“He said clothes. He said nothing about my shoes. They stay,” Moira asserted.
“And if he beats me?”
“Then your husband is worthless if he doesn’t defend you,” Moira snapped.
“Like your pirate lover? Where is he?” The tavern keeper’s wife mocked.
“On his way. If your husband wants to keep the extra pouch of coin the Red Drifter offered, you’d both do well to make sure I’m safe and sound when he arrives,” Moira pointed out.
The woman sucked in her cheeks and puckered her lips like she’d eaten a lemon, but she gave her head a jerky nod. She backed out of the chamber, and Moira heard the key turn in the lock. She wasted no time running across the room and stripping off the sheet. She wrapped it around her shoulders and clutched it closed before she went to the window. She tried to open it, but it was sealed shut. She pounded on the glass until Tomas looked up at her. She waved to him. She pointed to the window frame and shook her head. Tomas frowned, but she knew it was from disappointment, not misunderstanding.
Moira stayed at the window, watching people pass beneath her. Tomas remained, but he crossed the street to hide in the shadows where he could see Moira. She watched as men she recognized from the Lady Charity materialized from around The Leg of Mutton and set off on foot. She prayed they were going to find Kyle. But as hours passed, and neither Kyle nor Keith appeared, Moira’s mind leapt from one horrible scenario to another. She’d arrived in Wicklow early in the morning, been captured before midmorning, and saw no one until that evening when the tavern keeper’s wife dumped a tray on the table. She scowled at Moira but didn’t seem to notice the bedding laid over the bed untucked. Moira didn’t want to alert the woman that she’d covered up. She feared the woman would tell Dónal out of spite. So she stood before the woman, naked and haughty. While she didn’t feel like her body was anything to make the woman jealous, her feigned diffidence gave her confidence.
Too hungry to care if she was being drugged, Moira inhaled her food. It made her stomach ache, but at least she was full. She returned to the window, but the setting sun made it difficult to see anything beyond the street below. Tomas remained on sentry, but she sensed his tension. He shifted from one foot to another more frequently, and he peered toward the dock every few minutes. When he glanced up at Moira, she could tell the man’s usually jovial smile was forced. As the darkness of night settled in, Moira feared some fate worse than her own had befallen Kyle.
Twenty-Seven
Kyle sat with his legs pulled up before him, his hands dangling over his knees, and his head back against the wall. Keith sat across the cell in the same position. Neither had spoken since the harbormaster’s men dragged them to gaol. They’d met behind a cobbler’s building during the early afternoon to compare their observations and findings. As they stepped from the shadows to return to The Leg of Mutton, men seized them. Outnumbered and not willing to die, the twins followed the commands and wound up in prison. They’d communicated with looks only twins could interpret until the door swung shut, enclosing them in darkness. There was a small window cut at the top of the wall. Since light no longer filtered in, the brothers knew it was night and therefore well past when they were supposed to rendezvous with Kyle’s men. Neither doubted word spread throughout the town that the authorities had captured the twin pirate captains. It was just a matter of time until Tomas and the others heard.
Kyle feared not for his future. He didn’t expect to spend long in jail, but he feared for what was happening to Moira. He’d heard about a woman seen running along the docks, but a group of men said to be MacDonnells stopped her. Kyle knew Moira was now back with her brother. He found he’d started praying since he met Moira. He was wary to believe anyone or anything listened to him, but if there was a God and he was a merciful listener, Kyle would beg for divine intervention. His mind filled with images of Moira being battered and bruised all over, just as her arms had been when they met. The bruises had nearly healed by the time Dermot attacked. Now Kyle assumed she was suffering from her brother’s vindictiveness.
The charges against Keith and Kyle interested neither of them, since the list didn’t nearly encompass all that they had done over two decades. But they’d argued that they sailed under the marque of the Earl of Argyll and had the earl’s protection to conduct business on his behalf. The gaoler laughed as he reminded the twins they were in Ireland, not Scotland. Despite maritime law saying officials should accept their marque, their notorious reputation superseded any legitimacy the Earl of Argyll might have lent them.
So the brothers sat in the dark waiting for morning and their arraignment. They didn’t doubt the gaoler and harbormaster would be foolish enough to allow Kyle and Keith outside as they moved them to see the magistrate. Tomas and Kyle’s crew would already know the route and would lie in wait. It was the same routine each time authorities captured either or both of the brothers. They’d escaped more times than they would recall. But it confirmed why they loathed coming ashore anywhere in the British Isles except for the tiny island of Canna, where they stored their bounty.
And so, the brothers waited for morning to arrive. There was nothing to say, since they didn’t want anyone to overhear them. They had a cell to themselves, but they knew there was a jailer posted outside their door. Kyle and Keith had made the pretense of fighting when their captors stripped them of their weapons, but both men carried weapons in places the gaoler hadn’t thought to search. If all went to plan and if history repeated itself, Tomas would slip into the jail’s armory and retrieve their swords and knives while Kyle and Keith were being transported.
A key rattling in the door signaled to Keith and Kyle that the time for them to see the justice of the peace drew near. The sun had already risen, making dust motes dance in the air within the cell. The brothers looked at one another and grinned, but by the time the door opened, they’d turned their good cheer into mutinous glares that made the jailer pause. Four men stood behind the one with the key. That was half the men present when they were arrested. Not daring to look at one another lest someone think it was a signal, Kyle and Keith filed out of the cell without argument. As they always did, they appeared resigned to being caught. With heads down and eyes cast to the floor, the twins lulled their captors into a sense of overconfidence.
Kyle breathed in the fresh breeze, the tangy salt air burning his nostrils. He felt at peace knowing the sea was nearby, and he was no longer encaged. As the gaoler and his men led Kyle and his brother to the magistrate’s office, Kyle kept his head down, but his eyes scanned their surroundings. He expected Snake Eye to create the usual distraction, pretending to be drunk and barreling into at least one jailer. But as they drew closer to the justice of the peace’s office, and nothing happened, Kyle spared Keith a glance. The look of confusion and disquiet that met him matched his. Something was very wrong. The only reason his men wouldn’t come to his aid was if they feared more for Moira than they did him. His heart pounded as he looked back at Keith, knowing his brother thought the same thing.
With a roar, the twins fought against their captors, swinging manacled fists and kicking. They’d often jested about gaolers’ stupidity when they shackled the men’s wrists in front of them. It only gave prisoners a weapon. While they felled the men with them, neither pirate realized how close they’d come to the magistrate’s office. More guards ran toward the fight, each armed with a club. The brothers exchanged a look of annoyance before each received a blow to the head.
Moira dozed but woke several times throughout the night. She’d heard her brother’s voice coming from the floor below as he bellowed and sang. She prayed he drank himself to death, but when he’d staggered into the chamber during the middle of the night only to spew vile curses at her before passing out in a chair, she knew she hadn’t been so fortunate. The sun was now well above the horizon, and Dónal continued to snore. Moira spied a knife handle protruding from Dónal’s boot and wondered if she was sly enough to steal it. Noise outside the
door told her that Dónal had guards posted in the passageway, so the door wasn’t a means of escape. But she’d had hours alone in the chamber before she’d given up and gone to sleep. She’d broken all of her nails and rubbed her tips of her fingers raw, but she’d worn away much of the grime that kept the window from opening. She suspected she could pry the window open if she had a knife to scrape the last of the accumulated dirt out of the hinges.
Sometime while she slept, Dónal woke long enough to strip off his doublet. Loathe as she was to touch any item of his clothing, it would be something she could wear. It would come to her knees, since she was nearly a foot shorter than her brother. She intended to fold the sheet in half and wrap it around her waist several times before she donned the doublet. As long as the makeshift skirt allowed her legs enough freedom to climb and run, it would cover her enough for no one to claim she was indecent. She stood by her promise to herself that she would run through the streets of Wicklow naked if she had to, but she hoped she had an alternative.
Easing from the bed, cringing when the springs creaked, Moira watched Dónal to see if he stirred. He didn’t even twitch. She made short work of folding the sheet around her and putting on his doublet. If he woke while she tried to steal his knife, she would fight with all her might if she had to. If he stirred once she had the knife, she would claim she’d covered herself in his presence. Tiptoeing closer, Moira’s eyes darted between Dónal’s face and his knife. He snored noisily, and she prayed it would dampen any sound she made while trying to get the window open. With deft fingers, Moira kneeled beside Dónal and eased the blade from his boot. She hurried to slide it into her sleeve before she retreated to the bed. She expected him to lunge at her, but he didn’t move. His breathing remained the same, and she didn’t think he woke. But she waited out several minutes, sitting on the bed before she rose again and slipped on her boots.
Licking her lips, her heart pounding in her ears—she was tired of the sound after days of living in fear—Moira walked to the window. If her brother was awake, she believed he would demand she step away. But he did nothing. She looked out the window and found Tomas where she’d last seen him as it grew dark the night before. She didn’t dare bang on the window to get his attention. She looked around and found Snake Eye leaning against the next building down. She wondered why the men Kyle trusted most were watching her rather than at least one of them searching for Kyle. She assumed something had happened because she knew in her heart, he wouldn’t leave her to Dónal. Even if he didn’t want her anymore, he wouldn’t accept her being with her brother. She’d seen the murderous intent when he learned Dónal mistreated her.
With each of Dónal’s snores, she scraped around the hinges. She peered back at him with every excessive inhale, sure that he was about to awake. But he never did. When she was certain the window should open, Moira pressed outward, relief flooding her when the shutters and glass moved. She glanced around to see if there was anything she could use to the climb down. The second-story window wasn’t so far above the ground that she would kill herself if she jumped, but she would surely fracture whatever she landed on. She was willing to take the risk and the pain if it meant escaping Dónal. None of the clan council members had done anything to help her throughout the night. None had sneaked to her chamber as they had the night she fled Dunluce. She knew not—cared not—who stood watch outside her chamber door. Whoever it was, hadn’t come to her aid.
A wave of hatred washed over Moira as she glanced back for the last time. The temptation to kill her brother threatened to override her good sense. She despised him for all the years of mistreatment, for selling her to Dermot, for keeping her from Kyle. She feared that if she stood closer, she would have already slit his throat or driven her blade into his neck. Forcing herself to focus on what she needed to accomplish rather than what she wanted to do, she placed the hilt of the dirk in her mouth and once more peered out the window. She knew she had a corner room, so she looked at the bricks that made up the outside corner of the building. They were notched, a small piece extending out in an alternating pattern. There was a window ledge just wide enough for her toes. If she could step onto the ledge, then get her toes onto a brick, she thought she might use them to climb down. If she failed, she would pitch backward and land on her back. She prayed that she didn’t break her backbone or her neck or slam her head into the ground. But all three of those outcomes were better than remaining with Dónal.
If Dermot is dead, if Kyle killed him, then what will Dónal do with me? Likely kill me before taking me back to Dunluce. Either you go now, Moira, or you stay with Dónal.
That last thought had Moira climbing onto the windowsill. She glanced out at Tomas, then Snake Eye. Snake Eye caught her movement and vigorously shook his head. He darted to Tomas and shook the man before pointing at her. Tomas shook his head in time with Snake Eye’s, but Moira refused to be deterred. She stepped through the window and onto the outside ledge. Not looking anywhere but at the corner bricks, she took a deep breath and reminded herself of all the trees she’d climbed as a child. She’d scaled the side of the stables countless times to watch the ships sail away from the MacDonnell dock. She’d inched along the foot of the jib and out to the bowsprit before she jumped into the sea. She was determined to do this, too.
She slid her feet along the ledge until she reached the end. She’d closed the shutter furthest from her before she moved, but she held onto the closer one. At some point she would have to release it and grab for the bricks. It was the point in her daredevil stunt where she was most likely to fall. She wished she could push the other shutter closed, so Dónal wouldn’t immediately know how she escaped, but it wasn’t an option. Despite hearing Tomas’s stage whisper calling her name and warning her against her plan, she ignored him.
Drawing up the courage she had mustered, she reached out her left foot until she touched one of the bricks. She drew her leg back in, knowing she could reach it. She slid the ball of her right foot side to side as she inched closer to the edge of her perch. Her fingers gripped the outside edge of the shutter as she leaned as far as she could without letting go. Her fingers wrapped around a brick. It wasn’t the side that would make it easiest to start climbing, but it was her target. Clutching the brick, she stretched her left leg again until her toes landed in the center of the short protrusion.
Without another thought, Moira pushed off the ledge and swung for a moment until she reached her right arm over her left, which had a death grip on a brick. Grasping another notch, Moira steadied herself. Ignoring the strain in her shoulders and the awkwardness of her hold, she felt beneath her for the next brick. When the ball of her right foot was steady, she moved her left leg and arm down until her hand replaced her foot and her foot found a new perch.
With sweaty palms, Moira continued to climb down until she felt hands wrap around her waist and another set around her ribs. She glanced back to find Tomas and Snake Eye both lifting her down the last several feet. With her feet on the ground, she fell against the men, wrapping her arms around the hardened pirates. With only a moment’s hesitation, they returned her embrace.
“Where’s Kyle?”
Moira’s demand was clear even if she kept her voice low. She looked back and forth at the men who stood before her, then craned her neck to see the other crew members slinking out of the shadows. She glared at Tomas and Snake Eye as she waited for a response. Their hesitation made her panic. She looked around, then faced the docks. She strained to see into the distance, but there was no sign of a head with russet waves. She turned back to Kyle’s first mate, tears welling in her eyes.
“Moira, he's not dead. He’s been arrested,” Tomas explained.
“And you haven’t gotten him out?” Moira hissed. “I can’t stay here. There are too many of my clansmen in the tavern. Dónal was snoring in that chamber when I climbed out.”
“And you need clothes,” Snake Eye pointed out before he lunged backward, Moira’s blade under his chin.
&n
bsp; “I don’t give a damn about what I’m wearing, and you know that. Prove to me he’s alive, then I’ll care,” Moira warned. “You didn’t answer me. Why haven’t you gotten him out? Is Keith with him?”
“Yes. We didn’t break him out because we knew he would rather us stand watch over you than leave you unprotected,” Tomas responded.
“So no one is watching Kyle or Keith?” Moira asked around the lump in her throat. Her voice cracked as she asked, “Where is he?”
“Men from the Lady Grace just arrived. They grew concerned when no one returned to the Lady Charity, so they sent a party to find us. They’ve gone to the gaol where the captains are held,” Snake Eye answered.
Moira nodded as she continued to fight the tears that burned her eyes. Falling apart and sobbing, no matter how tempting, would serve her no good. She needed to see Kyle. She looked between Tomas and Snake Eye, and with a resigned sigh, she said, “I need clothes.”
Twenty-Eight
The last thing Kyle recalled was men from the Lady Grace rushing toward them before everything went black from the pounding his head took from the guard’s club. He and Keith sat side by side, once more in the cell where they’d spent the night. This time, their wrists were manacled behind them, and their ankles sported matching shackles. Leaning their shoulders and heads against one another, they kept their voices to whispers. They each strained to hear and knew no one outside their cell could catch what they discussed.
“Did you see your men?” Kyle asked.
“Aye. Did you see any of yours?” Keith mumbled.
“No. They must be wherever Moira is. That’s the only reason they wouldn’t come, unless they were caught too.”
“I doubt that. We would have heard them arrive, or guards would have taunted us,” Keith reasoned. “I think my men knew they couldn’t get to us and will look for yours. I agree that they’re with Moira.”
The Red Drifter of the Sea: A Steamy Opposites Attract Pirate Romance (Pirates of the Isles Book 3) Page 21