The Pirate’s Redemption

by Casie, Ruth A.

  They made their way to the boat and shoved off.

  “When will you claim your prize?” he asked.

  She stared at him.

  He bent his head in reverence. “I will admit this only to you and deny it if anyone asks. I lost our bet.”

  She threw her head back and laughed. The sound made him smile.

  “Must I claim my prize at once?” she asked, still laughing.

  “Not at all. You can claim it whenever you see fit,” he said.

  Once out of the grotto, Gareth set the sail. The wind was brisk, and the sun was strong. With Moira settled next to him, he kept the sail full and raced over the water. A good sail always helped him think clearly. He hoped it did the same for her.

  Chapter Nine

  Gilmar, Scotland

  September 22, 1267

  Afternoon

  Moira folded her arms across her chest and stood outside the manor house. This was the last thing she needed to address at the moment. “What do ye mean ye want ta leave? This is yer home. Where would ye go?”

  “With respect, milady,” Richard Hamish’s son said. “What if th’ English return? We canna fight them. They left because Laird Wesley and his Sea Diamond arrived. My plan is ta travel inland and find a village where I can apprentice wi’ a blacksmith.”

  “Are yer parents aware ye want ta leave Gilmar?” The answer was clear. Richard wouldn’t have approached her without their approval.

  “Aye. We spoke well into th’ night. I understand every hand is needed ta restore th’ village, and I won’t leave until things are put right.” He stood in front of her with a long face. He hadn’t made his decision lightly.

  “I wish ye wanted ta leave for th’ adventure, no’ for yer safety.” Her arms dropped to her sides in defeat. “Yer mind is made up, but I will ask ye no’ to leave until I return from Dundhragon. Laird Ewan will send warriors ta protect us.”

  The boy sucked in a deep breath. Moira watched a mix of emotions cross his face as he struggled between duty and desire.

  Richard lifted his head, determination in his eyes. “Milady, I will stay until ye return.”

  “Ye have my thanks. Speak wi’ Laird Wesley or Gareth. They are men who have traveled and may be able ta share information wi’ ye. I say this no’ because I want you ta leave us, but because if ye do, I want ye ta be well-prepared.”

  “Aye, milady, I will do as you suggest.”

  “Come wi’ me. I’m going ta inspect the mill.” Moira started out across the field, Richard at her side. “Do ye like working wi’ metal?”

  “Oh, aye. I enjoy creating things, hammering th’ metal into shape. I designed a plate and chalice. I’m making it wi’ Father’s guidance.”

  She couldn’t help but worry about her people. Would others want to follow Richard’s example? The clan, as small as it was, must stay together. Her audience with Laird Ewan became more important each day.

  Her struggle was different than Richard’s, but similar enough, a choice between duty and desire. At the moment, duty took priority. The faster she completed the work in the village, the sooner she could leave for Dundhragon.

  “Tell me more about th’ plate,” she said as they continued to the river on the other side of the field.

  Ash filled the air and black soot stained their faces. Gareth stood outside the baker’s house, while Wesley worked inside passing the rubble out to him. The debris was still warm to the touch as they removed burnt wood and the remains of thatch and pottery and put it into a wheelbarrow destined for the bonfire in the village green.

  They had been working for hours. Gareth was tired, and now and then his hand twitched. The pain was tolerable, and if it wasn’t, he wouldn’t stop. Not until he couldn’t use his hand at all.

  Fiona sniffled while her husband cleaned the oven, able to rescue the few baking supplies that remained.

  “So much is lost. Now I know how Wilem felt when he found his lyre among the ashes. Ye’re thankful something survived.” Fiona tucked her precious pans away, covered her mouth and nose with a cloth, and swept out the back room.

  Moira passed them as she went to the next house.

  “The clan chieftain is everywhere, swooping in like a fast-moving storm, churning things up, and getting things done. Afterward, she moves on to her next priority,” Wesley said to Gareth as he handed him another, useless beam.

  Gareth glanced at Moira’s retreating back.

  “What compels her?” Gareth asked. “I’ve only seen such determination associated with guilt.”

  “You may be right,” Wesley said. “She still blames herself for her brother’s death three years ago. He protected her during a raid rather than seek cover.”

  “He must have loved her dearly,” Gareth said. “We have more in common than I thought. My brother fought to get me away from our uncle. It cost his life.”

  “Don’t go to that place. There’s no changing things.”

  “I know you’re right. But the ache only dulls. It doesn’t go away. I know what she has to face.”

  “Moira’s changed a great deal since then. They were twins. She was thrust into her brother’s shoes. I’m not sure if it’s out of obligation or desire. She was strong then, and she is strong now, an inspiration to her people.”

  “She works alongside the crew and villagers. When they rest, she continues to work. Everyone admires her determination.” Gareth said. “But it is difficult for them to keep up with her.”

  “I agree,” Wesley said.

  “Her councilors test her. They challenge her authority. She works hard and encourages those around her to do the same, all in an effort to prove she is the leader of this clan,” Gareth said.

  “To her advisors or herself?” Wesley asked.

  “Both,” Gareth said as he glanced toward the carpenter’s house. Moira stood with the couple and their three sons. He could imagine the conversation, Moira giving support, then lending a hand. Last night he overheard the ship’s crew talking; they teased each other about hiding on the Sea Diamond to stay out of her way.

  “Gareth,” Wesley said. “Dare I ask what has you daydreaming?”

  Gareth took the remnants of a broken table from Wesley. A chill rushed up his spine. He glanced at the carpenter’s house, and his eyes met Moira’s. She gave him a smile and then entered the house.

  Moira was a mystery to him. Not in who or what she was, but how she affected him. At times, he wanted to thrash her, and others, just to hold her in his arms. Her honesty and bravery were a part of her. Not at all like Lady Grandbrook. The thought of Thomasine made him angry. That woman made a profession of manipulating others for her own benefit.

  “That’s the last of it. I told Moira we would do the repairs needed on the Pir. They shouldn’t take long,” Wesley said, dusting off his hands.

  They brought the wheelbarrow to the green, then hurried along to the old dock where the Pir was tied. Moira was there with Aymer, examining the sail.

  “Ye were correct. There’s no damage to the sail or th’ lines,” she said as Aymer tied the last of the sail into place.

  “I’ll have the men clean the deck,” Gareth said, looking at the sand-covered deck.

  “No…” she said, her voice full of alarm.

  “I understand. You need to do it yourself.” He raised his hand to stop her from explaining.

  “I need ye elsewhere. Several barrels have ta be moved onto th’ ship. Aymer or I will clean th’ deck.”

  “Are you getting ready to sail?” Gareth asked. In the Pir?

  “We may be able ta leave tomorrow or th’ next day. Things are going faster than I had hoped. My concern for our safety grows th’ longer I put it off. My people won’t be safe until we have at least twenty men for our defense.”

  “Twenty soldiers. You’re asking for almost a soldier for every adult in the village,” Gareth said.

  She dismissed his comment with a shake of her head.

  Gareth’s temper silently flared at
her casual dismissal. If Laird Ewan sent men, it wouldn’t be twenty. His troops were dispersed over a large area, and those that were at the castle were tired and in need of rest. She’d be lucky if he sent three or four.

  “Where are these casks?” Gareth asked. “I’ll get them loaded on the ship.” He grabbed his right wrist with his other hand behind his back. No one would suspect he hid his shaking hand.

  “I didn’t know she wanted the barrels moved,” Wesley said as he pulled Gareth aside. “It’s almost sunset. You’ve been working since sunrise. Go back to the ship. You may be able to hide it from the others, but I know you’re suffering.”

  Wesley knew him too well. He wanted to rest. His body would give in to sleep, but not his head. Gareth had a tendency of saying the first thing that came to mind when he was overly tired. At those times, his crew stayed out of his way. But Moira seemed so determined to get everything done. And if he didn’t move the barrels, he was almost certain she would.

  “We stored th’ barrels in th’ building across from th’ pier. Th’ contents are safe, survived th’ English.” She directed her gaze at Wesley, who said nothing.

  Aymer made for the building, and Gareth started to follow him.

  Wesley stopped him with a firm hand on his arm.

  Gareth looked at Wesley’s hand, then raised his head. A tired smile spread across his face. He gently removed Wesley’s hand. “You have my thanks for your concern. One last task before I rest.”

  “The barrels are dangerous. They must not be dropped. Please, Gareth.”

  “I’ll take care not to drop her precious barrels.”

  “You ask too much,” Wesley said to Moira.

  “What do ye mean?”

  “Everyone is exhausted. The physical work is as tiring as the mental challenges needed to get through this ordeal. Look at the faces of your people. They can’t go on like this.” He ran his hand through his hair.

  “I must put things back together so I can go ta Dundhragon.”

  “They will never be back together. The English made sure of that.”

  She gazed into Wesley’s eyes, challenging his judgement.

  Gareth had slipped away unnoticed while they continued to talk and stepped into the small building. Aymer held the barrel in a questionable grip and struggled toward the door.

  “Wait,” Gareth said. “You’ll drop it.”

  Slowly, the barrel began to slip from Aymer’s grasp.

  Gareth rushed to help, and reached Aymer as the barrel slid out of his hands, the bottom edge almost hitting the floor. By some miracle, Gareth got his hand under it in time to prevent the barrel from crashing to the ground.

  “Gareth, yer hand?” Aymer asked.

  “Go outside.” Gareth said, his voice hoarse and eerily calm. He stared at the barrel sitting on the ground.

  “But…”

  “Go, Aymer.” He needed to be alone. The pain came in waves, each one more severe and longer than the last. He needed to get back to the ship before he said something he would regret.

  “I…I doona know how it happened.” Aymer shook his head as he stood with Wesley and Moira. “Th’ barrel slipped out of my hands. Gareth came out of nowhere and grabbed it before it hit th’ floor. Th’ barrel landed on his hand.”

  Gareth stood at the doorway and directed an angry glare at Moira before he turned and walked away.

  “Where are ye going? Come back here. Ye canna leave until I tell ye. I want th’ barrels on th’ ship.” She grabbed his right arm and swung him around to face her.

  “You move them,” he growled between clenched teeth, pushing her away. He walked down the pier, headed toward the Sea Diamond.

  “Perhaps I did ask for too much,” she admitted.

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “But surely ye understood,” she called after him, lifting her hand.

  She looked at her hand and then back at him. Blood, his blood was on her fingers!

  “Th’ barrel would have gone up in flames without him here,” Aymer said.

  “I should talk ta him, apologize for my gruffness,” she said.

  “It would be best to leave him alone. His temper can be unpredictable,” Wesley said.

  Chapter Ten

  Gilmar, Scotland

  September 23, 1267

  Mid-morning

  “Aymer, I dinna need ye at my elbow while I’m in Gilmar,” Moira said. She’d been in a foul mood since her encounter with Gareth the previous day. “There is so much ta do. Find Wesley and help him.”

  He hesitated a moment, then did as she commanded.

  “I dinna think there is anything else ta save here.” Fiona, who had been sifting through ashes, straightened and placed her hand on her back.

  “I think if th’ stones were scrubbed, and th’ beams and thatch replaced, th’ house would be livable. Ye will see. Th’ house and oven will be as it was before th’ English came.”

  “I doona think we can ever live here again.” Fiona sniffed the air. “Every breath I take is filled wi’ th’ smell of th’ fire. I doona want to repair it. Look at th’ oven. Th’ stones are badly cracked.” Fiona moved several of the larger stones.

  Even though Moira was several feet away, she heard a rattling sound from Fiona’s chest that turned into a coughing spell lasting several minutes.

  “Fiona? You shouldn’t be in here.” Gareth came to an abrupt stop at what was left of the doorway, his bandaged hand on the door frame. He stepped inside and then helped Fiona out the door.

  Moira silently followed. The woman would be all right; she just needed fresh air.

  Gareth sat Fiona down and handed her a leather wineskin. “Drink this,” he said.

  Fiona waved it away, her shoulders trembling as she unsuccessfully tried not to cough. “Others need it more.”

  “No. Drink this. Wesley has the other skin. Once he tasted your tea, he wanted it all. I almost lost my hand saving this one. I told him it was your secret recipe, good for coughs and growing breasts.”

  Moira was startled by his remark, but chuckled at its ridiculousness.

  Fiona laughed so hard it made her cough more. She waved Gareth away. He handed her a cloth and waited. When she finally stopped coughing, her breath sounded clearer.

  “Now drink this up like a good lass,” Gareth said, his voice gentle and caring. “I do believe you are a sorceress with this drink. I’ve never tasted a better elderberry-honey tea.”

  Fiona took the skin and drank thirstily.

  “You stay here. I’ll move those stones.” He went back into the bakery.

  “He is a man wi’ a good heart. No’ a pirate at all,” Fiona said to Moira. “We are fortunate he came wi’ Laird Wesley.”

  “Aye, we are,” Moira agreed and entered the house.

  Gareth pulled cracked rocks from the wall, and stacked them around the hearth.

  “How soon do ye think we can have th’ house and oven repaired and ready for use?”

  “The fire created such heat, the stones cracked. These buildings can’t be saved. Leaving them as they are is dangerous. What’s left of the stones can fall and crush a person. The buildings must be taken down.” He kept moving the stones and avoided looking into her eyes.

  “Do ye need any help?”

  Gareth ignored her.

  Moira closed her eyes. It was an empty offer. She didn’t have the strength to move the boulders.

  “I could call someone to help ye,” she said.

  He dusted off his hands and turned toward her. “No need,” he said. “I’m finished here.” The finality in his voice left no doubt in her mind of the double meaning behind his words.

  Gareth walked out.

  She stared at the empty doorway and knew she had to find a way to make things right between them.

  “More wine?” Wesley asked Moira during the evening meal.

  “No, thank you.” She watched as he filled his goblet. “What is yer opinion of th’ houses that remain?”

/>   “We examined all the stone dwellings. Only the mill and forge can be salvaged. The fires damaged the other houses beyond repair.” He took a sip of his wine.

  “Aye, that is what I was told.”

  She folded her linen and placed it on the table, the trencher of food in front of her hardly touched. She scanned the room, but knew she wouldn’t see him. Gareth seemed to have vanished after leaving her and Fiona.

  “If ye will excuse me,” she said with a long, exhausted sigh. Her eyes burned from the smoke and her back ached from the strain of work.

  “Before you leave,” Wesley stopped her, “the crew thought a bit of song would cheer people. Wouldn’t you like to stay?”

  “That is very kind of yer crew. Please tell them I’m sorry I canna stay. I’m afraid I might fall asleep at th’ table.”

  Wesley nodded. “Sleep well.”

  In her room, she tried to close her eyes and fall asleep, but remained restless. If the houses couldn’t be repaired, how long would it take for her clan to build new ones? She needed more than soldiers. She needed builders. Something else to discuss with Laird Ewan.

  The rhythmic beat of a drum from the great hall matched the beat of her heart. The graceful, sweet sound of a flute wafted on the air. The melody ebbed and flowed like the tides. A deep, soulful baritone took up the song. For a moment, she put the problems of the English, the village, and her clan, aside. Wouldn’t it be nice to be something else, perhaps a pirate’s wench?

  The music went on, and in that place between wakefulness and sleep, she imagined she stood at the bow of a ship, the sails billowing, the vessel skimming across the water, aiming for the North Star.

  In the morning, she woke to the aroma of fresh baked bread. Fiona must be in the manor kitchen. She washed and dressed quickly. As she passed by her window, activity in the courtyard caught her attention. Gareth and several of the men were with Wilem, talking.

  Without concern of being seen, she stood at the window and watched Gareth. She couldn’t hear what they said, but every so often, they burst out laughing. A smile touched her lips as she wondered if he told them what he said about Fiona’s tea.