at Tobermory in the north. Let’s have a look at that ship, Captain.”

  Captain Mercantile called an order to change course and, twenty minutes later, they glided into the cove with Erroll and the captain on the quarterdeck. The captain stood ready with a megaphone while Erroll scanned the ship through the spyglass. His gaze snagged on the swivel guns mounted to the side of the ship. They appeared well kept. A shout went up and Erroll shifted the glass. Half a dozen men on deck pointed at the collier. One man disappeared below deck and, a moment later, the man returned with another man Erroll wagered was the captain or first mate.

  Once the collier drifted close enough, the captain shouted through the megaphone, “Captain Mercantile of the Margaret Ann. “Are you in need of assistance?”

  “Captain Johnson, here,” the biggest man shouted back through a megaphone. “We discovered water in the bilge and put in to have a look.”

  “How much water?” Mercantile called.

  “A few inches.”

  “Did you find the source of the leak?”

  “No,” Johnson shouted, “but there’s no new water in the last two hours.”

  “May I?” Erroll nodded to Captain Mercantile’s megaphone. The captain handed it to him, and both men took two steps to the left to stay closer to Johnson as the collier drifted while Erroll shouted into the megaphone, “What are you transporting?”

  “Wool from Fort William.”

  “My first mate is an engineer,” Captain Mercantile told Erroll. “He can have a look, if Johnson likes.”

  Erroll relayed the information, but Captain Johnson shook his head. “Thank you, but no. We have lost precious time as it is. My investors will be none too pleased if we fall further behind.”

  Erroll grinned. “Aye, investors are often a pain in the arse. As it happens, I represent Captain Mercantile’s investors. We delivered coal in Belfast and are sailing onto Tobermory to meet with prospective buyers about importing coal onto the island.” To Erroll’s relief, Captain Mercantile listened to this lie without betraying surprise.

  “You are not familiar with these waters?” Captain Johnson called back.

  “No,” Erroll replied. “We were told the game on the island is excellent, though. I anticipate a little hunting. This cove has easy access. What do you know of the bird game here?”

  Captain Johnson took several steps to his left to keep in line with them and shouted, “I sent someone ashore earlier. My man said there was nothing of consequence within a half hour walk.”

  “Would they hunt at night?” Captain Mercantile asked Erroll out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Wild boar or deer, perhaps,” Erroll answered, “but they would have to know the land. Since I do not recognize the captain, I doubt that is the case.”

  “If you are certain you do not need anything…” Erroll called to Captain Johnson.

  “No, but I thank you.”

  Erroll waved goodbye, and he and Captain Mercantile started down the stairs to the main deck. “Have your men set sail.”

  “Lee-ho,” the captain called out.

  “Lee-ho,” the first mate repeated in a loud voice.

  Then Mercantile called, “Ready about.” The first mate repeated the order as Mercantile said to Erroll, “What do you think they’re up to?”

  “Smuggling.”

  “French brandy?”

  “There is little else of worth to smuggle these days. But this cove is too far north for him to have come from Fort William, which makes me curious why he lied.” They reached the stairs leading below deck. “There’s a tiny cove just up the coast. The cliffs on the shore are higher than those here, so they cannot spot our masts as we did theirs. We will put in there. I’ll go ashore and double back to have a look.”

  “They may sail before you return.”

  “True, but we cannot risk a confrontation. Did you see the swivel guns mounted on the outside of the hull?”

  “I did,” Captain Mercantile said.

  “They even had a howitzer,” Erroll said. “You have some fine cannons on this collier, and a good crew, but I suspect those smugglers are better armed than your sailors. I also have the ladies to consider. Please inform me when we reach the cove.”

  Half an hour later, Erroll jumped from the jollyboat into the calf deep water at the shore of the small cove. The two men with him hopped out and the three of them pulled the boat onto shore. They hiked into the trees, over the hill, and finally reached the edge of the trees on the other side. The brigantine remained anchored in the cove, and the clouds parted to illuminate two longboats beached on the shore.

  “So the buggers went ashore after all,” Joseph said in a thick Irish brogue.

  Erroll scanned the beach with the spyglass. “Indeed.”

  Clouds marched across the moon in a steady stream and Erroll watched through the spyglass in the intermittent gloom. They waited fifteen minutes before men emerged from the trees. Erroll counted eight young men and boys herded by four burly sailors. Anger whipped through him. He’d expected illicit contraband, not slavers. In a flood of moonlight, Erroll glimpsed Gordon and Nab, youths from a tiny village half a mile inland.

  “Bloody hell,” Joseph snarled. “A press gang. I didn’t know the slavers worked the Inner Hebrides,”

  “Neither did I,” Erroll replied. “Aberdeen is their main hunting ground. So much for Parliament abolishing slavery this past week. I wager Captain Johnson steered clear of the main cities in case citizens decided to take the new law into their own hands. That may explain why he’s keeping to the coast.”

  “Bastards,” Erroll’s second companion, David, cursed.

  “We can’t let them sail,” Joseph said.

  “I agree,” Erroll said. “But by the time we get the collier back here, they could be gone, and we have the women to consider.”

  “I’ll swim out and board the bloody ship,” David said.

  “Very brave of you,” Erroll said. “But we have no idea how large their crew is. I have only a single shot revolver, as do you gentlemen.”

  “Two shots and powder.” David produced a pistol from the back of his waistband, then turned his hip slightly to reveal the pouch strapped to his belt.

  “I have a knife,” Joseph said.

  Erroll gave an approving nod. “Well done, but the odds are still very much against us. If we confront them in the collier, we could end up sinking the ship with the men chained below.”

  Joseph cursed under his breath. “The men have a better chance if we let the slavers take them.”

  “Sadly, yes.” Erroll wondered how he was going to tell Gordon and Nab’s mothers he’d watched while the slavers took their sons, then realized he didn’t have to. “Are you two gentlemen good shots?”

  “I can hit a fly at fifteen paces,” Joseph said.

  “I can hit a man, well enough,” David said.

  “Fine, then we will do our best to save these lads,” Erroll whispered. “There are four men and we have four shots.” Only the angels of God could direct their bullets to all four intended victims with the first shots—and that would take Michael the archangel, the only celestial being willing to commit murder, no matter how justified. “Joseph, if you would, give me your knife. I will attack head on,” Erroll said. “You two stay here and fire from the trees.”

  “We won’t stay behind like scared women,” Joseph said indignantly.

  “Not hiding, lad, strategy. When you two shoot, the sailors won’t know how many men we have. If we can take down two of them, the remaining two might run like the cowards they are. I want to get as clo
se as possible, so hold your fire until I shoot.”

  The men grunted in acknowledgment and Joseph drew his knife from a boot sheath and handed it over. Erroll pulled his gun from his waistband and stuck the spyglass in its place then, knife in one hand and gun in the other, he scurried from the cover of trees. The clouds abruptly parted and Erroll’s heart jumped to a gallop. He pulled back the hammer on his pistol. The clouds rolled across the moon and the men kept going. Seconds later, with Erroll twenty feet from the men, a boy cried out and the big sailor whirled. Erroll fired. The sailor stumbled backwards as another shot sounded.

  The sailors’ curses mingled with the boys’ cries of surprise and the report of a third revolver followed. A fourth weapon was fired, this one from one of the sailors. The boys scattered in the pandemonium. One of the two remaining sailors swung his gun in Erroll’s direction. Erroll drew back his knife to throw, but one of the bigger boys barreled into the sailor’s ribs. The sailor’s gun went off and he and the boy crashed into the sand. Erroll turned, scanning for the last sailor and saw him disappear into the trees to the west.

  “Laird,” a young man called as the boom of a cannon sounded from the brigantine.

  “Get down!” Erroll shouted.

  Everyone dove onto the sand as another boom rolled across the water. The first orange–sized ball thudded into the sand two feet away and sprayed sand even as a third cannon fired. He lifted his head as the second ball soared past and spit up sand between two of the boys who lay five feet away. One lad cried out and two boys jumped up. The third ball landed short, closer to the water, and Erroll shoved to his feet. The remaining boys followed suit.

  “Move, lads.” Erroll pointed toward his companions, who had left the trees. The boys remained rooted to where they stood and Erroll realized they were afraid of the men. “They’re friends,” he shouted. “Move.”

  The boys rushed forward. Erroll waited until the last boy flew past then turned, taking several long strides as he pulled the spyglass free of his waistband. He slowed and looked at the brigantine. Captain Johnson stood on the quarterdeck staring back through his spyglass.