by Hilly Mason
She never knew a man could talk so much about himself in the short length of time it took to get from the cargo hold to her cabin. Although she wished she did not have this useless information in her head, she learned that he had moved to London to work at the ports at the age of fifteen, and have sailed to America not once, but three times. He also had three mistresses waiting for him both in New York and in London, as well as a wife, but he did not say where she lived or what she thought of the matter.
“Are ye alone in there?” the man asked as Isla opened the door to her cabin. “Or are ye two still playing husband and wife?”
“Bugger off,” Isla said brusquely, and then quickly shut the door.
She turned around and let out a breath of relief. When she looked up she noticed that Jack was standing by the table, waiting for her.
“Don’t ye try to make me feel guilty,” she began as she shrugged her coat off her shoulders. “I ken what it looks like, and let me tell ye: that man is a complete toad.”
“I didn’t say a word,” he said. He then crossed his arms, a dark look on his face.
“What do you think will happen? This is a small ship. If I scream the entire ship would hear.” Isla wondered if that were also true in the cargo hold. She shivered, hoping Jack wouldn’t see.
“Why do you care so much about me anyway?” Isla asked sullenly as she took off her boots. She then shrugged off her coat and slinked into her bed.
“My brother.”
“Your brother?” she said incredulously. “What about him?”
“If I take you to the Murrays, my brother will get out of jail.”
“And here I was thinking you had fallen in love with me and would risk all to keep me safe,” she said sarcastically. She then pointed a finger at him. “You have a lot of explaining to do.”
Jack sighed and sat down.
“C’mon,” Isla urged. “I ken ye dinna like talking, but if we’re going to work together, I need to learn a wee bit more about ye. Ye can be enigmatic all ye want to everyone else, but don’t do it around me, all right? I’ll just keep giving ye a difficult time about it.”
Jack poured himself a glass of brandy as Isla watched him mull over his words.
“We were bored of England,” he began, after the drink hit his belly. “We had everything we wanted in Berkshire—money, land, and enough investments that we could remain idle for the rest of our lives. The thing is, we thought we were missing something. We wanted adventure.”
“Are the two of ye twins or something?”
Jack shook his head. “My brother is two years old than me. We relied on each other, you see. Our parents weren’t around and cared naught for our social lives. They spent most of their time gambling and traveling and left us boys to their maidservants. We only had each other to depend on.”
Isla nodded. “Go on.”
“My brother always had a way with people. He is very charismatic, and can convince people to follow him. A natural born leader, some people would say. He could speak in a way that fooled people into believing that he was an expert in just about anything. Because of this, he was able to secure us a job almost immediately after arriving in America. The Murrays were in need of a diplomatic person to make sure the fur trading went smoothly. So obviously, that job went to Milton. They had no need for me, but my brother convinced the Murrays that it would be mandatory to have a bodyguard to watch over the proceedings, in case some situations become violent. It was because of Milton that I was secured a job.”
“Did situations ever become violent?”
“Almost never with the Indians,” Jack told her. “Although it did happen at times. It was usually the European traders fighting amongst each other, feeling like they weren’t getting their fair share of the money. I had to pull violent men away from my brother more often than not. Some thought him too much of a smooth-talker, I suppose. Didn’t trust him.”
“And is that how he landed in jail?”
Jack chuckled softly. “No. Not so simple as that.” He poured himself another glass of brandy. “My brother ended up falling in love with an interpreter from the Ojibwe tribe. After he was invited to meet her family, her father told him that the village was not getting their full share of the money for the beaver pelts they were producing. I’m not sure if the Murrays were involved knowingly, but their accountant had changed some numbers around that favored them. When my brother found out, he was furious. He stole from the Murray’s coffers and gave the money to the Ojibwe village. Of course, the Murrays found out and arrested him.”
“That sounds like a bloody mess. So where do I come into play?”
“The Murrays struck a deal with me. I get you over here to America, and they will free my brother on the condition that he would then leave for England and never come to America again.”
“Sounds fair to me.”
Jack nodded. “My brother is a romantic, and somehow believes that things will be all right in the end. I think that’s why he acted so rashly.”
“Well, with a devout brother like yourself, I can imagine how he may think that. You’ve gone to the end of the world and back for him. What has he done for you?”
The blunt question stunned him for a moment. He swallowed. “He showed me that there is more to the world than Berkshire,” he finally said.
And yet why did he still feel unsatisfied? He had been traveling and wandering aimlessly for the good part of a decade now, but to what purpose? He had experienced and learned many things, yet he still felt lost.
Ungrounded.
Jack realized then that he had been caring for his brother for his entire life. He had watched over him at the orphanage. And in America. And now he was saving his arse when he was obviously guilty of stealing. They never did have a true mother or father figure. Did Jack just assume the part naturally to give some sort of structure to their lives?
“Miss Isla, there’s something more I need to tell you.”
She was lying on her bed, and her eyes were closed. She cracked them open. “Can it wait until later?” she mumbled. “I’m about to fall asleep.”
“Sure,” Jack said. He stared after the sleeping woman for a minute or so longer before extinguishing the candle and curling his body into his makeshift bed. It took a while to get comfortable. The floorboards seemed particularly hard that night, and he couldn’t decide whether he was hot or cold. Accepting that he would remain sleepless, he spent most of the night listening to Isla’s steady breathing, not looking forward to the moment when she will decidedly hate his entire being.
Chapter Seven
“No.”
Isla laughed in his face, although her irritation superseded her amusement. “You’re not my parents. Ye canna just tell me no.”
It was the following morning, and they had just finished their breakfast and were sitting at the small wooden table in their room over a tense pot of coffee.
“I am acting as your parents by proxy, and I am sworn to protect you. So, no.”
“Oh, so you’re my parent now? Not my husband?” Isla had the strongest urge to kick him in the shin. “Fighting is my profession, Jack. You don’t need to protect me like ye have to protect your older brother.”
She could tell that she had struck a mark. His jaw clenched as he leaned back in his seat. “That’s not what I’m doing. My profession is to make sure you arrive to America safely. Besides, there isn’t a physician on this ship that can tend to your wounds should you injure yourself.”
“That’s fine. I have my own medicine kit if I need it,” she grinned at him wickedly. “I’ve stitched myself up more times than I can count.”
“And that is something to be proud of?” he asked, almost to himself.
He looked decidedly adorable the way he frowned at her. She could hardly help herself. She leaned across the table kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll be just fine,” she told him.
He looked stunned by the small gesture. His face, although tan from days out in the relentless sun, grew red l
ike a tomato, and he seemed at a loss for words.
Isla, amused by the reaction, wanted to play with him a little more. No, of course it wasn’t that she also felt a strange jolt in her body when her lips met his stubbly cheek. It was not like she was picturing his bare arse. Of course not. She just liked teasing him.
A flirtatious man is endearingly called a rake, and yet a flirtatious woman is called a wanton, a whore and more or less cast out of society. Why is that? she thought.
Lucky for her, she cared little about society.
Isla reached her hand out and cradled his face in her palm. He looked at her questioningly. She gave him a small smile before gently pushing his head towards her and kissing him on the lips.
Honestly, she wanted to kiss him the moment she detected his nervousness while riding the carriage to Widley House weeks ago. His lips were soft and tasted of coffee. Once his initial shock had passed he opened his mouth to explore hers. The kiss became more urgent, her mounting pleasure more intense and she found herself pressing into his body, her hands on his hard chest.
Jack wrapped his arms around her back and their bodies banged roughly against the wall of the cabin. She felt her nipples harden as she pressed her chest against his. A pool of warm flooded her sex as his strong, muscular leg separated her thighs.
Suddenly, she felt a jolt of guilt about her enjoyment. But what about Patrick? A little voice asked her. Your one true love? What about him?
Could she love more than once in her life? Her eyes were heavy when she pulled her lips away from his. She gave a breathless laugh, but it sounded more like a gasp.
“Miss Isla,” Jack said quietly.
She grinned, a desperate attempt to hide her confusion. “Well, that was amusing, wasn’t it?”
He furrowed his brows. His face was still flushed, and further down she could see the hardness of his erection against his trousers. Her body stirred, and she had to resist the urge to fall back into his arms and explore his body in a way she never had done with anyone in her life.
No, what was she doing? She had a fight to prepare for! She had no time for tryst in a cabin the middle of the Atlantic!
At least their kissing had stunned Jack enough to momentarily forget their earlier argument. Isla left the cabin before he had time to register what had happened.
A crowd had already gathered on the dock that evening. Isla scanned the faces, recognizing some of the sailors, but most were complete strangers to her.
The crowd hushed as she walked through them. They parted away from her like Moses parting the Red Sea, creating a clearing at the center. Mark was already standing at the center, waiting for her.
She leveled her gaze with Mark. His eyes looked glassy and bit red, and he swayed slightly on his feet, as though he had been drinking. That didn’t mean he would be an easy fight, though—some men needed a big drink before a prizefight to help get their mind in the game.
Isla, however, had to remain clear-headed. It was the only way she could clearly see her opponents’ weaknesses.
She could hear, as she always did, Lord Brodie MacNevin’s voice as she stood in front of Mark. Back in Scotland, Brodie was given the sobriquet, Iron, for his strong and almost-lethal punch. As a child, Isla admired the man, and after much begging he finally relented and taught her a few useful moves that she till used to this day.
Never underestimate your opponent, Brodie had told her. Or ye will surely fail.
“Just so ye ken,” Isla told Mark. “I don’t fight like an aristocrat.”
“Do I look like an aristocrat to ye?” Mark asked, grinning. His teeth were rotted to the quick. “It’s not a real fight if there are rules and regulations.”
Isla smirked, but she remained wary. There was a wild look to the man’s eyes that she did not like.
She took off her coat and handed it to the nearest sailor. She then rolled up the sleeves of her dress shirt so that the baggy sleeves did not distract her.
A man in the crowd whistled provocatively. Isla turned to the crowd. “Want me to fight ye too?” she asked angrily at him. “Christ, how sad that you’ve never seen a woman’s wrists before!”
The man instantly quieted, and a few chuckles emitted from the people around him.
She turned back to Mark and lifted her fists. She then stepped her right foot back and bent her knees, putting more of her weight to the balls of her feet.
“Ye ready?” Mark asked.
“Aye, I’m ready.”
Mark was a surprisingly good fighter. And fast, too. She almost wasn’t able to dodge the first blow once the fight began. It jolted her at first, but when he threw his second punch, she was ready for him. She ducked under her arm and side-stepped out of the way.
“Ye fight with your legs?” Mark asked. He was sweating already and out of breath.
“You mean kicking?” It was not something she normally did, but she did practice the technique now and again.
“Yes, kicking,” Mark said. “Mind my ballocks, will ye?”
“No promises there,” Isla muttered. “Ready?”
“Aye.”
She immediately threw a kick. But he was quick and grabbed the extended leg and pulled, sweeping her off her standing leg. She fell hard onto her right shoulder, and stars danced in her vision as she breathed through the pain. She rolled over to her side and made to stand up, but Mark was already above her. He got down on one knee and punched her square in the jaw. And again, and again.
Time seemed to slow down. Isla couldn’t move, as though her mind as well as her body were stuck in quicksand. Her vision was blinded by pain, but soon she could no longer feel his blows.
Why am I doing this? she thought, her mouth filling with blood. What is the point of all of this? She moved her eyes to the right and saw four men holding Jack back. His eyes were wild like a stallion.
No, don’t help me, Isla thought. I can do this. She grimaced as she lifted her leg and kicked Mark hard in the ballocks.
The man yelped in pain and released her. Isla rolled to her side and lithely jumped back to her feet. Her shoulder protested, but she still needed to win the fight. She still needed to prove herself.
Why? Why? A voice inside her questioned her.
But she pushed the voice away and willed her body forward, running up to the man and punching him across the face. Mark fell to his knees, where she kicked him in the gut.
Of course, she did not fight to kill, but she always made sure she left her mark, especially in fights that weren’t performed in front of the aristocracy, or the authorities.
“Bitch,” the man said, spitting blood as he spluttered the words out.
Isla stood there panting, seeing red—from anger or from blood, she knew not. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Knowing who it was, she shrugged the hand away and walked over to Mark, pressing her boot against his neck.
“Say that again, ye lobcock.”
“Isla.”
Furious, she turned her head toward Jack, who was standing in front of the crowd. She had forgotten about everyone else, and the crowd had grown alarmingly silent. Jack walked over to her. “You don’t want to kill him, do you?” he hissed.
She looked down at the man. He was gasping for breath. She sighed and lifted her foot away from his neck. “No, I don’t,” she relented. “He’s still a pile o’ horse shit, though.”
“Didn’t say that he wasn’t,” Jack said reasonably. “C’mon. You’ve won.”
If she hadn’t convinced the people on the ship not to mess with her, they wouldn’t now. They stared after her silently as she and Jack walked through the crowd. Her face throbbed with pain, but after a quick assessment, nothing appeared to be broken, not even her nose. But she could feel another black eye forming.
“I need a drink,” she said to Jack.
“Yeah? You and me both.”
There was a makeshift tavern on board the ship, converted from an unused cabin. One of the sailors served the drinks, which, with their limite
d provisions, was rum and not very good rum at that. But at least it was something. Jack and Isla had almost finished the bottle of brandy they had found in their cabin, so the tavern was a welcome sight.
The sailor in charge, Douglas, gave Isla a damp cloth to wipe off the blood on her face before he poured their drinks.
“You all right?” Jack asked. She noticed that he had waited for her to have a few sips of her drink before asking.
“Aye, I’ll be fine.” She gingerly moved her shoulder and a sharp shooting pain went all the way down her arm. “Don’t think I’ll be fighting for a while, though.” And she wasn’t disappointed about that either. She was starting to realize that she would be fine if she never fought again.
More sailors began to arrive in the cramped tavern.
“That was impressive, what you did back there,” one man said.
“Yeah, I didn’t know a woman had it in her to do something like that.”
“Makes me a bit scared of my wife,” said another.
There were general chuckles all around. Isla struggled not to roll her eyes. Can’t men get it in their heads that women are strong too? she wondered. And in many ways, they’re much stronger.
The tavern filled up fast, making her in need of some fresh air. She muttered an excuse to Jack and stood up.
Jack stood up as though to follow her.
“For God’s sakes, Jack, I don’t need ye to follow me. Do ye remember seeing me out there? I almost killed the man.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.”
Isla walked outside without waiting for his reaction and stopped when she reached the railing. For a moment, her breath was swept away by the gorgeous sunset painted in the sky. The sun shone red and purple behind the clouds like an angry bruise. Stars were already appearing in the darkening sky, chasing after the sun.
Feeling suddenly lonely, she took a glance back at the tavern and then walked over to the cargo hold, not particularly caring if she was seen. She wanted to check again on Golden. She had noticed the night before how thin the lion looked and doubted the men on the ship were feeding her properly.
