Suffering The Scot (Brotherhood 0f The Black Tartan Book 1)

by Nichole Van

  He folded his arms, causing his biceps to bulge in his tight-fitting coat. Highlighting the perfection of said attractive chest.

  Grrrrr. Annoying man to use his absurd handsomeness against her.

  “Heigh hoooo and up shhhe rises.”

  Hadley growled, leaning toward her. “You’re my friend, Jane—”

  “Lady Jane to you!”

  “—and I worry that you keep yourself too tightly wound. You’re a wee bit English sometimes.”

  “I am English,” she ground out between clenched teeth. “And it’s better to be English than a free-mannered Scot with all your ‘dinnaes’ and passion pleats and boisterous laughter.”

  Naturally, Hadley proved her point by laughing. If she intended to insult him, she should have known better.

  Peter instantly joined in, braying like a donkey.

  Hadley glanced at Peter and then turned back to Jane. “I think ye could do with some boisterous laughter yourself.”

  “Oh!”

  “When was the last time ye lived a little?”

  “Are you truly daring me?!”

  “Aye! I am! Commandeer your life! What do you wish tae do right now? If ye could do anything?”

  Well, what she wished was for Montacute and Wanleigh to simply disappear. Leave her to find her own way—maybe with Hadley, maybe without—but since none of those things were a possibility . . .

  Peter devolved into giggling. Jane looked at her blissfully swaying brother.

  She brought her gaze back to Hadley.

  Hah!

  Foolish man.

  He wanted to see her wild inner child? Truly?

  Well . . . she had no problem calling his bluff—

  “I want some whisky.”

  19

  Are ye sure this is a good idea?” Hadley asked, expression hesitant. He had stalled in the drawing room doorway.

  Jane shrugged, continuing to remove her evening gloves. She set them on the sideboard before moving to pour a finger of whisky into a tumbler.

  Something had irrevocably broken loose inside her—that wild girl escaping her cage. To find sunlight, to revel in the fresh air on her face, to breathe in deep gulps of life.

  Anything to banish the chilly numbness she felt in Wanleigh’s presence.

  “Afraid?” she asked over her shoulder, hefty contempt in her voice. “You literally just ordered me to, ‘Commandeer my life.’ It was practically a battle cry of carpe diem . . . seize the day! Were you lying?”

  Peter hummed to one side, slumping onto the sofa. He had happily followed them into the drawing room. Jane hadn’t discouraged his presence, as someone needed to act as chaperone at this late hour.

  A drunken brother was better than nothing.

  Hadley continued to eye her uneasily.

  Hah! Had she known it would be so easy to best him, she would have done this ages ago.

  Scots were funny creatures, Jane decided.

  Mock them and they laughed back at you.

  But should a lady join them in their riotous behavior, they suddenly became squeamish.

  Part of her gloated in triumph.

  The other part depressingly observed that even Hadley found her wild self repulsive when loosed completely.

  Well, she had intended to call his bluff. Better to learn his true feelings now.

  Raising her eyebrow in challenge, she pulled out a second glass and poured another finger of scotch. She picked up both glasses, holding one out toward Hadley.

  A blatant dare.

  Meeting her gaze full on, Hadley stepped entirely into the room and crossed to her.

  “I cannot think this wise, Lady Jane.” He took the glass from her.

  “Because I’m a lady?”

  He snorted. “I have no problem with ye wishing a wee dram.” He sipped his whisky.

  “Then why?” Jane pushed him. She would force him to say the words, to criticize her behavior.

  He pursed his mouth before replying, “Ye always think of others and their expectations before yourself.”

  Jane stilled, thoughts freezing. Not the response she had been expecting.

  Moreover, she did not follow his logic.

  He leaned down, bringing his face closer to hers. “I’m just wanting tae make sure this is what ye truly want, that’s all.” Concern laced his voice.

  Tears pricked Jane’s eyes. Why could she handle scorn and indifference, but a kind tone and caring consideration undid her?

  More to the point, he did not find her behavior repulsive, after all.

  “This is what I want,” she replied softly. “I know I haven’t mentioned this but . . . I quite like scotch.”

  Hadley blinked . . . and then nodded very slowly, taking a step back.

  He swallowed. “I wasnae expecting that answer.”

  Jane shrugged. “Peter and I found the old earl’s stash of scotch—”

  “Whisky,” he said on a sigh. “How many times must I tell ye, it’s whisky.”

  “Scotch.” Jane leaned on the word a little. “The old earl had forgotten several crates of the stuff in the cellars of Rosehearth. Peter and I would sneak a bottle occasionally.”

  “That’s a right terrible thing for a wee bairn tae do.”

  He wasn’t wrong.

  But her past was her past.

  Jane shrugged and then took a sip of her whisky before motioning for them to sit in a pair of chairs before the fire. A cheery blaze had been set in the hearth and crackled merrily.

  Before he sat, Hadley loosened his cravat and removed his tailcoat and then re-wrapped that same length of tartan back around his chest. The bright red bands stood out in the dark fabric, looking nearly like bloodied slashes in the dim light. Why had he bothered to put it back on? Could he not set aside his blatant Scottishness for even one evening?

  Worse, the fabric only heightened the broad strength of his chest and biceps. In his shirtsleeves and waistcoat, Hadley fairly thrummed with vitality.

  She clenched her fist, pressing her nails into her palm. The move so instinctive she hardly registered doing it anymore.

  With a resigned sigh, he settled into his chair, a foot propped across the opposite knee.

  “What shall we drink tae, then?” he asked, tilting his glass slightly in her direction.

  Jane raised her eyebrows as the clock in the corner chimed midnight.

  “What about until two in the morning?” she replied, giving him an arch grin before taking a healthy swallow of her drink. The fiery liquid burned going down, spreading a lovely warmth through her bones. Jane kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet underneath her.

  He shook his head. “I won’t be responsible when ye find yourself sloshed.”

  Jane snorted.

  “I’m right serious. Whisky is not tae be trifled with, Jane.”

  “Well, Andrewwww—” Jane drew out his Christian name, landing hard on the ‘d’ and stretching the rest. “—I cannot imagine why you think I should be your responsibility.”

  She tossed back the rest of her tumbler, raising her eyebrows at Hadley. A direct, taunting dare.

  He had dragged her wild self out of the prison; he could deal with the consequences.

  Shaking his head, Hadley downed the rest of his glass.

  Smirking, Jane reached for the decanter and poured herself two fingers.

  “Whoa there.” Hadley reached for her glass. “We don’t want you to end up like Peter.” He nodded his head toward Peter, already snoring on the sofa across the room.

  “Bah! I’m no lightweight,” she scoffed, holding her tumbler away from him. “Peter never could hold his liquor. It drove the old earl quite mad and embarrasses our mother. I, on the other hand, am made of sterner stuff. I promise I will drink your bloody arse under the table.”

  Hadley huffed, a smile lurking, before he shook his head, clearly skeptical.

  But he did pour himself two fingers of whisky.

  Jane stared at his hand as it moved, the ten
dons flexing and rippling just below the skin.

  It was just like him. So much mystery hiding underneath a thin veneer.

  “You were supposed to be an uncouth Highlander, but you are not.”

  If he found her non sequitur bewildering, he didn’t show it. As usual, he effortlessly pivoted with her change in thought.

  “Sorry tae disappoint.” He sat back.

  “You’re every bit the proper gentleman, despite the tartan and accent.”

  “My ma would be right glad tae hear it, but—”

  “No . . . don’t you dare say,”—Jane adopted her best Scottish brogue—“Och, I thought ye were supposed tae be a lady, and yet . . . ”

  Hadley smirked and raised his glass to her.

  Jane stuck out her tongue.

  Hmmm, the whisky was strong.

  Hadley wisely chose not to respond to her comment about being a lady. She couldn’t fault his intelligence.

  “I’m nae actually a Highlander at all,” he offered.

  “You’re not?” Jane felt her outrage rising.

  “I’m a Fifer.”

  “A Fifer?”

  “It means I was born in the county of the Kingdom of Fife.”

  Jane’s brows drew down in confusion. It was far too late in the evening—or was it too early in the morning?—to be contemplating geography.

  “Fife is right above Edinburgh.” He raised his hand above his head, as if that small visual would help. “Just across the Firth of Forth.”

  Again, not particularly helpful.

  Jane shook her head. Focus.

  “If you are not a proper Highlander, then what has been the point of all the kilt swishing and haggis stabbing?”

  “Hah!” He wagged a finger at her, accent sliding. “I kent ye were looking at ma kilt swish. The lassies cannae help themselves.”

  “Andrew!”

  “Jane!”

  “Why do you wear the tartan?” She waved a hand at the fabric still wrapped around his torso.

  He followed the motion, head bending down to study the fabric.

  “This tartan?” He plucked at it with his free hand. “This tartan is for Jamie.”

  Jane blinked. Jamie?

  “Who is Jamie?”

  “Was,” Hadley corrected her. “Who was Jamie.”

  A beat of silence.

  “Who was Jamie?” she repeated, voice quiet.

  Hadley sighed, slouching further into his chair. He sipped his whisky, gaze far away.

  “’Tis a long tale,” he began.

  “Pfft.” Jane waved a hand, enjoying the warmth now singing through her blood. “We literally have all night. Carry on. I wish to hear the tale of Jamie’s tartan.”

  Hadley smiled at her words. The smile did not, however, touch his eyes. Those remained bleak.

  He set down his tumbler and scrubbed his hands through his hair, turning it from fashionably tousled to early-morning scarecrow.

  “Who was Jamie then? A brother?” she prompted. Of a surety, this Jamie was someone he had cared about.

  Hadley shrugged and then nodded. “Of a sort. Much of the story isnae mine to tell, but I’ll give ye the main gist. It all began four years ago.” He stared into the fire. “Rafe and I decided that we would like to fund a scientific exploration to the South Pacific.”

  Shock jolted Jane. “A scientific expedition? Like the one of the HMS Discovery?”

  “Yes, though obviously on a smaller scale. Ours would be a privately funded endeavor, not one sponsored by the crown, as the Discovery was.”

  Jane shook her head. “What an incredible ambition. What stopped you from completing the journey?”

  “Who said we didn’t?” Hadley shot her a grim look.

  “But . . .” Jane blinked, shaking her head again. “Surely I would have heard about such an expedition. One doesn’t conduct an ambitious survey of plants and minerals without publishing something about the journey. It’s implausible.”

  Though, the more she thought about it, the more she remembered someone telling her that Lord Rafe had been away collecting botany samples. She had assumed that meant he was traveling through the Highlands of Scotland or perhaps the Alps, not scouring tropical islands in the Pacific.

  “We completed the journey, but nothing has ever been published about it. Allow me tae finish the story.”

  “Please.” Jane breathlessly wanted to hear more.

  “Rafe and I set out tae organize our expedition. I had, at the time, a business partner, Thomas Madsen.” Hadley nearly spat the man’s name. “We joined together with a consortium of investors tae purchase a ship called The Minerva. Madsen, in particular, had deep pockets and agreed tae help us fund the expedition. Madsen, with the approval of all the investors, hired a man, Captain Martin Cuthie and crew. The investors and myself all agreed that tae offset the cost of the trip, we would transport supplies tae Australia and then take on cargo in Sydney. I signed a contract agreeing to these terms.

  “Everything seemed heaven-sent at that point. Kieran was hired tae be our ship’s master and navigator. Dr. Alexander Whitaker was taken on as our ship’s physician and botanist. Ewan Campbell was hired as a ship’s artist tae sketch animals and plants. We set out from Greenock, outside Glasgow, laden with provisions and stoked on excitement. All went well for the first nine months of our journey. Captain Cuthie was an odd man, prickly and quick tae anger. But his men served him with unswerving loyalty, and he was competent as a captain.

  “We came into port in Portugal, in west Africa, in south Africa. Along the way, we made better acquaintance with the ship’s crew. Jamie Fyffe was the carpenter’s mate and hailed from a family Kieran knew. In fact, Jamie’s father, Charles Fyffe, had been Kieran’s mentor for a number of years. Kieran had hired the youth as a favor tae the family. That said, Jamie had a passionate zest for life. Always quick with a smile and a laugh, not tae mention unfailingly kind. Kieran, in particular, felt an enormous sense of responsibility for Jamie. I think Kieran considered himself an older brother of sorts.”

  Hadley seemed to get lost in memory, his voice fading off.

  The fire popped and a log slumped in the grate. Reaching for the fire poker, Hadley leaned forward in his seat, moving the coals around, prompting them to catch flame again.

  He sat back and took another sip of whisky before shaking his head. “Where was I?”

  “Jamie. The trip to Sydney.” Jane supplied.

  “Yes. Jamie. As I said, all was well until after Sydney. Based on Madsen’s words before we left, I had assumed we would be taking on cargo in Sydney. We had carried down supplies for the colony, so it made sense that we would pick up some other export tae take home.

  “But Captain Cuthie said his orders were to take on timber in the New Hebrides, northeast of Australia. Sandalwood had recently been discovered on the islands, he said, and Madsen had requested he fill the hold with the wood.” Hadley’s words dripped bitterness. “So off we sailed from Sydney, northeast tae the New Hebrides. That’s when we learned the true nature of Captain Cuthie and his crew.

  “We set anchor in the harbor of one of the islands. A small village ringed the beach there, and the natives greeted us kindly but warily. Rafe and I spent a week surveying the island, gathering plants and minerals. Several of the village lads joined in until it seemed the entire population was helping, bringing us interesting insects and plants. It was absolute paradise.

  “I had thought that the captain and his crew were negotiating the sale of sandalwood from the villagers, but I was in for a rude shock. The night before we were tae set sail, Captain Cuthie informed me that his men would be bringing some of the villagers aboard the ship the following morning. His orders from Madsen were to—” Hadley choked, as if the words were difficult to get out. “—his orders were to take seventy-five of the healthiest villagers as slaves.”

  Horror shattered Jane’s calm.

  “Pardon?!” She sat higher in her chair.

  Hadley downed the las
t of his whisky in one gulp. “I cannae believe it still. Slaves. Those poor villagers.”

  “But . . . but slavery is illegal. The international transportation of slaves, in particular, is illegal.”

  “Aye. But the practice continues, as we well know. British law applies to the Atlantic slave trade from Africa, but it says nothing about slaves from other parts of the world, as Madsen and Captain Cuthie well knew. And slavery may be illegal in Britain itself, but it is still legal in many parts of the British Empire. So, Madsen had instructed Cuthie tae capture the natives from some island in the Pacific and sell them into slavery on our way back to Britain.”

  Jane pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart hurt at the thought.

  “That is so terrible. I can scarcely imagine the horror.”

  “Neither could I. Neither could Rafe. None of us could.”

  “What did you do?”

  “The only thing a truly Christian person could do—we refused tae go along with the plan. Cuthie raged at me, stating I had signed the agreement with Madsen and the other investors, and I needed tae hold to my end of the bargain. Naturally, I countered that slavery was illegal, and I most certainly would not keep a contract that had been presented tae me in false terms. But Cuthie insisted that the New Hebrides was outside English law and slavery most certainly wasn’t illegal in the Pacific. As if legality were the only problem with the entire idea.” Hadley swiped a shaking hand over his face. “It renders me nauseous even now.”

  “As it would for any decent soul.”

  “Exactly. We argued and argued and eventually, Cuthie had Rafe and myself taken up in chains and beaten.”

  “Oh!” Jane gasped. She saw Rafe’s white scar in her mind’s eye. Was that how he got it?

  “I am not sure of the rest of the details, tae be entirely honest. I think Cuthie thought he had killed me, I was so near tae death. But as I understand it, my friends put up a fight and rescued Rafe and myself. I remember someone pulling me into a boat and the lapping waves. I remember Jamie’s voice calling encouragement and being pushed up a hill, stumbling in the dark. But much of the night I alternated between delirium and unconsciousness. My most lucid memory is a single scene. Me, lying on the headland overlooking the harbor. The village, in flames. The Minerva, under full sail, cruising out of the harbor, leaving Rafe, Kieran, Alex, Ewan, and me behind.”