King of Storms

by Amanda Scott

  “Do you mean Lord Fife? We know he is there.”

  “Aye, but he’s lying all folded up by one o’ their bow kists, which is what I’m a-looking down at, ye ken. He looks like a bairn hiding when his da’s got a belt in hand. Sithee, his arms be over his ears, only . . . I think his hands be tied together.”

  She had heard men speak of Fife’s cowardice on the water, but she had never heard any suggest that he was a coward in battle—a bad tactician, yes, but a skilled and formidable swordsman. Doubtless, to be in the thick of such pandemonium with one’s hands tied would terrify anyone, but stirring up sympathy for Fife was difficult.

  “We can do naught to help him, Jake. Perhaps you should come back inside.”

  “Did I no’ tell ye I can near reach their stem? If ye’ll steady me, I can get to him. By me troth, I can. He were kind to me. I dinna want them villains to kill him.”

  “They may kill you instead. Did you think of that?”

  “Aye, sure, but nae one’s looking, nor will they care if they do. Every one o’ them be too busy amidships now, looking out for hisself. I’m going to help him!”

  He turned back and was two-thirds of the way out before she collected her wits, but as she grabbed one leg, he got the other foot on the rim of the porthole.

  Remembering how heavy he was, she realized as he pushed forward that if she held him she could lose him. Letting go, she scrambled onto the bench instead, meaning to help all she could, but she dared not put her head out as he had. She could only watch as he leaped to the stempost of the longship and scrambled down.

  When he landed she could still see his upper half, so doubtless he had jumped down onto the bow locker he had mentioned.

  He looked back then and pointed. It took a moment to grasp his meaning, but she realized he was pointing toward the cabin door and could not get back in any other way. He vanished seconds later, clearly confident that she would help.

  Fife had never known such terror. It had been frightening enough to wake up and find his men all dead and himself in the clutches of a madman, for surely de Gredin had to be mad to have done all he had done. But his men were no mere mortals, either, for no mortal could have rowed as hard or as long as they had and still stand to fight the way they fought now.

  Lying there by the forecastle storage locker, helpless, with the odor of smoke from a hastily covered firepot assaulting his nostrils, his only hope was to make them all think he was just another dead body in the gory chaos erupting around him.

  “Me lord, be ye dead or still a-breathing?”

  The youthful voice sounded close to his head. Easing away the arm covering that ear and then that eye, he found himself looking at young Jake Maxwell.

  “Bless us, what are you doing here, lad?”

  “I’d ask ye that, too, me lord, but I’m thinking we’d best get away from here afore we chat. I’ve me wee knife if ye’ll let me at them ropes.”

  Fife did not argue. Getting away sounded like an excellent idea, especially as he had no idea what had happened to his sword and had no other weapon to defend himself. As it was, a stray arrow or rock could mean the end of him.

  He could scarcely believe that none of the men fighting wildly around them were paying either of them heed. But the lad remained as cool as if he were in a cottage somewhere about to have his supper.

  When Fife was free, Jake said, “Ye can get onto the Serpent just yonder easily enough by climbing up from the longship’s gunwale and over hers. I think her ladyship’ll let ye into the master’s cabin then, and I’ll be along directly, m’self.”

  Keeping low, Fife moved with alacrity toward the gunwale. Most of the fighting had moved amidships and sternward, and if anyone noticed him, he saw no sign of it. Even if someone did, nearly everyone would recognize him and as he was unarmed, none were likely to concern themselves with him.

  Stepping to the longship gunwale, he leaned forward to grab the first step of the Serpent’s and hoisted himself up and over.

  When he saw Captain Maxwell lying near the helm, clearly injured or dead, he hesitated briefly, then hurried to the cabin door and knocked on it.

  At the first rap, Sidony shot the bolt back and lifted the latch. Seeing only Fife in the doorway, she said anxiously and without ceremony, “Where’s Jake?”

  Fife looked back and said, “I thought he was right behind me. His father is hurt, yonder. No, don’t go out there, mistress. We can accomplish naught thereby, and someone might decide we’d make fine hostages.”

  “But Jake!” When she tried to push past him, he stopped her.

  “He’ll come if he’s coming, for he’s a brave lad. I don’t know what kept him, for no one heeded us whilst he released me. But we cannot count on that now.”

  He stepped inside, and as he did, she whisked past him, disgusted with him and thinking only that if Maxwell was hurt, Jake might refuse to leave him.

  As she stepped outside, Jake jumped over the gunwale from the longship and ran toward her, casting anxious glances forward as he did and muttering, “Get ye within, me lady. Sir Giff will flay us both if he sees us!”

  He hadn’t seen his father, and knowing in that instant that Fife had been right to insist they keep out of sight of anyone who might think a hostage could aid him, Sidony grabbed Jake by the arm and hauled him back into the cabin.

  She said, “I was looking for you, you wretched bairn. What took you so long?”

  “I were just tidying up so they wouldna think o’ his lordship right off.”

  “Bolt that door again, will you, lass?” Fife said from the table nook. “I’d as lief we receive no unwelcome visitors.”

  Obeying but knowing she would be unwise to trust him no matter how badly he’d been treated, she said warily, “How came you to be tied up as you were?”

  “They killed all my men at Wick Bay after some of our ships grounded,” he said. “Since then, I’ve been a prisoner on that longship. I should tell you whilst I can that I had naught to do with your abduction, my lady. De Gredin simply seized what he saw as an opportunity to further his own cause. You see, although he told me he serves the Pope, apparently he serves other, much more villainous masters.”

  Surprised but still wary, she said, “He told you that he serves the Pope?”

  “Aye, he sought my aid to help him restore something his holiness believes belongs to him. De Gredin’s group has been looking for it now for many years, and I agreed to help them in the hope of finding a sacred item that I’ve been seeking.”

  “I see,” she said, believing he spoke of the Templar treasure in both cases but knowing she could not say so in front of Jake—or indeed, at all—and wondering why Fife had called it sacred.

  “Those men are killers, Lady Sidony, every one of them. De Gredin told me each of his men will die for him or for their terrible organization. If one of them failed to obey him, de Gredin would kill him without compunction. I thought I was a ruthless man, but these—they call themselves ‘assassins.’”

  “I’ve never heard that word before,” she said.

  “’Tis an old word from the Crusades, de Gredin said. It refers to a group formed to kill heads of tribes or states that displeased its leader. Since the only way one could get close enough to kill such powerful people was to die in the attempt, they were, and still are, promised great rewards in heaven just for trying. If they win today, I fear we are all doomed. They will not care that you are a lass or that I am who I am. Bless us, though, I should be out there with a sword in hand.”

  “Don’t be daft,” Sidony said. “Both sides would believe you their enemy.”

  “Are you looking for me, monsieur?”

  Whirling, sword slashing upward, Giff deflected a savage blow before he recognized de Gredin behind it. The man had come upon him from behind, taking advantage of the exact moment that Giff dispatched an opponent, to attack him.

  “You should have killed without warning me first,” Giff said, leaping to the attack with a daring thru
st.

  Parrying it with a blow hard enough to make Giff’s sword ring, de Gredin said, “Ah, but that would be unsporting, would it not? And I do so enjoy le sport.”

  A shout from the bow raised other shouts, and Giff heard Hob Grant’s voice above the others, bellowing, “Ships ahead, sir!”

  De Gredin glanced forward, and Giff took his moment, bringing his sword up under the other man’s with all his strength and sending it into the sea.

  “Yield,” he snapped as de Gredin looked at him. Instead the man leaped at him, but Giff ducked, lowered his blade, and with the sword’s hilt still in one hand, threw both hands up and heaved de Gredin into the sea, as well.

  All around him, men were looking at the ships heading toward them from Kyle Akin. One was well ahead of many others, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the leader’s banner, hoping it was Ranald and not more trouble.

  The banner was white. The device was red, a heart with a nail piercing it.

  The MacLennan banner.

  Sidony heard all the shouting but could make out no clear words.

  Fife, still clearly recovering from his ordeal, sat on the aft bench with his forearms on the table, apparently contemplating his folded hands.

  Jake stepped on the other bench and put his head out the porthole.

  “Is that how the lad came to find me?” Fife asked Sidony.

  “Aye,” she said. Then, realizing that she had not been treating him with the respect he doubtless expected, added hastily, “my lord.”

  He gave her a wry smile. “My enemies would think this dreadful voyage no more than a salutary lesson for me. I’d not blame you if you were one of them.”

  She thought it better not to reply to that.

  Jake pulled out of the porthole. “There be ships coming, hundreds of them!”

  “Hundreds?” Sidony said doubtfully.

  “Aye, well, more than I’ve ever seen at once afore.”

  “’Tis Donald then,” Fife said. “De Gredin will not wait to meet him with only two longships. The others he had all sank or wrecked in the storm.”

  “Coo, the first one be a-flying a banner like ours from Sir Giff’s mam,” Jake said. “And them what attacked us be a-fishing one o’ their own out o’ the sea.”

  Sidony had grabbed the bolt with one hand and the latch with the other before she recalled Giff’s threat to teach her obedience in some dreadful way if she and Jake did not hide themselves in the horrid little hold until he came for them.

  As she hesitated, Jake said, “The one they fished out be the man as did come to the harbor wi’ ye that day, me lord.”

  “De Gredin,” Fife said in a near growl. “I hope he drowns.”

  “Aye, well, he might yet,” Jake said. “They be pulling him onto the boat ye was on, and they’ve untied it from this ’un. I think they’ll all be a-going now.”

  Heavy pounding on the door made Sidony jump, but she threw the bolt and opened it to Giff. Catching her in his arms, he pulled her close, murmuring against her hair, “Mighty quick with the door for someone hiding under the floor, my lass.”

  “Aye, sir,” she said. “Jake said that de Gredin fell into the sea and that the lead ship bears the MacLennan banner. Is it your father?”

  “Sakes, it is well nigh every man in the Isles, I think, but my father is in the lead. What the devil is he doing here?” He pushed her aside and stepped between her and Fife, who had come to his feet.

  “Pax, MacLennan,” the earl said, extending a hand. “Although you don’t know it yet, I owe you a debt of gratitude, because de Gredin was holding me prisoner. Had Jake Maxwell not cut me free, I’d still be tied up on de Gredin’s longboat.”

  “I see that I’m going to want to hear this tale,” Giff said with a look first at Jake and then at Sidony that boded well for neither. “Just now, though, my lord, if you truly want to express your gratitude, I’d ask you to come with me to the stern hold. This way, and quickly, if you please.”

  Clearly curious, Fife followed him. Sidony and Jake followed, too, and she saw that both ships flanking the Serpent had pulled away. The one on the larboard side was in difficulty, having plainly sprung numerous leaks, but as its oarsmen yelled for help, de Gredin’s ship pulled rapidly away, raising its sail as it went.

  Giff motioned to two men to follow him and Fife, and shouted to Hob Grant, “Keep an eye on the men in that sinking boat and pull out anyone who needs help. Where do you think you are going?” he added sternly, looking at Sidony and Jake.

  “With you,” she said firmly.

  “Aye,” Jake said just as firmly.

  Giff hesitated, then said with a gesture, “Jake, your father was injured, yonder. Men are seeing to him, and he said he just clouted his head, but you—”

  He got no further, for the boy had spun on his heel and dashed away.

  “Come on then, sweetheart,” Giff said. “My lord, I am Giffard MacLennan, and this is my lady wife, who is the daughter of Macleod of Glenelg.”

  “I know who you are, Sir Giffard. Where are you taking me?”

  “To see what I believe you have been hoping to see,” Giff said.

  Sidony nearly gasped in her astonishment, but she followed them silently down into the stern hold, to the crate that had interested her so at Duncraig.

  Giff told the two men who had followed them to open the stern port.

  “Good,” he said, peering out. “Men can see us as clearly from de Gredin’s longboat as from Donald’s flotilla. My lord, we’d be glad of your help with this.”

  “What do you mean?” Fife demanded. “What do you mean to do?”

  “To push it into the sea,” Giff said. “It’s served its purpose, and as I am now a married man, I do not want the world hunting me to see what I carry on my ship.”

  “But—”

  “You there,” Giff said to one of his men. “Open the crate so his lordship can see for himself what it contains.”

  Without a word, the man grabbed a pry bar and detached the lid.

  Sidony, already biting her tongue, now held her breath.

  “Bless us, but this is just rubble!” Fife exclaimed.

  “Aye, sir, and I mean to tip it into the sea. Have you any objection?”

  She exhaled, glad she had managed not even to squeak in protest.

  “None, if it contains only what I can see, but where is the—?”

  “This is the only large crate aboard,” Giff said. “You have my word that it is all we carry that might interest you, but you may search the ship for yourself if you like. As I said, I’d like to end this farce here and now. Will you help me?”

  “Then it was a damned ruse,” Fife said with a grimace.

  “Call it whatever you like,” Giff said. “I’m told that you and your men spent most of the past year making nuisances of yourselves to annoy a number of folks. Is it any wonder if some of the victims of that harassment saw fit to pay you back?”

  “But what will you accomplish by pushing it into the sea?”

  “Thanks to your pursuit, Donald has also taken interest in my cargo—”

  “Bless me, we thought you were taking it to Donald!”

  “I had no such intent,” Giff said. “But, knowing you were after us, he came to meet us, determined to see it. I turned back when I saw him, so doubtless he now thinks much as you did. If he sees you help me push it overboard, he is less likely to go on believing such stuff, whilst de Gredin will think I’m dumping it to spite him.”

  “I’ll help,” Fife said. “Mayhap de Gredin will return and try to retrieve it from the sea. If his men want to die serving him, let them, or let Donald hang them all.”

  Sidony said nothing, but she knew now why Giff had sent Jake away. The lad would have had no cause to conceal his shock at seeing only rubble in the crate.

  “Fasten that lid down,” Giff told the man with the pry bar. “They are close enough to see what spills out.” A short time later, with a great splash, they sent the crat
e to the bottom of the Sound, then shut and locked the stern port.

  As they made their way topside again, Giff said to Fife, “’Tis a fine ship, my lord. I expect you’d like it back again now.”

  Fife winced. “I should hang you for stealing it, but in troth, I don’t want to spend any more time on the water than I must to get home,” he said. “Also, as I said before, I do owe you a debt of gratitude. Mayhap, you and I and Donald can draw up an accord that would allow you to keep her here in the Isles to serve Scotland.”

  “Fair enough,” Giff said. As they stepped into the open again, he saw that his father’s longboat had come alongside and the laird was boarding the Serpent. “Are you acquainted with my lord father, sir?”

  Before Fife could reply, MacLennan strode forward and gripped the hand Giff extended, only to pull him into a bearlike embrace. “Sakes, lad,” he said, “ye could ha’ knocked me down with a broom straw when I saw yon banner.”

  “I was surprised to see you, too, sir, leading all the others. I’d thought—”

  “I ken fine what ye thought, for your mam’s told me time and again, and I’m thinking we were both fools. But I were the worse one, for ye were but a lad and I ought to ha’ known better. As for being in the lead, I warrant Donald will say a word about that, but when Ranald told us ye meant to rescue his lordship here—”

  “Rescue!” Fife exclaimed. “You knew de Gredin was holding me prisoner?”

  “I believed it likely,” Giff said, thinking it more tactful under the circumstances to avoid mentioning that, even so, he had not thought for a moment about rescuing Fife. Therefore, he added only, “I knew you did not command your own ship, and we had seen de Gredin with you. Logan of Lestalric and the Sinclairs having dealt with him before, it seemed likely that he had played you false.”

  “I see,” Fife said. “It is not my nature to act in haste, but he said he served the Pope, so I believed he had good cause to do all he had vowed. I have since come to wonder if he ever had aught to do with his holiness.”