by R. L. Syme
She could not choose the mountains of Scotland over the docks of Hoorn. Maas would always have a part of her heart, but Valcymer Vanhorn had taken her soul captive. She belonged to him, and he would know that as soon as she could show him.
Cadha laid down on the long, protruding rocks near the edge of the cliffs and waited.
Valc’s spirits rose when he saw the empty deck of his ship. They climbed up the boarding ladder, one at a time, padding quietly in case anyone was laying in wait.
The wood was familiar under the pads of his fingers, and when he grasped the rail, he breathed a long sigh. He turned to the men behind him and signaled them on.
There were more of them than he had expected, but once they’d been sure that the other ship had continued on its course and not been bound for their berth, all the Sinclair brothers had insisted on coming. Just in case.
“So, this is your ship,” Brother Auden said, coming over the rail onto the deck.
“It’s larger than I thought,” Erlan said at nearly the same time, jumping on deck behind Auden. “The way you spoke of it, Valc, I expected it to be hardly seaworthy.”
Malcolm followed and took a few steps onto the deck. “What’s her name?”
Valc paused, touching the rig for the mainsail. “She doesn’t have one.”
“Why not?” Malcolm asked.
“My… Greta never named her.” Valc gripped the rope. “She didn’t like to name things. Said it got in the way of knowing them.”
The larger of the Sinclair brothers came on board and spoke to Malcolm, who translated. “Now, where is this treasure of yours?”
A low sun cast shadows across the deck and Valc surveyed the ship. He went for the hold and with Auden’s help, pulled up the hatch. He felt around underneath, his heart thumping in anticipation. But the box still hung where he’d left it.
Erlan went to the opposite rail and looked over the bay. “This is a desolate place. There are ships, but no people. A port, but no town. Such a strange place.”
Valc let those words roll around in his head as he and Auden pulled the box up from the hold and closed the hatch.
“Strange that there is no one here,” Erlan continued.
Valc set down Greta’s box. “There must be someone, if there are all these ships. Balfour would never leave them unguarded.
Erlan pointed out. “Empty. Like a graveyard.”
“That box looks heavy,” Malcolm said, then translated for his brothers.
“One man can lift it.” Valc set his hand on the lid. “Which is why I was worried it would have been found.”
Erlan gestured to Valc. “Look at this.” He pointed across the shadowed water and Valc went to his side. “There have to be five or six ships out there, besides the ones we saw here.”
“There are nine in total.” A strange voice rang out. But it wasn’t strange at all. Valc recognized it and whirled around.
From behind the pinnace, a familiar yellow-haired boy emerged. He carried Valc’s sword and wore a wide smile.
“It’s Balfour’s translator,” Valc whispered to Auden. The men fell into line behind Valc and drew their swords. Valc pulled out his dagger. “What do you want, Alwin?”
“Don’t bother taking out your weapons, lads,” the boy said. He had a strangely confident air about him and swaggered forward. “You’re surrounded.”
Valc’s heart thudded almost to a halt. Two more men came out from behind the pinnace, holding swords. And then another. There was no way the quarterdeck could have held so many. They must have been pulling one another up, or shimmying across from another ship.
“We won’t surrender,” Malcolm growled. The two Sinclair brothers followed him as they all flanked Valc and spread across the width of the deck.
With the box in the open behind them, Valc’s blood raced. He wanted to let the fight begin, and stealthily stow the box once again. But Alwin’s eyes were already on it.
“I’m glad you pulled out that box for us. We might not have found it on our own.” The boy laughed and brandished Valc’s sword.
Valc glanced around at the growing opposition, but the Highlanders behind him were getting itchy. One of them yelled something and all the men dropped the tips of their swords toward the deck.
“What did he say?” Valc whispered.
“He said he’s the Earl of Caithness and if they don’t stand down, he’ll have them all hanged.” Auden nudged Valc’s shoulder. “Should we let him take the lead?”
“It’s my ship,” Valc said, stepping forward. He pointed his dagger at the boy. “Your captain said I could take my ship if I produced Cadha’s brother-who-isn’t-a-brother. We are here to produce him.”
Alwin glanced at his companions and made a signal behind him. The boarding of Balfour’s men appeared to have halted, but from far off to the starboard side, someone swung in on a rope.
When he landed, the scarred-faced pirate stomped up to Valc, hissing words in another language. He had no weapon and no one stopped him.
The boy translated from near the pinnace. “You come into my bay and sneak aboard my ship… my ship… and order me to give it to you?”
“This is my ship.” Valc stretched to his full height. “You threw me overboard into the sea before I had a chance to agree to your terms.”
The big Scot glared down at him, but Valc glared right back. He looked from face to face of the Sinclairs and the monk, and then put his eyes back on Valc.
“You lied to me.” Balfour spat on the deck. “No one lies to me.”
“But Cadha told you the truth,” Valc said. “She told you her father adopted a boy, and you didn’t believe her. Don’t you want to hear it from his own lips?”
Calum Acheson sneered. “I will know if he lies.”
Valc nodded and stepped back. He put his hand on Erlan’s shoulder. The flame-haired young man still had his sword at the ready, and Valc pulled at his grip until he lowered the weapon.
“This is Erlan. He is the one that Cadha spoke of.”
Acheson moved to stand in front of Erlan, as he had stared down Valc, and moved his gaze around the group. He spoke Gaelic, and Auden whispered in Valc’s ear.
“He asks if we know who he is, and Erlan says he does. Balfour wants to know if the girl’s story is true.”
Valc held his breath while Erlan explained his relationship to Brecht de Witt. He didn’t need to speak the language to see the impact on Calum Acheson. The incredulity was almost palpable.
When the big pirate had finished listening, he took a step back and crossed his arms. He made a reluctant pronouncement, and Valc could see he believed Erlan. But something was still not right. The pirate still hadn’t made his men stand down. There was an apprehension among them that could snap into battle at any moment.
The Bastard of Balfour retreated to his men and held conference. Erlan released a long-held breath, and sidled up to Valc.
“What was that about?” he asked.
“Do you know Balfour?” said Valc.
“No.”
Valc explained the legends of Calum Acheson’s parentage. His father’s sudden withdrawal of legitimacy that put the Balfour lands into limbo and bastardized a son he’d long ignored. “The old man has always lived in France. Never even set foot in Scotland,” Valc said. “You can see why Balfour is befuddled by your adoption? He’s never seen love from his real father.”
Erlan’s eyes clouded. “Brecht is a good father. Not like this man’s.”
Without bidding, Valc’s mind was overtaken by images of Cadha. The moment when she’d sailed overboard after him, their kiss in the cold, rolling sea. Her easy laugh, her free love.
If Brecht de Witt was anything like Cadha, Valc could imagine the man inspiring the deepest loyalty.
Calum Acheson came back to stand before them. Through Alwin, he said, “You did as you promised. You produced the man I didn’t believe existed. He tells the truth.” He waved his arm and his crew began to disappear behind the pinna
ce once more. Alwin stepped forward and stood at Balfour’s hip.
“You are leaving?” Valc asked.
“You may take your ship,” the boy said. “But not your treasure.”
Valc’s sigh of relief was so loud, he felt like it echoed across the whole of the bay. But the Bastard of Balfour stepped past Valc before he realized what was happening.
“What are you doing?” Valc bent into a defensive stance and put his dagger out. “Don’t touch that.”
Balfour pushed him aside. “I must have some spoils for my trouble. The first place you went was for this box. I believe this will be my reward for letting you go.”
One of the Sinclairs reacted before Valc could slash his own dagger through the air. The big broad sword sunk into Calum Acheson’s chest.
With a roar, the scarred pirate staggered backward and Alwin rushed at them, weapon swinging, shout piercing the night. Erlan sliced into the young man’s stomach and Valc’s stolen sword clattered to the deck along with the boy’s entrails. An inhuman howl loosed from the Bastard of Balfour. He surged forward and caught the boy in one arm.
They all stood in silence, watching the pirate wail and bleed on Alwin’s clothing. The crew began to spill back onto the ship, weapons cutting the air, and the Sinclairs had to defend themselves once more. Auden, Erlan, and the Highlanders entered the fray. Valc went for his sword, which Alwin had dropped.
As Valc bent to retrieve his weapon, he felt a sharp, burning pain in his back. In a moment of shock, he stumbled forward and felt the sword leave his body. When he collapsed on top of the box, he saw Balfour behind him, his big blade hovering in the air, covered with blood.
Valc lay curled on the box, unable to move as the pain coursed up and down his body. Balfour wailed again, and the lad stretched over his lap went slack.
Bodies fell all around Valc, but he couldn’t make out what was happening. He heard splashes in the water, and saw the Sinclairs throwing men overboard. Soon, all three of the Highlanders, along with Auden and Erlan, stood around the Bastard of Balfour, their weapons pointed at his head.
Valc shook his head as his vision began to blur. He heard the Highlanders trading words with Balfour, and saw them force the big man to his feet. One of the crew came rushing again from behind the pinnace, and Auden dispatched him, throwing him over the rail. Another splash.
Auden ran around the ship’s boat and Valc saw the flash of his sword and heard two thunks against the wood of the ship, then heard something slink into the water.
“Help me up,” Valc said. He tried to get to his feet, but slipped and crashed to the deck again. The pain bit through his back and he clawed at the box for stability.
The Highlanders walked Balfour to the edge of the rail. The scarred pirate bared his teeth at them and held the dead boy in his arms.
“What are they saying to him?” Valc whispered to Auden.
The monk touched something painful on Valc’s back and winced in sympathy. “Do not worry about it, my brother.”
Erlan pulled at Valc’s shirt. “I have some training in medical arts. Let me look at it.”
“Can you repair it?”
Everything went dark for a moment, as Valc closed his eyes. The pain was so intense, in his back, but all through him. He could barely think at all.
Another splash sounded and when Valc looked up, he saw that Calum Acheson was no longer on board his ship. The three Highlanders spoke to each other in hushed tones.
“Balfour has been warned,” Erlan said, although Valc wasn’t sure if he spoke to Auden or to himself. He was losing his ability to tell direction or time, or distinguish between voices.
They all traded words back and forth, but Valc couldn’t really understand anything they said. It sounded garbled and quiet. He lifted his head and a sharp blast of pain made him cry out.
Erlan put his hands on either side of Valc’s face. “Don’t move. You’re losing too much blood.”
“We should cast off,” Auden said. “Return to St. Claire as soon as we are able. After the Earl’s warning, they will not follow us.”
“Yes.” Erlan spoke to the Highlanders again and Valc felt himself being turned. Something soft slid under his back.
“We’re trying to stop the bleeding,” Auden explained. But the monk’s features were crumpled and dark, and Valc knew that look.
“You can’t stop it, can you?”
Both Erlan and Auden paused at the words and Valc felt another lance of pain as they forced something else underneath him. Another cloth?
Valc closed his eyes and tried to focus on anything but the pain. He saw Cadha’s face, and the open sea, and the brightly-lit deck of his ship. Everything was white and hazy and he remembered how Greta had described seeing her son in her last moments. So bright, so inviting.
His heart thudded against his chest and it felt like his breath would stop at any moment. But when it caught and began to beat again, Valc swallowed against the fear that took him.
This was his end.
“You can’t stop it, can you?” he repeated.
Valc could barely make out Auden’s face. There was no hope in the monk’s eyes, and Valc’s mind raced. He had so much to say, still.
He felt for his sword and dragged it from his side, thrusting it into the monk’s hands. “Take this,” he said. “I want Erlan to give it to Cadha.”
Erlan stuttered. “Don’t… Valc. We won’t let you die.”
Valc laughed, and the pain engulfed him. “That choice isn’t yours to make, my friend.”
“What about the box?” Auden’s earnest tone told Valc all he needed to know. He was, indeed, beyond saving.
Erlan picked at the latch on Greta’s box and flipped it open. The stench of the sepulcher filled their noses and he pushed it closed again.
Valc squeezed Auden’s hand and met his eyes. “Please see that box to its final resting place in Canterbury.”
A solitary tear slid down Auden’s cheek. “I will, brother.”
“Tell Cadha…” Valc’s gaze rested on each face that watched him. There was one face he’d longed to see again, and he closed his eyes to picture her one last time. At least he had told her goodbye.
Chapter Eighteen
Maas’s voice woke Cadha, soft and pliant. Dark had ascended long before, and from what she could see when she looked around, there was a sliver of daybreak peeping across the sea. She had slept most of the night not far from what could have been a plunge to her death.
It didn’t thrill her like she expected. But the touch of her betrothed was as welcome as warmth. She stole her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Maas,” she whispered. “I waited for so long.”
He gathered her into his arms and held her against him, standing away from the cold rock. “I saw something near the cliffs and when Lilian said you hadn’t been seen since dinner, I thought you might be here.”
“You know I can’t be cooped up inside a house when I’m waiting for someone to come home.”
“I know.” He set her on the ground and touched her nose with one of his knuckles. “Your father used to say you’d have wood-grain permanently embedded in the contours of your face from sleeping on the docks to wait for him.
She circled around. “Where is everyone?”
“In the castle.” He pulled her along beside him as he went for his horse. “I wanted to find you first. We only just returned.”
She shivered against the cold wind and he put his arm around her.
“You’re freezing, woman.” Maas drew her into his side and cradled her between himself and his horse. Cadha giggled and nuzzled into him.
“Woman,” she repeated. “No one has ever called me that before.”
Maas turned her to face him and put his hands on either side of her face. “That is what you are, Cadha. You are a woman, now.”
“I am, aren’t I?” She laughed again and shook her head against his hands. “Although Mama will never see me as such.”
“That is why I never told your parents of our betrothal. They still see you as a girl.” His eyes drew down in sad withdrawal. “But this journey has made you a woman, grown.”
Cadha’s breath felt pinched as she inhaled. She needed to tell Maas of her decision. But was now the best time, when they had just returned?
“Tell me how the trip went,” she said instead.
“We docked in Balfour.” He did not meet her gaze, although she searched it out. “There were many ships in the bay, and some of the pirate’s men guarded them.”
“And there was a battle?”
Maas nodded. His eyes shuttered and he reached for his saddle bag. No, not the bag. Around the other side of the bag, in front, where the sheath was tied. He pulled out a sword.
“He asked me to give you his things. Especially this.” Maas couldn’t meet her eyes. Even in the low light, she could see the fear in his eyes.
Cadha reached for the weapon, but didn’t touch it. Valc’s sword.
“Why would he…?” she began.
Maas thrust the hilt into her hand and knelt in front of her. “I’m so sorry, Cadha.”
With his hands gripping hers, around the hilt of Valc’s sword, Maas began to shake with sobs. She backed up, releasing her fingers and dropping the weight of the weapon.
“No.” She swallowed. “No.”
Maas nodded once more. “I am so sorry, my love.”
“But… no. I knew he wasn’t coming back, but… no. He can’t be… dead.” A sticky, itchy threat of tears climbed up the back of her throat and burned everything on its way. Cadha sniffed at them. “No, he just told you to say that so I wouldn’t try to come after him.”
Mass lowered his head. “I wish that were the case.” He raised the sword again and presented it. “He asked us to give this to you.”
“But… Balfour promised. H-he pro… No. Valc can’t be dead. He can’t.” Cadha’s cheeks were soaked and she collapsed to the springy earth. Maas hovered over her, covering her with his body, cooing at her, trying to comfort her. But Cadha felt like her whole world had melted into nothing. It was gone.
She pushed at Maas, pounded on his chest, screamed. This couldn’t be happening. Valc couldn’t be dead. The anger roused her with its force and she beat Maas’s chest as she stood. Valc’s sword clattered to the ground between them and lay in the dark, reflecting what little light budded on the horizon.
