“Father, let us go into the library,” Stephen said hastily, with a sidelong glance at his mother. “There’s much to discuss, and I’m sure Mother doesn’t want to hear all the boring details of ship-this and ship-that.”
“You’re entirely correct. I’ll go help Clara with the tea and we’ll see you in the parlor at half past the hour.”
She bustled off and Angus began to frown. “I asked ye, Stephen, where’s my ship?”
“Father…a lot has happened since we left Baltimore and we’re lucky to be alive.” As thunderclouds gathered on his father’s brow, he rushed to give a much-abbreviated version of what had happened.
Angus listened, open-mouthed.
“Pirates? Being held captive on an island? And how do you figure into it, Captain Merrick?” demanded the Scotsman as he turned and, gesturing with his pipe, indicated they follow him to the library.
“Captain Merrick saved our lives,” Rosalie put in before Kieran could speak as they hurried after Angus. “He came along after we were captured and retook the ship and then brought me to the island where we rescued what was left of our men.”
“What d’ye mean, ‘what was left of our men?’”
“The pirates…they killed most of the crew, Father,” Stephen said soberly.
Angus McCormack stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”
“And Captain Merrick saved us all,” Rosalie hastened to remind him.
“And that explains why ye’ve got calf-eyes over him?”
“Father!”
“I ain’t blind, lass,” he said. “And you two have a lot to be answering for. Him, too,” he added, with a dire glance at Kieran. “Susan says ye’re a privateer. What kind of ship d’ye have, lad?”
“A topsail sloop.”
“Where’s yer home port?”
“Newburyport, in Massachusetts.”
“How many prizes did ye take with her in this cruise?”
“None.”
“None?” Angus scowled and yanked his pipe from between his teeth. “What the devil kind of a privateer are ye, lad?”
Rosalie piped up. “Now Father, that is entirely not fair, you haven’t heard the entirety of our story just yet.”
“Not yer story I want to hear, ’tis his.”
“Captain Merrick owes you no explanations about his business any more than you owe him any for yours.”
“Fair enough. But now my curiosity’s aroused and it willnae be satisfied ’til I get an answer. Ye got an answer for me, lad?”
Kieran, quietly watching this exchange, had thought Mrs. McCormack was a force of nature but it was obvious that her husband was on equal footing with her. But he’d been raised with strong characters, himself. He was the son of Mira Ashton Merrick…and the grandson of her blustery father, Ephraim, who wasn’t all that unlike this brash and unpretentious Scot.
“It is quite all right, Rosalie,” he said. “Your father has every right to ask such questions.”
The bright red head spun around yet again. “Just how familiar are the two of ye, if ye’re callin’ the lassie by her Christian name, eh?”
“I gave him leave to use it!” Rosalie flared.
“What?”
Kieran, aware of Liam’s barely-contained laughter, tried to maintain a serious and sober face. “Your daughter and I have become quite well acquainted during our ordeal, sir. With your permission, I would like to court her.”
“Court her? Ye’ve only just met her!”
“And I am enchanted by her.”
“What can ye offer her?”
“Father!” cried Rosalie, mortified.
Stephen glanced in the direction his mother had gone. “Honestly, can we have this discussion behind closed doors?”
“Then get into the library and close the damned door!”
Kieran found himself in a lavishly appointed room that smelled pleasantly of pipe smoke, leather, and beeswax. There were a few bookcases, lots of paintings of ships and some pastoral scenes of what he assumed was Scotland. The walls were painted in pale ivory, the rug expensive and probably an import from the Orient. There were some portraits of fierce-looking, ginger-haired people on the walls in clothing made fashionable in the prior century, a glass tray in which rested yet another pipe, and several large, bound books on an imposing desk of dark mahogany.
Angus, pipe firmly clenched between his teeth, went straight to a cabinet, brought out a large bottle of whiskey and started pouring. “Share a glass with me, Captain Merrick?”
“I don’t imbibe.”
Again, Angus yanked the pipe from his mouth. “What d’ye mean, you don’t imbibe? Ye call yerself a privateer but didn’t take any prizes. Ye call yerself a mariner and ye don’t drink? What the devil kind of mon are ye?”
Liam, who’d remained uncharacteristically silent during the exchange, stepped in. “I’ll drink it for him.”
Angus handed him the glass and poured another for Stephen. “What are ye, Irish?”
“Aye, and right proud of it, I am.”
Angus raised his glass in silent toast. “Well then, glad one of ye’s a drinking mon. Does a body good, it does. Puts hair on yer chest. You lad,” he said, gesturing with his glass at Kieran. “What’s yer quibble with whiskey? Got no head for drink?”
“Father, leave Captain Merrick alone, would you?” Stephen said, plopping into a chair. “You’re being rude.”
“Mon’s got a right to know more about a lad who wants to court his daughter. So what’s your quibble with spirits, eh, Merrick? You a mean drunk?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.” Kieran shrugged, thankful that he didn’t have a temper and wondering if this man’s brazen manner was meant to test him. “I’ve never been soused.”
“Never been soused? Don’t ken what ye’re missing, ye don’t,” Angus said, tossing back his drink as though to prove that real men imbibed, and freely at that. “Ye’re with friends.” He seized the bottle to refill his glass. “Ye get a little foxed, we’ll take care of ye.”
“With all due respect, sir, if I have so much as a sip of what I’m sure is most excellent whiskey, I’ll need more than my friends to take care of me. A doctor, perhaps. Or—”
“An undertaker, more like,” Liam chirped, downing his own glass.
“Liam, please,” Kieran said.
“His own brother tried to get him soused once,” Liam continued, as Kieran rubbed uselessly at his brow. “Couldn’t get him past a single mug of beer. Poor laddie here was sick for three days, thought he was going to vomit up the Atlantic the way he was goin’. Takes after his da, he does. He couldn’t tolerate spirits either and a strong man from Connaught he was, too. In fact—”
“I’ll take coffee if you have it,” Kieran said, with a quelling glance at Liam. “The blacker the better.”
Angus rang for coffee. He looked at Kieran and screwed up his face in puzzlement. “Yer da was Irish and couldn’t drink?”
“Half Irish,” Kieran said. “His father was English.”
“Och, that explains things, it does. Nothing good ever came from English blood, I say. And Merrick, ain’t that a west country name?”
“My grandfather was from Cornwall.”
Angus tapped out his pipe and began to refill it. “Ah, well, Cornish, that’s different, not like he was a Londoner or from some other ‘Englishy’ part of England if ye ken what I mean. Cornish. Aye, I’ll take it. Merrick, though. Merrick…name’s familiar to me.” He looked askance at Kieran. “Yer da, was he a mariner?”
Liam jumped in before Kieran could answer. “Best there ever was.”
Angus paused, pipe in hand and eyeing him closely. “Seems to me there was a Merrick back during the last war, though he was from Connaught…a privateer, if I remember right. Name was in the papers all the time. Made himself quite famous with a schooner named Petrel.”
“Kestrel.” Kieran felt the inevitable cloud of sorrow come over him. “Her name was Kestrel.”
“That yer da?”
Angus’s scorn at Kieran’s admission that he didn’t drink, that he hadn’t taken a prize, instantly vanished, and a look of surprise and admiration entered his canny blue eyes. “That Merrick?”
“Yes, sir. That Merrick.”
“Well now, seeing as how ye were sired by such a worthy fellow, I think I can forgive ye yer abstinence, lad. How’s yer father doing, eh? He hale and hearty, giving the English what they’ve got coming to ’em?”
Kieran found a sudden interest in a pattern on the rug beneath his feet. “I regret to say that my father perished in a shipwreck a few months past. As did my mother.”
Angus looked as though he’d come up against a brick wall, face-first. His ruddy complexion reddened yet further and impatiently he glanced toward the door, looking for the servant to bring in the coffee he’d rang for. “Ah, well, now…that’s a shame, laddie. A damned shame. I’m sorry.”
“As you say, my father was a mariner,” he said quietly. “He knew and accepted the risks.”
“So what happened, then?”
“An encounter with pirates,” Kieran said. “An old ship, a short crew, a well-placed ball beneath the waterline and bad luck.”
And my brother’s recklessness.
A servant was bringing in a tray with a coffee pot, mugs and a plate of small cakes, which Rosalie jumped up to take. She quickly poured a cup and handed it to Kieran, took another for herself, and sat beside him on the sofa. His thigh warmed with awareness of her. His heart began to thump, and he longed to reach out and take her hand. But no, that wasn’t yet appropriate. Instead, he wrapped his hands around the mug, forcing aside the torrent of sudden emotions this conversation had brought on, and took a sip. The coffee was good and dark, freshly roasted and a far cry from what he’d had to make do with at sea.
“So tell me what happened, all of it, now that we’ve got five minutes of peace and quiet before yer mother returns.” Angus looked at the three of them in turn. “And don’t spare the details.”
Stephen stepped in to relate their tale to his father, beginning with Penelope’s loss to pirates, his and his remaining crew’s incarceration on the pirate island and their rescue by Kieran Merrick. Kieran himself said little, sipping his coffee and allowing Rosalie to fill in the details, Liam to add his own account of things, Stephen to recount the cruelties that Escobar and his men had practiced upon his crew. He felt infinitely weary, despite the coffee—a brew that had never been successful in keeping him awake and alert.
Angus took a long drag on his pipe. “So what are ye going to do, Merrick?” he asked, eyeing him narrowly. “Seems ye took a prize after all. Mine. Where’d ye send her?”
“Mobile.”
“Any of those blasted pirates still aboard her?”
“Several, including Escobar’s brother. I’m sure the authorities in Mobile will be happy to deal with them.”
“Well, I’ll get her back, t’ be sure. As long as no others were killed…ships, they can be replaced, lives can’t. I’m just glad ye brought my son and daughter back to me safe and sound. I’ll stop hounding ye about the lack of prizes and the fact ye don’t drink. But answer me this.” He leaned close, elbows on knees, pipe in one hand, and regarded Kieran closely. “What really happened to your cheek, lad?”
Kieran returned his stare with perfect calm. “As I’ve already stated, an unfortunate collision with a mast.”
Liam accepted a third glass of whiskey from their host. “Well now, actually, what really happened—”
“Liam,” Kieran warned, and sensed Rosalie grinning beside him, no doubt amused by how often Kieran had to keep his old friend firmly in check. But at that moment Susannah returned, and he was spared the embarrassment of relating the tale. He and the other men rose to their feet as she swept into the room and took a seat, her eyes lively and bright.
“Angus, you’ve had quite enough time with our guests to interrogate and annoy them and now it is my turn. I’ve just sent off an invitation to your sister Annis to join us, and of course Penelope will be back from her visit with the Benning sisters later this afternoon so we shall have quite the gathering tonight. You will stay, Captain Merrick? Mr. Doherty? And you, Captain, pardon my saying so but you look quite fatigued; I’m sure you’re not used to our heat and it most certainly does take a toll on a person. It is quite the done thing to rest in the afternoon during the warmer months, and I’ve had Clara prepare rooms for you and Mr. Doherty both, should you like to refresh yourselves before dinner.”
Kieran thought he would very much like to stay right here on the sofa with Rosalie, but a bit of a rest would not be unwelcome, especially if a long evening was planned.
“I am most grateful, Mrs. McCormack,” he said, inclining his head and thinking there was more to Susannah’s superficial effervescence than met the eye. And while Rosalie’s parents were friendly and hospitable, their abundance of energy drained his own and made him long for an hour or two alone. “Your offer is most kind.”
“And you, Mr. Doherty?”
“I’d be delighted,” Liam said.
Susannah noted how close her daughter was sitting to Kieran, crooked a finger at her and bade her to follow her out of the room, leaving the four men together. Stephen stifled a yawn. “I’m going up, myself,” he said. “Come on, I’ll show you to your rooms.”
Liam stood up, a hand on his back. “Well now, a nap sounds as good right now as a cloud floating across the heavens.”
Kieran watched them go. Angus had not moved from his chair, his eyes narrowed as he regarded Kieran, who had stayed behind.
“Got something to say to me, laddie?” he asked, taking a long pull on the pipe.
“I do.” Kieran met his gaze. “You inquired about my injuries. They were received in a fight with your son’s abductors and our captors, who were also responsible, indirectly, for the loss of my parents.” His voice hardened. “I didn’t have enough man- or ship-power to exterminate these vermin for the blight that they are, so it is my intention to replenish my crew, return to that island, and blast the living daylights out of every last one of them.”
Angus stuck the stem of his pipe in his mouth and chewed thoughtfully, his eyes gleaming. “Reckon ye could use some extra men and ships?”
Kieran regarded him levelly. “I reckon I could.”
“Because I have a score to settle, too. Those were my men who died.”
“Mine, too.”
“Lots of families here lost a son, a brother, a father, an uncle to those bastards. They’ll want vengeance.”
“I’m happy to give them the chance to obtain it.”
“Very well then. So we have an understanding.”
“Yes, but there’s one other matter left unsettled.”
Angus’s crafty grin spread. “And that is?”
“Earlier, I asked permission to court your beautiful daughter. You have yet to give me your answer.”
The Scot threw back his head and laughed. “Ye’re a persistent sort, and here I thought we’d scared ye off.”
Kieran’s lips twitched. “And your answer sir?”
“By all means, Captain. Ye have my blessing.”
Chapter 22
Angus himself showed Kieran to an upstairs bedroom with high ceilings and tall windows. The door slammed behind him. The Scot’s heavy tread had barely retreated before Kieran was stripping away his clothing, folding his shirt, waistcoat and pantaloons and placing them in a chair. He washed his face from the bowl and pitcher set in the corner. He wondered where Rosalie was, and if her mother was firing questions at her with the speed of a frigate at war. He suspected she probably was. He tried not to think about that; he’d find out soon enough.
The bedroom was neat and orderly, with a large four-poster bed spread with a pale blue coverlet and dark, elegant furniture that had surely come from the finest craftsmen. The breeze had died once more, and the curtains that hung at the windows were drooping in the heat; Kieran wondered if another thunderstorm would come in soon to
chase away the thick humidity that sapped what energy he had left.
He downed a glass of water, then knelt in prayer before the bed, as was his habit before sleep. He peeled back the coverlet, luxuriating in the feel of crisp cotton against his sweltering body. A pretty town, Baltimore, albeit far too warm for his liking; in Newburyport, there’d be a cooling breeze off the sea to offer relief from such oppressive heat. In Newburyport such heat and humidity this early in the year would be almost unheard of.
In Newburyport….
He stared up at the bright white ceiling above his head and tried not to think of Newburyport, and what awaited him there. He closed his eyes and moments later, he was asleep.
* * *
Rosalie had indeed gotten an earful from her mother, who was none too happy about the gossip that would ensue once everyone learned that Rosalie, who’d sailed away from one suitor, had returned with another. “So soon after that scandal with James, Rosalie! What will people say?” And then Aunt Annis arrived well before the appointed meal-time like the wind off a Scottish moor.
“So tell me about yer mon, dearie,” her aunt said, patting the space beside her on the striped damask sofa. “Yer mother here says he’s the son of a famous privateer from the last war. Is he handsome?”
“Very much so, Aunt Annis.”
“Brave?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Rich?”
“Does that matter?”
“It always matters, child. Unless there’s love involved, in which case its absence might be forgiven.”
“It is too early to tell if there’s love involved and as for money, we McCormacks have more than we know what to do with.”
“So is he a fortune hunter, then?”
“No, Aunt Annis,” Rosalie said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. “In fact, when we first met, he couldn’t stand me. And to be honest, I didn’t like him much, either. But as we’ve gotten to know each other through adversity, our feelings toward each other have…well, softened.”
“That’s all well and good but still, ’tis nice to have a mon who’s ambitious and can support himself as well as a wife and bairns. Never could stand that damned James. Now he was a fortune hunter and ’tis glad I am that ye finally figured that out. Pity though, that yer captain’s from New England. So far away, and we all know they weren’t in favor of this war. Has he proposed to ye yet?”
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