Caribbean Scot

by Kimberly Killion

  “Ladies first,” Reid clucked, unable to help himself, and held the door wide.

  Villiers nodded his thanks with a smile and led them out of the tippling house and onto a planked walkway. The crisp night air tasted like snow, and the moon, though hidden behind a layer of thin clouds, provided light for their stroll across the pier.

  Villiers actually skipped to keep up with Reid’s strides. “Will you be buying yourself a fiefdom?”

  “Nay.”

  “Then you seek rank within His Majesty’s court.”

  “Nay.” Reid withheld his intentions, knowing Villiers would care little about freeing the MacGregors. The only thing Reid needed from Villiers was his position with the king.

  His position with the king, the words echoed again in Reid’s mind, but this time he laughed silently at the pun.

  Villiers squeezed in closer and hooked his arm through Reid’s. “If you prove good on your word, I will take you to James’s bedchamber this night.”

  Reid stumbled over a coil of rope, but caught himself before falling flat on his face. He didn’t think it was possible, but his cock nearly retracted insides itself.

  When they reached the end of the pier, Reid loosened the knot securing the longboat he’d rowed ashore in.

  “Where is the rest of the gold?” Villiers asked.

  “’Tis on my ship.” Reid straightened and pointed into a vast sea of blackness, but the Obsidian was not at the end of his fingertip. His arm fell. “My…ship,” he repeated slowly and strained his eyes, searching the dark horizon.

  His heart slammed against his ribs. His entire being sank to the balls of his feet. “Damn the Devil! Where the hell is my ship?”

  25

  ~ BETRAYAL ~

  “Good morrow, ladies.”

  Daylight blinded Robbie the instant her eyelids slammed open. A breath later, an enormous weight landed in the bed.

  “What in the name of Odin?” She twisted to find Eoin draped in his soiled plaide between her and Wild Tigress. “Get out of my bed!”

  “I dare say ye are in my bed.” Eoin curled an arm around Wild Tigress who looked all too happy to have her eager lover back in her embrace.

  “Your bed?” Robbie shook the remnants of sleep from her muddled head as she leapt from the mattress, and snatched her wool arisaid out of the desk chair to hide her state of undress.

  “Weel, s’truth, ’tis the captain’s bed, but I’ll promise him another brick of my gold to use his cabin for the remainder of our voyage.” Eoin pulled Wild Tigress atop him and splayed his fingers around her thighs beneath her skirt.

  The man was a blathering half-wit. He had to be blootered. “Reid is going to kill ye,” she warned, eager to see that threat executed, and then reached for the cabin door. The simplest twist of the lever sent the door crashing open. Icy shards of snow pelted her face, stealing her breath.

  “I suspect he’d try, if he wasnae still aground.”

  She barely heard Eoin’s retort over the howling gale filling the sails. Naught but acres of water surrounded the Obsidian. Horror clutched her gut and panic widened her eyes.

  She spun full circle. “Ye left him?”

  Eoin’s hands stilled on Wild Tigress’s duff, a look of feigned innocence lifted his brow. “My cousin was of no further use to me as the terms of our bargain had been met. Ye for the gold,” he reminded her. “And I decided my gold would better serve me in Scotland.”

  “That gold is Clan MacGregor’s only salvation,” Robbie hissed and glared at him. “We are taking it back to the England.” She slipped on her brogues all the while trying to calculate how many hours separated her from Reid. They had to go back for him.

  She slammed the door behind her and held tight to an ice-slick handrail as she cautiously descended the companionway. Bitter wind sliced into her exposed skin, but the rage boiling in her blood kept her feet moving toward the helm. The deck was nigh barren which came as no surprise. The crew would have sought refuge below deck from such frigid weather.

  “Jean-Pierre, ye must turn the Obsidian around.” She pulled the wool tighter around her shoulders. “Reid isnae aboard.”

  “Forgive me, ma chaton, but I cannot oblige you.” The instant Jean-Pierre denied her order Robbie came face to face with a reality that pained her beyond words.

  Jean-Pierre had betrayed Reid.

  “How could ye do this to him?” Robbie shook her head in disbelief. “Reid is your friend. Your betrayal will crush him.”

  “Eoin’s offer was far too grand to decline.”

  This couldn’t be happening. “Reid gave ye his ship. He saved ye from your king and provided ye with a trade.”

  “I’ll not have need to sell timber with so much gold at my fingertips.” The Frenchman looked over her shoulder, bobbed his head a single time, and two crewmen seized her by the arms.

  She struggled within their bruising grasp and searched for words that might convince Jean-Pierre he’d made a grave mistake. “Eoin willnae keep his promise. He will never part with the gold.”

  “Put her with the rest of them.” Jean-Pierre tossed a key at one of her captors then pulled his wool scarf back over his face.

  “Nay!” Robbie screamed as they dragged her across the main deck, but she was no match for their combined strength. One of the brutes held her while the other unlocked a latch securing an iron lattice gate to the deck.

  Robbie dug her heels into the planks, but they raised her off her feet and tossed her in.

  A man’s knee stuck in her gut. A shoulder caught her in the chin. She grimaced from the blow, but righted herself and then stared into the dark orbs of a dozen Mopán men—Jax and Moon Hawk, as well as those who’d helped her and Reid transport Xitali’s gold back to Rukux. Bits of snow clung to their faces and they’d been stripped to their breechcloths. Their sun-baked skin was nigh gray and covered in gooseflesh.

  Seeing their strong able bodies reduced to such frailty brought tears to her eyes, but the sob she so desperately wanted to expel stuck in her throat when her gaze landed on Kante. Propped against the bulkhead, the powerful warrior lie bleeding from a knife wound to his throat. Blood trickled down his meaty chest and into the only fur among them.

  Holy Loki! She dropped to her knees and ripped a wide strip of linen from her skirt. “What have they done to ye?”

  Kante wasn’t a man of many words. S’truth, Robbie had never held a conversation with him. This fact didn’t prevent her from tending his wound. She quickly tied the material around his neck and pushed the flecks of snow from his black brow.

  “The drunkard wanted to give us gold,” Cocijo explained between chattering teeth. “We refused him. The crew came at us with weapons. Kante tried to fight them…” the boy’s voice cracked.

  “All will be well come the morrow.” Robbie lied and wrapped Cocijo inside her wool with her. “Where is Duncan?”

  Cocijo looked up through the gate imprisoning them, his eyes glazed with unshed tears.

  Robbie shook her head and scrubbed Cocijo’s bare arms to warm him. Reid’s Mopán kinsmen had been the only ones to remain loyal to him, and they were likely to pay for their loyalty with their lives.

  She stared up at the snow spitting through the iron grate. The pain squeezing her heart was nigh unbearable. Disappointment. Regret. Worry. Her face burned with the emotions she tried to hold at bay, but her efforts failed. A single hot tear fell over her temple.

  “We are going to die.” Cocijo wrapped both arms around Robbie’s waist and succumbed to his own despair.

  “Nay, Cocijo. We are not going to die.” Robbie inhaled air so cold it burned her throat. “White Serpent will save us.”

  He has to.

  * * *

  Blood or no, Reid was going to kill Eoin.

  Standing on the prow of His Majesty’s warship, Reid contemplated how he would do it. He could put a ball of iron in his cousin’s gut. He could simply open Eoin’s throat with a dagger or mayhap just feed him to the fish.
Oh, but naught could be finer than the prospect of wrapping his hands around the bastaird’s throat and squeezing the life from him.

  Reid’s fingertips dug into the forward rail, itching to do the deed. His murderous thoughts were the only thing keeping him sane. The sleet had mesmerized him for hours while the questions played havoc on his mind. Was Robbie safe? Warm? Protected?

  Jean-Pierre would watch over her, as would Jax. He’d assured himself of this repeatedly, but he couldn’t escape the horrific scenes unraveling inside his head. Eoin beating her…raping her…killing her.

  Reid raked his fingers through his hair. “Damn you, Eoin MacGregor. Damn you to the fiery pits of the Underworld,” he grumbled between grinding teeth.

  That age-old feeling of helplessness resurfaced. He’d been powerless to save her from the Colquhouns all those years ago, the same as he was powerless now.

  “Dudley’s got biscuits an’ broth below deck. Best go fill yer gut.” Colonel Whitley leaned over the forward rail and stared at a darkening horizon. Reid could only gather two bits of information about Colonel Whitley’s character based on his appearance: he was gray-headed from age not worry as his smooth skin was free of wrinkles. And the scar drawing a line across his chin told Reid the man wasn’t afraid to fight.

  But could he be trusted? S’truth, the colonel had all but stolen His Majesty’s warship for his own personal gain, but few options had presented themselves yestereve when Reid had returned to the tippling house. Dudley had taken Reid aboard the Dreadnought, at which point Reid swiftly bartered with Colonel Whitley—passage for gold.

  Reid suspected he should be grateful. Riding across England on horseback had been his ulterior option. “My thanks. I’ll find Dudley when I can no longer see the horizon.”

  “’Tis your health.” Colonel Whitley shrugged then straightened. “I’ve charted our speed and by my calculations, we will reach the Isle of Man by dawn. If your ship doesn’t appear on the horizon with the sun, then I’ll have no choice but to return the Dreadnought back to the Crown. His Majesty will have my ass if he discovers I’ve taken his ship north.”

  “I suspect King James will forgive you once I lay the gold at his feet.”

  A slow smile lifted Whitley’s chapped lips. “All but three bricks, aye?”

  “Catch the Obsidian and you’ll have your three bricks as promised,” Reid reminded the man of the terms of their agreement.

  “How many bricks did ye say lay in your keel?”

  Greedy bastaird. Reid eyed the man warily. “I dinnae say exactly.”

  “Might ye be saying now?”

  Reid grinned. He couldn’t blame the colonel for trying, still, Reid withheld the information.

  “Twenty? Fifty bricks?” Colonel Whitley guessed. “Or mayhap you’re harboring more than gold.” When Reid continued to hold his tongue, the colonel probed further. “Are ye aiding and abetting a refugee?”

  “Nay.”

  “’Tis my duty to protect the Dreadnought. Should I be forced to retaliate against a counterattack, I would know if there are nobles aboard before I blast your ship into splinters. Mayhap a prince? A duke?”

  The man wasn’t going to ease up on his interrogation. Reid checked his emotions and faced the colonel. “My woman is aboard that ship.”

  “Ahhh…” Enlightenment raised Whitley’s brow. “Ye might have mentioned that bit before now. ’Twas nay wonder ye didn’t take to our Georgie.”

  Relief forced breath from Reid’s lungs. Mayhap the colonel was a wee bit romantic. He certainly seemed appeased. The waves breaking against the hull filled the long minutes of silence that passed between them.

  “Ho!” The boatswain bellowed from the crow’s nest.

  Reid jerked his gaze back toward the horizon. He squinted. A pin light of yellow blinked where the black sea met a dark gray sky—the binnacle lamp.

  ’Twas the Obsidian. Reid knew it. He could feel it in his gut. She was miles away, but she was there just the same.

  “Cor Blimey!” Colonel Whitley smacked Reid on the back. “We’ll catch her, Wallace. ’Twill take a few days, but we’ll catch your ship and your gold.”

  And my woman, Reid added mentally, never once taking his eyes off that tiny light of hope.

  * * *

  Robbie’s eyes were open, but blackness surrounded her. Night settled over them like a cloak of foreboding. The snow ceased to fall hours before, and for that she was grateful, but the cold seeped into their prison like icy tentacles.

  Her every appendage was frozen, her fingers, her toes, her nose. She hoped the reason Cocijo’s teeth no longer clicked was that her wool was keeping him warm, but part of her feared the elements would take the boy’s life before the sun rose. Jax and Moon Hawk had wedged her between them, but their bodies were slowly losing heat the same as hers. ’Twas too cold to move, too cold to sleep, and worrying over Reid’s well-being only added to her misery.

  Jax’s warm breath fell over her the side of her face before his words broke through the silence. “White Serpent says the cold in Scotland will freeze a man’s blood in his sleep.”

  “S’truth,” Robbie agreed, deciding it best to hide the fact that they hadn’t yet reached Scotland.

  Moon Hawk voiced a retort first in his language, then he shared that opinion with Robbie. “White Serpent has monkey brains to leave the Yucatán.”

  Robbie opened her mouth to defend Reid’s decision, but Jax’s words came quicker. “White Serpent left the Yucatán for his butterfly.”

  The guilt accompanying Jax’s statement gnawed at her gut, but Moon Hawk’s snort didn’t allow her time to dwell on feelings of regret. The two men bantered in their native tongue, their quarrelsome tone reminding her of Grandda and auld Angus.

  “Your family should come live with the Mopán.” Moon Hawk’s offer was as generous as it was laughable.

  The clan would accuse her of madness, the same as they had Calum MacGregor eleven years ago. “Mayhap ye should stay in Scotland and live with the MacGregors.”

  “Ma´! Too cold,” Jax and Moon Hawk said in unison.

  An image of the beauty that was Scotland solidified behind her eyes. “’Tis not always so cold. We have seasons. Spring turns everything green and wildflowers bloom over the moorland throughout the summer months.”

  “Our jungle is green everyday, and the flowers bloom always in the Yucatán.”

  “Scotland has rivers and lochs and—”

  “We have the beach.” Jax’s haughty tone goaded her, but what did these comparisons accomplish?

  “My people were born on Scottish soil as were their forefathers before them. My kinsmen have fought and died to sow their seeds in a field of their own. Think ye I would ask them to abandon their birthplace for a land they have no claim in? They would think I’d lost my wit.”

  “They would think Itzamná had delivered them into paradise,” Jax quipped, soliciting chuckles from his brothers hiding in the darkness.

  “And what of my kinswomen?” Cait and Anice were the first to enter Robbie’s mind, but she also thought of the older women, some already past their birthing years. “They will need husbands?”

  “We have men. Strong men,” another native voiced his opinion, joining in their conversation. “The Mopán are good hunters.”

  While their women defined beauty, Robbie didn’t find the Mopán men the least bit comely, but how did she explain this without offending them. “I fear my kinswomen are a fussy lot. They wouldnae find your hunters…pleasing.”

  “We are not pleasing?” Jax questioned, incredulous.

  “Of course ye are pleasing,” she rushed out and reached for a curl to twirl. “But ye have women.”

  “I have no woman.” ’Twas the first words she’d ever heard Kante speak.

  How in the name of Odin was she supposed to respond to that? Frustration made her harrumph. They were trapped in the belly of a ship and mayhap going to die, and they wanted to find mates among her kinswomen. Though the top
ic warmed her blood, she was not going to pay heed to such madness. Mayhap Reid had been their matchmaker, but she most certainly was not.

  She decided on a different approach. “How many of the Mopán live in the Yucatán?”

  They all chimed in, tossing around the names of their elders, their sons and daughters, and their women. “Nineteen three times.”

  “Sixty. You’ve sixty members in your clan.”

  “Sixty,” Jax agreed. “We had more before we battled the Kekchí.”

  “I’ve nigh one hundred. Nineteen five times,” she clarified in case they didn’t understand that Clan MacGregor was nigh double the size of their tribe. “And they are not all women. There are men who would need wives as well, and bairns, and elder folk. Are ye willing to share your women, and your land, and your food? Think ye the Jaguar King would welcome so great a number?”

  Silence was her answer. She sighed, regretting her harsh tone. They had been loyal to Reid, and she owed them her gratitude, not her barbed tongue. “White Serpent would be humbled by your offer, as am I.”

  “White Serpent is our brother. It will be difficult to return to the Yucatán without him.” Jax’s words stung like a slap across the face. If they managed to escape their prison, how were these men going to get home? Jean-Pierre could no longer be trusted with the task.

  Her head fell against the hard wood with a thump.

  Jax wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “Fear not. The gods will save us.”

  Exhaustion stole her ability to argue further. S’truth, she wanted to weep. Instead, she accepted Jax’s consoling embrace and rest against his chest. The scent of cacao butter wafted beneath her nose and brought about welcome memories. The Yucatán’s hot sun warmed her skin and saliva pooled in her mouth when she thought about the sweetness of the guava fruit. She no longer dreamed about Rannoch. Instead, she pictured herself at Rukux swimming in the pond with Reid. In her head, she watched him play with Oscar and Myah and the Mopán bairns. But now there were others among them. Shane and Bryson played Harry Hurcheon with Cocijo, and Cait and Anice giggled with Nikkay and Pepem.