by Julia London
The woman returned with the ale, slapping down the tankards without care for how the ale slopped over the sides and spilled onto the crude wooden table. The captain handed her a pair of coins, which she quickly pocketed, then just as quickly disappeared.
Lottie had no appetite or thirst. She felt nothing but bone weariness. The captain, however, drank heartily from his tankard, draining at least half of it before he put it down. He looked curiously at her untouched tankard and gestured to it. “Do you no’ want it?”
She shrugged.
He leaned across the table and made her look him in the eye. “Drink,” he commanded her. “The Lord knows when you might have another opportunity this day.”
Lottie glanced at the tankard.
He pushed the tankard closer. “Drink, Lottie.”
She picked it up and sipped, but the ale tasted sour.
“Och, now is no’ the time to be petulant,” he said.
She put the tankard down. “Petulant,” she repeated irritably. “Should I leap for joy? Sing songs for you?” She shook her head. “You’ve no idea how hard it’s been.”
“You’re right,” he agreed. “Perhaps you ought to tell me.”
She clucked her tongue. “You donna really want to hear it.”
He gestured for her to continue.
“Verra well,” she said. All at once, it felt inexplicably imperative that she explain to this man, of all men, why she had dragged him through this horrible, awful journey. “I love my father with all my heart.”
“Aye. We all love our fathers,” he said. He drank more ale and glanced absently about the room, studying the crowd, as if he expected this to be the whining of a female with no sense.
“No, I...” She found it difficult to put into words her complicated feelings about her father, about the role she’d assumed in her family, about the heavy responsibilities put on her shoulders at a very young age. “I mean that I love my father, but he’s made life verra difficult. He squandered everything, all of it! He has made us this desperate.”
He turned his blue eyes back to her, curious now. “What do you mean, everything?”
“His inheritance, aye? It was quite generous, enough to have kept us all his life.”
Mackenzie looked baffled. Lottie was not surprised—the Livingstones did not present as a clan who had ever possessed more than a few coins to their name, when in fact, they had possessed quite a lot of them at one time. “His grandfather was a Danish baron, a landowner. There was war with Sweden, and he escaped with his wealth and settled on Lismore Island. When my father came into his inheritance, he had many ideas of how to increase it. Wretched ideas.”
“Ah,” he said. “What ideas?”
She couldn’t possibly name them all, but one of her earliest memories was of an argument between her mother and father over his purchase of a carriage. The island was only four or five miles long, and there was no need for a carriage, not to mention the expense of keeping horses to pull it those few miles. “Many,” she said. “Many implausible ideas.”
The captain glanced down at his tankard. He was probably imagining the many ways a man could waste an inheritance. He was probably thinking how absurd was this clan, these Livingstones, squandering their fortune, stealing ships, believing liars. He was probably right in all his assumptions, and Lottie wished she could disappear. She didn’t really know the Mackenzies, but she knew of their reputation. They were a powerful clan, a smart clan, who had weathered the rebellions and the economic troubles better than most. The very opposite of the Livingstones.
But when he lifted his gaze, Lottie was startled by the compassion she saw in his eyes. She had not expected that. “I should have paid more heed,” she said. The admission of guilt that constantly pricked at her conscience spilled out of her. If only she’d not been so determined to ignore the sudden responsibilities she assumed after her mother’s death and live outside of it. If only she’d stayed closer to home instead of running wild over the island, racing on her horse, taking up a lover. If she’d not done any number of things, if she’d done other things, but above all, if she’d paid her father more attention, she might have stopped him from losing it all.
“Paid heed to what?” the captain asked.
“My mother died when I was just a wee lass. Mats was only just walking, and Dru, he needed quite a lot of minding and always will, and I...I didna want the responsibility of it,” she admitted. “God forgive me, but I didna want to be a mother or mistress of the house.”
“Of course no’,” he said, nodding as if he understood her. “As you said, you were a child.”
Yes...but even at that age, she’d understood how reckless her father was. One winter, her father had come back from Port Appin with three geese. He’d been convinced to purchase them by a stranger and was excited for his plans to fatten them for a Christmas Day feast. “We’ll feed the entire clan, we will, Lottie, and the flavor of it, you’ll no’ forget it,” he assured her.
He’d prepared his own concoction to fatten them, based on God only knew what. For a full fortnight, the geese had wandered about among the rabbits. But then something began to change. They began to wobble like three drunken sailors. Their feathers molted. The first goose died a few days before Christmas and the other two were dead by Christmas Eve.
It was much later that Lottie discovered her father had included gooseberries in his concoction. Morven’s grandmother, upon hearing this, had cried for the poor geese. Gooseberries, it seemed, were poisonous to fowl.
There had been many other instances like that in Lottie’s life.
“I was a child, but I knew him,” she said darkly. “I knew how he thought, and still, so many times I turned a blind eye and let the consequences fall where they would.”
Captain Mackenzie put his arms on the table and leaned across them, his eyes piercing hers. “You are no’ responsible for your father, lass—he is responsible for you, aye? Why have you no’ married? A good man would provide for you and your brothers.”
Because the men who had tried to court her through the years had never earned her esteem? Because she dreamed of something bigger and better than that life on that tiny little island, of towns like Edinburgh and London, which she’d only heard about, but imagined so vividly? Because she was aware of the burden of her father and brothers that would accompany her into any marriage? Or was it perhaps because she liked being the one in charge when it suited her? The one whom everyone sought for answers?
“Surely you’ve been courted,” the captain said.
“Aye,” she sheepishly admitted. “But none of them ever really saw past my appearance. Verra much tongue-tied and...and stupid,” she said with some dismay.
The captain surprised her with a laugh. She’d never said these things aloud to anyone, and his charming, sincere smile buoyed her. “I’ve no doubt of that. You’re a beguiling woman, you are. Look at me—I’m your captive now, all because I was tongue-tied and a wee bit stupid.” He touched his tankard to hers and drank.
A wave of pleasure at his smile spun through her and curved on her lips. “Aye, but you didna trust me, it was obvious.”
“I trusted you enough, apparently.”
Lottie laughed. It felt strange in her chest, and to her ears. How long had it been since she’d laughed? She picked up her tankard and drank. The ale didn’t seem so sour now.
The captain’s gaze was sultry. “Aye, but you’re bonny when you smile, Lottie Livingstone, that you are,” he said softly, and her smile deepened. His gaze slipped to her mouth.
“Such flattery, Captain Mackenzie. Is it possible you’ve warmed to your captor?”
His eyes sparkled with amusement. “Warmed to her, aye. But no’ forgiven her.”
“I’d be disappointed if you had.”
He held her gaze. Lottie felt warmth spreading in her chest, felt the depth of
his gaze slipping into her person. “Now you must confess to me, aye? Why have you never married? You’re verra handsome,” she said, and he inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment. “And a sea captain. I should think that would bring mothers and their unmarried daughters flocking to Balhaire. I believe you’re verra honorable when you’re no’ complaining about your circumstances.”
One of his dark brows rose. “My circumstances are no’ fit for a dog.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Why have you no’ married?”
He shrugged. “I suppose I never met a woman that would tempt me to surrender the sea.”
“The sea! Must you surrender for love?”
“Aye, perhaps. Unless there is a woman who should like to reside within a small cabin on the sea for days on end. It becomes quite close, would you no’ agree?”
The ale must have gone to her head because she giggled. “I would.”
“But it’s more than that, I suppose. I’ve never been in one place long enough to court a lady properly.” He drained the rest of the ale as if it might wash away the rest of this conversation.
“Does your family no’ insist upon it?” she asked curiously. “Yours is a powerful family. Do they no’ want to make a match for their most splendid son?”
“Splendid,” he said with a chuckle. “I’ve two brothers and two sisters who are far more splendid than me. My family has made our matches there.”
She couldn’t imagine anyone more splendid than Captain Mackenzie. She regarded his face, the square cut of his jaw, the softly feathered lines around his eyes from days spent in the sun. His hair, combed into a queue, was gold on his crown where the sun shone on it day after day on the open sea. She truly couldn’t imagine that mothers weren’t depositing their daughters at his feet. “Might I be so bold to inquire after your given name?”
“Miss Livingstone, are we so familiar?”
She giggled again. “We’ve shared a cabin for three days and you call me Lottie.”
“Three days!” he mused, pretending shock, his eyes shining. “Then I agree, we should be more familiar.” His gaze shifted to her mouth, and Lottie felt a stirring in her blood. “Aulay.”
Aulay. She repeated it under her breath. An unexpected name for an unexpected man. “Feasgar math, Aulay,” she greeted him.
He smiled and said, “Feasgar math, Lottie.”
“Shall I tell you what I think?”
He swept his arm grandly. “Now that we are familiar, by all means, enlighten me.”
“I think, had I no’ kicked you at our first meeting, we might have been friends.”
He arched a brow with surprise. But his gaze was so warmly inviting, that for a moment, Lottie could well imagine that they might have been. He reached for her hand, twining his fingers with hers. “I think we might have been more than friends.”
Her heart leaped. And then it ballooned in her chest. And now? She was desperate to ask him, but she was no fool. She knew the sort of man he was—honorable. Lawful. He was a man who would protect his inheritance for his children and never squander it. He would never seize another ship. And he would not allow her to escape her crime, no matter the heat that seemed to flow between them. Strangely, if he’d been any other sort of man, she would not feel the sizzling in her veins as she did now. She would not hold him in such high regard.
He squeezed her hand, and Lottie wanted nothing more than to crawl onto his lap and put her head on his shoulder and feel his arms around her. She’d feel safe there. At ease. The pain in her head would go away and her heart would stop racing.
But then his hand suddenly jerked free of hers and he straightened in his seat. “Put on your hat, aye? And tuck your hair as best you can into it.”
“What—?”
“Be quick,” he said quietly.
She followed his gaze toward the entrance. One of the men from the private room had sidled in, a sword at his waist. Had he been wearing one before? He was scanning the crowd, clearly looking for someone. As she donned the hat, the second man from the private room entered the inn and went in the opposite direction of the first. “Perhaps they’ve come to fetch us?” she asked with a hopefulness she did not really have as she tucked errant strands of hair beneath her hat. Two more men wearing swords entered the inn and stood near the door, as if guarding it.
“They’ve come to fetch us, all right, but I donna think it is with the intent of making a fair offer for your whisky.”
One of the men began to make his way slowly through the crowd, studying every table, every group standing about, his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Aye, you’re right. They mean us harm,” she murmured breathlessly, as her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest.
“When I stand, put yourself behind me,” Aulay said. “We donna want to draw notice.”
Lottie had been through enough in the last few days to know better than to ask a lot questions. The moment Aulay stood, she slipped in behind him, her hand clutching the back of his coat.
“Stay close,” he said, and began to push through the crowd, his head down, moving toward the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the inn. When he skirted around a timber that braced the ceiling overhead, Lottie stole a glance at the men. The four of them had fanned out and were pushing through the crowd with determination.
Aulay startled her by suddenly reaching for her hand, yanking her in front of him, then pushing her through an open door. She stumbled into a kitchen. The man who had pointed to the private rooms earlier was filling tankards and setting them in front of a serving woman. He began to shout in Danish at Aulay and Lottie, gesturing toward the door.
“Pardon,” Aulay said, and pulled Lottie along, darting past a woman plucking the feathers of a chicken, past chickens very much alive but in a crate, past a side of beef hanging from the rafters. Around two barrels of ale and another man who cursed them as they spilled out into the mews behind the inn.
Aulay dragged Lottie into his side with an arm around her waist, hurrying her along, forcing her to run. They turned into another alley, this one quite crowded with the townspeople going about their day.
“Where is your pistol?” he asked, glancing backward.
“Here,” she said, her hand in her pocket.
“Give it to me—I might need to fire that one shot, aye?”
“Alas, I have already fired that one shot,” she said, and handed him the gun. “It’s empty.”
“You fired—when? Never mind.” He slipped the gun into the pocket of his greatcoat just as they turned another corner and entered a busy market street.
“Donna look up, but we’ve company.”
She gasped. “Are you certain?”
“Quite.” He dipped under a row of embroidered linens that had been hung for display and tugged Lottie into a darkened alley. He pulled her into a building, where the scent of horses was quite strong—it was a stable. There was only one horse that she could see, and it snorted at them as Aulay looked around. There was a small alcove at the front of the stable, a deck above it where bales of hay had been stored. Aulay pushed her into that alcove, turned her about and put her back to the wall, then held a finger to his mouth, indicating she should be silent.
That was impossible—her heart was beating so hard that she was gasping for breath. Her anxiety was not eased as she watched Aulay creep along the wall to the door. He kept himself against the wall, but bent his head around the frame to peer outside. Almost instantly, he jerked backward and sprang to where she was. He pushed her down into the hay, then lay before her and pulled enough hay around his body to shield them from sight.
She was pressed against him, her heart pounding so erratically in her chest that Lottie was certain Aulay could hear it and feel it. She heard a pair of boots scuff against the stone outside the stable, heard them pause at the open door, and
held her breath. She expected to be caught at any moment, to feel the steel of a gun or knife press against her neck. Her pulse throbbed in her ears, and she had to keep swallowing down the breath she wanted so desperately to gasp into her lungs. She could hear nothing but the horse moving about, munching on straw. She was certain her heart would explode in her chest at any moment...but then she heard the boots on the stone again, moving away. The footfall was moving down the alleyway.
Aulay slowly came to his feet. He held out his hand to her and pulled her up. Lottie was panting, she realized, and a bead of perspiration was slowly sliding down her temple. She swallowed. “What do they want?” she whispered shakily.
“You. The whisky.” His expression was quite grave, and Lottie suspected there was more he wouldn’t say, but she knew. Those men wanted her whisky and they wanted her, just as her father had warned. She felt faint. She struggled to release her breath, she struggled to draw more in. She clutched at his arm, as she tried to force air into lungs that seemed to have collapsed on her.
Aulay frowned with concern. He slipped his hand to the back of her head and pushed her head down so far that her hat tumbled to the straw at their feet. “Breathe,” he said, holding her there. “Donna think, just breathe.”
Somehow, Lottie managed to gather her wits and draw a single breath. And then another. When her breath was coming to her, she pressed up, leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “I didna think... I never imagined...” There were too many thoughts racing through her brain.
He stroked her cheek, her arm. “Donna think of it, Lottie. I’d fight to the death before I’d allow them to harm you.”
How could he say that? How could he even suggest it after what she’d done to him? She slowly opened her eyes and looked into his arresting blue eyes. He was concerned for her. She could see it in his expression, he was genuinely concerned. And there was more—he desired her. This was a much different look than the lust that had shimmered in his eyes the night he had kissed her. Lust, she understood. Lust had followed her about all her life—there wasn’t a man who didn’t look at her in that way. But as he touched her face with reverence, Lottie could unequivocally say that no man had ever looked at her with the sort of desire she could see in his face. His was the look of someone who desired a woman he cared about.
