Unfortunately for him, though, there weren’t many who seemed willing to give him their entire trust, just yet. I didn’t think he blamed any of the men who were hesitant to share their knowledge with him, due to the circumstances of his advancement, but he was obviously frustrated and tired, the proof of it showing on his face.
“I have a fairly good understanding of the events that took place on Oak Isle,” he said, after having listened to Tristan explain everything that had happened with the Treasure Pit. Curiously, though, he hadn’t mentioned anything about Sam being a time traveler, and Tristan hadn’t said anything about it, either. “There are some rumors, though, about your wife.” He paused, regarding Tristan through narrowing eyes, and then waved his hand, brushing off whatever he was about to say. “But, I will save that for later. What I am most interested in is hearing about how Monsieur Bell came into the picture and the lost treasure in the Americas.”
“You didn’t hear beforehand?” I asked, surprised.
Davies, giving me a slight look of annoyance, shook his head. “No. Your meeting with Bevard was ordered to be kept classified for the time being. Unless they were in the room, the only souls who know what happened on this latest voyage are the ones who partook in it.”
Tristan shot me a glance that warned me to be silent, and he sighed, focusing on Davies again. “Randall kidnapped my wife.”
“Oui, I know that. Everyone knows that. You came bursting into the Temple like a bat out of Hell, demanding you be given a ship to go after them with. The only reason you got one was because Bevard favored you so. If I had been in charge then, you wouldn’t have been able to go off on your silly retrieval mission and I wouldn’t be left dealing with the number of men who were killed in the process.” Shifting in his seat, Davies exhaled in annoyance. “I’m not interested in the specifics of that—I want to know about the treasure. What was in it? Did Randall take anything from it? Why was Monsieur Bell dragged into the whole affair, especially after all of my men had taken oaths during their initiation ceremony to not share the secret of our group with anyone?”
Tristan’s face flushed, anger crossing his features for a moment before his expression went blank.
It occurred to me then that Davies thought the story of Samantha being from the future was fake. He didn’t see the wisdom in going after her, of saving her from Randall, because he thought she was just a woman who had been exaggerated. She was of no importance to him whatsoever.
Flushing myself, I cleared my throat, addressing him sternly. “I was the doctor aboard Randall’s ship. I took care of Madame O’Rourke when she was kidnapped. Eventually, I was inducted into the Black Knights.” Rolling up the sleeve of my jacket, I displayed the brand on my arm. “Of course, I only joined so I could spy on them. Samantha was the one who told me about the Templars. She insisted they would be coming to save her.”
“Of course.” Davies rolled his eyes. “Do you keep no secrets from your wife, Monsieur O’Rourke?”
“No, sir, I do not,” Tristan replied coldly. “But I never told her I was a member of The Order. She figured that out herself.”
“Really?” Davies sounded skeptical.
“She’s much smarter than you give her credit for,” I butted in again. “Strong, too.”
“I don’t care.” He sounded bored again, leaning back in his fancy chair with a sour expression on his face. “What about the treasure?”
“With all due respect, Grand Master, ye’re asking the wrong men. Captain Lomas knows more about that treasure than even Bevard did.” Tristan’s reply was rough, but respectful. “He’s the one you should bring in if ye want to know the truth of it.”
“Oui, but Lomas and his men were called in early by Bevard, just before his death. They shipped out two days before he was murdered, so I have no opportunity to ask him about the treasure, now do I?”
“That’s a shame,” Tristan replied easily. “I suppose ye’ll have to wait, then.”
Shoving to his feet, Davies slammed his hand on the table, screaming at Tristan. “Tell me what you saw in the treasure vault! Tell me where it was! I order you, as Grand Master, to tell me!”
Flinching away, I looked at the man in shock, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation.
“I’m sorry, Grand Master,” Tristan replied coolly, inclining his head some in respect. “But I never saw the treasure and I don’t know where the vault is. Lomas was the man who discovered it all.”
Not expecting him to tell an outright falsehood, I stared at Tristan, sensing I was in a meeting with pirates once more. They were ruthless and did whatever was needed to get what they wanted, not caring who was injured in the process. Tristan was effectively throwing Lomas under the bus, but wouldn’t Davies find out the truth soon enough?
The realization of what was happening began to settle over me. Tristan didn’t trust Davies, so he wouldn’t tell him anything that wasn’t already general knowledge in The Order. He wouldn’t mention that Samantha was a traveler, out of the hope that Davies wouldn’t ever try to take advantage of her. That was also most likely why he hadn’t said anything about me travelling as well. He was playing his part as a pirate, protecting his treasures and refusing to withdraw in the face of a new threat.
Swallowing, I closed my mouth and took a deep breath. I’d been a pirate before, too, as well as a spy. This was a game I was very much familiar with.
“It’s true,” I stated, folding my hands and setting them on the table in front of me. “Randall released Madame O’Rourke before he went in search of the vault. Tristan stayed with her. He never saw anything of importance.”
“And what about yourself?” Davies asked, huffing as he sat back down. “Did you mysteriously not see any of the treasure, either?”
“No, I was in the vault,” I confessed. “It was a small cave, inside the mountains. Much of it had been raided by the natives, and passing travelers, though. There were some gold pieces and a few gems. Anything of significance was already gone.”
Davies eyes narrowed as he studied me, distrust written on his features. “You’re lying,” he finally said, spitting on the floor beside his chair. “Both of you.”
“Accuse us all ye wish,” Tristan snapped. “When Lomas returns, he will tell ye the truth of it, though. I imagine Bevard sent him off so quickly in the hopes that he would be able to track down some of the missing artifacts.”
Trying not to smile, I silently applauded Tristan. He’d made Davies pause in his accusations, the realization that Lomas’s sudden departure did indeed match with our stories causing the Grand Master to fall silent.
“I will be calling in other members of your crew to verify and expand on your story,” Davies finally said. “In the meantime, I have your new orders.”
Motioning to one of the guards at the door, Davies stood, watching as the man exited the space, closing the door behind himself.
Pulling two rolls of paper from his jacket, he eyed us before rolling the forms across the table to us, folding his arms. “You’re both being assigned to our privateering vessel, the Isobel.”
“Don’t you need legal papers from the king to captain a privateering vessel?” I asked, surprised. Pulling my paper toward myself, I broke the seal on it and glanced over the first few lines. I was assigned as a rigger, meant to climb the ropes of the ship and help with the sails. It was quick work, and often hard, but I could do it.
“You do.” Davies smiled wickedly, a bit of fire in his gaze. “If you’re the captain.”
Surprised, I glanced at Tristan, who’s face had paled some as he looked at his orders.
“I’m being demoted?” he asked, staring back at Davies calmly. “May I ask why? Have I done something to offend ye, or spoken out of turn in the few days since we first met?”
“I have more of a need for riggers than I do captains, at the moment, Monsieur O’Rourke. That, and you managed to burn and sink the last ship The Order saw fit to give you. Not to mention the fact
that the treasure you were entrusted with was compromised and your actions regarding your wife have been childish at best. Bevard may have thought you were ready to captain a vessel for him, but you are not ready to do it for me. Does that answer satisfy you?” Davies smiled again, obviously enjoying his belittling of the man.
“Aye,” Tristan answered, a level amount of respect to his tone. “It does.” His eyes flashed, the only sign of the anger that had silently filled him.
“Of course, along with the demotion, your pay is going to be cut. I’ve already sent word that you and your wife are to be moved to smaller accommodations, which you will be able to afford on your salary. With things as they are right now, The Order can’t afford to keep paying for you to live like the high-born members of society.”
That was the tipping point for me. “You do know that Tristan is an Irish clan prince, right?” I asked, aghast at how my friend was being treated. “He’s not some pauper off the street. Even if he were, he’s done a lot of good work for The Order, and so has his wife. They literally are high-born members of society, as you put it. It doesn’t seem right to treat them in such a manner. It’s downright rude and disrespectful, if you ask me.”
“I’m not asking you,” Davies responded sharply. “You are also being removed from the home Bevard settled you in. The Order is not required to find you a new place of residence, though, as you have no family and will on board our ship for most your time. If you would like an apartment in the city, you will have to procure it yourself.”
Sitting down, Davies folded his hands together, staring at the ceiling. After a moment, he looked to the door in annoyance. “Where is that guard?”
Right on cue, the entrance opened and the man in question appeared, towing another person behind him. Trying not to stare, I glanced over the man, wondering who he was and what he was doing here.
It was apparent right from the beginning that he was Scottish, the blue, green, red, and black kilt around his waist giving that away in an instant. He wore plain boots and a white shirt as well, a gun belt slung over his shoulder and a sword at his hip. A tartan sash rested across his other shoulder, hidden partially under his long, brown and gray beard. Fierce eyes stared at us, his bald head reflecting the light of the candelabras overhead. I would have guessed he was in his fifties, but there was still a youthfulness to him that made me think he could have been in his late forties, too.
“Grand Master,” the Scot said, inclining his head as he stopped just to the side of Davies. “Ye asked to see me?” There was an obvious amount of distaste in his tone, his entire body practically screaming that he had no respect for the man in front of him now.
“Captain MacDonald” Davies remained seated, looking over him with a frown. “It’s been some time. It doesn’t look like you’ve done very well since last we met.”
“And it looks like ye managed to worm yer way through that pile o’ shit ye call a brain and get yerself voted in as leader of this damn circus.”
Choking on the air, I hurriedly disguised my laugh into a cough, covering my mouth and trying to appear as apologetic as possible. Tristan did no such thing, though, chuckling under his breath at the comment.
“Ye two know each other?” he asked, giving them an amused smile.
“We ken each other, right,” Captain MacDonald replied, frowning. “Davies used to be a rigger on my ship. If ever there was a man meant to stay on land, it’s this lad here. Doesn’t ken the difference between one knot and the next, let alone how to handle a blade properly.”
“Shut up, old man,” Davies growled, shaking his head. “I didn’t ask you here to belittle me and make a fool of yourself.”
“Then what am I here for?” Captain MacDonald frowned, making a noise that only a Scotsman could, clearly highly annoyed with his current situation.
“Meet Tristan O’Rourke and Mark Bell. They’re your new riggers.”
A wave of recognition washed over me, and I peered at my orders again. There it was—Captain MacDonald’s name. We were indeed supposed to be working under him now.
Taken aback, MacDonald stared at the two of us and then at Davies. “But I don’t need any more riggers.”
“I don’t care.” Davies smiled evilly. “They’re yours. You’re here to brief them on your mission within The Order and the destination of the treasure you transport.”
Offended, MacDonald stepped back, eyeing Davies. “No.”
Davies, acting as if he were ready to blow his own brains away, slammed his hand on the table and glared up at the captain again. “Excuse me?”
“They already ken the mission. We protect the treasure. I willna tell them the destination, though. That’s a need to ken piece of information, and they dinna need to ken.” He snorted, folding his arms, apparently readying himself to have a showdown right then and there.
“I need to know,” Davies growled. “Bevard’s map was enchanted so that only he could read it. He died before he could pass it on to the next Grand Master.”
“Sounds like a personal problem.”
The two men stared at each other, tempers rising, until Davies finally broke.
“Damn it, MacDonald, just tell me where you’re taking the treasure!”
“How do I ken ye’re not the wee bugger who slit Bevard’s throat in the first place, eh? I’ll not be telling ye anything, Davies. I ken ye. I wouldn’t trust ye with a pet rock.” MacDonald snarled, leaning toward the Grand Master, his hands forming fists.
“Fine!” Throwing his hands up, Davies, shook his head. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’ll find it eventually. I can’t fault you for being cautious until the murderer is found.” He frowned at Tristan and I. “The Isobel leaves port in five days’ time. Gather your things and tell your women goodbye. You won’t be seeing them for several months, at the least.”
Surprised once more, I felt my eyes widen. That was so soon and a long time to be away. Now that Tristan wasn’t captain, he wouldn’t be able to bring Samantha along as he’d planned. They were going to be split up once more, forced to be apart yet again.
Glancing at Tristan, I saw his face become even more pale, the same realization seeming to cross his features.
“You may go,” Davies said to all of us, covering his eyes with his hand. “All of you.”
“Aye,” Captain MacDonald replied, glancing at us. “We leave with the early morning tide in five days. I expect ye on board the night before. Dinna be late, or I’ll lash ye myself.”
“I don’t understand what’s happened.” Samantha stood in the hallway, her sword in one hand and a look of shock and dismay on her face. Around her, servants worked to tidy the house, a small pile of trunks slowly gathering by the front door. “Why are we being put out?”
“Davies is trying to make a statement,” Tristan replied, frustrated. Tugging at the cloth around his neck, he ripped the garment off, throwing it on the pile of their belongings in anger. “Because I was so close with Bevard, he’s pushing me to the bottom of the barrel, so to speak. It lets everyone else know that he won’t be continuing the relationships the last Grand Master fostered.”
“Where will we live?” Her voice came out as a squeak, her eyes round as she watched him. “Does he mean to make us live in the streets until we leave port?”
He flinched, glancing at me with a pained expression. Apparently, whomever had beaten us to the house to tell the servants they were moving had neglected to mention that Tristan had been demoted.
“We won’t be leaving port, lass,” he said, still watching me. Then, taking a deep breath, he turned toward his wife.
Her face fell as she studied him, whatever expression he was wearing alerting her to the arrival of bad news.
“I’ve lost my position. Davies took the leadership from me and has stationed me on another ship, as a rigger.” He spoke quietly and quickly, but he might as well have shouted, the way the statement affected her.
The sword slipped from her hand, clattering to the floor, and her k
nees buckled. Falling back, she caught herself on the small table behind her, knocking the vase full of flowers that had been sitting on it to the floor and shattering the glass. Tristan was beside her in an instant, holding her up, one hand at her waist and the other in her hair.
“It will be fine,” he said, trying to reassure her. “Only a few months. I’ll be back before ye know I’m gone. Abella will be here with ye—it won’t be as awful as it seems.”
Shoving away from him, she straightened her shirt, her hands shaking as she continued to stare at him with wide eyes. “It will not be fine,” she choked out, backing against the wall. “The last time you left me here I—I was—” Tears gathered in her eyes, one rolling down her cheek. Wiping it away angrily, she turned to me, as if asking for help.
Shaking my head, I declined coming to her aid. There was nothing I could do for her in this moment, nothing that would ease her spirits or make her believe everything would be fine when Tristan and I were gone. She had every right to be as upset and afraid as she was now. She was being put from her home, her husband taken from her, and the man who had abducted her before was still at large. If it were to happen again, I wouldn’t be there to protect her. The world she lived in now was a terrifying one.
Abella, frozen on the stairs above her, seemed to be reasoning with herself, her shoulders settling decisively as she peered over the railing. “You are not the woman you were the last time your husband was unable to take you with him, Samantha.” Gracefully, she moved down the steps, quickly, her attention turned to her friend and employer. “You have survived Hell on Earth and come out stronger than ever. What was all your sword practice for, if not to defend yourself when attackers come again? Why do you make yourself get out of bed every day, if not to face the world and prove that you are stronger than the trials given to you? The Samantha O’Rourke I know does not need a man to make her feel safe. She makes herself feel that way. She has walked through time, lived among pirates, battled demons, and conquered evil itself!”
Hidden Away (The Swept Away Saga, Book Three) Page 15