Elspeth wiped her mouth with a bit of her sleeve and tilted her head in a subtle nod. When she glanced over to look at him, the man’s eyes were kind and aged from years in the sun. The skin around the edges crinkled when he met her gaze with a smile. The man had a warm and fatherly air about him that quickly put her at her ease.
“Thank ye,” she told him softly. “What’s yer name?”
“Jack.”
Elspeth nodded. “I appreciate yer understanding.”
“Ye’re very welcome, Elspeth. It proves ye’re working hard. Which is more than I can say fer some of these fools on board. When yer body isn’t used to the heat and the motion of the boat, it can turn yer insides out. Ye should be proud of yerself rather than listening to these scoundrels’ chatter.”
She smiled, pushing on through the pain in her back and ignored the churning of her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the captain watching her again. The entire crew faced forward in their seats and he stood near the front, turned around so that his gaze was fixed on all of them.
Damn him and his eagle-eyed vision.
She scowled at him and continued rowing, refusing to give him the satisfaction of giving up. Elspeth wanted to prove she could pull the same weight as men on board.
She’d show them what MacDougall women were made of.
CHAPTER FOUR
Elspeth felt like her arms were about to fall off when the wind finally picked up and they were given a reprieve from rowing. The men set down their oars, letting the wind do some of the work for them and they had time to rest. Her ribs were sore after being jostled from the boning in her bodice. Elspeth realized, to say the least, her apparel was not suited for constant rowing. Every now and then her nausea would come back and she’d have to concentrate on breathing through her nose to keep from growing ill.
After she pulled her hands back from the oar, Elspeth flexed her fingers to remove the cramping. The pain was so intense after hours of gripping the wooden handle she was almost on the verge of tears. Her palms were sore and raw after maneuvering the wooden oar–like a hundred needles all stabbing her at once. Elspeth glanced down and sighed when she saw the calloused sores along her palm.
They looked much different than what she was used to, hard and weathered from manual labor. She dropped them to her side to keep from being reminded of how much her life had changed in the last few days.
Her hair felt hot and sticky against the back of her neck, so she huffed in annoyance and glanced around for a solution to her problem. When Elspeth’s eyes drifted down toward her skirt, a thought occurred to her. She pulled the hem up between her hands and ripped the fabric along its seam to tear a scrap of material free.
The men watched in amusement as she tied the scrap of material around her forehead and pulled the rest of her hair through it like a scarf. A blonde curl still fell down around her face, but having the rest of her hair tied away improved Elspeth’s comfort on her neck significantly.
“Clever lass,” one of them acknowledged.
Elspeth smiled to herself at the compliment while the men talked amongst themselves. As their conversation became bawdier, she kept her eyes locked on the floor and pretended not to hear them. When a light breeze ruffled through her hair she turned to gaze at the horizon.
Jack glanced back at her from his seat, then walked over to join Elspeth in companionable silence. She was grateful for his company. Even though she didn’t know what to say, having someone sit with her for a while was enough to make the time on board seem bearable.
The wind picked up as they were resting and continued blowing through the sail when she noticed Graeme walking up toward her.
He reached Elspeth’s seat and leaned over on his knee to speak with her directly. “Very soon we’re going to reach the Josefina. There will be chaos on deck when we approach, and our men prepare to board. I need to be sure when that happens ye’ll be ready fer the battle. The vanguard and I will take care of the fighting, but if anything unexpected happens, make sure ye’ve got yer supplies ready.”
Elspeth nodded.
“Have ye ever shot a gun before?”
“I’m sorry?”
“A gun,” he repeated simply. “Have ye ever shot one?”
She shook her head. “Never. There was nae need fer weapons where I come from.”
Graeme stood and rose to his full height, saying, “Well, now’s a good a time to start. Bartholomew has a spare hidden in the compartment beneath his seat. He’ll see to it ye’re equipped in case we run into any trouble.”
Elspeth’s face went pale, staring back at him in shock. “Ye want me to fight? I’ve never…how can I?”
He raised an eyebrow at her as if the expectation should have been obvious. “I expect ye to be able to defend yerself. I’ll nae have ye standing around as a liability. If ye’re going to be a member of this crew, then ye have to act like one.”
“I never wanted to be a member of yer crew,” she snapped. “I’m more than willing to sew up yer men if they need it, but dinnae mistake my assistance fer more than what it is. I’m nae a pirate, and I dinnae sign up fer killing anyone.”
Graeme frowned at her, his cold, gray eyes reminding her of a shark. “While ye’re on my ship ye’re part of my crew, whether ye want to be or not. Dinnae ever forget it.”
“But-”
“I asked about the gun because it would be easier to wield than a sword. Unless, of course, that would be yer weapon of choice which could also be arranged. I’m assuming ye’re inexperienced with combat, and I’m in nae position to train ye. Providing ye with a weapon is the best I can do to make sure that ye stay safe. I’ll have nae further discussion on the matter. Brace yerself fer what lies ahead and go see Bartholomew.”
“Ye think it will come to that?”
He shrugged. “Hopefully not. We dinnae kill unless we have to, but supplies are needed back home, and we must take them whether the merchant is willing to surrender them or not. Most of them are wise, they understand their cargo is less valuable than their lives. They usually turn it over without a fight.”
“And what happens if they dinnae?”
Graeme’s face darkened. “Fer a lass who abhors violence, ye seem oddly fascinated with the subject. I hate to disappoint ye, madam, but if ye’re curious about our tactics then I’m afraid ye’ll just have to wait and see.”
Elspeth’s hands clenched on the wooden oar when she set it down and asked, “What do ye mean ye dinnae kill unless ye have to? I thought all pirates stole and murdered as they saw fit. After all, isn’t that the way of yer clan?”
Graeme sneered at her biting tone. “Ye ken nothing about our clan, or me, so dinnae presume to understand what drive us to do the things we do.”
“Then help me understand.”
He gritted his teeth in frustration and tilted his chin back the way she’d come. “Go and speak with Bartholomew about the gun. I will nae ask again.”
Her face reddened, and she stood up from her seat to find the gunman.
CHAPTER FIVE
Coast of Wales, 1547
Graeme gazed out to the vast blue sea in front of him. On the horizon was a Spanish ship with the red cross emblazoned on its sails.
The Josefina.
“There she is,” Graeme murmured.
A light breeze filled the birlinn’s sail, bringing them ever closer to the desired prize. It became more visible when they got closer, sailing about twenty leagues away. It was a worthy bounty, one of the largest vessels he’d ever seen with such beautiful craftsmanship.
It wasn’t King Phillip that Graeme had issue with, it was the English. Nevertheless, he appreciated the deep Spanish coffers. The king wouldn’t miss the holdings of a single vessel, it wouldn’t even make a dent in the national treasury. The bounty they were carrying looked more promising by the minute.
Graeme turned back toward his crew and said, “It looks like we have some company. Back to yer oars, let’s give them a proper Scot
tish greeting.”
Some of the men chuckled and the entire crew crouched down into their seats, grabbing the oars and setting them back in the water.
“Come on, put yer backs into it,” Alistair called over the sound of crashing waves.
He positioned the ship, so the wind was in their favor and the sailors used their oars to increase their speed. The mast groaned and creaked against the strain of the ropes, but they remained focused on rowing.
Iain spoke up from the oars, saying, “Do ye think they’ve seen us, Captain?”
“Of course they have,” Graeme responded. “Their entire crew must be running scared, but we can take them without much trouble.”
“She’s bigger than I expected.”
“Aye, but the reward will be worth it. If I’m right, there’s enough gold and supplies on board to feed our clan fer an entire year. I imagine she’ll put up a fight, but I’d rather die trying than run away.”
Alistair shifted the rudder and said, “Ye heard him, men. Get ready fer some action.”
Graeme turned toward Elspeth and her eyes were wide with fright. He nodded to her in encouragement, though she did not strike him as a fighter.
When they gained speed, Alistair steered the ship toward the Josefina and soon they were nearly on top of them. The men began pulling out weapons and grappling hooks from hidden compartments beneath the floorboards. Graeme’s crew hooted and hollered with excitement for a coming battle. It was moments like this that made them feel alive.
“Prepare to be boarded!”
The birlinn came alongside the Josefina and they burst into action, throwing grappling hooks and ladders across to bridge the gap between. Graeme watched with a smile as they hoisted themselves up the rope to climb the side of the Spanish ship. Valan held a blade between his teeth, climbing hand over foot across the divide, a true natural. His skill in climbing was unparalleled on the Scottish coast, like he was born to it. The others scurried along behind him using their own techniques. Years of raiding had given them a unique set of skills to serve them well in moments such as this.
Graeme grabbed hold of one of the ropes himself and climbed up along beside them, preparing to fight and defend his men if needed. His feet scaled the wooden exterior of the ship and he pulled himself up. Each handhold was a feat of strength, fighting against gravity until he clasped the rail on the edge of the deck.
His sword was already in hand when he stepped on board the Josefina, and everything was chaos. The Spanish crew scattered across the deck with panicked cries, begging for mercy and completely unprepared for an attack of that magnitude. As the MacNeil pirates attacked, the handful of the men onboard threw up their arms in surrender. Their pleas came so rapidly they were indecipherable even in their native tongue. Upon seeing this, the pirates relented, corralling the Spanish crew onto the lower deck.
Four MacNeils stood watch over the prisoners, holding their weapons in an aggressive fashion while the others finished rounding up the rest. The few Spanish who did fight back were outmatched and either cut down or beaten into submission.
Graeme strode across the deck, observing his crew’s work. The entire crew of the Josefina knelt on the deck below, beaten, bloodied, and kneeling while they awaited the pirate’s judgement. Graeme glanced over at Seamus and said, “Fetch me the captain’s log, please.”
The sailor nodded and took Iain with him to the back of the ship where the captain’s quarters were located. As they went inside, Graeme turned back to the Spanish crew and asked, “Who is yer captain?”
A man with dark hair and a goatee raised his hand. He wore a heavy coat trimmed with gold, and his hair tied back with a piece of ribbon.
Graeme looked him over carefully, circling around him like a wolf about to strike. “What’s yer name?”
“Captain Rafael Montez of the Josefina.” The rolls of his Spanish dialect flowed from his mouth like music.
He chuckled. “Aye, we’re familiar with yer ship. I’m Graeme MacNeil, and this is my crew.”
Captain Montez’s eyes grew wide with fear and recognition at the name. “I’ve heard of you,” he sputtered. “They say you are like a demon of the sea.”
“That’s nae always true, but I can be,” Graeme allowed, “if it serves my purposes.”
Seamus returned from the captain’s chambers with a leather book in his hand. He handed it to Graeme without saying a single word. Graeme acknowledged the delivery with a nod and flipped to the page of the most recent entry.
“Ye seem like an intelligent man,” he told the other captain. “Men like us dinnae rise to our position without having wit. This is yer ledger, correct?”
Captain Montez nodded. “Not that you’ll be able to read it.”
Graeme sneered at him, looking up from one of the pages. “I may nae be fluent in yer language, Captain Montez, but I spent a great deal of time in Spain while I was learning how to fence. My uncle demanded it. Dinnae insult my intelligence.”
The other captain paled. “Forgive me. I did not know you understood…”
“How else would I ken whether I’m being lied to?” Graeme demanded. “I can never be too careful. None of my men have wish to harm ye, but so long as yer crew dinnae give us any trouble we’ll simply relieve ye of ye’re inventory and be on our way. Nae one person has to die. Nae blood spilt. It’s best fer everyone.”
Captain Montez cast his eyes to the floor, defeated and embarrassed. Graeme glanced down at the captain’s log and read the entry for the Josefina’s latest holdings.
“Please, sir,” Montez pleaded in the same romantic dialect. “I’ll be ruined.”
Graeme cocked an eyebrow at him over the edge of the page and said, “Fer an average merchant in yer position, that may have been the case. But ye are nae an average merchant, are ye, Captain Montez? Yer holdings are insured by the crown. It says here ye’ve got an assortment of weapons. Rapiers, broadswords...those would serve our clan well.”
“What about my reputation? What will I tell his majesty?”
“King Phillip is a prudent man and insures his ships well beyond their worth. When he hears about what happened, the king will have to absorb the loss and move on.”
Graeme gestured for his men to start unloading the goods and a few of them nodded before disappearing below the deck. A few minutes later, they came back carrying wooden crates.
“Captain, ye should see this,” Iain told him.
Graeme stepped over to the crate they were carrying and lifted the lid to find it full of shining, immaculate steel—Spanish steel. The steel was harder, lighter and easier to wield than any sword known to man. Five of these swords would have brought a hefty sum, but as crate after crate of them came pouring from the decks below it became clear what they had stumbled onto was a small fortune.
“How many are there?” he asked Iain underneath his breath.
The sailor grinned. “Four crates, sixty blades in total.”
“Well then…it seems I’m right again,” Graeme said, giving the other captain a lazy smile. “Fate has smiled on us this day.”
Laird MacNeil would be very pleased.
“You’re all cowards,” one of the men kneeling with Spanish crew shouted. “Letting them sail away with our treasure? I don’t believe this. We should fight.”
“Say another word and I’ll cut out yer tongue!” Graeme barked. “Is this cargo worth losing yer lives over? Give it up, man. Ye’ve lost.”
“Then I would rather die fighting!”
Even as he roared in defiance, the man stood from the group of kneeling sailors, and pulled a pistol from the inside of his coat before anyone had a chance to restrain him. The Spaniard pointed it square at Graeme’s chest and his eyes widened as time slowed to a crawl. He watched the flintlock’s cock strike and spark; the miniature firework would trigger the explosion that would be the last he heard. At the same time, however, he was aware of the world spinning sideways, a heavy pressure on his left, just as the scene was filled w
ith smoke and thunder.
Blinking, Graeme realized he was lying on his side, ears ringing, and muffled yelling all around. He felt no worse and looked up to see Jack sprawled atop the gunman, his shirt stained red with blood.
“Nae!”
Graeme stumbled on his feet and felt the blood drain from his face, realizing Jack had jumped in front of the bullet to save him. As quickly as it arrived, his shock turned into rage. Graeme released his rapier from its scabbard and plunged the blade into the murderer’s chest. He gritted his teeth and watched the light fade from the man’s eyes.
Not one of the Spanish men lifted a finger to aid their crewman, but the act of violence against one of the MacNeil’s kinsmen sent the pirates’ bloodthirst into a rage. Chaos erupted once again as the MacNeils fought to subdue their captives, keeping them from jumping overboard. Any of the Spanish who resisted were run through with a sword or shot. As the others dealt with the uproar, Graeme fell to his knees and rolled Jack over on his back.
“I’m…sorry, Captain…”
Graeme frowned, saying, “Save yer strength, Jack. We’ll get the surgeon and have her take a look at ye.” He glanced behind him and bellowed, “Get her up here now!”
“Aye, Captain.”
One of the sailors scurried over the railing to retrieve her and moments later Elspeth came climbing up with her tool kit in hand. Two of the MacNeils rushed to help her and pulled Elspeth up onto the deck. The rest of them opened a path for her, leading to the prone man. Her face paled as she took in the sheer amount of blood and knelt beside him. “Was he shot or stabbed? I need to ken what I’m looking at.”
“Shot,” Seamus told her. “He was trying to protect the captain.”
Elspeth rolled up her sleeves and ripped open the fabric of Jack’s shirt to expose the wound. Viscous, dark, red liquid spurted from the opening and covered the deck beside them. “Roll him over so I can see his back.”
Graeme and Valan obliged, rolling him over to his side where Elspeth could see the damage. Jack cried out in pain and bit his lip hard while Elspeth probed his stomach.
Taken by Graeme (The Pirates of Barra: Highland Raiders Book 1) Page 4
