Caribbean Scot

by Kimberly Killion

  “Nay. You’re wrong, cousin.” Reid stood, eager to rid himself of his Eoin’s presence. “I would never have named Fergus Wallace as the MacGregor heir to save my own arse.”

  6

  ~ ARRANGEMENTS ~

  “Blessed be the light of day, and the Holy Cross, we say.

  Blessed be the immortal soul, and the Lord who keeps it whole.”

  S’help me Odin! Hold your wheesht, man! She would sew the Englishman’s lips together. Was it really necessary for Henrik to announce the rise of the sun? Could one not simply open her eyes to discover on her own that it was dawn?

  Robbie awoke in a foul mood, with a fool taste in her mouth, and a foul kink in her neck. Oddly enough, she was as warm as fresh bread, save for her cheek. Her wet cheek.

  She opened one eye and found Oscar looming over her. The cat yawned, swiped its giant tongue over its nose and then proceeded to bathe himself. A task Robbie rather wished was in her near future, but she was awake enough to know there would be no brook to wash in, nor a place of privacy to tend her morning ablutions. Much to her chagrin, Robbie knew the moment she got to her feet she would be in need of said privacy.

  She twisted beneath a weight of furs that had not been there when she’d bedded down for the eve and wanted to believe Eoin had covered her during the night, but he’d never concerned himself overmuch with her needs. Most likely, ’twas Reid’s doing. Her assumption only added to her sullen mood. She didn’t want him fretting over her or seeing to her comforts.

  Pushing out of the masses of fur, she stood, readjusted her kirtle, and worked the kinks out of her neck. The rope bed Eoin had lounged in the better part of yesterday was empty, the same as it had been when she’d retired. Exhaustion, combined with a bitter lack of caring, had prevented her from seeking him out. The man had a nose for the drink. ’Twould be just like Eoin to make nice with the crew in exchange for a dram of mead.

  After neatly rolling the furs, Robbie stuffed them into a nook and plaited her hair into a loose braid as she crossed the quarterdeck.

  A gromet she’d met yestereve passed with a pail and twig broom. “Good morrow, Miss Mary. Best get to the afthatch for the mornin’ meal. They be handin’ out biscuits and fruit.”

  “My thanks, Duncan.” She offered the lad a smile, but food would have to wait.

  After climbing the companionway, she knocked lightly on Reid’s door. The little dance she did some mornings was not upon her—yet.

  No answer. She tested the lever, but it was locked. Blast it! She tapped on the wood with a bit more enthusiasm.

  The door jerked open. “God’s legions! The damn ship had better be sinking.”

  Holy Loki. Robbie’s entire being went limp, but her eyes were greedy in their perusal of the fine specimen before her.

  “Robbie?” Reid stood beneath the archway holding a red silk sheet low around his hip bones. Muscles rippled across his abdomen and his thick chest, and the only spot of hair to be found drew a thin line from his navel to his…

  Robbie swallowed.

  “Have ye need of something?”

  She shook her head.

  Her pulse dropped from her neck to her womanhood and throbbed. ’Twas nigh impossible for her to cross her legs any tighter, but she tried.

  “Then why are you pounding on my door at this ungodly hour?”

  She nodded and resisted the urge to squirm. Of course the man slept naked. Now she had his image burned onto the backs of her eyelids. There would be no escaping him. Nothing left to the imagination, save for what lie beneath the red silk sheet.

  As that thought flitted through her mind, the red silk sheet began to rise.

  Perfect. Just perfect. The man was getting aroused.

  “Robbie, I strongly suggest ye quit looking at me like that.” Reid cocked his head, dragging her out of her stupor.

  She straightened her spine and found his face. The shadow of a beard darkened his jaw and his swollen red eyes held the hint of mischief, but what turned the heat inside her from lust to annoyance was his smug grin.

  “I am in need of the privy pot,” she finally spit out.

  He dipped into a pretentious bow and motioned her into the cabin. “Dinnae trouble yourself with the bed as I’m obviously still in it.”

  She wouldn’t oblige him with a comment. Instead, she rounded the partition and snatched up the empty privy pot. There had to be somewhere on this bluidy ship she could find a smidgeon of privacy.

  “Where are you going with my…?” His word trailed off behind her as she descended the companionway of the captain’s deck.

  The deck was abuzz with activity so she dropped below to the gunner deck. Jax appeared between two cannons. “Good tomorrow, C’ak’is Ak’.”

  She was in no mood for Jax. “I amnae Fire Tongue. My name is Robbie.”

  He laughed and mumbled words she didn’t understand. If she wasn’t in dire need of the privy pot, she would’ve launched it at him. Instead, she unhooked a lantern from the wall and dashed down two more sets of stairs before she found a narrow passageway that was blessedly vacant. She popped open the first door on her right, held the lantern high, and inhaled the stale scent of grain. Gunny sacks five deep aligned the walls and yellow dusted the floor.

  ’Twould have to do. The fullness weighing down her innards demanded she make haste, but the moment she paused, the pitter-patter of spiked nails marched across the floor.

  Her heart did a pitter-patter of its own.

  She was hardly squeamish. Grandda had taught her how to gut a fish and skin a rabbit. She’d even killed a snake or two. But rats? Blast it all!

  Deciding to retreat, she descended deeper into the ship’s belly where naught but silence followed her. However, the smell that greeted her in the keel was ungodly—sweet, acidic, rotten. Something had definitely died.

  “Holy Loki!” She pinched the privy pot between her elbow and side and cupped her nose and mouth, but the atrocious odor seemed to stick in her nostrils like molasses. Her eyes watered, blurring her vision, but she proceeded forward, rounding the stairway.

  She walked straight into a silky web.

  She jumped backward as panic seized her muscles. Shivers ripped up her spine. The tiny hairs at her nape shot straight out.

  She raised the lantern between two pillars and caught a glimpse of at least three black spiders wriggling across their spun home.

  Her heart punched her ribs in double-time.

  Squealing, she raced back up the ladderways toward Reid’s cabin as if the English regiment were at her heels. At her approach, a dozen crewmen on the main deck quickly formed two rows. She shot between them and found herself right back where she’d been only minutes before. She beat on Reid’s door with a trembling fist, not caring if he answered stark naked. ’Twas doubtful she would be able to see passed the spots speckling her vision.

  She hated spiders. She hated them more than the Scots hated the English.

  Another shiver raked over her being just as Reid opened the door. “What is it now?”

  Ignoring his question and his disgruntled look, she handed him the lantern and exited the small door at the back of the cabin that led to the narrow balcony. She freed her hands of the privy pot then scrubbed her hair, her arms, her back. Why did she feel them crawling on her?

  Skittish, she checked every nook overhead and every spindle of the rail before she allowed herself to breathe and tend to her personal needs.

  Feeling childish about her behavior, Robbie dallied on the balcony watching the waves roll into two white lines to form their wake. She thought of Grandda and how he’d calmed her after she’d climbed into a hollow log filled with dozens of wolf spiders. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never forget that day.

  A bit of sadness washed through her. Only a day had passed and already she missed him greatly. She wished Eoin had allowed Grandda to accompany them on this adventure, but mayhap, ’twas for the best. She didn’t know what dangers lay ahead, and Grandda might
not have been strong enough to fight the wind and cold.

  If it was within her power, she would see Grandda happy in Rannoch beside a fire to ease the pain in his bones and mayhap a small alchemist’s work-house for him to mix his vapors.

  Someday, Grandda. Someday.

  Robbie stepped back inside the cabin and returned the privy pot behind the partition. She found Reid in breeks leaning against the edge of his desk with his arms crossed over his bare chest. He glared at her.

  S’help me Odin, if the man so much as speaks—

  “Are ye quite done?”

  She actually heard her teeth grind. As if she needed a scolding. “Nay woman should suffer such humiliation, regardless of her status.”

  “Status has naught to do with the fact that you went traipsing about the ship carrying a damn privy pot. If ye felt humiliated, ’twas of your own doing.”

  “I demand a place of privacy.”

  Reid’s black brows rose. “Forgive me for not making such arrangements beforehand.”

  It didn’t occur to her until that moment why he hadn’t prepared her quarters. It had naught to do with privy pots, or rats, or spiders, and everything to do with Reid MacGregor, and his deluded presumptions. “S’truth. Did ye honestly think I would be so quick to jump into your bed?” Blast the man and his arrogance!

  The muscles in his arms sharpened. “You’ll have private quarters by noontide.”

  7

  ~ INTRIGUE ~

  Taming the wildest beasts of the Yucatán proved to be an easier task than wooing Robbie Wallace.

  Reid rolled his gold coin over his knuckles repeatedly and studied the charting maps atop his desk. He wondered if he should invite the woman in or leave her to lurk outside his open door. She most likely spotted the unmade bed from the helm and was itching to tidy the chamber. The woman needed a task to occupy her mind before she drove his crew to madness.

  Steady winds had kept the canvas full for a sennight, pushing them into the Atlantic without event, but the past two days had proven agonizing for her as they sat in a doldrum. The sails hung like draperies and the crew lounged about the deck like seals basking beneath a high sun. Robbie, however, proved incapable of doing nothing.

  She followed Jax, badgering him. “How do ye say ‘good morrow’ in your language?”

  “Ba’ax ka wa’alik?”

  “…and ‘farewell?’”

  “Taak tu laki.”

  “…and ‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance?’”

  “Hach ki’imak in wo’ol in kaholtikech.” Jax spent hours teaching her the language, but he eventually snuck away and hid below deck, so she sought out Henrik and Jean-Pierre.

  When they ran out of duties to occupy her time, she latched onto Duncan and assisted him and a few other gromets with the tedious task of buffing splinters from the teakwood planks with a holystone. Old sails had been mended, decks scrubbed, and rails painted. He’d caught her on the gunnerdeck three days past with a soiled rag and a dirty face.

  “The cannonballs needn’t be polished to obliterate the enemy,” he’d assured her, so she cleaned the cannons instead.

  Only once did she seek Eoin out, but the red-nosed sot dismissed her with the flick of his wrist. He’d turned the storage chamber into a damn tippling house and slept from dawn to dusk wherever his arse fell. Henrik, along with a half dozen topmen, joined Eoin every eve for cigars and spirits, which suited Reid fine as Robbie avoided her intended when the man was blootered.

  Reid calculated the distance between ports, deciding where to lay anchor to replenish their drink. He had no intention of letting Eoin’s cup run dry.

  Robbie cleared her throat outside his door, dragging him out of his musings. Now that she had her own quarters belowdeck, he doubted she was in need of his privy pot.

  The woman was bored.

  He wasn’t one for trickery, but if he possessed any wit at all, he would nab the opportunity to spend time with her.

  He made a fist around the coin and pounded the desktop. “God’s legions!” he yelled and waited to see if she fell for the charade. From the corner of his eye, he saw her step into the doorway, but only part way. Pretending not to notice her, he purposely scowled and let his forehead fall against the desk.

  “Is something amiss?” she asked with genuine concern.

  Reid snapped upright, feigning shock, all the while hiding his smile. “’Tis naught of import.”

  She disappeared from the doorway.

  “I dinnae possess the wit to decipher these maps,” he blurted out, which drew her back into the doorframe. Her red-gold hair glittered beneath the sun, reminding him of the ancient fire-goddess for whom he’d named his ship. He wanted to know the softness of her locks and the fire in her kiss, but he could wait.

  He was a patient man.

  She twirled a curl and craned her slender neck. “I used to study the maps Grandda acquired from his trips to Edinburgh. Mayhap I could be of assistance.”

  He controlled his enthusiasm. “’Tis doubtful. The map I need assistance with is unlike any you’ve seen before.” He wasn’t surprised when she crossed the cabin and bent over his desk, accepting his challenge.

  A quick glance at the scattered charts was all she needed to question his sincerity. “Ye jest.” Her thin brows popped up, and she dropped the curl she’d been toying with. “I should hope the captain of such a grand ship would know a nautical chart from a map, else we’re destined to die at sea.”

  Och. The lass was smart. Reid decided it best to drop the pretense. “I plotted these charts and can assure you we’ll reach the Yucatán in less than three sennights.”

  “What in the name of Odin am I to do for three bluidy sennights?” The woman’s exhale ruffled the pages of his journal.

  “I’ve a task for ye.” He cleared the desktop of everything save for his journal, then spread a wool atop the surface. Nerves made his hands shake as he unlocked a strongbox carved with ivy and butterflies, then retrieved a bundle wrapped in burlap. ’Twas adolescent to be so anxious, but naught could be done to prevent it. He prayed the lass he’d known in his youth would share his excitement. “You can help me with this.”

  As Reid peeled back the burlap, Robbie’s eyes rounded with wonder the same way his had when he found the stone stele. “’Tis a map to the gold?”

  If his suspicions were correct, Xitali had left behind so much more than gold. There was a wealth of knowledge awaiting him in the Yucatán and he wanted to find it with Robbie. “Of sorts.”

  She trailed her fingertips over the carved pictures on the stone slab. “The symbols are similar to the markings on Jax.” She looked up, her green eyes reflected the intelligence he so admired in her.

  He nodded. “’Tis written in a language centuries old.”

  Her lashes fell against her fair cheek, and her shoulders sagged. “’Twould take a scholar years to decipher. I fear I cannae help ye.”

  “Not years. Months. I have the translations.” He flipped open his journal to the pages explaining the symbols and their meanings. “’Tis all here. I can teach you, the same as the elders of the Mopán people taught me.”

  Debating, she looked out the open doorway and wrapped a curl around her finger. She didn’t have to voice her concerns. Eoin would disapprove.

  The man didn’t deserve her. He treated her like a lowly peasant, and he drank far too much for a man in need of coin. He was arrogant, self-righteous, and worst of all, he lied to her. If she knew about Fergus, she wouldn’t be so quick to defend Eoin. Reid would eventually tell her, but first, he needed her trust.

  Robbie turned back toward the desk and flattened her palms on either side of the stele. Her desire to learn about the treasure must have outweighed her qualms regarding Eoin. “Where do we begin?”

  “We count.” The tickle in his stomach reached out to every nerve in his body as he pulled the chair out for her and proceeded to explain the numbers system to her. “A dot equals one, a bar equals five, a
nd a shell—like this,” he dipped a quill in the ink pot and drew in his journal, “represents zero.”

  As the day progressed, Reid instructed her on the concepts of the calendar system as well as the sacred rituals performed by the priests and priestesses of the ancient Maya. Robbie listened with intensity and questioned his every instruction. They conversed like old friends, diverting from one topic to the next without pause.

  When Reid began to explain their alphabet, which really wasn’t an alphabet so much as picture words called glyphs, Robbie became lost in its complexity. She studied his journal, and he studied her. He memorized the shape of her slender nose and the freckles sprinkled atop her cheeks. He noted her mannerisms—the way she twisted her curls and tickled the skin beneath her nose with the ends of her hair. When she nibbled on the inside corner of her full lips, it took all his strength not to set her back and kiss her.

  The brand that marked her as a MacGregor prevented her from living a free life in Scotland. But she wasn’t bound to Clan MacGregor, nor was she bound to Eoin. She could make her own choices, and someday he hoped she might choose him.

  He wanted to tell her how often he’d thought of her, thought of them—together. He’d longed for a woman to call his own, for a wife to give him bairns. When he imagined fulfilling those goals, Robbie had always been that woman. The Jaguar King had offered his daughters on more than one occasion. They were beautiful, exotic women with olive colored skin and lush black hair, but they lacked Robbie’s spirit.

  The qualities that drew him to her were the very attributes keeping her out of his arms: pride, devotion, faithfulness. ’Twas a contradiction. If he was to have Robbie as his own, she would have to go against the very qualities that made her the woman he wanted to share his life with.

  “Five is past, and six floweth,” Henrik sang out the fifth half hour of the watch. “More shall flow if God willeth. Count and pass, make voyage fast.”

  Robbie scratched notes in his journal, paying no heed to the call to change the guard. She was completely immersed in applying what she’d learned to decipher the symbols carved into the stone slab. He supposed he could save her the trouble, but in truth, he wanted her to discover the knowledge on her own.