Righteous Side of the Wicked: Pirates of Britannia

by Jennifer Bray-Weber

  She placed a hand to her chest and mouthed “be careful”.

  Jonesy’s shoulders sagged and he nodded. With that, he disappeared over the railing and climbed into the longboat with several other men.

  Night raced across the sky and chased the day away. Treva pulled a plaid scarf tighter around her shoulders against the chill. She was restless, had been staring at the coastline, calculating the distance. She wouldna be able to make it. The water was too rough this evening and the craggy rocks just under the surface would shred her. Still, they were so close to Glasgow, she considered taking the chance. Coire may have contacts, but she knew where to go and who to see directly. And she couldn’t be sure that Coire’s contacts would be swift with the information.

  As much as she wanted Coire, she had to resume her clandestine affairs and get word to the Ranald and the rebels of their impending defeat, here and now. Mayhap when Jonesy returned with the longboat, she could steal away in it and then find a horse on shore to take her the rest of the way.

  A clamor erupted on the opposite side of the ship. Treva raced over just as a sailor pointed across the firth. An orange glow illuminated from Taylough. In the yellowed reflection stretching across the water, Jonesy’s longboat appeared.

  Coire’s expression was impassive. His gaze slid from the fire beyond to her before addressing Jonesy as he and the other men climbed aboard. “What say ye?”

  “A small faction of the English had been dispatched to the town. ’Twas unclear how long they’d been there. Angus vacated a few days ago but left men behind for when we arrived. He awaits us at Malig.”

  Treva was fairly certain Coire had growled. “And that?” He cocked his head to Taylough.

  “Diversion. Courser dropped anchor. A fire was set at the south end of the harbor so we could escape unnoticed.”

  “Well, let’s get on with it.” Coire motioned to Mr. Shaw and the crew scurried about making ready for sail. “But if Angus is not in Malig, we find another buyer. I winna be a scrub for anyone. No more.” He clapped Jonesy on the shoulder, an unspoken acknowledgment of a job well done. “Come. Ye, too, Miss MacDougall. We talk.”

  Back to formalities. She couldna say she was pleased.

  Jonesy settled at the table in the captain’s quarters, but Coire went straight for a bottle of liquor on the shelf. Treva took the bottle from him. “Let me.” He dinna argue. She plucked up three cups, filling them, and placing them one by one in front of the men before she, too, sat.

  Coire let out a haggard, irritable sigh as he drew his dagger from his belt. “If Angus is not in Malig, I’m sure we can sell the contraband to Malig’s Laird MacAulay.” He grazed the dagger’s blade over his forearm checking its sharpness. “But I winna be well received by him.”

  Jonesy chuckled, though without humor. “I’ve never known you to care if you’re not welcome.”

  With a twist of his wrist, he spun the knife over his fingers and jabbed the blade deep into the table’s wood. “Malig was once my home. No one there will deal with the likes of me, be assured. To recoup losses and be rid of our cargo,” he picked up his cup, sneering, “ye’ll have to go to MacAulay without me, Jonesy.”

  “Must have been a helluva clash,” the quartermaster said.

  Coire stared at the rum he swirled around in his mug. “Ye should never think or speak upon a past meant to stay in the past lest you find yerself there again.”

  There she was again. The woman—nay, women—to which he erected his bastion. Treva tamped away the urge to reach for him, to soothe the snappish beast within him that kept her on the other side.

  He drained his cup in a hearty swallow, smacked the mug upon the table, and directed his frosty attention to her. “Is there anything ye would like to confess now? Any secrets told to the Royal Navy to spill?”

  His incriminating tone ruffled her feathers. “I warned ye the English were at Taylough long before Courser.”

  “Yet ye made sure to tell your lieutenant friend the rebels were going to make trouble.”

  She’d been backed into a corner. ’Twas a mess of her own making and unlikely a lie would get her out of this one.

  “Don’t deny it.” Jonesy pointed his finger at her. “I overheard you talking with him.”

  “I winna deny it,” she popped back. “What ye overheard was a message to help the rebels. Sending Courser to Taylough was to keep the attention off of us. ’Tis better than the war ship blocking the River Clyde.”

  “What reason would ye have to think we’d be going up the river Clyde?”

  “Gah!” She threw up her arms. “If not ye, someone else would have to transport the arms.”

  Coire’s nostrils flared. She had him. ’Twas an angle he hadn’t taken the time to consider.

  “From the beginning ye’ve had another mission. What difference would it make to ye where the arms end up?”

  What more could she say to convince Coire she wasna the enemy? “To detract attention from Glasgow on the rebel movement.”

  A war was waging in his eyes. The distance growing in them, the light he held for her fading, it frightened Treva. She would never win his heart if she couldna earn his trust.

  “Ye will accompany us to Angus in Malig, where it’ll be your last stop.” He stood, Jonesy followed his lead to the door. “Get some rest. ’Twill be a long night.”

  A little piece inside her wilted and broke. Treva squeezed out the lone tear. She had never cried over a man before and she hated the helplessness to change that now.

  In the back room of a blacksmith’s shop, Treva, Coire, Jonesy, and Redd gathered with Angus. Several cross-grained and woolly men lined the room. Heat suffused the room from the forge in the adjacent room. Moisture beaded upon her bow and coated her neck. The stench of sweat made breathing the heavy air difficult. Though Angus could have been carved from the dark, creviced boulders littered along the beach, he was more affable than her uncle. He had welcomed her without the disdain she was accustomed to from her clansmen. She supposed Coire was to thank for that since he introduced her solely by her first name.

  She waited obediently as the men concluded their transaction and discussed the difficulty of getting the cargo to shore. The tide was out and the water was far too shallow. The barrels would have to be transported in skiffs and they would need to take advantage of what was left of the night.

  “I’d like to ask ye a favor, Angus.” He placed a small pouch of coins upon the tabletop. “My companion needs to get to family in Glasgow. Can ye provide her with a horse and escort?”

  Angus weight the pouch, finding it adequate. “Of course.” He nodded to Treva. “We can get ye there safely, lass.”

  And just like that, she was no longer Coire’s “companion”. So easy to cast her away. That should have hurt, and she’d be lying to herself if she said it did not. But she’d make him see, they could be good together.

  What folly. She was likely to never see him again. Life was never fair, and it was far too short to waste.

  Treva stamped away the clog in her chest. “Thank ye. Thank ye, both.”

  Coire directed his attention to a spot on the wall away from everyone.

  With the meeting over and Coire paid, everyone filed out of the room. The breeze off the sea was a welcome respite from the burnt air inside, cooling her wet neck. She took a full invigorating breath.

  “Come, lass,” Angus said as they walked to the street. “Ye can rest at the inn. I’ll have Edgar come for ye in the morning.”

  Coire still avoided eye contact with anyone. His callous features were made more menacing by the light from the fire pit beside the street. There was more to say to each other. More Treva needed to do to make him see she wasna like the others he lumped her with. Was she? She didna want to part ways with him. Not like this. But what choice had she?

  Angus shook Coire’s hand. “Can I convince ye to stay and fight alongside us, Fletcher? We could use strong men like ye to aid in our cause.”

  “Wha
t be the cause?”

  Treva doubted Coire was actually entertaining the idea. But he was an enterprising man, interest, even feigned interest, created accords and presented angles for opportunities benefitting his men.

  “To take Dumbarton Castle in two night’s time.” Angus clucked in irritation. “’Twas to be a concerted effort, Taylough and Dumbarton. Now we focus only on Dumbarton. We’re attacking from the west and another detachment will be coming from the east. We take the castle, the Jacobites will be in a better position to launch an attack on Glasgow and eradicate the royalists.”

  Coire finally glanced her way. ’Twould be useless to argue the point they’d fail now. No one would listen. Only those who knew her, trusted her, would heed her warning. She’d seek out Ranald on her journey tomorrow.

  “I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he said. “We’ve a long journey home.”

  Angus was confused to hear this from a fellow Scotsman. “But ye are home, lad.”

  “Like hell he is. Get yer arse off my land, ya bastard.”

  Treva spun on her heel at the newcomer whose threat was indisputable. He was tall, a giant of a man draped in a belted plaid and menacing aura. Armed men crowded behind him, all seemingly ready for trouble. Jonesy and Redd eased their grips to the pistols upon their hips. Coire, however, hardly moved a muscle.

  Angus frowned. “Captain Fletcher is welcome at my side.”

  “Then ye can remove yerself from my land, too…without the use of my men for yer march on Dumbarton.”

  “MacAulay.” Coire’s animosity for the man suffocated the area in waves. “How is my treacherous sister? Making yer life sheer misery?”

  An immoral grin tipped MacAulay’s sneer. “Ah, Cait dinna fare as well as our beloved whore Fenella. Ghastly accident, it was.”

  Coire returned the grin. “I suppose sending my well wishes will be unnecessary then.”

  “What’s this about?” Angus said.

  “A disagreement.” The louring tone in Coire’s voice dared the laird to object.

  MacAulay growled and took a step closer. “Fucking my wife was not a disagreement.”

  Coire closed the gap, ignoring the laird’s men who stiffened and reached for their weapons. “Ye and I both know Cait planned it from the beginning. Besides, if ye were able to keep Fenella sated and happy—”

  “I spared ye out of respect to yer da, though Cait would have seen ye stripped and whipped to death.”

  Treva’s blood chilled. They spoke of the women who betrayed Coire. Women who were now seemingly dead.

  MacAulay snarled with another wretched tilt to his mouth. “There’s nothing stopping me from killing ye now.”

  “Think ya could?”

  Oh, shite! The wild, crazed flash in Coire’s eyes meant he was serious. MacAulay reached for his dirk. Coire smirked, but didna reach for his own weapon. His confidence was palpable. These two men were ready to shed blood. And no one would stop them. Everyone there was poised for action, too.

  “Gentlemen.” She tread as close as she dared to the rivals.

  Angus tugged her back. “Lass…”

  The laird drew his dirk. “Ye were warned never to come back.”

  “Dinna ye worry yer fragile mind, MacAulay. There’s nothing here I want. Except maybe yer heart still warm and beating in my fist.” Coire pulled out his own dagger and brandished it before him. Jonesy and Redd hemmed in as the clansmen, too, braced for a clash.

  “Worthless whoreson.” MacAulay advanced a step.

  “No!” Treva shrugged from Angus and crammed herself between the men, a palm on each man’s chest. “Would it not be best to lay past differences aside while we are united in purpose? Divided we are less effective.”

  MacAulay’s gaze slid down to where she touched him. She snapped her hand back as if too close to a red-hot fire. His lips tilted up, her skin crawled. “Friend of Fletcher’s?”

  Coire snatched her to his side. “She’s no concern of yers.”

  “No?” His stare slithered over her body.

  Coire pointed the tip of his dagger eye-level at the laird, twisting so the blade caught the firelight. “No.” The pregnant pause after the unspoken warning lingered. Just as MacAulay’s grin. “Ye’ll be rid of me as soon as the last barrel is offloaded my ship.”

  The laird sheathed his dirk. “See to it, Angus. I’d hate to rescind my alliance because yer lackeys canna adhere to orders.” He spun on his heel and marched down the street, his brute men in tow.

  “Apologies, mate. I’ll be true to my word and sail at first light. I winna cause more trouble than ye already have with MacAulay.”

  “He’s a pompous bastard,” Angus muttered.

  “Aside for allowing Treva a place to lay her head for a few hours, we winna be needin’ yer services after all. Keep the coin all the same.”

  She frowned, daring not to hope. “Are ye taking me to Glasgow?”

  Coire side-eyed down at her. “No. But I winna leave ye here. Not with the way MacAulay ogled ye for his next meal.”

  She barked a sour, disbelieving laugh. “I can take care of myself.”

  “Aye. Except there are no British officers to fall into league with here.”

  She planted fists to her hips. “Oh, so now ye trust me?”

  His brow raised in confrontation. “Just the lesser of two evils.”

  He hit his intended mark. Did she deserve it? Probably.

  “Should I be concerned?” Angus’s gaze bounced between them. Redd and the others looked about unsure of the answer. Jonesy, on the other hand, stood stoically aside, his tight expression unreadable.

  “Verra well,” she said. “We can discuss this at a more suitable time.” As in never. “Angus, I thank ye for yer hospitality. I could use the sleep.” She spun on her heel and marched away in a direction she hoped was the inn.

  The sun’s rays broke the horizon just after crossing the river’s bridge. Treva had been riding hard these last hours, following the trail that an old man said would lead her to Glasgow. It had been luck and the darkest part of the small hours that kept the road clear of other travelers or unsavory characters. Still, she dinna steal away from Malig without helping herself to some of the weapons Coire had delivered. She’d hidden a pistol in her waistband and carried another on her hip under her cloak. She’d be foolish to not arm herself in case she ran headlong into trouble. A pretty smile and coy persuasion were not always effective.

  To the southwest was Dumbarton and she must tread carefully and swiftly lest she run into any British patrols. By late afternoon, she should reach the outskirts of Glasgow where she hoped to find Ranald—long before any courier sent by Coire would—and make a stand to end the march to their deaths.

  She patted the mare’s neck and led the horse down an embankment a few yards off the pathway to a stream that fed into the river farther downstream. Each step from the hooves stirred the moist, earthy odors from the recent rains. The poor horse needed a cool drink and her growling stomach reminded her she could use a brief respite, too. Her mouth watered for the bread and cheese she’d stolen on her way out of Malig.

  Treva hated that she had been reduced to thieving, but time was not on her side and Coire refused to help further. ’Twas for the best. He was nothing but a heartache…though one she was willing to endure. Damn him!

  After resting long enough, and spending much of that time thinking of a stubborn pirate captain, she gathered the mare’s reins. The snap of a twig caught her attention and she froze. Was someone there? Treva scanned the bank on both sides of the stream, saw nothing but lichen-covered rocks and ancient trees, heard nothing but the rush of the water. Being at the bottom of the embankment put her at a disadvantage. She had to get to the top and there’d be no way to do it without making noise. She had to remain still until she was certain she was alone.

  She spun at the sound of another twig breaking behind her. Caught a shadow darting between trees to the left. Maybe. She couldn’t be sure. Leaves r
ustled to the right. But there was nothing there. Panic surged forward at what she coulnda see. Treva charged up the embankment pulling the horse behind her.

  At the top, she swiveled on her heel searching for the source of the sounds. Her imagination must be playing tricks on her. There was nothing there. It was probably a pine marten or a squirrel. Yes, that was it. Treva cursed to herself for being so skittish and prepared to mount the horse. Since when was she scared of—

  It came out of nowhere, the hand that covered her mouth, the strong arm that wrapped around her. Treva had no time to react as the man pulled her flush against his hard body.

  “Shh.” His whisper pressed against her ear. “Dinna move.”

  Chapter Nine

  Coire had been furious when he discovered Treva was gone. Furious at Angus, furious at her, and, above all furious at himself. Why the hell did he not take her back to the ship and let her rest there? Why the hell had he been so stubborn in believing she was the enemy? Aye, he’d been enraged. Coming face to face with the man he was supposed to be beholden to for sparing his young life. It was a stark reminder of what he had lost. How men of power canna be trusted and women of every station were worse.

  He’d long since stopped mourning Fenella. She was as foolish as he and danced a dangerous line. To that, he did still harbor some guilt. Had he never had the dalliance with Fenella while she was married, she might still be alive. As for his sister, well, he’d not squander any guilt on her. He couldna gather enough guilt at all for his apathy that she was dead. She was a destroyer of lives and fate had a way of slithering back around with fangs of justice.

  He had no reason to trust Treva. She lied to him from the start. Yet her actions confused him, passing information the way she did. He now believed she played both sides. But to what end, that was the question. Coire was ready to be rid of her.