“What are the ingredients?” he asked.
“Don’t you know?” she countered. “I thought you said they stole the recipe from you.”
“I just want to ken if they’re using the right recipe,” he replied. “If ye tell me what they’re looking for, I’ll ken how far they’ve got with it or if they stole the wrong book.”
She frowned again. Was he trying to trick her? He must know exactly which book they’d stolen and thus if they found the right recipe, so why was he asking her? He must be testing her compliance.
He couldn’t be doing that. They were just sitting here, enjoying a friendly dinner conversation. She thought back to the last time she read through the Prometheus file.
“Well, there was wicknot root and brandywine tundra beetle. I remember those, and then there was something called hefmorquen flower. That’s about all I remember. We were working on those three first, before we moved on down the list to identify the others. Ree is meeting with some big-shot entomologist to identify the tundra beetle, and my other friends are investigating the wicknot root and the flower.”
He nodded and twirled his fork over his plate. “Do ye have any idea where they got these ingredients—the list, I mean? Did ye ever see the source material?”
“Nope,” she replied. “Ree gave me a list printed off the computer. I can only assume she got them out of that book, wouldn’t you tend to think? They must have been sitting on the book for three hundred years before they found a lab to make the formula.”
He tilted his head back and studied the ceiling. “Here’s the part I dinnae understand, lass. All this time, the Lewis men have stayed away from women. We’ve followed them for generations, and do ye ken no’ a one of them has taken a wife in all that time? Dinnae ye think that says something about their motives?”
Vic blushed. It didn’t really tell her much about their motives, whatever they might be. “I can only guess they’re still upset about losing their wives and daughters so long ago.”
“Aye. That’s the size of it,” he replied. “The point I’m making, lass, is that after all this time, Ned Lewis—who, unless I’m mistaken, is their leader—has got himself hitched up with an alchemist who has the laboratory he needs to make it happen. How do ye think that happened?”
“I have no idea,” she replied. “I never expected Ree to get with a guy—and I mean any guy. She’s been a eunuch for years, and then wham! She hooks up with Ned, who is about the last guy on the planet I ever expected her to get with.”
“In what way?” he asked.
Vic waved her hand. “You know! He’s handsome and suave and magnetic and charming. He’s successful and…and he’s… Well, he’s like something out of a magazine. He’s perfect—or as near to perfect as you can get.”
“And Ree?” he asked. “Is she no’ as near to perfect as ye can get?”
Vic’s cheeks burned all over again. “No, she isn’t.”
Ree Hamilton. She might be pretty and brilliant and successful, but she had issues with guys and only had one leg. She kept it hidden from everyone but her closest friends, and Vic wouldn’t reveal her secret to someone Ree had never met. That would be outright betrayal.
“That only proves me point,” Boyd went on. “If they’re so different, how did they wind up together, working on the Cipher’s Kiss? I find it unaccountable.”
“So do I.”
“And ye have no explanation for it?” Boyd’s eyes bored into Vic’s soul.
Vic squirmed in her chair. Why did this conversation give her a squirrely feeling in her middle? She almost felt guilty for not being able to answer his questions. “Nope. None.”
He didn’t take his eyes off her. “There’s something missing in this puzzle, lassie. I sincerely hope ye’re no’ keeping anything from me.”
“I’m not.” Her eyes darted away from his face and back again, slipping from the sensation of being mesmerized the way he always did when he locked his gaze on her. She picked at her food with her free hand, letting her mind wander as she gazed out the window.
What was wrong with her? Why didn’t she just come out and tell him about Noah? The longer she talked to Boyd—or better yet, the longer he talked to her—the more entrenched she became in keeping it to herself. What was going on here? This had nothing to do with Ned and Ree. This was all about Vic and Boyd—no one else. For the first time since she’d met him, she found herself not wanting to trust him. She couldn’t put herself into his hands, much less put someone else in his hands.
She believed every word of their story about the Angui and the Falisa and how the war got started. She even believed that outlandish tale about the Angui being immortal. Noah Kelly proved it. She even believed a guy like Malcolm had lost his mind in the obsession of hunting these immortals down and destroying them off the face of the Earth. She believed Ned and Ree got hold of that book and used Primary Industries to make the formula.
One thing she couldn’t get on board with, though, was being directly responsible for one of these guys getting killed. She’d looked Noah Kelly in the eye and spoken to him. She recognized him.
She could help Boyd find out who sent her here. She could give him all the information on Ned and Ree’s activities. But she refused to be responsible for Noah’s death, and that was exactly what she would be if she told Boyd what she knew.
What was Noah doing right now, anyway? He was manning this ship to take them where they wanted to go. He wasn’t killing anybody. He wasn’t doing anything that earned him a trip to Davey Jones’s locker, or worse.
At that moment, her gaze fell on Noah and Malcolm in the far forward bow. Malcolm leaned against the rail, one foot propped on the capstan behind him. Noah squatted on the deck, braiding some rope as the two men talked and laughed.
A very different expression flashed over Malcolm’s countenance. For a fraction of a second, he ceased to be a psychotic, murderous ogre. He looked like a mischievous little boy as the wind rippled in his loose, curly hair.
Whatever he was, he knew a lot more about Noah Kelly than she did. Boyd might believe Malcolm was totally loyal to the Gunns, but he’d seen fit to keep Noah’s identity to himself.
Was it possible the Angui weren’t all bad? Maybe one or two realized the error of their ways. Maybe some of them were good people, in spite of what they’d done in the past.
For the last time, she put Noah’s identity away in the back of her mind. She would never tell Boyd—or at least not until she saw a more compelling reason to do so. Right now, she only saw a lot of reasons not to.
She turned around to find Boyd studying her. “Lassie?”
She gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m all right. I guess I’m still a little disoriented. I think I’ll go lie down again. Thank you for the meal. I appreciate you taking such consideration of me.”
He leaped to his feet so fast he kicked his chair over. “Not at all. Ye should get yer rest. We’ll be in Stornoway in the morning.”
She slid back the door leading to the cabin. Relief deluged her when she saw the bunk, but when she sat down on it, she stiffened again as Boyd closed the cabin door from the inside.
“What are you doing?” she asked, trying not to sound too alarmed.
“I’m keeping guard over ye.” He sat down at the foot of the bunk. “I wouldnae want anything untoward to happen to ye while ye sleep. Go on. Lie down and rest. Ye’ve naught to bother about until morning.”
She was trapped. She couldn’t exactly tell him to skedaddle, could she? She sank onto the bunk and lay down. He crossed his legs and leaned against the bulkhead the way he had before. She pretended to sleep but couldn’t let go of the tension holding her taut. She couldn’t leave. She couldn’t…
She didn’t know what she would do if he wasn’t here, but he thwarted any plan she could come up with. She didn’t know how to account for him. Was he interrogating her, or did she just imagine it? Was he really dangerous? He couldn’t be as dangerous as Malcolm, but all the glorious
trust she thought she’d put in Boyd evaporated into the breeze.
She would give anything to get that back. She would give anything to fall into that blissful peace of knowing she could rely on at least one person in midst of all this insanity.
Chapter 12
Boyd raised a spyglass to his eye. “There’s Stornoway, and there’s the merchantman waiting for us.”
Malcolm studied him from the side. Boyd had this whole thing planned out. He must have sent word about what he planned to do before leaving Stromness. Whatever this was, this was no spontaneous reaction to his father’s death.
Malcolm shuddered. He had to watch this man. He had to stay on his toes at all times in readiness for Boyd’s next move.
Boyd whipped the glass down and shouted to Noah in the wheelhouse, “Take us in and dock next to the merchantman. We’ll go aboard, and then ye can hie along home.”
Noah leaned against the wheel, and the trawler nosed into the harbor. In a few minutes, the trawler’s hull bumped into the dock.
Boyd handed Noah a sealed envelope. “Give this to yer captain. If he gives ye any bother about the boat, ye can apply to the Guild House. They’ll settle everything for ye.”
Noah bobbed his head. “Aye, Master.”
“Get along home now,” Boyd told him. “No sense in ye hanging about here any longer than ye have to.”
“Aye.” Malcolm gave Noah a nod behind Boyd’s back as Boyd leaped ashore.
While Noah went about his business, Malcolm watched Boyd exchange words with the harbormaster before he turned and waved for Malcolm to follow.
Malcolm stuck his head into the cabin. “Time to move, lass. We’re changing ships.”
Vic stood up from the bunk and hugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m ready.”
Malcolm stood back to let her out of the cabin. She’d remained stiff and distant from him ever since his outburst yesterday, and so much the better. The more distance she kept between herself and him, the safer everyone would be. He didn’t care about anything so much as getting her as far away from Noah Kelly as he could get her. She didn’t need any help, either. She crossed the gangplank to the wharf and up the other gangplank on board the merchantman as sure of foot as any man.
The party turned away to their new conveyance. Noah returned to the trawler and got busy with the ropes, but he didn’t cast off.
With at least some sense of relief that he could trust Noah to get word to the Prometheus of the merchantman’s pursuit, Malcolm followed Vic onto the deck of the Revenge. They approached Boyd as he shook hands with the captain mid-ship. The man touched his hat brim to Vic, speaking to Boyd as his gaze stayed on her. “I didnae ken ye were bringing a lady on board. There’s a cabin aft of mine that’ll suit ye fine, Madam.”
“Thank you,” Vic replied.
“I’ll show ye to your cabin,” Malcolm said as he gestured for Vic to follow.
The captain turned back to Boyd. “We just received word. The ship ye’re looking for is no’ twenty miles off from here. We’ll put off immediately and engage with her within the hour, I’d say.”
“Excellent,” Boyd exclaimed.
Malcolm spun around and stared at the two men in shock, but he couldn’t speak. The Prometheus—an hour away! That wouldn’t give Noah time to warn the Lewises. The merchantman would catch them unawares.
Vic’s gentle voice drifted into his ear. “I can find my own way to the cabin. You better stay here with them.”
Malcolm whirled toward her, away from Boyd and the captain, his guts twisting in knots. He had to hold himself together, now more than ever. He couldn’t show anyone how much this disturbed him. He set off to show Vic to her cabin and opened the door on a much nicer room than the one aboard the trawler. Soft light played on a bed made up to suit the tastes of the finest lady. He stepped into the room behind her and closed the door.
Vic stiffened to draw away from him. “What’s going on?”
“I dinnae mean to alarm ye, lass,” he murmured. “Did ye just hear the captain tell Boyd we’d engage the Lewises in an hour? Ye must remain in here no matter what. There’s likely to be musket balls and cannonballs and a sight more flying around on deck in no time at all. Stay here where ye’ll be safe.”
She relaxed. “I understand. Thank you.”
He let out a shaky breath, not wanting to leave just yet. Her presence soothed him, even as it cast his whole existence into doubt.
“Is there anything else, Malcolm?” she asked.
He couldn’t stop staring at her bright green eyes. Every swoop of her eyelashes shattered his carefully constructed world. Was she his friend or his enemy? How could he begin to make her understand who and what he was, or to win her over to his way of seeing things? She already hated him, so what was the use?
The longer he stood there gazing at her lovely face, the more confused and unsettled she made him. A thousand things struggled to be spoken between them, and he couldn’t give voice to any of them. Devouring pain ate away at his insides as he looked at her. He wanted to hide from her, but he couldn’t break away.
She cocked her head to one side, studying him closer, then stepped nearer to him and laid her hand on his arm. “I understand,” she breathed. “You’re agitated about meeting the Lewises in battle. It must be nerve-racking.”
A jolt rocketed through him at her touch. His instincts told him to pull away, but he stopped himself in time and held firm to tolerate her blistering hand. “It’s no’ that, lass. I’m only concerned for yer safety. I dinnae mind meeting the Lewises in battle, or at any other time, but I never met them with a cargo as precious as ye on board.”
Her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyelashes fluttered. Her lips quivered, and a burning streak of fire shot through his middle. Christ, why did she have to be so fascinating?
“Thank you, Malcolm,” she replied. “That’s very kind of you to say so. I didn’t know I was such precious cargo to you.”
“I wouldnae have brought ye from Stromness at all,” he blurted out, “only Boyd ordered we bring ye along. I dinnae ken why he did it if he didnae intend to put ye in harm’s way.”
Her head shot up, her eyes wide. “Why would he do that? He wouldn’t deliberately put me in a dangerous situation. I can’t believe that about him.”
“Ye dinnae ken him the way I do. He’d do a lot worse if it meant gaining some advantage over the Lewises. He thinks they sent ye back here. Maybe he thinks ye’re precious cargo to them, but ye’re no’ precious cargo to him, I can tell ye that much.”
Vic’s jaw dropped, and she gasped. “How can you say such things about your own cousin? He can’t be as bad as that.”
“Ye must have seen it, lass,” Malcolm replied. “He’s been using magic to manipulate ye. Ye’re a tool to him, and he’ll use ye the way he sees fit. How else do ye explain him bringing ye along on this lark? He means to use ye against them any way he can.”
Her startled expression disturbed him more than anything. He’d said more than he intended, but he couldn’t stand her thinking Boyd was some sort of savior sent to guide her to peace and rest. She better understand her position on this journey.
He lowered his eyes. “I shouldnae have said that. I beg yer pardon.”
“Why shouldn’t you have said it?” she asked. “Is it not true?”
“Och, it’s true, all right,” he replied. “I shouldnae have frightened ye with it. That’s all.”
She snapped her mouth closed, and her eyes narrowed to two glimmering embers. She straightened up and crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not frightened. I guess I suspected something like it, but I didn’t want to believe it.”
“It’s true, lass,” he replied. “Boyd’ll tell ye himself if ye ask him straight.”
She turned away to gaze through the windows over her bunk, her whole tiny frame quivering with buried tension.
Malcolm jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I’d best get up on deck. Boyd’ll be—”
/> “I don’t have to ask him.” She didn’t turn around. “I already know it’s true.”
Malcolm shifted from one foot to the other. “Aye. Well, ye stay down here and dinnae come up on deck—no’ during the firefight, anyways. I’ll come and check on ye every so often.”
She didn’t reply, so he slipped out of the cabin. His brain stewed in a ferment. What was he thinking saying something like that to her? At least she’d listened and believed him about Boyd. Maybe that would give her some cause to question whether to trust him. He couldn’t hope it would give her any reason to change her opinion on the Lewises. That would have to come from somewhere else.
He hurried out on deck where the crew worked over the ropes to hoist sail. In a few minutes, the merchantman nosed out of the harbor and into the channel. Malcolm caught a fleeting glimpse of Noah racing through the streets. He dove between two buildings and disappeared going God knows where. Wherever he was going, he would be too late. Even if by some miracle, he got to the Prometheus before the merchantman overtook her, he couldn’t give them enough warning to make a difference. A few minutes here or there wouldn’t help.
Malcolm strode to the bow. He propped one foot on the capstan and sighed, letting his chin sink onto his chest and his shoulders slump. Whatever danger Vic faced on this ship couldn’t come near to the danger facing him. The merchantman would engage with the Prometheus, and Malcolm would have to make a convincing show of fighting his own men. Boyd would be on hand to watch for any sign of treachery. If Malcolm showed even the slightest hesitation to kill his own people, the man would notice.
The Lewis coast passed on his left as the merchantman made her way north. Noah was over there somewhere. Malcolm could jump overboard right now, swim to shore, and meet up with the trawler. He and Noah could head out for America where Malcolm could disappear until Boyd Gunn died and everybody forgot Malcolm Gunn ever existed. That thought tempted him beyond endurance.
Spies of the Angui - Cipher's Kiss Book 3 Page 8