The Highland Commander

by Amy Jarecki

  But he hadn’t sent a letter.

  At least not one that had reached London.

  And Britain was solidly embroiled in two wars—the War of the Spanish Succession on the Continent and Queen Anne’s War in the Colonies. Hostility surrounded them, and the queen was forever meeting with her cabinet ministers, all the while growing paler and heavier. It was no wonder her temperament had suffered as well.

  “The French are pushing in on our fishing rights in Newfoundland.” The prince’s voice resounded through the timbers.

  “This is preposterous,” the queen shouted. “First they attack our ships in the Channel and now they’re after the Colonies? Have we engaged them? Do they have warships?”

  “I dispatched the Royal Shrewsbury and the Royal Newcastle this very morning. But it will be two months before they’re in a position to engage.”

  “I want it contained,” said the queen. “Blast the French out of the sea. I will not tolerate another underhanded attack from them.”

  “Though fishing is not really an attack, my love.”

  “You say not?” the queen shrieked, sounding on the verge of hysterics. “They are invading our territory and taking the fish out of the hands and the mouths of our colonists. Next our troops in the colonies will be starving because the French have pushed and pushed until there is nothing left.”

  “Yes, you are right as always.”

  “We must take every step to stop Louis.” A loud bang resounded with the queen’s mounting ire. “The king of France supports popery and will stop at nothing to sink his wiles into every corner of Christendom!”

  When someone tapped Maddie on the shoulder, her heart nearly leaped out of her chest. She whipped around, excuses already filling her head.

  Lady Saxonhurst shot her an accusing glare. “Exactly what are you doing listening at the queen’s door?”

  Usually Maddie tried to be a bit less obvious when actively spying rather than overhearing as she did when playing the harp. But she’d been so excited about the possibility of hearing something about Aiden, she’d done nothing to make herself look unobvious.

  She blurted the excuse refusing to leave the tip of her tongue. “I hoped Prince George had news of the Royal Mary.”

  The countess blinked at first, then her eyes filled with haughty laughter. “You cannot be serious. How long has it been since the Royal Mary was in port?”

  “Over a year.” Maddie bit her lip. She’d wanted to say one year, three months and twenty-two days, but that would only invite more scorn.

  “I thought Lord Aiden adored you in a puppy-dog sort of way, but my dear, he’s a naval officer. Hasn’t anyone told you never to fall in love with a naval officer?”

  Maddie pursed her lips, refusing to play along with the woman’s banter.

  But Lady Saxonhurst jammed her fists into her hips. “Aside from enemy ships, there are pirates on the high seas. All manner of woes can befall a ship. She can suffer a cannonball to her hull, an ill wind, sea creatures that rise from the deep and drag a ship and her crew to their watery graves.”

  “Please stop.” Maddie held up her palm. “I do not need to worry any more than I already do.”

  The countess’s jaw dropped. “My word. You are in love with him.”

  “I did not say that.”

  “Truly you are if you risk being caught outside the queen’s antechamber like a spy.”

  Maddie’s mind raced, searching for something to turn the conversation away from her. “And what brought you back this way? Is it not time to dress for the evening meal?”

  “That is none of your concern.” Lady Saxonhurst’s eyes narrowed, giving that leering glare again. “I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to the Duchess of Marlborough.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Maddie thrust her hands to her sides. “I just humiliated myself baring my soul to you, and you’re planning to report me?”

  “This might be the first time I’ve confronted you, but I’ve seen you listening in on the queen’s private business before. Goodness, at times you even look like you’re paying more attention to the queen than to your music when you’re plucking that ridiculous harp.”

  “Please.” Maddie resorted to pleading. “I merely wanted news of Lord Aiden’s ship.”

  “Hmm, we’ll have to let the Duchess of Marlborough decide what is to be done.” The countess turned on her heel and paraded off, in the direction whence she came, no doubt.

  Maddie crossed her arms as she watched the woman’s retreating form. Aye, she’d noticed the countess watching her—the woman had been doing that since she arrived at Whitehall. She’d also noticed the countess keeping company with Lord Blackiron, a Whig and an earl Da detested with vehemence.

  The pair of them deserve each other.

  An hour later Maddie sat with her father in the drawing room of the Earl Marischal of Scotland’s apartments.

  “I want to go home.” She jammed her needle into her embroidery. “Haven’t I been here long enough?”

  “No. Dammit, lass, for once in your life you are providing an invaluable service to me—to Scotland—and all you can think about is that little hospital in Stonehaven.” He marched to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy, since good Scottish whisky was in short supply this year due to the queen’s trade embargoes.

  “But now that Lady Saxonhurst suspects me, she won’t leave me alone. I feel it right down to the tips of my toes. It’s as if she suspected I might be spying right then and ventured to the queen’s antechamber just to catch me.”

  “What the devil are you saying?”

  Maddie tossed her embroidery aside. “There was no reason for her to be in that part of the palace. She tapped me on the shoulder. Right before that I may have heard a very faint footstep—but she crept up on me. I am absolutely certain of it.”

  “Do you think Blackiron has put the countess up to her own bit of spying?”

  “As you’ve said a hundred times, everyone at court spies. I just do not see why I’m to be reported to the Duchess of Marlborough for listening in to a harmless conversation.”

  As soon as the words slipped through Maddie’s lips, the valet entered the drawing room. “Lady Magdalen, you’ve been summoned by the Duchess of Marlborough.”

  Maddie rolled her eyes to her father and mouthed, “See?”

  Da pointed at her directly. “’Tis a slap on the wrist and that is all. You must be more careful, but as long as the queen requires your presence here, I require your ears. Do you understand?”

  With a nod, Maddie curtsied. “Yes.”

  Of course Father was right. After the highest-ranking lady admonished Maddie’s behavior and berated her for her admitted affection for Lord Aiden, she was dismissed with a “This behavior will cease immediately” and a “Your only duty is to play the harp for Her Majesty, and nothing else.”

  The warning bit, though. Never in her life had Maddie felt imprisoned. But now Lady Magdalen Keith was a prisoner of the queen, only allowed to play her harp and ordered not to have a whimsical thought outside of music. And on the other side, she must listen to everything that was said while she was in the queen’s presence. Da grilled her every night. Anything Maddie didn’t know, he probed into further, asking more questions that she usually couldn’t answer.

  He said she was providing a valuable service, but she didn’t see it. She was just listening to a litany of posturing. The country was rife with war. It was a wonder that France hadn’t invaded and put King Louis XIV on the throne because of all the backstabbing nobles. It was almost as if the entire aristocracy of Britain were vying over who could cast the greatest insults.

  Well, Maddie wanted none of it.

  At least the people in Stonehaven were the salt of the earth. They worked their fingers to the bone, going home to their families every night. They didn’t have time to gossip or spy or plot about how they’d stab each other in the back—figuratively, of course.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aid
en peered through his spyglass. “The sloop is flying a black flag, sir.”

  “How many cannons?” asked Captain Polwarth.

  To be sure, Aiden counted again, though he’d already made an assessment.

  “Seven on her starboard side—fourteen most likely in total. There are two and fifty men on deck, but a sloop typically holds five and seventy.”

  “I am aware, Commander.” The captain grinned. “But the odds are not bad.”

  Returning the spyglass to his eye, Aiden focused across the water to the pirate captain, who was dressed in black, including his feathered tricorn hat. His arms waved through the air—as he shouted a barrage of orders, no doubt. Men on the deck ran to and fro, some with bows and others with sabers in their hands. The ship slowed.

  “They’re heaving to,” Aiden reported crisply.

  “What’s our dead reckoning?”

  Having expected this question as soon as the sloop had been spotted an hour ago, Aiden had calculated their position. “A hundred leagues from Lizard Point, sir.” He used that reference because it was the southernmost point on the British mainland.

  The captain stood ramrod straight. “And from Portsmouth?”

  Indeed, Aiden had figured that distance as well. No ship navigated the English Channel without knowing how far it must sail to reach the largest shipbuilding port in the kingdom. “One hundred, five and seventy leagues northeast, sir.”

  “Cannon three at the ready. We’ll fire a warning over her bow,” Captain Polwarth ordered.

  “Cannon three!” MacPherson’s voice bellowed from the gun deck below.

  “Tack to port.”

  “Tacking to port,” echoed MacBride from the helm.

  Aiden continued to watch through the spyglass. Pirate activity off Britain’s coast had escalated in the past several months, and this wouldn’t be the first Bermudian sloop the Royal Mary sent to a watery grave.

  Men without scruples, pirates preyed on Britain’s merchant ships, but the smaller-bodied sloops were ideal for a ship the size of the Mary. They were sleek and fast, with a narrower turning radius than the heavier frigate, but Aiden’s crew outnumbered the pirates. Though they were matched for cannons, he would place any wager on the Royal Mary’s crew. His men were disciplined, lean, and trained to be deadly.

  And this wasn’t their first time facing the dragon-hearted varlets who lurked on the seas, waiting for their chance to plunder cargo sorely needed by Britain’s own.

  As the Mary’s boom swung, the sails collapsed before they once again filled with the breeze. The captain raised his spyglass and waited.

  Tension rested on Aiden’s shoulders like the points of sharp knives.

  The only sounds on deck were those of the sails flapping and the waves breaking against the hull. His pulse pounded through his veins with the thrill of anticipation.

  When the ship sailed broadside, not a hundred feet from the sloop, the captain gave a nod.

  “Fire!” Aiden bellowed.

  “Fire,” repeated MacPherson from below.

  Boom!

  The deck shuddered with the force of the blast. Aiden’s ears rang while the cannonball whistled through the air. With a dunking splash, water washed over the sloop’s deck while the captain ordered the Royal Mary to heave to.

  Aiden lowered his spyglass. “A bold move, sir.” Giving the pirates a broad target, they were baiting the thieves to engage in an all-out sea battle.

  Polwarth glanced his way with a reckless grin. “I aim to send the milk-livered swine to their graves.”

  A cannon barrel jutting through the sloop’s gunport flashed, a boom and a hissing whistle followed. Aiden stood very still and held his breath.

  “They’ve sealed their fates,” growled the captain.

  Splash!

  The shot missed the hull by only a dozen yards. The ship bobbed and rocked with the waves caused by the shot, but with another shift of the sails, the Royal Mary continued to drift on a path to engage in battle. Receiving a nod from the captain, Aiden raced down the steps and across the main deck. “Archers, at the ready!”

  Still standing at the helm, the captain continued to shout orders. “All cannons, set your sights.”

  “Setting sights, sir!” bellowed MacPherson from below.

  Aiden drew his flintlock pistol and held it aloft. “Musketeers, charge your weapons.”

  “’Tis a good day for a fight, sir,” snarled a weatherworn seaman.

  “Agreed.” Aiden charged his weapon with his powder horn, then rammed a lead musket ball. “They will feel the iron might of Scotland in their very bellies.”

  A roar rose from the deck as the men shouted the battle cry, “For Scotland!”

  The Royal Mary might have come under the flag of Britain, but her crew would never forget their roots.

  After hours of posturing, it took only minutes for the Mary to maneuver close enough for the captain to give the command for the cannons to fire all guns.

  “Archers, take aim,” Aiden bellowed. “Fire!”

  As he watched the arrows soar, cannon blasts from the gun deck shook the ship. Aiden spread his feet to maintain his footing. “Muskets, take aim,” he shouted over the whistling and deafening cracks from cannonballs smashing timber.

  Across the water, flashes from the sloop’s gunports flared. Aiden leveled his pistol at an officer on the far deck. “All men, fire at will!” he ordered as his finger closed around the cold trigger. Adjusting for distance and the movement of his target, Aiden moved the pistol to the right. His finger closed. The flintlock snapped with a bang.

  Flaming arrows soared from the enemy ship.

  “Take cover, sir,” shouted the sailor beside him. The whistle of approaching cannon fire registered in the back of his mind. Slowly he dipped down below the ship’s rail as he watched his target fall to the enemy’s deck.

  With his next blink the Mary’s deck erupted in a barrage of showering splinters. Something stabbed his arm. Fires ignited.

  “Douse the flames!” Aiden yelled.

  “Cannons, reload!” MacPherson bellowed belowdecks.

  Aiden glanced to his arm. A thick splinter of wood was lodged in the muscle. He clenched his fist against searing pain. At least the fragment hadn’t pierced deeply enough to ruin the use of his hand. Gnashing his teeth, he yanked the splinter out and cast it aside.

  Steeling his mind against the hot, shooting pain, he panned his gaze up to the poop deck. “Archers! Where are my archers?”

  Beside him a musketeer clutched his chest and fell. A whoosh of air hissed through the man’s lips, and then the sailor’s eyes stared vacantly at the sky.

  Damned ill-breeding pirates.

  Aiden reached for his comrade’s musket and powder horn. “I will avenge you.”

  “Fire!” an archer shouted from the poop deck.

  “Charge your weapons!” Aiden countered. “Water barrels, stand at the ready to douse any fires. The only way to beat them is to match them trick for trick.” He eyed their captain and pulled the trigger. The man stumbled backward, grasping his shoulder. Dammit, the ball should have pierced the man’s heart.

  Running forward, Aiden grabbed a barrel of tar and heaved it up to the deck with the archers. “Set it alight.”

  “But—?” Tommy MacGrath objected.

  “Do it, I say, and pummel that boat with flaming arrows.” He pointed. “And mark me, if the fire spreads I’ll hold you personally responsible.”

  “Aye, sir.” Crouching low, Tommy pulled a flint and knife from his pocket and set to making a spark.

  Across the deck Polwarth waved his arms through the black smoke, but the deafening sounds of battle swallowed his orders. Behind the captain a cannonball crashed through the upper deck—too bloody close to the bow.

  Shouting, the pirates levered planks across the span of water between the boats. One, two, three ramps clapped the Royal Mary’s rail.

  “They aim to board us,” hollered Tommy.

  �
�Musketeers, affix bayonets.” Aiden handed his musket to an archer, then drew his sword. “Prepare to fight for your lives, men!” But he wasn’t about to wait for the bastards to cross the planks. Running to the first, he hacked at the hardwood. Over and over he swung his blade.

  Down the deck MacBride followed suit, using a carpenter’s ax.

  As the timbers gave way, at least ten pirates fell screaming into the sea.

  By the time Aiden hacked through the plank, two more boards had been leveled into place.

  “I’ll carve out your liver for that,” growled a pirate, leaping onto the deck.

  The hair on the back of Aiden’s neck stood on end as he whipped around in time to block a deadly blade from lopping off his head.

  Crouching, Aiden crossed one foot over the other, sizing up the man while the entire deck erupted in a maelstrom of combat. From the carelessness of the brute’s first swing, Aiden doubted the man had much finesse, but that didn’t matter when you were as big as a horse and wielded an enormous blade.

  Aiden kept the rail to his back while he crouched and waited for the bastard to strike.

  “Are you milk-livered?” the pirate growled.

  The fine hairs on Aiden’s arms stood on end.

  The bastard’s eyes shifted. Lunging in, the pirate jabbed his sword forward.

  Faster, Aiden met the thrust with a clang that reverberated through his arm. Using his momentum, he spun. Eyeing the man’s throat, he sliced his blade across neck sinews. The pirate’s eyes bulged, then his knees buckled.

  Rushing into the thick of the fight, Aiden didn’t watch his opponent fall. The man would bleed out before his face hit the deck.

  On and on he fought while the listing of the ship registered. Around him muskets cracked, the dying howled, and water splashed as bodies hit the surf.

  Black smoke stung his eyes. His muscles burned. Every clash of steel reverberated through his bones. This is what Aiden had trained for all his life. And he’d be damned if he would meet his end this day. Rage pulsed through his blood.