Chapter Four
She was smitten. Without a shred of doubt, Treva was infatuated by the captain. She well and true liked everything about him—handsome, strong, playful, dangerous, domineering. Yet, he gave her a chance to back away from his punishing kiss. He was completely foreign to her. He had more honor and self-control than most men on either side the law.
Her virtue had long ago been compromised by a man driven by his cock. For some time, she thought that was just the way men were, as if their satiric behavior were no fault of their own. And then she learned, or, rather, was taught, that ’twas her fault men lost their bawdy heads. Just like her mother had been blamed.
’Twasn’t long after her parent’s untimely deaths and she’d become homeless that she discovered—out of necessity to her survival—just how governable a man was when distracted by his spicket. Men like that were pathetic and they disgusted her. Thankfully she never had to resort to actually bedding one of those wretches to bend them to her will. She had her pride and was fortunate she had fair looks and a daring spirit—handy for obtaining secrets and information. After all, it wasna her fault they were weak.
Treva tucked a thick strand of hair behind her ear. She would miss her long tresses, but ’twould grow back. Fletcher seemed to like it, and that pleased her greatly. Coire. When he had called her by her given name, she tingled. Or maybe it was merely after-effects from his kiss. Her toes curled at the thought. He’d been possessive, his mouth hot, wet. Treva had not been able to breathe, hadn’t wanted to, for her frenetic need to have more. He was an aphrodisiac. Though she didna completely understand why, she was determined to kiss him again. She’d come too close to death—and might meet it very soon still—to not indulge in such sin-like pleasures Coire Fletcher might have to offer. Nothing risked, nothing gained.
If she were to dress in her soiled gown, the least she could do was give herself a quick scrub. She removed the captain’s clothing and did the best she could with the chip of soap and the small wash basin. Not long after, the crew’s voices carried down into the cabin. They were close to Scarba. A rumbling reverberated through the room. Nay, not close. The anchor had been dropped, and so had her stomach.
They had arrived in Scarba. Treva prayed she would not see him. The demonic, cruel man of her nightmares. Captain Dread. She instinctively put her hand upon the sgian dubh strapped to her thigh, knowing very well the dagger could not protect her from him. Not a second time.
Coire had come to collect her. Few words had been spoken aside that she was to accompany him until he arranged for her passage to Oban. This suited her fine. He was helping her when he didna have to. Besides, she would take every moment left with him before she was back on course to complete her mission. Perhaps she’d see him again someday. If not, she had their kiss seared upon her memory evermore.
The moment she stepped on deck, she threw her head back to soak in the sun. It had been long weeks since she felt the unobstructed warmth upon her skin. When she opened her eyes, it was to an entire crew staring.
“Miss MacDougall.” Jonesy stepped forward wearing a confused grin. “Your hair. ’Tis…”
“Gone,” she said, stating the obvious.
“I was going to say lovely.” He presented her his elbow. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying you on shore?”
How could she deny his request? ’Twasn’t as if Coire had offered. He was too busy giving orders to various members of his crew. “I’d like that very much, Mr. Jones.”
Like a proud cock, Jonesy escorted her from the ship. Coire followed close behind as they meandered through the quay. Jonesy chattered about nothing important and she appreciated his effort to set her at ease as they made their way around the dubious people of Scarba. It hadn’t mattered that the island was once a stronghold of her pirate ancestor, Savage MacDougall. She didna feel safe knowing he might be there. Several times she tilted her chin down and to the side just to make sure Coire was still nearby.
“He’s a dangerous man, my lady, but the captain will not hurt a woman.” Crumpets! She’d been caught. “So long as he is not betrayed,” he added. “And then, well, that is a side you should not want to see.” He patted her hand. “You’ve nothing to concern yourself with.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Besides, I am here.”
That garnered a snort from Coire, but Jonesy winked at her, ignoring his captain.
“Go on ahead to the Muddy Bollix, Jonesy.” Coire grasped her elbow firmly, disengaging her from the crook of the quartermaster’s arm. “We will be delayed for just a few minutes.”
The man frowned at his captain, not at all liking his dismissal. He bowed his head to her and took his leave.
Coire took her arm and they continued down a different path from what Jonesy had taken. “He’s trying too hard to win yer approval.”
“’Tis all right. He is pleasant company.”
The seam of his mouth flattened.
“Where are we going?” Treva scanned the street warily. The more visible she was, the more anxious she became.
“We’re going to see a friend who will be able to help procure you suitable clothing.”
“Suitable?”
He cut her a side-eye while the corner of his mouth curled. “Aye, something less…aromatic.”
Good lord! Did she stink that bad? Heat flushed her cheeks, something that didna happen often.
“And, I should like to see ye in something more fitting…”
He would? Did her heart just flip?
“…for your trip home.”
Her cheeks chilled with the drain of her blush.
“Here we are.” Coire held open the door to a nondescript building nestled tightly among other equally unremarkable buildings.
It took a moment for Treva’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. But once he closed the door behind them, it became abundantly clear they were not at a dressmaker’s shop. Women in various stages of undress lounged about on floor pillows and couches. A few were entertaining customers with drink and stray hands. Many looked up when they entered, but one slid off a stool and sauntered over to greet them.
She was a petite woman with pale red hair and a gait that slithered rather than swayed.
“Coire, love. What a pleasure to see ye.” The woman, wholly ignoring Treva, dipped with an arch to her back, likely to make sure Coire had a good view down her bodice.
“Annabel.” The captain bowed his head in greeting. “This is my companion, Miss Treva.”
The redhead assessed her with a tilt of her loosely coiffed head and stared longer than appropriate at Treva’s cropped hair. She was seemingly not impressed with what she saw. Treva shared the sentiment.
“MacDougall,” he added.
At the drop of her surname, the woman’s eyes dilated and she stood just a little straighter. Perhaps Savage MacDougall’s legacy still remained fresh on the isle. She hoped that was a good thing.
Annabel forced a smile. “’Tis nice to make yer acquaintance, Treva MacDougall.”
“Nice to meet ye as well.”
Another stale smile.
“We are in need of a gown. I’ve come to ye as you’ve always been so,” he bent closer to the woman, “generous.”
Ah, this time Annabel’s smile was that of a twittering virgin. Treva ought not to blame her. Coire nearly reduced her to a withering flower with just one smoldering look. Still, this girl was a whore and twittering was not becoming of her.
“I’d like one of your best; I’ve coin to replace it. But we must hurry. I have a meeting to attend.”
Annabel nodded. “Anything for you, Coire.” She sized Treva by sight and bid them to follow her to a back bedroom.
Annabel pulled out several gowns for inspection before they settled on a green dress with tiny green embroidered flowers on the stomacher and white lace sleeve ruffles. ’Twas a fine dress that was no doubt a gift to one of the girls in the brothel. Coire refused to leave the room, preferring to give them his back, while Annabel helped Treva dress. Aside from the raised eyebrow at the sight of Treva’s sgian dubh tied to her thigh, Annabel continued to ignore her, chatting up Coire while occasionally instructing Treva to suck it in, hold still, or lift an arm.
She left in search of a pair of slippers, mumbling something about feet the size of an ogre.
“She doesn’t like me much.” Treva stared at her reflection in the mirror leaning against the wall, wondering at how different she looked in it compared to Anabel or one of her girls.
Coire turned away from the window and leaned his hip against a chest of drawers while crossing his arms. His gaze swarmed down her body, his lips parting in what Treva hoped was appreciation. “She doesna like competition.”
“Is there a contest?” She should have curbed her tongue, not wanting to know his relationship with the woman.
An amused light danced in his eyes. “I’ve no interest in Annabel, if that’s what ye mean.”
She ought to be relieved, but the truth was, he had to have had relations with someone in the brothel. She was no fool. Men had needs. So did women. She’d not pass judgment lest she wanted to be judged.
“Why are ye doing this?” She swept her hands down her dress.
“Yours was filthy and ye canna go around looking like a beggar boy.”
She chuckled. “This I canna argue.”
“Besides, look respectable, be treated well.”
He was right, of course. “Thank ye.”
He lifted a shoulder. “No need to thank me. ’Twas your coin.”
She laughed outright. “Fair enough.”
Soon, Coire escorted her into yet another nondescript building. A massive fireplace cast the tavern in a warm glow. Smells of yeast and stew cloyed at her nose. Patrons lined long tables, engaged in conversation, eating a meal, or tapping their toes to the fiddler perched on the bar. All were drinking.
He led her to a large, round table tucked in the back of the tavern where Jonesy and two others sat and pulled out a chair for her. As she took her seat, she was stunned to realize she sat among an unfriendly audience.
Treva vaguely heard Coire’s introduction, though none was needed. She was quite familiar with Graer MacDougall. Her uncle spared her a moment’s glance. But that one moment was enough—he was no more pleased to see her than she was of him.
Coire frowned as he eyed the both of them. Had he expected they’d know each other? Or that Graer would welcome her with a warm embrace? Laughable.
“So ye had no trouble, did ye?” Graer assessed Coire with the eye of a hawk—a balding, age-worn hawk.
Coire grunted as he waved to a serving girl to bring drinks. “A bit. Was unexpectedly boarded…twice.” It was Jonesy’s turn to grunt, but with a grin as he drank from his mug. “But the cargo is intact and ready to offload.”
“British?”
“Aye.”
Graer snarled, cursing under his breath. “There’re everywhere, like goddamned cockroaches.”
“Filthy cockroaches,” Graer’s lackey agreed over the rim of his cup.
“And they didna find the cargo?” Graer asked.
“They didna find what they were looking for.” Coire was sly in how he did not make eye contact with her uncle, preferring, instead, to give his attention to the serving girl setting their drinks on the table.
Treva rubbed her hands upon her lap to keep from snatching her drink from the girl’s tray and draining the mug to calm her edginess. She knew all too well what Coire was and was not saying.
“We’ll off load it as soon as ye hand over payment.” Coire took a hearty swig of his ale.
“I canna. Not until ye transport it to Taylough.”
Taylough? Nay, that was no good. The English were near there expecting trouble while members of the royal family visited the Isle of Cumbrae. But she’d make no plea, she’d not give herself away. Her only concern was getting home in time.
Jonesy’s brow creased with the severe cut of his frown, his spine stiffened. So did that of the Graer’s man. But Coire’s expression remained impassive.
“That wasna part of the plan,” he said.
“The plan has changed. The British have plagued Scarba like a pox. It must go to Taylough. We’ve a contingent there ready to launch an attack while members of the Hanoverian family, under little protection, are visiting there.”
Coire slowly swilled from his mug and gently set it down. “I’ve served my part of the deal. I require payment now.”
“And I require ye to sail to Taylough. No payment until the cargo is delivered.”
“Ye risk much by refusing to honor our agreement.” His tone was cool, but his intent was deadly. “What is to keep me from selling yer cargo to another? Hell, what’s to keep me from turning it over to the Royal Navy, courtesy of you?”
Graer shrugged. “I have since made another alliance. Should ye refuse, I’ll simply have him confiscate yer ship and finish the delivery.”
Jonesy ever-so slightly shifted in his seat closer to Treva, easing his hand to the pistol at his hip. Graer’s man also prepared for a fast draw of his weapon. Treva’s heartbeat kicked up a notch, ready to flee at the slightest movement.
Coire hadn’t moved a muscle, save methodically running his thumb over his fingernails. “Ye threaten me, Graer MacDougall?”
“Nay. I do.” Treva hadn’t even noticed the man deep in the shadows of the corner. As he stepped forward and the shadows peeled away, her lungs seized. And he wasna looking at Coire, his deadly gaze was upon her. God save her.
“Captain Dread.” Coire acknowledged the man with spite on his tongue. “I canna say it is a pleasure to see ye again.” He knew the wretched pirate? How was it Coire could maintain such composure. The man was the devil incarnate. And her despicable bastard uncle was openly ready to double-cross him.
“Pleasure is not what I give, ’tis what I take, Fletcher.” Dread’s gravelly voice cut her to shreds. Her knee bounced to the staccato beat of a scared rabbit’s heart, and she was scared.
“I had ye pegged for a smarter man, Graer.” Coire shook his head as if disappointed in a misbehaving son. “Crossing one pirate with another? That’s how enemies are made.”
“I dinna care who gets the guns to Taylough, just as long as they get there. But I winna pay a scoundrel before the delivery is made.”
“Verra well, but I require more coin.”
Graer sneered as he straightened in his seat. “To cross the Sound of Jura?”
It was then Treva noticed Jonesy had his pistol trained upon her uncle under the table. That left little doubt Graer’s man was doing the same, aiming at Coire. She squeezed her eyes shut and sent a quick prayer for the tension to relent. Her spine might snap from the intensity as it was.
“’Twould be a small thing for my men to relieve Captain Fletcher of his burdens.” Dread’s gaze made a trek to her, landed on Jonesy, slid to Jonesy’s lap, back to Treva, before settling back onto Coire, all in the space of a swallow.
“So would dumping the cargo into the sea.” Coire leaned in just enough to ensure his next words were taken in stark sincerity. “I’ve a faster ship and better, agreeable relations than my…counterpart. Do ye think it wise to cross me now, MacDougall? Makes little difference to me if yer weaponry makes it into the hands of the rebels.”
Graer scratched at his graying beard, snarling as if he’d eaten a rotting egg. “Seven pounds more, payable today.”
“Ten. That’s a day’s wage for each of my men.”
“Ye allow him to exploit ya.” Dread’s loathing permeated like a sick odor.
“Hold yer tongue, Dread. I’ve another mission that will slake yer need for bloodthirst and fill yer strongbox.”
“Assuming I’m interested in yer war games.” Dread leaned his shoulder against the wall. The shadows shrouded most of him again, but Treva felt his gaze boring into her. She calculated the distance to the front door, the obstacles to get there. She just might make it if this meeting soured. Ah, why could she not control her racing heart?
“Angus is already in Taylough awaiting yer arrival. He will have the rest of yer payment.”
“And he will be dead if he does not,” Coire interjected.
Treva could keep her silence no more. “Do ye think it wise to send arms to Taylough whilst the British camp at the port?”
Graer turned his steely stare upon her for the second time since she sat. “Ye speak when not spoken to?”
“Be rest assured I winna waste my words upon ye.” Another set of eyes fell upon her. She dare not look at him. “I have knowledge that English companies are occupying every port on Cumbrae.”
“And I say they’re not. Angus would have sent word.” Graer turned away, refusing once more to acknowledge her existence. “Ye leave straightaway, captain. We must get the weapons to Taylough as soon as possible while we are at an advantage. I’ll send Rupert with yer coin within the hour.”
Coire pulled his gaze away from her. “I’ll weigh anchor as soon as the delivery is made. About, Miss MacDougall. She—”
“Is no concern of mine. I’ve no use for two-faced rubbish.”
The dirty, disgraceful, vile arse. Had Dread not frozen her in place, she’d drive her fist into her uncle’s ugly face.
This meeting was not at all going as planned. He hadn’t entirely been surprised by Graer’s scheme. In Coire’s line of work, he didna trust anyone to follow through with what they promised. ’Twas good practice to have an upper hand with all business dealings. He’d have no problem with selling the guns to the next highest bidder. Nor would he think twice about dumping the cargo in the sound just to make a lasting point.
Graer bringing Dread to the table was a bad move. The Scot was all too ready to dismiss Coire without pay. He had ensured Coire would not do business with the man again. ’Twas an insult and one he would not forget.
He also wasna surprised by Dread’s willingness to take on Coire and his men—pirate brethren or not. Dread’s vague threats only underscored he hadn’t liked how much activity Kelpie was being hired out for, that there was lucrative business dealings besides extortions and menacing. Coire had encroached on his playground.
What had surprised him were the reactions of both men to Treva. Dread hardly paid mind to the men at the table, his predator-like gaze devouring her. Just as he was now while swirling his whiskey in his cup. She refused to look his direction and kept her head down during most of the conversation. Graer had spat out what sparse words he had of and for her, accusing her of being traitorous. All the more reason Coire was suspicious of the lady’s intentions.
But he was a man of his word and would see her to her destination. “She’s a MacDougall and needs passage to Oban,” Coire said. “As a member of the clan, I would hope ye could make sure that happened.”
“And I dinna claim her as a part of the clan. There’s no one in Oban who’ll have her.”
The lass fairly bristled with the slur. “Duncan—”
“Isna there. She can whore herself to Oban.”
What in God’s name had she done?
“I’ll take her.” Dread downed the rest of the contents of his mug. “I have a favor to return to the lass.”
Treva exploded from her seat and darted for the door, startling everyone. Jonesy began to rise but Coire put a hand upon his arm to stay him. ’Twas not their problem. Only he didna really feel that way. Especially not after Dread nodded to one of his lackeys across the room to follow her. He had seen her sheer fear of Dread. Now it was clear he was the reason she didna want to come to Scarba. What had the scoundrel done to make the feisty woman so terrified she’d bolt as if she were on fire?
Coire cursed to himself. He couldna leave her to Dread.
Graer chuckled into his mug. “A fair riddance.” The comment was spoken under his breath but Coire heard him well enough. And it annoyed him. He was all too ready to bid the same to the arse.
“If we’re done here…” Coire got to his feet. “I’ll expect yer man with payment within the hour, MacDougall.” The warning not to cross him wasna necessary, but he did it anyway.
Graer grunted and tipped his chin. “He’ll be there.”
Coire nodded to Dread and took his leave.
Outside, he scanned the street to determine the lass’s route. “I suspect Captain Dread will interfere with the rest of this commission,” he said as Jonesy came up beside him. “Get back to the ship handsomely and make sure all provisions are loaded and the men ready to sail. We weigh anchor as soon as we have Graer’s coin.”
“But what of Miss MacDougall? We can’t—”
Jonesy’s interest in Treva also annoyed Coire. He had practiced incredible self-control in not lopping the man’s arm off with his cutlass as he escorted her from the ship. He was practically preening himself on having the smile and ear of the beauty. It certainly hadn’t helped Coire’s mood. “I’ll find her. Now go.”
Jonesy hesitated. He wanted to do the search himself, but he wisely turned on his heel and headed towards the docks.
There wasna much on this Godforsaken island and it didna take Coire long to find her. He rounded a corner to find her doing a fine job at struggling against Dread’s lackey. But she seemed more like a frightened rabbit flopping violently in the jaws of a hound than a calculating wildcat. Especially after he twisted her arm and she dropped the sgian dubh she’d been clutching. She escaped a step or two before he caught her by the arm. Whether she meant to or not, the heel of her shoe met with his shin. The blighter hissed and used the back of his hand across her face.
Something hot and rabid ruptured inside Coire.
He clamped down on the maggot’s shoulder, spun him around, and hammered his fist into his face until his knuckles stung and blood poured freely. An easy feat, overcoming the wretch. Yet Coire used more force than necessary to subdue him. He shoved the lackey back where he smacked against the side of a building and crumpled to the dusty ground.
Treva launched into Coire’s arms, clinging to his coat sleeves. “Please, please, Fletcher! I beg of you! Take me with you, wherever you go. Dump me into the sea. I dinna care. Just dinna leave me here.”
She trembled in his embrace. He marveled at how vulnerable she was in that moment, how she placed that vulnerability into his hands. And how he was driven to shelter her from all that made her anything less than the spitfire that was her. He realized he’d been rubbing the curves and hollows of her back to comfort her. Mercy, she felt good in his arms.
“Come. It’s not safe here.”
Treva’s tear-stained face turned up, imploring. “To yer ship?”
“Aye.”
He hadn’t planned to take her with him. But there was no way in hell he could leave her. And that wobbly smile nearly undid him.
They quietly made their way back to Kelpie. On board, the tension in her shoulders visibly released. What had Dread done to the lass? He wasna sure he wanted to know. He might feel obligated to do something rash and avoidable. ’Twas fortunate Graer’s man, Rupert, had shown shortly after they had boarded to forestall him.
With new coin in the strongbox, the Kelpie set sail. Treva had perched herself on the rail, keenly watching the crew working the ratlines and sheets. When she spotted him coming off the ladder from the helm, she hopped up and rushed to him.
“Ye’ve been my savior once again, captain.” Her gaze hit the deck and her brow pinched. Strange that he had the urge to rub away the offending crease. And that annoyed him anew. Verra soon, all these irritations were going to turn him into a churlish barnacle. “But I implore ye to heed my warning. The British will be in Taylough.”
Coire had been there once before. He knew it to be a place of Jacobite sympathizers. The chasm in his suspicion of her grew ever wider. “What makes ye certain?”
“I—I heard things during my stay on Man.”
“Did ye now?”
She nodded rather emphatically. “Word had it the English knew there were rebels gathering there for a possible revolt or kidnapping.”
“And one of yer guards freely gave ye this information?” Unlikely.
She shrugged, completely avoiding an answer.
“Well, our contact is in Taylough and Taylough is where we go.” But if she were right, his ship and crew would be in peril. He would proceed with extreme caution.
“The rebels in Oban could use the ammunition.”
Again with Oban. “Why is it ye really want to get to Oban?”
Treva was careful to maintain a direct look. It crossed his mind that she purposely leveled her green eyes in a way that demanded acceptance of her words. “’Tis home. I’ve family there.”
“And yet Graer said otherwise and would have nothing to do with ye. Why is that?”
“Bah! That cold-gutted, verminous, sodden murderer.”
Coire’s eyebrows shot up.
“My uncle abdicated me from the clan.”
The lass didna make sense. “But ye just said you have family in Oban.”
“Not everyone disowned me. Besides, Graer is a bonnet laird, not a clan chief.” She jeered. “Still, he managed to turn most of my clan against me, accusing me of being a loyalist and responsible for the English’s arrival burning our fields, among other lies.”
“Lies… Is that a clan trait?”
Treva turned and strolled to the railing. For a moment, Coire became hypnotized by the way the wind ruffled through her hair, her pert nose, and pouty lips that parted on a heavy, defeated sigh. “’Tis self-preservation.” She graced him with a quick glance. “Comes with being reckless.”
“All right. But ye aren’t telling the whole tale.”
She stared at him for a long moment, as if gauging how much to reveal. He expected nothing less than all of it. ’Twould bring him no comfort at all to cast her to her enemies because she withheld information.
“Duncan, my cousin, he is to lead an uprising. I must stop him.”
“Stop him? Graer said he wasna in Oban.”
“I canna believe that cutthroat.”
More like she refused. Her cousin was already on the move. Coire sensed that was a truth. Graer wouldna have offered the information on so little knowledge of why she headed to a place she’d been exiled from. “So ye suggest I sell my cargo to yer cousin’s allies.” What was she about?
“More ammunition and guns winna stop the massacre that will befall them. But ye canna deny ’twould be a boon to amass more weaponry for a better time. They were to go to rebels, anyhow.”
“Ye’d steal from yer uncle.” Perhaps her pirate ancestry flowed strong in her blood.
“’Twould never replace what he has stolen from me.” She didna say this to him and he didna think she meant for him to hear, either.
“Capt’n! Ship ho! Three points off the starboard quarter.”
What? A ship already? They hadna been under sail for more than a half-glass. Coire looked to the man in the topsail and followed the direction of his arm. The Damned Jewel. Dread’s ship. Sod it all.
“Looks like you were right.” Jonesy sidled up beside him and handed him a spyglass.
Coire sighted in upon the approaching ship, scanning the deck for her captain. And there the bloody bastard was, gripping the railing near the bow and staring forward as if steering the Jewel by sheer will. “Suppose he wants to make it clear who rules these waters.”
“Should we make ready the guns?”
Coire glanced around for the now absent lass. He found her several paces back, using the mast as a shield. Poor girl screwed her eyes shut, her lips moving in what appeared to be silent prayers. He vowed to find out what her story was with the blackguard. “Nay,” he said to Jonesy. “He knows we’re a floating powder keg. He’d gain nothing by blowing us from the water. More likely he means to board us. Take our ship and cargo…by force.”
Jonesy scoffed. “Let him try.”
“We’ll give him a fine chase.” He slapped shut the spyglass and spun on his heel. “Mr. Shaw, get sail on her!”