Chapter Eight
The ungrateful beast. Treva was beside herself over how Coire dismissed her, and after what she’d done to save them. And it made her all the more perturbed how she admired him—and his firm backside—as he hauled ropes across the deck with some of his shipmates. Not one to do as she was told, she left his quarters and wedged herself near the bowsprit out of the way, watching the busy crew work together with one accord. Besides, after sitting in his cabin for more than an hour, she realized he wasna going to come talk—or yell—at her.
She simmered in her own doings. Of course he’d dismissed her. He had to. He was the master and commander of his ship. She had meddled in front of his men, albeit with favorable results. She was well acquainted with the hierarchy of men and where she ranked, but Captain Rush’s insistence in confiscating Coire’s cargo required her interference. Her mistake was thinking Coire would have been pleased with her persuasive arguments, not be angry. ’Twasn’t as if she could make things worse for any of them. Admittedly, his dismissal stung. That was another mistake of hers—allowing her heart to get in the way of good sense. And that made her feel shameful and embarrassed.
So she refocused on what she accomplished. What luck that Edward Geary had been on the Courser. Having the ear of Captain Rush, she made sure to leak to Edward the information of the revolt organizing in Taylough, and the trouble brewing for the rebels and British forces outside Oban and Glasgow. It may not have been the most strategic move—give a little, get a little. ’Twas difficult to earn and maintain loyalties on both sides of the political war. Though she had possibly put more focus on Taylough—Graer be damned—and the risks were high, she was convinced Coire would maneuver out of any troublesome situation cleverly and be forced to deliver them instead to Glasgow—or near enough to the city—where she had a better chance of thwarting the rebel plot against Dumbarton castle led by Ranald MacEwen. And then perhaps Ranald could get word back to Duncan.
Coire left the crew to their task to give orders to his first mate. They were dropping anchor in Fairlie Bay and preparing a longboat for what she assumed was to go to Taylough. He glanced over at her and her breath caught. His stare was fire and ice. What was he thinking? Had she really overstepped a forbidden boundary with him? She was about to find out.
The captain stalked forward on heavy boots. He propped his foot up on a platform beside her and leaned over his arm upon his knee, his expression stony. A breeze lifted his hair from his sweaty neck and off his shoulders blocking out the sun. Treva shivered under his robust virility.
“We’ve contacts in Glasgow. I’m sending word, your word, however credible it may be, of British knowledge on movements of rebels at Oban. And because we canna be too careful…” He paused, his gaze narrowed as his head tilted ever so slightly. She squirmed under the unsaid implication. Did he suspect she had an alliance with Geary? Was her guilt plain upon her face? Was it stitched upon her breast? “…Jonesy will go on to Taylough in search of Angus.”
She was relieved that he would take precautions based on her warnings. But he was unhappy with her. She’d seen that repulsion of working with an enemy before. Nonetheless, she might wither under his punitive rancor. She was the enemy.
No need to spare her own feelings. This was going to hurt. “Ye dinna trust me.”
“Trust is earned, love.”
“Did we not share our bodies? Is that not trust?”
His brow pinched, but he held firm to his convictions. “I choose to believe that was a primal reaction for us both.”
Nay. She rejected his words, wanted to argue against them. While his words bit, his tender actions after their union while they lay together betrayed him. He was as moved as she was. What they shared had been extraordinary, haunting, and transcendent. He only needed to admit it.
“I trust ye, Coire. So much so I continue to put my life into yer hands.”
Coire frowned. “What was it ye said when I first fished you out of the sea? Desperate women are capable of the unthinkable? Well, lass, just imagine what I am capable of when crossed by loose tongues. Perhaps yer trust is misplaced.”
She refused to ponder on what that so obviously meant and stayed on the uncharted path to him she forged. “Ye must have loved her very much.”
His shoulders tensed and his chin squared. “Who?”
“The one who betrayed ye, who stole yer faith in people. She must have been someone special.”
He snorted, straightened away from her.
“I’d like to know about her.” If he opened up, Treva might be able to prove to him not everyone had a knife poised at his back. As far-flung as it was, she wanted to be the woman to break through the rusted defenses around his heart.
“There’s nothing to know. They opened my eyes to how malleable people can be. Showed me the intimate contrivances of women and what ruthless lengths against kith and kin they will go to in order to get their way.”
They? Treva could only imagine what hell he must have gone through. How lonely he must have felt. God, she empathized with him, hated that he, too, felt the pain of treachery by someone close. She wanted to be the salve to heal his wounds. “Not everyone ye meet will betray you.”
He leaned back in so near she could kiss him. How badly she wanted to kiss him. He stared at her mouth as her tongue swiped along her bottom lip. But as his darkened gaze slowly lifted to hers, ’twas apparent no kiss would be forthcoming. “’Tis a good thing, then, I learned everyone I meet will lie to me.”
What could she say to that? They both knew she had lied to him repeatedly. “Know this, Coire. I will never intentionally do ye wrong.” She reached for him, but he snatched her by the wrist.
“I know. I winna allow it.” He dropped her wrist, pushed off the platform, and left her in a wake of scorn.
She’d been right. This did hurt. She was nothing if not defiant. Treva was on a mission greater than herself. Thwart the rebels from marching into a trap, and then she would find a way to earn Coire’s trust and heart.
As she licked her wounds with renewed purpose, Jonesy appeared. He spoke briefly with his captain but as they broke apart, he looked up at her. ’Twasn’t enough that he avoided her since walking in on her and Coire. But any spared glance at her since the navy had disembarked had been harsh. He, too, dinna trust her. She sighed. His friendship had been nice while it lasted.
She placed a hand to her chest and mouthed “be careful”.
Jonesy’s shoulders sagged and he nodded. With that, he disappeared over the railing and climbed into the longboat with several other men.
Night raced across the sky and chased the day away. Treva pulled a plaid scarf tighter around her shoulders against the chill. She was restless, had been staring at the coastline, calculating the distance. She wouldna be able to make it. The water was too rough this evening and the craggy rocks just under the surface would shred her. Still, they were so close to Glasgow, she considered taking the chance. Coire may have contacts, but she knew where to go and who to see directly. And she couldn’t be sure that Coire’s contacts would be swift with the information.
As much as she wanted Coire, she had to resume her clandestine affairs and get word to the Ranald and the rebels of their impending defeat, here and now. Mayhap when Jonesy returned with the longboat, she could steal away in it and then find a horse on shore to take her the rest of the way.
A clamor erupted on the opposite side of the ship. Treva raced over just as a sailor pointed across the firth. An orange glow illuminated from Taylough. In the yellowed reflection stretching across the water, Jonesy’s longboat appeared.
Coire’s expression was impassive. His gaze slid from the fire beyond to her before addressing Jonesy as he and the other men climbed aboard. “What say ye?”
“A small faction of the English had been dispatched to the town. ’Twas unclear how long they’d been there. Angus vacated a few days ago but left men behind for when we arrived. He awaits us at Malig.”
Treva was fairly certain Coire had growled. “And that?” He cocked his head to Taylough.
“Diversion. Courser dropped anchor. A fire was set at the south end of the harbor so we could escape unnoticed.”
“Well, let’s get on with it.” Coire motioned to Mr. Shaw and the crew scurried about making ready for sail. “But if Angus is not in Malig, we find another buyer. I winna be a scrub for anyone. No more.” He clapped Jonesy on the shoulder, an unspoken acknowledgment of a job well done. “Come. Ye, too, Miss MacDougall. We talk.”
Back to formalities. She couldna say she was pleased.
Jonesy settled at the table in the captain’s quarters, but Coire went straight for a bottle of liquor on the shelf. Treva took the bottle from him. “Let me.” He dinna argue. She plucked up three cups, filling them, and placing them one by one in front of the men before she, too, sat.
Coire let out a haggard, irritable sigh as he drew his dagger from his belt. “If Angus is not in Malig, I’m sure we can sell the contraband to Malig’s Laird MacAulay.” He grazed the dagger’s blade over his forearm checking its sharpness. “But I winna be well received by him.”
Jonesy chuckled, though without humor. “I’ve never known you to care if you’re not welcome.”
With a twist of his wrist, he spun the knife over his fingers and jabbed the blade deep into the table’s wood. “Malig was once my home. No one there will deal with the likes of me, be assured. To recoup losses and be rid of our cargo,” he picked up his cup, sneering, “ye’ll have to go to MacAulay without me, Jonesy.”
“Must have been a helluva clash,” the quartermaster said.
Coire stared at the rum he swirled around in his mug. “Ye should never think or speak upon a past meant to stay in the past lest you find yerself there again.”
There she was again. The woman—nay, women—to which he erected his bastion. Treva tamped away the urge to reach for him, to soothe the snappish beast within him that kept her on the other side.
He drained his cup in a hearty swallow, smacked the mug upon the table, and directed his frosty attention to her. “Is there anything ye would like to confess now? Any secrets told to the Royal Navy to spill?”
His incriminating tone ruffled her feathers. “I warned ye the English were at Taylough long before Courser.”
“Yet ye made sure to tell your lieutenant friend the rebels were going to make trouble.”
She’d been backed into a corner. ’Twas a mess of her own making and unlikely a lie would get her out of this one.
“Don’t deny it.” Jonesy pointed his finger at her. “I overheard you talking with him.”
“I winna deny it,” she popped back. “What ye overheard was a message to help the rebels. Sending Courser to Taylough was to keep the attention off of us. ’Tis better than the war ship blocking the River Clyde.”
“What reason would ye have to think we’d be going up the river Clyde?”
“Gah!” She threw up her arms. “If not ye, someone else would have to transport the arms.”
Coire’s nostrils flared. She had him. ’Twas an angle he hadn’t taken the time to consider.
“From the beginning ye’ve had another mission. What difference would it make to ye where the arms end up?”
What more could she say to convince Coire she wasna the enemy? “To detract attention from Glasgow on the rebel movement.”
A war was waging in his eyes. The distance growing in them, the light he held for her fading, it frightened Treva. She would never win his heart if she couldna earn his trust.
“Ye will accompany us to Angus in Malig, where it’ll be your last stop.” He stood, Jonesy followed his lead to the door. “Get some rest. ’Twill be a long night.”
A little piece inside her wilted and broke. Treva squeezed out the lone tear. She had never cried over a man before and she hated the helplessness to change that now.
In the back room of a blacksmith’s shop, Treva, Coire, Jonesy, and Redd gathered with Angus. Several cross-grained and woolly men lined the room. Heat suffused the room from the forge in the adjacent room. Moisture beaded upon her bow and coated her neck. The stench of sweat made breathing the heavy air difficult. Though Angus could have been carved from the dark, creviced boulders littered along the beach, he was more affable than her uncle. He had welcomed her without the disdain she was accustomed to from her clansmen. She supposed Coire was to thank for that since he introduced her solely by her first name.
She waited obediently as the men concluded their transaction and discussed the difficulty of getting the cargo to shore. The tide was out and the water was far too shallow. The barrels would have to be transported in skiffs and they would need to take advantage of what was left of the night.
“I’d like to ask ye a favor, Angus.” He placed a small pouch of coins upon the tabletop. “My companion needs to get to family in Glasgow. Can ye provide her with a horse and escort?”
Angus weight the pouch, finding it adequate. “Of course.” He nodded to Treva. “We can get ye there safely, lass.”
And just like that, she was no longer Coire’s “companion”. So easy to cast her away. That should have hurt, and she’d be lying to herself if she said it did not. But she’d make him see, they could be good together.
What folly. She was likely to never see him again. Life was never fair, and it was far too short to waste.
Treva stamped away the clog in her chest. “Thank ye. Thank ye, both.”
Coire directed his attention to a spot on the wall away from everyone.
With the meeting over and Coire paid, everyone filed out of the room. The breeze off the sea was a welcome respite from the burnt air inside, cooling her wet neck. She took a full invigorating breath.
“Come, lass,” Angus said as they walked to the street. “Ye can rest at the inn. I’ll have Edgar come for ye in the morning.”
Coire still avoided eye contact with anyone. His callous features were made more menacing by the light from the fire pit beside the street. There was more to say to each other. More Treva needed to do to make him see she wasna like the others he lumped her with. Was she? She didna want to part ways with him. Not like this. But what choice had she?
Angus shook Coire’s hand. “Can I convince ye to stay and fight alongside us, Fletcher? We could use strong men like ye to aid in our cause.”
“What be the cause?”
Treva doubted Coire was actually entertaining the idea. But he was an enterprising man, interest, even feigned interest, created accords and presented angles for opportunities benefitting his men.
“To take Dumbarton Castle in two night’s time.” Angus clucked in irritation. “’Twas to be a concerted effort, Taylough and Dumbarton. Now we focus only on Dumbarton. We’re attacking from the west and another detachment will be coming from the east. We take the castle, the Jacobites will be in a better position to launch an attack on Glasgow and eradicate the royalists.”
Coire finally glanced her way. ’Twould be useless to argue the point they’d fail now. No one would listen. Only those who knew her, trusted her, would heed her warning. She’d seek out Ranald on her journey tomorrow.
“I’m afraid I’ll have to decline,” he said. “We’ve a long journey home.”
Angus was confused to hear this from a fellow Scotsman. “But ye are home, lad.”
“Like hell he is. Get yer arse off my land, ya bastard.”
Treva spun on her heel at the newcomer whose threat was indisputable. He was tall, a giant of a man draped in a belted plaid and menacing aura. Armed men crowded behind him, all seemingly ready for trouble. Jonesy and Redd eased their grips to the pistols upon their hips. Coire, however, hardly moved a muscle.
Angus frowned. “Captain Fletcher is welcome at my side.”
“Then ye can remove yerself from my land, too…without the use of my men for yer march on Dumbarton.”
“MacAulay.” Coire’s animosity for the man suffocated the area in waves. “How is my treacherous sister? Making yer life sheer misery?”
An immoral grin tipped MacAulay’s sneer. “Ah, Cait dinna fare as well as our beloved whore Fenella. Ghastly accident, it was.”
Coire returned the grin. “I suppose sending my well wishes will be unnecessary then.”
“What’s this about?” Angus said.
“A disagreement.” The louring tone in Coire’s voice dared the laird to object.
MacAulay growled and took a step closer. “Fucking my wife was not a disagreement.”
Coire closed the gap, ignoring the laird’s men who stiffened and reached for their weapons. “Ye and I both know Cait planned it from the beginning. Besides, if ye were able to keep Fenella sated and happy—”
“I spared ye out of respect to yer da, though Cait would have seen ye stripped and whipped to death.”
Treva’s blood chilled. They spoke of the women who betrayed Coire. Women who were now seemingly dead.
MacAulay snarled with another wretched tilt to his mouth. “There’s nothing stopping me from killing ye now.”
“Think ya could?”
Oh, shite! The wild, crazed flash in Coire’s eyes meant he was serious. MacAulay reached for his dirk. Coire smirked, but didna reach for his own weapon. His confidence was palpable. These two men were ready to shed blood. And no one would stop them. Everyone there was poised for action, too.
“Gentlemen.” She tread as close as she dared to the rivals.
Angus tugged her back. “Lass…”
The laird drew his dirk. “Ye were warned never to come back.”
“Dinna ye worry yer fragile mind, MacAulay. There’s nothing here I want. Except maybe yer heart still warm and beating in my fist.” Coire pulled out his own dagger and brandished it before him. Jonesy and Redd hemmed in as the clansmen, too, braced for a clash.
“Worthless whoreson.” MacAulay advanced a step.
“No!” Treva shrugged from Angus and crammed herself between the men, a palm on each man’s chest. “Would it not be best to lay past differences aside while we are united in purpose? Divided we are less effective.”
MacAulay’s gaze slid down to where she touched him. She snapped her hand back as if too close to a red-hot fire. His lips tilted up, her skin crawled. “Friend of Fletcher’s?”
Coire snatched her to his side. “She’s no concern of yers.”
“No?” His stare slithered over her body.
Coire pointed the tip of his dagger eye-level at the laird, twisting so the blade caught the firelight. “No.” The pregnant pause after the unspoken warning lingered. Just as MacAulay’s grin. “Ye’ll be rid of me as soon as the last barrel is offloaded my ship.”
The laird sheathed his dirk. “See to it, Angus. I’d hate to rescind my alliance because yer lackeys canna adhere to orders.” He spun on his heel and marched down the street, his brute men in tow.
“Apologies, mate. I’ll be true to my word and sail at first light. I winna cause more trouble than ye already have with MacAulay.”
“He’s a pompous bastard,” Angus muttered.
“Aside for allowing Treva a place to lay her head for a few hours, we winna be needin’ yer services after all. Keep the coin all the same.”
She frowned, daring not to hope. “Are ye taking me to Glasgow?”
Coire side-eyed down at her. “No. But I winna leave ye here. Not with the way MacAulay ogled ye for his next meal.”
She barked a sour, disbelieving laugh. “I can take care of myself.”
“Aye. Except there are no British officers to fall into league with here.”
She planted fists to her hips. “Oh, so now ye trust me?”
His brow raised in confrontation. “Just the lesser of two evils.”
He hit his intended mark. Did she deserve it? Probably.
“Should I be concerned?” Angus’s gaze bounced between them. Redd and the others looked about unsure of the answer. Jonesy, on the other hand, stood stoically aside, his tight expression unreadable.
“Verra well,” she said. “We can discuss this at a more suitable time.” As in never. “Angus, I thank ye for yer hospitality. I could use the sleep.” She spun on her heel and marched away in a direction she hoped was the inn.
The sun’s rays broke the horizon just after crossing the river’s bridge. Treva had been riding hard these last hours, following the trail that an old man said would lead her to Glasgow. It had been luck and the darkest part of the small hours that kept the road clear of other travelers or unsavory characters. Still, she dinna steal away from Malig without helping herself to some of the weapons Coire had delivered. She’d hidden a pistol in her waistband and carried another on her hip under her cloak. She’d be foolish to not arm herself in case she ran headlong into trouble. A pretty smile and coy persuasion were not always effective.
To the southwest was Dumbarton and she must tread carefully and swiftly lest she run into any British patrols. By late afternoon, she should reach the outskirts of Glasgow where she hoped to find Ranald—long before any courier sent by Coire would—and make a stand to end the march to their deaths.
She patted the mare’s neck and led the horse down an embankment a few yards off the pathway to a stream that fed into the river farther downstream. Each step from the hooves stirred the moist, earthy odors from the recent rains. The poor horse needed a cool drink and her growling stomach reminded her she could use a brief respite, too. Her mouth watered for the bread and cheese she’d stolen on her way out of Malig.
Treva hated that she had been reduced to thieving, but time was not on her side and Coire refused to help further. ’Twas for the best. He was nothing but a heartache…though one she was willing to endure. Damn him!
After resting long enough, and spending much of that time thinking of a stubborn pirate captain, she gathered the mare’s reins. The snap of a twig caught her attention and she froze. Was someone there? Treva scanned the bank on both sides of the stream, saw nothing but lichen-covered rocks and ancient trees, heard nothing but the rush of the water. Being at the bottom of the embankment put her at a disadvantage. She had to get to the top and there’d be no way to do it without making noise. She had to remain still until she was certain she was alone.
She spun at the sound of another twig breaking behind her. Caught a shadow darting between trees to the left. Maybe. She couldn’t be sure. Leaves rustled to the right. But there was nothing there. Panic surged forward at what she coulnda see. Treva charged up the embankment pulling the horse behind her.
At the top, she swiveled on her heel searching for the source of the sounds. Her imagination must be playing tricks on her. There was nothing there. It was probably a pine marten or a squirrel. Yes, that was it. Treva cursed to herself for being so skittish and prepared to mount the horse. Since when was she scared of—
It came out of nowhere, the hand that covered her mouth, the strong arm that wrapped around her. Treva had no time to react as the man pulled her flush against his hard body.
“Shh.” His whisper pressed against her ear. “Dinna move.”