Tempest in the Highlands (The Scottish Relic Trilogy)

by May McGoldrick

  Rob’s gaze moved over Gavin. The breeches, the boots, the tunic—they all seemed too big for the boy. Between the hair plastered over his eyes and the collar of the tunic swallowing up his chin, the lad’s face was barely visible. Whoever gave him the clothes had great expectations that he would grow into them.

  “Can you feel the heat of the fire there?”

  The lad nodded. His mouth and nose were now tucked behind the tops of his knees.

  Rob remembered seeing the boy on deck before he’d been washed overboard. Gavin had been holding on to a sailor’s leg with all his strength until Rob arrived to help.

  “What’s your job on my ship?”

  “Kitchen help.”

  Kitchen help, he thought, and here he’d ordered him to climb into the rigging of a tempest-tossed ship. Gavin sounded as young as he looked, too.

  Rob added a couple of the larger pieces of wood, and in a moment, the flames climbed higher. A flash lit the mouth of the cave, followed by a crack of thunder. The rain still beat down. He removed one of his boots, emptied the water out of it, and then did the same with the other. He placed them by the fire before turning his attention back to the lad.

  “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen, Captain.”

  Rob had no doubt he was lying. “You look younger than that.”

  “It’s the truth,” he said, sounding disgruntled. “Turned nineteen this summer.”

  Rob pulled off his leather jerkin, spreading it on the rocks near him. Peeling off his shirt, he squeezed the water out of it and held it up to the fire.

  “Get yourself dry. It’ll be a long, cold night otherwise.”

  Gavin shrugged. He had now nearly disappeared behind the knees. Nineteen or not, the boy was brave enough to act and strong enough to swim through heavy seas. He was the only reason the two of them were alive.

  Rob’s gaze moved to Gavin’s small hands and thin fingers gathering his legs close to his body. It was hard, physical work on a crew. Everyone on Rob’s ship was broad and tall, with cannonballs for fists. And then there was this one.

  “On deck during the storm, that was the first time I saw you. Where did you come aboard?”

  Gavin mumbled something.

  “Speak up,” Rob ordered.

  “I am speaking up, Captain.” Chattering teeth affected the boy’s words.

  Rob spread his shirt next to the jerkin and stretched his legs out close to the fire. “Where did we pick you up?”

  “Tarbert Castle.”

  The voice was so faint that Rob wasn’t sure he’d heard the answer. Like a turtle, Gavin had pulled his face almost entirely into the collar of his tunic. The only thing visible was the mop of wet blond hair.

  He didn’t recall adding any crew at Tarbert. But the mate and the cook could have brought the lad aboard for kitchen crew without informing him.

  “Did you work in the kitchens there?” Whatever it was Gavin said, Rob couldn’t hear the reply. “Get your head out of your arse and answer me when I speak to you. I asked if you were working in the kitchens at Tarbert Castle.”

  The face reappeared slowly until Rob glimpsed the lad’s eyes. Gavin ran a weary hand down his face as it surfaced from the shirt. He combed his hand into the hair, pulling it down across the eyes.

  “Are you ever going to answer?” Rob asked.

  “Why should I, when you already know the answer?”

  Rob stared for a moment at the raised chin, at the flash of the challenge in the eyes. He smiled. “Impudent little bastard, aren’t you?”

  Gavin said nothing. It looked like the fire was bringing some color back into the dirty but pale face.

  “Were you there when the Englishmen came?”

  Gavin shook his head. “I was at the mill with the castle’s grain when they sailed in.”

  “Lucky for you.”

  The boy’s face disappeared again.

  Rob shrugged, turning his thoughts to more important matters—namely, his mission. The first priority was to find out where he was and get back on his ship, if it was still afloat. He considered what he’d learned from the priest. Maybe the boy knew more.

  “Gavin,” he said. “The laird’s wife. Did you know her?”

  The thin arms hugged the bony knees a little tighter. Gavin nodded.

  “What can you tell me about her?” Rob asked.

  “She’s dead. What is there to tell?”

  Rob detected a note of annoyance in the boy’s voice. “Did you have any dealings with her? Did she run the affairs of the castle?”

  “All of that,” he said. “But she was very sick, and there was little of her that anyone saw.”

  Rob stretched out beside the fire, leaning on an elbow. Evers arrived at Tarbert looking for this woman. Why?

  “What was special about her?” he asked.

  Another shrug. “She was kind . . . a gentle soul. The castle and village folk all loved her. Everyone loved her.”

  As much as Rob hated to acknowledge it, all the rumors seemed to indicate that something mysterious was driving Evers. “What else? Did she have any . . . I don’t know . . . was the woman a witch?”

  “So much like an Englishman,” Gavin snapped. “I say our folks liked her and you taint her good name after she’s gone to her Maker. Why do you talk nonsense, Captain?”

  Rob frowned at the boy, trying to hide his amusement. There was certainly no fear. No regard for authority, either. No problem speaking his mind. He might have treated Gavin differently if they were on board the Peregrine, but not here. The lad had saved his life.

  “Maybe not a witch, then. But did she have a special gift? Some . . . I don’t know. Did she act different?”

  The lad gave a quick shake of the head. “Nothing like that. If there was something about her, folk would have known about it, and I’d have heard talk. People love to spread rumors, and I heard no such rumors.”

  “And how long did you work there?”

  “Since I was a wee thing.”

  Rob bit his tongue, trying not to say Gavin was still a wee thing. “Why? No family?”

  The lad moved a little closer to the fire. The flames snapped. “My mother worked in the castle. I came with her as a youngster and stayed.”

  “Where’s your family now?”

  “All dead.”

  Rob stretched and shifted until he had a view of the young man’s face. This made sense. It was only natural that he’d want to leave Tarbert Castle, especially after the attack.

  “You must have known Miranda, the laird’s daughter.”

  Gavin shrugged. “I’ve seen her.”

  “The priest told me she was nineteen.” Rob let the words sink in. He still didn’t believe the boy was that old.

  Gavin slid back from the fire and sat back against the cave wall. Folding his hands, he rested his elbows on his knees, putting his face in shadow.

  “So you two are the same age.”

  “Aye. Miranda and me and Auld Maud’s cow at the edge of the village. That old girl’s nineteen, as well.”

  Rob understood why his first mate or cook would hire a lad like him. If nothing else, he was entertaining. “Did you grow up together? You and Miranda . . . not the cow.”

  “I was in the kitchen; she in the tower house. That’s not growing up together.”

  “But you had to know her, see her, have a good idea of what she was about.”

  The shrug was beginning to get on Rob’s nerves. But he didn’t have it in him to snap at the lad. “Tell me about her.”

  “By the Virgin,” Gavin replied testily. “What do you want to know?”

  “What does she look like?”

  “Like any lass.”

  “That’s very helpful.”

  “She has a nose, two ears, a pair of eyes, and a mouth.”

  “Excellent. I have a clear image of her now.” Rob rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling of the cave, shaking his head in amusement. “But maybe you can be a bit more spec
ific.”

  “I don’t know what you want to know.”

  “Her hair. What color?”

  “Black. Not like a raven, but more like the laird’s prize sow. Nay, not even that. More like soot on the snow, before it melts.”

  Rob coughed, hiding the laugh. “And her eyes?”

  “Dark like midnight. Maybe not that dark. Dark like the blacksmith’s ass. Well, like the eyes of his ass. But not so blurry. He’s an old ass, you see.”

  “Kitchen help?” Rob asked. “Are you sure you weren’t the laird’s jester?”

  There was a pause. “Any jester would have starved trying to make the laird laugh.”

  “So I understand.” He remembered what the priest told him about Angus MacDonnell. “But the daughter, is she a bonnie lass?”

  “Only if you’d call a mangy dog bonnie. But even then, she might only be thought passing fair.”

  Rob looked across the fire at the young rascal and smiled. He liked the boy. “Why did the lass run away?”

  “And how would I know that?”

  Exhaustion was catching up to him. Rob felt his eyes closing, but he kept on. “There had to be some kind of talk in the castle, at least rumors, when she ran off. The mother was sick and needed her help, but this Miranda—who the priest says always cared for her and was a loving daughter—runs away. Why?”

  There was a lengthy pause before Gavin answered. “She eloped.”

  “Eloped.” Rob glanced at the boy. “With whom?”

  “How should I know? But the talk in the kitchen was that she ran away with someone the laird didn’t approve of.”

  “You just said she was as ugly as a dog.”

  Gavin snorted. “All the more reason. That suitor must have been the first one to sing Miranda’s praises. Or he was blind. He couldn’t have been any prize himself, I shouldn’t think. Anyway, I’m sure she never came down to the kitchens to ask my advice on the matter.”

  Rob yawned. Clearly, he was not going to get much information out of the boy about Miranda.

  “Take your tunic off. Lay it out here next to the fire to dry, and get some sleep,” he ordered. “At the first light of the day, we’ll be climbing the cliffs outside. I need you rested. Hear me?”

  Gavin scrambled to his feet and headed for the cave opening.

  “Where are you going?” asked Rob.

  “Gather more wood for the fire. This won’t last us the night.”

  Rob watched the boy’s back as he disappeared into the rain. There was something peculiar about the lad, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  Chapter 4

  The next morning showed some improvement in the weather, though it still looked dark and threatening. At least for the moment it wasn’t storming as it had been.

  The cool, salty air felt good on her face as Miranda stepped outside. The cave was smoky now, but that wasn’t the reason why she was relieved.

  She was a grown woman, but never had she been alone with anyone as striking as Black Hawk. His face was a chiseled perfection of strong chin, high cheekbones, and straight nose. There were no scars marring the browned skin. And the rest of him? The man was built like a god—from his broad shoulders and smooth, sinewy muscles to his hard, flat stomach. Thank the Virgin he’d kept his breeches on.

  Lying on the far side of the fire, Miranda had spent the entire night trying not to look at the man. At the same time, she was troubled by his questions about her mother and herself. She didn’t know why he’d come to Tarbert Castle. What did he want? And why was he interested in knowing what she looked like—or where she’d gone? Was he after her? Did he want the same thing that the other Englishman, Evers, was after? Was it the stone he wanted? She unconsciously touched the pouch at her belt. Was there more about Black Hawk that her mother had failed to see?

  Right now, the man was still asleep. She put her cool palms to her heated cheeks and climbed down off the ledge to the thin strip of sand and stone.

  The task of finding her brother and seeking shelter with him was at the heart of what Muirne had wanted. It was the reason Miranda had boarded the Peregrine. And with regard to Hawk, her mother’s prophecies didn’t matter. Miranda was the one who was alone with him.

  She didn’t trust men. She had no reason to. She had too many scars from the volatile temperament of her father. She’d seen him raise his hand to her mother too many times. In the guise of Gavin, she was brave enough to handle it. But as herself, Miranda’s courage failed. She needed to retain this ruse of being a lad.

  Last night, the tide had covered this beach. The water had come right up to the stone ledge beneath the cave opening.

  Looking off into the distance, the rumbling sea and gray sky blended together, and Miranda could see no sign of any shipwreck. Cliffs at either end of the beach jutted far out into the sea. She looked up at the bluffs above the cave. Fog and mist hung low, concealing the upper reaches like the lid of a pot. She hoped there were people living above them, folk who would help Black Hawk reunite with his men and ship. She had to get to Duart Castle. She hadn’t told the captain last night, but that was where she’d be leaving him.

  Miranda’s thoughts turned to her brother Gavin. It still amazed her. She had a brother, and he was living at Duart Castle. A thrill of joy ran through her. She wasn’t alone in this world. She couldn’t believe that for her entire life she’d never known she had a twin. Her mother had only told her the truth during their last days together. She’d also been told that Gavin had no idea that he had a sister. That was a snag they would deal with when she found him.

  Miranda’s stomach growled, and she watched a seabird dive into the water not far from shore, coming up with a small fish that he swallowed whole.

  “You make it look so easy,” she murmured.

  She walked to a pool of water within a ring of boulders, searching for anything to appease her hunger. Her instinct paid off. Amid the seaweed and sea snails, oysters by the thousands clung to the rocks. Using the front of her tunic like an apron, she collected scores of the rough-shelled creatures and carried them to the edge of the beach. She had enough to feed both herself and Black Hawk, but opening them was another matter.

  Crouching down next to her treasures, Miranda used the edge of her knife to pry one open. She had little success with it. She cut her hand twice before sitting back and trying to calm herself.

  She felt like a fool. How could she have grown up eating oysters like these and never opened one herself? She’d seen others pry them open many a time.

  She went back to work, finally cracking one open and cutting herself again.

  “Damnation,” she swore.

  “Did you say you worked in the kitchens?”

  Miranda jumped, her heart racing in her chest. She hadn’t seen him come out of the cave. He towered over her. She offered him the oyster.

  He took the half shell from her, but his other hand trapped her wrist, holding it as he sucked down the oyster.

  “You’re bleeding like a stuck pig.”

  She didn’t respond. In her mind’s eye, Miranda saw rocks tumbling down the slope of the bluffs above and taking him along with them.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head and yanked her wrist from his grasp. She washed her bloody hand in the tidal pool, wincing at the sting of salt water. With her back to him, she took fistfuls of sand and rubbed it on her cheeks. She pulled the hanks of hair down over her eyes and washed her hands again before pushing to her feet.

  Black Hawk was helping himself to the other oysters, expertly slipping his blade in and cutting the muscle holding the shell closed.

  She frowned, recalling what she’d just seen. He was going to die. Again. The man was nothing but trouble, she thought. She looked out at the sea and up at the steep bluffs. That was their only way out of here.

  “This is how you open them,” he said.

  “I know how,” she said under her breath, again remembering all those plates of opene
d shellfish that had simply appeared on the laird’s table. She stabbed herself trying to pry open the next one.

  Miranda didn’t complain when he opened a half dozen and handed them to her.

  “I’m still surprised Cook brought you aboard.” He stood and gave her the once-over. “You’re a scrawny thing.”

  No one had hired her on. She’d climbed aboard and hidden in the hold. Once at sea she went to the galley and told the cook the first mate had hired her. Happy to have the help, he put her to work. With more than a hundred men on board, Miranda decided it was worth the risk if she could get to Duart Castle. She hadn’t expected the storm.

  “I’m strong and a good swimmer,” she said.

  “That I’ll grant you.”

  Black Hawk turned his attention to the bluffs, sizing up the situation. She stood by him. This morning his hair was tied at the nape of his neck. Thankfully, he had his shirt and jerkin back on.

  “You stay here,” he said. “I’ll climb to the top. Maybe I’ll be able to see if Peregrine weathered that gale.”

  “I can climb as well as I can swim, Captain. I’ll keep up.”

  He threw her a look over his shoulder. He wasn’t convinced, but shrugged. “Good. I won’t have to come back down after you.”

  That’s true, she thought. He wouldn’t. She’d be collecting his bones at the bottom if she couldn’t save him.

  He pointed at an eroded portion of the cliff. It looked to offer a slightly easier climb than going up the sheer rock face. “We’ll try there.”

  At the base of it, she kicked at the ground and looked up at the mists above them. “The stone here is soft. That’s why it’s crumbled.”

  “So you’re an expert at this?”

  She shrugged. She was expert enough to know he would be knocked off this cliff if she didn’t intervene. But she had no say in the decision.

  “Very well, then. Follow me.” He started up the incline.

  She wasn’t about to stay behind him. Miranda scrambled up the face of the bluff. In no time at all, she was beside him, an arm’s length away as they moved steadily upward. The best position would be ahead of him, she knew. From there, she could warn him of any falling debris and rock. But she also knew the man wouldn’t allow her to go ahead.