“And a Campbell pommel, no less. I hear those can be quite brutal. Of course, it helps if most of the healing happens instantly.” The Frenchman didn’t seem to realize how dangerous his words were, or the effect they had on Will.
Turning back around, Will growled at the man, his defenses raised. Snatching Sheila from her hiding place in the cargo, he held her up threateningly. “What do ye want?” he demanded.
Holding his hands up in surrender, Bevard raised an eyebrow. “Just to talk.”
“I dinna talk about that.”
“I want to talk about you, William. I know you lost everything the day the Campbells attacked your home. Your father and fiancée were murdered. The woman you loved was shot and killed. You were so distraught after it was all over, you signed the house and land over to your brother, Alastair, and left. Why?”
How did he know all of this? Will had never told anyone why he’d left home. Hell, he hadn’t even told what was left of his family why he was leaving. How did one explain the shame he’d brought upon himself, or the fact that he’d condemned himself to Hell in a matter of hours? Even worse, how could he stay in the Highlands when every inch of them brought Isobel to his mind?
“Why is it any of yer business?” Will shot back, pushing his panicked thoughts away.
The man pursed his lips, looking annoyed for the first time since he’d arrived. “My employer thinks you could be of service to us.”
“I already have a job.”
“Yes. William MacDonald, a dock worker. It’s not a distasteful job, but it is a waste of your skills.” The expression on his face said he thought he was better than this, better than Will. He was only here because someone told him he had to come.
“It suits my skills just fine.” Lowering Sheila, Will set her to the side again, picking up the nearest barrel and carrying it onto the gangplank. He was done talking to this person, even if they thought they could worm more information out of him.
“You feel like you aren’t worthy of being there,” Bevard called after him, stopping him in his tracks once more. “You blame yourself for everything that happened and it’s killing you inside. You need to perform an act of penance, but you don’t know what to do. I can help with that.”
Curiosity getting the better of him, he looked over his shoulder, frowning. “Who do ye work for?”
Bevard smiled, his eyes sparkling. “Tell me, Mister MacDonald, have you ever heard of The Order Of The Knights Templar?”
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“Is he dead?”
“It’s not a he, you dolt! Can’t ya see her breasts?”
“I’ve never seen a lady in trousers before, savvy? What do ye reckon? Is she a castaway?”
“If she is, she’s shark bait, for sure. See the cut on her leg?”
“Aye, her legs are about all I can look at, besides her bosom!”
My head was pounding and it felt like I was about to vomit everything I’d ever eaten in my life. But even through the pain haze, the tone of the men’s voices was setting off alarms in my mind. I wasn’t safe, not around them at least.
“What’s amiss over here? Why aren’t you scallywags on board yet?”
“It’s O’Rourke,” one of the men close to me muttered. “Leave it to the Old Salt to spoil our fun. Imagine if she’s a whore? Wouldn’t that be lucky?”
“Doesn’t matter if she’s a whore or not, I’ll take her to my bed!”
The men hooted with laughter and I decided I’d played dead long enough.
“You’ll take me to bed if you want to lose an appendage!” I growled, rolling over and stumbling to my feet.
“Blow me down!” the man closest to me exclaimed, skittering away.
Reeling, I grabbed my head with one hand and my injured leg with the other. Standing had not been the best plan. I couldn’t run away even if I wanted. Everything around me was spinning out of control as I tried to stagger away from the group.
“Ha! The lassie’s three sheets to the wind,” one of the men snorted.
“What are you talking about?” I asked in confusion, feeling like rolling over and dying in that moment. My thoughts felt muddied as I tried to remember the last thing I’d been doing.
“I asked what’s going on over here?”
Vaguely, I was aware of another man joining the group, but I was too preoccupied with keeping my feet and clearing my vision to try and see all of them just yet.
“We found the woman passed out on the shore, Quartermaster. We didn’t—ah—quite know what to do with her.”
“Oh, aye? I know ye lot, and ye know that I don’t stand for rape among the crew. Now leave the lass be!”
The man’s voice was gruff and had an accent that I couldn’t place at the moment, but it was obvious that he carried the authority over the other men.
“Aye,” came the mumbled responses.
Unable to keep it together anymore, I fell to the ground—which was sand, I suddenly noticed— and cradled my face in both hands.
“Are you okay, mistress?”
It was the authoritative man, his voice soft and much nearer to me than before.
“Uh,” I choked out. “I think so. My head hurts pretty bad. And my leg.”
“Aye, you’ve a nasty cut. Do ye mind tellin’ me what happened to ye?”
“I think . . . I drowned,” I answered truthfully. Slowly, memories began coming back to me, of water choking the life out of me, of being swept along an underground tunnel that led from the pit to the sea. I’d lost consciousness before making it out, but, apparently, I’d made it out alive.
Gingerly, I raised my head, blinking several times in the bright sunlight. As everything cleared, I took in the sounds of waves on the shore, the breeze brushing past me, and a marine smell. My vision cleared after a moment longer and I saw the ocean in front of me, the sandy beach flowing seamlessly into it, and a giant ship anchored not far off, sails pulled in, along with a rowboat making its way to her hull.
“Wow,” I said, shocked. “I’ve never seen a ship like that out here except for reenactments! Are they doing one today? I didn’t even know they did them anymore, to be honest.” Turning to look at my companion, I laughed as I took in his outfit. “Are you one of the performers?”
Wearing a white, collared shirt, with a red, button jacket open over the top of it, the tails of the coat hung down over his black pants, which were tucked into his leather boots. A thick belt, holding a pistol and sword, was buckled around his waist. Tan skin and short, dark hair finished the look, granting him an air of a time long ago.
“You did a great job,” I said appreciatively. “I’ve never seen such work put into a costume before.”
“Costume?” he asked in a puzzled tone, the look on his face matching. “I’ve no idea what ye’re talking about, woman.”
“Oh! You must be a—what do they call it—a method actor! That’s why all of you were talking like that, right? That’s awesome! Good for you guys!”
Yeah. Go ahead and compliment his job choice while you bleed to death. Grimacing slightly, I adjusted my leg, trying to assess the damage. He continued to stare, a blank expression on his features.
Laughing, I watched the man’s face. He truly was amazing at his craft, my words seeming to mean absolutely nothing to him.
“O’Rourke!”
A much older man came ambling down the shore towards us, clothed in the same manner as the man next to me, a stream of curse words flying from his mouth as he adjusted his privates. Behind him, another man strode furiously, his grey coat flapping in the breeze.
“Yes, Captain?” The man next to me turned, stepping ever so slightly in front of me.
“Explain to me why Mr. Oswald is now demanding that we pay him twice the amount for his wine?” The
Captain huffed, his bloodshot eyes about to pop out of his head. Even from this distance, I could smell the alcohol on him, as well as the stink that only comes from not bathing for a very, very long time. His white wig sat precariously on his head, revealing several patches of ratted gray hair.
“It’s the same price ye’ve paid for the last year!” Mr. Oswald argued, stopping a few feet away to wag a finger in the Captain’s face.
“Yes, O’Rourke,” the Captain growled. “Mr. Oswald says you’ve been paying twice as much for a year, and that ye’re the one who brokered the deal.”
“Yes, sir,” O’Rourke confirmed. “That is our current deal.”
“And why,” the Captain glowered, “did ye agree to do such a thing?”
“Mr. Oswald, ah, came across some questionable activity of yourself last year. I took care of matters myself.”
“Christ, boy, do ye not know how to be a pirate?”
Turning decidedly, the Captain pulled the gun from his waistband and pointed it at Mr. Oswald.
“No, wait!’ O’Rourke yelled, raising a hand to stop him.
The shot rang out loud and clear and I jumped, clapping a hand to my mouth. Mr. Oswald just stared at the two of them, dumfounded, as a bright red stain began to move across his shirt. As if in slow motion, his body crumpled underneath him and he fell to the ground with a silent thud.
“There. Now there’s no blackmail and we’ve got a whole store of free wine. See how that works, boy?”
“Yes, Captain,” O’Rourke said stiffly, his tone suggesting he didn’t particularly like being called that.
“May God have mercy on his soul,” the Captain said.
“May he indeed,” I muttered, still looking at what was very obviously a real dead body.
“Who are you?” The Captain barked and I jumped again, my mind not accepting the things around me. Maybe I really had died? Or was in a coma and dreaming?
“Ach, just a lassie walking on the beach, Captain. Nothing to worry about.”
“Aye? Bring her along then, will ye? I could use some good company among you lot.”
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Argh!” O’Rourke stated in distaste. “It’s frightful bad luck to bring a woman aboard, Captain.”
“Avast ye,” the Captain said seriously. “Ye take her aboard or I’ll bring the cat o’ nine tails against ye myself. Savvy?”
“Aye, Captain.” The growl left his barely moving lips as O’Rourke turned and grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet.
“Good, good. You go out now, I’ll join ye after a quick drink.” The captain turned away from us then and began to hobble back from where he came. Apparently, there was civilization somewhere, close enough for him to walk to at least.
“Well, lass,” O’Rourke stated, following the captain with his gaze as well. “I’m afraid ye’re going to have to come with me.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, trying to wrench away from him.
“Ye heard the Captain. Apparently, ye’re going to become part of our pirate crew.”
“Like hell I am!” I grunted, kicking him with the foot of my injured leg.
“Ouch!” he hollered. “Would you stop that?”
“Let go of me,” I yelled, pulling against him as hard as I could.
“It’s for . . . your . . . own . . . good!” With a massive grumble, he grabbed me around the waist with his free hand and hauled me over his shoulder.
Pain seared through the cut on my leg and I cried out, punching him in the back. “Put me down!”
“Be quiet!” he commanded harshly. “I’m trying to help ye, ye witch!”
“I’m not a witch!” I replied vehemently, struggling harder, kicking my good leg against his front, without much success.
“Argh!” he yelled in a very pirate like fashion.
“Oh, shut up,” I half laughed back. “You’re not fooling anyone with that pirate jargon. Put me down.”
“Trust me. The last thing you want to do is walk on that leg. By the looks of it, I’d say yer lucky yer not feeding the fishes as we speak. The sea took a good bit of blood from you. And as for fooling, well, I’d say I’m doing a fine job convincing you that I’m anything but what I clearly am. Ye’d think ye’d never seen a buccaneer before, and ye livin’ here of all places!”
“I don’t live here,” I answered, finally going limp as another wave of exhaustion swept over me. “I don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”
“Is that so?” he asked in a non-believing tone. We’d made it to the waterline by then and a rowboat was waiting, another man in costume standing by, oars in hand.
“Look,” I sighed. “I told you. I almost drowned. One minute I’m trying to get my head above water and the next thing I know, I’m lying on this beach being verbally assaulted by you and your mates. I appreciate that you’re all dedicated to the show, but I’m really freaked out by the murder we just nonchalantly witnessed—now would be a good time to tell me that was all special effects, by the way—and the fact that you’re still carrying me and refusing to give up the act is very upsetting.”
He set me down in the boat, giving me a stern warning look that I took to mean not to move, and then took a seat in front of me, picking up his own pair of oars.
“Well, you are on the beautiful shores of Acadia. The island you woke on is a favorite of the Captain’s for meetings and such.”
Nodding as he spoke, I stared at the island we were leaving. It was covered in oak trees, appearing to be completely separate from the mainland next to it. Acadia. So I was in the same place I’d been, it just looked . . . different.
“We’ll get you on board and have a look at that leg,” O’Rourke was saying, our extra rower apparently just along for the ride. “I think we have a crate somewhere with clothes more befitting of a lady.”
“What, no Spanish gold for you and your crew?” I joked.
“I don’t follow?”
“Isn’t that what pirates do? Rob ships of their gold?”
A loud, hearty laugh broke from his mouth and his green eyes sparkled as he watched me, obviously entertained by what I’d said. “Wouldn’t that be grand, aye?” he asked his partner, who was also laughing. “We take what goods we can get, lassie. Sugar, tea, booze, silks. It’s a rare day that ye find a vessel laden down with Spanish gold.”
“Could ye imagine?” the other man finally said. “A whole ship’s worth of gold. I’d buy me own island down south and never leave. All the women and rum ye could want.”
“It’s a dream,” O’Rourke nodded.
“Toss down Jacob’s Ladder,” the other man yelled as we came up next to the ship.
“Are ye all right to climb aboard?” O’Rourke asked skeptically.
“I’m fine,” I snarled, grabbing the bottom rung of the rope ladder that’d been thrown down to us.
Grunting, I attempted to pull myself up, my body weak from my nighttime ordeal, and failed miserably. Ignoring the outright laughs from behind, I tried again, successfully making it up one rung. It took longer than I was willing to admit, but I finally made it up the side of the ship, fresh blood slowly leaking from my wound, and stumbled onto the deck.
“It’s the whore!”
Immediately, I was greeted by a mass of men in varying states of disarray. Some of their clothing was torn and dirty, a great many of them were missing teeth, the stench was enough to kill a cow, and I was pretty sure I saw a peg leg in there somewhere.
“Back off,” O’Rourke ordered, coming aboard behind me. “She’s for the Captain only!”
Cries of disapproval rang out, but the crew disbanded, going back to whatever they’d been doing before we arrived. Some were playing cards, while others drank happily from a barrel.
“Come on,” O’Rourke stated, beckoning for me to follow him. “Let’s get your leg fixed up right, aye?”
He led me across the deck of the ship, moving slow enough for me to keep up. He was right—walking really was the last thing I
wanted to do right now. Finally, we went up a staircase and through a door, into what I assumed to be the Captain’s Quarter’s. It was a hall, though, leading back into the ship, with two rooms in front of us, the smaller of which we entered.
“Here, lassie,” he said, motioning for me to sit on the bed built into the far wall.
“Stop calling me that,” I mumbled, more annoyed with the pain I was feeling than anything else. “I’m not a dog.”
“Aye? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Ha ha,” I replied dryly.
“Lassie doesn’t mean dog, ye know,” he suddenly said seriously, opening a cupboard on the wall across from me. “It only means “young girl.” Surely ye’ve been called that before?”
“Not exactly,” I muttered. “I can’t be that much younger than you. I’m only twenty-three. What are you, twenty-four?”
“I was born in the year of our Lord sixteen hundred and seventy.”
Laughing loudly, I rolled my eyes and smiled smugly. “Right. That makes you how old?”
“Five and twenty,” he answered, staring at me quizzically, a spool of thread and a needle in his hands. “Did ye perhaps hit yer head during yer accident?”
I didn’t answer. My brain refused to accept what he was saying to me, and with good reason. There was absolutely no way it was sixteen ninety-five. No way. This was a prank, or some weird dream I was having. Maybe I had hit my head and this was my way of coping with what was happening to me. Maybe, right at this moment, I was still drowning, and my oxygen-deprived brain was trying to give me something to make it feel better.
Remaining silent, I became semi aware of him making preparations to sew up my leg. He didn’t really seem to know what to do with my jeans, so he just pushed them aside, shooting me a look that was suspicious at best. A grubby cloth was used to wipe it somewhat clean. It was only as he lowered the needle to begin the stitching that I suddenly felt the need to say something.
Taken Away_A Swept Away Saga Origins Story_A Scottish Highlander Romance_The Swept Away Saga Page 12
