Except, he wasn’t.
The entire, tedious time they offloaded the ammunition, she had invaded his thoughts. Now that he would have her gone, he imagined her bright smile, her quick laugh, her sharp wit, her supple, heavenly body. And he wanted more of her. All of her.
He wasna a man given to his urges. But MacAulay was. Coire had recognized the sinister wheels working inside the man’s mind. Od’s bones, ’twasn’t enough Dread and the Royal Navy were after her. The laird would come for her for an entirely different reason—lust, with a slice of retribution. In fact, Coire immediately thought he already had when it became apparent Treva was gone. ’Twasn’t until he had been informed two pistols were gone, too, that the little fox set out on her own. On MacAulay’s lands. Alone.
’Twas nothing short of luck he found her when he did.
“Stop fighting me, Treva,” he hissed in her ear. “They’ll hear ye.”
She relaxed instantly, and he turned her around. The panic in her eyes faded into relief…and something more he couldna identify.
“Coire. What…why?”
He put a finger to her mouth to silence her. “Redcoats.” Her brow creased as she scoured the forest.
Coire led her and the mare behind a tangle of brush growing over a thick, felled tree trunk. Within moments, four British soldiers on horseback appeared. She reached for his hand and squeezed as one by one they passed by.
Once they were well out of earshot, she threw her arms around his waist. He returned the hug without hesitation.
“How did ye know?”
“I lost track of ye after crossing the river. When I came upon the patrol, I knew I must have ridden past ye and doubled back.”
She peered up at him. “Had they came upon me, they wouldna let me ride on.”
“Nay. At best, they’d have taken ye to Dumbarton. At worse, well, they may not be honorable men.” He let go and led them to where he had his gelding tied.
“We haven’t much time if we are going to warn yer friends.”
Treva’s jaw slackened as she processed what he’d said. “Ye’ll accompany me?”
He helped her mount her horse and patted the beast’s neck. “Ye gave me no choice. Riding out by yerself was foolish and dangerous. If the soldiers dinna find ye first, MacAulay’s men surely will.”
She huffed. “I have taken care of myself long before ye came along.”
Aye, she had. It upset him that she had no one at her back. It should not be that way. Coire mounted his own horse. “If ye are so hell bent to get to yer cousin that you would take so many risks, then I will help get you there.”
Her smile made it all worth it. “Thank ye, Coire.”
They set out through the trees to the trail. Back on the well-worn path, the silly grin tipping Treva’s lips finally got the better of him. “What?”
“Ye came for me.”
“Yeah…” What was she about?
Her grin grew impossibly wide. “Ye came for me. Ye must really like me.”
He chuckled. “Ye have an impossible way about you.”
“But ye do like me.”
Coire returned her grin. “Aye. A wee bit.” He winked and she laughed, that melodic laugh he’d come to adore. “But I ought to have ye strung up to the mizzen and whipped for running off like that.”
She clicked her tongue. “A pirate thing to do.”
“The thing about pirates, love, we are good about torture.”
“Ah…remember, Captain Fletcher, I, too, have pirate’s blood.” She crinkled her nose. “Torture can be pleasing when done correctly, no?”
Ho, ho! The little minx! “I think ye’ve done enough trespasses to find out.” The visions of what they could do, a passionate tangle of limbs and flesh, moans and release, crowded in his mind. He wanted nothing more than to share another night with her, maybe more.
And then what? He didna know. What he did know was that he would get them to Glasgow safely where she could warn the rebels and he could meet up with the Kelpie.
The afternoon wore on. Talk was quiet and brief out of necessity. But when Coire found himself letting Treva lead so that he could admire the way her spine rolled smoothly in the saddle with the mare’s gait, he realized how easily distracted she made him. He corrected that potential mistake by maneuvering his horse in front.
They made good time. Within a few miles from the outermost reaches of the city, the trail opened along a ridge overlooking the sea. And there, cutting through the blue-gray water, was the Kelpie. Treva gasped with excitement, standing up in the stirrups to wave at the passing ship. Coire was quite certain some of his crew waved back. He shook his head, charmed by her giddiness.
“Will they know where to go?” she asked, trotting up beside him.
“Aye. Angus is with them.”
She scowled. “Why?”
“When ye came up missing, I explained to Angus yer real purpose…and yer relation to Graer. I also strongly urged that he join us in Glasgow.”
“Ye mean you threatened him.”
That was one way to put it. “Angus believes in this cause. He is not Graer, milking what he can from the pawns. If postponing the attack will save lives and increase the possibility of success later, Angus will understand.”
She pursed her lips disapprovingly. “What did ye say when he asked why ye dinna tell him this from the beginning?”
Coire exhaled noisily and cutty-eyed her. “Never trust someone until they give ye a reason to.”
Treva sighed, her face crestfallen. “I haven’t given ye a reason to trust me.”
What could he say to that? She hadn’t. But for the first time in many, many years, he wanted to trust someone, trust her, trust in her. “Show me otherwise.”
A coy twist of her lips suggested she’d meet the challenge. He hoped so.
They hadn’t made it but a few paces inside a thick wood before they were suddenly surrounded by the tips of swords and arrows. Their horses startled, Treva’s mare threw her head back and stamped, nearly tumbling Treva off onto the ground. Coire spat a curse. How the hell did he not sense these men before they ambushed them?
“Hold, there.” A voice boomed among the trees before the man armed to the teeth stepped out from behind a trunk. His reddish-brown, coarse curls sticking out from beneath a drab tam indicated he’d been in the forest for some time. “State yer business for riding through private property.”
“Private property, my arse.”
What the devil! Had Treva lost her damn mind? The burly man pulled his sword. Shite. Coire did the same. “The lass meant no—”
“Put yer weapon away, Everd.”
The man’s thick eyebrows loosened. “Treva? That ye?” He motioned for the others to lower their weapons.
Son of a… The lass never stopped amazing him.
She slid off her horse. “That how ye welcome a friend?”
“Friend? Ye’re more like a slippery sauce box.” He laughed and pulled her in for a hug. “I dinna recognize ye.” He flipped his hand under her chopped hair. “What are ye doing here, caileag bheag?”
Coire sheathed his sword and dismounted.
“I need to find Ranald. I’ve verra important information that must reach him immediately.” She swept her hand to him. “This is my companion, Captain Coire Fletcher.”
“Glad to know ya, Fletcher.” Everd took his hand in a hearty handshake. “Any friend of Treva’s is a friend of mine. Thank ye for escortin’ the wee lass. Ye lose a bet or somethin’?”
Treva slapped him on the arm.
“Seems that way at times.”
Treva popped him on the arm, too. Together, they chuckled.
Everd and his men led them to a croft not far from the port. Treva chatted with him easily but it dinna escape Coire’s notice that she kept any relevant information to herself. Smart girl. If not for the sake of trust, for keeping people safe.
Inside the dusty home, several men sat at a long table in front of the hearth. The cr
ackling fire warmed the room and a pot that smelled of chicken broth and leeks. A spinning wheel sat empty in a corner as a woman who probably occupied it tended to the three men at the table. As he, Treva and Everd filed into the room, Jonesy and Angus turned in their seats, relief at their arrival evident upon their vanishing frowns. The third man stood.
“Treva?”
“Ranald.”
Ranald’s astonishment in seeing her quickly shifted to a large, toothy grin. She met him in the middle of the room where he scooped her up into an embrace. “So ye’re the troublemaker these two were talking about.”
“Ah, ye are not surprised, now, are you?”
The barrel-chested man’s guffaw bounced off the stone and timber walls. “Blessed be, no.”
“’Tis why we keep plenty of whiskey and bandages at hand.”
Treva spun to the man who somehow slunk in behind them undetected. “Duncan!” She squealed and jumped into the arms of the tall lad’s arms that looked to be no older than her.
“Cousin.” He set her down and looked her over at arm’s length. “My God, ’tis good to see you.
“Ye have no idea how wonderful ’tis to be surrounded by friendly faces.” She swiped a tear off her cheek, maintaining her brave countenance. “I’ve been deprived too long of the warm comfort.”
Coire’s gut tightened as if he’d just been punched. He wanted to push Duncan aside and out of the second hug he was giving Treva. He understood loneliness, knew she battled it, too. But how very different it must feel to a woman. He’d never known one that didna have other females or children to keep company. And Treva had been running most of her life alone.
“What happened to yer hair?” Duncan asked.
Her hand instinctively went to her head. She crinkled her nose and shrugged. “Oh, ye know. Had to make quick with a disguise to fool the navy.” With a lopsided grin, she glanced at Coire. “As a slave boy indebted to a sea captain.”
Coire couldn’t hold back amusement though he shook his head as if scolding her for the rumor she had spread.
“Ye must be Captain Fletcher,” Duncan said.
“I am.” The lad had a mighty handshake but a tight stare.
“Yer quartermaster told us ye came into distress multiple times on this run.”
“Disruptions, I’d say.”
Angus guffawed. “Disruptions.” He shook his head. “Boarded by the Royal Navy twice, hounded by a scourge, and surviving a maelstrom without losing more than a few barrels of liquor…impressive.”
“Aye. Impressive.” Duncan hadn’t broken their eye contact. “How is it ye are adept in smuggling?”
What did the lad have to gain by challenging him? “That’s like asking a man about how he handles his woman.”
“Am I?” His gaze finally slid away, to Treva.
“Assumptions get a man killed.” ’Twas a tactful warning given with a civil smile that there was a line not to be crossed.
Duncan’s good-natured smirk broke the tension. “Well, if ye persisted all that and Treva, ye canna be all that bad.”
Treva pulled Coire to her other side, placing herself between him and her cousin. “Oh, stop it, Duncan. Fletcher is every bit as remarkable as ye’ve heard.”
“He’d have to be to put up with ye.”
She nudged Duncan with her arm conspiratorially while smiling up at Coire. “He is a pirate, after all.”
Duncan stilled for a flummoxed heartbeat and then threw his head back in laughter, clapping his hand upon Coire’s back. “Guess ye’d have to be, my friend. Did she tell ye she is a direct descendant of the pirate Savage MacDougall?”
“More than once, I’m afraid.” Coire looked down at Treva who still grinned up at him. What was it about the wee lass that had him so taken?
“Such a waif now.” Duncan tsked at Treva. “Have ye eaten?”
Ranald waved for the woman to ladle up food and motioned for everyone to sit at the roughly hewn table. Within moments, they all had a bowl of soup and a mug of whiskey.
“Shouldna ye be in Liverpool?” Ranald asked, after sipping on the hot broth.
“My travels determined to take me to Man.” Treva spared a glance at Coire as if to say that was where her life forever changed. For good or bad remained to be seen. “I learned the English know of the plot against Dumbarton and Dunstaffnage there. I’ve come to warn ye against it. They are fortified and waiting for the first sign of a revolt.”
Everd spoke up. “Their encampments have grown since just this morning. On both the east and west sides of Dumbarton.”
“How many?” asked Ranald.
“Hard to say. They camp on the fields and bury in the woods. But by the looks of it, four, maybe five hundred.”
“With cannons pointed at the River Clyde on the south, they will likely close their flanks behind anyone attacking in from the north.” ’Twould be a strategy Coire would apply. “But if ye have enough men to surround their flanks, you could squeeze them in and starve them out.”
Ranald looked to Angus. “What are yer numbers?”
Angus, setting down his mug, swiped the back of his hand across his lips. “Including MacAulay’s men, two hundred.”
Ranald shook his head. “I fear we are not so evenly matched.”
“But we have plenty of weapons and ammunition.” Angus tipped his head in appreciation toward Coire.
“More Redcoats could be coming.” Everd pointed out. “When riding in from Malig, I saw what looked to be smoke in the northeast, as if there was an encampment there.”
Coire had seen it, too, and made the same assumption.
Duncan pounded his fist onto the table. “But we have something the bastard English dinna have. Fire in our hearts! They fight because they are told. We fight because it is our livelihood they threaten. Our very existence. We can be victorious.”
Treva placed her hand upon her cousin’s forearm. “Nay. We must abort. ’Twould be a massacre. We must be smart. Save our men and our gunpowder for a better fight.”
“She’s right.” Coire interjected, though he had no stake. “There’s an English frigate at Taylough, another nearby. They are prepared to win.”
“With Taylough out, there is no dual attack to work to our advantage,” Ranald said. “We need to be responsible with our lives and weaponry.”
Coire suddenly had a moment of nostalgia. He missed sitting around a mahogany table riddled with knife nicks and empty bottles in an open-air tavern, a brisk Caribbean breeze crossing through the windows, while drinking rich rum and plotting the next piratical venture with his cohorts. ’Twas a game of strategies and the rewards were always well-won and well-spent. He was ready to get back.
“’Twould have the wretches guessing if we kept them waiting,” Angus added. “At some point they will send troops to where they are more needed.”
“We lay low and strike when they no longer believe we are a threat.” Duncan agreed, though reluctantly. The lad wanted the fight.
Coire wasna sure that would ever happen. He felt in his gut the English wouldna be so sloppy with a stronghold like Dumbarton.
“We best let the men know there’ll be no fighting tonight.” Ranald rose from his seat.
Angus stood as well. “And I need to send word back to Malig before they march. Thank ye, Captain Fletcher, for yer commitment to the cause.”
“And for bringing Treva back,” Ranald added. “Without her, we all may have ended up dead.”
The only commitment Coire and his men had was to fulfill what they were commissioned to do. A means to an end, which was plenty of profit to sail home on and enough left over to last until he secured their next venture. There was a woeful awareness with what that meant. He’d not only be leaving Scotland behind again, but Treva, too.
Handshakes and partings were brief, but the alliances would be lasting. He had no use for returning to Scotland, but in his occupation, one could never have too many allies.
After Angus and Ranald departed, and t
he woman left with the empty bowls, only four remained standing in the room. ’Twas two too many.
“My dear cousin,” Duncan said. “We’re lucky ye made it here in time.”
Treva beamed. “I couldna have done it without Coire.”
Duncan’s brow crept high. “Coire?”
“I’ve naught to do with it.” Coire would not take the praise. Doing so suggested he accepted responsibility for her in the way her familiar use of his name suggested. They were not courting, were not meant to be together. “’Twas solely her determination.”
“But he and Jonesy…” She reached across the distance to touch Jonesy’s arm. “…they ensured my safety and aided in getting me here. For that I am eternally grateful.” Jonesy’s stoic façade he wore for her finally cracked and he took her hand to place a chaste kiss upon her knuckles.
“As am I.” Duncan swiped up his mug from the table and lifted it to them. “Thank ye both.”
Under normal circumstances, thanks came with an exchange of money. How awkward this felt. He dinna know the appropriate response. But he did know he was grateful for his part in Treva’s quest…and the brief moments shared with her. “Ye are welcome.”
Coire inclined his head. “We must be on our way. ’Tis a long way back to Skye.”
Treva’s face fell. “Skye?”
“We will be preparing for our journey home to the West Indies.”
“Home…” Treva’s overwrought whisper tugged upon Coire. This wasna going to be easy. Especially as she turned away. He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold tight until the world faded away. But that was not to be. Their course ended here. And here was not where he belonged.
A few more words of appreciation and handshakes and he and Jonesy headed for the door.
“Wait!”
Coire spun just in time to catch Treva as she threw herself into him. She hugged tight. Sweet merciful heaven, what was he to do? What was he to say? Nothing came to mind but to kiss her atop her head and leave.
As he stepped out the door, he heard Duncan say, “Come. Sit, Treva. We’ve much to catch up on, including this story on cutting yer hair to become a lad.”
A brilliant pink and orange glow set the sky ablaze, a grandiose end to the long day. Night would soon trek across with glittering stars in its wake. He was fairly certain he would miss the spectacular display as he hit the bottom of a bottle in his cabin while dreaming of a pixie.
Righteous Side of the Wicked: Pirates of Britannia Page 12