Chapter Twelve
Caya’s more-than-conspicuous arrival in Scrabster caused a stir. Was it her fine white horse or the way she rode Apollo like a man? She arranged her skirts to hide as much of her legs as possible. Riding astride was immodest for a woman but far safer than riding sidesaddle. Modesty was not the issue, however. No white horse or white frock would disguise what the people of Scrabster considered her dark soul. The Presbyterian residents had branded her a witch, and perhaps they were right. Hadn’t she brought pain and discord to Declan and the people of Balforss?
“Miss,” Peter called out and rode up next to her. “I dinnae like this place. We should go.”
She pulled Apollo to a stop. “I have private business with Mrs. McConnechy.” Caya surveyed the faces in the crowd, their furtive glances, their secret murmurs. Peter was right. This was not a good place.
A boy with a shaved head about Peter’s age showed some daring and inched his way closer for a better look at her.
“You, boy,” she said. His eyes flew open wide. “Where is the home of Mrs. McConnechy?”
The boy pointed and stammered. “B-b-blue door.”
“Wait for me here, Peter. I’ll only be a minute.”
“I cannae leave you to go alone.”
“Believe me. I will be safer alone.” She clicked her tongue, and Apollo stepped forward, the horse showing the bold demeanor she didn’t possess.
Mrs. McConnechy’s home was a weather-beaten shack at the far end of the harbor road, the chipped and faded paint on the door barely discernible as blue. People watched, but no one offered to help her dismount. The good-tempered Apollo seemed to sense her intention and held still while she leaped from his back. She wound his reins around a garden post and patted the beast on the neck, careful not to speak to him lest the watchers assume the horse to be her familiar.
The door opened before she could knock. Mrs. McConnechy barked a sharp, “She’s here. Remember what I said,” over her shoulder, then shoved passed Caya in such a hurry she almost knocked her down.
Jack spoke from the darkness within. “You came. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned me again.”
She fumbled in her pocket, eager to deliver her mother’s ring and be away from this place.
“Come inside, fool. Don’t let people see you with it.”
He was right. People were looking. A woman alone with a fine horse, dressed in fine clothes, in possession of fine jewelry… Best not to tempt fate. She stepped inside, and the door closed behind her. She waited a moment to let her eyes adjust to the dim. Jack sat in a chair by the fire, a drink in hand. It was midafternoon. If he’d fallen into old habits, he would be well into his cups by now.
“I’ve brought Mother’s ring like you asked. It should buy you passage somewhere safe with money to spare.”
“Come sit with me a while. I want to apologize for my rough treatment the last time we met.” He sounded different. Not his usual angry, arrogant self. He sounded uncertain. Frightened, even.
“I need to go or I’ll be missed. I’ll just leave the ring here on the table. Take care of yourself, Jack.”
“Wait. You can’t go yet,” he barked. “I mean.” His voice softened. “Will you at least let me kiss you goodbye, sister?” He stood and took two measured steps toward her, his arms held wide.
She was tempted. This was goodbye forever. The golden afternoon light blazed through the one window and shone on his blond hair. His voice, light and sweet, was so like when he was a boy. If only he were that boy again. If only they could start over. If only… But then, she would never have met Declan Sinclair.
The door swung open with a crack. She gasped and spun around to face the silhouettes of two figures squeezing through the low opening.
“Who are you?”
One wrapped a meaty fist around her upper arm, hurting her. She cried out, “Jack, tell them to let me go.”
The man yanked her outside. She’d been in the dark house long enough that the afternoon sun hurt her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Jack called out, as the other man dragged him roughly through the doorway. “The old woman tricked me, and O’Malley said he would kill us both. I had to. I’m sorry.”
…
Peter didn’t like Scrabster or the fisher people who lived there. He definitely didn’t like the suspicious way they stared at his pony as if estimating her value. Every bone in his body urged him to grab Apollo’s reins and lead Miss Caya away from this village.
Against his better judgement, he’d agreed to wait for her at the edge of town while she visited with Mrs. McConnechy. He’d watched her maneuver Apollo around carts, through crowds of people, and past stray dogs. Why would she want to come here, of all places? And why visit that nasty woman who had called her a witch?
Private business, she had said.
He didn’t know what private business was, but he recognized the queer feeling rising in his belly. Miss Caya was headed for trouble, and she needed his protection. He just knew it. Before he lost sight of her, he slid off Heather’s back and followed Caya at a reasonable distance, his pony trailing behind him. When she dismounted and entered a shack, he paused at the end of a dock twenty yards away and watched.
Mrs. McConnechy left the shack right away, but Miss Caya went inside anyway, which was a curious thing. Miss Caya had said she had business with Mrs. McConnechy. Should he go inside the shack and see if she was safe?
A bluebottle buzzed by his ear, distracting him for a moment. Out in the harbor, a graceful double-masted sloop had dropped anchor. He could identify any ship, as he had studied the pirate book Laird John had lent him. It was his dream to one day board a ship like that and sail around the world, looking for adventure like the pirates do, only he wouldn’t rob other ships. No. He’d explore places no one else had visited and make maps for the King and…
Just then, laughter drew his attention. Mrs. McConnechy was returning to the shack with three men. One, dressed like a gentleman with a good coat, a clean stock, and tall black boots, had a ghastly looking smile that revealed a mouthful of rotting gray teeth. The other two wore filthy shirts, their hair clubbed in tight knots. Sailors. He could tell by their slops, those loose-fitting breeches like sailors wore. Like pirates wore. Bloody hell. They were headed straight for Miss Caya.
Peter’s heart bumped and wobbled inside his chest so hard he had to rub the pain away. Should he sound the alarm? He doubted anyone in Scrabster would come to his aid. Ride back to Balforss and get help? Aye, and what good would that do if the pirates took Miss Caya to parts unknown? His grapple with indecision left him paralyzed.
Two men went inside the shack, leaving the well-dressed gentleman and Mrs. McConnechy waiting outside. Peter tensed. They wouldn’t dare harm Miss Caya, would they? He had his dirk. He could run into the house and stick the two men before they had a chance to fight back. But then what? Lord, why had he let Miss Caya talk him into this? Laird John would gut and stuff him if he lost her.
Calls of distress spilled out of the shack, along with the two pirates dragging Miss Caya and another man. A man he recognized. The Cornwally pirate. The blackguard who had nearly dashed his skull in. The one wanted for murder. What was Miss Caya doing with a murdering pirate? He tied Heather to a bollard and crept closer. Close enough to hear them speak.
Miss Caya sounded scared. Her voice warbled when she asked, “Jack, who are these men?”
She knew the Cornwally pirate? Had it been part of her plan to meet him?
“I’m just trying to set things right again,” the Cornwally fellow whined. “You left me no choice. Captain Sean O’Malley, meet my sister, Caya.”
Jesus. The murdering Cornwally pirate was Miss Caya’s brother. Did Laird John know about this?
The rotten-toothed captain-man bowed. “Ah, darlin’ Caya, at last we meet. I feared you might be lost forever, but your brother has delivered you to me after all.”
Miss Caya lifted her chin. “My brother is mistaken. I am engaged to another. I apologize for the misunderstanding. Please allow me to leave.”
She tried to free herself from the pirate holding her by the arm.
The captain stepped closer to her, and Miss Caya turned her face away. “No, ye see, I can’t let ye go, darlin’, because you’re already paid for.”
“Jack, give him Mother’s ring and tell him to let me go. Please, I want to leave.”
Peter thought Miss Caya’s murdering pirate-brother might do as she asked. Instead, O’Malley shook his head. “Sorry, darlin’. Your brother and I had a deal. You’re coming with me.”
Miss Caya broke free long enough to slap O’Malley in the face before the pirate got hold of her again. “You had best let us go before the men of Balforss arrive,” she said. “They are looking for my brother and they will kill you if you lay a hand on me.”
The pirate holding her placed the point of his knife to her cheek. Peter gasped out loud, almost giving himself away.
“Keep your mouth shut now, darlin’. I don’t want my man’s blade to slip and cut that pretty face of yours. Just relax and come with us. Your brother is leading us to a stash of whisky.”
“Jack, no,” Caya gasped.
“Don’t worry, Caya. We’ll show them the stash and then they’ll let us go. Just do as O’Malley says and we’ll be all right.”
Miss Caya begged her brother. “Please, Jack. Don’t do this. The Sinclairs will kill you. They’ll kill all of you if you steal from them.”
She was right. Mr. Declan stored his whisky somewhere on Balforss land. Its location was unknown to Peter, but he knew well of its value. Miss Caya’s murdering brother must have discovered the location and intended to lead these men to Mr. Declan’s stash. If the Sinclairs caught them stealing, they would kill the thieves.
The back of Peter’s legs trembled all the way up to his backside. He was scared. Scared for Caya. Scared for himself. Scared for the whisky. But he had a sworn duty. He had to protect Miss Caya. He lingered nearby, not wanting to get too close lest the Cornwally pirate—he couldn’t stand to think of him as Miss Caya’s brother—recognize him from the night of the attack.
The captain said something to Caya that Peter couldn’t hear, but her face turned sad, so he knew it couldn’t be a good thing. His stomach growled, angry with him for having missed his midday meal. He willed it to be silent.
No time to think aboot food, ye numpty. Miss Caya is in danger.
Heather was hungry, too. And thirsty. He’d just made up his mind to lead Heather past the public house to the village well when a driver and his dray came rattling down the road with three more pirate men seated in the back.
“Here comes my man,” Mrs. McConnechy said. “He’ll drive you to the stash and help you bring the load to your ship.” The captain handed her a big gold coin. That evil woman was in on the plan to rob Mr. Declan as well. Peter would be sure to report that fact to Laird John.
Jack and the captain’s men piled into the back of the dray. “Lead the way, Pendarvis,” the captain shouted, and the dray rolled forward. The captain helped Miss Caya mount Apollo. When he climbed into the saddle behind her, Miss Caya batted away his roving hands and elbowed him good in the stomach, making it plain she didn’t like the arrangement.
“Relax, sweetings,” O’Malley said. “No reason to blush. We’re practically married.”
The man’s voice made Peter’s insides turn liquid. Poor Miss Caya. One way or another, he had to save her. He couldn’t let that disgusting Irishman take her away.
…
O’Malley leaned close to Caya’s ear and said, “If you give me any problem, darling, I’ll have that towheaded lad that’s following you killed. Understand my meaning?”
He meant Peter.
She cast a furtive glance to her right and caught sight of Peter crouching behind a tangle of netting and ropes. Why had she agreed to let him come along? She’d placed them both in danger. So foolish. So utterly foolish.
“Yes,” she said, finding it difficult to catch her breath. “I understand you. Just leave him be. I’ll do what you want.”
“That’s a good girl,” O’Malley said. “Now, up ye go into the saddle, and keep your pretty little mouth shut.”
Heart racing, legs and arms shaking, she let the Irishman boost her on top of Apollo. Then he climbed up behind her, and they began the slow, inexorable ride out of Scrabster.
The man wedged behind her in the saddle made her skin crawl; his fetid breath, his lewd suggestions, the familiar way he rested his hand on her thigh. And she was certain he was enjoying the ride in an indecent way.
O’Malley’s hand roamed up her leg and settled near her belly. She jabbed another elbow into his side as hard as she could.
He only laughed. “Tut-tut, sweetings. Remember the boy. You wouldn’t want to see me slice him open, would you?”
What had she done? She’d ruined everything. That’s what she’d done. She’d forsaken Declan, the man she loved, to help her worthless brother. A brother who’d demonstrated time and time again that he cared nothing for her well-being. How could she have been so stupid, so foolish? And now Peter’s life was in jeopardy, as well. Even if she found a way out of this mess, even if she and Peter were able to get away from O’Malley, she could never undo the damage. Laird John would never forgive her for bringing scandal and chaos to Balforss. Even if Declan still wanted to marry her, Laird John would never allow it now that she’d stolen away to help her fugitive brother, and been party to what would likely be Declan’s financial ruin. With one thoughtless, selfish act, she’d tarnished the Sinclair name. She deserved every ill-turn that came her way.
…
Peter followed at a safe distance on Heather. Even when the dray turned off the main road onto a drover’s path, he had no trouble keeping track of them with all the noise they made. They reached a thick grove of pines, and the sound of the rattling dray stopped.
Peter led Heather out of sight and hobbled her. “Stay here, horse,” he whispered. “Dinnae make a sound or we’re both dead.”
The days were longer now but it was near dusk. The sun, low on the horizon, cast long shadows on the ground. Peter crept through the thick stand of trees until he reached the clearing. They were near the shore of Loch Calder. About thirty yards away, the men gathered around what looked like a cairn. The hair on the back of Peter’s neck felt funny. No one went near a cairn if they knew what was good for them. Bad fairy people lived in such places, and to disturb them was to ask for trouble.
Cornwally Jack and two of the pirate men, looking like shades themselves, descended into the ancient burial ground. A hush fell on the party. Caya remained atop Apollo, but O’Malley dismounted and held the reins. Peter waited for some frightful creature to rise out of the loch and devour everyone.
Shouts came from the cairn, and Peter crouched lower. If the fairy people were attacking the pirates, he might be able to run across the field and grab Apollo’s reins from O’Malley in the commotion. That plan dissolved instantly when one of the pirates stepped out of the cairn carrying a cask. Whisky. Mr. Declan was a canny man. He’d hidden his precious goods where no reasonable Scot would ever look.
The men brought up cask after cask and loaded them onto the dray while Caya, the captain, and the driver looked on. Peter was having trouble hearing their exchanges, so he slithered on his belly through the tall grass for a closer listen.
When Jack walked past her, Miss Caya called, “Why did you do it, brother?”
“It wasn’t my plan, I swear. The McConnechy woman convinced me to follow Sinclair and find out where he hid his whisky. We were only going to take a couple barrels and sell them. I needed money, Caya.” Jack rubbed his forehead. “The old lady must have met O’Malley and figured she could make more money by double-crossing me.”
“Hey, you!” O’Malley shouted. “Quit yer gabbing or I’ll cut yer tongue out. Back to work. Jiggity-jig.”
Jack Pendarvis ran back to the cairn.
After an hour of labor, one of the pirates said, “That be all of them, Captain.”
They draped a tarpaulin over the stacked casks and secured the dray’s load with rope. Peter counted thirty-three casks, give or take one or two. Only the three-year-old barrels would be good for drinking, but the spoils represented a fortune in whisky. Plus, O’Malley wouldn’t have to pay the exciseman a single tot since they were smuggling the spirits out of the country.
“Higgins,” O’Malley called. “Get your arse back to The Tigress and tell Richardson we’ll meet the ship at the usual place.”
“Aye, Captain,” the man said and took off at a trot.
O’Malley called to his back, “And dontcha be stoppin’ for a nip or I’ll have you keelhauled.”
Peter went perfectly still as the pirate ran past his hiding spot. He let out his breath once he was well beyond the tree line. Usual place. O’Malley said they’d meet at the usual place. Where would that be? Bloody hell. If the Irishman had been plain about it, Peter could race back to Balforss right now and tell the laird where to find the scalawags.
“Well, our business is complete,” Jack said. “I’ll take Caya and we’ll be on our way.”
“Not so fast, laddie.” The captain smiled in that too, too friendly way. “To be fair, son, I’m not letting your sister go. She’s mine.”
“But I-I-I led you to the whisky, more than adequate compensation for the bridal payment.”
“The whisky is payment for the life of my best gunner, Mr. Boyle. You still owe me a bride.”
The Jack fellow made a nervous laugh. “Yes, of course. And then we’re square.”
“I’ll be taking that wee bauble, as well. Give it here. Jiggity-jig.” O’Malley crooked an impatient finger, and Jack put something small into the Irishman’s hand.
“And you won’t be going anywhere, Mr. Pendarvis. I need your company to assure your sweet sister’s cooperation, ye see.” Captain O’Malley chucked Miss Caya’s chin as though they were already well acquainted. If Mr. Declan saw that, he’d cut off the man’s offending arm.
While Pendarvis and O’Malley argued over the terms of their arrangement, the driver slipped down from the dray and attempted to steal off toward the wood. Peter supposed the Scrabster man would rather lose his horse and dray than end up dead at the hands of these banditti.
“Stop him,” O’Malley shouted. The remaining pirates tackled the driver and dragged him back to the dray. “Tie his hands and feet and leave him in the cairn. By the time he gets his bindings loose, we’ll be long gone.”
“I’ll not tell a soul, sir,” the driver said. “Please. You have my word.”
“Put a gag in his mouth, as well.” O’Malley mounted Apollo again and wiggled his backside into place behind Caya. “You haven’t said a word, sweeting. Cat got your tongue?”
“I have no words strong enough to tell you how much you disgust me,” Miss Caya said.
“You wound me, darlin’. Not even one kind word for your future husband?” O’Malley laughed and didn’t wait for her response. He turned Apollo around and headed back the way they came.
Jack and the other pirates scrambled on board the dray. When the one driving snapped the reins, the draft horse leaned hard, but the dray wouldn’t move. The men had to get off and push. Once rolling, the horse huffed and snorted with effort. One of the pirates nearly stepped on Peter as they passed. Thank God it had grown almost dark.
When he was certain they’d gone, he walked toward the pile of stone rubble that was the cairn. He was more scared now than he had been all night. Would he become a victim of the fairy peoples’ wrath if he trespassed on their sacred place? Heart thumping in his chest, he peered down into the cairn’s dark maw.
“Are you still alive?” he called. He heard the driver struggling.
“Right then. I’m coming down.” He crossed himself, took a deep breath, and crossed himself once more for good measure.
He stumbled down the rough stone that served as stairs. It was pitch black below. The cairn smelled of earth, charred wood, and the sour sweat of the pirates. He stooped and groped for the squealing and thrashing man.
“It’s all right. I’m no’ a fairy person. Hold still.”
Peter talked while he worked the knot loose on the man’s gag. “I can help you get your horse and wagon back, but first I need a favor from you.”
The driver made a muffled sound of agreement. Once Peter had removed the gag, the man cried, “My feet, boy, untie my feet.”
“Then be still. I cannae find the knot.”
Peter drew his dirk and cut the man free. The two of them were quick to leave the cairn. Above ground, Peter and the driver sighed.
“Thanks, lad. I thought I would surely die in that tomb.”
“Do you ken the way to Balforss, sir?” he asked, untying the rope around the man’s hands.
“Aye.”
“Go as quick as you can. Tell Laird John pirates have stolen Caya and the whisky. Tell them to gather what men and arms they have, go to the northern highway, and wait for Peter. That’s me.”
“I’ll do that straight away, you can be sure. What will you do?”
“I’m going to follow them and find out which beach they’ll use to smuggle the whisky to the ship.”
“Take care and God go with you.”
“Wait. What’s your name, sir?” Peter asked.
“Gavin McConnechy.”
“Mrs. McConnechy’s husband?”
“Aye. This is all her doing, foolish woman. Almost got me killed for a few quid.” McConnechy hobbled off into the darkness. He was an old man, older than Laird John even. The way Mr. McConnechy was wheezing, he might expire at any moment. Peter hoped he had enough life in him to make it to Balforss.
He picked his way through the woods, dry pine needles crackling under his feet. He’d left Heather to graze on the west end of the clearing behind a rough patch of gorse. Though the evening air was cool, trickles of sweat inched down his temples. When he reached the spot where he thought he’d left Heather his blood turned icy cold. Heather was gone. She’d broken her hobble.
Oh God, oh God, oh God.
He turned in circles, searching the ever-growing darkness.
“Heather, where are you?” He cupped his hands around his mouth and called again and again. Each minute spent searching felt like an hour. He grew more and more desperate and more and more fearful for Miss Caya. Tears of frustration threatened to break loose. He closed his eyes. “Please, God. I cannae fail. I dinnae mind if I die, but please help me find Miss Caya.”
He opened his eyes, and Heather stood before him. She made a disgruntled snuffle and shook her mane.
Peter hopped up and struggled his way into the saddle. “Thank you, God.” He gave Heather a nudge. “Come on, girl. We’ve got to hurry.”