Romancing The Rake (Brotherhood 0f The Black Tartan Book 2)

by Nichole Van

  “I must say, Rafe,” Alex said, accepting a cup from Sophie with a too-friendly nod, “we hardly expected ye to arrive so quickly, and with such lovely company, too.”

  He shot Sophie a flirtatious smile. She ducked her head at his compliment. Was she blushing? It was hard to tell in the light, and yet—

  “Expected me?” Rafe’s addled wits finally caught up to the question. He froze, his own cup halfway to his lips.

  “Aye,” Ewan agreed, taking a cup. “Have ye even slept on the road from London?”

  “Pardon?”

  “We sent ye an express immediately after receiving the threatening letters, but that was scarcely five days ago,” Ewan said between bits of crumbly shortbread.

  “An express? Letters? Ye have me muddled.”

  Alex and Ewan both stilled, eyes swinging to his.

  “Is that not why ye’re here?” Alex asked.

  “Nae. I’m still trying to track down Dr. Ross. Turns out, he retired and now lives in Edinburgh. But I received a threatening letter of my own before leaving London. You lot did as well?”

  Alex sat back, setting down his saucer. “It’s best to show ye, I think.” He left the room.

  Sophie watched him leave the room, her eyes coming back to meet Rafe’s, a question mark there.

  Rafe kept his expression tight. He had told her a wee bit about their trip to the South Pacific during their days in the coach. But not how the voyage ended. Not the pivotal events of that night.

  Alex returned a moment later with two folded pieces of foolscap, one in each hand.

  “They each say the same thing.” He handed the letters to Rafe.

  Unfolding one, Rafe let out a low whistle.

  I know what you did aboard The Minerva that night. Do not suppose that your crimes will go unpunished. You will end your days dangling from a hangman’s noose.

  He shook his head, snapping the paper in his hand.

  “I received an identical letter right before leaving London,” he said, setting the slips of foolscap down.

  “And ye didnae write us about it?” Ewan frowned.

  Rafe shrugged. “I figured I would discuss it with ye in person, as I was headed north. I assume this is related tae the notice in the Edinburgh Advertiser in August.”

  “Aye,” Ewan said, “’tis the only explanation that makes any sense.”

  Rafe resisted the urge to drag his fingers through his hair. “But who else knows the details of that night? Have we made any headway with who placed the notice?”

  “None.” Alex set down his teacup. “The editor claims that no one remembers who requested the notice—”

  “A likely story.”

  “Eh, I cannae say, tae be honest,” Alex said. “It could very well be the truth. Hard tae remember one person out of the hundreds who post notices every month.”

  Ewan reached for a bannock. “Kieran made no progress with his questions down at the wharf before leaving for New York. Just some vague mention of a man in Aberdeen possibly having information. But Kieran wasnae able to chase it down afore he left.”

  “So we still assume that no one actually survived the wreck of The Minerva?”

  “Aye,” Alex nodded. “It’s been over three and a half years. If someone had survived, they surely would have surfaced before now.” He nodded toward the letters. “Besides, the writer claims tae only know what happened. That’s not the same thing as being there. Our mystery writer could be someone from that Portuguese whaler.”

  Sophie’s head bounced between them before looking at the discarded letters, clearly interested in their exchange.

  “May I know what this is all about?” she asked, voice curious but ever-so-polite.

  Rafe exchanged a glance with Ewan and Alex. He could see the question in their eyes.

  “I’d like her tae know,” he replied. And he truly did. “But obviously the story is not entirely mine to tell. Though it appears others know somehow.” He waved a hand toward the threatening letters sitting beside the tea tray.

  “We have nothing tae hide,” Ewan said, reaching for another biscuit.

  “Aye.” Alex lifted one of the letters and handed it to Sophie. He then retrieved a copy of the Edinburgh Advertiser from a chest of drawers against the wall, allowing her to read the notice, as well.

  She scanned both items, eyes going wide.

  “Heavens! Supposed crimes? You’ve been discussing your trip to the South Pacific, but The Minerva wrecked?” She turned to Rafe, eyes so very wide. “Your ship wrecked?! How did I not know this?!”

  Rafe could understand her surprise. But The Minerva had been simply one of the hundreds of merchant vessels lost every year, only mentioned in a small paragraph in the newspapers, quickly forgotten.

  As for why Rafe hadn’t mentioned it himself . . .

  The events of that night were painful. He leaned back in his chair, knowing that reliving everything about that night would be uncomfortable, but wanting Sophie to know.

  “Aye,” he said, raking a hand through his hair. “The Minerva did indeed sink. I know I’ve told ye much about the trip, but only the scientific parts of it. Not the human drama bits.”

  “I see.” She frowned. “You mean the parts where someone might accuse you of a crime?”

  “Aye.” Rafe turned to look at his friends.

  Alex got a steely glint in his eyes. Ewan clenched his jaw and then nodded. Go on.

  Rafe looked back at Sophie. “As ye know, Lord Hadley—Andrew Langston, tae us—funded the trip. But such voyages are expensive, and so he had a business partner who helped finance the trip, in exchange for the ship carrying some cargo. Part of our original agreement was tae take on sandalwood in the New Hebrides, as the wood had been discovered to grow there. The timber would help defray costs. So we set anchor in a lovely harbor of a native village in the New Hebrides and began to explore the island, categorizing our finds and so on. All the while assuming that the captain, Martin Cuthie, was negotiating the purchase of lumber.”

  He told her about their weeks on the island, befriending the villagers, exploring new species. He recounted Jamie’s infectious enthusiasm, and how the youth had rallied everyone to participate.

  “We thought we had found paradise. However, unbeknownst to us, Captain Cuthie had struck a more sinister bargain with Andrew’s business partner. Instead of sandalwood, Cuthie would kidnap and enslave villagers from the islands.”

  “Pardon? Slavery?! How atrocious!” Sophie choked on her tea, instantly devolving into an explosive coughing fit.

  Her reaction seemed fitting for the horror of the situation.

  Sophie took a moment to gather herself, eyes tearing before she managed to take a sip of tea to calm her throat.

  “I did not expect this conversation to land on slavery,” she croaked. “Please continue.”

  Rafe carried on, “Naturally, we categorically refused to participate in such an atrocity.”

  “That imbecilic man—” Alex bit off. “Tae even contemplate treating other human beings in such a fashion.”

  “I experience nightmares yet over it,” Ewan agreed. “I dinnae ken that it will ever cease tae haunt me.”

  “Of course, Cuthie was adamant that his orders be followed.” Rafe described the scene. The memories still so vivid, images flowing through him.

  Gunshots above. Fists on his cabin door, startling him awake. Jamie’s voice urgent.

  “Ye must away, my lord. Cuthie has his men coming for ye. Hurry!”

  But Rafe had not been quick enough. His friends and the villagers had escaped, but Rafe and Andrew had not. They had been apprehended and beaten, tied to the mast and lashed. And then cut down and dragged before the captain. Andrew had received the worst of it, his large body sagging in the sailor’s hold, more bloody sausage than man. Rafe feared him dead.

  Then Cuthie had approached with that wicked-looking blade.

  “Ye have far too pretty of a face,” Cuthie cackled, running the flat of the
knife across Rafe’s cheek. “How many cuts will it take before ye yield? Shall we see?”

  Rafe struggled against the arms that held him. Sailors called encouragement to Cuthie, all their attention on Rafe. Behind Cuthie, he could see Alex, Ewan, Jamie, and Kieran slipping over the railing and onto the deck. A score of villagers followed them. Jamie held a rapier with confidence. The youth excelled at hand-to-hand fighting now. But they were vastly outnumbered, the fools. They were going to get themselves killed.

  “I don’t think that face of yours will be quite so pretty when I’m done,” Cuthie said.

  The knife slashed. Rafe turned his head at the last second, causing the blade to strike his cheekbone, barely missing his eye.

  Screams followed, as Kieran and Jamie attacked the sailors, determined to free Rafe and Andrew . . .

  “I don’t remember much of the rescue, to be honest,” Rafe continued. “I was struggling tae see with my cheek on fire—”

  “I pulled ye into one of the villager’s canoes, rowed ye to shore,” Ewan chimed in. “I was the only one strong enough tae carry yer huge carcass down the side of the ship.”

  “And though ye have a bit of a scar, I’ll be forever proud of my stitching that night. The cut was deep. It healed as well as could be expected.” Alex nodded toward Rafe’s cheek.

  “Aye, and for that I’m grateful. I mostly remember the aftermath of it all. The dark night air, Andrew delirious, the village on fire, and The Minerva sailing out of the harbor, sails catching the moonlight off the water. Cuthie marooned the five of us on the island.”

  “Gracious!” Sophie said. “What happened to The Minerva to cause her to wreck? Where is Jamie now? How did you escape from the island?”

  Rafe exchanged a weighted look with Ewan and Alex. Sophie, intelligent creature that she was, did not misunderstand the gravity of that look.

  “Did Jamie not . . . survive?”

  Rafe silently thanked her for the small catch in her voice as she said the word, survive—the reverent hush, as if desperate for any other answer, but fearing the worst.

  “Jamie dinnae survive,” Ewan said softly. “While Kieran and Jamie led us lot tae rescue Andrew and Rafe, they were both captured in the process.”

  “Aye,” Rafe continued. “From what Kieran has told us, Captain Cuthie had him and Jamie chained in the hold of the ship. I believe Cuthie’s intention was tae force Kieran to navigate the ship out of the treacherous waters of the South Pacific, using Jamie’s safety as motivation—”

  “Kieran was the ship’s master, and as such, the only one who had enough knowledge of the area tae navigate it safely,” Alex explained to Sophie. “Sometimes the ship’s captain is master and commander—meaning the captain is a skilled navigator, as well as a leader of the crew. But that isn’t always the case. Cuthie was only the commander; he didn’t know enough himself tae steer the ship through all the hazards.”

  “Aye, but before Cuthie could set sail out of the harbor that night, Jamie picked the lock on Kieran’s chains and freed them both,” Rafe said. “They fought their way to the top deck. Jamie was truly lethal with a rapier. I ken their plan was tae jump overboard and swim for shore. But at the last second, Kieran was apprehended by the first mate while protecting Jamie. Jamie ran the first mate through and pushed Kieran overboard, out of harm’s way.”

  Silence for moment. The distant sound of the street below intruded. Carriage wheels on cobblestone.

  “And then what happened?” Sophie asked into the quiet.

  Rafe took in a long breath. “We don’t know.” He swallowed back the painful lump lodged in his throat, causing his eyes to sting.

  “Aye,” Ewan whispered. “Poor Jamie was left aboard the ship. Kieran swam tae shore, wounded and screaming at us tae help rescue Jamie, but there was nothing any of us could do. The ship was already under sail, headed out of the harbor.”

  “Jamie remained on the ship,” Alex added. “Without us. Without our protection—”

  “And guilty of stabbing a crew member and disobeying the captain, both hangable offenses.”

  “Oh, that poor lad,” Sophie breathed, swiping at her cheeks, jaw firmly clenched. “So much injustice! Did Cuthie execute him then?”

  “We don’t know,” Rafe repeated. “We were on the island for about six weeks when a Portuguese whaler stopped tae re-provision. They claimed to have sailed through the remains of a merchant ship only a week previously. The ship appeared tae have been dashed to pieces on a hidden reef in the open ocean, bodies floating in the wreckage. The launch skiffs were bobbing and empty. They found no survivors, but they did recover a piece of wood with the letters ‘ERVA’ carved into it.”

  “The Minerva?”

  “We have always assumed no one else lived,” Rafe nodded. “But then these missives arrived.” He held up the letters.

  Sophie darted her gaze back to the letters and notice resting on the table.

  “Oh,” she blinked, as if remembering the letters. “They were certainly troubling beforehand, but now they appear downright sinister.”

  “Precisely. We had assumed everyone had been killed. But someone knows something—”

  “But who?” Sophie voice was bewildered. “Surely the only people who know are your closest friends and family. Why would they threaten you?”

  “There are a few others who know,” Alex answered her question. “The men on the Portuguese whaler heard some of the story, though none of them spoke English. And there was a brief paragraph about the wreck in the London Times at one point.”

  “Aye,” Rafe agreed, “and Andrew had tae give a deposition to Lloyd’s of London who had insured the trip, explaining the circumstances. So there is a written record buried in a solicitor’s office somewhere. Someone could have acquired it and thought tae blackmail us.”

  Sophie snorted and pointed at the letters. “If it’s blackmail, they left out the important bits about payment and such.”

  “Exactly.” Alex sighed. “And we cannae be sure that no one else survived the wreck, obviously, without having counted all the bodies. But survival does seem unlikely.”

  “But no’ impossible,” Ewan muttered.

  “Aye,” Rafe agreed. “Someone could have survived. Though I struggle tae understand how.”

  “Even Jamie?” The hope in Sophie’s eyes nearly unmanned him.

  The three men exchanged a look, weighted with all the history between Jamie and Cuthie, between Jamie and themselves.

  Alex spoke first. “I cannae think that Jamie survived. Even if Cuthie hadnae had the youth executed for insubordination, Jamie would have had tae survive the ship wreck somehow.”

  “And if Jamie survived, we would have heard by now,” Ewan said.

  “Aye,” Rafe agreed. “Jamie would have found a way tae contact us, or Kieran at the very least. Only death would have stopped—”

  He paused, needing to clear his throat, his eyes surely too bright.

  “Aye,” Alex whispered, agreeing with what was left unsaid.

  Those same feelings rose in Rafe’s chest . . .

  Fury at Cuthie for forcing them into the situation.

  Rage at the injustice of Jamie’s senseless death.

  Pain that they hadn’t been able to save their friend.

  Ewan met his gaze, his own eyes reflecting similar emotions. It was a burden they all carried. Even though the past summer had seen Andrew’s wayward business partner brought to justice—the man who had initiated the entire failed plan—the resolution hadn’t brought a sense of peace. At least, not for Rafe. He still felt Jamie’s loss keenly every time he saw his scar in a mirror.

  “We’ll get tae the bottom of this,” Alex motioned toward the letters on the table. “Someone knows something and eventually they will become careless. For now, they’re simply making noise. Let them, I say.”

  “Aye,” Ewan agreed. “We’ve survived too much tae be laid low by this. I’m planning on following up on the vague information Kieran recei
ved before he left. I’m for Aberdeen, as I have a portrait commission to fulfill in Aberdeenshire. I’ll look into it and let yous all know if I find anything worth reporting.”

  Rafe shot a glance at Sophie. “You’ve rendered us maudlin, lass.”

  “And there was no’ even a drop of whisky involved.” Ewan’s tone was mournful. “Alex doesnae believe in alcohol,” he clarified to Sophie.

  “Despite what anyone says, it isnae good for the body, Ewan,” Alex grumbled. “Ye’d be wise to imbibe less frequently.”

  Ewan grunted and reached for the last biscuit. “I’m Scottish. We drink whisky, wear kilts, and curse the weather and English in equal amounts—” He shot a wide-eyed look at Sophie. “—present company excluded, o’ course, my lady.”

  Sophie laughed, taking Rafe’s friends in stride.

  Yet another reason to like her. As if he needed more.

  “So if ye’re not here because of our missives, then why are ye intent on visiting Dr. Ross in company of a fine lady?” Alex asked, taking the opportunity to change the topic. “And a most delightful lassie, I must say,” he added, raising his teacup to Sophie.

  Her grin grew wider, warmth sparkling in her mossy eyes.

  Rafe tamped down the burst of annoyance at Alex’s friendly comment. Pity he was going to have to bloody the good doctor if Alex continued to cosy up to his bird.

  “And why are ye dressed as a Scot, no less?” Ewan added, looking to Rafe. “Tae prevent your father from knowing your whereabouts?”

  Rafe nodded.

  “Indeed. Lord Rafe has been quite insistent on the Scottish disguise.” Sophie shot Rafe a teasing look. “Is that not so . . . Lennon?”

  “Lennon?!” Ewan choked on biscuit crumbs.

  Alex chuckled.

  “’Tis the name I chose tae adopt for the trip . . . Lennon Robert Gordon,” Rafe said.

  He shot his friends a look that he hoped sufficiently communicated a strong threat of bodily harm should they say anything further.

  “Mmmm,” Ewan mumbled around his biscuit.

  Alex was less circumspect.