Righteous Side of the Wicked: Pirates of Britannia

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

“’Twould never replace what he has stolen from me.” She didna say this to him and he didna think she meant for him to hear, either.

  “Capt’n! Ship ho! Three points off the starboard quarter.”

  What? A ship already? They hadna been under sail for more than a half-glass. Coire looked to the man in the topsail and followed the direction of his arm. The Damned Jewel. Dread’s ship. Sod it all.

  “Looks like you were right.” Jonesy sidled up beside him and handed him a spyglass.

  Coire sighted in upon the approaching ship, scanning the deck for her captain. And there the bloody bastard was, gripping the railing near the bow and staring forward as if steering the Jewel by sheer will. “Suppose he wants to make it clear who rules these waters.”

  “Should we make ready the guns?”

  Coire glanced around for the now absent lass. He found her several paces back, using the mast as a shield. Poor girl screwed her eyes shut, her lips moving in what appeared to be silent prayers. He vowed to find out what her story was with the blackguard. “Nay,” he said to Jonesy. “He knows we’re a floating powder keg. He’d gain nothing by blowing us from the water. More likely he means to board us. Take our ship and cargo…by force.”

  Jonesy scoffed. “Let him try.”

  “We’ll give him a fine chase.” He slapped shut the spyglass and spun on his heel. “Mr. Shaw, get sail on her!”

  Chapter Five

  A fine chase he did give Dread. A fine but short one. ’Twas his damned luck that an English frigate appeared ahead of them on the horizon. Kelpie would soon be caught between the two. Add to that, the southwestern winds were becoming more blustery. A storm was brewing. Coire had to give careful consideration to how he was going to get them out of this. To the east, the mainland. Scarba to the west. But just below Scarba was the Gulf of Corryvreckan. A possible way out, but not ideal given the extreme dangers of the pass.

  “We can tack across toward the mainland,” Jonesy suggested.

  “And what?” Mr. Shaw tossed out his hands, shaking his head as if it were a ludicrous idea. Which it was. “Hope the English dinna see us?”

  A boom resonated the moment before a splash off the port quarter.

  “Dread.” Coire seethed through clenched teeth.

  Mr. Shaw joined him in a hearty curse.

  “What the devil is he doing?” Jonesy gripped a ratline and leaned over the rail to regard the pirate ship gaining speed.

  Coire calculated their position again. “He’s ensuring we sail into the gulf.”

  “Can we make it?” Jonesy looked up to the sails and then to the English frigate advancing to the mouth of the narrow strait between Scarba and Jura islands.

  “We can. Though we stand a better chance engaging with the Royal Navy.” He nodded to his first mate. “Give the orders, Mr. Shaw.”

  “Hands to braces!” Mr. Shaw marched across the deck giving orders.

  “I don’t understand,” Jonesy said. “Wouldn’t the gulf provide us with the best escape?”

  Redd joined them, offering an opinion shared by most Scottish sailors. “Not unless ye are a master sailor.”

  Treva had edged closer, her expression needled with earnest. “There’s a monster in the water and it will gnash and swallow us whole.”

  Jonesy frowned. “You all right, Miss MacDougall?” He reached out as if to touch the darkening bruise upon her cheek but thought better of it. “You did take a mighty hit.”

  He almost felt sorry for Jonesy. Though she took the insinuation that she was but a delicate flower well, by the dip in her frown, she found offense in his remark.

  “This strait, even on the calmest of days, has taken countless lives, mostly those who are unschooled and foolish enough to cross here with nary a consideration.” She turned her dour gaze upon Coire. “Are yer men capable, Captain Fletcher? Or are ye committing us to death?”

  “I’m familiar with the maelstrom, lass.” He couldn’t help the smirk creeping up the corner of his mouth any more than he could let her challenge go unanswered. “We’ve Dread on our aft, the English hunting traitors on our bow. Would one of those options suit ye better?”

  Trepidation flickered upon her expression, but she held firm. “Knowledge of the water doesna mean ye can navigate it.”

  “Then we shall hope for the best.” He’d been caught in many a terrible storm in the West Indies, including one where the ship had broken apart. Not all had survived, may they rest in peace. He hoped that experience would be on his side this afternoon.

  Jonesy stared out at the strait. “It doesn’t look to be a danger.”

  “Trust me, ’tis,” Redd said, rubbing at the back of his neck.

  The whitecaps spreading out over the surface did indeed appear harmless from this distance. But looks could be deceiving. The woman facing Coire proved it.

  The ship canted to the left as she took in the wind to yaw into the gulf.

  “What is that sound?” Jonesy asked. Several other crewmen made their way to the gunwale, drawn by the roar they could now hear.

  “The maelstrom.” His flat tone had several men glancing over their shoulders wondering if they should be worried. And they should. The water wasna slack but instead churning.

  “Heaven help us.” Treva backed away until she bumped into Coire. He gripped her by the arms, holding her flush to him. She rolled her head to peer up at him. Curse it! Now was not the time to be preoccupied by her soft body, kissable lips, and an overwhelming urge to lose himself in her eyes.

  Another explosion rent the air, the resulting cannonball splashed just short of Kelpie’s hull.

  “Shite!” Coire took the ladder to the helm by twos. The Damned Jewel had already taken an inside path into the channel. Dread was going to force them into the middle of the whirlpool.

  “All hands! Back to yer stations!” Men darted to their positions. Orders were rattled off. The crew had handled rough seas, but ’twas clear they were at a loss at what to do. Would be apparent soon enough. Aside from the steady, vigorous winds, the weather was mild. Building storm clouds, darkening with the slow descent of the afternoon sun, wouldna be upon them for a couple of hours. ’Twas misleading. Treva had darted to the gunwale and when she turned her gaze upon him, he felt the burden of keeping them all alive settle square and heavy upon his shoulders.

  “Do yer damnedest to skirt the edge, Jacob,” he instructed the helmsman.

  Kelpie jolted as volley smacked the water mere feet from her hull. And then another, closer still.

  “Capt’n!” Mr. Shaw called from the deck below. “The next one’ll send us to hell.”

  Dread wouldna strike the ship’s belly. ’Twould be what was expected. Nay, the next hit would be their main mast. Disable his ship and be helpless to the gnashing mouth of the maelstrom. Sod it, he wasna going to let the bugger best him.

  “Two points port bow! Make haste!”

  Jacob spun the wheel, but Mr. Shaw stalled on following through with bo’sun commands. “We’re sailing into it?”

  “Haul off or I’ll have someone else see to it.”

  Mr. Shaw’s back straightened with Coire’s harsh tone. “Aye, sir!”

  Treva scampered up the ladder calling his name as she went. “Are ye mad? That thing will tear us apart.”

  “Hold yer tongue, Miss MacDougall. I’ve no use for objections.” He jostled past her, ignoring the drop of her jaw, to watch the current patterns. They swirled and roiled very much like a cauldron for which the whirlpool was named. ’Twas daunting. He never claimed to be a good captain. Hell, he’d only had the title for a few months. He’d have to rely on instinct and pray that was enough.

  Kelpie dipped hard as she entered the grinding tidal surges and curls. Coire had to grip the railing to stay on his feet. Treva had slammed into the gunwale beside him to keep from falling. For a split second, he thought to order her below deck for her safety. But ’twould be folly. She’d not do as she was told, and if the ship broke apart, ’twouldn’t mat
ter.

  The ship’s stern began to slide out to the starboard quarter. They were losing control to the twisting swells. An oily feeling of helplessness sickened him.

  “Hard to larboard! Hard to larboard!” He shot to the port side. “Keep her turned into the slide!”

  Shouts and orders bellowed out over the thunderous din of angry water. Crew raced here and there to keep the canvases crowded. The jostling of the ship had the men swaying and grasping anything to maintain upright. Sea spray whipped across the gunwales and rained down, dampening the decks.

  Kelpie careened unexpectedly to the right, nearly turning the keel up. The force threw Treva off her feet. She screamed out as she tumbled up and over the gunwale.

  “Treva!”

  Coire dove to the side where she hung on to the railing, her fingers losing purchase from the wet wood. He grabbed her wrists just as she let go and yanked as the ship rolled back. They flopped back to the deck, the unforgiving planks biting into his shoulder and spine.

  Christ! His heart had stopped. He wasna sure it had started beating again. Not until she squirmed against him and her knee dug into his groin. Then he couldna breathe.

  “Are ye okay?” He untangled them and helped her to stand.

  The narrow escape from a watery grave had stolen her tongue, but she nodded.

  “Below deck. Now!” He was harsher than he intended, but damn all, he couldn’t coddle her whilst the bloody ship was in danger of becoming one with the sea.

  Thankfully the lass did as bade.

  Kelpie continued her backward spin. He jabbed a finger toward Jacob. “Steady larboard!”

  “I’m trying, Capt’n!” Jacob’s face was stained red from the exertion, his arms trembling, as he hung onto the wheel.

  Coire gripped the wheel, too, to help. His eyes burned from the brine of sea spray blasting into their faces. He squeezed his lids shut, fighting the urge to swipe at them. Within seconds, his muscles protested against the strain. And still the ship spun. The moments ticked off with stunning clarity as they skated sideways through the surge. To his horror, they were now facing the opposite direction. Swells battered against the vessel relentlessly, the drumming was deafening. The sails flapped as the change of the wind’s direction emptied them. They were at the mercy of the crushing, rolling, lurching currents.

  “Hard to starboard!”

  Jacob nodded and together they spun the wheel into the swell. “Dinna let go!” Grunting and wrestling the resistance, all seemed hopeless. Kelpie succumbed to the pull and was now facing forward once more.

  They had mere seconds to make the spin work in their favor. “Pack the sails! Pack the sails!”

  Wind bloated the sheets and Kelpie, though pitching side to side, vaulted forward. By what Coire could only assume was the sheer grace of God, the maelstrom spit them out on the other side.

  Cheers rang out when Kelpie sailed into the glassy waters of a calm current.

  They made it. Coire’s sigh of relief was deep. Perish and plague, they made it.

  Jacob cupped his shoulder. “Ya did it, capt’n. Ya saved us all.”

  Had he? There was little choice.

  He searched the horizon behind them for his enemies. Dread had not fully crossed the gulf. The English frigate hovered on the other side. They would not be beleaguered by either. ’Twas good. Coire needed respite after the harrowing ride through the whirlpool.

  “Set a southwestern heading, Jacob. As night falls, switch course to Colonsay.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The setting sun was an advantage, as was the approaching storm. He had no reason to not presume Dread would follow. In fact, he was certain Dread would think they would sail around Jura and continue on to their Taylough destination. Visibility would be nigh impossible with the darkness and rain. The bugger would not expect Kelpie to seek shelter for the duration of the squall in one of the Colonsay’s coves. But first, they needed to put distance between them.

  He climbed down the ladder and was greeted with whoops and slaps upon his back. He was quick to remind the men they had a hand in keeping the ship afloat. “One man alone canna man a ship.”

  After the brief celebration, ’twas back to work. “We’ll drink deep tonight, lads. Till then, man yer stations.”

  A stout drink was what he needed now. He turned to go below deck only to find Treva leaning against the hatch’s threshold. She looked like a wet, drowned cat, water dripping from the ends of her hair. But, damn all, if she didna take his breath away. Her damp clothes hugged all the right places, as did her grin.

  Suddenly aware that the others might be ogling the beauty the way he did, he took her by the arm and guided her down the companionway to his cabin.

  She spun to face him as soon as the door latched closed. “Ye’ve proven you are capable, Captain Fletcher.”

  Oh, it was too good a comment to pass up. “Never doubt it, lass.” He crowded into her space enough he had to peer down into her artful eyes. Green on green. The mossy shades blended darker to the center. Such a curious find. His tone dropped to a coarse timber. “I am capable at many things…Treva.”

  Her pupils expanded. “Yes, well, I’m duly impressed with yer skills.”

  “Ah…that, I have, too.” He toyed with her. Hell if he knew why. He could only determine ’twas because his blood still rushed through his veins from the maelstrom. And from the rise and fall of her chest, her blood thrummed, too. A drink. That was what he needed. Well, no, he needed to relieve the pressure building at his crotch. But he wouldna take advantage of the situation. Not now. He rolled in his bottom lip and bit it, muscling up the will to not kiss her senseless.

  Coire stepped back, marched to the shelves, and plucked out a bottle of whiskey.

  “Once again, find myself thanking ye for saving my life.” Disappointment infused her tone. Was it because he did not kiss her or that she felt indebted to him? He’d be content with no kiss being the reason. He wanted her to desire him as much as he desired her. Some small part of him wanted to turn the table on her, let her know he could shield himself from her coquettish ploys.

  He poured her a drink and handed it to her. “It has become a habit,” he teased.

  “One I am unaccustomed to. I have needed rescuing more these last two days than my entire life. ’Tis hard to accept when I’ve always had to save myself.”

  Damn. Her disappointment wasna because he didna kiss her.

  She sank down into a chair. “I canna imagine what would have become of me if ye hadn’t been there.” Her voice trembled as if she just realized she was not invincible.

  He sat in a chair across from her. “A prison escape into the sea, the Royal Navy finding ye in my cabin, fleeing from Dread, and nearly falling overboard into a maelstrom, ’tis quite a lot for anyone.”

  “And ye have been there each time.”

  “So I have.” He shrugged. “Ye’re a resourceful one. Ye would’ve found a way to survive.”

  “I will repay ye somehow.” In no way had she meant it in a physical manner. And that surprised him. As wily as she was, he assumed she would use her body to bring her on equal footing. ’Twas what he expected. All women used coition to get their way. He’d fallen victim to it enough when he was younger to recognize it. But that wasna what she was doing. There was grit and perhaps a little sadness behind her words.

  He was about to break one of his own rules: get to know more about her.

  “Tell me about Dread. Why are ye so afraid of him but of no one else?”

  No one knew her secret. Not even Duncan. If no one knew, it could never be used against her. But the way Coire asked, pointed, yet sincere, roused her to want to tell him her story. Could she gain a sympathetic ally?

  She swirled the liquor in her cup and heaved a fortifying breath. “It wasna long after my parents’ death, I was forced from our croft, thanks to Graer.” She added that last bit with years-worth of sour rancor. “I was ten and two when I was put on a boat to seek out distant
clansmen in Kilmartin, hoping that I wouldna be turned away.” Her uncle had told enough lies no one in Oban would take her in.

  “I dinna understand.”

  “Graer has never cared for me. I’m his brother’s daughter…by the woman he loved. I remember him coming by the house often when my da was not around. Mama had once told me she felt bad for him, that he had no woman to care for him. She’d feed him, was always kind to him, though she grew weary of his visits. And then there was a big quarrel between Da and Graer. Soon after, my parents were found dead. ’Twas thought Da killed Mama out of anger, dishonoring him with Graer. I know better. I know Graer was behind their deaths, but I have no way to prove it.”

  By God, if she could, Treva would see her uncle hang a hundred times over for what he’d done. The older she became, the more she came to terms with the fact there was nothing she could do. She’d waste no more hate or anger on her uncle. ’Twouldn’t bring her family back, anyhow. So, he simply didna exist in her mind.

  “He’s a bastard. Someday, he’ll get his, lass. Fate has a way of striking back.”

  She chuckled without humor. “To fate.” She raised her cup.

  Coire, too, lifted his mug and together they quaffed their drinks. She cringed as the whiskey burned down her throat. Ah, but the fire tasted good and was just what she needed to continue with her tale.

  “A terrible storm in the middle of the night had the crew taking shelter in an inlet of Scarba. I’d never been on a boat, it was terrifying—the relentless waves battering us, the howling wind, the snapping and creaking as if the boat would splinter apart at any moment. And the tossing…I was so sick.” It had been the worst feeling. Afraid the boat would sink and she’d be too sick to do anything to save herself. And that was only the beginning. “’Twas in the dark hours before the weather cleared. But then the real nightmare began. Dread and a band of his men had rowed out to board the boat while most of us slept. I awoke to him hovering over me.”

  The memory was so vivid. He was inches from her face, his grin more vile and evil than anything she’d ever witnessed. Even the dark seemed to be frightened of him, not daring to touch him with shadows. Her heart had lodged in her throat blocking her scream.