The Pirate’s Redemption

by Casie, Ruth A.

  “I’m on my way to Dundhragon to pay my respects to Maria. Her Magnus was a good friend. It wasn’t that long ago that Darla and I celebrated their marriage.” Wesley lifted the bottle. “To Magnus.” He took a swallow.

  Gareth took the bottle from Wesley and poured a bit over Collin’s grave.

  “For you, Collin Reynolds, my friend. Know you are sorely missed.” Gareth took another gulp of whiskey, finished the bottle, then placed it next to three empty ones by the headstone.

  “You are my father’s drinking partner. I wondered who left the bottles here.” Wesley threw his arm around Gareth and pulled him close. “I have missed you, my friend.

  “Come, my men wait on the ship,” Wesley said.

  Wesley’s appearance was a problem. The last thing Gareth wanted was to involve him in this adventure. He played a dangerous game with the English, one that could cost him his life. Wesley’s life was not part of the plan.

  Gareth didn’t have to be in Dundhragon for another seven days. He thought he’d wait on Glensanda, but he couldn’t do that now. He went down a list of options, and came to the answer. The best way to keep Wesley safe was to make sure he was not on the water. If he could find a way to keep him at Dundhragon Castle, it just might work.

  Chapter Four

  Glensanda Island, Scotland

  September 19, 1267

  Afternoon

  Wesley and Gareth left the cemetery and walked the forest path to the cliffs.

  “How many men are with you?” Wesley asked.

  “Eight of my men are at Morvern with Clan McInnes,” Gareth said through clenched teeth.

  “I brought one of the McInnes boys back to their chief. They were gracious, and we stayed overnight. When my men and I went to the harbor, my ship, Fair Wind, and four of my men, were gone, a rowboat left in its place,” Gareth said.

  “Why?” Wesley gave him a hard stare.

  Gareth ran his hand over the back of his neck. “We had an encounter on Loch Linnhe. Bridgeton may have lost his ship.”

  “Lost his ship?”

  “From under his feet. We sank it. One of my men loosened some boards. He followed us and began to take on water. We watched him screaming orders to his lap dog, Jupp. His ship sank lower and lower. Bridgeton was a nuisance, so I put a stop to him following us.”

  “Now I understand the hole in the boat on the beach. Retribution on Bridgeton’s part,” Wesley said. “What kept you at Morvern so long?”

  “An encounter with Lady Thomasine Grandbrook,” Gareth said.

  Wesley was suddenly shaken.

  “Gareth, stay away from her.”

  “It was a cordial meeting. We stayed in the great hall and talked late into the night about many things, including Crespin LeVerley. My men kept trying to pull me away, but I insisted on staying.” He sighed. “She was so easy to look at, and even easier to talk to. We spoke about our time in London after her husband’s death. That was before I went pirating for King Henry with you.” He paused. “I was foolish not to see her for what she truly was.”

  Wesley nodded in agreement.

  “She was so distraught all those years ago. I sat for hours with her, holding her hand while she cried. In the days and months following, I played her escort so she wouldn’t be alone. I even saw to her well-being.”

  “You were a noble friend,” Wesley said, “one who deserved better treatment.”

  “Noble,” Gareth said with a laugh. “It appears she thought LeVerley was more noble. Too bad he lost his life at sea. The lady asked if I knew anything about it.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  Gareth stared at him with daggers. “I told her I didn’t associate with French scum, and suggested she was better off. He could no longer corrupt her character. I took my leave, and found the Fair Wind gone and the rowboat with her glove gracefully placed over the oar. She did her job well, detained me long enough for Bridgeton to take the Fair Wind. I will make them both pay.”

  “I never liked Halsey Bridgeton, or his man Jupp,” Wesley said. “He always thought too highly of himself. Now that he’s been exiled, he’s determined to prove to the king he is worthy of forgiveness. He should be satisfied he still has his head.”

  “Does he think because the king relented and gave his family back their lands after his treason that any gesture of fealty will erase his part in the battle at Evesham?”

  “The edict mentioned death if he was found in the country. Still, he has not learned his lesson. Rumors abound that Bridgeton and his close conspirator, Guy de Montfort, seek to impress the king,” Wesley offered.

  “Where did you get such information?” Gareth asked.

  “I know the family. Lady Bridgeton is fond of the pale, yellow silk I sell. She told me the entire calamity when I delivered the bolts of material. Bridgeton talks about softening the Scots, making the isles ready for the English. He thinks that’s his way back into the king’s good graces. Knowing King Henry, the only part of London Halsey will ever see is London Tower,” Wesley said. “What do you plan to do about the Fair Wind?”

  “McInnes pledged to help recover my ship, but he has bigger issues right now. Bridgeton is the ‘pirate’ using my ship to raid the coastal villages claiming to be me. I was on my way to Dundhragon to speak with Laird Ewan about how to stop the needless slaughter and take back my ship and men.”

  “I heard your name mentioned in connection with the raids and had a hard time believing it was you.”

  “The man wears my clothes and drinks my ale. He’s pressed four of my best into service. Bridgeton thinks he can use my ship to lure and capture MacAlpin. Now I admit there are times when I let people believe I’m MacAlpin. It saves a lot of arguing to say nothing of preventing blood from being shed.”

  “I’m sure,” Wesley said, unable to hide the laugh in his voice. “So, are you telling me even though you are one of his captains, MacAlpin is after you, too?”

  Gareth remained silent and didn’t meet his gaze. Wesley had a feeling there was more to the story.

  “I thought so.”

  “Don’t you find the situation humorous?” Gareth asked.

  “If you find death humorous, I suppose.”

  Gareth cleared his throat.

  The man had something to hide. Wesley would give him his space, but not for long. Too much was happening too quickly. His friend was restless, never stayed in one place very long, and was always searching. He had hoped his wandering days had ended. Deep down, Wesley trusted Gareth like no other. He was betting his life on it.

  “Why are you on Glensanda Island?” Wesley asked.

  “I should tell you I am here to keep out of Bridgeton and MacAlpin’s reach, but that would be only to save face. The boat left to me sprang a leak. I was lucky to make it this far. I’ve spent my time building a raft. For company, I ask your father for his advice.”

  Wesley raised his eyebrow. “What did my father tell you?”

  “To think on the matter and come to my own conclusion.”

  “That sounds like him.” An easy smile played at the corners of Wesley’s mouth. “Where do you sail when your raft is ready?”

  “Dundhragon, to meet with Laird Ewan.”

  Wesley shook his head. In reality, Wesley missed Gareth, his friendship, banter, and his good sense—although right now, he questioned the latter.

  They walked down the cliff path to the beach where his men waited. Wesley boarded the boat with his men, ready to push out into the surf. Gareth didn’t move.

  Wesley, hands on his hips, looked at his friend. Gareth feared no man, and had never hidden from anyone before. Why now?

  “We’re going to Luing, then on to Dundhragon Castle. We sail on the other side of Lismore Island, away from the English and pirates. You have no need for a raft. You can sail with us.”

  Whatever debate Gareth had with himself came to an end. He stepped into the boat and took a seat.

  “You’re more like your father than you think,�
�� Gareth said to Wesley.

  A slow smile spread across Wesley’s lips. The compliment meant more than Gareth could imagine. He nodded to his men.

  “Good to have you back, Captain,” the mate said to Gareth. “But you look like one of our hairy Highland coos. I’ll have you clipped like one of our spring lambs in no time.”

  Gareth glared at him. That set everyone to laughing, even Gareth. Wesley clapped him on the shoulder, then they shoved off for the Sea Diamond.

  Chapter Five

  Loch Linnhe, Scotland

  September 19, 1267

  Late Afternoon

  Gareth strolled onto the deck and took a deep breath of the briny air. The breeze ruffled his hair that now came to the top of his collar instead of down his back. He rubbed his chin and enjoyed his trimmed beard. The man who had cut his hair missed his vocation as a barber, although he did have a reputation for cleanly slitting a man’s throat.

  The outline of land drew him to the rail. Fog was coming in from the north. His eyes narrowed as he stared where the ship headed. Set away from the waterfront, a weathered, ill-cared for ship sat docked at a pier. “I almost didn’t recognize you, cleaned up and…” Wesley sniffed the air. “Not smelling of ale.”

  “Why are we headed into the Gilmar Channel? I thought we sailed for Luing Island?”

  “I lost a bet, and I’m delivering the prize to the winner. A barrel of my finest.” Wesley avoided his stare. “Don’t get upset. Gilmar is on our way.”

  Gareth glanced ahead. They passed the small, deserted island and entered the mouth of the channel. The fog thickened as they approached the village dock. He clenched his mouth closed. Didn’t Wesley understand? No, how could he? Gareth walked a fine line between hero and betrayer. In order to keep Wesley out of the fray, he needed to finish his adventure within the next six days, and get Wesley on his way back to Glen Kirk. That would ensure Wesley’s safety. There was no time to deliver winnings.

  “Lower the sail,” Wesley called.

  The crew unwound the halyards from the peg. The wind ruffled the slack sail as the men brought it down. Others folded the sail onto the yardarm with precision and speed, making it ready for the next voyage.

  Men hurried to the bank of oars and threaded them through the side oar-holes. They rowed the Sea Diamond to the pier and docked her with merely a bump.

  “Stay on the ship. This won’t take long. We leave as soon as I’m done.”

  The gangplank was barely in place when Wesley left the ship, followed by two men carrying a barrel. The aroma of vinegar trailed after them.

  Gareth watched as the men made their way to a small building not far from the old sailboat. Wesley went on, toward the old ship.

  Gareth waited, leaning on the rail, and became more anxious as the fog rolled closer. It didn’t take long before the two crewmen returned. Where was Wesley? He must be near. He paced the deck. Wisps of fog crept along the deck. Every few steps he searched the pier for the captain. They had to cast off before the fog locked them in. Now at the rail again, he leaned over the side and stared through the thickening mist for any sign of movement. If he had his say, he’d order the ship to sail, to hell with his friend. He straightened, drumming his fingers on the railing. Finally, slamming his hand on the rail, he marched down the gangplank.

  As he came to the old ship, he took a good look. Pir was an odd name for a vessel. As a boy, he had studied the classics. Greek mythology had enticed him to the point that he learned to read the texts in their original language. The ship was named after the Greek elemental word for fire.

  Sitting high in the water, this ship was built for speed rather than hauling troops or cargo. The hull was scarred and worn. He moved closer and ran his hand over the distressed wood. Clean cut marks. Tar-like material came off on his hand. He rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger, then smelled the substance. Burnt ash and resin. He glanced at the lowered gangplank, and it begged him to board. Without hesitation, he stepped on for a more critical look.

  The deck was covered with sand, contained two, long wicker armament baskets, and three barrels wrapped in a sail tied to the mast. The haze danced along the deck. He brushed sand off the deck boards and determined the planks were smooth and clean. They were not in the same condition as the outside of the ship. The mast was quickly disappearing in the mist even though he stood only a few feet away from it. On closer examination, he found the sail neatly stowed on the boom. This ship was well maintained. On the outside, Pir appeared to be abandoned, but now he suspected that was a ruse.

  He stepped toward the door that led to the cabins in the stern and pulled it open. A fist flew at him. Gareth bent his head to the left as his attacker’s shirt brushed against his cheek. In a fluid movement, he unsheathed his knife. Before he could bring it to the aggressor’s throat, he felt cold steel against his neck. One slice and he would be dead.

  “What are ye doing here?” a woman demanded. “No one boards this ship without permission.”

  Startled to hear a female voice, he strained for a glimpse of his attacker.

  “I’m here for Laird Wesley.”

  Her knife never wavered. She was skilled, but he was stronger and faster.

  In a swift move, he rotated to the right and grabbed her hand, squeezing her wrist until the blade clattered to the deck. With his other hand, he grabbed her shoulder, ready to pull her forward into his raised knee.

  “I see you two have met,” Wesley’s voice came from behind.

  Gareth froze. The woman, her left arm free, slapped him on the side of his head. In answer, he turned her hand enough to make her wince.

  “If the two of you are done showing each other your skills, I would like to get underway before we have no choice but to stay.”

  Gareth dropped his hands and stepped back. The woman stood her ground.

  The sigh that came from behind him was Wesley’s signal, not of his resolve to leave, but the level his impatience had reached.

  “Come to the ship. There is still a chance to make it out of the foggy channel and into the open sea.”

  That suited Gareth. He tried one more time to make out the woman’s features, but failed. Wesley pulled at his sleeve. He sheathed his knife, and followed his friend down the gangplank.

  “What were you doing on the ship?” Wesley asked.

  “Looking for you. The fog thickened and I know how dire it is for you to get to Luing.” They hurried down the pier toward the Sea Diamond.

  “What is the Pir? The ship is not abandoned as it first appeared,” Gareth said.

  Wesley didn’t respond until they reached the Sea Diamond’s gangplank. He stopped before boarding.

  “This is the home of the MacDougalls of Gilmar, a distant relation to Laird Ewan. It is the last of this family’s line. They fight to stay independent.”

  “Even the women, it appears.”

  “I’m glad I stopped you when I did. You know, not every woman is your enemy.”

  Gareth regarded Wesley with cool indifference.

  “She struck out at me. If I hadn’t the good sense to move, well, I can guarantee a different outcome. One she wouldn’t have liked.”

  “You sound like an ill-tempered child.”

  “This woman is no better than the rest. I know you view things differently now that you have your Darla. I wish you good fortune and happiness and ask that you leave me to mine. Now, what of the Pir? The ship is not what it seems. It’s as deceptive as a woman,” Gareth said.

  “There is a simple explanation. The clan numbers less than fifty. If it became necessary, the ship can accommodate everyone and slip away should they need to abandon their home. The Pir and its unassuming appearance would take them to Laird Ewan, hopefully without being harassed by the English or the pirates.”

  “This village is too small to be a target for anyone. What could they have that would draw anyone here?”

  It was Wesley’s turn to be quiet.

  Chapter Six

 
; Gilmar, Scotland

  September 21, 1267

  Mid-morning

  Toppled furniture was scattered across the great hall. Broken crockery littered the floor. Embers, knocked out of the hearth, smoldered. Moira remained still, and waited for the intruder to make his move.

  “You fight well for your size,” the intruder said.

  Moira and her foe stood poised in the center of the room. Each held their ground, unwilling to yield, while the fight raged on outside.

  “Put down your weapon. You can’t best me. Do you know who I am? Gareth, although you may call me MacAlpin. A name that is feared along the Scottish coast.”

  Silence.

  The man thrust his sword, but the strike was well-blocked, the answering blow so hard, his eyes widened in surprise.

  Over confident. That made her smile.

  He swung wildly, trying to kill her any way he could.

  “Desperate. And desperate people make mistakes,” her father’s voice echoed. “Be patient. Wait for an opening.” Father, bless his memory, was a good soldier and teacher.

  “Conserve yer strength. Even though yer weapon is well-balanced, ye can tire quickly. Study yer opponent. Identify that slight movement in th’ eye, th’ mouth, th’ foot or hand that forewarns ye he is about ta strike. There is a heartbeat between his silent signal and his action. That is when ye attack. That is yer advantage.”

  This man’s silent signal was a combination of widening eyes and the slight movement of his right foot before he sprang forward.

  Sword fights were quick, enabling soldiers to move to their next target, but not this one. This was a waiting game.

  The man’s eyes widened, and she met the thrust of his sword with a block. Again, he attacked, and again he was stopped.

  Amidst their clanging weapons and noise outside, she clearly heard a whistle. A signal? The sound of feet running in the hall. Were more men coming to his aid?

  “Come away.” A man, out of breath, ran into the room, his voice familiar.

  She searched her mind to place the voice. A quick glance confirmed her suspicion, but her concentration waivered. De Montfort. He had been in Gilmar to speak to her father several days before he had died.