Pursing his lips, he moved away from the entrance, taking the light with him. “Come on, then. I expect you’ll have to come with me. Captain is going to want to see this, I’m certain.”
Scooting from the box without any further prompting, I stood and stretched, wincing slightly at the brightness of the flame in the glass case Dagger held aloft, lighting the area. Abella followed after, stretching as well, and then fell still, watching the men around us with some uncertainty. Besides the Quartermaster, three other men had come to help capture the intruders. The dogs—big, hairy, gray, and somewhat ugly—danced around their feet, sniffing everywhere, begging to be shown more attention.
“That’s enough,” Dagger said to them, holding out his hand. In an instant, the two hounds sat, paying strict attention. Without even glancing at them, he grinned at Abella and I, inclining his head. “Madame, Mademoiselle.” Motioning for us to go ahead, he stepped aside, clearing the small pathway to the hatch on the other side of the room.
Smiling tightly, I nodded, going in the direction he indicated. It was somewhat surprising that they hadn’t clapped us in irons. One of the men who’d accompanied him had been carrying the handcuffs, alerting me to the fact that they’d intended to arrest whomever they found. Why hadn’t they done it to us?
As we moved through the hold and to the next deck, the reason became increasingly clear. We were Ladies. I’d been a guest of the King at Versailles and was technically married to a prince, even if Tristan had no lands and his family hadn’t reigned in Ireland for a few generations now. Dagger was choosing to treat us as he would if he’d encountered us on the street. Everything he said was increasingly polite and diplomatic. He even asked after our general health and well-being.
Staring pointedly at the main brig as we came up from of the hold, I stopped, forcing him to pause behind me. The jail covered the entire deck, stretching across the ship menacingly. Unlit lamps hung from beams every few feet, waiting for the time they would need to be used. These cells were mostly the same as the secondary brig in the hold, but they made me more nervous, for some reason. In the dark, you could pretend that you weren’t a prisoner. Here, with lamplight to show a different story, you always knew where you stood. “Will Captain MacDonald put us in there?” I asked Dagger, not looking to see his reaction.
“It’s not my place to say what the captain will and won’t do,” he replied.
“Would you, if you were captain?” I turned and folded my arms.
His nose twitched, as if I’d amused him and he blinked, staring me down. “I’m not the captain. Shall we continue?” He motioned to the next set of stairs, and continued to watch, as if he expected me to bolt.
Abella, sliding her hand into mine, leading the way this time, mounted the steps with her head held high, despite the shaking of her fingers. The gun deck came into view, the long cannons tied and waiting for the moment they would be needed. Not hesitating, Abella continued onward. As we leveled out on the next deck, she marched through the hammocks of the crewmen, already familiar with this floor and what it had to offer.
Surprised, several of the men who’d been resting sat up, watching as we strode through them. There were more than I expected, more than we’d ever had on Tristan’s ship anyway. It was much like when we’d been aboard The Order’s Man of War, with her huge crew and giant ship. The Isobel wasn’t as large, but it felt like she had just as many men aboard.
And then I saw him. Rising from his hammock, the wonderfully green eyes I’d memorized so well studied me with a mixture of elation and horror. It was as if I’d just dragged my fingers through his hair, the locks sticking up and windswept. The image made me wish I could touch him, my hands aching to feel his short beard and touch his face once more. I wouldn’t stop at his face, though, choosing to shove the open neck of his dirty and wrinkled, white shirt to the side, so I could trace the saber scar on his shoulder, rediscovering more of his body. Our lips would meet then, and I would ask him what he had been doing to scuff up the black pants and boots he was wearing. There was pitch on them, so he would most likely explain whatever work he had been doing, if only to make me quiet so he could kiss me again. As I drank in his appearance like a woman who had been dying of thirst, I noticed other tiny things, like the rope burn on his left hand and the sunburn on his cheeks. It was so relieving to see him again, I found myself at a loss for words, my heart skipping a beat as I finally gazed on my husband once more.
“Samantha?” He sounded so shocked, so caught off guard, that it almost made me want to laugh. Mark hadn’t said anything to him, clearly.
“What are ye doing here?” He stepped forward, hesitating slightly as he stared past me, to the escort of men watching him. Frowning, he stared at me again, his face flushing some. “Have ye lost yer mind, woman?” His tone was angry this time, embarrassed even. “What were ye thinking, stowing away?”
“An excellent question.” Captain MacDonald’s form appeared on the other side of the grate overhead. “And one I would verra much like to hear the answer to. Get up here, the lot of ye.”
“Aye, Captain,” Tristan responded with the other men.
“Bell!” MacDonald shouted. “Get down here, now!”
Swallowing hard, I moved with the rest of the group, coming up on the top deck and blinking in the bright sunlight. A cool breeze brushed past and a small spray of water came with it, lighting gently on my skin. Looking around at all the open space, I felt as if I could breathe fully for the first time in a week.
Captain MacDonald was waiting in front of the entrance to his quarters, arms folded. He was as striking as the first time I’d seen him, the red of his kilt bright and as menacing as the expression on his face. Around him, the crew was gathering, Mark standing in front of them, a frown on his face. As soon as Abella and I reached them, the crew formed a ring around us, the dogs excitedly circling around the captain.
“Fergus, Hamish, settle.” He made a movement with his hand and the pair sat, holding still as statues, panting as they stared forward. Studying them now, I realized they were Scottish Deerhounds, which meant they were probably the captain’s pets and not the ship’s anti-stowaway system. That was why they had been so friendly and loving instead of attacking us on sight.
“Madame O’Rourke, Mademoiselle,” he started, addressing us both with a healthy dose of annoyance. “What are ye doing on my ship, pray tell?”
Remaining silent, I glared at him. There was nothing I could say that would stop whatever he was about to do to us. It would be better if he just got it over with, so we could all move on with our lives.
“Stowing away is a highly punishable crime,” Captain MacDonald continued, his eyes seeming to blaze as he watched me. “I could have you flogged. Prison is a viable option, as well. Ye would make a nice slave, methinks, too. Or I could throw ye overboard right now and not think about it for a second longer.”
Tristan made a distressed noise in the section of the crew to my left, and fidgeted, obviously not willing to let any of those options come to pass. The captain ignored him, though, his steely gaze remaining on me.
“Ye’ve cost this ship money,” he continued. “No doubt ye’ve stolen the clothes ye’re wearing.” He looked at our pants and shirts with a raised eyebrow, distaste in his expression. “And the food will have been compromised. Suppose we all starve to death because ye had to take our food. They’ll find our shriveled and sun dried bodies in a few months and it will all be because ye two ate our food.”
“Oh please,” I scoffed, breaking my silence and rolling my eyes as I folded my arms. “You have plenty of food. More than enough, actually. I used to work in a ship’s galley, so don’t bother trying to tell me different. These are my clothes, too. I didn’t steal anything I didn’t have to. If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it’s not working. I suggest you give up now.”
He didn’t even look taken aback that I’d responded to him so. His crew, however, seemed scandalized, as if they couldn’t be
lieve the words that had come from my mouth. Tristan only sighed, staring at the sky in defeat. Mark, on the other hand, unsuccessfully tried to hide his smirk, his gaze focused on the floor.
“Ye are on fragile ground, Madame,” MacDonald responded, a slight growl to his tone. “Ye’re presence here has endangered my crew, cost our vessel money, and stands to create discord among my men. These are things I canna let stand. Do ye mean to tell me ye dinna care about the effects of yer actions?”
Remaining silent, I stared at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of another answer. He was trying to goad me into a reaction of his choosing and I wouldn’t do it.
“Ye’ve stranded yerselves on a ship bound for war!” He yelled then, his face flushing with anger. “Stuck on the ocean, with a crew that canna stop to protect ye when the battle wages on around ye.”
“We don’t need your protection,” I spat back, my defenses rising. There was nothing I hated more than being treated like a helpless woman. “We’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves!”
“Says the woman who spent the better part of a year as a captive to one of the worst men of our time.” His words were cold and cruel, his expression mean. “How many men died because ye weren’t able to defend yerself, eh? How many souls fell to the wayside because ye couldna be bothered by the rules? How many more will suffer because ye refuse to stay in yer place?”
Stepping forward, my hand struck the side of his face before I even considered what I was doing. It smacked hard, leaving a bright red mark that disappeared into his beard. Breathing heavily, fighting back tears, I glared at him, wishing he could feel all the pain his few words had dredged up inside me. I knew how many men had sacrificed themselves to save me. They were part of the reason I was here. They had fought for my place, for me to stay at Tristan’s side, fighting against the evils of the world. It was a dishonor to their memory to stay home, sitting on my butt, not doing anything. I had been saved for a reason, traveled through time for a purpose, and I was not about to let one pompous old man tell me any different.
I wanted to say all of this and more to him, to scream and shout, to pound into his brain all of my motives for stowing away on his ship. Instead, I was so angry I couldn’t find the words, a single tear breaking free and rolling down my cheek. Brushing it away furiously, I continued to glare at him, not an ounce of regret for my actions coming to the surface.
Rubbing his face with a frown, he stepped forward, looming over me. “Ye’re a liability that I dinna want. Spoiled. Selfish. And ye’ll be dropped on the first sight of land I see.”
“It won’t matter,” I shot back, finding my voice in an instant. “I’ll just stow away again. And again. However many times it takes for you to realize that I do not intend for this ship to go anywhere without me. Not as long as my husband is on it.”
“Aye, yer husband.” As if my words had alerted him to Tristan’s presence, he turned and frowned at him. “How long have ye known she was here, O’Rourke? When did ye sneak her on board?”
“I was unaware of her presence, Captain.” Tristan frowned, looking at me in worry. “Had I known, I would have brought it to yer attention immediately.”
“Immediately, ye say?” MacDonald laughed, shaking his head. “I dinna believe ye.” Then, turning to Mark, he sighed. “Bell? How did ye get them aboard without anyone seeing?”
“I didn’t help them stowaway,” Mark said, clearing his throat. “I didn’t know they were here, either.”
Snorting, MacDonald shook his head, turning to me again. “Dagger,” he called, motioning for his quartermaster. “Ten lashes. Each.”
Abella whimpered beside me, her hand still tightly wrapped around my own.
Dagger, coming to stand beside me, hesitated slightly, as if he didn’t think lashing us was such a good idea. He was a loyal sailor, though, and took my arm, pulling me from the circle.
“Dagger,” MacDonald said again, causing us to pause. “Not the women, ye dolt. Their men.”
Suddenly panicked, I yanked away from the Quartermaster, turning to look at the captain once more. “They didn’t know, I swear!” My heart was racing in an instant, fear for Tristan and Mark filling me, the knowledge of how painful a lashing was flitting through my memory. Randall had lashed a crewmember once.
The man died.
“I dinna believe a word that comes from yer mouth,” the captain replied smoothly, motioning for Mark and Tristan to go with Dagger.
Abella sobbed beside me, clinging to me like she would fly away if she let go. Her eyes were wild and scared as she gazed at Mark, her face red and wet.
“I swear!” I yelled, watching as the pair slowly walked to where they had been ordered. “They didn’t know! It was all me. I came up with the plan and convinced Abella to come with me. I didn’t tell them what we were doing because I knew they would try and stop us. Please, you have to believe me—they didn’t know!”
“Even if they dinna have a clue, as ye insist, someone still needs to be punished for yer actions.”
Staring at the captain with what was surely a crazy stare, I opened and closed my mouth, trying to find a response. “I’ll do it,” I finally said. “I’ll take the lashes. All twenty.”
Abella gaped at me in surprise, her grip tightening even more.
“Sam, no!” Tristan hissed.
“Sammy, don’t,” Mark added, a strain to his voice as well. “You can’t handle that many.”
“I think I know what I can and can’t handle!” I snapped, glaring at him. Turning to the captain, I held my head high, trying to suppress the out of control feelings inside me. “I’ll take the punishment.”
Captain MacDonald studied me evenly, a strange expression crossing his features for a second. Then, he sighed, a wave of exhaustion crashing over him. “No,” he said softly. “Ye canna take the lashes. It was yer decision to sneak aboard and watching yer husband take the brunt of the beating will be yer punishment. I’m sorry, lass.”
Shocked, I watched him a moment longer, then peered around the crew with pleading eyes. Behind me, a man appeared from below deck with the whip, its many leather tails hanging in the wind lifelessly. For a brief moment I felt some thankfulness for the fact that there was no glass or rock woven into the threads, like the one Randall had used. This one only had knots tied into the braided leather, as far as I could tell. The seriousness of the situation came back in an instant, though, Abella gasping and trembling beside me as she looked at the weapon.
Dagger, taking the whip, turned to the captain once more, his mouth a thin line, and then motioned for Tristan to come forward.
Doing as asked, stepping in front of the Quartermaster, Tristan removed his shirt and turned, displaying his back to his discipliner. He then knelt on the ground, gazing at me with a tight smile. “It’ll be alright, lass,” he said softly. “I’ve had worse. Ye know that.”
Tears freely rolling over my face, I looked at the captain. “Please,” I whispered. “Please let me take them. He’s been hurt enough because of me.”
“No, Samantha,” Tristan said again, his voice strong and sure.
The words seemed to affect MacDonald more than anything else I’d said to him, his face a mixture of emotions. For a moment, I thought he would agree, or call off the whole thing entirely, but he didn’t. Shaking himself, he frowned, his voice sounding like it was full of hurt emotion as well. “This is the punishment for crewmembers who don’t follow the rules,” he said, failing to keep his tone even. “And even if he truly dinna ken ye were here, he’s still responsible for ye. I’m sorry. No.”
Turning to one of the men, he motioned toward Abella and I, moving toward his quarters. “Take them to the brig.” He gave the impression that going through with the flogging was as much a punishment for him as it was for the rest of us, which only made me angrier. Before I could say so, though, he disappeared through the doorway, his dogs trailing behind him.
The man MacDonald had ordered to take me away
nodded, motioning to a few others in the group and moved forward, grabbing me by the arms.
“Tristan!” I cried, trying to meet his gaze as they dragged me away.
“It will be fine,” he said again, his voice firm as he watched me go.
Dagger raised the whip and brought it down across his back sharply, and Tristan flinched, sucking in a quick breath as his eyes widened. In a split second, the second stripe spread across his back, Dagger wasting no time in executing his orders.
I could still hear the sound of the leather cutting into him as I was carried away and locked below deck.
Abella hiccupped, her face red and swollen from crying. She seemed smaller than ever before, huddled in the corner, her knees drawn against her chest, arms wrapped around them. Long, black hair, that had been tied up in a bun, had come loose at some point, and was now sticking to her skin, making her look like she was a homeless, crazy woman.
“Do you think they’re alright?” she asked me quietly, staring at the floor in front of her.
Sighing, I turned away, leaning against the bars of our cell, hands wrapped around them tightly. I’d done a fair amount of crying myself and sniffed, wishing there was something I could do to ease the heavy feeling of my heart. “I don’t know,” I responded, my voice barely a whisper.
“They didn’t scream,” she offered, a hopeful tone emanating from her. “And ten lashes aren’t too many, I guess. They should be fine, oui?”
Staring at the empty cell across the way, I weighed her words. By all accounts, the boys should be fine. Of course, their backs would be cut and bruised, sore for the next little while, but, overall, there was no need to worry too much about what had happened. It wasn’t my concern for their general safety that bothered me, though.
“I knew there was a possibility they would be blamed and punished,” I confessed, unable to keep my thoughts to myself any longer. “But I thought it would be something like laying new pitch or having to clean the head for a few weeks. I never thought they would actually be hurt because of me.” My voice broke at the end and I started crying anew, gripping the metal in my fingers as tightly as possible. The action made my hands ache, but I couldn’t stop. It seemed as if I would fall apart completely if I let go.
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 19
