Seconds turned to minutes and before she could stop herself, she began to pair her kin with the Mopán natives; the first of which was Nanna and the Jaguar King.
Her laugh turned into streaming tears of hopelessness that carried her into a restless sleep that couldn’t have lasted more than a few hours before a voice called her back to reality.
“Miss Mary.”
Robbie’s eyes readjusted to the yellow light above her.
“Miss Mary, are ye well?” The small flame inside a candlebox alighted the gromet’s face.
“Duncan?” Robbie jerked upright. She reached through the iron lattice to hold the boy’s warm hand.
“Is Cocijo hurt?”
Robbie looked down at the laddie nuzzled inside her wool. His eyes opened, and then he smiled. “I am well, my friend.”
Robbie blew a breath and offered a silent prayer to her maker before she returned her attention back to Duncan. “Ye must help us.”
After a quick check over his shoulder, Duncan pushed a wine sack through the grate. Next came three blankets, one fur, and then a satchel full of garments. “Captain Jean-Pierre has the key.”
“Where is he?” She worried over Duncan’s safety, but continued to pull the items through the iron latticework and hand them to Jax for distribution.
“He is with the drunkard in the captain’s quarters.”
“Who is manning the helm?”
“I am.” A bit of bravado lifted the boy’s tone. Again, he checked over his shoulder. “What would ye have me do?”
“Kante is injured. I need a needle and whisky.”
“I’ll be back-a-ten.” Duncan snatched up the candlebox.
“Wait. What is happening?”
“All will be right, Miss Mary. Fear not. I hung a lantern off the stern to help the captain find us.”
“Which captain?”
“My captain. There is a ship trailing us. He’s comin’, Miss Mary.”
Reid. Her heart skipped a beat. Her limbs instantly trembled. “Duncan, ye have to slow the ship. Whatever ye do, dinnae let the Obsidian lay anchor in Scotland.”
26
~ CHOICES ~
Four days. Reid spent four damn days aboard the Dreadnought staring at the back of the Obsidian as they chased her through the coastal waters of Scotland. His Majesty’s warship sailed like she was dragging anchor, but alas, passed the ports of Rosneath, and into the mouth of Gare Loch, he saw his ship emerge through a thick blanket of mist.
As the Dreadnought slowly floated alongside the anchored Obsidian, the sinking feeling in Reid’s gut intensified. The horrifying scenarios he’d played over and over in his head couldn’t have prepared him for this.
The binnacle lamp cast a yellow glow over the Obsidian. A thin layer of snow coated the rails. The sails were drawn, but what stole the breath from his lungs was the graveyard of bodies littering the main deck.
“God’s legions,” he whispered and felt certain he would choke on the foreboding strangling him.
Colonel Whitley’s crew threw four-hooked grappling irons over the rails of the Obsidian then wrestled the ropes until the two vessels sat abreast—bow to bow, stern to stern. The boatswain dropped a plank atop the rails, and Reid was the first to race across, sword drawn.
He spun a dizzying circle on the main deck, trying to absorb what his eyes didn’t want to see. At least two dozen of his crewmen lay in pools of blood. In their hands lay the hilts of their weapons. Hysteria nearly crippled him as he searched the carnage for a mane of red-gold hair.
“Robbie!” He rushed to his cabin, flinging the door wide. Dark red stained the bedding and turned his feet into iron weights. Blood drew a line across the floor and disappeared on the opposite side of the berth. “Oh, Christ! No. No!”
Reid clenched his teeth and slowly crossed the cabin where he found Jean-Pierre lying on his back on the floor, his throat slit from ear to ear. Reid bent to one knee beside the man he’d called friend for more than five years and pushed his eyelids closed over his wide lifeless eyes.
How many have to die to put you back on your throne?
As many as it takes.
Fergus snuck into Reid’s mind. Remorse burned his eyes and squeezed his heart. Eoin had already taken so much from him, and Reid knew the scabbit wouldn’t stop until he sat at the high table at Kilchurn Castle. He would lead his army into a war that only promised more bloodshed. And for what? Even if they reigned victorious, how long would it be before the Colquhouns prepared a counterattack? With the MacGregor name still under proscription, the clan would never be truly free.
“Reid.”
He jerked upright and strode to the open door when he heard her voice. His pulse pounded in his throat, the sound deafening. Fingers poked through the gated hatch in the main deck.
She’s alive. She’s alive! The words echoed over and over through his head during the time it took him to retrieve an ax from his cabin and cross the main deck. His fear still dominated his relief and wracked his limbs with tremors. Those emotions only intensified when he looked beyond the iron grid imprisoning them. She hugged Cocijo close to her side while his Mopán brothers surrounded her in a protective circle.
Whatever had transpired aboard the Obsidian, Reid knew they’d protected her through it all. There were no words great enough to express his gratitude.
“Free us.” A cloud of breath accompanied Jax’s impatient order.
Reid raised the ax high above his head, and after one swift blow the chain snapped in two. He bent to one knee and pulled Robbie out. She was cold, pale. Dark shadows sat beneath emerald eyes quickly filling with tears.
She frantically searched his person with trembling hands. “Are ye hurt?”
He stared at her, barely able to breathe. “Nay.”
She wrapped both arms around his waist and burst into sobs against his chest, showing a weakness he’d never seen.
“All will be right now.” His voice cracked over his words and for the briefest of moments, he reveled in her concern for him. He closed his eyes, damning his own tears, and kissed her temple. “Are ye hurt, love?”
She swiped the wetness from her cheeks and shook her head. “But Kante is.”
His Mopán brothers assisted one another onto the deck. Kante was the last to rise up out of the hole. A dozen or more sutures tied a wound together along his throat.
“Fear not, White Serpent. I have much years left in me.” The behemoth warrior clapped Reid on the back and donned a grin that felt ill-timed given their current predicament.
Reid looked back into their now empty prison. “Where is Wild Tigress?”
“The foolish woman no doubt followed Eoin ashore. She has it in her head that he’ll be true to—” Robbie’s eyes left his and then widened. “Holy Loki.” She intertwined her icy fingers with Reid’s and gawked unblinking at the dead layered alongside the rails. “Eoin vied the crew against one another, promising a single brick of gold for every pair of them.”
And they’d paid the ultimate price for their greed. He didn’t wanting to believe they’d betrayed him, but the gold may have been a temptation they’d been powerless to resist.
“Speaking of gold…” Colonel Whitley offered Reid a half-hearted smile, but the eagerness lifting his cheeks dropped when Robbie looked at him. Whitley’s eyes locked on the brand marking her cheek.
She quickly turned away and pulled her hair close to her face. Not once had she hidden her scar in the Yucatán. The brand didn’t mean anything there, but here it named her as a member of the most seditious clan in all of Scotland—his clan.
“Cor Blimey!” Colonel Whitney angled his head to study Robbie further. “Tell me I did not come all the way to Scotland for a bluidy MacGregor?”
Reid tucked Robbie behind him. “I came for her. You came for the gold.”
Colonel Whitley’s crew now filled the deck of the Obsidian, pistols cocked, swords drawn. They outnumbered Reid and his Mopán brothers by thirty, mayhap forty men. �
��Twould be suicidal to initiate an attack.
Whitley’s eyes narrowed on Reid. “Who are you?”
“I have many names.”
“I should like to know them all.”
“I am White Serpent, brother to the Mopán people.” Reid paused long enough for his brothers to declare kinship in their native tongue. “Like my da, I took the name Peter Wallace because His Majesty’s edict against the MacGregor clan forced us to do so.”
“What is your real name, man?” The colonel drew his pistol, his tone agitated. Whitley had him by the bollocks, and he wasn’t fool enough to offer the man another false name. S’truth, he grew weary of the pretense. He was the son of a leader who’d been fiercely protective of his people, but they’d been blind to his ambitions. Calum MacGregor was not a coward. He was a man of honor, and Reid would have made da proud if King James hadn’t stolen his right to lead the clan.
“My name is Reid MacGregor. I am son to Calum MacGregor.” He held tight to Robbie, raised his chin, and proclaimed, “I am the Gregarach, the rightful chieftain of Clan MacGregor of Glenstrae, and I have returned to Scotland to free my people from persecution.”
Robbie squeezed his arm. ’Twas a small gesture, but it empowered him just the same. Her approval slid through his insides like warm honey.
“I should take you back to England so His Majesty can publicly execute you.”
“And in doing so, you would never see a single brick of gold.”
Colonel Whitley raised his arm and pointed the tip of his pistol at Reid’s head. “I’ll assume the gold is no longer on board. You will go ashore and get it. All of it. I will take care of your ship as well as your woman until you return.”
“Nay.” Reid struggled to control the fury turning his muscles to iron while Robbie’s fingertips dug into his waist. “She means naught to ye.”
“’Tis true. But she means everything to ye.” A single nod of Whitley’s head sent his men into action. They held their weapons on the Mopán men. “Agree to my terms, or I’ll give the order to have these savages plucked off one by one.”
Reid lunged forward, prepared to attack, but Robbie stepped in front him. “Do as he asks. Please.” She glanced over her shoulder.
Anger made him shake. He wanted to jump out of his skin.
Robbie pressed her palm against the back of his head and pulled him close. “Gather the clan, m’laird,” she whispered in his ear. “I will meet ye ashore.” She pressed her lips against the beating pulse beneath his earlobe then drew away.
What did she mean “meet him ashore?” He opened his mouth to argue the point, but she stilled his tongue with a look that demanded he trust her.
Damn her and her constant bravery! He was desperate, and she was bluidy invincible.
Whitley redirected the barrel of his pistol at a longboat. “I can assure ye, your woman will be treated with the same dignity as Queen Anne.”
Reid wrapped one arm around Robbie’s waist and pointed a warning finger at Whitley. “If you so much as raise your voice to her, I’ll hunt you down and kill you.”
* * *
’Twas doubtful Colonel Whitley would have tied his queen to the rails of a ship in weather cold enough to mummify the two dead men lying at Robbie’s feet. Nonetheless, she gave thanks to Mother Nature, for the sleet and snow had sent the colonel and his crew below the decks of His Majesty’s warship. All save for half dozen crewmen huddled over a barrel of fire on the Dreadnought’s main deck—the same crewmen now neglecting the colonel’s order to guard Robbie and the Mopán men.
She held her arisaid tight around her mouth to block the icy wind cutting into her face and eyed the ever-faithful gromet peeking out of the afthatch at her. With the flick of her hand, Duncan slithered through the snow, slowly inching his way to her skirts and into the protective cover of her wool.
“What would ye have me do, Miss Mary?” The instant he cut the ropes around her wrists, the blood flowed throughout her hands and burned her fingertips.
“Free the others and meet me below deck.” Their predicament didn’t allow her the luxury of fretting. She gripped the dead man to her left by the shoulders and struggled with his rigid body until he bent at the waist enough to take her position against the rail. The man’s name escaped her, but she recognized him as one of Reid’s topmen. As she draped her arisaid over his head she wondered at one point in her life had she become so calloused that the sight of a dead man didn’t make her tremble.
May God have mercy on your soul. She pushed his eyelids closed.
Not a single tear warmed her eyes, and she blamed Eoin for making her so apathetic. He stole her passion, her trust, her ability to feel, but Reid had rekindled that fire. He’d taught her that she was a woman worthy of hopes and dreams. She was a woman worthy of love.
“Miss Mary,” Duncan whispered from the afthatch and waved her toward him. A dozen corpses now propped against the rail of the Obsidian replacing the Mopán men slithering across the deck.
Robbie shook the thoughts out of her head that would undoubtedly prevent her from tending the task ahead of her and crawled through the slush to the afthatch where she dropped below deck. Guided by Duncan’s lantern, they moved quickly through the belly of the Obsidian to the galley where they dried themselves by the cooking fire.
Full minutes past before Robbie felt the weight of their eyes on her and realized they awaited her commands.
“What now?” Ever impatient, Jax drew on one of the two wine sacks circling round and reached for a piece of dried meat Duncan had dumped onto the hearth bricks.
Panic seized her momentarily, but she’d spent the small hours working different scenarios over in her head. Dawn would be upon them soon and burn through the mist that concealed them from their captors. They could easily row ashore in one of the longboats, but Robbie had no intention of leaving the Obsidian behind. She looked at Jax. “Think ye and Moon Hawk can handle the six guards?”
The same moment she asked the question, Duncan and Cocijo spilled a pile of weaponry onto a small wooden table behind them.
Jax snatched up a clawed dagger and grinned his response.
Robbie didn’t relish the idea of more bloodshed, but if a single one of Colonel Whitley’s men were given the opportunity to call for help, then her plan would fail. “Kante, think ye can weigh anchor alone?”
The warrior nodded once.
“You three,” she selected a few others. “Hoists our sails, then get below deck to man the oars. Cocijo, I want ye to climb into their rigging and cut the ropes to their sails, then position yourself in the Obsidian’s crow’s nest. Duncan will need your eyes.”
“And me, Miss Mary?” Duncan eagerly awaited his orders. “What would ye have me do?”
“Ye are going to man the helm.” She cupped the boy’s chin. “Go back into the firth where the sea splits into a Y. Take the route to the right. There is entry into a cavern at the end of Loch Long. ’Tis impossible to see waterside but, trust me, ’tis there.”
Jax spun her around and pushed a blade into her hand. “Be safe.” He kissed her forehead. “White Serpent would be angry if we failed to protect his butterfly.”
They dispersed and Robbie tightened her grip around the hilt of the dagger. “Someday is upon us, my love,” she whispered and let Reid’s image fill her with unwavering courage.
27
~ ACCEPTANCE ~
God’s legions! He shouldn’t have left her. Robbie undoubtedly planned something foolish, something that would likely get her and his Mopán brothers killed. The woman never thought anything through. Reid embraced the anger warming his insides. S’truth, ’twas far more comforting than fretting over her well-being.
His chest and legs burned from the hours he’d spent jogging, but he continued to follow at least nine pairs of footprints through the snow-covered landscape of Glenstrae. Leckie’s old estate lie beyond the next rise which explained the hoof prints that had crushed the frozen peat beneath his boots.
A woman’s scream sliced through the frigid air from over the knoll.
His heart punched his ribs.
Robbie! He raced up the hillock. Beneath the gray light of dawn, he recognized six of the MacGregors who’d accompanied Eoin on the raid. They taunted Wild Tigress, tossing her about in a vicious circle. Black strands tangled around her face and neck as she landed on her knees before a man unlacing his breeks.
Reid unsheathed the basket sword at his hip and started down the knoll the same instant the pounding of hoof beats shook the earth.
Lyall led two MacGregors on horseback through the cattle yard from the north, each wielded a weapon.
“Leave off her!” Lyall commanded and pointed the tip of his broadsword at the man demanding Wild Tigress to pleasure him.
The bastaird tucked his cock back into his breeks and backed away without dispute.
Their behavior sickened Reid, and for a moment he considered leaving all of them to the fate of Eoin’s war. They didn’t deserve Robbie’s compassion, nor did they deserve his leadership.
“Wild Tigress.” He extended his hand palm up.
Her face snapped toward him. Black eyes overflowed with a torrent of tears as she raced across the snow, tripping once over the unfamiliar kirtle. Arms extended, she catapulted into Reid’s embrace. “I want to go back. Take me back. Please.”
With a protective arm curled around her waist, Reid glared at Eoin’s kinsmen. “What manner of men have ye become?”
“The Gregarach gave her to us,” one of the men whined their defense.
“Eoin named me savage whore.” Wild Tigress clutched his surcoat and sobbed against his chest.
Hot breath swirled out of Reid’s flaring nostrils. Part of him wanted to scold Wild Tigress for her poor judgment, but now was not the time for a tongue-lashing. “This woman is no savage, nor is she a whore. She is the daughter of a king who would use his teeth to castrate ye for the manner in which you treat his kin.”
The men cupped their groins and stepped backward.
“Leave your horses,” Lyall commanded the two MacGregors accompanying him and dismounted. “Go back to Finglas Gorge. All of ye. Your laird awaits ye.” His dark eyes narrowed on the four brutes.
Caribbean Scot Page 26
