Skye gasped. “You killed him?”
“I had no choice. They both came toward me with knives. It was a case of kill or be killed.”
“Aye, before I left I saw that they both had knives,” Skye said.
“I had better go to the sheriff to report it,” Duff said. “Though I’m sure that Roderick has already made the report.”
“The sheriff is not going to take too kindly to you killin’ one of his own sons,” Ian said.
“It was self-defense,” Duff said. “The sheriff will have to know that.”
“Duff, those boys have been naught but trouble their whole lives, and the sheriff well knows that, but has he ever lifted a hand to stop them?” Ian shook his head. “No, he has not,” Ian said, answering his own question. “Why think you now that the sheriff will believe you?”
“I am an innocent man, Ian,” Duff said. “I’ll not be running like a common criminal when I know I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ll be going to see the sheriff now.”
“I will come with you to tell the truth,” Skye said.
“There’s no need for you to come,” Duff asked.
“I’ll not see my husband-to-be jailed for something he dinnae do.”
“You stay here.”
“Duff MacCallister, you are not yet my husband, so you’ve no right to tell me I can’t come with you.”
Ian laughed. “Best ye get used to it, lad. She is a girl with her own mind.”
“All right, I’ll not be fighting with you on the very night before we are to be wed,” Duff said.
“’Tis a smart husband you will be,” Skye said, and the others laughed.
Duff and Skye were halfway to the office of the sheriff when they saw the sheriff and three of his deputies coming toward them. Rab Malcolm, who was Somerled’s chief deputy, was one of the men with him.
“Sheriff,” Duff called. “I was coming to see you.”
“Shoot him!” Sheriff Somerled shouted.
“No, Sheriff!” Skye shouted, jumping between Duff and the sheriff.
The sheriff and all three deputies opened fire. The flame patterns of their pistols lit up the night, and the sound of gunfire roared like thunder.
“Oh!” Skye said, and as she spun around toward Duff, he saw a growing spread of crimson on her chest. She fell to the road, and even as the sheriff and his deputies continued to shoot, he managed to pull her off the road and through the shrubbery.
“Skye!” Duff shouted, his voice racked with pain and horror at what he was seeing. “Skye!”
Skye lifted her hand to his face and put her fingers against his jaw. She smiled. “’Twould have been such a lovely wedding,” she said. She drew another gasping breath, then her arm fell and her head turned to one side. Her eyes, though still open, were already clouded with death.
“No!” Duff shouted. “No!”
“He’s down there!” the sheriff called.
Duff moved into the shrubbery and waited. A moment later, one of the sheriff’s deputies came through the hedgerow. Duff stepped out of the shrubbery and, with his fist, landed a haymaker on the deputy’s jaw. As the deputy went down, Duff took his gun and, in a rage, shot him from point-blank range.
“Gillis! Gillis, did you get him?”
Duff stepped back through the hedgerow and out onto the road. He was holding Gillis’s gun.
“No, Somerled. I got Gillis,” Duff shouted.
“There he is!” the sheriff shouted. “Shoot him, Rab, Nevin, shoot him!”
The three shot at Duff, and Duff returned fire. Nevin went down, and when he did, the sheriff and Malcolm suddenly realized that, in seconds, their number had been decreased by half. The two men turned and ran.
For a moment Duff considered running after them, but he gave that up. Instead, he threw the gun away, then scooped Skye into his arms to take her back to her father.
Ian was just closing up his pub when Duff pushed in through the front door of the White Horse. He was carrying Skye in his arms.
“Skye!” Ian shouted. “What happened? My God! What happened?”
“It was the sheriff and his deputies,” Duff said. Duff laid Skye on the bar and Ian fell across her, sobbing loudly.
“I killed Gillis and Nevin,” Duff said. “Sheriff Somerled and Deputy Malcolm ran away. I didn’t go after them because I wanted to bring Skye home.”
“I thank you for that, lad,” Ian said.
“I’m going after them now.”
“No, don’t. You’d best be getting away.”
“Where would I go? No matter where I go in Scotland, I’ll be a wanted man,” Duff said. “So I may as well get my revenge.”
“No,” Ian said. “I’ve lost Skye. I’ll not be wantin’ to lose you now, for ’tis my own son you are for all that my Skye didn’t live until tomorrow when you would have wed. Go. Please.”
“All right. I’ll just stop by my place and gather a few things.”
“There’s no time for that,” Ian said. Opening his cash box, he took out ten ten-pound notes and thrust them in Duff’s hand. “Go.”
“I can’t take your money.”
“’Tis little enough,” Ian said. “Oh, and I’ve something else for you.”
“You’ve given me enough.”
“This be yours, already,” Ian said. “’Tis something ye left here so as to be wearin’ at your wedding.”
Ian reached under the bar, opened a metal box, then handed an object to Duff. It was the Victoria Cross, showing a crowned lion above the crown of England, and bearing the inscription, “For Valor.”
“Keep this with you, lad, wherever you go. And remember always God and the Queen.”
“Thank you, Ian,” Duff said. He put the Victoria Cross in his pocket, then stepped down to look at Skye’s body. He stayed there for a long moment. Then he looked back at Ian. “Give me a piece of paper and a pen,” he said.
Ian got a sheet of paper and a pen and handed the items to Duff. Duff began to write.
In exchange for one hundred pounds paid in full, I, Duff Tavish MacCallister, with this instrument, do transfer ownership to Ian McGregor the three hundred acres of land known as Three Crowns, to include all buildings, improvements, appurtenances, livestock, and any and all things of value.
Duff Tavish MacCallister.
“I’m beholdin’ to you, Ian,” he said, handing the document to Ian.
“Here, lad, you don’t want to do that,” Ian said, pushing the paper back.
“Ian, you and I both know I will never return to Scotland. That means my land will be confiscated by the county. Don’t you know I would rather you have it?”
Ian thought for a moment, then, nodding, he took the paper. “Aye, lad, I see your point,” he said. “But know this. If ever you should return, Three Crowns is all yours.”
Duff shook Ian’s hand, then he went over to Skye’s body. Leaning over, he kissed her on her lips. Then straightening up, he wiped a tear away.
“She will always be in my heart, Ian.”
“I know, lad, I know. Now, please, be gone with you before the sheriff comes back.”
Duff nodded and started toward the front door.
“No, lad, they may be out there watching. The back door.”
With a final wave, Duff opened the back door, then slipped out into the night.
Chapter Five
Firth of Clyde
There were three ships on the Firth of Clyde. Two were steamships that lay anchored in the harbor. But one was tied up against the docks, and it was the Hiawatha, a three-masted, square-rigged, sailing ship.
There was a sailor standing watch on the dock-side of the ship, which meant Duff was going to have to get onboard without the man on watch seeing him. As he considered how best to accomplish this, he saw a skiff tied up about one hundred yards down the dock.
Looking around to make certain he wasn’t being observed, Duff untied the skiff, then rowed it out a short way before turning back to approach the Hiawatha from the
opposite side. There he climbed up the side of the vessel, over the railing, then into the shadows of the ship. Finding a dark, out-of-the-way place on deck, he settled down to wait and see what would happen next.
He had almost gone to sleep when he heard the sheriff’s voice.
“You, aboard! Sailor on watch! I’m Sheriff Somerled. I would have a word with you.”
“I ain’t done nothin’ that would draw the attention of a sheriff,” the sailor called back in a flat, twangy, American accent.
“Still your concerns, sailor, ’tis not yourself I am questioning,” the sheriff replied. “Has a man come aboard seeking passage to America?”
Looking out from behind a large stanchion, Duff followed the conversation between the sailor and Sheriff Somerled. On the dock with the sheriff, Duff noticed, was Deputy Malcolm.
“Sheriff, this here is a merchant ship. We ain’t got no passenger a’tall.”
“I’m looking for a murderer. He is a big man with light hair, brawny arms, and shoulders the width of an axe handle. He would have come on only in the last few minutes.”
“Like I told you, we ain’t got no passengers a’tall. We got nothin’ but wool, bound for New York.”
“Maybe he boarded without you seeing him,” Sheriff Somerled suggested.
“There ain’t nobody what’s come onboard, Sheriff, by that or any other description,” the sailor replied. “Not while I been on watch.”
“Lower the gangplank. I’m comin’ aboard to see for myself,” the sheriff said.
“There ain’t nobody comin’ onboard this here ship without the cap’n sayin’ he can.”
“Then do be a good man and inform the captain that Sheriff Somerled wishes to come aboard.”
“I ain’t wakin’ the cap’n for you or nobody,” the sailor said.
“Very well, I shall return in the morning and speak with your captain.”
“We’ll be pullin’ anchor with the mornin’ tide,” the sailor on watch said. “Won’t do you no good to come back, ’cause we won’t be here.”
“Come,” Sheriff Somerled said to Malcolm. “The brigand cannot have gone too far. I’ll see him hanged before sunrise.”
Duff had stayed very quiet during the exchange and remained in place until the sheriff and his deputy were well away from the dock. Not until then did he improve his position, crawling from behind the stanchion into a tarp-covered lifeboat.
The ship was well under way when Duff awoke the next morning, lifting and falling, rolling from side to side as it plowed over the long, rolling swells of the North Atlantic. When he looked out from under the tarp, he could see the sails of the Hiawatha shining brilliantly white in the bright sunlight, and filled with a following breeze. The propelling wind, spilling from the sails, emitted a soft, whispering sigh.
The helmsman stood at the wheel, his legs slightly spread as he held the ship on its course. Working sailors were moving about the deck, tightening a line here, loosening one there, providing the exact tension on the rigging and angle on the sheets to maintain maximum speed. Some sailors were holystoning the deck, while others were manning the bilge pumps.
Because all were busy, no one noticed Duff when he crawled out of the lifeboat. He approached a sailor who was twisting a turnbuckle to increase the tension on a line.
“Pardon me, but where might I find the captain?”
“Lord ha’ mercy, where did you come from?” the sailor asked. “And who are you?”
“I am,” Duff started, then he paused in mid-sentence. “I am Captain Duff MacCallister, and I wish to speak with the captain.”
“How did you get aboard the Hiawatha, Cap’n?” the sailor asked.
“Please. Your captain?”
“You wait here.”
“Yes,” Duff said. “Where else would I go?”
Duff walked over to the rail and looked back. In the distance he could barely make out the shoreline.
A moment later the sailor returned with another man whom Duff took to be one of the ship’s officers.
“Are you the captain of this vessel?” Duff asked.
“I am Mr. Norton, the bosun. Who are you?”
Whereas Duff had used his reserve rank of captain with the sailor, with the bosun he was more direct.
“My name is Duff MacCallister,” he said.
“Jiggs said you called yourself a captain.”
“Aye, in the Scottish Reserves I am a captain. I am sorry if the sailor misunderstood. I wonder if I might speak with the captain of this ship.”
“Look here,” the bosun said. “How did you get onboard this ship?”
“I don’t know,” Duff replied.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
Duff put his hand to his forehead. “I had a great deal to drink last night,” he said. “I remember leaving the pub, then I remember nothing until I woke up on this ship this morning. Methinks some of my friends may have played a trick on me.”
“I think we had best see the captain,” Norton said. “Come with me.”
“Aye, such was my request,” Duff replied. “I would like to purchase passage to New York.”
“How did you know this ship was going to New York?”
Duff had heard the sailor on watch the night before say that the ship was bound for New York, but he could not say that or he would give away the fact that he was aware last night that he was onboard.
“I don’t know that you are,” he replied. “I know that many of the ships that leave from the Firth of Clyde are bound for New York. I assumed that was so with this ship. Have I erred in my assumption?”
“No, we’re going to New York, all right,” Mr. Norton said. “Come with me.”
Captain Powell drummed his fingers on the taffrail and glared down from the quarterdeck at Duff and his bosun.
“Who have we here, Mr. Norton?” he asked.
“We found him aboard this morning, Captain.”
“What is your name, stowaway?” Captain Powell asked. It was obvious from the tone of his voice and the expression on his face that he was displeased with seeing Duff.
“The name is MacCallister, Captain. And ’twas not my intention to stow away,” Duff replied.
“It was not your intention to stow away? Then, pray tell, MacCallister, how is it that you are on my ship?”
“I was drinking with some friends,” Duff said. He put his hand to his forehead. “I woke up on the ship this morning. They must have thought it good sport to put me here.”
“It matters not how you came aboard. The point is, you are aboard, and that makes you a stowaway.”
“I’ve nae wish to be a stowaway. I have enough money to pay for my passage, and would be happy to do so,” Duff said.
“That might be good if we were a passenger-carrying ship,” Captain Powell replied. “But we are not. We are a merchant ship, and you are unwanted cargo.”
“What shall I do with him, sir?” Norton asked.
“Confine him to the brig for the duration of the voyage,” Captain Powell said. “When we reach New York, we will give him an opportunity to buy passage back to Scotland.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” Norton said. He started toward Duff, then paused, and turned back to the captain. “Cap’n, if you would permit a suggestion?”
“You may do so.”
“Peters did not return to the ship ’ere we weighed anchor. We are short one man in the starboard watch. Perhaps . . .”
“You would replace Peters with the stowaway?” Captain Powell asked.
“Aye, sir, if you be willing,” Norton said.
“Have you ever been to sea, MacCallister? Could you do the work of an AB?”
“I’ve been to sea, Captain, and fare well without becoming sick. I have never worked as a sailor, but I learn quickly.”
“From your dress, you have the appearance of a man of means,” Captain Powell said. “Are you a wealthy man, MacCallister?”
“I have land and livestock,” MacCallister
replied, but even as he was saying the words, he realized that he would never see either again.
“Would you feel the work of an able-bodied seaman beneath a man of your station?” Captain Powell asked.
“Captain, as you have pointed out, and as I readily admit, I am a stowaway on your ship. My alternative to working, it would appear, would be to spend the entire voyage in the brig. I would consider honest labor to be far superior to that condition.”
Captain Powell laughed out loud.
“Very well, MacCallister, you may work for your passage. Mr. Norton, assign him to the starboard watch. Did Peters leave his chest?”
“Aye, sir, he did.”
“MacCallister, you are a bit taller than Peters, and a bit broader in the shoulders I would say. But I think you could wear his clothes. I advise you to do so, for your current attire is ill suited for the task at hand.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Duff replied.
“Mr. Norton, take MacCallister below, get him properly dressed, then muster the crew.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.”
It was dim belowdecks, though not entirely dark as the sun filtered down through the hatch above, falling in little individual squares of light on the floor of the deck under the fo’castle. Duff saw several men, bare from the waist up, sitting on chests or coils of rope. They looked around in curiosity as Duff and the bosun stepped into their midst.
“Men, this is MacCallister. He’ll be takin’ Peters’s place,” Norton said.
“He don’t look like no sailor man to me,” one of the men said. “He looks more like what you would call a gentleman.”
“Whatever he may look like, he is hired on as a sailor, and a sailor he will be,” Norton said. He looked toward Duff. “Get changed into working clothes.”
“Aye, sir. And thank you, Mr. Norton, for providing a way for me to avoid the brig,” Duff said.
“Just see to it that you do your work, for I’ll not be making excuses for you to the captain,” Norton said as he started back up the ladder.
After Norton left, none of the others spoke to him. The sailors were not purposely ignoring Duff, but neither were they inviting him into their circle. Duff knew from his few voyages, the most recent being to Egypt with his regiment, that a ship’s crew was a close-knit group. He wasn’t going to fit in right away; indeed, perhaps not for the entire voyage. But, as he told the captain, this was better than being in the brig, and it was infinitely better than hanging, which fate awaited him back in Scotland.
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