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

by McCollum, Heather

  Eliza felt her cheeks bloom with heat. “You said I could pick. I picked him,” she called. Lord, all the people on deck were looking between them.

  Captain John said something to Beck, pointing at him, his face tight with anger. Beck gave one nod and dropped his fists. John pivoted on his boots and strode toward her, leaving Beck to talk with the English sailors.

  “What was that about?” she asked as he stopped next to her. Captain John stood tall, legs braced like he did when he sailed the Devil’s Blood, his narrowed eyes forever searching the horizon.

  “Young pup needs to know you’re not some whore to be tricked,” he said.

  “He didn’t trick me,” she said. “I asked him to.”

  “The best scoundrels make you think that, and then they use you.”

  She ran a hand down her face. “He was quite attentive to me. I may have even used him more.”

  He glanced at her and then back out at sea. “Will you stay with him then?”

  His words hit her hard, and she swallowed. She looked out to where Beck spoke with her uncle across the narrow divide between their ships. Wentworth nodded to whatever Beck was planning.

  “I stole his ship,” she said. “’Tis a betrayal. I do not think he would have me stay with him.” The words were like small knives digging into her chest, making her inhale more like the flapping of an injured bird.

  “There are different levels of betrayal, Eliza,” John said, his gaze still outward. He had all his conversations that way, always watching the sea. It made speaking to him easier.

  She swallowed, her gaze following Beck where he gestured to sails and ropes, instructing the English sailors. “He loves this ship. Built it himself.”

  Captain John glanced at her. “But the ship didn’t choose him to bed her.”

  She shook her head, not wishing to hope. Hope led to a deeper wound, and she already felt weak with the slices of the last two days. She inhaled. “How did you convince my uncle to let you over here?”

  John turned his tanned face outward again. “I fed him everything I know about Jandeau, and some things I’ve guessed. He also knows how loyal I am to my crew. With me here, we have a better chance at getting Peter and Jandeau.” This time his whole body turned toward her. “You know Jandeau wants you.”

  She nodded, her eyes meeting his gaze. Inhaling to fill her words with conviction despite the tremor in her chest, she said, “We can use that to get Peter.”

  “Nay,” Beck yelled as he rose up the short ladder, his large biceps propelling him onto the upper deck as if his boots barely touched down. “We will not.” Beck’s handsome features were darkened with fury and stubborn determination.

  “’Tis her brother,” John said. “And her choice.”

  “Do ye know why she might choose to give herself to Jandeau for her brother?” Beck said.

  Anger bubbled up inside Eliza, muting the pain there. “Hold your tongue.” She hadn’t actually told him she didn’t want people to know her shame, but it should have been inferred. No one would want their dark secret out. “’Tis no one’s business but mine own.”

  He continued anyway. “Eliza is under a ridiculous notion that she is to blame—”

  “Stop it!” she yelled in his face, her palm smacking into his large chest. It didn’t move him at all, the damn mountainous Scotsman.

  “—for her brother being in Jandeau’s hands, that a frightened lass who had just watched atrocities committed against her parents should have saved her brother when ye rescued her from Jandeau’s ship.”

  She drew her dagger, standing before him, and rested the point at his throat. Beck didn’t even wince but stared hard into her eyes, meeting her fury and dark shame with outrage and denial.

  “I am responsible,” she yelled. “I left him. I said nothing about him. ’Tis my fault!” The words were out, the poison that had sat in her heart for ten years had been spat forward. The cloying shame and sorrow had risen up through her with Captain John’s words Peter is alive.

  “And now I am going to fix it,” she said, the words coming out with such force it was like a growl.

  She stared into Beck’s eyes, daring him to refuse her. He met her gaze without blinking, his lips pressed tight. She slowly lowered her dagger from the throat she had kissed in passion and turned away, blinking back the moisture that had gathered with her anger and self-loathing. “Raise the sails,” she called, looking away.

  “Mo chreach,” Beck said, his voice low and still angry.

  Captain John cracked his knuckles and slid his fingers down his short beard. “So you have tried and sentenced the one at fault to torture, rape, and death.”

  “Bloody foking hell,” Beck said, his voice even.

  Her gaze slid past Beck, who looked like he would rip Jandeau’s limbs off, to Captain John. “I left a child, my brother, in the hands of that monster,” she said.

  Her adopted father looked at her, his eyes without the judgment she felt she deserved. “Nay, Eliza,” John said. “I did.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Beck watched the fierce gleam of determination in Eliza’s eyes turn to confusion. “You left Peter?” she asked. “You didn’t even know he was with me. I said nothing.”

  John turned his gaze back to the sea, clasping his hands behind him. “Of course you said nothing,” he said. “When I took you over to the Devil’s Blood, you didn’t speak for two weeks. Not a word except to scream when those two bastards attacked you, and I made sure they would never touch a child again.”

  “You saw the lad?” Beck asked. “On the Bourreau?”

  John nodded solemnly. “’Twas a choice I had to make. Jandeau’s men were swarming like hornets whose nest had been squashed. I saw the babe sitting next to Jandeau at the helm, but I had just dragged Eliza out from his cabin.”

  “Scratching and fighting,” Eliza murmured. Her face was slack as if she were remembering the rescue.

  “You have been a fighter ever since,” John said, a hint of softness in his voice even though he stared outward. “To retrieve the babe, I would have jeopardized you.” He glanced her way. “And like I promised you, I was not letting go.”

  Beck’s chest was tight with the horror of John’s words. A young Eliza, kicking and clawing in panic, but the captain not letting go since he knew what would befall her if he did. And then the choice of leaving a babe behind with a crew of devils. Making a choice right there on the spot. What would he have done?

  Eliza stared at her adopted father, and Beck watched a single tear slide along the softness of her cheek, a tear she did not acknowledge. It was everything he could do not to grab her to him.

  “So,” John continued, “you have no need to regret. You were a child who had been horrendously abused. Even if you had known Peter lived, no fault should lie upon your heart. I am the one who left your brother behind. When I heard from Claire that he might have survived, and then I saw him on the Bourreau, I made haste to follow Jandeau north again.”

  “You said nothing,” she said, pain still in the tightness of her face.

  John looked at her, his face stony. “I did not want you to have hope for something that was nearly impossible. Partly because of the foolish thoughts of self-sacrifice I knew it would prompt.” He looked back out to the sea, and Beck took over the rudder from Eliza to continue their course around the back side of Eilean Mòr.

  The mixture of anger and sadness on Eliza’s face said so much. After a long moment, her lips parted. “Years of shame I felt,” she whispered.

  “Of which I knew not,” John said. “And I would not trade those years, and I will not trade your life now for the boy I already chose to leave behind. We will save Peter, or we will not, but your life is not part of the plan.”

  Beck was liking Captain John more and more. Let him be the one to tell her that she couldn’t trade herself f
or her brother. Either way, Beck could not allow it. If Jandeau had Eliza… The thought bored into Beck’s chest like a pointed awl.

  Eliza turned away from John, angry tears in her eyes, and strode to the ladder leading off the upper deck. With John up at the Calypso’s tiller, Beck caught up to her when she stopped at the rail, her face turned to the wind. Beck stood in silence. She didn’t need his words, his absolution. This independent woman, this survivor and fighter, didn’t need his…anything. But he wanted to give her so much anyway.

  “Eliza—”

  She cut off whatever foolish words he might have uttered by turning into him, her face burrowing against his chest. Beck wrapped his arms around her. He just held her, tracking the rise and fall of her breaths. Was she crying? Was it fury tightening her frame, or sorrow? Did she hate Captain John for his choice and his silence? Or did some complex combination of all these possible emotions twist inside her?

  He felt her shoulders straighten before she pulled back, quickly wiping the wetness from her cheeks. She took a deep breath, her gaze meeting his. “I am getting him back.”

  “Ye are too close to the situation to see clearly. Listen to Captain John. He has cared for ye for ten years.”

  Her eyes narrowed, her soft mouth tightening. “At the cost of my brother’s happiness and right to live free.”

  His fingers tightened around the rail. “I would feel the same if it were one of my brothers, but that does not make sacrificing yourself the correct course of action.”

  She turned away. “I would also be saving Captain John and the crew.”

  Beck grabbed her wrist, his mouth drawing close to her ear. “I’ll not lose ye, Eliza. I will not let ye go.”

  Her head snapped around to him, questions on her face, questions he had no answer to. She had said she wouldn’t marry. Adam wanted Beck to stop being with her if she couldn’t commit to building back the clan with him. Those details mattered not. “I will not let ye go,” he repeated.

  “Sails ho!” The words yelled from above broke their tethered gazes. Anders pointed. “’Tis the Bourreau!”

  Eliza had been right. Jandeau had remained in the waters near where Captain John had left her and her wards. A small boat was rowing up to the ship from the island side, probably the crew hauling fresh water or meat. Captain Wentworth’s ship was still hidden by the isle on the southern side. He would sail around to the west, meeting the Calypso, catching the Bourreau in between them. Beck looked up at the half-filled sails. They must catch the wind blowing south.

  He squeezed Eliza’s hand. “No trading,” he said before running to the middle of the lower deck. Eliza jumped up to the top aft deck with Captain John.

  Beck looked up at Anders. “I need ye down here. Send Pip up out of the fray.” The boy nodded, sliding down to take up a sword while the agile girl climbed high.

  “Liam,” Beck yelled, “and ye there.” He pointed to several of Captain Wentworth’s sailors. “Stand ready at the lines and make sure to have your weapons ready. If they swing across, strike with everything ye have. Do not let them take the children or ladies.”

  “I’ll slice their jacks off before I let them take the children,” Alice yelled, her hair wild from the wind. She looked like an avenging pirate bent on blood.

  “Since their jacks will likely not be hanging out, aim for their hearts,” Beck said, and she nodded with a wry smile.

  “I’m not a child,” Anders retorted.

  “Then swing with everything ye have,” Beck said. “And protect Pip.” Anders nodded solemnly.

  “Where is the English ship?” Eliza yelled down toward the sailors.

  One of them lifted his gaze to her. “Wentworth will come around, but he’s likely tacking into the wind.”

  Mo chreach! How much would the wind blowing against him slow down the English gunner? They needed his forty cannons.

  The smaller Calypso flew toward the Bourreau, and Beck could see Jandeau’s crew scurrying around the deck. Glass glinted along the ship’s gunwale as they raised the portholes for the cannons. Damn. With children and Eliza on board, it was like going into battle with a chest of gold strapped to the deck that Jandeau and his bloody crew could see and salivate over.

  Eliza stood bravely on the Calypso’s top deck. She wore her long wool and leather seaman’s coat over trews, a tunic, and high boots. Hair unbound and blowing about, she was a fierce warrior woman like the pirate Grace O’Malley or the Celtic warrior Boudica.

  Beck strode across to join her. “The Calypso is my ship,” he said to Captain John. “And I will steer her into battle.”

  Captain John gave one nod and stepped aside. “What would you have us do then, Captain Macquarie?” he asked, a slight hint of ridicule in his tone.

  “Ye will speak with Jandeau when we are within range. He respects ye and will want to know where your ship is.” Beck looked out at the nearing boat. Where was Eliza’s brother? He saw Jandeau in his felt hat, commanding his men. “We need to keep Jandeau talking and not firing until Wentworth manages to sail around the isle. And get him to bring Peter out.”

  “I will—” Eliza began.

  “Do nothing to jeopardize yourself,” Beck finished. “I would have ye stay up here with me.”

  “Nay,” she said. “I stand beside Captain John.”

  There was no time to argue or drag her to his cabin to lock her within. And Captain John would probably have issues with him chaining her to the deck so she couldn’t contemplate swinging across. Or maybe he wouldn’t, but there was no time to ask. The Bourreau was coming around, cannons at the ready.

  Captain John, Eliza at his side, traipsed down to the rail, moving with slow confidence as if cannons weren’t aimed at him. “Drop sails,” Beck yelled, and the crew released the lines, dropping the wind-catching sails to slow the Calypso. “Man the cannon,” he called, and several of Wentworth’s men hurried below with Liam to ready the guns while several remained up top with lit torches, ready to light the top guns.

  The Calypso was built for speed, not fighting, but she could deliver quite a punch with her firepower. Beck slid his hand down the smooth pummel of the whipstaff. He had sanded it himself before setting it into the ship, connecting it to the rudder. The ship hadn’t been out at sea long enough for the wood to weather into a gray to match the storm clouds that hung over the coast. He looked out at the devil ship pulling alongside. Perhaps it was time the Calypso earned some scars.

  “I heard you wished to speak to me, Jandeau,” John yelled across. A lad with tawny gold hair was pushed forward from the middle of the deck. His clothes seemed too tight for his lanky body. It had to be Peter Wentworth. Even if not, the boy deserved a life of freedom from the horrors on Jandeau’s ship.

  “Captain John Pritchert,” Jandeau said and smiled. “And the lovely Eliza. But where are your rabble and ship?”

  “What is it you want?” John asked.

  “No welcoming platitudes, I suppose,” Jandeau said, waving the boy over. “When you were stolen from me, Eliza, you left something behind. How selfish of you to give up your little brother.”

  “I did not know he lived,” she said, her gaze straight across to the two of them. Beck couldn’t see her eyes. Did she plead with Peter for understanding? Was the boy filled with hateful poison now that Jandeau had retrieved him?

  “Now you know,” Jandeau said. He grabbed Peter’s arm, pulling him to the side of the ship, almost as if he’d throw him overboard. Eliza’s hands curled around the top rail. “What would you pay for his life, Eliza? To make amends for ten years of his suffering?”

  The boy opened his mouth but then closed it when Captain John called over. “Peter has lived with a woman at port, not with your devil crew, so there was no ten years of suffering.”

  Jandeau kept his gaze on Eliza like he was salivating over a rich roast. It made Beck’s empty hand slide
to the hilt of his sword. “Ah, but there will be a lifetime now,” Jandeau promised darkly.

  “You have been hunting for me just to tell me something I already know,” John said. Beck noticed he moved closer to Eliza, as if he worried that she might jump across.

  Mo chreach! That was exactly what she looked like. Ready to leap across, tear Jandeau’s throat out, and grab her brother. But then the Bourreau’s vicious crew would surround them, seeking retribution in the worst way possible.

  Where the hell was Wentworth? Beck glanced past the Bourreau to the back side of Eilean Mòr, but there was no sign of the large English ship. If some of Wentworth’s men hadn’t come across, Beck would worry the man had abandoned them.

  Jandeau pulled Peter closer by the back of the neck. He didn’t resist but stood stoically, staring out toward Eliza. “Perhaps Eliza would like to see her brother get a chance at a life off the Bourreau, although he is welcome to stay and become a fine member of my crew.” The men behind him laughed heartily. “If he survives,” Jandeau said.

  Foking bastard. Beck wished he could see Eliza’s face. “Jasper,” Beck called down to where the large man stood ready. “Take the helm.” Jasper climbed quickly, taking the whipstaff. “Keep us within shooting range of the Bourreau.” The man nodded, and Beck jumped down, only catching the end of what Jandeau was saying.

  “…a fair trade. A lad you can raise to take over the Devil’s Blood for the girl who is rightfully mine.”

  “No person is rightfully yours,” Beck called as he strode to the other side of Eliza.

  Jandeau slid his hooded gaze to Beck. “The Macquarie pup.” His brow shot up. “Two protectors for Eliza and not a single one for her baby brother.” He tsked. “If the lady does not belong to anyone, then it is her decision if she wants to save her brother, something she failed to do before.”

  “There’ll be no trade,” Beck said.

  “A pity that you think so, especially when you are sorely outgunned,” Jandeau said, looking squarely at Eliza. “But I have not heard from the woman. Today, will you save both your brother and the crew of the little carrack you have commandeered? Or shall we start firing and see where you end up when the smoke clears?”