by H. C. Brown
“Aye, the English do have that opinion since the rising. We are a threat to King Geordie, but we are men of honor. We have an aristocracy as ye do and are well educated. I am to begin studies at the University of St. Andrews in the New Year.” He cleared his throat. “We believe the English are the barbarians. Did they not destroy the church at a whim of a king who murdered his wives in order to take another to his bed? Then King Henry had the audacity to put himself in the place of the Pope.” His intent gaze flicked toward her. “The English hang men for stealing bread and make it public entertainment, yet call us barbarians. It is not so difficult to understand the reason we would prefer a Scottish king on the throne.”
The loyalty of the young man impressed her. He had a strong mind and put his case forward in a forthright manner. Conversations with him would be lively indeed. She took a freshly baked ginger biscuit from the plate and smiled at him. “I find it hard to believe the Scots do not commit punishable crimes.”
“Aye, they do and heinous ones too.” He placed a biscuit on his plate and lifted his chin. “We deal a little differently with criminals than the English.”
She lifted her cup and saucer and gazed at him. “How interesting. Do tell.”
“We belong to clans yer ken? If a clansman is caught doing something wrong, he is taken afore the laird or chieftain to plead his case. If the laird decides he is guilty, he must take his punishment in front of the entire gathering. Women are punished the same way, aye.” Ian met her gaze. “All are required to watch from the youngest lassie to the oldest man. If ye ever have the occasion to watch a man’s skin flailed from his back ye will never feel inclined to break the law.” He swallowed. “To lose your honor in front of the clan would be a punishment worse than death.”
Adrianna swallowed hard. “Have you witnessed this justice many times?”
“I have not seen more than two floggings in ma life.” Ian dropped his gaze. “Nayone would dare break the laird’s law.”
She sipped her tea noticing the loose fit of his jacket. He would need all his strength to row them to shore. She turned to Betty. “Collect large portions of food on each visit to the galley. From now on, Ian will take his meals here. I must ensure he eats well.” She turned her attention back to him. “Now, Mister Mackenzie, do tell what the phrase ‘dark o’ the moon’ means to you?”
“That would be the night of the new moon, ma lady.” Ian rubbed his chin. “I am worried it may have been last eve but I canna be sure.”
She closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. What else could possibly hinder her escape from this vessel? Storms had most likely delayed The Black Turtle. Perhaps Captain Jacques had changed his mind and had decided forgo the rendezvous and return to France. Good Lord, if so, she would have little hope of escape and be forced to marry du Court. She opened her eyes and sighed. “If the time has already passed then the jig is up.”
“Not necessarily, ma lady. The ship would not drop anchor in a storm. Mayhap, Captain Jacques means to meet with Drew tonight or perhaps tomorrow. It will be as black as pitch with the cloud cover and a new moon.” He rubbed his chin. “Whatever the day of the meeting we must be ready and need to find disguises for ye and Betty.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Yes, as the only women aboard this ship we would stick out like two left thumbs if we attempted to board a boat.”
“Aye ye would dressed in all your finery but the weather is not so fine yet awhile. If ye removed your shoes and covered your shifts with oilskins, ye would blend in with the crew just fine. Begging ma pardon for mentioning such a thing but ye should be better wearing men’s breeches under your skirts because it will be verra cold.” Ian frowned. “I will steal a few bags from the hold to carry a few of your necessities. It will be pitch black in the boat, so if ye keep your heads down, nay one will notice ye.” Ian pushed to his feet. “I will go topside to see if we are heading toward the coast, if Captain Jacques questions me, I will say you sent me to check the weather.”
Adrianna placed her cup on the table and gazed up at him. “How will you know if you cannot see land?” She admired this young man’s courage. Indeed, he almost made sport of escaping. “It is cloudy from the storm and the visibility will be limited.”
“Seagulls, aye.” He flashed a white grin. “I will be back in a while.” He moved his attention to Betty. “The crew will be busy making repairs to the ship, so ye will be safe to move around. I noticed one of the sailors storing oilskins in a chest under the ladder below the hatch, go and collect three. I will bring ye a few canvas bags but take only what is essential, aye. Remember not to make them too heavy, ye will have to carry them down a rope ladder and into the boat.” He stuffed a biscuit into his mouth and headed for the door.
“And how am I supposed to obtain a pair of men’s breeches? From what I have seen most of the sailors are dressed in rags.” Betty pushed her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Milady is not wearing filthy rags.”
“I have yet to hear Lord Moreau returning to his cabin. Knock on his door, if he is out, might I suggest ye remove some of the clothes from his chest? Mind, one of ye keeps watch in case he returns.” He unlocked the door and slipped outside.
Adrianna stared at the door for some moments before pushing to her feet. Her skin pebbled at the thought of wearing Lord Moreau’s clothing. She dropped her voice into a conspiratorial whisper. “I will knock on Lord Moreau’s door, if he does not answer run along to the galley to make sure he is not within. If the coast is clear, I will wait at the bottom of the ladder. If he approaches, I will insist he escorts me above for some fresh air. Collect what you need for your own use from his chest. I have a pair of woolen drawers I can wear.”
“Yes, milady.”
Adrianna drew a deep breath and straightened. She opened the door and hobbled the short distance to Lord Moreau’s cabin. She sniffed and not detecting the pungent scent of opium, knocked on the door. “Lord Moreau, may I have a word?”
Fear made her voice come out in a squeak and she had not considered what to say if he replied. Fortunately, no sound came from within. She beckoned her maid forward. “Off you go Betty and check if Lord Moreau is in the galley. I will take a look under the steps for some oilskins.”
Ignoring the ache in her hip, she shuffled toward the ladder. In the dim glow of a single lantern, she made out the outline of a large box hidden in the shadows. With care, she lifted the heavy lid and peered into the dark recess. A large rat hit the floor and scampered over her feet heading toward the galley its long tail held out behind it like an arrow. She pushed down the well of disgust and reached inside the box. Her fingers brushed over the slippery outside of a pile of folded oilskins. She collected three and shook each one to dislodge any hidden rodents then waited in the shadows for Betty to return. Long moments passed before the girl arrived and dashed inside their cabin. A few painful steps had her back to the safety of her room. She deposited the oilskins on the bunk and eased down beside them. “Well?”
Betty’s face flushed with excitement. “Lord Moreau is with Captain Jacques and for a while it seems. They ordered a fresh bottle of wine and had a meal sent up.”
“Good, we must act now, before he returns.” She waved Betty toward the open door.
She struggled from the bunk to follow and pain burned a hot trail down one leg. Moving cautiously along the hallway to Lord Moreau’s cabin, she glanced both ways before turning the knob, and edging the door ajar. A blast of opium-tainted air washed over her and she peered into the untidy cabin. Beneath a lamp on his desk, she spied the trappings used to keep him in his opium-induced stupor
“Good, he has left a lamp burning. I will find a pair of his britches, milady.” Betty stepped inside.
Adrianna lifted her skirts and biting back a gasp of agony dragged her feet back to the ladder to keep watch. To her dismay, the hatch opened pouring light into the corridor and voices drifted down to her through the opening. Above patches of blue sky, peeked between sails stretched with
wind. She edged up the rungs enough to see the crew repairing torn sails and removing debris from the deck. The ship was riding at full sail and cut through the water at a great pace racing the confection of white meringue clouds streaking the sky.
Salty fresh air tempted her and she gripped the rim of the hatch and eased her shoulders into the open. A delicious breeze brushed her cheeks and she turned toward the stern of the ship. Elation swept over her at the sight of Ian moving toward her. As he pointed to a flock of seagulls soaring in the wind above the ship, his young face creased into a wide smile. Land!
The meeting would take place soon.
Chapter Four
Drew pulled on a pair of gloves and eased each finger into the tight leather. With a degree of contempt, he clenched his fists and eyed the dark shadow of The Black Turtle anchored off shore. He feared for Adrianna’s safety and found it hard to believe a father would do such a thing to his only daughter. He did not trust Captain Jacques and the thought of Lord Moreau recognizing him curdled his weam. Not for his sake but Adrianna’s whereabouts would become common knowledge and no doubt, Lord Beachwood would have him hanged for smuggling and she would be defenseless.
His last dealing with the Captain Jacques had resulted in a number of items missing from the agreed transaction, but he could use this oversight to his advantage. Indeed, an argument would make a fine distraction.
He eased the crudely made mask over his eyes to keep his identity secret and let his hair fall loose around his shoulders. For the first time in his smuggling career, he would oversee the loading of his merchandise. If he made enough noise about compensation for the missing items, he would keep the attention on him and with luck, not a soul would notice Angus and Ian escorting Adrianna to shore.
Her sweet face and trusting smile filled his mind. Panic for her safety welled up inside him in an angry rage and one hand went to the dirk at his waist. If they have hurt her, I will kill them all.
A number of small lights glowed above rowboats bobbing beside the vessel. On deck, The Black Turtle’s lanterns illuminated a line of men carrying cargo to the nets marching back and forth like ants in the shadows. At the water’s edge, his men moved around in restless anticipation. All to a man had complained bitterly at his instructions to remove boots and plaid and don breeks to cover their naked arses. He grimaced at the thought of wading into the freezing water to land the boats. The wind alone cut through his shirt chilling him to the bone.
Captain Jacques’ usual practice of sending two men to row each boat left his men the task of unloading the cargo and replacing it with barrels of the clan’s finest aged whisky. He smiled into the darkness. Jacques would not be expecting Le Diable Noir—to board The Black Turtle to inspect the cargo.
A small lantern swaying above the waves caught his attention. As usual, Jacques dispatched one empty boat. His men would use the excuse of rowing ashore to pick up a passenger if the excise men had laid a trap. As the small craft rode the shore break toward the beach, he beckoned to Angus to follow him then plunged into the freezing waves and waded to the boat. The craft bobbed before him carried back and forth by the waves. He called out in French. “Bring it closer, you fools.”
The men used the oars and the swell brought the boat within reach. He grasped the edge of the boat and turned to drag Angus beside him. His godfather swore a string of Gaelic curses and fighting against the pull of the ocean’s currents spun the boat toward The Black Turtle. Drew gazed at the wary expressions of the sailors. In the darkness, their eyes reflected a demonic glow from the red flames of the lantern’s flicker. Pushing aside his notions of the Fin folk and the like, he continued to address them in French. “I am Le Diable Noir. I need to have a word with Captain Jacques.” He flung his soaking body into the boat.
“As you wish.” One of the men grabbed his arm and dragged him aboard.
He crawled to the side and offered a hand to Angus. As the big man slithered over the edge, the boat rocked wildly threatening to toss them into the black water. At the sight of Angus’s wild appearance, the sailors cried out in distress. With his long hair stuck to his face, Angus had risen like Poseidon from the inky depths.
Drew settled in the bottom of the boat and ordered the men to row back to the ship. Icy wind lashed through his wet clothes and he clamped his chattering teeth together. He waved a hand toward The Black Turtle. “Did the ship suffer from the storm?”
“It did, but we are used to such things.” The sailor picked up an oar. He grinned. In the light from the lantern, his teeth appeared to be no more than a line of blackened stumps. “You have had business with Captain Jacques before, surely you know he is no novice when it comes to sailing and we have survived worse.”
Drew propped his back against the bow and grimaced into the salty spray. The unforgiving blasts of icy wind plastered his soaking clothes to his skin. He shivered and wrapped his arms around his knees in an effort to keep warm. His mind filled with images of Adrianna drowning in the churning sea. He touched Angus’s arm and addressed him in Gaelic. “No matter what happens tonight, give me your word, you will keep the lady and Ian safe.”
Angus gave him a long considering stare then nodded.
“Aye, foolish as your plan is to rescue a Sassenach wench, ye have ma word.” He pushed a lock of soaking hair from his face and grimaced. “I hope ye ken what ye are doing. Ye risk them discovering ye are a Mackenzie. Continuing to use a go-between would have been safer on this side of the Channel.”
“Nay, I will deal with Captain Jacques from now on, he kens well enough Le Diable Noir, is held in high regard with King Louis. Moreau does not usually set foot outside of France.” He slapped Angus on the back and grinned. “Stick to the Gaelic at all times on board and get away to find Ian as soon as you are able. He will hide in the shadows toward the stern.”
He turned and smiled at the men pulling on the oars, sweat beading their brows. Mayhap they would allow him to row to keep warm. He smiled at the sailors and addressed them in French. “We would be happy to row and save your backs.”
“And get the cat for disrespecting Le Diable Noir. No, I think not.” The sailor moved the craft through the waves with practiced ease.
The Black Turtle loomed before him, a dark shadow in the gloom and an intimidating sight to be sure draped in its black glory. A ladder hung over the railing and the moment the small boat came alongside, he stood, grabbed the rope and swung his feet to gain purchase on the rungs. He led the way up the ladder ignoring the roiling of his wame caused by the worry of his plan going awry. Reaching the top, he determined the positions of the crew and noted what weapons they carried. Many had pistols tucked into the belts of ragged pants and the hilt of daggers glinting at their waists. All to a man drew weapons and glared at him.
He dropped onto the deck with Angus close on his heels and raised both hands. Angus scowled and made a sound of derision but followed his lead. Pirates surrounded them and made demands in guttural French. Picking out the largest man in the group, he turned his attention toward him. He urged frozen lips into a semblance of a smile and dropped his hands. “Gentlemen, I am Le Diable Noir. Inform Captain Jacques I wish to speak with him if you please.”
A man with a long scar down one cheek waved a pistol toward him.
“Wait over there. I will send someone to inform the captain. Do not wander. I will be keeping an eye on you.” The man pushed the pistol into the top of his britches and turned to speak to a member of the crew.
Drew backed up into the shadows until his legs hit a powder barrel. He heard a soft voice speaking Gaelic close behind him.
“Do not move or give anyone reason to discover ye ken me, brother, nor ye, Angus.”
Ian. Relief poured over him. He flicked a gaze into the shadows then turned and spoke as if addressing Angus. “Ian? Thank God. How fares my Lady Adrianna?”
“She is as well as can be expected being wi’ this bunch of foul mouthed louts.”
Drew bit back his sigh of r
elief. He had not rescued his bonny lass yet. “She will not have to suffer much longer. Are we set?”
“Aye, and ye should thank the Lord, I am alive too. The bastard Jacques had me in irons for two days. I have lowered a boat not ten paces away, but you will have to make a fine distraction for me to get the women overboard and down the ladder wi’ out being seen.”
Drew straightened, his heart pounding with excitement. “Ye ken I will.” He cleared his throat. “I wish I was the one carrying her from this vessel. She is my responsibility, not yours.”
“Dinna fash, ye are doing your part well enough and she kens the risk ye are taking to save her.” Ian moved closer keeping to the shadows. “I will have nay trouble moving them into the boat during the loading of the cargo, but I will need Angus’s help to get them ashore.”
“Aye, I ken you will. When I am speaking to Captain Jacques, I will make an excuse for Angus to go ashore. When you get the women to safety, head toward the south of the beach, and follow the path to the castle ruins.”
Adrianna’s sweet face drifted into his consciousness and he blinked the image away. She had etched a deep longing in him and no other had come close to replacing the lass in his mind. His heart squeezed with the recollection of intelligent sky blue eyes set in a bonny face and framed with a mass of curls the color of a burnished hazelnut. Jolted back to reality by Angus’s growl, he flicked a gaze at his godfather. His face had turned a disturbing shade of purple.
“I can see you lust after the lass.” Angus’s eyes had turned to black pools of hate. “Ye canna be thinking of stealing this lass for your own pleasure? I will not be a part of such a thing.”
He had not wanted anyone to discover his regard for Adrianna. He shook his head and glared at him. “I told ye afore. I gave ma word to rescue her and that is the truth of it.”
“I will not lift one finger to help ye destroy the clan’s business. King Louis will not hold ye in high regard after this or do business with you again if ye steal one of his baron’s brides.”
