[Highland Heartbeats 05.0] A Captain's Heart

by Aileen Adams

  “Panic. You cannot panic. No matter what. You must keep a clear head and remember what I’m about to tell you. Promise me.”

  He lifted his hand enough for her to agree. “I promise.”

  “Now. Two things, and they’re the same whether a man approaches from the front or behind.”

  Before she knew it, he spun her around until her back was pressed against his front and his arm was across her chest.

  “One. With your heel, slam down on the top of the man’s foot as hard as you can. I mean that, too. As hard as possible. Your heel is very hard and very strong.”

  “All right,” she choked out, overwhelmed at being so close to him. He had no idea what he was doing just by holding her as he did.

  “The second thing you do, when the man’s arms have loosened, and he’s more than likely howling in pain, is much worse for him—and much more likely to get rid of him. Can you guess?”

  She merely shook her head, too focused on the thick forearm across her chest to be able to speak.

  “I thought not. You need to grab the man’s…you know.”

  His meaning slowly filtered through her mind until she understood, and she flushed once again.

  “His…?”

  “Mm-hmm. As hard as you can, and twist. Twist hard. If you can’t reach with your hand, use your knee or your foot or anything near enough. Don’t worry about hurting him—he deserves it if he attacks you. You just hurt him enough to get him to let you go, and you run. Don’t look back. Scream your head off if you have to.”

  “And it will work?”

  He released her, nodding sagely when she turned. “Oh, yes. It will work. But you can’t hold back. Do you understand? You cannot be gentle.”

  All she understood was the way she wanted him to hold her again. “I understand.”

  “What do ye think yer doin’ here?”

  Both of them turned to find Hamish rushing over, red-faced and blustering with rage.

  “You think I’m payin’ ye to stand out here with yer gentleman friend when ye ought to be workin’?” His brogue always thickened when his temper was up.

  She opened her mouth to apologize, but Derek beat her to it. “Perhaps she’s out here with me because you were foolish enough to leave her alone in that pit you call a tavern,” he spat.

  “Derek! Please, don’t!” She looked from him to Hamish, whose face was nearly purple with rage.

  “You know what might have happened to her, don’t you?” he asked, as though she hadn’t spoken. “And that would be on your conscience—but I can promise, it wouldn’t be the worst you would suffer.”

  “Who do you think you are?” Hamish demanded, nearly standing nose-to-nose with Derek.

  Margery’s heart sank. She was about to lose the only chance she had of earning money to send for Beatrice. The thought of her sister sitting alone, waiting for word from her, spurred her to action.

  “It’s all right,” she said, touching Derek’s arm before turning to Hamish. “I needed to get some air after what happened, but I feel much better now. Let’s return to the tavern.”

  He seemed satisfied, turning around after casting one last doleful look Derek’s way.

  “Lass. You’re certain of this?” he asked, searching her face with anxious eyes.

  “I’m certain. And I’m certain of something else, I can’t have you fighting my battles for me. You’ll cost me my employment, for one, and I’ll be without any prospects at all. Please, go about your business and allow me to go about mine.”

  She backed away, her heart sinking further at his clear disappointment.

  “I do thank you for all you’ve done for me,” she added, then dashed after Hamish before she had the chance to change her mind.

  16

  It took five solid hours of the hardest, filthiest cleaning she’d ever subjected herself to, but when she finished, Margery finally felt confident in the kitchen’s cleanliness.

  Dumping the last bucket of nearly black water in the back alley was a relief on par with the most heavenly she’d felt in her life.

  There were moments in which it had felt like she’d never finish. The amount of grease and grime which had built up over the years had turned her stomach more than once.

  The only way she was able to distract herself from focusing on the task at hand was to think about Derek.

  Not that she had much choice in the matter. She’d thought of little else but him since that last encounter on the docks. When he had shown her how to defend herself—and, coincidentally, had held her closer than a man ever had.

  He wasn’t just any man, either. Any other man wouldn’t have set her heart off at a sickening pace, enough to make her head swim and her breath come in short little gasps as he had. He was nothing like any of the ones who’d come into the tavern over the five days she’d spent working and living there.

  There was a sense of great honesty about him, and integrity. She respected honesty more than just about anything else. It wasn’t difficult to imagine him being successful in business if he treated his customers as decently as he’d treated her.

  He was protective, too. He’d insisted on showing her how to defend herself in the future. He’d even double-checked that she was certain about going back to her position at the tavern.

  Why did he care the way he did? He was only being kind, she was certain. There couldn’t be any other reason.

  Could there?

  She could hardly breathe when she considered it. No, he thought of her as a sister or a good friend—as tempting as it was to hope otherwise. The sort of friend one grew up with and never thought of as anything more than a close companion. After all, he’d had more than enough chances to take liberties with her or at least to attempt wooing her.

  Not that she would know for certain if a man were trying to woo her. How did one determine such things?

  She thought this over as she washed up and dressed, having worn her travel clothing while cleaning in order to keep her kirtle grease-free.

  The freedom of being able to work in nothing but a tunic and thick stockings was considerable, as well. No long skirt to bunch up over one’s knees before kneeling to avoid tearing it.

  These were the times when she most missed having her sister to confide in. Perhaps Beatrice would know better than she how men wooed women, though it was doubtful. How would she have learned of such things when Margery hadn’t? They knew all the same people and had lived nearly the same life.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she whispered to herself, braiding her hair and smoothing it into place. After all, she had told him to leave her alone. It had seemed like the most responsible request to make at the time, since his appearing at Hamish’s tavern might put her in further danger of losing her position along with her room. It wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

  What must Derek think of her? He’d been nothing but kind, thoughtful, generous, and understanding. She had only shown him contempt and the sharp side of her tongue. He deserved better than that. If she had the chance, she would apologize most sincerely.

  She wouldn’t get the chance, would she? He had most likely left the village by now, three days having passed since their encounter. Surely, his business concerns had been settled at this point. She wondered vaguely as she left the empty tavern whether he’d sold his shipping business or not.

  He wanted to settle down in a home, with a family. If this were true, he would’ve sold, and would’ve earned a bit of money for it, too. The sort of money that would make him even more attractive as a suitor. Not that he needed any help.

  Who would the lucky girl be? She would be lucky, for sure. Luckier than she knew.

  Margery’s chest tightened at the thought, and for the first time in her life she understood what it was to feel truly envious of another woman. A woman who didn’t even exist outside of her head, a made-up creature. Knowing this didn’t stop her from wanting to scream in jealous rage as she walked along the streets, enjoying the relative quiet
of a Sunday afternoon.

  It was a beautiful day, and she resolved to focus on the deep blue of the sky and the soft, warm breeze instead of envy over a make-believe situation. On a day such as this, it was almost possible to believe the village was a lovely, inviting place.

  To think, she’d been on her way to London—or, at least, so she’d intended. A place far worse than Kirkcaldy, if what she’d been told was to be believed. How much worse would life have been if she’d stowed aboard the correct ship?

  Derek wouldn’t have been there to save her.

  Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him, for heaven’s sake?

  Her swirling, conflicted thoughts rang loud enough in her troubled head to drown out the sound of the two men who followed her up and down the streets.

  Not until it was too late did she notice the sound of their breathing just behind her.

  In an instant, they crowded her, bundling her into a dark alley and pressing her against a stone wall.

  She opened her mouth to scream, eyes wide and panicked, but a filthy hand clamped over her mouth. She clawed at it, desperate to pry it loose, but there was no moving it.

  “A tasty thing,” the one who held her in place whispered in her ear, his breath hot and sour. “All alone, just waiting for us.”

  His body crushed hers, his leg sliding between her thighs.

  She screamed behind his hand, the sound lost, tears streaming down her cheeks as she realized for certain just how hopeless the situation was.

  The streets were nearly empty, the alley dark and quiet. Nobody knew her, nobody would look for her when she didn’t come back after her walk.

  The second man was to her left, his hands sliding over her body as he chuckled nastily. “Save some for me,” he whispered before laughing.

  Her skin crawled at his touch.

  Black dots danced behind her eyes and sheer terror threatened to overtake her and plunge her into unconsciousness.

  Just as it had back in the tavern when she’d been mistreated, something snapped in her brain.

  This time, it was Derek’s voice which flooded in, pushing aside her cold, blind panic with his deep voice.

  Do not panic. That is the one thing you cannot do. Hurt him. Hurt him as I taught you.

  And so, she forced herself to keep from fainting. Instead, she felt along the ground with one foot, identifying the foot of one of her attackers. It didn’t matter which one—if she stomped hard enough, it would throw them both off balance.

  She lifted her leg with difficulty, pinned to the wall as it was, but managed to get it off the ground.

  Oh, please, she prayed.

  Then, she stomped.

  “Argh!” It was the foot of the man beside her, and his scream rang in her ear just before he fell back, doubling over to clutch his injured foot and curse her in ways she had never heard before.

  Just as she had prayed, her attacker backed away in surprise, just enough to give her room to slide her hand between their bodies.

  She’d never do anything like this at any other time, but this was more important than propriety or the teachings of the Church.

  She felt the bulge in his tattered trousers and curled her fingers into claws, latching on to it before twisting with a sharp flick of her wrist.

  His scream echoed off the walls as he dropped to his knees, nearly taking her with him as he fell.

  She released him, leaving him to roll onto his side with both hands clutching himself as he whimpered and wept while she gathered her skirts and took off at a run, nearly flying from them in her haste to escape.

  Manic laughter bubbled up in her throat and out of her mouth, mingled with her rapid breathing as she continued to run without taking notice of anyone or anything around her.

  She wasn’t afraid. For the first time since arriving in Kirkcaldy, she was alone, but unafraid.

  She had never felt so capable, so strong.

  Another laugh escaped her, and she didn’t care who heard.

  17

  The knock at the door was unexpected.

  Broc and Derek exchanged a look.

  “Yes?” Derek finished tying the laces at the top of his tunic, opening the door once he had them fixed.

  The owner of the boarding house smiled in apology. “I’m sorry to bother you so early in the day, but Mr. MacBride has been asking throughout the village after you. I only received word minutes ago that he wants a meeting with you.”

  Derek thanked him before closing the door, turning to Broc. “What do you think of that?” he asked.

  “I think he’s a desperate man,” Broc surmised, sitting on the edge of his bed. “Why would he be looking all over for you, otherwise?”

  “I have to agree. I only wish I knew what I was going to tell him.” Derek sat, too, running his hands through his hair.

  He’d fought himself for days over the decision of whether to sell or maintain his business.

  “You have to decide now,” Broc reasoned in his usual straightforward manner. As though it were that simple. “You built that business on your own, using your wits and your character. It would be a shame to see it go to a far lesser man than you.”

  “I don’t think I’ve heard you string that many words together at once in the years I’ve known you,” Derek observed. He didn’t feel much like smiling just then, conflict and guilt making it nearly impossible to feel lighthearted enough to do so.

  “I suppose I was waiting until something important enough came around.” Broc wasn’t smiling, either. “You realize how important this is to me, as well.”

  “Why do you think it’s taken me so long to reach a decision?” he asked. “If it were only me, I wouldn’t have nearly as much to take into account. And it isn’t just you, either. It’s the other men, those who may be relying on me.”

  “Then stay in business,” Broc suggested. “I’ve seen how you love it. I’ve seen how good you are at it. You can’t walk past the harbor without your eyes going over every last bit of activity there. As though you want to be part of it.”

  “I wouldn’t have started the business if I didn’t enjoy the work,” Derek admitted.

  Broc frowned. “That doesn’t mean you want to do it anymore. You want to settle down, be one of the landlocked. Like your brother and the rest.”

  His contempt was obvious.

  “You didn’t seem to mind very much when you were enjoying the laird’s generosity this past winter.”

  “I didn’t enjoy it enough to give up everything that ever mattered in my life.”

  “This is how you truly feel?”

  “It is.”

  The tension in the room was nearly unbearable, and unlike anything they had ever been through. While they’d butted heads from time to time, as any who worked closely together were bound to do, their arguments had never been over personal matters.

  Until now.

  “Thank you for your honesty,” Derek muttered, standing. “I’ll attend to Mr. MacBride and find out if he’s arrived at an offer for the ships.”

  “What will you tell him?”

  “That depends upon the offer he makes, doesn’t it?”

  “Do you want me there with you?” Broc asked, moving as if to stand.

  “No need.” Derek’s reply was clipped, brusque.

  “I’m not certain I trust the man,” Broc warned.

  “Nor am I. Yet another reason why I’m unsure of my course of action. Do I trust him with my ships? Would you even want to work under him? If I were to rebuild here, what would he do to sabotage my business?”

  Those questions and so many others weighed on Derek’s mind, concerns Broc couldn’t understand. He left his friend behind as he strode from the room and out to the street.

  The air was warm, as sweet as it could be considering his surroundings. Sarah and Heather had grown up here, he remembered—he’d even passed the smithy once or twice and spied the house in which they’d grown up.

  But they’d lived on the outskirts
of the village, closer to the cliffs overlooking the Firth of Forth. They hadn’t been cramped together as those living in the heart of Kirkcaldy had. They had at least known what it was like to run with the wind in their hair, their shouts disappearing as the wind picked them up and carried them away. As he had once played with Hugh.

  Children of the village had no such luck, he concluded as he traveled the streets. The smoke from dozens of cooking fires rose over the thatched roofs, carrying with them the odor of boiled meat and baked bread and lard. It might have been pleasant if it didn’t sometimes choke him when the wind carried it his way.

  Maintaining his footing was another constant concern, and he picked his way around puddles of slop and waste which children ran through as though it were nothing.

  He grimaced in disgust as just such a thing happened, three curly-headed boys, laughing and shouting as they flew past, sending gray water splashing in all directions.

  Once he reached the last row of stone buildings before the wide street which separated them from the harbor, he could breathe more easily. Just being in the proximity of so many boats and their owners and builders did his soul good.

  How could he consider leaving this life behind? A man’s life, a real man’s, in many ways the best of both worlds. He had the pleasure of riding the waves on ships which bore his name whenever he felt the need to leave land behind for a while. He could battle the elements, breathe deep of the salt air, and feel its sting as it pelted him in a hundred places while he rode up and down the cresting swells, shaking his fist at the sea.

  He could also use his skills as a businessman, the intelligence he’d always known he possessed, but had little chance to use up to that point. Soldiers weren’t employed to think, nor were farmers on the laird’s land. Even navigating his way through a brutal storm and coming out in one piece on the other side hadn’t given him the satisfaction he’d obtained from skillfully negotiating his way through a tricky deal.

  The activity around the warehouse was considerably subdued when compared to what he’d seen on his first visit. No shipments going in or out, he guessed, which meant MacBride’s attention would be that much sharper. He would want to negotiate.