by Unknown
Ewan looked up, though he didn’t have an answer. Apparently Caden didn’t want him at Druim.
“I’ll keep away,” he said.
Caden launched a rock, hitting Ewan in the boot. “That’s not what I meant, brother.”
Brother? Caden hadn’t called him that since that hellish night his parents died. The night the old Macbain took him in as his own. Caden had called him brother then, accepting him into their family.
“The English may follow. I won’t lead them back to Druim,” Ewan explained.
“We can fool the bloody English,” Caden countered. “Hide you in the mountains beyond until they leave.” He drank from a bladder of stream water and rubbed an arm across his mouth. “You can come home any time. But that’s not where you want to go.”
Ewan felt anger tighten his gut. “And where the bloody hell do I want to go?”
“Not to hell,” Gavin said and grinned.
“Methinks to heaven with a golden-haired angel,” Donald finished with a chuckle.
“Shut your stupid mouth,” Ewan growled.
Caden raised an eyebrow. “You would abandon your wife?”
“She’s not my wife,” Ewan said and stood up.
“You claimed her, didn’t you?” Caden said. “I saw the scrap of wool she kept. She held it as sacred during the tournament.”
Och. The piece of plaid wool he’d given her. It didn’t matter. She’d just held onto it because… well, it didn’t matter.
“I unclaimed her when she came to the Tower.” Ewan looked up at the small hole of black sky among the tall trees surrounding them. Was Dory staring at the stars from the deck of her ship? Did she stand there and curse him, spit his name, wish for his pain? If she did, her wish was granted. The pain that engulfed him now rivaled the lethal stab of hunger.
“When you claim someone,” Caden said, “You do it with more than words. Same goes for breaking that claim.”
“What are you talking about?”
Caden shrugged. “You are free from the Tower, free from hell, yet torture sits in your face.” He switched to English and spoke softly. “Like when ye came to our house that night. Ye look like ye’re burning on the inside. That’s telling.”
“Telling ye what?” Ewan spat, not wanting to play this game of painful memories and riddles.
Caden stood, too, so that they faced one another.
“It tells me that you might have said you broke the claim on her, but that you didn’t.” His voice was irritated, as if he thought Ewan was being purposely dumb.
“So what? You want me to admit that I didn’t want to send her away?” Ewan spread his arms wide. “Aye, I lied to her to get her to leave, to save herself, but it doesn’t matter.”
“Why doesn’t it matter?”
Ewan’s chest hurt as if he were underwater. He inhaled but the pain only dulled. “She’s gone now, gone forever. ’Tis better that way. I’ll never wed.” He looked at the ground. “She never claimed me back anyway.”
“Oh?”
“Perhaps physically,” Ewan whispered, “but never an oath. I told her it didn’t matter, but… it does.” He looked up at Caden. “She never claimed me. We are not wed.”
Ewan turned to walk further into the forest, away from the pitying looks and jokes that would come to cajole him into a lighter mood.
“She told me she was your wife.” Caden’s words caught him like a whip around the neck, hitching his breath in his tight throat. “Said she loves you.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Ewan countered but stopped moving.
“She told me before ye were shot at the tournament.”
Ewan turned like a brittle blade bent to the point just before snapping. There was no humor in Caden’s face, not that he’d be cruel enough to lie about something like that. A trickle of hope cleaved through the rock in his gut.
“What did she say?” he asked, afraid to think that she could indeed care for him, that he could have hurt her much more than he’d thought when lying to her in the Tower.
“I asked her about ye, wanting to find out who she was to ye, and she said that she was yer wife.” Caden shrugged. “Seemed pretty obvious that she loved ye.”
“She never said that to me!” Ewan yelled. His fists clenched as if to pound someone, but there were no appropriate targets at present. He raked his fingers through his hair, tugging it until it hurt. “Bloody swiving hell! The things I said to her! Och!” He kicked a low bush, nearly uprooting it and yanked a branch from a tree.
“To be honest,” Donald said and stood. “She doesn’t seem like your type, Ewan.”
“She’s just as stubborn as he,” Searc chimed in with a mild grin as he scratched Maggie’s ears. The cat lay curled up on his lap.
“I like stubborn, myself. Rachel’s mighty opinionated. Makes life interesting,” Alec said and gulped some spring water from a flask.
Ewan ignored them and turned on Donald. “And what the bloody hell is my type?” he yelled back, not caring if all of England heard him.
“Sweet, simple, comfortable,” Gavin said from his spot by the fire.
“Fetching you ale and sweets,” Donald added.
“A lass easily within reach,” Gavin snorted and stood. “’Tis true. You haven’t had much of a challenge when it comes to the lasses. Perhaps Dory is just a challenge.”
She was a challenge, the biggest challenge he’d ever encountered. But she was so much more. She was warm and honest and pure of heart…if not of mouth. She knew what was right and she risked her life to champion it. There was nothing simple about Pandora Wyatt and yet… she was all that mattered.
Ewan grabbed up the small satchel they’d packed him. He whistled and Gaoth walked over. Ewan touched his forehead to his horse’s muzzle, a silent farewell.
“So you’ve figured out where you’re going?” Caden asked with the slightest hint of a grin.
Ewan turned to his brother. “Bloody hell,” he swore but felt his first real smile in over a fortnight.
…
“The Queen Siren? Aye, I’ve seen her. Took out of here about a fortnight and ten days ago,” the old sailor said as he rubbed his bristled jaw. “Seemed to be heading southwest, but you never know where they might end up.”
Ewan let the disappointment settle down with all the rest as he thanked the man by paying for his drink at the Withered Rose. He’d been in Barry harbor for two days and still had no way to get to Dory, even if he knew where she was. He’d spread the word that he was looking for a ship to carry him across the ocean in exchange for his help on the crew.
The door opened and a lad ran in with the sea breeze. He stopped by Ewan. “You the bloke looking for a ride on a ship?”
“Aye.”
The boy smiled, a grin full of teeth that seemed too big for his mouth. “There’s a ship at harbor, just came in for supplies.”
“Where does it hail?”
“The quartermaster said it was from London.”
Ewan stood to look out the dingy window at the three-masted ship moored in the harbor. It flew the British flag. He frowned. Not bloody likely.
“The British navy is no friend of mine,” he told the lad. Och! He’d have to lay low while they were in port.
“But the captain was asking for you, a Scot by the name of Brody. Ain’t you him?”
“Nay lad, I’m not,” he lied and tossed back the rest of his ale. “I’m MacPhearson, Aaron MacPhearson.” He slid off the seat and glanced behind the bar at the soft-all-over serving lass. She’d likely help him escape if her inviting smile was true.
The lad frowned. “When I told him that I thought you were Brody, he paid me a penny to come find you. Said he wanted to help you.”
“Help? Why would an Englishman want to help a Scot?” Help him back to the executioner was all the help an Englishman from London would want to give him.
“Says he’s looking for his niece and that Brody might know where to find her.”
Ewan’s stomach t
ightened. Wellington? He walked back to the window. So Wellington had a ship? And he wanted to find Dory. Bloody convenient. But what other choice did he have? Ewan mentally checked his weapons: a sword Caden had given him to replace his own and a dagger he’d bought in town. He walked down to the dock where Wellington stood, going down a list of needed supplies.
“Seems like a fairly extensive list, Wellington,” Ewan said. “Ye planning to circle the globe?”
James Wellington looked up at him with bored eyes, though the knuckles of his hand holding the list turned white. “As far as it takes to find my niece.”
“Ye didn’t seem all that interested in her in London.”
His lips tightened into a line. “That was before she was named a traitor along with her mother, a taint to the Wellington family.”
“So what? Will ye drag her back to the tower? Will that clear yer precious name?”
“Hardly,” Wellington said and flipped his hand toward the first mate to get him moving on his errands. “I must find her and this ring she mentioned to prove my sister-in-law wasn’t the true traitor at court. That there was another far more scheming than she and Boswell. If I find him, even though you could not, I will restore the family name.”
Wellington sniffed into a linen handkerchief.
“So ye acquired a ship to chase after her?” Ewan glanced at the large vessel. It looked familiar, but then most of the ships made within the last decade had the same basic shape about them.
“I was in the royal navy in my youth,” Wellington said. “I know how to captain. It wasn’t too difficult to convince an aging mariner to take my gold for his vessel and crew, especially when I promised to return it with more gold.”
“How much of that gold do ye get to keep if the king decides the Wellington family is a nest of traitors?” Ewan asked, trying to weigh the man’s words.
Wellington frowned. “Exactly why it is best to spend it on trying to rectify this disastrous mess.” He looked hard at him. “Do you know where the Queen Siren is?”
“No, but I’m eager to find her, too.”
Wellington raised one eyebrow. The bastard could wonder why Dory had left him behind all he wanted, but Ewan wasn’t giving him any explanations. The look on his face must have warned him not to ask. “I would have you travel with us,” he said.
“To take me back to London when ye’re through.”
Wellington chuckled. “Rather, it would be nearly impossible for me to catch them if you happen to find her first and warn her away.”
“Either way, we won’t be able to catch her if she doesn’t want to be caught.”
Wellington placed a manicured finger against his lips as if thinking. “Another reason to have you on board. If she sees you, she might just let us catch her.”
Ewan wasn’t so certain about that, but he shook the English bastard’s hand anyway.
…
The ship was supposedly large by naval standards, but to Ewan it felt as trapping as the Tower of London. Surrounded by open ocean, his jail cell was the deck where he paced when not searching the horizon or helping the crew wind endless lengths of rope or oil metal gears. The wind cut every bit as hard as the Highland gusts off the mountains back home, but the salt could dry a man’s soul with his tongue.
Ewan stared out at the waning sun, the third he’d watched descend toward the waves. The wind hit his face with furious force as if filled with rage. He blinked to wash the spray from his eyes.
He glanced over his shoulder where the lantern light flicked on inside Wellington’s cabin. The man rarely came out except to check the coordinates and issue all eyes to watch the sea for other ships. Occasionally the first mate would beg entry and be rushed inside, but the one time Ewan had knocked he’d been told to meet the captain at the helm.
Something smelled like an ambush, but there was nowhere for him to gain the upper ground on this floating hell. How had Dory lived on board a ship her whole life? Never to roam the wild heaths or explore the moss-covered forest? She’d climbed riggings instead of mountains, picked fish from nets instead of sweet raspberries from thickets. Did she love it as much as he loved Druim and all its freedom?
He breathed in the wind and looked down into the froth that they sliced through with each downward surge. How long would he have to search for her? The information that Caden had divulged changed everything. He’d stay at sea until he found her, told her… what would that be? Would he say he lied about lying? That sounded false even to his own ears. That he loved her? Did he know what love really was?
Ewan rubbed a hand down his spray speckled face. His mother had loved him, more than herself. He felt the familiar ache of guilt in his gut. It sat along the new one that reminded him of the terrible words he’d said to Dory. Could he have saved her any other way? There hadn’t been time to come up with different reasons for her to leave him there.
Ewan leaned over the rail, letting the wind whip away at his thoughts.
“Master Brody,” the young lad who seemed to run errands pulled him from his brooding, and he turned. “There’s a storm brewing up ahead.”
He looked out at the white caps across the sea. “Aye, looks like it.”
“You will want to climb inside.”
Like hell he’d climb into the belly of this whale, waiting to live or drown. He’d rather have a say in that. “I’ll stay above and help.”
Lightning flashed in the billowing clouds up ahead. Ewan looked toward the line master. There was a sense of ease with the men, as if they’d seen much and storms no longer worried them. Very similar to the warriors of Druim readying for a raid or battle. They would do all they could and let God decide the outcome.
“Master Brody,” the lad yelled above the wind. “Captain wants to talk to you inside.”
Ewan frowned but followed the lad toward the cabin at the end of the deck.
“Down below first, to help me haul up some stew for the crew. It will be a long night.”
Ewan helped the thin lad haul a blackened pot up the steps to a sheltered area of the deck where the men could rotate through taking up a bowl.
“Grab yourself some.”
Something gnawed at his stomach that stew wouldn’t fix, but he’d never turn down food after his long days in the tower. Wellington stood at the wheel now with a cloaked figure.
“This way, Master Brody,” the lad said. “He’ll meet you in his cabin in a moment.”
The wind howled and the lines snapped as men wrapped the sails tight against the booms. Men ran about with a hurried grace that looked a lot like battle. Aye, it was much like life in the Highlands except here you couldn’t spread out.
The lad opened the door of the cabin and waved Ewan in. Did they just want him out of the way? He still had his sword and dagger.
“Please, Master Brody. Captain will be with you in a moment after he checks our course.”
“If ye lock me in, lad, I’ll just mess up yer ship getting out.” The words came out low, hard, and deadly serious.
“Please Master Brody,” he said, his eyes suddenly worried. “Perhaps you can help.”
Ewan’s frown deepened and he looked closer into the room. A soft sound caught his attention toward the back where a single lantern burned. He stepped inside, hardly caring that the lock turned in the door.
He walked farther in and heard a gasp as a small, pale face stared back with huge lashed eyes. Curls, turned even redder by the lantern glow, surrounded a cherub’s face.
The child was dressed in a ratty long gown that rested at her shins. Even without the long hair, loosely tied with a red ribbon, Ewan could tell the child was a lovely little girl. What the hell was James Wellington doing with her here in his cabin? A cold fire ignited in Ewan’s gut and he forced a mild smile on his face. The girl skittered to the other side of the bed.
“I’m not going to hurt ye, child. I swear.”
Her eyes darted to the cup he held in his hand. When had she last eaten? He held it out t
o her, but she wouldn’t take it. So he set it on a table near the bedside and stepped back. In a lightning flash of tatters and curls, she snatched it up and returned to a corner to eat.
Ewan had to take long inhales before he could trust himself not to roar his fury and scare her even more. Words about slave traders echoed in his mind, how Dory and her family worked to stop the atrocity. Could Wellington be involved with a trade so horrible? Hell would surely welcome him if he’d touched this girl.
“I’m Ewan Brody. What’s yer name, lass?
She blinked at him, her eyes almost completely dilated in the shadows. “A name?”
“Aye, what name were ye given.”
Her little face wrinkled. “I don’t have a name.”
…
Ewan watched the door through the night, catching a few minutes of sleep every once in awhile. He held his dagger ready. Eventually the girl’s eyes had closed despite her fear of him. He had laid a blanket over her little form sprawled on a wide pillow in the corner, a bed for a bloody pet.
The sea calmed before dawn and in the muted silence he fell asleep. At the first click of the lock he surged to his feet. Ewan held his blade ready to throw. There would be no questioning. He knew without a doubt that the girl had been, was being abused. She had the haunted look of a beaten child. He should know.
Ewan held his hand as the lad edged his way in with what looked like more of last night’s stew. His eyes found the girl directly and he seemed to exhale. “I knew you wouldn’t hurt her.”
“Who the bloody hell is keeping her here?” Ewan asked as he walked quickly to the door, shutting it as the boy entered.
“She belongs to the captain.”
“Where is yer captain? I’d like to have a word with him.”
The boy swallowed, his face hardening. “He left you in here with her, you know. He wants you to try to protect her.”
Ewan’s brow wrinkled. Wellington was playing games? For what purpose? “Well he’s getting his damn wish,” Ewan muttered. “What is yer name?”
“Stephen.”
“How long have ye been on board here?”
“Two years or so.” He shrugged, his mouth tight. “It’s a decent life.”
