Righteous Side of the Wicked: Pirates of Britannia

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  Coire turned away from the window and leaned his hip against a chest of drawers while crossing his arms. His gaze swarmed down her body, his lips parting in what Treva hoped was appreciation. “She doesna like competition.”

  “Is there a contest?” She should have curbed her tongue, not wanting to know his relationship with the woman.

  An amused light danced in his eyes. “I’ve no interest in Annabel, if that’s what ye mean.”

  She ought to be relieved, but the truth was, he had to have had relations with someone in the brothel. She was no fool. Men had needs. So did women. She’d not pass judgment lest she wanted to be judged.

  “Why are ye doing this?” She swept her hands down her dress.

  “Yours was filthy and ye canna go around looking like a beggar boy.”

  She chuckled. “This I canna argue.”

  “Besides, look respectable, be treated well.”

  He was right, of course. “Thank ye.”

  He lifted a shoulder. “No need to thank me. ’Twas your coin.”

  She laughed outright. “Fair enough.”

  Soon, Coire escorted her into yet another nondescript building. A massive fireplace cast the tavern in a warm glow. Smells of yeast and stew cloyed at her nose. Patrons lined long tables, engaged in conversation, eating a meal, or tapping their toes to the fiddler perched on the bar. All were drinking.

  He led her to a large, round table tucked in the back of the tavern where Jonesy and two others sat and pulled out a chair for her. As she took her seat, she was stunned to realize she sat among an unfriendly audience.

  Treva vaguely heard Coire’s introduction, though none was needed. She was quite familiar with Graer MacDougall. Her uncle spared her a moment’s glance. But that one moment was enough—he was no more pleased to see her than she was of him.

  Coire frowned as he eyed the both of them. Had he expected they’d know each other? Or that Graer would welcome her with a warm embrace? Laughable.

  “So ye had no trouble, did ye?” Graer assessed Coire with the eye of a hawk—a balding, age-worn hawk.

  Coire grunted as he waved to a serving girl to bring drinks. “A bit. Was unexpectedly boarded…twice.” It was Jonesy’s turn to grunt, but with a grin as he drank from his mug. “But the cargo is intact and ready to offload.”

  “British?”

  “Aye.”

  Graer snarled, cursing under his breath. “There’re everywhere, like goddamned cockroaches.”

  “Filthy cockroaches,” Graer’s lackey agreed over the rim of his cup.

  “And they didna find the cargo?” Graer asked.

  “They didna find what they were looking for.” Coire was sly in how he did not make eye contact with her uncle, preferring, instead, to give his attention to the serving girl setting their drinks on the table.

  Treva rubbed her hands upon her lap to keep from snatching her drink from the girl’s tray and draining the mug to calm her edginess. She knew all too well what Coire was and was not saying.

  “We’ll off load it as soon as ye hand over payment.” Coire took a hearty swig of his ale.

  “I canna. Not until ye transport it to Taylough.”

  Taylough? Nay, that was no good. The English were near there expecting trouble while members of the royal family visited the Isle of Cumbrae. But she’d make no plea, she’d not give herself away. Her only concern was getting home in time.

  Jonesy’s brow creased with the severe cut of his frown, his spine stiffened. So did that of the Graer’s man. But Coire’s expression remained impassive.

  “That wasna part of the plan,” he said.

  “The plan has changed. The British have plagued Scarba like a pox. It must go to Taylough. We’ve a contingent there ready to launch an attack while members of the Hanoverian family, under little protection, are visiting there.”

  Coire slowly swilled from his mug and gently set it down. “I’ve served my part of the deal. I require payment now.”

  “And I require ye to sail to Taylough. No payment until the cargo is delivered.”

  “Ye risk much by refusing to honor our agreement.” His tone was cool, but his intent was deadly. “What is to keep me from selling yer cargo to another? Hell, what’s to keep me from turning it over to the Royal Navy, courtesy of you?”

  Graer shrugged. “I have since made another alliance. Should ye refuse, I’ll simply have him confiscate yer ship and finish the delivery.”

  Jonesy ever-so slightly shifted in his seat closer to Treva, easing his hand to the pistol at his hip. Graer’s man also prepared for a fast draw of his weapon. Treva’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, ready to flee at the slightest movement.

  Coire hadn’t moved a muscle, save methodically running his thumb over his fingernails. “Ye threaten me, Graer MacDougall?”

  “Nay. I do.” Treva hadn’t even noticed the man deep in the shadows of the corner. As he stepped forward and the shadows peeled away, her lungs seized. And he wasna looking at Coire, his deadly gaze was upon her. God save her.

  “Captain Dread.” Coire acknowledged the man with spite on his tongue. “I canna say it is a pleasure to see ye again.” He knew the wretched pirate? How was it Coire could maintain such composure. The man was the devil incarnate. And her despicable bastard uncle was openly ready to double-cross him.

  “Pleasure is not what I give, ’tis what I take, Fletcher.” Dread’s gravelly voice cut her to shreds. Her knee bounced to the staccato beat of a scared rabbit’s heart, and she was scared.

  “I had ye pegged for a smarter man, Graer.” Coire shook his head as if disappointed in a misbehaving son. “Crossing one pirate with another? That’s how enemies are made.”

  “I dinna care who gets the guns to Taylough, just as long as they get there. But I winna pay a scoundrel before the delivery is made.”

  “Verra well, but I require more coin.”

  Graer sneered as he straightened in his seat. “To cross the Sound of Jura?”

  It was then Treva noticed Jonesy had his pistol trained upon her uncle under the table. That left little doubt Graer’s man was doing the same, aiming at Coire. She squeezed her eyes shut and sent a quick prayer for the tension to relent. Her spine might snap from the intensity as it was.

  “’Twould be a small thing for my men to relieve Captain Fletcher of his burdens.” Dread’s gaze made a trek to her, landed on Jonesy, slid to Jonesy’s lap, back to Treva, before settling back onto Coire, all in the space of a swallow.

  “So would dumping the cargo into the sea.” Coire leaned in just enough to ensure his next words were taken in stark sincerity. “I’ve a faster ship and better, agreeable relations than my…counterpart. Do ye think it wise to cross me now, MacDougall? Makes little difference to me if yer weaponry makes it into the hands of the rebels.”

  Graer scratched at his graying beard, snarling as if he’d eaten a rotting egg. “Seven pounds more, payable today.”

  “Ten. That’s a day’s wage for each of my men.”

  “Ye allow him to exploit ya.” Dread’s loathing permeated like a sick odor.

  “Hold yer tongue, Dread. I’ve another mission that will slake yer need for bloodthirst and fill yer strongbox.”

  “Assuming I’m interested in yer war games.” Dread leaned his shoulder against the wall. The shadows shrouded most of him again, but Treva felt his gaze boring into her. She calculated the distance to the front door, the obstacles to get there. She just might make it if this meeting soured. Ah, why could she not control her racing heart?

  “Angus is already in Taylough awaiting yer arrival. He will have the rest of yer payment.”

  “And he will be dead if he does not,” Coire interjected.

  Treva could keep her silence no more. “Do ye think it wise to send arms to Taylough whilst the British camp at the port?”

  Graer turned his steely stare upon her for the second time since she sat. “Ye speak when not spoken to?”

  “Be rest assured I winna waste
my words upon ye.” Another set of eyes fell upon her. She dare not look at him. “I have knowledge that English companies are occupying every port on Cumbrae.”

  “And I say they’re not. Angus would have sent word.” Graer turned away, refusing once more to acknowledge her existence. “Ye leave straightaway, captain. We must get the weapons to Taylough as soon as possible while we are at an advantage. I’ll send Rupert with yer coin within the hour.”

  Coire pulled his gaze away from her. “I’ll weigh anchor as soon as the delivery is made. About, Miss MacDougall. She—”

  “Is no concern of mine. I’ve no use for two-faced rubbish.”

  The dirty, disgraceful, vile arse. Had Dread not frozen her in place, she’d drive her fist into her uncle’s ugly face.

  This meeting was not at all going as planned. He hadn’t entirely been surprised by Graer’s scheme. In Coire’s line of work, he didna trust anyone to follow through with what they promised. ’Twas good practice to have an upper hand with all business dealings. He’d have no problem with selling the guns to the next highest bidder. Nor would he think twice about dumping the cargo in the sound just to make a lasting point.

  Graer bringing Dread to the table was a bad move. The Scot was all too ready to dismiss Coire without pay. He had ensured Coire would not do business with the man again. ’Twas an insult and one he would not forget.

  He also wasna surprised by Dread’s willingness to take on Coire and his men—pirate brethren or not. Dread’s vague threats only underscored he hadn’t liked how much activity Kelpie was being hired out for, that there was lucrative business dealings besides extortions and menacing. Coire had encroached on his playground.

  What had surprised him were the reactions of both men to Treva. Dread hardly paid mind to the men at the table, his predator-like gaze devouring her. Just as he was now while swirling his whiskey in his cup. She refused to look his direction and kept her head down during most of the conversation. Graer had spat out what sparse words he had of and for her, accusing her of being traitorous. All the more reason Coire was suspicious of the lady’s intentions.

  But he was a man of his word and would see her to her destination. “She’s a MacDougall and needs passage to Oban,” Coire said. “As a member of the clan, I would hope ye could make sure that happened.”

  “And I dinna claim her as a part of the clan. There’s no one in Oban who’ll have her.”

  The lass fairly bristled with the slur. “Duncan—”

  “Isna there. She can whore herself to Oban.”

  What in God’s name had she done?

  “I’ll take her.” Dread downed the rest of the contents of his mug. “I have a favor to return to the lass.”

  Treva exploded from her seat and darted for the door, startling everyone. Jonesy began to rise but Coire put a hand upon his arm to stay him. ’Twas not their problem. Only he didna really feel that way. Especially not after Dread nodded to one of his lackeys across the room to follow her. He had seen her sheer fear of Dread. Now it was clear he was the reason she didna want to come to Scarba. What had the scoundrel done to make the feisty woman so terrified she’d bolt as if she were on fire?

  Coire cursed to himself. He couldna leave her to Dread.

  Graer chuckled into his mug. “A fair riddance.” The comment was spoken under his breath but Coire heard him well enough. And it annoyed him. He was all too ready to bid the same to the arse.

  “If we’re done here…” Coire got to his feet. “I’ll expect yer man with payment within the hour, MacDougall.” The warning not to cross him wasna necessary, but he did it anyway.

  Graer grunted and tipped his chin. “He’ll be there.”

  Coire nodded to Dread and took his leave.

  Outside, he scanned the street to determine the lass’s route. “I suspect Captain Dread will interfere with the rest of this commission,” he said as Jonesy came up beside him. “Get back to the ship handsomely and make sure all provisions are loaded and the men ready to sail. We weigh anchor as soon as we have Graer’s coin.”

  “But what of Miss MacDougall? We can’t—”

  Jonesy’s interest in Treva also annoyed Coire. He had practiced incredible self-control in not lopping the man’s arm off with his cutlass as he escorted her from the ship. He was practically preening himself on having the smile and ear of the beauty. It certainly hadn’t helped Coire’s mood. “I’ll find her. Now go.”

  Jonesy hesitated. He wanted to do the search himself, but he wisely turned on his heel and headed towards the docks.

  There wasna much on this Godforsaken island and it didna take Coire long to find her. He rounded a corner to find her doing a fine job at struggling against Dread’s lackey. But she seemed more like a frightened rabbit flopping violently in the jaws of a hound than a calculating wildcat. Especially after he twisted her arm and she dropped the sgian dubh she’d been clutching. She escaped a step or two before he caught her by the arm. Whether she meant to or not, the heel of her shoe met with his shin. The blighter hissed and used the back of his hand across her face.

  Something hot and rabid ruptured inside Coire.

  He clamped down on the maggot’s shoulder, spun him around, and hammered his fist into his face until his knuckles stung and blood poured freely. An easy feat, overcoming the wretch. Yet Coire used more force than necessary to subdue him. He shoved the lackey back where he smacked against the side of a building and crumpled to the dusty ground.

  Treva launched into Coire’s arms, clinging to his coat sleeves. “Please, please, Fletcher! I beg of you! Take me with you, wherever you go. Dump me into the sea. I dinna care. Just dinna leave me here.”

  She trembled in his embrace. He marveled at how vulnerable she was in that moment, how she placed that vulnerability into his hands. And how he was driven to shelter her from all that made her anything less than the spitfire that was her. He realized he’d been rubbing the curves and hollows of her back to comfort her. Mercy, she felt good in his arms.

  “Come. It’s not safe here.”

  Treva’s tear-stained face turned up, imploring. “To yer ship?”

  “Aye.”

  He hadn’t planned to take her with him. But there was no way in hell he could leave her. And that wobbly smile nearly undid him.

  They quietly made their way back to Kelpie. On board, the tension in her shoulders visibly released. What had Dread done to the lass? He wasna sure he wanted to know. He might feel obligated to do something rash and avoidable. ’Twas fortunate Graer’s man, Rupert, had shown shortly after they had boarded to forestall him.

  With new coin in the strongbox, the Kelpie set sail. Treva had perched herself on the rail, keenly watching the crew working the ratlines and sheets. When she spotted him coming off the ladder from the helm, she hopped up and rushed to him.

  “Ye’ve been my savior once again, captain.” Her gaze hit the deck and her brow pinched. Strange that he had the urge to rub away the offending crease. And that annoyed him anew. Verra soon, all these irritations were going to turn him into a churlish barnacle. “But I implore ye to heed my warning. The British will be in Taylough.”

  Coire had been there once before. He knew it to be a place of Jacobite sympathizers. The chasm in his suspicion of her grew ever wider. “What makes ye certain?”

  “I—I heard things during my stay on Man.”

  “Did ye now?”

  She nodded rather emphatically. “Word had it the English knew there were rebels gathering there for a possible revolt or kidnapping.”

  “And one of yer guards freely gave ye this information?” Unlikely.

  She shrugged, completely avoiding an answer.

  “Well, our contact is in Taylough and Taylough is where we go.” But if she were right, his ship and crew would be in peril. He would proceed with extreme caution.

  “The rebels in Oban could use the ammunition.”

  Again with Oban. “Why is it ye really want to get to Oban?”

  Treva
was careful to maintain a direct look. It crossed his mind that she purposely leveled her green eyes in a way that demanded acceptance of her words. “’Tis home. I’ve family there.”

  “And yet Graer said otherwise and would have nothing to do with ye. Why is that?”

  “Bah! That cold-gutted, verminous, sodden murderer.”

  Coire’s eyebrows shot up.

  “My uncle abdicated me from the clan.”

  The lass didna make sense. “But ye just said you have family in Oban.”

  “Not everyone disowned me. Besides, Graer is a bonnet laird, not a clan chief.” She jeered. “Still, he managed to turn most of my clan against me, accusing me of being a loyalist and responsible for the English’s arrival burning our fields, among other lies.”

  “Lies… Is that a clan trait?”

  Treva turned and strolled to the railing. For a moment, Coire became hypnotized by the way the wind ruffled through her hair, her pert nose, and pouty lips that parted on a heavy, defeated sigh. “’Tis self-preservation.” She graced him with a quick glance. “Comes with being reckless.”

  “All right. But ye aren’t telling the whole tale.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, as if gauging how much to reveal. He expected nothing less than all of it. ’Twould bring him no comfort at all to cast her to her enemies because she withheld information.

  “Duncan, my cousin, he is to lead an uprising. I must stop him.”

  “Stop him? Graer said he wasna in Oban.”

  “I canna believe that cutthroat.”

  More like she refused. Her cousin was already on the move. Coire sensed that was a truth. Graer wouldna have offered the information on so little knowledge of why she headed to a place she’d been exiled from. “So ye suggest I sell my cargo to yer cousin’s allies.” What was she about?

  “More ammunition and guns winna stop the massacre that will befall them. But ye canna deny ’twould be a boon to amass more weaponry for a better time. They were to go to rebels, anyhow.”

  “Ye’d steal from yer uncle.” Perhaps her pirate ancestry flowed strong in her blood.