Love Regency Style

by Samantha Holt

  “Laine,” Nab called. “It’s me, Nab. Me and the others are all right.”

  Silence reigned for an instant, then the sheriff called, “Move even a muscle, Rushton, and it willna’ matter if you are the King of England, I’ll shoot ye dead.”

  They advanced and Erroll stood motionless until the sheriff stopped a few feet away and the other men passed him to join the boys who waited on the beach.

  “You all right, Nab?” he asked the boy.

  “Aye. A press gang nabbed us, and his lordship stopped them before we reached their boats.”

  “How fortunate that you were passing by,” Laine said.

  “Purely coincidental,” Erroll said. “But the world is filled with coincidence. You being here, for example.”

  “That is no coincidence,” Laine replied. “We’ve been on the lookout for the press gang for two months. Where are they?”

  “In the cove to the south, though I doubt they’re still there. Captain Johnson saw us intercept this shipment and has probably sailed by now.”

  Laine ordered two men to go and look for the slaver, then said to Erroll, “Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but you have bad timing. We were scouting the coast when we saw your ship and mistook you for the slavers. If you hadn’t been here, we might have caught them.”

  Erroll gave a short laugh. “No good deed goes unpunished, I see. Where is your ship?”

  “We don’t have a ship. We planned to swim out and board their ship, which is exactly what we did.”

  “What—you mean—how many men have boarded my ship?” Erroll demanded.

  “Ten.”

  “I hope they fell into the water and froze their bollocks off while boarding,” Erroll snapped. “As no shots have been fired, I assume no one was killed. If your men cause a ruckus aboard the collier, you will deal with me. Have your men see the boys safely home—one of the four sailors ran into the woods. I wager your men can find him easily enough.”

  “One of the men is still here?” Laine demanded.

  “Yes.”

  “If we catch him, we might find the men they took.”

  “Send your men,” Erroll said. “You will accompany me. I have no wish for your men to shoot me as I try to board my own ship.”

  Laine’s mouth thinned. “As you say, my lord.”

  Laine ordered his men to see the boys home and begin their search, then he and Erroll sliced through the ankle high water to the jollyboat, where Joseph and David waited. Erroll grabbed the side of the jollyboat and they pushed it out until it skimmed across the water. They hopped in and each grabbed an ore, then began rowing.

  “We must make haste,” Erroll informed David and Joseph. “The good sheriff has seen fit to board our ship.”

  David and Joseph’s heads swung in his direction and glared.

  Erroll knew it was unlikely the Highlanders would harm the women, but God only knew what Oscar and Somerset would do if they thought the ladies were in danger. Or worse, what Miss Eve Crenshaw would do if yet another man entered her room uninvited.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A muffled shout sounded outside the captain’s quarters. Grace froze in the act of combing her wet hair and Eve straightened in the tub and looked toward the door.

  “What happened?” Grace asked.

  “I do not know.” Eve rose and stepped from the tub.

  She grabbed the towel hanging over the back of Grace’s chair, quickly wrapped it around herself and hurried toward the door while stuffing the corner of the towel between her breasts. Something hard struck the door and Grace gave a cry. A man’s groan in the hallway was followed by a foul curse. As Eve’s fingers closed around the knob. The door flung open, slamming her back, hard against the wall. Pain radiated down her arm, but she registered Grace’s gasp.

  “What the devil?” a deep male voice boomed in a light Scottish brogue.

  Eve started to shove the door away, then regained some sense and peered around the edge. A large kilted man stood between her and Grace. Eve’s heart pounded. Where were Oscar and Lord Somerset? She glanced through the crack between the door and jamb but saw no one.

  “Who are you?” Grace demanded.

  Eve again peeked around the door and saw a revolver sticking out from the man’s belt. She took one quiet step around the door.

  “What do you want?” Grace said, and Eve could have kissed her. “Why have you barged into my cabin?”

  “Your cabin?” the man said with a slight Scottish burr. “I imagine this is the captain’s quarters. You cannot be his wife.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she said as Eve took another step forward.

  “I see no ring on your finger.”

  “Who I am is of no consequence,” Grace snapped.

  Eve took another step forward, forced a steady hand, and reached for the revolver.

  “Get out,” Grace ordered.

  Eve yanked the gun from his belt. He swung around and she took two hasty steps backwards, the weapon aimed at his heart.

  He frowned and his gaze fixed on her towel-clad body. He grunted. “So your captain is not satisfied with just one woman.”

  A shiver slid down her spine when his brows lifted over the steely green eyes. Booted feet pounded down the corridor. Another set of footsteps followed, then broke into a run.

  The man folded his arms across his chest. “If you know how to use that thing, now is the time. Those are my men, and they will do with you two as they please.”

  “Just as you would. Get back,” Eve ordered.

  He backed up a pace.

  “To the wall, sir, or I will shoot.”

  “That revolver isna’ known for being accurate,” he said.

  “You are a very large target. Against the wall.”

  The approaching footsteps picked up speed.

  “Grace,” Eve said, “come here.”

  Grace scurried across the room and dodged behind her. Eve kept both hands on the revolver as she backed up to the wall, Grace beside her.

  “Miss Crenshaw—Eve!” called a familiar voice from the corridor.

  “His lordship,” Grace breathed.

  “In here,” Eve called.

  Lord Rushton burst into the room with Lord Somerset close behind. They skidded to a halt.

  “What in God’s name—” Lord Somerset took a step forward, but stopped when Lord Rushton snapped out a sentence in—was that Gaelic?

  The stranger responded with a clipped sentence and nodded toward Eve and Grace. Lord Rushton whirled. His brows rose while his eyes dropped to her towel-clad breasts. Eve resisted the urge to melt into the wall.

  “Miss Crenshaw,” he began, as the man took a step forward.

  “Halt or I will shoot,” Eve warned.

  Lord Rushton’s gaze remained fixed on her face. “I do believe she means it, Ash.”

  Eve blinked. “You know him?”

  “Madam, do you intend to shoot every male in the MacLean family while scantily dressed? Though I’m not complaining—about you being scantily clad, I mean.” He glanced at Grace. “I see your sister is yet again parading around in her night clothes.”

  “What?” Grace said.

  Lord Somerset stripped off his coat and, in two steps, reached Grace’s side and swung it around her shoulders. He yanked the lapel closed over her breasts. Eve suddenly realized her towel had slackened. She caught the fabric as it began to slide downward. Lord Rushton stepped toward her and she reflexively swung the revolver in his direction. He lunged in unison with Grace’s cry, and seized Eve’s arm, shoving the gun upwards. Cool air washed over the curve of her breasts, then she struck the wall, Lord Rushton pressed against her body, the towel barely covering her nipples.

  He held her wrist pinned to the wall as he stared down at her. “You aren’t satisfied with shooting me once?”

  “She shot you?” the other man blurted.

  Lord Rushton gave her a questioning look and Eve was suddenly aware of his body crushing hers. Embarrassment
rolled over her and she twisted in an effort to push him away.

  “First the revolver, if you don’t mind.”

  He reached with his free hand and disengaged the weapon from her fingers, then extended the weapon, butt first, to Lord Somerset, who took it. Lord Rushton released her wrist, then stepped back and pulled the corner of her towel from her grasp.

  “My lord!” Eve grabbed for the fabric, but he cinched the towel more tightly around her with a hard tug, then stuffed the corner piece between the towel and her ribs.

  Eve shoved him. For an instant, he stood immovable as stone, then stepped back.

  “What is going on?” she demanded.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “Ladies, may I present Ash MacLean. My brother.”

  *****

  Miss Crenshaw’s brows furrow in confusion and Erroll felt as if he’d been hit with a fist in the belly when she said, “Your brother? But I thought—” She broke off.

  “You thought my brother perished at war?” he replied smoothly. “That would be my younger brother, Val. This is my elder brother, Ash.”

  “Elder brother?” Her mouth parted in surprise and, if Erroll wasn’t mistaken, understanding flickered across her face. So she was aware that Ash was his bastard brother.

  “Of course,” she quickly said.

  A long pause drew out.

  Ash broke the silence. “May I have my revolver?” He extended his hand toward Somerset.

  Erroll startled. “Your revolver?” He nodded for the viscount to return Ash’s gun, then said to Miss Eve Crenshaw. “Madam, you are a wonder. I will want to hear the story of how you managed to disarm my brother and turn his gun on him.”

  “Just as I will want to hear how she shot you,” Ash said.

  “If I were you, Ash, I would be more concerned about the brute in the hallway. If you hurt him, she will put a bullet through you one way or another.”

  “Oscar!” Miss Crenshaw whirled toward the door.

  Erroll caught her arm. “You will not venture from this room nearly naked.”

  “I must see to him.”

  “Be quick with your answer, Ash,” Erroll ordered.

  “I only conked him over the head.”

  “That is only fair,” Erroll told her. “After all, Oscar did the same to me.”

  “There is no comparison.” She blew out an angry breath. “I should have shot you.”

  “You did.”

  She gave him a withering look. “Yet here is your brother, committing the same crime.”

  “Not quite the same crime,” Erroll replied.

  Her cheeks reddened. “What is happening?”

  “We were mistaken for a press gang.”

  Eve Crenshaw barked laughter, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “Is something funny?” he asked.

  She shook her head, her eyes wide over the hand that still covered her mouth.

  Erroll suddenly realized why she was laughing. “There seems to be a great deal of kidnapping going on these days, wouldn’t you agree, Miss Crenshaw?”

  Her eyes flicked to his brother, then came back onto him, narrowed in warning.

  “Mistook us for a press gang?” Miss Grace Crenshaw cut in on the byplay. “That is ridiculous.”

  “Bad luck is what it is,” Erroll looked at Ash. “The slavers dropped anchor in the cove to the south. I’m certain they got away.”

  “Damn bastards.” Ash shot him a dark look. “What are you doing here?”

  “Bad timing. Your sheriff made sure I knew that. He has a perverse sense of humor, by the way. He didn’t tell me you were leading this expedition. But come along. We’ll leave the ladies to dress. Somerset, would you see them to their cabin when they are respectable?”

  “What would you know of being respectable?” Eve Crenshaw snapped.

  “Enough to know this does not qualify.”

  “I want to know everything that has happened,” she said. “I’ll come up on deck once I am dressed.”

  “I have had enough excitement for one evening,” Erroll said. “You ladies will return to your cabin. We will attend to Oscar and send him along presently.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and he knew she’d forgotten Oscar. Erroll gave her no chance to further lecture him, but quit the room with the other men.

  After Erroll briefed Ash on the evening’s events, he finished off the last of the whisky sitting before him on the table in the galley, and ended with, “The fourth sailor ran into the trees. If you can locate him before he finds a way off the island you might learn where Johnson is headed.”

  “One of the sailors is still here?” Ash demanded. “Damn it, why didn’t you tell me that earlier?”

  Erroll refilled his and Ash’s glass with more whiskey. “I told your sheriff. He began a search before we returned to the collier.”

  Ash relaxed. “Laine knows what he’s doing. If the man is still here, he’ll find him.”

  “Why didn’t you have a ship ready to deal with Captain Johnson?” Erroll asked.

  “I have been on his trail only two months,” Ash replied. “And received word a week ago that he had might have returned to Scotland.”

  “You have no idea where he is headed?”

  Ash shook his head. “Could be Ireland, or the Colonies, even Australia. Laine will search to the south to see if he stops along the coast.”

  “I cannot send the collier. They aren’t armed for battle. What of Ramsey? He has that brig he uses to transport wool. He would love a reason to use those howitzers.”

  “I don’t want to engage the pirates on open water.”

  Erroll nodded. “But if you can follow him, you might be able to waylay him once he reaches his destination.”

  “Hire Ramsey’s ship to cross the Atlantic? That’ll cost a pretty penny.”

  Erroll flashed a smile. “The marquess is a generous man. He will not want to lose any of our lads.”

  “We saved our lads,” Ash pointed out.

  “True, but imagine how heroic we will appear if we save the others as well. How did you discover Johnson was kidnapping men?”

  “The last six months, over three hundred men and boys have disappeared between here and Fort William. It was but a month ago when the sheriff in Fort William reported that he’d seen the same brigantine three months past.

  “Just enough time to make the journey to America and back,” Erroll said.

  Ash nodded. “I went to Fort William and spoke with the harbormaster. We discovered that Johnson had docked the brigantine there two months ago under the name of Bradley. The harbormaster distinctly remembered him because his first mate was the size of two men. On a hunch, I went to Oban. From there I traveled inland through some of the smaller villages and discovered a dozen young men had disappeared in the last year. I felt certain Johnson was our slaver.”

  “He could have made three runs along the coast in that time,” Erroll said.

  “Five, by my calculations.”

  “Five? How is that possible? That would have taken nearly a year. We would have noticed men missing over that time.”

  “We?” Ash’s brows rose. “This is the first I have seen of you since you joined the navy five years ago.”

  It was closer to six, if he was honest. “Neither you or Laine would have been ignorant to a year of kidnappings,” Erroll said. “Not to mention our father.”

  “We weren’t. This is only the second run Johnson’s made on Mull. The first was four months ago. I wrote letters to the Colonies and Australia, but have heard nothing as of yet.”

  “Seems our pirate is more expedient than the authorities,” Erroll said.

  “Private enterprise is always better funded than government.”

  “Is there is a chance Laine will be able to discover where the slaver took the lads?” Erroll asked.

  “I plan to find them, even if that means a transatlantic journey.”

  “It is a shame my father did not marry your mother,” Erroll said.
“You would make a far better marquess than I.”

  Ash grimaced. “I have no desire to hob nob with English aristocracy.”

  “Ahh, yes.” Erroll nodded. “There is that.”

  Ash shrugged. “A man cannot deny what is in the blood.”

  “Sassenach blood, eh, Brother?”

  “Your mother is a good woman.”

  Erroll laughed. “You know perfectly well our father would beat you senseless if you intimated otherwise.”

  “He treated my mother with the same respect,” Ash said, to Erroll’s surprise. “But the marquess always does his duty.”

  Erroll shuddered. “I hate that four letter word.”

  “Every man has duty,” Ash said.

  “I never cease to be amazed at how sanguine you are on the subject. Duty forced our father to marry a woman other than your mother. If not for that, you would be his heir.”

  Ash grinned. “His duty saved me from a life—well, your life—and I am not sorry for that.”

  “No?” Erroll laughed. “Despite the fact we got a sister in the bargain who hates us almost as much as she hates our father?”

  Ash grinned. “She hates me far worse than you.”

  Erroll thought for moment. “It is only fair that you get something from this family in a larger portion than I.”

  “I have a fair enough portion.”

  “Certainly the better lot than I,” Erroll grimaced. “You have enough money to do as you please and not enough duty to interfere with your pleasure.”

  “You romanticize the situation,” Ash replied. “My duty is no less trying than yours. The difference is, I am not obligated to the King of England.”

  “King George would beg to differ.”

  Ash’s grin widened. “Let him come here and try to force the issue.”

  Erroll gave him a recriminating look. “That would mean I would have to work all the harder.”

  “Duty.”

  “You will send me to an early grave.”

  “You always tended toward the dramatic,” Ash said.

  Erroll eyed him. “You are the third person in a week to tell me that. I might have to give the matter some thought.”

  “Don’t tax yourself. You know how out of sorts you get when you think too hard.”