“And then you kissed her,” I interrupted. “And promised you would write her and told her to be safe. Those are contradicting statements, Mark.”
“Just butt out of it, Sam. I don’t need you, of all people, telling me how to run my love life.”
Annoyed, I dropped the spoon I’d been using to stir with and rounded on him, hands on my hips. “Apparently, you do,” I shot back. “Because you’re doing a bang up job of it yourself!”
“She’s almost thirty years younger than me, Sam!” The phrase burst from him like a rocket, his eyes wide and expression hurt. For a beat, he acted as if he wished he’d not said anything, surprise flitting across his features. His voice softened then, a tone of self-loathing filling it, the words he spoke coming slowly and painfully. “Thirty years. Do you know what that does to me? What that makes me? It’s—”
“Disgusting?” Smiling in spite of myself, I nodded, my earlier annoyance dissipating some. His reservations made sense to me now, but I felt he was missing one rather large point. “Yes, in our time it would be. You would be called a cradle robber, pedophile, and all sorts of other names. They’d send you to jail if anything ever happened between you. But you know what? It isn’t like that in this time. Love does not see age the same way. It’s more than common for men your age to marry and love women Abella’s age. Age is only a number here.”
He laughed once, staring at me in disbelief. “So you’re saying that I should just let it go and put everything I know to the side, ignore how bad these emotions make me feel, and just get over it?” He shook his head, disgusted, and stood straight, putting the bread on the counter. “I can’t do that.”
“No,” I said, grabbing his arm as he moved to leave. “I’m saying that if that’s your reason for being so hard on her, you need to tell her. She deserves to know that your reservations have nothing to do with her personally. She deserves to be happy, too, Mark, and to move on if she wants. You can’t just kiss her and then throw her to the wind because you’re uncomfortable, not if you want to be a good guy.”
He snorted, not pleased with what I had to say. “I’m not throwing her to the wind. God, this is just like high school! Everyone is snooping around my business and there’s a teenage girl crying somewhere because I broke her heart. Does it never end?”
Smiling in spite of myself, I released his arm, sighing. “High school or not, I want you to be happy, too,” I said softly. “You’re one of my best friends, Mark. I don’t want to see you suffer any more. Why can’t you let yourself be happy?”
He stared at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching, eyes full of emotion.
“Sails ahead!” The cry came from above, drawing the attention of all those on the crew deck.
“Pirate?” asked Dagger as he sat in his hammock.
There was a pause, everyone waiting for the answer, an air of anticipation hanging over us all.
“It’s the flag of Jean Bart,” Captain MacDonald’s voice called.
The men relaxed at that, going back to whatever it was they had been doing before. Mark made an odd noise in his throat, nodding as he turned to me.
“Do you know who Jean Bart is?” I asked him under my breath, hoping his particular knowledge on pirates would help fill the blanks I was experiencing now.
“French privateer,” he whispered quietly. “And a famous one at that. Did so well that King Louis made him a member of the aristocracy and named him an Admiral in the navy.”
“We’ve caught him a little earlier than intended,” MacDonald continued above us. “But it’s of no consequence. Hopefully he has the time we need to get our treasure out of his hold and he isn’t in a rush.”
“He’s a Templar?” I whispered in surprise.
Mark shrugged. “I don’t know, but it sounds like there’s treasure on his ship either way.”
“O’Rourke!” Captain MacDonald’s voice barked once more, grabbing our attention.
“Aye, Captain!” Tristan’s voice sounded distant, probably because he was in the rigging.
“Not ye, O’Rourke, yer wife.”
Some of the men laughed, and I could practically hear the humor in the Scotsman’s voice. Tristan’s laughter could be heard as well, and I smiled, happy to hear him so at ease and joyful once more. The sea had done us both good, as I’d known it would.
“Aye, Captain?” I called, stepping from the galley and heading for the bottom of the stairs, wiping my hands on my pants.
“Ye and yer maid are coming aboard Bart’s ship with me. He likes a good story and it will be distraction enough while the men move the treasure.”
“Captain Bart needs distracted from that?” I asked, surprised. “He’s not a Templar, then?”
Shaking his head, he smiled. “No. A great man and service to his king, but not part of The Order. The man is as blind as a bat when it comes to what he’s really carrying in the hold. Still, our frequent meetings have made him a good friend of mine. It’s not him that needs the distracting, though; I could do that myself. No, ye’re to be a distraction for his son.”
“I see.” Frowning, I stared at him for a moment. “A pair of breasts for him to look at?”
He snorted, amused. “Aye, I suppose ye could say that. I dinna doubt ye’d put him in his place if he ever gave ye reason to, though, lass. I just need ye to talk to him. He keeps sneaking around my crew, eavesdropping and trying to find out what’s really going on. If I bring two women aboard, though, he’s sure to stay close and leave everyone else be.”
Shrugging, I sighed. “I’ll tell Abella.” Turning toward the surgery, I started walking away, only to pause at his next comment.
“There’s dresses in one of the crates in the hold, if ye want to appear more lady like.”
“Is that a suggestion, or an order?” I called over my shoulder.
“An order, woman. I canna very well take ye on board lookin’ like the sea hardened sailors ye do now, can I?”
“You could, but I doubt it would be enough of a distraction for such a simply pleasured man as the admiral’s son.”
More laughter followed that and I smiled. I was happy to do my part to help, even if it meant putting on a dress. Sure, it made me feel more like a commodity than a useful member among the crew, but this was a job I could do and everyone knew it. Hopefully, Abella would see it the same way.
Moving in to the surgery, I watched her for a moment, going over the bottle and bandages in the case on the table. It was a good stock of supplies, along with some surgical instruments, but not anything that needed as thorough an inspection as she was giving.
“Everything alright?” I asked, breaking her concentration.
“Hmmm? Oh, yes.” Glancing at me, she smiled, a vial of some herb clasped in her hand. “I was just trying to remember all the uses for these. Mark could probably tell me better, but I don’t want to ask him.”
Remembering my very recent conversation with him, I decided to give her a gentle push as well. “You should,” I replied casually. “He might enjoy the break from the ropes.”
“Perhaps.” Returning to the case, she set the vial down, picking another and staring at its contents with narrowed eyes.
Feeling like she was trying to be aloof on the subject on purpose, I frowned, knowing I wasn’t going to be able to get through to her right now. The only thing that would pull her from the focused task in front of her would be new commands from the captain to follow.
“Captain MacDonald has given us some new orders. Another privateer ship has been spotted—Jean Bart’s. We’re to find the dresses in the hold and change into them, so we can go aboard with him.”
She looked up at me again, surprised. “Jean Bart? The war hero?”
“That’s the one. Do you feel like distracting him and his son while the rest of the crew moves the treasure off his ship?”
She blinked, as if she were caught off guard by everything I said, and then nodded, putting the medical supplies to the side. “Of course. Did Captain M
acDonald say where the dresses were in the hold?”
“No, but I imagine we can ask.”
Leaving the surgery, the two of us sought out Dagger and got directions to the crate we needed. An hour later, I found myself dressed to the nines, my hair pulled away from my face and covered with a large hat. Abella looked much the same, the dress she wore now more decorated and fashionable than any I’d ever seen her wear. The blue and yellow fabrics of our skirts seemed to brighten the deck as we stepped out into the sun, ready to do our part.
The two ships were now drawn close, the men employed with the task of lashing the vessels together and securing a gangplank over the open water.
“Ye two look right beautiful,” Captain MacDonald said, coming to stand by us. He’d changed into a clean shirt and kilt, his beard freshly washed and trimmed. “I’m sure Bart and his son will be pleased to see ye.”
“Thank you,” I replied cordially. “You look very nice yourself.”
“Ye noticed, did ye?” That seemed to please him very much for some reason. “Aye, well. I canna meet an old friend looking like a sea dog myself. My mother would hang me from my toes and spank me with a switch.”
The image he painted was so clear, I laughed, looking at him in surprise. He’d never said anything of his family before. In fact, for the first time, he seemed to be in a genuinely good mood. He and Bart must have been fine friends indeed, if he was this happy to see him again.
The gangplank smacked into place, creating a walkway between the two boats and grabbing our attention once more. With a start, I realized I recognized one of the sailors on the other side, his face one I hadn’t seen in over a year.
“John! John Butler!” Grinning widely, I waved across the water, watching as he turned to me in surprise. He was wearing the same white shirt and black pants I’d always seen him in, his skin tan and scarred, a few teeth missing from his smile. However, he was handsome as well, and I had many memories of his friendship and assistance from when I’d first arrived in this time. He had been Tristan’s Quartermaster and fought at the battle for Oak Isle. We’d not seen each other since then, as he’d been injured and sailed back to France on a different ship.
“Sam?” His voice was full of shock as he climbed onto the gangplank, staring at me like he was seeing a ghost.
“Get over here,” I called. “Give me a hug! It’s been too long!”
Like a man chased by Hell Hounds, he crossed the boards, hopping down onto the deck and wrapping his arms around me.
“Thank the gods,” he said, somewhat breathless. “Is Tristan here with ye, too?”
“Why wouldn’t he be?” Pulling away, I studied him questioningly. What I’d thought was just shock at unexpectedly seeing an old friend was more than that, I realized now. John seemed genuinely relieved and thankful to see me, like he’d thought something terrible had happened to me. “What is it?” I asked him, eyes wide. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” he rushed to say. “Only that, well, I thought ye both were dead.”
“Dead?” Shocked, I stared at him with wide eyes. “Why would you think that?”
Blanching, I wondered if he’d thought Randall had killed me instead of kidnapping me. I’d always thought most of The Order had known the general events of what happened in Arizona. Did John not? Was the story not as well circulated as I’d previously imagined?
But, no. He’d said he thought Tristan was dead as well. Everyone would have known he was alive, especially after all the meetings he’d had to attend in Paris. He’d been front and center at the initiation ceremony of the new Grand Master—there was no way anyone could have mistaken him for dead.
“Ye mean, you don’t know?” John frowned, nodding. “Of course ye wouldn’t. Ye weren’t there.”
“What are you talking about? What don’t I know?”
He peered around, as if searching for someone, his eyes passing over Captain MacDonald and Abella behind me. Finally, he sighed and stared at me again.
“Yer house burned down, Sam. The whole thing is a pile of rubble. By some miracle, the stables in the rear managed to survive and yer neighbors didn’t suffer any flames, but everything else is gone. When they found bodies, we all assumed it was Tristan and ye.”
Mind reeling, I tried to digest what he’d said. “Stables?” I managed to sputter. “You mean the old house, the one with the servants, burned? Not the new place they were sending us?”
He frowned, seeming just as confused as I was. “New place? There was no record of ye being moved anywhere else. We—what was left of Tristan’s old crew—searched to see if ye could be anywhere else. Davies himself said it was the only house ye had.”
Shaking my head, I closed my eyes, refusing to hear what he was saying. “No, Davies kicked us out of that house. He told Tristan The Order couldn’t afford to keep us in such a nice place anymore and we had to leave. We were supposed to go that night, but Captain MacDonald came and snuck Tristan and Mark out early.”
“I don’t know what to tell ye, Sam. I went to the man myself. He said no such thing to me.”
Still rattled, I tried to think of anything else I could ask him. “How did the fire start?”
He hedged, looking around once more, and I realized he was searching for Tristan. He didn’t want to tell me what had happened; he wanted to tell Tristan and let him break the news to me.
“Just tell me,” I urged. “You’re making me imagine all sorts of horrible situations.”
“It was intentional,” he replied quietly. “There where witnesses who saw three men break in with torches and set the place ablaze. Yer friend Mark . . . I’m sorry, Samantha. His house was burned as well. We weren’t able to find a body.”
“John!”
Tristan appeared overhead, grinning like a fool. “I didn’t know ye were on Bart’s ship!”
John smiled tightly and nodded. “Aye, friend, I am. It’s good to see ye alive and well.”
Stepping away, I turned to Abella and Captain MacDonald, feeling like I might lose my sea legs for a moment and vomit my breakfast over the railing. “Someone tried to kill us,” I said weakly, knees wobbling beneath the heavy dress. “All of us.”
The ship suddenly felt like it was spinning, my ears ringing loudly as I gripped the railing, fighting tears. Someone had died in the fire, most likely one of the maids, maybe even all of the people who had been working for us and living in the house. The thought made me feel even sicker. The more I went over what I’d just heard, the harder it was to breathe and stand, my knees buckling underneath me.
Captain MacDonald was by my side in an instant, slipping his arm around my waist and holding me steady. “Monsieur O’Rourke,” he called over his shoulder, watching me with an even stare. “Yer wife needs some assistance, methinks.”
“I’m fine,” I replied, weakly, stumbling as I tried to stand on my own.
Tristan’s hands were on me then, concern on his face as he held me. His touch helped ground me, the spinning slowing as I stared at his eyes, inhaling deeply as he coached me along.
“Take her into my cabin,” MacDonald was saying behind me. “Lay her down and let her rest. There’s some whiskey in the desk that will help her find her bearings.”
“It’s alright, lass.” Tristan’s voice was like a prayer to my lips, his strong arms hauling me into the air and keeping me close to his chest as he carried me away.
I wanted to resist, to say I needed to follow my orders from the captain and go on to Bart’s ship, but I couldn’t find the words. All I could think was that someone had tried to harm me and my family, again, and it was very likely they would have succeeded if we’d been there.
Taking me into the captain’s quarters, Tristan laid me down on the bed sitting beside me for a moment, his hands gripped in mine.
“Abella, sit,” he said, motioning to the chairs behind him.
I hadn’t realized until right then that she’d followed us in. Glancing over, I could see tears falling do
wn her face, fear in her eyes.
“He said there were b-bodies. The other servants—Annaliese, my friends—they’re all . . .” She covered her mouth in horror, squeezing her eyes shut as she turned away from us. Leaning against the desk, her shoulders shook as she made sniffling noises, crying over the lives that had been lost.
“What’s going on?” Mark suddenly appeared in the space, the door slamming shut behind him as he took in the three of us with wide eyes. “What’s happened?”
Abella, turning toward him, hiccupped, her eyes bloodshot and starting to swell. The two stared at each other for a moment, a million expressions seeming to pass over the both of them, and then Mark turned his attention to Tristan and myself.
“Are you hurt?” he asked, stepping forward. “What can I do to he—”
“She almost fainted.” Cutting him off, Tristan stood, nodding toward Abella. “The lass just discovered her friends have been killed in a house fire. Our house fire.”
Confused, Mark glanced at Abella, hesitating again, as if he didn’t know which direction to go. “Your house fire?”
Sitting up slowly, I took a deep breath, hoping the spinning in my head would stay away. “Someone lit our house on fire. Everyone inside was killed. Apparently, the same thing happened at your house.”
His eyes widened even more. “When?”
“It would have had to be the night we left on this ship,” Tristan interjected. “Before we moved to our new homes and before anyone realized we were already gone.”
“But Davies said we weren’t moving when John talked to him. Do you think he changed his mind and was going to tell us in the morning?” I stared at my husband with worried eyes. It was clear what he was thinking. I was thinking it, too. But I didn’t want to be so fast to condemn a man, not when I’d never even met him.
“I think the wee bugger tried to have us killed, if that’s what ye’re getting at,” Tristan responded with a growl. “He’s lyin’ to the other Templars about it, too.”
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 23
