The Highlander's Pirate Lass (Brothers of Wolf Isle)

by McCollum, Heather

  “The Devil’s Blood would have returned for us if it were still floating,” Alice said, her face pinched. “And the captain surely.”

  Eliza rubbed a hand down her face. “Well, we know Jandeau did not sink him, or my bluff wouldn’t have worked.” She pushed away from the door and looked around the comfortable but spartan room. It seemed the same as many captains’ cabins except it was clean and new. The smell of fresh wood still hung in the air along with the essence of Beck Macquarie. His bed was made even if it was wrinkled, and a trunk sat at the end of it, bolted to the floorboards. A table with two chairs, a small keg, a washing basin, and several glass oil lamps were the other items.

  “Bloody hell,” Anders called, having opened a planked wooden door. “He even has his own jakes.” Pip rushed over to look down the hole that opened over the water.

  “I need to go first,” Pip said, pushing at Anders to get out of the privy.

  “Do you want to try?” Alice asked Hester. They’d been struggling to get the child to forgo napkins to stay dry. Little Hester nodded vigorously.

  Rap. Rap.

  Anders ran to open the door. It was Gavin Maclean with a tray laden with food. “We are going into port in the morn,” he said with a smile. “So no rationing required.”

  “Spendit,” Hester said, her frightened face relaxing into a smile as she tried to say the new word.

  Pip swung the door of the jakes open, rushing out with a squeal of excitement, her trews half unlaced.

  Anders nodded, trying to act serious with his eyes open wide at the assortment of cheese, dried meat, bread, and what looked like tarts.

  “Thank you,” Eliza said to him.

  Gavin bowed his head and glanced at Alice. “Uh…aye,” he stammered, and his face reddened.

  Did the man like Alice? She looked between them as he backed out of the room. Eliza added him to her list of three mutinous sailors just in case she needed it.

  The children grabbed up the tarts first. Pip took a bite, her eyes closing as if she were in ecstasy. “You have to eat some of these,” Anders said, handing one to Alice and then to Eliza. “The best I have ever tasted.”

  “How many tarts have you eaten before?” Pip asked around a mouthful.

  “A couple,” he said defensively. “And this is by far the best.” On board the Devil’s Blood, desserts were not something that Bart, the galley cook, baked. Without sugar, except when they traveled down into the Caribbean, shriveled fruit was the closest they had to treats. And wine. Eliza definitely preferred wine over the strong spirits John’s crew usually drank, although they had all made certain she could drink whisky without succumbing to foolishness.

  She took a bite of the tart. Even cold, the sweet spicy apples came alive with something close to joy in her mouth. “God’s teeth, these are…splendid,” she said, using the word of the day.

  Crossing her legs, Eliza lowered herself onto the floor of the cabin, took another bite, and closed her eyes to enjoy the lingering blend of spices. So sweet. So soft with the perfect amount of filling.

  Captain John had bought her a tart once long ago when he declared her birthday was on Christmas Day because that was when he’d rescued her from Jandeau. She was certain he’d declared it because he wanted to give her a gift on Christmas without having to give one to everyone else on board. So Christmas Day became her birthday. She couldn’t recall when her real one was. Most of the crew didn’t know their birthdates, and the rest stopped grumbling that the captain didn’t give them gifts when he called them whining idiots.

  Captain John Pritchert was never soft nor lenient, but his men and those children he saved were loyal to the grave. I will not let go. The words he’d yelled while pulling her from Jandeau’s cabin had bound her to him forever. A father to replace the one she’d seen Jandeau slice through and throw overboard like an empty barrel. Eliza would remain at sea with Captain John always. She owed him for her life, her virtue, and the confidence that she mattered in the world. It was the closest thing to love she’d ever felt, if love was indeed something real and not just a way of imprisoning a person.

  But where was he now? Eliza sighed and stood up to eat some more of the feast that Beck had sent up. The morning would see them to Wolf Isle. She wondered if it was still cursed.

  …

  “Lark was worried the storm might have sunk the Calypso,” Adam Macquarie said. As Beck’s older brother and the chief of their small clan, Adam continued to honor the promise they’d made to their father before he succumbed to death. Rebuild Clan Macquarie. Bring it home to Wolf Isle.

  “I built the Calypso to withstand more than wind and rain,” Beck said.

  “’Twas what I told her.” Adam’s hand fell heavily on Beck’s shoulder. His gaze moved past Beck to the ship. “Who are these?”

  “Two lasses and three children stranded on Eilean Mòr,” Beck said, glancing back. Eliza stood along the rail looking out at the trees. She was back in a dress, the blue one that had dried after the storm. Her hair was full of golden waves that caught the shine of the sun breaking through the clouds. “I have not yet drawn out their entire story.”

  “Did ye tell Adam how she stole your ship and sliced ye open?” Rabbie asked as he strode up, bent under the heaviness of the pack he’d taken with him to sea. He narrowed his eyes at Beck. “And she’s not the type of lass to settle here and bake ye tarts, so keep your eyes and jack to yourself. Don’t forget we have a curse to break, and ye need a wife.” With one last glare, he continued up the path.

  The damn curse of Wolf Isle. How could Beck forget? Until all five Macquarie brothers learned to truly love someone, whatever that meant, their isle would struggle, and their clan would continue to die out. A century ago, when their ancestor got a woman with child and abandoned them both, the woman’s mother cursed the clan, driving the inhabitants away. Beck had heard the story since he was a lad sitting on his da’s knee, pledging to break the curse before he even understood what that meant.

  Adam’s brows raised as he studied Beck. “Bloodied ye? She doesn’t sound like a lass ye’d be interested in anyway.”

  Beck held up his hand, which he’d washed and tied with a fresh wrap. “I let her.”

  “Ye let her bloody ye?”

  Beck exhaled. “I let her direct my ship for a quarter hour at most.”

  “Ye best have Lark clean the cut.” Adam looked past him to Eliza. “What do ye know so far?”

  “Eliza Wentworth is her name, and she has history with Claude Jandeau. She escaped him ten years ago and despises him.”

  Adam’s eyes snapped to Beck. “Jandeau.” The word was a curse. The pirate had nearly killed his wife, Lark.

  “We came upon the bastard just off the coast,” Beck said.

  “He hasn’t been seen in these waters for two years.”

  Beck’s jaw sat rigid. “The devil is back.”

  “And ye escaped him?” Adam asked. “His ship has twice the gunpower of the Calypso.”

  Beck let out a long breath. “Cullen’s ship was closing in on us. Jandeau knew he’d be outgunned shortly. And…” Beck paused, rubbing the back of his head. How did his older brother always make him feel like a lad rather than a man of seven and twenty with years of studying the sea?

  “And…” Beck started again. “Eliza Wentworth bluffed Jandeau into thinking Cullen’s ship was her Captain John’s ship.”

  “So she saved your arse,” Adam said with the hint of a smile.

  “We were in the leeward wind with half the guns and not enough time for Cullen to reach us.” Beck crossed his arms over his chest and glanced at Eliza as she walked gracefully down the narrow plank, holding wee Hester against her. “She says her captain’s name is John Pritchert of the Devil’s Blood.”

  “Pritchert? I don’t know the name,” Adam said, turning to watch her too. “Damn. Must have stung, her s
aving the day.”

  “Nay,” Beck said, annoyance in the tightness of his forehead. “It was a good ploy.”

  Eliza walked up the deep-water pier they had built for the Calypso on the south side of Wolf Isle. Beck’s voice lowered. “Captain John saved her and the others. He put them on Eilean Mòr because he was planning to sink Jandeau and didn’t want them captured.”

  “Hmmm,” Adam said.

  “Aye,” Beck agreed. “There is more to her story.”

  “If what Rabbie says is right about her not being a lass who will settle down, perhaps ye should stay away from her,” Adam said.

  Beck frowned at him. “I don’t need to consider wedding every lass I happen to meet.”

  “Ye know I do not believe in curses,” Adam said, “but we still have a clan to build, here on Wolf Isle.”

  “And we have three other brothers to help with that,” Beck said. “Not all of us must marry.”

  “Grissell seems to think we do,” Adam said, his face hard. Now that he had a wife and a bairn, Beck’s oldest brother seemed even more dedicated to breaking the curse and building the clan.

  “But ye don’t believe in curses,” Beck said.

  Adam looked away. “Grissell is the last descendant of the woman Wilyam Macquarie wronged. And the dead willow tree grew buds when I realized I loved Lark.”

  “So now ye believe in curses?” Beck asked, his voice hard. “Because it all worked out for ye?”

  “I don’t know,” Adam said, shaking his head. He met Beck’s gaze. “But be careful with this one.” He nodded toward Eliza.

  “I have no plans to get close enough for her to gut me,” Beck said. Although he’d held her as she trembled. Which hadn’t been part of my plans either.

  “Good,” Adam said. “She could be dangerous.”

  Bloody hell. Everything about Eliza Wentworth was dangerous. Was that why Beck found her so fascinating?

  She walked up to them and handed Hester off to Pip, who smiled her toothy grin up at Adam. “Are you the captain of this isle?” Pip asked.

  “Aye,” Adam said. “But people call me chief. Beck is Wolf Isle’s only captain.”

  Anders glanced toward the woods. “There are men here now.”

  “Ye’ve been to our isle before?” Adam asked.

  “We have visited the woman living farther down the shoreline,” Eliza said. She looked to Beck. “She used to say the isle was cursed against men.” It was a statement but sounded like a question.

  “The Macquarie Clan has returned,” Adam said, his voice commanding. “And we are growing.”

  “Wolf,” Hester said, her finger pointed at Beck’s large wolfhound running toward them, her pups following.

  “God’s teeth,” Alice said, coming up behind Eliza as she watched the dog. “’Tis as large as a wolf.”

  Beck tapped his leg as the tumbling pack ran up to greet them. He scratched the mother dog’s head. “This is Whisky and her brood.”

  Pip set Hester down next to her, and the puppies surrounded them, knocking the little girl over. Hester giggled, the first laugh Beck had heard from her.

  “You named your hound Whisky?” Eliza asked.

  “When she lopes about,” Beck said, “she looks like she’s had too much whisky.”

  A smile blossomed onto Eliza’s lips, and for a moment Beck’s breath stopped. The lass was a natural beauty with shiny hair and rosy cheeks, her skin lightly tanned from her days at sea. But when she smiled, happiness seemed to make her gray-blue eyes sparkle.

  Adam cleared his throat, the frown in it obvious and almost certainly meant for Beck. “Mistress Eliza and crew,” he said glancing at the children and Alice, “ye are welcome at Gylin Castle. Let’s see if we can improve your situation.”

  “Thank you,” Eliza said.

  Beck looked toward the ship where Gavin managed the unloading. All seemed well, so he walked with her. “Just follow Whisky and her pups.” Pip, Hester, and Anders chased them with Alice following. The children’s laughter made Eliza smile, and she lifted her skirts to run after them.

  Adam exhaled next to him. “I will speak with Callum and Eagan about staying away from her until we figure out her intentions.”

  Beck frowned. Her intentions? They surely didn’t include remaining on a cursed isle wed to a Macquarie.

  He and Adam followed the parade toward the castle. The large, gray-stone structure sat perched on the rise that looked across the small strait to the Isle of Mull where their friends, the Macleans, lived relatively peacefully under the chieftainship of Tor Maclean.

  Eliza slowed as they crested the hill that looked down into the abandoned village of Ormaig, sitting in a shallow valley behind Gylin Castle. After two years of work, most of the abandoned cottages had thatched or stone roofs on them once more. The hushed emptiness still caused a shiver to newcomers. The children paused next to Eliza, the pups wrestling together at their feet.

  Adam continued toward the castle, probably to warn their brothers to stay away from Eliza.

  “That place looks haunted,” Alice said, looking down into the village.

  “Haunted? Nay,” Beck said. “Just empty. But Ormaig will thrive once more. In fact, you all could live there.” He watched Eliza’s face.

  Eliza tucked the wayward curls along her temples behind her ears. “I would not know how to live on land now,” she said. “In fact, I can still feel the sway of the sea under me.”

  Pip held out her hands and closed her eyes. “Me too.” She laughed.

  Hester imitated her. “Me too,” she repeated.

  Eliza continued toward Gylin. Beck caught up to her. “I love the sea too,” he said. “But there’s something pleasing about putting my feet up before a fire without worrying that it will burn my ship down around me.”

  She chuckled. “We sail down to the West Indies in the winter. No need for a fire.”

  Pip, Anders, Hester, and Alice stopped before the great walls surrounding Gylin. Alice scooped up the little girl as they stared at the open portcullis. “’Tis a lot of stone,” Pip said, her face open in awe as she surveyed the surrounding twelve-foot-high wall. Gylin was the best fortified castle on an isle that had no one to attack it. Unless pirates land again. A nightmare that had pushed Beck to make his sailing dreams a reality, and he’d poured his heart and soul into building the Calypso.

  “Come along,” Eliza said, capturing Pip’s hand. The girl tipped her head back to spy the pointy bars overhead as they walked under the portcullis.

  “That would surely keep villains out,” Anders whispered in awe.

  “Have ye met many?” Beck asked him.

  “Just the ones who killed my ma and pa and gave me to a whore to raise,” he said and ran ahead.

  Lord. They had been through too much.

  “Look at that,” Anders called, and stopped with the others before the willow tree in the middle of Gylin’s bailey. The tree that had been stabbed a century ago and could not be chopped down, the bleeding dead tree that represented the curse of Wolf Isle.

  “Why is there a knife in it?” Anders asked.

  “Who would stab a tree?” Alice asked on top of him.

  Beck cupped the back of his head as all of them, except Eliza, fired questions at him.

  “It has little green buds, but it looks dead.”

  “’Tis bleeding. Can trees bleed?”

  “’Tis summer. Should it not have leaves?”

  Hester squealed as the wind blew the whip-like tendrils around, one of them seeming to reach out toward her. She climbed higher on Alice.

  Eliza stepped away from the lashing limbs. “Why do you not chop it down?” She frowned at him like he’d meant to scare the wee lass.

  “’Tis part of the legend. Anyone who tries to chop it down will have no children. Our father made us swear n
ot to try until we are old.”

  “I can chop it down for you,” Eliza said.

  “Ye do not want a bairn of your own?” Beck asked, frowning.

  “There are enough unwanted children in the world. I will care for as many as I can find. And it would be ridiculously hard to maneuver onboard a ship while heavy with child.”

  She apparently planned to spend her whole life at sea. He frowned. “It must be chopped by a Macquarie,” he said, not sure if that were true or not.

  “Hmph.” She walked toward the double doors to the keep. Eliza waited for him to catch up and nodded to him to go inside ahead of her. He saw a blade in her hand. Aye, Eliza was not some frail flower to be protected. She was very capable.

  Stepping from the darkness of the entry into the great hall, Eliza glanced around. Since the Macquaries had moved back to the castle two years ago, the decades of neglect had been washed away, and the broken windowpanes, set high in the stone walls, had been replaced to allow in light. The large hearth at the far end was dark since the summer temperatures had finally risen. Two tapestries in bright colors hung on the walls: one depicting the willow tree in green foliage, the other showing wolves on the isle and Norse ships on the sea around it.

  Rabbie and Adam stood with Beck’s two younger brothers, Callum and Eagan, at the far end. Callum’s brows lifted at the sight of Eliza, but whatever Adam said made them lower, pinching together. “These are my last two brothers,” Beck said as they walked toward them.

  “She took right over,” Rabbie was saying. “Bluffed against Jandeau.” He shook his head and took a gulp of his ale. “Who knows what else is in that trunk of hers.”

  “Poison and the bones of those who’ve crossed me,” Eliza said.

  Callum’s frown turned into a pinched smile. “Och, but ye did not mention how bonnie she is.”

  “And she’s bonnie,” Rabbie said, flapping his hand toward her. His bushy brows lowered. “Are ye a bastard, Miss?”

  “Rabbie,” Adam said, his voice full of warning.

  Eagan hit the old man’s arm, making some of his ale splash out. “He’ll be sending ye off the isle if ye keep asking women that.”