More of a Man
Navigating the busy Solway took all of Kyla’s and Nicolson’s attention. Delft had his hands full supervising the two Maxwell rowers who seemed to have no experience manning the sails.
Corbin forced Lily to kneel at his feet, then, to Kyla’s horror, took off the soiled shirt and tossed it into the waves. Apart from their coloring, he and Broderick might have been brothers. They were roughly the same height, probably about the same age, as broad in the chest and shoulders. Yet the sight of Corbin’s blotchy torso made her nauseous.
“Keep an eye on them, Adrian,” he said sternly, jolting her from desperate thoughts of Broderick’s drowning.
The valet nodded, but Kyla thought he looked conflicted. In any case, she doubted he could lift the sword he held with its point digging into the wooden deck. She could rely on the other men aboard, but it was impossible to say what Adrian might do.
Corbin made a big show of donning Broderick’s shirt. “Very fine,” he crooned, tying the laces at the throat while he ogled Kyla. “Soon all of Maxwell’s fine things will be mine.”
By the time he’d put on the shirt and doublet, she feared she might be sick. Surely he wasn’t going to change his trews in front of them.
She averted her eyes when he dropped the voluminous pantaloons and hopped about getting first one leg and then the other into the stolen trews. The contrast with the dignified way Broderick had removed his clothing was almost comical—and what on earth had caused the red chafing all over Corbin’s skin?
She resisted the urge to snigger when he strutted about in his new finery. She’d been wrong. Broderick was taller. And more of a man.
*
Corbin was well pleased with his new outfit. He’d get the tailors at Caerlochnaven to create something similar once he took possession. No point expecting auld Mick at Glenkill Tower to fashion anything of the sort.
He was disappointed Kyla had looked away while he was donning the trews. A glimpse of his masculine endowments might have rendered her more receptive to the notion of becoming his mistress. It was unfortunate the irritating scratches from the monk’s robe had obliged him to resist the urge to display himself to his full advantage, but they would soon heal. The prospect of Kyla soothing his hurts with a cool salve was enough to make a man drool with anticipation.
He strapped on Maxwell’s sword belt, then beckoned Adrian. “Fetch me the weapon,” he commanded.
He resolved to keep a wary eye on the youth. His membership in a Lochwood Clan sept was no guarantee of his loyalty. He seemed far too concerned about Lily Maxwell.
Corbin hefted the sword when his valet obeyed, understanding immediately why the lad had so much trouble carrying it. He carefully sheathed the blade in the scabbard, wondering if it was a good idea to burden himself with a weapon that was too long. Personally, he’d always preferred a dagger. Lighter and easier to conceal. However, an impressive sword would make him more intimidating. After all, if he intended to masquerade as the captain of a gunboat once they arrived in Annan…
“That’s my brother’s sword,” Lily hissed.
He looked down to where she still knelt at his feet. It was a temptation to wipe the glower off her pale face with a good smack, but he was having difficulty keeping his balance, what with the sword and the choppy seas. There’d be time enough for discipline once they were wed.
Speaking of which, he had to come up with a plan for the ceremony. It wasn’t likely any cleric in Annan would agree to marry them. He’d have to wait until they arrived at Glenkill Tower where his word was law.
When the galley changed course to enter the estuary of the River Annan, he set his mind to formulating a plan to procure horses to get him and his hostages to Glenkill. Tapping his chin, he realized that might be a problem. He had connections in the port, many of them his clansmen. However, he owed money to some wealthy men who’d invested in his scheme to trade with the MacKeegans.
If he hadn’t lost the opium…
That was another thing Kyla would atone for.
He took hold of Lily’s hands and pulled her up. She squirmed to be free as he stood at the prow, holding her firmly with her back against his chest. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant experience, but he felt it appropriate to pinch her arm. “Stop that.”
As the galley bumped the wooden dock, he turned to Adrian, momentarily suspicious of the youth’s scowl. “Make yourself useful. Procure horses for us.”
The servant shrugged, spreading his arms wide. “But I have no coin.”
Reluctantly, Corbin handed over Maxwell’s dagger. “Here, trade this.”
Adrian scurried over the side and disappeared along the dock as the crew secured the vessel.
“What now?” Kyla asked belligerently.
The chit had no manners, but it was a good question. He no longer required the galley, nor the crew. Except, he’d need the gunboat after the king appointed him Warden. It was a quandary.
“Secure the boat,” he bellowed.
“’Tis already secure,” Kyla retorted.
Nicolson and Delft were edging too close. Corbin clamped an arm around Lily’s neck. “Don’t come any closer.”
“Let the men go,” Kyla said. “’Tis me ye want.”
He’d have been happier to hear an edge of fear in her voice, but there’d be time for that. “I’ll have need of them later.”
“For what?”
Did the woman have to question everything he did?
There seemed to be no way out of the impasse. If he carried out his threat to kill Lily, the others would fall on him like…
“My laird,” Adrian shouted breathlessly from further along the dock.
Corbin gritted his teeth. Obviously, the wretch had not brought horses.
Adrian slid down the rope ladder and landed on the deck. “I thought ye should ken the news.”
“What news?”
“The king,” the valet replied breathlessly.
More interested in horses than the monarch, Corbin was losing what little patience he had left. Not to mention the sword was deuced heavy, and why was Adrian speaking like a peasant? “What about the king?”
“He’s in Carlisle.”
Corbin could have laughed out loud. He’d racked his brain searching for a way to get to the Royal Court in London. King James had come to him! It would be a simple matter to travel to Carlisle and petition for the Wardenship now Maxwell was dead. There was no need to disembark from the galley at all. The plan was coming together.
He narrowed his eyes at Nicolson, a man more familiar with Solway tides than he was. “Should we head across to Bowness, or up the Firth to Gretna?”
He tightened his grip around Lily’s neck when the navigator failed to reply, smiling with satisfaction when the Highlander finally spat out, “Gretna.”
*
Contempt for Corbin Lochwood was beginning to override Kyla’s fear, but that could prove to be a mistake. He obviously didn’t think things through, and such men were unpredictable, which made them more dangerous.
She conferred with Nicolson as the galley got underway once more. “Our first priority is to safeguard Lily,” she told him.
“And to prevent the wretch marrying her,” he agreed.
“What do you think he’ll do once we reach Gretna?”
Nicolson scratched his head. “He wants ye, and the bairn. He needs the galley. Adrian is dispensable. Me and the rest o’ the crew—we’re excess cargo.”
It was probably the most she’d heard the dour navigator say at one time, but he’d gone straight to the heart of the matter. “How far to Carlisle from Gretna?” she asked.
“Ten miles, give or take,” he replied.
She looked ahead, hoping the stiff breeze would blow the cobwebs from her brain. “It might be a good idea for Corbin to meet the king.”
Nicolson nodded. “I’ve heard naught good about the mon, but surely he’s astute enough to recognize Lochwood’s evil intent. And how will the monster keep Lily silent?”
Kyla chewed her bottom lip. “But with Broderick gone, the Crown will need another Warden.”
Nicolson scraped stunted fingernails through the stubble under his chin. “Lochwood’s nay qualified, but ye are.”