Pirate Trip: (Historical Romance) (Scavenger Hunting Book 2)

by L. L. Muir

  She bent once more to her task and relaxed slightly. She may not have gained a friend in that shadowy pile of stones, but she suspected she’d lost one enemy.

  The girls were led away through the doorway to the right of the hearth but it was no time for Mal to be asking questions. The captives had gone along willingly. Perhaps they’d accepted their routines and she could only hope that their value depended upon them remaining untouched. The pair seemed much warier of the newcomer than of their guards, so Mal was able to set her worry for them aside…and concentrate on her own predicament.

  She finally had to release Sim’s hand. He peered closely at the small stitches, nodded, and stood to wait for instructions. His movement blew out the candle. The big man sent him away to arrange the remainder of the night watches, and she was suddenly alone with the leader, in a room quickly dimming with the dying of the fire.

  “Bring the candle, lass. Be smart about it.” The big man gestured to the opening through which they’d both entered and waited for her to precede him.

  She folded her arms and cocked her head. “And if I refuse?”

  His black eyes reflected fire. The teeth of his smile glowed from the depths of his facial hair. “Then ye will trade places with one of the other lasses.” He shrugged. “Naturally, I will get less ransom for her—tarnished, as it were—but yers should more than make up for it.” He said nothing while he watched the war within her. When she finally dropped her arms to her sides in resignation, he gestured toward the hall once more. “Shall we?”

  She collected the candle, lit it from the hot coals, and summoned those unkind thoughts back. If her hands shook, it would reflect in the circle of light as she walked.

  He took her weapons, dropped into step behind her, then followed her out of the large room. His hand came over her shoulder to point to an opening on the left with steps just inside. They looked as dilapidated as the rest of the building, but he nudged her forward.

  “I knew ye would relent. Would ye care to ken how?”

  Her pride wouldn’t allow her to respond.

  He pointed left again. “Up, lass. Keep yer steps close to the outer wall or risk yer neck, aye?”

  His instruction was hardly necessary. What once had been triangular slabs of stone were now imperfect in shape, and the only solid bits were the widest sections that lay against the outer wall. The narrow ends, attached to the center pole of the staircase were regular piles of crumbling rock. One good stomp might send the entire construction into the depths. No one with any sense would continue, but another shove from behind warned her to keep moving.

  What choice did she have?

  If she balked, he would simply exchange her for one of the other girls. It would be the same as forcing one of them to walk the plank in her stead.

  “You are a fool,” she muttered to the madman behind her.

  He chuckled. “Not so foolish as ye believe. We’ve shored up some of the steps, lass.”

  She paused with her foot resting tentatively on the next step. “Some?”

  “Life is a gamble. And from what I’ve observed from ye this night, ye’ve a taste for leaping before ye look.” He laughed heartily and gave her bottom a good whack, propelling her up two steps before she was once again in control of her pace.

  An urge took hold of her. She moved quickly to the outer edge of the step, pulled her right arm in front of her, then swung her elbow around behind her with all her might. The man ducked, allowing the force of her would-be blow to whirl her in a circle on the delicate stair. The candle flew off its holder and out into the hallway below where it died upon landing. Her spin ended with her facing the man and reaching out for his shoulders to steady herself. She’d just got a good hold on his ragged coat when the stone shifted beneath her.

  She screamed. He laughed ever the harder for it.

  “May we descend now?”

  “Up,” he barked, then turned her to face the blackness.

  “I can see nothing. How can I tell which steps have been reinforced without light?”

  “Dinnae bother. None have.”

  “You lied!”

  “Auch, but that will be the least of my sins this night, my love. Now do as I told ye. Stay to the wall.”

  There was no need to hide her fear in the darkness. No one could see her trembling hands as they skittered across the wall, following its curve as she placed her steps as close to it as possible. Each time she reached out, she both prayed for and feared finding nothing. Surely, they should have reached the battlements by now.

  “A few more steps, lass.”

  He bellowed down the stairwell for someone to bring a candle and she nearly lost her footing. And though it was temporary, she was grateful when he held tight to her arm to lead her out onto a landing.

  “Sure footing here, lass.” He led her forward until her feet touched something soft, then he let her go and moved to a coverless window with a black, starless night beyond. Into that blackness, he hurled her weapons and any hope of ever finding them again.

  She fought to keep calm while she listened to the scrape and slap of someone on the stairs, splitting her attention between the man at the window and the landing. She was anxious for the light and just as anxious that the distance between her and the big man would remain until the candle arrived.

  Thankfully, the man lingered at the window even after one of the younger men appeared with a pair of candles, set one of them just inside the doorway along with her beard and her sewing bag, and disappeared again without looking up at her.

  The direction of the light cast a mask across her captor’s face in a combination of orange and black. With his backside resting on the window’s ledge, he folded his arms and stared at the floor with his head cocked as they both listened to the receding footsteps. She took the opportunity to study him.

  His brow was a bit broader than Connor’s, though their coloring was similar. Where Connor’s eyebrows were sharp and defined, this man’s were bushy and coarse. A ragged scar cut across the bridge of his nose, but he was only slightly frightening, despite his size. And, if she hadn’t known what kind of man he was, she might have thought him pleasant-looking.

  His shrewd gaze lifted to lock with hers. “Right, then. Who are ye?”

  She was prepared for the question. “No One, from Nowhere.”

  He unfolded his arms and pushed away from the window. She gasped and stepped back before she thought to measure her response. He chuckled again as he strode past her, took up the candle and the beard, and returned to the window to closely examine the latter, as if the weak moon might aid his vision. The sewing bag was forgotten.

  He motioned for her to remove her hat, paused to study her hair, then nodded. “A fine costume. For anyone less…womanly…it would have been passable, I’d wager. Ye’ve not the voice for it, ye ken.”

  “So I have been told. And what do they call you?”

  “Sir, if they be wise. Black Brian, if they be not.”

  Apparently, kidnappers named Brian were assigned colors. She’d never heard of such a thing. And despite the temptation, she decided not to ask him if he was familiar with an Irishman called Blue Brian.

  He tossed the beard aside. It resembled a small animal as it slid into the shadows. “So, Miss No One from Nowhere, would ye care to confess what it is ye’re huntin’? Or would ye rather I speculate?”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Hunting?” Mallory put her nose in the air. “Obviously, I am hunting for my fellow Englishwomen, to help them return home again.”

  A sly smile lifted one side of Black Brian’s face as it had done before. “I dinnae believe ye.”

  “I hardly care, sir, what you believe.”

  He waved away her words. “Oh, I have no doubt ye came in here with noble intentions, but ye came to Scotland with some treasure in mind, aye? Perhaps ye’ve already found what ye sought and ye’re on yer way home again?” His gaze moved over her clothing, then, as if wondering where she might be
hiding that treasure.

  Mal’s hand went to her throat, shocked by how close he was to the truth, that Connor might have been her treasure, and she was finished hunting. How could he possibly have guessed such a thing when she’d never voiced the sentiment to anyone but Viv and Bridget? And now, a stranger suggested it!

  “Impossible,” she breathed.

  Both his brows flew high and he grinned with surprised pleasure. “So! Ye are part of the madness, then. Ye’re a mite older than the others we’ve caught, so I couldnae be certain.” He nodded toward her hand where it now rested upon her steinkirk, over her chest. “I would see this treasure now.” He opened his hand and waved impatient fingers. “No point in being coy, lass.”

  Mal’s mind reeled. What could she possibly offer him? He was confident she possessed some treasure, but she could think of nothing on her person, other than the coins hiding in the lining of her sewing bag, or those inside her boots, that might serve the purpose. How far would he go to search her? And when he found nothing significant, would he be angry enough to hurt her? He certainly looked capable of anything now that the glower he’d used on his men had returned to twist his features.

  She needed her coins to get home again, especially if she could get away with the other girls. Besides, if she did give him the money, he’d move on to other things.

  “Dinnae test me further, Miss No One.” His glare dropped briefly to the large pallet on the floor by her feet—a clear warning.

  She had no choice. She had nothing whatsoever to give him…but the truth. “I confess.”

  His frown lightened and he rubbed his hands together. “I’ll wager a lady such as yerself found something worth more than a basket of white heather for yer wedding bower, aye?”

  She shrugged. “Yes. And no.” She wandered away from the pallet, testing the floor as she strolled to the far wall, then faced him again. “I would tell you my rather frightening tale before I reveal the treasure. Will you listen?”

  He narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. And though he had to suspect she was delaying on purpose, he eventually nodded permission. “I’ll not suffer a long tale, lass, when I am anxious to show ye my bed.” He gestured to the pallet again but remained seated on the ledge.

  “I daresay my story will appeal to you. It began with my friend exacting revenge on a certain English baron, the brave deeds of a trio of knighted Highlanders, and three young women who snuck over the Scottish border dressed as fine bearded gentlemen—"

  “Two more of ye? Where be the others, lass?”

  She shook her head. “They are safely back in the arms of family.” She needn’t tell him whose families, but it was no lie. Bridget and Rory were a new family now, and Viv was traveling under the protection of the Nalders.

  Mallory eased down to the floor and, after testing the solidness of it, leaned back against the wall. She clutched her tricorn over her bent knees in order to keep her hands from shaking.

  She began her tale by describing Lord Braithwaite, the baron to whom Bridget had been engaged. She watched her audience carefully while describing the baron’s more horrific deeds and was pleased when even Black Brian seemed appalled by them. And she thanked Heaven she wasn’t under the influence of a similarly cruel man.

  Next, she briefly touched on the plan of the Scavenger Hunt. Though she would never disclose who first suggested the game, she explained enough to defend why so many young English ladies had gone off in search of adventure.

  Her captor seemed particularly intrigued by the fact that others might be making their way across the channel to other countries. However, he was much less impressed with all the preparations Mallory and her friends had made before beginning their quest.

  To draw his gaze away from the pallet, Mal skipped to the spot in her story where they were lured inside the walls of Alistair Graham’s keep. “Obviously, they had seen through our disguises from the start.”

  “I cannot image how,” he said, then stood and coughed so violently he nearly blew out the candle. The cough quickly dissolved into the most insulting, raucous laughter she’d ever endured. And just when she thought he might settle, he noticed the dark shadow of her beard lurking to his left and started up all over again.

  It was a wonder that every man in the place did not come running to see what all his whooping and shouting was about. But then again, if feet were pounding up the steps, she’d never have heard it.

  “I feel obliged to keep a record of the people I am forced to wound mortally,” he quoted, mocking what little of the story she’d been able to tell at that point, then bursting into a fresh bout of hysteria.

  Mal summoned the most cutting look she could imagine and sent it in his direction, which only made matters worse. And even in the light of a single candle she was able to see tears bursting from his eyes, he was so thoroughly amused.

  Breathless, he sat back upon the embrasure once again and tried to compose himself. His laughter ceased completely, as if someone had cut off his head. Mallory saw his eyes round and widen, the whites showing all around the dark centers while, at the same time, his hands shot out to his sides to clutch at the edges of the window.

  She jumped to her feet, wondering if he was choking or perhaps he’d laughed so hard he’d stopped his own heart. She took a step toward him, then hesitated when the man’s entire body jumped as if he were sitting on a wagon that had violently struck a large bump in the road. The surface beneath him failed, the rocks of the wall crumbled, shifted out of his reach!

  Mal’s instincts were to pull him away, but before she’d taken a third step, the window and half the wall fell out of sight, taking Black Brian with it. Her stomach turned when she heard the stones slamming on the ground far below. A voice cried out in abject denial, but she realized the sound had come from herself.

  She moved toward the edge, but something held her back.

  “No, milady! It isnae safe! Ye’ll tumble after ‘im, ye will. Have a care.”

  She turned to the young man, Padruig, who still held tight to the back of her coat. His face was filled with pity, and she hoped Black Brian’s men would still believe that they’d arrived together, that she had come as a companion to their leader and not to kill him. But at the moment, none of it mattered.

  “We must see if he survived!” She tried to push past him to the door, but he held tight.

  “Nay, lass. Ye’ll wait here. We’ll ken soon enough.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The North Sea had been belligerent a day before, but that same stubborn wind that tried to keep Connor's ship from making its way westward, past Skye, caught their sails and fairly flew them down the west coast of Scotland, onto the River Clyde, and into the harbor at Glasgow. It nearly made up for a day of frustration.

  Nearly.

  Connor settled his debt with the captain—he never bothered to ask if the young female stowaway could pay for her own passage, he simply paid it. He also felt obliged to keep her safe for the time being, but that did not mean he had to spend time with her.

  Before allowing her out of the brig, he sent for an armed guard to meet them on the dock. And despite her angry tears and murderous glances, he felt no qualms over having her clapped in chains.

  The guards, however, seemed amused by his orders, as if they thought him less of a man for fearing the lithe creature that she was. Compared to his peace of mind, however, his pride was less important by half. And if she were placed in a veritable cage until she was delivered upon her father's doorstep, it was a kindness compared to the adventure she sought.

  "There is a registry at the constable's office," one guard said. "A number of missing English lasses are listed there, with descriptions. Ye may find her father among the lot that lingers in town."

  “I very much doubt it. She sneaked onto the ship in Whiteby Bay!”

  God help him, why hadn’t he spoken before they’d taken the blasted barrel on board?

  Necks craned and heads turned as they made their wa
y along the dock that evening. Five men escorting a young lass bound in chains was bound to entertain imaginations, but Connor reminded himself of the moment he’d found Mallory and her friends in the clutches of kidnappers.

  Had it only been weeks?

  Why they’d allowed any of those men to live was past understanding. But perhaps he and his friends would have dealt harsher had they known how many other foolish Englishwomen were flooding their country, wanting for a taste of adventure, oblivious of the danger from men like Blue Brian and his ilk.

  That they allowed Blue Brian to ride away was a mistake, to be sure…

  Since the guards knew the route to the Constable, Connor fell into step behind them and followed along. He was a coward, yes. But only a fool would parade in front of a lass who might be eager for his attention—as she had been that first night aboard.

  Did you oblige them?

  He shuddered at the memory. What a question for a lass her age! It was no wonder chains were necessary.

  The prisoner stomped down the street and surreptitiously glance at the guards. When she tipped her head to the side to study one man’s backside, Connor cursed under his breath. It was too late to consider a blindfold, but it was probably for the best. They’d gather a crowd if folks believed she was being marched to her own hanging.

  Sadly, if the lass got away again, it would be a poor horn-mad Scot dangling from a tree and not her.

  The office of the Constable smelled like a brothel from a hundred feet away. Dandied Englishmen draped off the walls like half-dry laundry while their vestments gave off gusts of perfume. What reasonable man would not prefer simple clothing that could be washed and beaten on a rock, instead of fancy costumes that smelled to high heaven of either sweat or spices?

  Connor tucked a crooked finger beneath his nostrils while he made his way through the offensive invaders from the south, but they came alive when they noticed the girl in the midst of the guards. Blustering and indignant, they pressed forward for a close look at the lass. Were they so unfamiliar with their own daughters they wouldn’t recognize her from a great distance?