King of Storms

by Amanda Scott

  “Aye, sir, that it will,” the pie man said, accepting the shilling. “But I hope ye teach him another one afore then,” he added with a minatory look at the culprit.

  “I may, at that,” Giff said, casting a glance around to see that most of the men who had joined the chase had walked away. Only the disgruntled one who had led it and his club-bearing companion were still in sight, but they seemed to be chatting amiably together and paying no heed to anyone else.

  Giff turned to face his captive.

  “Ye gave that mowdiewort a whole shilling!” the lad said indignantly. “If ye think I’m paying ye back any such addlepated sum, ye’d best think—hey!”

  Giff lifted him off his feet and held him so they looked eye to eye. “Not another word if you don’t want that hiding right now.”

  “Right then, I’m mum, so ye can put me down. But ye should ken fine that ye’re actin’ a right bangster.”

  Stifling an impulse to laugh, Giff said, “I’m no bully, and I’ll put you down, but if that is your notion of keeping mum, you should know it is not mine.”

  Black-lashed hazel eyes twinkled at him, but the lad kept quiet until he was on his feet. Then his gaze shifted past Giff, and he exclaimed, “Look out, ahind ye!”

  Suspecting a ruse that would allow the young scoundrel to escape, Giff might have ignored the warning had a trusted sixth sense not raised the hairs on the back of his neck. As it was, he turned, shoving the child out of the way, just as the black-clad ruffian with the club leaped at him, swinging hard.

  Giff’s left hand shot up in a slash that snapped its hardened edge against the other’s uplifted wrist, blocking the blow. At the same moment, his right fist shot into the ruffian’s jaw with all the power of his shoulder and back behind it.

  The club flew left, and the ruffian collapsed and took no further interest in the proceedings. But his companion, the lad’s erstwhile angry accuser, was moving to take his place when a small figure darted at him, head lowered, and butted him in the same place that the man had accused him earlier of planting his elbow.

  The victim bent double, reaching awkwardly for his attacker with one hand while he sought to ease his pain with the other. But, with an agility Giff thought would well serve any man in training at Dunclathy, the lad nipped away out of reach.

  The pie man and two others hurried up, the latter taking charge of the unresisting victim of the lad’s attack, as the former was saying, “We saw what happened, and we’ll gladly take them louts in charge to the magistrate, me lord.”

  Thanking them and leaving them to attend to both men, Giff turned back to find his small assistant bouncing up and down on his toes. “Aye de mi, that’s done ’em!” the lad exclaimed. “Ye dunted yours flat onto his hunkers!”

  Giff grinned. “Hunkers?”

  The urchin returned the grin, showing a ragged gap that large, new front teeth were just beginning, unevenly, to fill. “Aye, sure,” he said. “Me da’ says I’m no’ old enough yet t’ say arse.”

  “Then you should not say it,” Giff said.

  “I didna!”

  Giff raised his eyebrows.

  Another grin. “Och, aye, I did, but no’ till I told ye about me da’.”

  “So you do have one, then.”

  “Aye, sure, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Giff said, sobering. “And if I took something that did not belong to me, he’d give me a thorough hiding.”

  “Nay, then, ye’re too big.”

  “I was not always so big. Did you take the meat roll?”

  The boy’s mouth opened and shut again as he eyed Giff’s stern face. Then, lifting his chin and squaring his shoulders, he said, “Aye, I did.”

  “Where is it?”

  The twinkle returned as the urchin reached up his sleeve and showed a bare inch of a thick, buttered-crumb-covered meat roll, then pushed it back out of sight.

  “Why did you take it?”

  “T’ see if I could,” the lad answered frankly. “Yon greedy lick-penny wha’ sells them never asks will ye lick or taste, and I wanted to see what they was like.”

  “The usual way to do that is to buy one.”

  “Aye, sure, but for that a man needs gelt.”

  “And you have none?”

  The lad shrugged.

  “What’s your name?”

  He hesitated. Then, in much the same tone as the pie man had used to suggest three shillings for his pie, he said, “Most just calls me ‘the wee mannie.’”

  “What does your father call you?”

  A fleeting grimace gave way to a wide-eyed look. “Did ye ken them louts was a-watchin’ ye when ye rowed out to yon Dutchman’s boat? I seen ’em m’self, and they was still a-watchin’ when your lads rowed ye back t’ shore. What did ye want wi’ yon Dutchman that interested them so, d’ye think?”

  “I cannot imagine,” Giff said. Then, deciding that a bit of misinformation floating around the harbor might prove useful, he added, “I’ve been thinking of traveling north to the Moray Firth. I was just asking him about possible transport.”

  To his surprise, the lad snorted again and shook his head. “Ye dinna want t’ go north wi’ nobbut that great barge under ye. There be rough waters t’ sail there.”

  “And what do you know about boats, Master Long-Wit?”

  Rolling his eyes, the boy said, “I ken fine that ye’d do better t’ sail wi’ me da’. He’s going north, and if ye swear t’ forget about yon addlepated shilling and promise no’ t’ tell ’im about the meat roll, I’ll ask ’im will he take ye with us.”

  “So which boat does your father captain?”

  “Yonder, wi’ the oars a-standing up and the tall mast.” He pointed.

  “That boat belongs to Lord Fife,” Giff said, eyeing him sternly.

  “Aye, sure, the Serpent Royal, but me da’s its captain all the same. ’Tis why they call me the wee mannie, though me true name be Jake Maxwell. But if ye ken nowt o’ boats, ye’d no’ had understood that about mannie,” he added kindly.

  “The wee captain is what that means,” Giff said. When his companion’s face fell, he added, “Do you really think he might provide space for a passenger?”

  Smiling again, the boy said, “An ye agree t’ me terms, I could take ye to ’im, and ye could put that notion to ’im yourself.”

  “I won’t tell your father, but neither will I agree about the shilling,” Giff said. “You deserve to repay the full amount, and I mean to see that you do.”

  Jake eyed him measuringly, then sighed. “I’ll do it, then, someday,” he said. “Although I dinna ken how.”

  “You’ll think of something,” Giff said. “Shall we go see your father now?”

  “Aye, sure, the boat’s yonder on the shingle, and our lads will take us.”

  “Pull out your meat roll,” Giff said as they headed back toward the water.

  “Why should I?”

  “Aren’t you hungry?” Giff drew out his knife. “I’m going to miss my dinner, so I thought perhaps you would like to share yours.”

  “Aye, sure,” Jake said, flashing his grin. “I got a mutton bridie, too, in me poke. And a fine currant scone for a sweet.”

  “A feast, in fact,” Giff said dryly as the boy pulled the poke from his breeks and showed both the pastry-wrapped bridie and the scone. “You acquired those the same way you acquired the meat roll, I presume.”

  “Aye, sure, and still warm, but since ye promised no’ t’ tell me da’—”

  “Oh, I won’t do that,” Giff said. The emphasis in his tone brought the youngster’s head up and put a questioning look in the limpid hazel eyes.

  “You’re going to do that,” Giff told him cheerfully as he cut the roll. When visibly tensing muscles told him the lad was on the brink of fleeing, he added, “Unless you’re afraid, of course. A man takes responsibility for his actions.”

  Indignant again, Jake said, “I dinna fear nowt!”

  “Good lad,” Giff said, putting the kn
ife away and extending half of the meat roll to him. “Here’s yours. It smells delicious.”

  “It ought to, for a whole shilling,” Jake muttered, adding in a tone that revealed a lack of eagerness now to row out to the Serpent, “That’s our boat, there.”

  Chapter 9

  At Sinclair House, determined to reveal no hint of the eagerness she felt to see Giff again, Sidony played with a clearly more comfortable Will and a cooing Anna until their nurses announced that it was time for their supper.

  Changing to the pale green, lace-trimmed dress and matching slippers she would wear for supper, Sidony tried to occupy herself with her needlework but gave up after wandering thoughts had twice caused her to prick her finger.

  Leaving her door ajar and checking more than once to see that her hair and the simple white silk net and veil that covered it were perfectly in place, she waited only until she heard her sisters’ voices on the landing before hurrying to join them. As they went downstairs, the steward opened the front door to admit Giff.

  Following the others, Sidony paused on the last step with one hand on the newel post and turned to face their guest as he crossed the threshold.

  “Welcome, sir,” Isobel said with a smile as he entered. “I’m glad you are able to join us. I hope your quest was successful.”

  “Completely successful, my lady, thank you,” he said, his gaze meeting hers briefly before moving past her to encounter Sidony’s. He smiled then.

  “I trust our people provided you with a good midday meal,” Adela said.

  “Unfortunately, madam, due to my own tardiness, I missed dinner at Lestalric.”

  “Oh, dear, then you must be nigh starved by now!”

  “Nowt of the sort,” he said, grinning at her. “I dined on half of a very tasty meat roll clad in crisp, buttery crumbs, half a mutton bridie made by someone with a hand for light pastry, and half of an excellent currant scone.”

  Speaking as one, Sidony and Isobel said, “Why only halves?”

  “He can tell us after we sit down,” Adela said. “If the food is ready, it would be an offense to the cook to leave it standing whilst we chatter here.”

  Adela’s reputation for household management being legendary in Edinburgh, it did not occur to the others to debate the point. She and Rob had turned Lestalric Castle from a long-neglected warren into such a welcoming home that members of Scotland’s elite clamored for invitations to their frequent supper parties.

  On the thought, Sidony said, “Did you say Rob will be back for your supper?”

  “I did,” Adela said as they reached the dining parlor. “He promised he would, but he will likely have to return early Wednesday to join Isabella’s cavalcade.”

  “Take Michael’s chair, Giff,” Isobel said, gesturing toward the head of the table. When they had said the grace-before-meat, she nodded to the servants to begin serving, then said, “Now, Giff, tell us your tale.”

  He did so, proving himself an entertaining storyteller and making them laugh more than once in the process.

  “What happened when you met Jake’s father?” Sidony asked.

  He smiled. “Captain Wat Maxwell is a good man, I think. Young Jake introduced me as if I had been a lord, but as he did not know my name—it not having occurred to him to ask—he could not give it. So I introduced myself and was much surprised, I can tell you, to learn that Captain Maxwell had heard of me. But when his son confessed his sins, he told him they would talk later and sent him off. If I’ve taken his measure, the lad had a few painful minutes coming to him.”

  “What did you think of Fife’s ship?” Isobel asked.

  He shot her another look even more speaking than the one Sidony had noted before, and said, “’Tis a good one. Hoists more sail than most men would carry on a boat that size, but she should handle much as a galley does, despite a higher, heavier stem and stern. The central area is similar, and she can carry fifty oarsmen with benches for eight oars on each side. Moreover, she boasts a stern port for loading cargo like some merchant ships. As to Maxwell, I’d say he knows what he’s doing.”

  This time it was Adela and Isobel who exchanged glances.

  About to demand to know what the others were keeping from her, Sidony saw that Giff was watching her. So, instead, she asked him a question that had been puzzling her since he’d told his story. “Why did those two men attack you, sir?”

  He shrugged. “Likely, they mistook me for easy prey.”

  She held his gaze. That anyone could think him an easy victim with his sword slung across his back, as she was sure it must have been, was ludicrous. He walked as if he owned the world even without the sword.

  With a frown, as if her question had stirred him to think, he said, “Young Jake did say he’d seen them watch me go out to the Dutch vessel and back.”

  “Someone may have set them to watch you,” Isobel said.

  “But why?” Sidony asked.

  “Sakes, I don’t know,” Giff said, then added ruefully, “I should not speak to you so, my lady. Indeed, I would make amends. The afternoon has turned sunny. Will you do me the honor of strolling with me later through the gardens?”

  She looked at Isobel, who nodded, then held her breath. But when Adela remained silent, she said, “I would like that, sir, but I would like it even more if you would answer my questions.”

  Before he could reply, Adela asked what news he had about English activity in the Borders. “Rob heard that Fife is at outs again with Douglas.”

  “How did he hear that?” Giff asked.

  “News travels with the wool from the Border monasteries,” Adela said.

  “Moreover, if we have heard it, you may be sure the word will soon be all over Scotland,” Isobel said. “Certainly, the Lord of the Isles will know.”

  “How?”

  Sidony looked at him in surprise. “Why, you should know that we hear everything in the Isles, sir. Our sister Cristina married the good-brother of the Lord High Admiral of the Isles, who is the best-informed man in all Scotland.”

  “Aye, he is,” Isobel said. “Lachlan Lubanach has informants everywhere. Little happens anywhere in Scotland that escapes his notice.”

  This fruitful topic provided discussion until they had finished their meal. Standing to leave the table, Giff said, “Will you want a cloak, Lady Sidony?”

  Her ladyship having disclaimed any need for her cloak despite the thin fabric of her skirt and bodice, Giff ushered her from the dining parlor to a door leading out to the gardens behind the house. As they passed her sisters, Lady Adela murmured, “Do not disappear out there, sir.”

  Flashing her a smile, he said, “I have no intention of doing so, madam. But if you are in a rush to return to Lestalric, you need only tell me and we will go at once.”

  “Nay,” she said with a fond look at Sidony. “I’m in no hurry.”

  Outside with the door shut, Giff put a hand under Sidony’s nearer elbow and guided her toward a more distant path. Several windows overlooked the garden.

  “You are very quiet,” he said.

  “I want to know something, but I doubt you will tell me.”

  He chuckled. “You cannot know until you try me.”

  “Very well, then. What secret do you share with Isobel and Adela?”

  “What makes you think I share any secret with them?”

  “The way you looked at Isobel when she asked if your day had been successful. And again, when she asked what you thought of Fife’s ship.”

  “You are observant, lass. Anything more?”

  “Aye, sure, the way Isobel and Adela looked at each other when you said Fife’s Captain Maxwell knows his business. Each time it made me feel as if one of you might soon order me off to bed so the grown-ups could talk.”

  “That was unkind of us,” he said, shifting his hand from her elbow to her shoulder and pausing on the pebbled path to face her. “Do you want to clout me again? I ken fine that you’ve no fish in hand this time, but . . .”

&nbs
p; That drew a smile at least, but she said, “Will you tell me what the three of you know that I do not? Or do you not trust me?”

  “Sakes, lass, how can I know if you are trustworthy till I know you better?” When she stiffened, he added hastily, “In troth, you know much of it already.”

  “What do I know?”

  “I told you I was looking for a ship and would return west when I found one. Thanks to their husbands, your sisters knew I’d had my eye on one in the harbor and was to ride to Leith today to see about hiring or purchasing it.”

  In the fading light, her eyes were little more than enlarged black pupils in colorless pools, yet he thought he had never known anyone with eyes so clear or a gaze so steady or so intense.

  “I see,” she said. “But why did Isobel care what you thought of Fife’s captain, and why did they look at each other so when you said he knows his business?”

  Impulse stirred to say that was his affair, not hers, but instinct warned him that to make a greater mystery of it would just inflame her curiosity.

  “I cannot speak for your sisters,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “But we have heard that Fife built his ship primarily to make trouble for Henry.”

  “Do you know what sort of trouble?”

  “We can guess,” he said, wondering how hard she would press him and trying to think what he could say that would not be a blatant snub or untruth.

  To his surprise, she nodded and said, “I expect Fife’s intent must be plain enough then, but doubtless we should say no more about that.”

  A nervous tickle stirred in his mind. “Why do you say that?”

  Her eyes widened. “Sakes, I did suppose that you must be wholly in Hugo’s and Rob’s confidence, and Michael’s, too. Are you not?”

  “I am, but I do not know why you should assume that.”

  “Because Hugo and Michael sent for you.”

  “Aye.” The tickle had become a tingling chill and was spreading. “So . . . ?”

  “So one must suppose,” she went on matter-of-factly, “that Fife seeks whatever you and the others found in the gorge, and that you mean to transport it to Girnigoe or somewhere more distant on your journey to the west.”