Highlanders

by Tarah Scott

  “Would they hunt at night?” Captain Mercantile asked Erroll out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Wild boar or deer, perhaps,” Erroll answered, “but they would have to know the land. Since I do not recognize the captain, I doubt that is the case.”

  “If you are certain you do not need anything…” Erroll called to Captain Johnson.

  “No, but I thank you.”

  Erroll waved goodbye, and he and Captain Mercantile started down the stairs to the main deck. “Have your men set sail.”

  “Lee-ho,” the captain called out.

  “Lee-ho,” the first mate repeated in a loud voice.

  Then Mercantile called, “Ready about.” The first mate repeated the order as Mercantile said to Erroll, “What do you think they’re up to?”

  “Smuggling.”

  “French brandy?”

  “There is little else of worth to smuggle these days. But this cove is too far north for him to have come from Fort William, which makes me curious why he lied.” They reached the stairs leading below deck. “There’s a tiny cove just up the coast. The cliffs on the shore are higher than those here, so they cannot spot our masts as we did theirs. We will put in there. I’ll go ashore and double back to have a look.”

  “They may sail before you return.”

  “True, but we cannot risk a confrontation. Did you see the swivel guns mounted on the outside of the hull?”

  “I did,” Captain Mercantile said.

  “They even had a howitzer,” Erroll said. “You have some fine cannons on this collier, and a good crew, but I suspect those smugglers are better armed than your sailors. I also have the ladies to consider. Please inform me when we reach the cove.”

  Half an hour later, Erroll jumped from the jollyboat into the calf deep water at the shore of the small cove. The two men with him hopped out and the three of them pulled the boat onto shore. They hiked into the trees, over the hill, and finally reached the edge of the trees on the other side. The brigantine remained anchored in the cove, and the clouds parted to illuminate two longboats beached on the shore.

  “So the buggers went ashore after all,” Joseph said in a thick Irish brogue.

  Erroll scanned the beach with the spyglass. “Indeed.”

  Clouds marched across the moon in a steady stream and Erroll watched through the spyglass in the intermittent gloom. They waited fifteen minutes before men emerged from the trees. Erroll counted eight young men and boys herded by four burly sailors. Anger whipped through him. He’d expected illicit contraband, not slavers. In a flood of moonlight, Erroll glimpsed Gordon and Nab, youths from a tiny village half a mile inland.

  “Bloody hell,” Joseph snarled. “A press gang. I didn’t know the slavers worked the Inner Hebrides,”

  “Neither did I,” Erroll replied. “Aberdeen is their main hunting ground. So much for Parliament abolishing slavery this past week. I wager Captain Johnson steered clear of the main cities in case citizens decided to take the new law into their own hands. That may explain why he’s keeping to the coast.”

  “Bastards,” Erroll’s second companion, David, cursed.

  “We can’t let them sail,” Joseph said.

  “I agree,” Erroll said. “But by the time we get the collier back here, they could be gone, and we have the women to consider.”

  “I’ll swim out and board the bloody ship,” David said.

  “Very brave of you,” Erroll said. “But we have no idea how large their crew is. I have only a single shot revolver, as do you gentlemen.”

  “Two shots and powder.” David produced a pistol from the back of his waistband, then turned his hip slightly to reveal the pouch strapped to his belt.

  “I have a knife,” Joseph said.

  Erroll gave an approving nod. “Well done, but the odds are still very much against us. If we confront them in the collier, we could end up sinking the ship with the men chained below.”

  Joseph cursed under his breath. “The men have a better chance if we let the slavers take them.”

  “Sadly, yes.” Erroll wondered how he was going to tell Gordon and Nab’s mothers he’d watched while the slavers took their sons, then realized he didn’t have to. “Are you two gentlemen good shots?”

  “I can hit a fly at fifteen paces,” Joseph said.

  “I can hit a man, well enough,” David said.

  “Fine, then we will do our best to save these lads,” Erroll whispered. “There are four men and we have four shots.” Only the angels of God could direct their bullets to all four intended victims with the first shots—and that would take Michael the archangel, the only celestial being willing to commit murder, no matter how justified. “Joseph, if you would, give me your knife. I will attack head on,” Erroll said. “You two stay here and fire from the trees.”

  “We won’t stay behind like scared women,” Joseph said indignantly.

  “Not hiding, lad, strategy. When you two shoot, the sailors won’t know how many men we have. If we can take down two of them, the remaining two might run like the cowards they are. I want to get as close as possible, so hold your fire until I shoot.”

  The men grunted in acknowledgment and Joseph drew his knife from a boot sheath and handed it over. Erroll pulled his gun from his waistband and stuck the spyglass in its place then, knife in one hand and gun in the other, he scurried from the cover of trees. The clouds abruptly parted and Erroll’s heart jumped to a gallop. He pulled back the hammer on his pistol. The clouds rolled across the moon and the men kept going. Seconds later, with Erroll twenty feet from the men, a boy cried out and the big sailor whirled. Erroll fired. The sailor stumbled backwards as another shot sounded.

  The sailors’ curses mingled with the boys’ cries of surprise and the report of a third revolver followed. A fourth weapon was fired, this one from one of the sailors. The boys scattered in the pandemonium. One of the two remaining sailors swung his gun in Erroll’s direction. Erroll drew back his knife to throw, but one of the bigger boys barreled into the sailor’s ribs. The sailor’s gun went off and he and the boy crashed into the sand. Erroll turned, scanning for the last sailor and saw him disappear into the trees to the west.

  “Laird,” a young man called as the boom of a cannon sounded from the brigantine.

  “Get down!” Erroll shouted.

  Everyone dove onto the sand as another boom rolled across the water. The first orange–sized ball thudded into the sand two feet away and sprayed sand even as a third cannon fired. He lifted his head as the second ball soared past and spit up sand between two of the boys who lay five feet away. One lad cried out and two boys jumped up. The third ball landed short, closer to the water, and Erroll shoved to his feet. The remaining boys followed suit.

  “Move, lads.” Erroll pointed toward his companions, who had left the trees. The boys remained rooted to where they stood and Erroll realized they were afraid of the men. “They’re friends,” he shouted. “Move.”

  The boys rushed forward. Erroll waited until the last boy flew past then turned, taking several long strides as he pulled the spyglass free of his waistband. He slowed and looked at the brigantine. Captain Johnson stood on the quarterdeck staring back through his spyglass.

  Johnson seemed frozen for an instant, then yanked the glass from his eye. In the instant before the captain whirled, Erroll glimpsed fear in his eyes. Erroll turned and raced after the boys who had nearly reached his companions. A moment later, the boys disappeared amongst the trees. Erroll caught up with the band moments later and they raced up the hill.

  When they finally reached the jollyboat, he said, “We must make two trips.”

  “We dinna’ need to go with you,” Nab said. “We can make our way back home.”

  “Yes, you can,” Erroll said. “But I won’t risk those brigands catching you before you reach home. Your parents would not forgive me if you were captured a second time. We will go together, and stop at Corrynachency. No worries, Nab. I will hire transportation from there.�
�

  “I willna’ go,” Nab said.

  “You will, or your mother will hear about it.” That stopped the boy, as Erroll knew it would. Erroll looked at Joseph. “Take the first group of boys to the ship.”

  “I am not a boy,” one lad burst out.

  “My apologies,” Erroll said. “Men.”

  He singled out the five youngest boys. They grumbled, knowing they were chosen for their age, but Nab ordered them into the boat to be quiet, and followed with the stern threat of a beating if they ignored him.

  “Joseph,” Erroll said, “the rest of us will await your return.”

  “Help me, lads.” Joseph grabbed the starboard edge of the boat. The boys grabbed the edges and they started pushing the boat when David said, “We have company.”

  Erroll jerked his head around and spotted several figures emerging from the trees. He yanked the spyglass to his eye and counted half a dozen kilted men, pistols in hand. The click of two revolvers broke the silence.

  “No,” Erroll hissed to his companions. “They aren’t part of Johnson’s crew. Nab,” he handed the boy the spyglass, “tell me if you recognize them.”

  Nab peered through the hole. “The one in the lead is Sheriff Laine.”

  “Seems someone realized you lads were missing,” Erroll said. “Nab, come with me. The rest of you, don’t move—and for God’s sake, gentleman, do not fire those revolvers. If one of these boys gets shot, I will never hear the end of it from their parents.”

  Erroll took several steps forward with Nab at his side, then called, “Laine, don’t shoot.” The men halted. “I am Erroll MacLean, Earl of Rushton.” Erroll added in a low voice to Nab, “Tell them, lad.”

  “Laine,” Nab called. “It’s me, Nab. Me and the others are all right.”

  Silence reigned for an instant, then the sheriff called, “Move even a muscle, Rushton, and it willna’ matter if you are the King of England, I’ll shoot ye dead.”

  They advanced and Erroll stood motionless until the sheriff stopped a few feet away and the other men passed him to join the boys who waited on the beach.

  “You all right, Nab?” he asked the boy.

  “Aye. A press gang nabbed us, and his lordship stopped them before we reached their boats.”

  “How fortunate that you were passing by,” Laine said.

  “Purely coincidental,” Erroll said. “But the world is filled with coincidence. You being here, for example.”

  “That is no coincidence,” Laine replied. “We’ve been on the lookout for the press gang for two months. Where are they?”

  “In the cove to the south, though I doubt they’re still there. Captain Johnson saw us intercept this shipment and has probably sailed by now.”

  Laine ordered two men to go and look for the slaver, then said to Erroll, “Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but you have bad timing. We were scouting the coast when we saw your ship and mistook you for the slavers. If you hadn’t been here, we might have caught them.”

  Erroll gave a short laugh. “No good deed goes unpunished, I see. Where is your ship?”

  “We don’t have a ship. We planned to swim out and board their ship, which is exactly what we did.”

  “What—you mean—how many men have boarded my ship?” Erroll demanded.

  “Ten.”

  “I hope they fell into the water and froze their bollocks off while boarding,” Erroll snapped. “As no shots have been fired, I assume no one was killed. If your men cause a ruckus aboard the collier, you will deal with me. Have your men see the boys safely home—one of the four sailors ran into the woods. I wager your men can find him easily enough.”

  “One of the men is still here?” Laine demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “If we catch him, we might find the men they took.”

  “Send your men,” Erroll said. “You will accompany me. I have no wish for your men to shoot me as I try to board my own ship.”

  Laine’s mouth thinned. “As you say, my lord.”

  Laine ordered his men to see the boys home and begin their search, then he and Erroll sliced through the ankle high water to the jollyboat, where Joseph and David waited. Erroll grabbed the side of the jollyboat and they pushed it out until it skimmed across the water. They hopped in and each grabbed an ore, then began rowing.

  “We must make haste,” Erroll informed David and Joseph. “The good sheriff has seen fit to board our ship.”

  David and Joseph’s heads swung in his direction and glared.

  Erroll knew it was unlikely the Highlanders would harm the women, but God only knew what Oscar and Somerset would do if they thought the ladies were in danger. Or worse, what Miss Eve Crenshaw would do if yet another man entered her room uninvited.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A muffled shout sounded outside the captain’s quarters. Grace froze in the act of combing her wet hair and Eve straightened in the tub and looked toward the door.

  “What happened?” Grace asked.

  “I do not know.” Eve rose and stepped from the tub.

  She grabbed the towel hanging over the back of Grace’s chair, quickly wrapped it around herself and hurried toward the door while stuffing the corner of the towel between her breasts. Something hard struck the door and Grace gave a cry. A man’s groan in the hallway was followed by a foul curse. As Eve’s fingers closed around the knob. The door flung open, slamming her back, hard against the wall. Pain radiated down her arm, but she registered Grace’s gasp.

  “What the devil?” a deep male voice boomed in a light Scottish brogue.

  Eve started to shove the door away, then regained some sense and peered around the edge. A large kilted man stood between her and Grace. Eve’s heart pounded. Where were Oscar and Lord Somerset? She glanced through the crack between the door and jamb but saw no one.

  “Who are you?” Grace demanded.

  Eve again peeked around the door and saw a revolver sticking out from the man’s belt. She took one quiet step around the door.

  “What do you want?” Grace said, and Eve could have kissed her. “Why have you barged into my cabin?”

  “Your cabin?” the man said with a slight Scottish burr. “I imagine this is the captain’s quarters. You cannot be his wife.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she said as Eve took another step forward.

  “I see no ring on your finger.”

  “Who I am is of no consequence,” Grace snapped.

  Eve took another step forward, forced a steady hand, and reached for the revolver.

  “Get out,” Grace ordered.

  Eve yanked the gun from his belt. He swung around and she took two hasty steps backwards, the weapon aimed at his heart.

  He frowned and his gaze fixed on her towel-clad body. He grunted. “So your captain is not satisfied with just one woman.”

  A shiver slid down her spine when his brows lifted over the steely green eyes. Booted feet pounded down the corridor. Another set of footsteps followed, then broke into a run.

  The man folded his arms across his chest. “If you know how to use that thing, now is the time. Those are my men, and they will do with you two as they please.”

  “Just as you would. Get back,” Eve ordered.

  He backed up a pace.

  “To the wall, sir, or I will shoot.”

  “That revolver isna’ known for being accurate,” he said.

  “You are a very large target. Against the wall.”

  The approaching footsteps picked up speed.

  “Grace,” Eve said, “come here.”

  Grace scurried across the room and dodged behind her. Eve kept both hands on the revolver as she backed up to the wall, Grace beside her.

  “Miss Crenshaw—Eve!” called a familiar voice from the corridor.

  “His lordship,” Grace breathed.

  “In here,” Eve called.

  Lord Rushton burst into the room with Lord Somerset close behind. They skidded to a halt.

  “What in God�
�s name—” Lord Somerset took a step forward, but stopped when Lord Rushton snapped out a sentence in—was that Gaelic?

  The stranger responded with a clipped sentence and nodded toward Eve and Grace. Lord Rushton whirled. His brows rose while his eyes dropped to her towel-clad breasts. Eve resisted the urge to melt into the wall.

  “Miss Crenshaw,” he began, as the man took a step forward.

  “Halt or I will shoot,” Eve warned.

  Lord Rushton’s gaze remained fixed on her face. “I do believe she means it, Ash.”

  Eve blinked. “You know him?”

  “Madam, do you intend to shoot every male in the MacLean family while scantily dressed? Though I’m not complaining—about you being scantily clad, I mean.” He glanced at Grace. “I see your sister is yet again parading around in her night clothes.”

  “What?” Grace said.

  Lord Somerset stripped off his coat and, in two steps, reached Grace’s side and swung it around her shoulders. He yanked the lapel closed over her breasts. Eve suddenly realized her towel had slackened. She caught the fabric as it began to slide downward. Lord Rushton stepped toward her and she reflexively swung the revolver in his direction. He lunged in unison with Grace’s cry, and seized Eve’s arm, shoving the gun upwards. Cool air washed over the curve of her breasts, then she struck the wall, Lord Rushton pressed against her body, the towel barely covering her nipples.

  He held her wrist pinned to the wall as he stared down at her. “You aren’t satisfied with shooting me once?”

  “She shot you?” the other man blurted.

  Lord Rushton gave her a questioning look and Eve was suddenly aware of his body crushing hers. Embarrassment rolled over her and she twisted in an effort to push him away.

  “First the revolver, if you don’t mind.”

  He reached with his free hand and disengaged the weapon from her fingers, then extended the weapon, butt first, to Lord Somerset, who took it. Lord Rushton released her wrist, then stepped back and pulled the corner of her towel from her grasp.

  “My lord!” Eve grabbed for the fabric, but he cinched the towel more tightly around her with a hard tug, then stuffed the corner piece between the towel and her ribs.