by H. C. Brown
His father blamed Clan Monroe for poisoning the water and by Jamie’s account not three days after the first Mackenzie clansman fell ill, they arrived to burn and pillage. Afore, apart from the odd border raids of a few Mackenzie cattle, they had not dared attack his clan. The men at Badenoch once numbered four hundred clansmen—two hundred of these fine men and many wives and children had died immediately when the poison was at its most potent. The rest had barely escaped with their lives. He could have saved his father if he had returned home a month earlier. He gazed into the heavens. “I am but one man, Lord. What am I to do?”
The door crashed open and Jamie stormed into the study, his green eyes flashing with anger. “Ye ken the houses we built in Downleigi? Jock Murray is in the courtyard wi’ three men, he says his son informed him riders wearing Monroe colors burned down the houses, and took the women.”
Drew slammed a closed fist on the table overturning a pitcher of ale. The contents pooled then ran over the edge of the desk and dripped to the floor. He dragged his attention away from the dark liquid then gathered his wits. “And where were the men? I gave them explicit orders they were not to leave the village unguarded.”
“Aye, ye did true enough.” Jamie rubbed his chin and gave him a considering look. “They went hunting. As it has been more than a month since the last raid they thought the women would be safe.” He sighed and tossed a dirty piece of paper on the desk. “The Monroe intends to hold the women to ransom.”
“Och aye, ransom, is it?” He lifted the note between finger and thumb and peered at it dubiously. “Ten women for two casks of ma finest whisky, aye?” He lifted his gaze to his brother and grimaced. “It is obvious we have a spy in our midst. Someone poisoned the wells and told the Monroe when to strike and now they want to discover the direction of our whisky cache.” He grinned. “I will give them their due. Fill two barrels with piss and arrange a meeting at the base of Craig Dubh at noon tomorrow. Ye will take a few men and carts to carry the women to safety. I will take twenty men and leave afore dawn. We will hide in the rocks and wait for the misbegotten arse wipes.”
Anger blackened his vision. Laird Monroe had misjudged him if he thought he would cower to the likes of him. He pushed to his feet. “You will make the bargain then leave wi’ the womenfolk. I am going to kill them all and leave their murdering carcasses to rot on the road, but they can keep their piss, aye.”
“Are ye planning a raid on the Monroe?” Ian strolled into the room and gave him a quizzical stare.
Drew straightened and met his younger brother’s curious gaze. At sixteen, the lad could hold his own on the battlefield but lacked the ruthlessness of both him and Jamie. “They have murdered our father and taken our women to ransom. Aye, the debt will be paid in blood—their blood.”
The boy paled but gave a curt nod of agreement.
“Aye, I would like to join ye to rid the world of Munroe scum.”
“And leave the castle unprotected? Nay, lad, not this time. I will need ye here in my stead. Clan Mackenzie has declared war!”
* * * *
Drew rolled his shoulders to relieve the stiffness following the altercation with the Monroe clansmen foolish enough challenge him. Blood splattered his plaid and boots but overcome with exhaustion he sought refuge in the solar. He clenched and unclenched his right hand, glad he had trained with his broadsword daily during his time in France.
The Monroe clansmen had ridden into his trap, dragging the Mackenzie women on ropes behind their horses. Once the women had driven away atop the cart, he had led the charge and cut down the murdering Monroe pigs where they stood. He snorted and collapsed into the chair before the desk. A bottle of his great grandfather’s whisky sat on the table before him. He lifted the bottle and ripped the cork from the opening with his teeth then filled a glass. He held the drink high. “Ye are avenged Da,”
A movement caught his eye in the hallway and he noticed his brothers heading toward the door. Ian stepped inside and waved a document in one hand. He motioned him forward. “Did ye want me, lad?”
“A messenger came afore wi’ a missive. He said it was urgent business from Lord Rupert.” Ian strode into the room and handed him the letter.
“Ye better get in here too, Jamie.” He broke the seal and spread the document on the desk. “Close the door, aye and we will see what is so urgent for Rupert to send this by messenger.”
He dragged a hand through his hair and re-read Rupert’s note. Despair rushed over him with such hopelessness, he moaned in distress. Oh God, I am, but one man and yet ye force me to choose between ma clan and the woman I love.
“What has happened?” Jamie leaned forward in his chair. “Drew, for the love of Bride, say something.”
He waved a hand at Jamie in dismissal and stared in horror at the letter written in Rupert’s flowery scrip. By the end of the month, his beautiful Adrianna would be unwillingly thrust into the hands of Lord Moreau, henchman of Baron du Court, and set aboard a ship he knew well—The Black Turtle. He snorted with incredulity. Of all the damnable ships and people Lord Beachwood could have chosen to transport his daughter, he had chosen a pirate with more notoriety than him.
He lifted his attention back to his brothers’ pale faces. An explanation was in order but how could he explain his promise to a Sassenach lady? He pushed to his feet and paced up and down before the hearth. The study still held the rosemary and lavender scent of father. The desk was scattered with his discarded quills, and the leather chair held the outline of his massive body. He swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Dear God, he had not had the time to mourn him.
Resolute, he turned to face his brothers. “Ye ken I went to London to arrange the purchase of some mares with Rupert?”
“Aye, but I dinna think a few mares has ye in such a lather? Ye mentioned a lass to Da, has she got your wame in a knot?” Jamie eyed him with suspicion. “What mischief have ye got yourself into this time?”
“Verra well. Give me your word not to mention this to the clan.” He waited for both men to nod in agreement. “I met a fine English lady but her father made it verra clear I was not to pursue her.” He sighed and raised a brow. “I encouraged Rupert to arrange secret meetings wi’ her and I gave her ma word I would settle ma affairs and return to speak wi’ her father.”
“A Sassenach? Ye want to wed a Sassenach. Have ye lost your wits?” Jamie glared at him. “Now what? Is she wi’ child?”
Scandalized, he rounded on Jamie. “Nay, Rupert acted as chaperone I dinna compromise the lass but maybe I should have. Her father, Lord Beachwood, physician to King Geordie, is forcing her to wed Baron du Court and she will be traveling to France on none other than the Black Turtle.” He snorted in derision. “Under the protection of Captain Jacques and Lord Moreau.”
“Holy Mother of God.” Jamie shot to his feet. “Are ye sure?”
“Aye,” He forced down the overpowering need to jump on his horse and ride hell for leather to London to save her and tried to think. “I will need to leave at once and make my offer to prevent this happening.”
Jamie eyed the document and his brows knitted.
“Rupert says here, the lass is betrothed to the baron.” He lifted eyes filled with sorrow. “Ye canna barge into London and make demands. Her father will not listen to anything ye have to say. What do ye have to offer him against the wealth and position of a title? If ye want this lass then we must be devious, and snatch her out from under his nose, aye.”
Drew rubbed the back of his neck. His brother’s words cut through his panic and calmed him. He nodded. “I want her for ma wife and she made it plain she is of the same mind.”
“Then we must plan our next move but how will ye inform the lady of your intent?” Jamie handed him back the missive. “Mayhap we can use Le Diable Noir to cover her escape?”
Could he arrange a meeting with the Black Turtle as Le Diable Noir and steal Adrianna out from beneath Lord Moreau’s nose? He stared at the document in his hand and smi
led. “Aye, you may well have the beginnings of a fine plan, Jamie. Rupert mentions that Jacques has business along the coast afore he returns to France and has sent me the Black Turtle’s manifest. Although, as a privateer I ken he lays anchor off the coast for his clandestine meetings. I have time to arrange a meeting wi’ the weasel again.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I will send a missive to Madame Josephine to arrange the trade of whisky wi’ Captain Jacques. She will get a message to him at his first port of call.” He turned to Ian. “Do ye ken if the messenger is still here?”
“Aye, he wants to leave by first light.”
“Good, I will send the message wi’ him.” He ran his gaze over Ian and the thought of sending a young lad in his stead curdled his wame. “I will need your help. The Black Turtle will be in London at the end of the month to collect Lady Adrianna. If I send ye wi’ Madame Josephine’s messenger, will ye meet the ship at its first port of call in Scotland and sign onto The Black Turtle as a deckhand?”
“A deckhand?” Ian frowned. “I dinna ken a thing about ships.”
“Aye, I ken but I need someone I can trust to watch over the lass and I will need Jamie to move the whisky to the meeting place.” He took in Ian’s shocked expression and smiled. “A short trip, aye, so ye can inform Lady Adrianna of ma plan for her escape. Dinna fash, Captain Jacques treats his men well, ye will be fine.”
“And when exactly did ye meet him?” Jamie scowled at him. “If I remember, ye remained on the beach and it was me and Angus who conducted business wi’ the wee gomeral.”
“Och, I have met him afore but as Monsieur Alexander but then I wore a fine wig and powdered ma face.” Drew grinned. “Nayone kens Le Diable Noir is a Highlander and the ruse is necessary to keep the clan’s good name out of ma business. This time, he will be dealing wi’ Le Diable Noir the wicked brigand who stole the Mackenzie whisky.” He turned to Ian. “Can ye do it, lad? Will ye help me rescue Lady Adrianna?”
Ian straightened and a determined expression crossed his young features.
“Aye, ye have ma word but are ye sure there is not another way?”
Drew sighed. How could he possibly explain his need to have Adrianna safe by his side? He opened his arms holding his hands palms up in supplication. “Nay, lad, and trading our whisky wi’ Captain Jacques will feed the clan this winter and as to the lass, I gave her ma word I would return for her. Ma word of honor, Ian, ye would not have me foresworn would ye now?”
“Nay.” Ian straightened suddenly looking older than his sixteen years. “I will do whatever is necessary to protect her in your stead.”
Drew lifted his chin and met Jamie’s puzzled gaze. “Ian has pledged his word to help me. Now will ye stand by ma side, brother of ma heart?”
“Aye well.” Jamie shrugged and let out a long sigh. “I suppose someone has to keep ye out of trouble.”
Chapter Seven
Light-headed from lack of sleep, and with eyes raw from crying, Adrianna smothered a sob. She had departed before word arrived from Drew and had no choice but to remove to France and the uncertain future awaiting her. Pushing the image of her handsome Scot to the back of her mind, she gathered her wits. Drew would expect her to be strong and find a way to his side and she had a plan of sorts. On arrival in France, she would slip away from Monsieur Moreau and book passage to Scotland on the next available ship. Once in Inverness, she would ask the direction of Foiseil Castle and hire a coach and four.
Although, bolstered by her intent to find Drew, rising in darkness and taking her leave before sunrise like, a thief in the night had disturbed her. More so her father’s absence on her departure. She had wept before leaving her home but determined not to show her anxiety to Monsieur Moreau she straightened and schooled her expression into one of disinterest.
She stepped down from the carriage and moved through the gloom to the dock. Evil smells accosted her and she pressed a lavender-scented handkerchief to her nose to suffocate the foul odors of rotting fish and night soil buckets. Waiting to board, her attention moved to a group of sailors moving sure-footed along a bouncing strip of soaked glossy wood.
Shivering in the chilled air, she tightened her cloak against the breeze lifting her skirts and seeping through her clothes. In the murky light, tales of ghost ships and giant octopi invaded her mind. Lord, keep us safe on this journey.
As if a prediction for the future, the weather had turned foul to mourn her departure and the band of dark clouds looming overhead promised the journey would be treacherous.
She understood the dangers of traveling by sea having read grisly tales of shipwrecks during inclement weather. Storms changed the oceans from a flat azure expanse one moment and into a raging firmament the next. She glanced at her maid’s ashen face. Betty had not uttered one word of complaint about accompanying her to France but removed from country, family, and friends, she would be lost. Adrianna smiled to encourage her and silently vowed to return her to her home.
Loud voices caught her attention and she turned to find a line of burly sailors carrying her trunks. The men moved from the dock to disappear into the thick fog surrounding The Black Turtle and their voices muffled into silence. A movement of air twirled the obscuring mist around them into pirouetting ghosts above the water and bearing a chilling reminder of the many souls lost at sea.
Monsieur Moreau’s mouth turned up into a semblance of a smile and he waved her toward the gangplank. The next moment a strong gust of bitter wind swirled her cloak and pulled at her clothes. Distracted, she gripped her cloak tighter to prevent the rush of air raising her skirts.
“Ah, there she is”—Monsieur Moreau rubbed his hands together—“a most impressive vessel, n'est-ce pas?”
The sudden squall had dissipated the blanket of fog and a stream of weak sunlight illuminated the ship. She pressed a hand to her stomach gaping at the apparition before her in disbelief. Icy tendrils crawled up her back and fear held her motionless. Convinced she had fallen asleep in the coach and a nightmare had her in its grip, she came abruptly to her senses at Betty’s squeak of terror.
“Come away, milady, that’s a devil’s ship that is.” Betty gripped her arm.
Adrianna clamped her jaw shut to smother a scream. Heaven’s above, a pirate ship. She pinched her arm and winced at the pain confirming wakefulness. Gaping at the vessel in disbelief, she stepped backward, and her chest constricted with fear. This cannot be so. She blinked, speechless at the sight before her. The vessel was black from bow to stern with matching sails and a row of polished cannon’s deadly snouts peeked through hatches along the side. Her gaze moved to the horrific figurehead looming out of the fog in the guise of a black wolf with fangs dripping blood. Floating on an unearthly gray mist, the vessel appeared to have sailed directly from Hades. Her skin prickled with apprehension and she glanced back to where the hackney had let them down. Perhaps, she had time to escape. At once, Monsieur Moreau’s necessity to leave at dawn became abundantly clear.
She turned and glared at him. “Have you lost your wits? I will not step one foot on that vessel.” She lowered her voice under the weight of his stare. “That, Monsieur, is if I’m not mistaken, a pirate ship. Is this some kind of jest?”
“Not at all. The Black Turtle is a privateer, Baron du Court has King Louis’ gratitude for the wealth this ship brings to France.” Monsieur Moreau gazed down at her in an intense unnerving fashion and offered his arm. “Come along, my lady, Captain Jacques is most anxious to catch the high tide.”
Unnerved and giddy with uncertainty, she ignored his arm and moved closer to Betty. Searching her mind for some excuse to avoid boarding, she refused to move. Her intention to remain calm and in control of the situation rapidly dissolved into panic but taking in the flippant disposition of the man beside her, she strengthened her resolve. As Monsieur Moreau was in the employ of the Baron as her protector, surely he would not see her harmed. Indeed, if du Court intended marrying her for her fortune, he would have to get her safely to the altar. S
he lifted her chin and met his anger with a shrug. “I think not. I will seek alternate passage. Have no fear I have the funds to pay for our fares on a more suitable vessel.”
“You are acting as if you are still in leading reins. This ship and the men aboard are under the command of the Baron’s own man, Captain Jacques, and you will come to no harm. Come along, allez! Vite!” Monsieur Moreau’s mouth curled into a snarl. He took a firm grip of her elbow and dragged her toward the gangplank.
She dug in her feet and glared at him. “Unhand me.”
Sighing, he inclined his head and gave her a quizzical stare.
“Walk or I will carry you aboard. I cannot understand your reluctance, are you not anxious to rush into the arms of your betrothed?” His suggestive smile flashed yellow against his pallid complexion.
Blast his impudence! Lifting her chin, she gave his amused expression the disdain it deserved. “I do believe I can contain my enthusiasm, Monsieur Moreau.” She pulled her arm from his grip and stepped away.
“Your father will not be pleased if you refuse to board the baron’s vessel.” He folded his arms across his chest in an insolent manner. “Stop this childish nonsense at once.”
She took one last glance toward the road leading to freedom but to her dismay, the coach had disappeared into the morning fog. Her fate sealed, she disentangled Betty’s grip and moved forward refusing his assistance. She could walk the gangplank very well on her own two feet. Placing one foot on the shifting gangplank, she shuffled toward the ship.
A grinning sailor greeted her at the end of the gangplank and encircled her waist with impropriety. She bit down hard on her tongue to prevent words of disdain spilling from her mouth. He lifted her onto the deck of The Black Turtle and then had the audacity to wink at her. She immediately averted her gaze and turned away to smooth her skirts. Betty arrived at her side moments later, wide-eyed with terror. She gripped the girl’s thin arm. “Stay by my side, Betty.”