by H. C. Brown
Ian’s voice turned to granite behind them.
“Dinna fash, ye old misbegotten idiot. I will manage fine on ma own. I gave ma word too and I will not go back on it to please ye, Angus MacBride.”
Drew touched Angus’ arm. “Have ye got maggots in your brain? Ye dare to argue when ma brother and I have both promised to help these lasses? The women are in danger, aye—Sassenachs or no makes nay difference. Would ye do nothing and allow these devils to use these women without their consent?”
“Nay, but ye ken verra well the Sassenach women will be trouble. They will ken we are trading wi’ The Black Turtle and God only kens whom they will prattle to for coin. Mark my words, ye will rue the day ye agreed to help them.” Angus jutted his chin toward the shadows. “And I will deal wi’ your insolence later, lad.”
“I am sixteen and ye canna tell me what to do. I only answer to the Laird now.” Ian’s voice rose. “Christ! Dinna ye understand the lady is set to marry Baron du Court in France and wants nothing to do with the match.”
“Aye well, I canna argue wi’ your reason.” Angus scratched his beard. “If we keep to the shadows in the confusion of loading the cargo, we will be able to slip away unnoticed.”
Drew rubbed his arms to warm the chilled flesh. “I will keep Jacques and his men occupied as best I can. Waste nay time. Move the lasses ashore and have them well hidden afore Captain Jacques notices they are missing, aye.” He caught sight of movement in his periphery vision. “Now get on with ye, the captain is on his way to speak wi’ me.”
“Well, well if it is not Le Diable Noir?” A brightly dressed man strutted across the deck and addressed him in French. “So, we meet at last. My man said you needed to speak with me?”
He recognized the man’s guttural French dialect from the docks in Calais. He stepped forward and dropping into a similar French dialect, inclined his head. “Your servant, sir. I wish to speak with you about the missing merchandise from the last shipment.” He turned to Angus. “This is Monsieur De Lange, my assistant.”
Captain Jacques flicked an inquisitive glance at Angus then returned his attention to Drew.
“Ah, well you must understand some of the items you ordered were unobtainable at the time. In hindsight, I should have compensated you with something else but as you know, time is of the essence in such matters.” He led the way toward a stack of crates piled in the middle of the deck. “As you see, I have wine, tea, as well as the finest bolts of silk and other fabrics as you ordered. You shall have the pick of my cargo. The king is very partial to the whisky you supplied and informed me to spare no expense in obtaining your entire cargo.”
Drew straightened. Both he and Angus stood head and shoulders above the crew, and had intimidated many a man in their time. He held Jacques in the palm of his hand if King Louis had requested his entire stock of whisky. He smiled at the diminutive man, who resembled a peacock more than a pirate. “Very well, but this time, I will personally oversee the loading.” He turned to Angus, gave him a meaningful stare, and dropped into the Gaelic. “Go down to the stern and check the loading there, aye.”
“My laird is a loon. How do ye say that in French?” Angus slouched into the shadows.
“Is there a problem?” Jacques gave Angus’s retreating form a quizzical gaze. “I do not understand his unusual tongue.”
Drew laughed returning to French. “No, he suffers with seasickness and is ashamed he will disgrace himself. I will send him back with one of the boats.”
“Very well, come and inspect the goods I have for you, although my men have already loaded a few barrels of wine.” Captain Jacques led the way to the crates. “You do understand it is necessary to move swiftly if I am to catch the tide.”
Men surrounded them and a shiver slid down his spine. He straightened and turned his head slowly to glare through his mask at each one in turn. “I am sure this could be accomplished if your men returned to work rather than examining my every move.”
“You must excuse my crew.” Captain Jacques grinned. “They are in awe of the notorious Black Devil.”
* * * *
Adrianna’s heart raced fast enough to burst through her chest as she slipped on deck amidst the shadows. At the opposite end of the ship, a group of sailors lowered bulging nets to the waiting boats below. As the crew worked, a sea shanty fit for the inside of a dockside tavern lilted on the air. She pressed against Betty and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Stay in the shadows, Captain Jacques may be very close.”
Ian moved beside her, and with a hesitant touch to her elbow coaxed her around a pile of crates waiting to be loaded and toward a gap in the ship’s railing.
“Dinna fash yourself, ma lady, they will be loading from the other end first and Drew will keep them busy. We will have more than enough time to slip over the edge of the ship and into one o’ the boats tied up below. I have already opened a hatchway and dropped a ladder and not one soul tried to prevent me.”
She stared into the small circle of light for any sight of Drew but a pile of goods hoisted from the hold obscured her view. She grasped Ian’s arm to get his attention. “Is Drew here?”
“Aye, he is close by and I hope distracting Captain Jacques and Lord Moreau.”
Dragging the canvas bag filled with a few necessities over one shoulder, she beckoned Betty to follow. A massive shadow loomed from the darkness and she cringed away smothering a scream. Behind her Betty squeaked then slapped one hand over her mouth.
Ian’s comforting voice came out of the darkness.
“Hush now, this is ma clansman, Angus MacBride, he has offered to help us, ma lady. Hurry to the ladder afore we are discovered.” Ian moved to the edge where a gap in the ship opened into inky blackness. “Turn around and follow me. I will not let ye fall and I will guide your way. Hold onto the rope and dinna look down, aye.”
As if recognizing her hesitancy at contemplating such a compromising position, he raised both eyebrows.
“I dinna think ye should worry, ma lady. I have nay intention of peeking at your ankles. It is verra dark down there and I doubt I could see ma hand in front of ma face.”
The big stranger loomed in front of her and when she shrank away from him, he gripped her arms in his large hands then held her on the edge of the gaping maw. She glanced wildly around not wanting to risk falling into the sea then caught sight of Lord Moreau strolling slowly in her direction. Her throat tightened and unable to form words, she tipped her head frantically in Lord Moreau’s direction. Angus turned at once shielding her with his huge body. To her relief, the buffeting wind carried a voice in French demanding Lord Moreau’s attention. The big man holding her grunted something unintelligible. Concerned, she lifted her chin and met his hard gaze. His eyes narrowed to slits and hate radiated from him, good Lord, she could almost taste his disgust.
“The wee Frenchman has gone and if ye thought he posed a threat to me, ye were sadly mistaken.”
His mouth flattened into a thin line and he jutted a chin covered in red bristles toward the gaping hole and indicated she move backward. In trepidation, she grasped the rope each side of the ladder and stepped into the night feeling around gingerly with one foot for the first rung. The oilskins flapped about her and the ladder swayed underfoot with every movement of the ship. Fear gripped her and unable to move, she clung in midair. Angus’s angry face dropped into view. He glared at her and spoke in a low menacing whisper.
“Ye would have us all killed? Stop acting like a fool and get yourself into the boat or do I have to throw ye into the sea and be done with it.”
His anger spurred her on. She ignored the searing pain in her hip and backed into the chilled night taking care to place her bare feet squarely on each rung. With each tentative step into the unknown, blasts of icy wind lashed her legs. Betty followed her chanting The Lord’s Prayer in a small breathless voice. Inky blackness surrounded her and roar of the ocean muffled the singing from the sailors filling the boats. Her eyes became accustomed to th
e dark and she chanced a glance along the side of the ship.
Wet and glossy, The Black Turtle resembled a huge black whale rolling back and forth in the waves. She paused to take a breath to ease the rising nausea and squeezed her eyes shut. Determined not to lose her footing, she continued down the ladder at a steady pace. From below the welcome sound of Ian’s voice reached her.
“Ye are doing verra well. Just a few more steps, ma lady.”
She dared a glance down and her vision blurred. Ian grasped her waist in his firm hands to steady her. Turning, she caught sight of his pale face. “How much further?”
“Let go of the rope now and I will lift ye the rest of the way.” Ian grasped her waist and swung her into the boat.
Her legs flew in midair and the canvas bag slid from her shoulder and landed with a small thud on the bottom of the boat. Under her feet, the wooden planks moved in a most unnerving fashion. Acting on instinct, she dropped to her knees and gripped the piece of wood traversing the middle, a seat of sorts for rowing perhaps. The vessel rocked from side to side and sea spray splattered her face. Unsure of how to proceed, she turned to Ian for instruction and he smiled down at her, his teeth a faint flash of white in the gloom.
“Crawl up to the bow and hunch down. Take the bag wi’ ye.” He turned and reached for Betty. “Follow your mistress, Betty. Nay talking, aye.”
A wave carried the boat against the rolling mass of The Black Turtle. She gasped and bit back a scream. Dear God! The boat would capsize and toss them all into the murky depths. As if sensing her concern, Ian made soft shushing sounds. She scrambled forward and throbbing agony joined the waves of red-hot pain searing her hip. Biting down hard on her cheek to keep silent, she curled into a ball and waited for the agony to subside.
Her attention settled on the Ian, his outline barely visible in the gloom. He stood in the middle of the boat, his legs set wide apart to balance the small craft. She had trusted Ian this far, now she must have faith in his ability to keep her safe. Moving with slow deliberation toward the bow on hands and knees, she dragged the canvas bag behind her. The boat stunk of tar and fish and the foul odor sent bile rushing up the back of her throat making her gag. She sat with her back to the hard wooden surface and Betty loomed before her with her young face set in a determined expression.
Adrianna gathered the oilskins around her freezing legs and lay down then indicated to Betty to curl up beside her. The boat rocked again and Ian strolled purposefully toward them. Behind him, Angus, moving as silent as a cat, dropped into the boat and cast off. She had no liking for Angus and the giant of a man frightened her. She had heard tales of barbaric Highland warriors, and from his expression of disgust, he had no time for English women. In fact, she would wager, he would have preferred to throw her into the sea rather than row her ashore.
Ian’s dark shape hovered over her examining her face and she fought to control the quiver in her bottom lip. “I find I am frightened of boats, Mister Mackenzie.”
“Ye will be fine.” Ian smiled and piled the bags around them. “Dinna move and nay matter what happens do as I say.” He sat beside Angus and they took up the oars.
The boat slipped into the night, rising and falling with the swell of the ocean. Soon the sounds of voices from The Black Turtle drifted away to be replaced by the splash of oars and the soft grunts of the two men rowing. To her relief, no call of alarm came from the ship. With luck, they would be well away before Captain Jacques discovered her missing. She had locked her cabin door and tossed away the key. Lord Moreau would think her sleeping and perhaps not bother to check on her for some time. After all, he had charged her care to Ian.
She gazed up at the few stars peeking between the clouds and a wave of exhilaration washed over her. They had escaped—but into what? Had they moved from a pirates den into a precarious position with a band of Scottish smugglers? Drew had organized her escape, but she did not know him as Le Diable Noir. The fine gentleman, she had fallen in love with had been a sham, a falsehood of the highest degree. Could she trust him? Had he used his kisses and experienced touches to lure her away from her father in an attempt to gain her fortune? Dear God! Did her dearest friend Lord Rupert know about Drew’s smuggling antics? Has he deceived me too?
The hairs on the back of her neck rose. Drew’s need to meet her secretly became apparent. Good heavens, Drew’s band of smugglers might well be in league with Captain Jacques and plan to ransom her. Dear God, let there be honor amongst thieves.
Chapter Five
Drew moved between the sailors raising his voice to keep their attention and insisting he check the contents of each crate. He glanced surreptitiously toward the stern and sucked in a deep breath before moving his gaze to the boats moving toward shore. By now, Angus should have Adrianna to safety. Turning his attention to the bolts of fabric rolled in oilskins, he stopped the sailor hoisting one into the net. “Open it so I may see the contents, if you please.”
Captain Jacques appeared at his elbow heavy with the stink of sweat.
“For a smuggler you are very brave. I cannot recall anyone having the gall to challenge my honesty. It is good we are not men of breeding. Such men would demand justice over a slight on their character by dueling, would they not?”
Drew laughed drawing attention from the crew and dropped his French into a cultured Parisian accent. “Good luck for you, as I happen to be an excellent shot.” He narrowed his gaze and snorted his discontent. “A smuggler I may be, but I also have the acquaintance of King Louis. You would know he holds the whisky I supply in high regard.”
Captain Jacques grinned and his gold earring glittered in the lamplight.
“So if you are a gentleman as you profess why not trade through the normal channels rather than skulking around at the dark o’ the moon wearing a mask?”
“I do not intend to be robbed by the English crown’s notion of fair taxes and this way is financially rewarding for me and King Louis.” He peered at the bolt of fine cambric. Happy with the contents of the oilskin, he waved the sailor away. “I am satisfied with our bargain. Thank you. When the last boat is loaded, I will return to shore and order my men to load the rest of the whisky.”
“As you wish.” Captain Jacques smiled. “When the next batch is ready for shipment, send me a list of your requirements through Madame Josephine.”
Drew tensed at the shadow looming at his side. A Parisian accent cut through the noise.
“Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing, Monsieur?” A small dark haired man strolled into the patch of light. “Ah yes, you must be the famous Black Devil.” He bowed and gave him a leg with a Parisian flourish of one hand. “Your servant, sir. I am Lord Moreau.”
Drew flared his nostrils at the distinct smell of opium oozing from the man and stared at his dead eyes. Lord Moreau, yes, he had made his acquaintance afore in King Louis’ court and once had been more than enough. This man held the position of lackey to the Baron du Court. He ground his back teeth in anger. To think Lord Beachwood gave his precious Adrianna into the hands of this despicable man. The snotty-nosed gomeral posed no threat to him and he relaxed. He forced his attention to Lord Moreau rather than move out to sea to confirm Adrianna had escaped. He inclined his head. “Likewise. What brings you to Scotland, Lord Moreau?”
“Ah, I would not dream of setting one foot on land hereabouts. As to why I am on this vessel. I am merely escorting Baron du Court’s betrothed to Muzon.” Lord Moreau waved a lace handkerchief under his nose and gave him a pious gaze. “A thankless job but not difficult as the lady prefers to remain in her cabin rather than take the air with me.”
Biting back a retort, Drew raised a brow. “I have had the occasion to meet English ladies and they are not keen on stepping out in such weather. They value their fair skin far too much.”
“So it would seem.” Lord Moreau’s mouth turned down at the corners in obvious distaste.
Drew inclined his head toward Captain Jacques. “It would seem our business is
concluded. I will be on my way. Good evening to you, sir.” He gave Lord Moreau a curt nod and swung onto the net carrying the bolts of silk. Giving the men a wave, he rode the cargo down to the waiting boat.
He dropped into the bow and straddled the bolts of cambric. The boat moved off and he scanned the distant shoreline in the hope of glimpsing Ian and Angus. His godfather was very canny and would have landed the boat well away from the others to enable her to disembark undetected. He would take them to the old castle and they would be safe.
Without his thick woolen plaid to protect him, the freezing wind cut him to the bone. His teeth set to chattering again and he rubbed his arms vigorously in an attempt to warm his chilled flesh. No matter, soon he would be back on land and leaving for Inverness at first light. The thought of seeing Adrianna again send his heart racing. Maybe his life as a smuggler could end now she had arrived. The sale of the cargo would see his clan set for the winter. He would be able to support the clan well enough from his investment in French wine, and the foals from the mares Rupert had purchased would see his future set. He smiled. His greatest task would be convincing his clan he wanted a Sassenach for his wife.
He stared at the distant shore and his good mood dissolved. Captain Jacques would soon discover Adrianna’s escape and place the blame on Le Diable Noir. Lord Moreau would not give up his valuable charge without a fight and without doubt, would lead a band of armed pirates to search for her. If Lord Moreau discovered his true name or clan, he would notify Lord Beachwood and would have King Geordie’s troops on his doorstep.
He had to sell the contraband, and Adrianna and her maid would be in plain sight the moment they arrived in Inverness. He would secure her somewhere safe, finish his business then take her to Badenoch. Sweet Adrianna, will you still care for me now you know the truth?
With no time to explain his duel identity, or the reason he could not reveal his affection toward her in front of his clan, she may well reject him. Christ! A woman scorned and privy to enough information to see him and his men hanged. Apprehension washed over him. Why had she promised to wait for him then boarded a ship for France? Baron du Court’s offer must have come on the heels of Rupert’s interview with her father. Yet Rupert had made Adrianna aware of his plans to remove to Scotland. Perhaps Lord Beachwood had forced her hand. Yet, Lady Adrianna was strong-willed, and he would have thought, she would have taken the first mail coach to Scotland to be with him. This is not your fault, Adrianna, it is mine. Regret squeezed his heart. He should have been in London to prevent this injustice toward his love.