“Always,” he said softly, and took her to the rail where Wesley waited.
“Th’ sail is set,” MacAlpin said. “Th’ lines by th’ steering stick will give ye some control. Think of it as one of our pirate games. Once ye have yer heading, jump. We’ll meet ye at Maiden Island.”
“You have my thanks. Now hurry,” Gareth said.
Reluctantly, Moira went down the ladder and into the boat.
Gareth watched the boat pull away and hoped with all his heart he would be with her soon.
The boat arrived at the Sea Diamond. Moira rushed up the focsle as soon as her feet touched the deck. Leaning on the railing, she could only make out shadows of the Pir sailing in front of them.
Her senses played tricks on her. A rumble reached her ears, but she ignored it. She kept a lookout for the Pir. Tears of pride for her ship, mixed with fear for Gareth’s life, raced down her cheeks.
The rumble grew louder. She straightened and turned toward Wesley.
“Drums?” she asked. “Here, on th’ water?”
“Pirate thunder,” Wesley said as he moved beside her. “I wish I could glimpse Bridgeton’s face.”
As the Sea Diamond sailed out of the mist, the bow of two ships came into view on either side of them. MacAlpin stood at the rail of one ship. She turned her head and found Laird Ewan at the rail of the other.
Two other boats emerged, followed by six more. Ten ships all toll flanked the Pir.
The four English boats moved steadily toward them.
The drumbeats quickened along with the shouts of the crew as they drew closer to the English.
Gareth aimed the Pir at Bridgeton, the stringer of pots hanging on the bow. Surely the Pir had sailed close enough for Gareth to abandon ship now.
As she watched, the Fair Wind changed direction. If the Pir continued on course, Gareth would sail between Bridgeton and de Montfort’s ships and out to sea.
Gareth made the course adjustment and pursued Bridgeton. The man drew him away from MacAlpin and the others. Gareth didn’t care. He’d done away with LeVerley and Jupp. Only one person remained.
The Fair Wind changed direction again, but this time, caught Gareth unprepared. The Fair Wind came straight at him. He pulled the sheet and held the rudder for a bit more speed. The two ships crossed with only a glancing blow.
As the Fair Wind passed, Bridgeton’s archers let loose a barrage of flaming arrows. Several hit the sail. Without deck hands to quell the fire, the sail ignited and the ship slowed. Gareth was running out of time.
MacAlpin and Ewan’s ships were in full combat with the three English ships, the Fair Wind and Pir well away from them.
Gareth used every bit of his sailing skill to move the Pir in place. But with Bridgeton’s new position, Gareth sailed against the current, slowing his ship even more.
As the Pir slowed and his sail burned, pots of Greek fire burst onto the ship. The burning liquid ran along the deck, toward the helm where he stood. Now he understood who had the missing barrel.
Gareth ignored the danger and concentrated on his vessel. Her momentum wouldn’t last much longer.
Bridgeton’s men aimed their arrows at the stinger on the bow of the Pir. One after another, the arrows hit the pots and bounced off into the sea. It was only a matter of persistence before an arrow punctured a pot and finished the Pir.
He was so close, but if the ships collided now, the Fair Wind would barely feel the impact. He needed more speed, but how to manage it without sail or manned oars?
He looked behind and spotted Moira on the bow of the Sea Diamond rushing toward him.
The Pir was light, but Gareth doubted a shove from the ship would be enough to move him forward at any meaningful speed.
The Sea Diamond nudged her bow into the stern of the Pir. Wesley unfurled a triangular sail. In moments, it was filled with wind and pushed both ships forward against the current. Little by little, the ships gathered speed.
He signaled Wesley. On Wesley’s command, the helmsman steered to starboard, and Gareth pulled hard to larboard. The ships peeled apart. The Pir caught the current and shot forward.
He turned and stared at Moira trying to memorize everything about her as the gap between them widened. He put his hand over his heart in a silent salute, then turned away.
He directed all his thoughts on Bridgeton, he was not ready to give up this fight. His sail gone, he worked the rudder as the burning ship rushed forward.
He witnessed Bridgeton’s horrified expression as he closed the gap between them. May God forgive him, but he felt justified.
“Victory or death,” he shouted, as his bow crashed broadside into the Fair Wind. The stinger burst into flames, sending debris hundreds of feet in all directions. Thick smoke filled the air. Fire rained down on the Fair Wind. Screaming men jumped into the water.
The Pir’s bow was gone. The rest of the ship rested across the Fair Wind’s midsection.
Bridgeton and a man behind him got to their feet. Gareth was already running down the Pir and onto the Fair Wind. He had no intention of Bridgeton getting off the ship alive.
After sending the Pir on its way, Wesley steered hard to port and pulled the Sea Diamond out of the conflict.
“The island bay,” Wesley shouted to his men.
The ship made a graceful turn and headed for the deep bay at Maiden Island.
“Follow th’ Pir,” Moira demanded. “We canna leave him.”
“There is nothing we can do. It would be suicide to go into that smoke. We’d just as easily ram the Pir as ram Bridgeton. We’ve given Gareth as much help as we can.”
Wesley brought the ship around and into a cove.
Moira stood by the rail and watched the flares of fire, billows of smoke, and listened to the screams and shouts of the men coming from the thick smoke.
“Moira, this way. We’re going ashore to gather with the others on the beach.”
Her spirit broken, she clutched the North Star Gareth had given her. She said nothing, and followed Wesley to the waiting boat.
On shore, she ran to the top of the rise, ninety feet about the shore for a better view. The fog still thick, all she did was watch and listen. Below, wreckage floated ashore along with the bodies of English soldiers.
Gareth. She ran down the rise and on to the beach.
Each body that washed ashore, she examined. She looked at their faces, but many were burned beyond recognition.
Moira looked up. Someone struggled in the surf. Gareth? She ran to the man and helped him to the beach. He lifted his face and she gasped. Nigel looked at her. He fell to the sand. She sat back on her heels. Confusion turned into anger.
“I should have been chieftain, no’ ye,” he said.
“Ye had my father killed and ordered th’ raid on my clan.” It was a statement, not a question.
“No I dinna,” he said, his eyes wincing in pain. She gave him no comfort.
“That was Bridgeton’s idea. He was ta git th’ ingredients from th’ island and leave. Raiding Gilmar was never in th’ plan. After the weapon was lost, yer councilors would demand that ye step down.”
“Ye wanted the clan ta move to the castle. How would ye be chieftain then?”
“I’d sit on Laird Ewan’s council and…”
“And betray him, too.”
Blood trickled out of the corner of Nigel’s mouth.
“I’m sorry ye’ll no’ survive. It would’ve given me great pleasure ta kill ye for betraying th’ clan. But hear me.” She bent close to his ear to make sure he heard her. “I willna bring ye ta Gilmar for a burial. Ye’ll lay here and rot for the traitor that ye are.”
There was terror in his eyes, but she didn’t care.
“May ye go ta th’ devil.” She pulled off his green scarf from around his neck and without a backward look, she walked away to let him die alone.
Moira continued down the beach. She searched each body. Those that were beyond recognition she checked for her red and green sc
arf. With each body she became more and more distraught, but she continued on.
“Moira?” Wesley touched her arm lightly.
“He’s no’ here,” she said near hysterics. “He must come back.”
A sudden flash of light turned the ocean mist a glowing orange before she heard and felt the snap and rumble. Wesley threw his arms around her, shielding her from the debris flying in every direction. Silence followed, a pillar of black smoke the only evidence of any movement around the water.
Moira held Gareth’s North Star tight in her hand, the only thing she had left of him.
She refused to leave the shore. Swirls of smoke churned over the water and surged toward her. Her eyes burned. Out of the dark smoke and mist, a movement caught her attention. A tall silhouette emerged from the smoke.
Moira blinked.
He kept advancing.
Her heart pounded.
She took a step forward and hesitated, holding her hand to her mouth to keep from crying out. A red and green scarf tied to his arm fluttered in the wind.
“Gareth!” She ran to him. The others followed.
He held her close and kissed her hard. MacAlpin lent his shoulder and helped Gareth stagger through the sand, his whole body covered in black soot. Wesley pulled the singed animal skin off of him.
“I wasn’t sure if the smell of the skin killed Bridgeton or if the fire did.” Gareth offered a lopsided grin.
“I thought I lost ye,” she cried.
“I stayed long enough to bring this back to you.” He opened his hand. She stared at the pin Bridgeton had taken from her. “From an admirer.”
“Gareth, th’ pin wasna worth yer life.” Moira held him close, shaking in his arms.
“I wasn’t going to let that happen.” He gazed into her eyes, his feelings for her more evident than they’d ever been.
Chapter Nineteen
Dundhragon Castle
September 28, 1267
Late afternoon
“You still smell like spoiled wine,” Wesley said to Gareth. They sat with MacAlpin and the crew in Laird Ewan’s anteroom waiting for an audience with him.
“I bathed twice. It will take weeks to get rid of the odor,” Gareth said.
The door to the great hall opened, and they were ushered inside. On the far side of the room, Laird Ewan sat in his chair with Moira at his side.
“Come, gentlemen. Join me in a celebration,” Laird Ewan said.
Moira stepped down from the dais and stood next to Gareth.
“MacAlpin, once again ye come to my aid.”
“Ewan, my reputation canna stand much more praise. I work hard to be ruthless.” He stepped on the dais and sat in the chair next to his friend.
“I’ve been in negotiations wi’ my chieftain of Gilmar. I need yer advice,” Laird Ewan said to everyone.
“Lady Moira, th’ threat is gone for now. Bridgeton and de Montfort both dead, but there will be others,” MacAlpin said. “Th’ small coastal villages are too vulnerable and easy a target. Yer village is one I would have attacked in my more aggressive days.”
“I offered her people shelter and protection here in Dundhragon, but she insists they would no’ thrive in a castle,” Laird Ewan said. “Moira, ye are more than capable to lead yer clan, but they need protection. This battle wi’ Bridgeton will git worse.”
“Would they thrive in the mountains? I know of a lord in need of people for his village and farms. In exchange, he would protect you,” said Wesley.
“Where is this place,” Moira asked.
“It is my Glen Kirk. I inherited the property through my wife Darla Maxwell,” Wesley said.
“Laird Ewan, what do ye say?” she asked. “We are MacDougalls.”
“Wesley and I discussed this solution.” Ewan got out of his chair and walked to her. “If yer people doona want to come here, then Glen Kirk would be an excellent alternative. Wesley will see ta the clan. He’s not asking you to give up being a MacDougall, but he will be th’ laird ta whom ye’re accountable. Ye would be part of his council.”
The solution was a good one. She never wanted to be chieftain, so why wasn’t she happy? Her heart was breaking. If she stayed in Gilmar or possibly even at the castle she had some hope of seeing Gareth. But at Glen Kirk? He had no reason go there.
She glanced at Gareth. He was singed from the fire and had bruises on his face and hands, but he never looked more handsome and desirable. He kept his thoughts and feelings to himself. This was her decision to make.
“I need time ta think about yer offer. It means leaving Scotland for th’ English side of th’ Highland border, a very different place. I canna make this decision without speaking ta th’ clan,” she said, chewing on her bottom lip.
“Ye’re right. Moving a clan is no’ easy matter,” Laird Ewan agreed. “Be ready ta sail ta Gilmar in the morning. As clan chief, tis up ta me ta tell th’ clan why they canna stay in Gilmar.”
The following day in Gilmar, Laird Ewan sat in Moira’s ceremonial chair. The villagers gathered in front of him. Moira sat on his right side with Gareth next to her. MacAlpin sat on his left with Wesley next to him.
“Welcome home,” Colban said. “Ye kept yer word, and no’ only brought us soldiers, but Laird Ewan himself.”
A cheer went up throughout the room.
“We should thank MacAlpin for his men who protected us while Moira was gone,” Aymer said.
“Yer chieftain thanked me. Ye’re fortunate to have such a wise woman as yer leader. I’ve never seen anyone wi’ more selflessness,” MacAlpin said. “To Lady Moira, chieftain of the Clan MacDougall of Gilmar.”
Everyone in the room cheered.
It was her turn to speak to the villagers. “I appreciate yer words, but I brought us together ta speak about our future.”
The room quieted.
“I petitioned Laird Ewan for protection for our clan.”
She gazed at everyone in the room. It had been easy when she planned what to say, but now she wondered if she had the right words. “Laird Ewan explained his men were needed on th’ battlefield and that he couldna spare a man ta us here in Gilmar.”
A buzz went through the crowd.
“Hush, give Moira yer attention,” Aymer said. It took three more times of asking for order before everyone was quiet.
“While Laird Ewan canna send soldiers, he has invited us all ta live at th’ castle,” she said.
The villagers started to discuss the idea.
Aymer once again called for order.
“Moira,” Hamish called out. “Dundhragon has a blacksmith.”
“And a carpenter,” Wilem said.
“And a baker,” Fiona added.
“Wait, before ye all tell me who is at th’ castle, let me tell you what I think. We canna stay in Gilmar. We can live at Dundhragon or…” Moira said.
“Come to Glen Kirk and live with me,” Wesley said as he stepped forward.
Everyone stared at Wesley.
“Glen Kirk is a small estate. The village and farms have been uninhabited for years. There is no blacksmith, carpenter, or baker. I would welcome you to live with me, and I will protect you.”
“We have three options, ta stay here unprotected, go ta Dundhragon Castle, or ta Glen Kirk,” Moira said. She glanced at Gareth. He didn’t indicate which solution would be best. He was expressionless and speechless.
In her heart of hearts, she knew she was doing the right thing. Her sense of loss was beyond tears, not only for leaving Gilmar but for losing Gareth.
“What do you think we should do?” Colban asked her.
“I think we should go on an adventure to th’ mountains and live in Glen Kirk. Tis th’ best solution for our people. Do ye agree?”
The room erupted in agreement.
Fiona came up to her and Wesley. “We all hoped that would be yer decision. There’s nothing left for us here. We have little ta pack.”
“Ye’re right. There is nothing left for us here. The weat
her will be getting cold in th’ mountains and it would be best if we left soon. We’d be able ta be settled before winter,” Moira said.
“I think there is one last cask of ale on the Sea Diamond,” Wesley said. “We’ll drink to our new lives.”
Later, with the ale half gone, the celebration continued, and everyone forgot about Greek fire and the English. Moira’s decision was the right one for her people. She looked forward to her new freedom. But she worried she’d never see Gareth again.
Gareth’s burst of laughter made her look across the room. He stood with Wesley, MacAlpin, and Laird Ewan. MacAlpin and Laird Ewan were leaving in the morning. How long would he stay? He was moving toward her. Was he coming ta say good bye? She swallowed her despair and put on a brave face.
Gareth sat next to her.
“What will ye do without yer ship?” she asked. He didn’t look at her. She followed his gaze across the room.
“I will not need a ship. I decided with the Fair Wind gone, it was time to leave pirating and follow my North Star wherever it leads me.”
Part of her didn’t want to know where he was going. The idea of not seeing him was too much to bear. She glanced toward the door. Perhaps she should excuse herself.
He cleared his throat. “I always wanted to return to the land. The sea was never for me. Wesley asked me to help move the clan to Glen Kirk. I told him I would speak with you.” He turned toward her.
She stared at him blankly.
“Do you need time to think it over?” he asked.
“No. I had thought ta call in th’ debt ye owe me. Anything in yer power, ye said.”
“And here I thought you’d forgotten about it.” Her reminder seemed to amuse him.
“It is a powerful boon ye gave me. I wouldna use it foolishly. Nor would I ask ye ta do something ye dinna want ta do.” She paused. “I would like ye ta take us ta Glen Kirk.” She took a deep breath for courage and looked into his eyes. “What will ye do after we’re settled?”
“After?” he asked.
“Aye.”
“I will begin my new appointment.” There was that smirk, the one that made her knees weak. She didn’t understand.
The Pirate’s Redemption Page 12