by H. C. Brown
Weariness engulfed him. His life had become a game of chess and every move he made had consequences. He stared at the shadows of his clansmen moving along the beach and rubbed at the vein throbbing painfully in his temple. Circumstances had thwarted his intention to keep Le Diable Noir’s band of smugglers far from Scottish shores. God help him, he had saved Adrianna but if the excise men discovered his identity, they would all meet the hangman or face a lifetime in prison. He swallowed hard. Being laird, it would seem, had become more troublesome by the day.
* * * *
Lifted from the boat, Adrianna gripped the damp cloth of the shirt stretched across Angus’ shoulders. The Scot moved through the shore break and deposited her none too gently on the sand. Taking her bag from his outstretched hand, she met his angry gaze. “I thank you, Mister MacBride.”
She turned to see Ian’s face creased into a mask of concern. He splashed through the water with Betty hanging over one shoulder like a wet sheet, and carrying two canvas bags. The lad stumbled onto the beach gasping for breath and dropped the baggage.
“I am verra sorry I had to carry ye in such a distressing fashion, Betty.” Ian placed her gently on the sand. “Come along now, we need to find a place to hide.”
“Up yonder, lie the ruins of a castle.” Angus lifted his chin toward a rocky incline. “Follow the path to the keep. Our provisions are inside if ye need a bite to eat. We will be along shortly.” He flicked an angry glare at Adrianna. “I ken ye are in fear of Lord Moreau, but he will not trouble ye now. So if ye have a mind to run away think verra hard on how displeased the laird will be, ye kenning our business and all.”
Her stomach squeezed and her throat constricted. How dare this man make such threats? She lifted her chin and gave him her best haughty stare. “We both have our secrets, Mister MacBride. Do you imagine I would make mention of any of this? I hold your clan in the highest regard for the assistance you have given me.”
“Well, if ye plan to stand here any longer the jig will be up. Get away with ye afore Captain Jacques spies ye standing here and sends his men after ye.” Angus leveled a black gaze on her, turned, and headed back to the boat.
“Give me the bags.” Ian held out a hand. “Follow me and mind ye stay close, aye.” He hoisted the bags over one shoulder and made his way toward the shadowed rocks.
She straightened her back, lifted the cumbersome oilskins from around her legs and followed him. Ian negotiated the pathway with apparent ease. She gaped after him. He must have the sight of an owl to move so swiftly in the darkness. In agony, she dragged her bare feet through the sand stumbling on the loose footing. Sharp sticks and pebbles cut into her flesh with each step up the incline. Betty followed behind muttering something unintelligible under her breath. Hidden from view by the rock wall rising high on each side of the passageway, none of the sailors from The Black Turtle could witness their escape.
She limped steadily upward, wrinkling her nose at the stink of seaweed and dead fish. She set her gaze on Ian’s outline, but he disappeared into nothing more than a black figure in the distance. The path widened at the summit and ahead a ruined castle loomed out of the darkness, its damaged ramparts creating a jagged horizon against the indigo twilight sky. Exhausted and unable to catch her breath, she bent over hands on knees, and gasped at the unbearable pain searing through her leg.
“Look, the castle is just over there, it is not much further.” Ian moved to her side, his expression unreadable in the darkness.
Adrianna straightened and sucked in the clean, crisp sea air. She could hardly inform him of her injuries and strengthening her resolve took a hesitant step toward the castle on the sodden ground. “Very well, Mister Mackenzie, lead on.” She turned and smiled at Betty. “Come on, Betty.”
Swathed in oilskins Betty moved to her side. Hair had fallen from her cap and tangled in the wind. The girl met her gaze. “Let me help you, milady, you are favoring that leg something awful. Maybe these good men will have herbs to make a poultice?”
“Are ye hurt?” Ian stopped and turned his attention to Adrianna. “Ye should have told me.”
Her face grew hot. “I should do no such thing. It is not polite to discuss such things in mixed company, Mister Mackenzie.”
“Aye, it is. We have a long way to travel and if ye are hurt, it will only get worse untreated. My brother, Drew, is verra good with herbs and the like. He will have ye well in nay time at all.” Ian peered at her. “Do ye want me to carry ye the rest of the way?”
“No, I can manage.” She touched his arm. “I thank you for helping us escape. I am in your debt.”
“Nay, it was Drew’s plan. I understand ye dinna ken he was a smuggler, but dinna hold it against him. Ye ken risked everything to rescue ye, ma lady.” Ian moved onto a gravel path. “Mind ye keep on the grass, aye, these rocks are sharp underfoot.”
“Indeed, but how did he come to meet Lord Moreau?”
“He met Lord Moreau at King Louis’ court but as Monsieur Alexander. Should he discover his true identity and I ken King Louis is privy to it, he would use the information to his advantage, especially now.” Ian frowned. “He would ken you are with Drew and inform the authorities. We would all be hanged for smuggling.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Heaven help us all.”
Outside the ruins, Ian ordered her to wait with Betty out of the wind. As he moved away, panic gripped her and she laid a hand on Betty’s arm. “I am sorry to involve you in my troubles. I will find a way for you to get back to England as soon as I am able.”
“I will never leave you, milady.” Betty moved closer and a strand of her unruly hair brushed Adrianna’s cheek. “You have saved me from a life on the streets.”
“This way.” Ian loomed up in the darkness. “The Great Hall is still intact and there is a fire burning. I will see ye safe inside then I will stand guard to give ye time to tend your wounds.”
She smiled at him. “I thank you, but I have nothing to use to treat my injuries. I am sure if you could find me a little water to wash the sand from the cuts it will be sufficient.”
“There will be a water skin inside. I will search for it but keep the oilskins wrapped around ye. It will get verra cold tonight.” He led the way into the darkness.
A door creaked and the warm glow of a fire illuminated the space and glistened in the patches of damp on the walls. She covered her nose at the acrid stench of horse manure, roast meat, and sweat. How long had the men stayed in this room? Did Scots ever bathe? “My God, Mister Mackenzie, this place smells like a pig sty.”
“But it is not so cold in here and sheltered from the wind. Sit by the fire and warm yourself. I will find ye some water.” Ian disappeared into the shadows, his boots clattering on the stone floor.
She moved toward the light. The massive fireplace held a spit complete with a pig roasting over hot coals. On one side of the hearth hunched a very frightened lad of about ten years old. Her mind insisted she had imagined him and she blinked into the gloom. Two round eyes peered up at her and the boy’s red hair glowed in the firelight. He wore a kilt, long knitted stockings and fine leather boots. He muttered something in a foreign tongue and she glanced around to search for Ian. “Mister Mackenzie. There is a boy here. Perhaps you should speak to him?”
Ian’s face broke into a wide smile. He handed a water skin to Betty and greeted the boy in the same garbled language. Adrianna gazed back and forth between the two with surprise. The boy was chattering ten to the dozen.
“This is Angus’s boy, Dermot. Drew left him behind to tend the fire. I have explained the situation, ma lady.” He rubbed his chin. “Ah, he will not understand ye and neither will many of ma clan, most of them only speak the Gaelic.”
She tasted the word on her lips before repeating it. “Gaelic? Ah yes, Drew spoke to Lord Rupert in the same language. I gather it is native to Scotland?”
“Aye, like the Welsh and Irish we have our own language. So did ye afore the Romans conquered En
gland.” Ian grinned. “Ah well, nay matter. Drew speaks many languages and Angus speaks the English fine. Ye dinna have to worry, most likely ye will not need to speak to any of the lads.”
“And the womenfolk?”
“Some do, aye and ma mam speaks French so ye will be fine.” Ian pushed his hair away from his face and caught it in one fist to retie the ribbon. He glanced toward the door and frowned. “I hear the men coming. Bide beside the fire and dinna say a word until Drew explains why he saved ye.”
The door to the Great Hall creaked open and the raucous voices of men and the tramp of boots echoed in the hallway. She took a firm grip of Betty’s arm and sat down bedside the fireplace giving the Highlanders her back.
Drew strode into the Great Hall and ignored the two women bundled up in oilskins beside the roasting pig. He did not intend to run to Adrianna gather her in his arms, and suffer a public rejection. He would need the opportunity to explain his situation to her. There would be time enough to atone for his sins on the journey to Inverness. For the time being, he would keep his true intentions from his clan. He forced his attention on Ian. “Och, Ian. God man it is good to see ye safe on land.” He gripped his brother in a hug. “Ye did verra well. I am proud of ye.”
“Aye well, it was a might more difficult than I had imagined. Captain Jacques was not one to take his eye off of me for more than a second.” Ian grinned. “The women are a might distressed. Do ye want a word with them now, or should I allow them to rest a while?”
“Let them bide, I will speak with them later but I want ye to take them outside so the men can change out of their wet clothes unless—do they have a fancy to watch, do ye think?” He winked at his brother.
“I dinna think so and ye should ken the answer being you are Lady Adrianna’s particular friend. I will bid them wait in the hallway for a bit, aye?” Ian slapped Drew on the back and went to the women.
Drew shivered and lifted the hem of his soaked shirt. He heard a snort of derision from Adrianna and chuckled. Sassenach’s believed Scots to be barbarians and living rough, aye, they came very close, but he waited until Ian had herded them from the room before he removed his shirt and breeks.
Ian returned, his cheeks flushed and he grinned at him. He had embarrassed the lad. “Ye are acting like a mother hen, Ian.”
“Nay, ye dinna understand. Lady Adrianna is injured and limping badly from being tossed about in the storm aboard ship last eve.” A frown masked his handsome features and he glanced down at the wineskin dangling from his fingertips. “She has suffered cuts on her feet from the journey here too. Will ye tend her, brother?”
Christ, she is hurt and I must act as if she means nothing to me. He tempered his anxiety and narrowed his gaze. “I doubt verra much a fine Sassenach lady is going to allow me to treat her and especially not in front of ma men. Particular friend or no.”
“There must be a room off this hall you can use away from the men.” Ian met his gaze. “Surely you can at least offer her your assistance?”
He pulled on his shirt. “Hand me ma plaid afore my parts fall off wi’ the cold.” He took the thick woolen strip of tartan and wrapped it around his waist. “And the belt.” He secured the kilt and sat on the cold ground to pull on his stockings and boots. “As soon as the men are decent, I will have a word with her.” He slid his dirk inside one boot and stood then glanced around the room to make sure his men had dressed. “Go and get them now if ye please and take them well away from the men. I will need a private word wi’ them, ken.” He ran both hands through his damp hair. I have not a clue what to say to the lass.
Dismayed and shaken by the ordeal, Adrianna limped back into the Great Hall. In truth, she had expected Drew to come to her at once. Bad enough, he had neglected to inform her he was Le Diable Noir before seducing her beyond reason, but to ignore her arrival was unforgivable. Where was he? Not with this band of foul smelling brigands to be sure. She would complain about his men’s blatant disrespect toward her, one had acted like a scoundrel and dared to expose his back in her presence.
Lifting the heavy oilskins from her battered toes, she followed Ian to a dusty alcove and stopped mid-stride causing Betty to bump into her. Somewhere in the miasma of sounds, she heard Ian’s voice but her attention fixed on the man strolling toward her. Good Lord! Surely, this vision of male perfection could not be Drew Mackenzie? She gaped at him. Oh yes, she would know him anywhere even with his hair all about his shoulders and dressed in a kilt. His handsome countenance, unforgettable emerald eyes, breadth of shoulder, and hair with a raven’s blue-black shine haunted her imaginings.
Unsure of the turmoil of emotions he evoked, she swallowed the lump in her throat and with due consideration to the pain in her hip gave him her best curtsy. Rising, she offered her hand and smiled. “So we meet again, Mister Mackenzie.”
He lifted a large hand toward her cheek and she flinched away. A strange, uncertain expression flitted across his face. He dropped his hand and stood stiffly before her. His green gaze narrowed.
“It is Laird Mackenzie now, ma father died.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper and stepped closer, sending a hint of bergamot laced with fresh male sweat over her. “Why on God’s earth did ye board The Black Turtle and not take a coach to Scotland?”
Her heart sped and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to avoid leaning toward him. She inclined her head. “I am sure Rupert explained my situation to you in detail.”
“Ye situation? Aye, lass, I ken verra well ye are betrothed to Baron du Court.” He snorted and gazed into the distance for some moments before returning his indignant gaze to her. “Why did ye agree to such a thing? There was nay need to accept the Baron’s offer. I asked ye to wait for me and gave ye ma word of honor I would return. Did ye not believe me?”
The scent of him, so delicious, made her want to swoon and be caught in his strong arms, but she lifted her chin determined to make her situation very clear. “When Lord Rupert informed my father he had decided to remove from London and would not be making an offer things moved very quickly. I barely had time to send him a letter informing him of my situation.” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I had nowhere to turn nor any excuse to offer my father to prevent the betrothal. I could not give him your name as a possible suitor. He had already made the settlement with Baron du Court and given Lord Moreau my dowry before he informed me. I protested most strongly, but you have no idea how difficult my father can be—I had no choice.”
“Aye, ye did. Ye had wits enough to contact Rupert afore ye left. Ye could have taken shelter in any Inn betwixt London and Scotland but nay, ye allowed Lord Moreau to escort ye to The Black Turtle.” His magnificent green eyes flashed with anger. “Do ye have nay idea what that man is capable of doing to a woman alone?”
“Yes, I do now but I had thought to escape at a port along the way. I had no idea The Black Turtle was a pirate ship until I boarded.” Disillusioned, she dropped her gaze. “I cannot believe it was my father’s intention to place me in danger.”
Ian, his face contorted with rage, gripped Drew’s arm and gave him a quizzical stare.
“What has got into ye brother?”
Drew rounded on him, his mouth turning down.
“I ken the lass well and would have called upon her in a respectable fashion, but her father warned me most soundly not to cast a glance in her direction or he would have the English army on our doorstep.” He made a low sound of derision. “Nay doubt, he believed a murderer a better match than a Scottish Laird.”
My father betrayed me—again. Pain stabbed at Adrianna’s heart. Could he be speaking the truth? “You h–have met my f–father?”
“Och aye, I met him the same night I met ye but he was not man enough to speak to me wi’ out six or more of his friends present. He made his position verra clear. Why did ye think I asked Rupert to arrange our meetings?”
Unable to make sense of the implications, she gaped at him. “Rupert did mention his concerns.
I was of the opinion my father would not accept your offer until you had come into your fortune and I do believe you made the same excuse for our charade.” Her mind in turmoil, she pressed one hand against the wall in an effort to remain standing. “It would seem I am the recipient of a foul jest for both of you lied to me.”
“Aye well, nay a lie more an exaggeration of the truth. I dinna want ye accepting the likes of Lord Balham and I had planned to go to your father once ma finances were in order.” He shook his head slowly. “But ye did not give me the opportunity, did ye? Why when I gave ye ma word of honor to return did ye accept Baron du Court’s offer?”
The pain of rejection subsided into irritation. She straightened and glared back at him. “I am not betrothed to Baron du Court. In fact, I have not accepted a match with anyone. I had to make my father believe I went to France to consider Baron du Court’s offer. Do you really believe I wanted to leave England and chance never seeing you again?”
“To be perfectly honest, I dinna ken what to believe. Ye should have trusted me, Adrianna.”
How could he understand the way her father had treated her, abandoning her into the hands of a murderer? How she wished Drew would hold her in his strong arms rather than chastising her. Tears welled and she dashed them away. “Trust had nothing to do with the way of things. I am an unwed woman and as such, compelled to do my father’s bidding.”
