Sister of Rogues (20 page)

Still, he stopped inside the passageway near her room. All was dark, the armoire firmly in place. Listening, he could hear Fiona moving about. Satisfied, Kier continued on to his chamber on the third floor.

And then, so faintly he wasn't sure it was real, came the sound of light, musical laughter once more.

“I do not want to remind you again to keep a damn civil tongue inside your head.” Wesley glared at his bastard son, thinking it might be good just to have the whelp's tongue cut out so the idiot would not be able to speak at all. “You angered O'Reilly.”

Nicholas tossed his jacket on a chair in the flat and turned to appraise Wesley with cool eyes. “That was the intent.”

“What? Are you totally stupid?”

“Not at all.”

Wesley reached for the bottle of brandy on the counter and then threw it against the stone hearth when he saw the bottle was empty. “Explain yourself.”

Nicholas paid no attention to his father's fit of temper. “Surely you know it is always a good idea to assess your enemy's weaknesses? After all…” he gave Wesley a cold smile, “…you are a war hero, are you not?”

Wesley ignored the sarcasm he heard in Nicholas's voice. “Damn right.”

“Even if you did switch sides.”

“It was convenient.”

“Precisely.”

Wesley narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at?”

“The Earl of Adair houses supposedly mad women he calls guests. I was seeking to find out whether the MacLeod bitch was getting extra attention.”

Giving Nicholas an exasperated look, Wesley began opening cupboards in search of another bottle of brandy. “He would have to be a fool not to rut with her.”

“Rut, yes, but what if O'Reilly thought of it as making love?”

Wesley stopped with his hand midway to another cabinet and glowered at Nicholas. “
Making love?
What the hell is that?”

Nicholas shrugged. “Some men think of bed sport like that.”

“You have gone soft in the head.”

“I can assure you that I have not gone soft in either of my heads,” Nicholas said with a smirk. “But we are not speaking of my views on the subject.”

“Aha!” Wesley found a half-full bottle on a top shelf and lifted it down to pour himself a glass before turning back to Nicholas. “What difference does it make what O'Reilly calls it? Whores are meant to be used.”

“True, but here is the difference. I do not think O'Reilly regards the girl as a whore. He was irritated when I called his guests witless, but he fisted his hands until his knuckles turned white when I suggested the Scot woman would provide good sport in bed. I think O'Reilly actually cares about her.”

“So?” Wesley drained his glass and poured another. “Some men are fools.”

Nicholas raised a brow. “Yes, they are.”

“Never let a woman rule you. Any son of mine should know that.”

“You are missing the point,
Father
. If O'Reilly cares about her, then we have found a weakness that we can use.”

Wesley set his glass down and looked at Nicholas appreciatively. Perhaps the boy wasn't an idiot after all. Then he smiled. “We have, haven't we?”

Chapter Twenty

“I have never donned trews before,” Shauna said as she swept her hands down the corded material and looked in the mirror of Abigail's bedchamber. “'Tis almost scandalous.”

Abigail smiled. “I am sure the whole
ton
would consider it so.”

Shauna swung a leg back and forth. “'Tis wonderfully freeing though, nae to have the skirts to deal with.”

“That it is,” Abigail agreed. “What a pity women are not allowed to wear trousers in public.”

“Where did ye get these?”

“Albert's assistant at the office has a younger brother. I told him I needed a pair.”

“He dinnae question ye?”

“Albert and David have long ceased questioning me about most things,” Abigail replied and pushed her spectacles up. “They consider me a bit odd perhaps, since I like reading and doing numbers, but they know Shane takes me sailing sometimes, so they do not question what I wear. Besides, we can hardly walk on board the ship tomorrow attired in gowns and carrying reticules.”

Shauna gave her a doubtful look. “I still think it would be better if we just asked to go along to London.”

“If Shane were here, that might work,” Abigail replied. “His men are loyal to him, even if they are superstitious about having a woman onboard. Ian will be commanding a ship with an assorted crew, and they know he is not a sea captain. He will have his hands full without trying to persuade them to take two women along.”

“He will have Captain Henderson to aid him.” Abigail glanced over at Shauna and smiled. “I have noticed that you have been quite taken by the captain's skills.”

“I have nae!” Shauna hoped she wasn't blushing. “'Tis just that I find his accent somewhat intriguing.”

“The fact the man is…braw, as you say, does not hurt either.”

“Doona be silly. I have been around bonny, braw men all my life.”

“I will not argue that point,” Abigail said with a giggle. “I can think of a few extra words besides bonny and braw to describe Shane. I would suspect you have thought of a few to describe the charming American captain as well.”

This time, Shauna knew she was blushing since her face felt as though she'd fallen into a flaming hearth. “I willna deny the mon is equal to my brothers—and Shane—in looks and body, but truly, it is his stories of adventure that hold my attention. Ye ken how much I like to read. Ye yourself have sought adventure. If I remember, 'tis
your
love of adventure that got ye onboard Shane's ship for France. And—”

“I think the lady is protesting too much,” Abigail said with another grin. “But you are right. And the reason I managed to get onboard Shane's ship was because I was dressed like a boy in trews and cap.”

Shauna looked down at the trousers she wore. “If Ian sees me in these—”

“That is the point,” Abigail said. “He will not see you, even if you walk in front of him.”

“Of course he will. The mon is nae blind.”

Abigail shook her head. “That is not what I mean. There is lots of hustle and bustle on deck when the crew gets ready to cast off. Ian will be busy making sure everything is secured. He will not notice two galley lads stowing provisions. Once we get below deck, all we need to do is stay hidden until the ship is well underway.”

“What is to keep Ian from turning the boat around? He will nae be happy about finding us.”

“He might not be happy, but I doubt he will take the time to sail back to Edinburgh. The storm already delayed leaving by a week. Ian will want to get to London as quickly as possible and then on to Ireland.”

“That is true. Fiona is my sister too. I doona want to sit here and wait.” Shauna lifted her chin and straightened her back. “How angry can Ian get?”

Ian grabbed hold of one of the posts supporting the compass box and swore as the ship's bow rose on a large swell and then dropped into the trough, sloshing cold seawater over the deck and soaking his plaid with spray. He cursed again as another band of wind-driven sleet pellets slashed at his face.

“You are beginning to sound like a seasoned sailor,” Captain Henderson remarked as he held the wheel steady, seemingly not bothered by the deluge. “You could go down below. The boatswain can stand watch with me.”

Ian widened his stance to better balance himself on the wet deck. The
Sea Lassie
was Shane's second fastest ship and Ian was in charge of it, even if Robert Henderson was at the helm. The last thing Ian needed was to have an assorted crew think him not capable of weathering a storm. “Ye ken I cannae do that.”

Henderson nodded and then adjusted his course quickly as the confused sea sent a rogue wave athwartships. A wall of water rose and crashed over the starboard gunwale, dousing them once more.

“Damnation! Is there some demon loosed beneath the waves?” Ian growled as he took a firmer grip on the post. “'Twas calm this morn when we left the dock.”

“The glass started falling about an hour out,” Robert said, gesturing to the barometer near the compass. “We made the decision to continue on.”

Ian looked at the American. There had been no
we
in the decision earlier in the day. Captain Henderson had warned a bad storm was brewing based on how fast the glass had fallen. He'd suggested putting into port at Berwick-on-Tweed to wait it out, but Ian had made the decision to continue. Now they were at the mercy of the harsh winds and unforgiving swells of the North Sea. The captain should be the one doing the cursing, not assuming joint responsibility for a bad decision.

“'Tis too late to turn back, aye?”

Henderson nodded again. “We are safer in open water than trying to make landfall in these conditions. Your cousin's ship is seaworthy. She'll take us through.”

“Ye sound like Shane. Before his wife found him, I swore he was married to his schooner, the
Border Lass.
”

Robert smiled. “In a way, we are. The ocean is a hard taskmistress who gives no quarter. Our ship is the only thing that stands between us and certain death in storms like this. We learn to trust her and take care of her as she takes care of us.” He glanced at Ian before adjusting course once more to turn the bow into another rogue wave. “
Sea Lassie
is a stout vessel. I'd not have taken her out otherwise.”

Ian bit back another curse as the plunging bow drenched them once more with icy water. It was his fault they were in this miserable mess, and from the dark looks the skeletal crew assigned to deck duty were giving him, they might want to keel-haul him when conditions calmed. He said as much to Henderson, as way of apology.

“A sailor knows when he signs on that it won't all be smooth sailing.” Robert gave the crew a thoughtful look. “Still, you might remind them you do not carry the coin with you that they'll be paid.”

Ian raised a brow. “Ye think they are that disgruntled?”

“I don't know. If it were my men—or your cousin's own crew—there would be no mutinous looks being bandied about. We had to select these men from the ones who were not already hired out on other ships.”

There was that
we
again. Although Henderson had sat in on the interviews, the men selected had been Ian's choice. Still, he appreciated the fact that the American did not lay the blame at his feet, even if that was where it belonged.

“I have a feeling Shane would approve of ye,” Ian said.

“Based on how well-maintained the
Sea Lassie
is, I'm bound to feel the same.”

Ian nodded. “Perhaps I'd better lend a hand with the sheets, so the crew doesnae think I am a complete landlubber.”

Henderson grinned. “Perhaps you should.”

After another two hours of battling the sails though, Ian decided land was definitely preferable, although he had gained a wee bit of respect from the sailors. The squalls had finally swept by. The sea was still lumpy, but at least the ship was no longer pitching like a wild stallion.

“I think there's a good chance the crew might have stew tonight instead of dried beef and hard biscuits,” Ian said as he rejoined Henderson at the helm. “A hot meal should lift spirits.”

“That it should,” Robert agreed as other sailors replaced the weary men who headed below decks. “They deserve a good night's sleep as well.”

“Aye, as do ye. I can take the first watch, since all is calming down—”

“God damn wenches!” a voice shouted suddenly from below.

“What the—” Ian didn't get to finish his sentence as two of the sodden crew came back up the ladder, each pulling a galley lad with them. “'Tis nae wonder we were lashed at sea!”

“What is the meaning of this?” Henderson demanded as the sailors pushed the lads forward. Their caps fell off as they stumbled.

Ian cursed once more as long hair came tumbling down. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Shauna and Abigail.

Just what he needed. Two women about a ship with a superstitious crew that was still half-mutinous.

Shauna knew that Ian would be irritated, but she hadn't expected to see him so angry. He looked like he was ready to do battle.

And then she realized he was.

But not with her or Abigail.

She and Abigail had ventured out of the captain's cabin, where they'd hidden, to get some biscuits from the galley when the men below went up for their watch. Although neither Abigail or she had cast up their accounts, as Abigail put it, riding out a storm below deck made stomachs queasy. The dry flatbread would settle them.

They'd run into the wet, tired sailors on their way back to the cabin. The men had taken one look at them and their expressions had changed to Viking berserker rage. An expression they still wore.

“Get those damn women off this ship,” one of the sailors snarled, “or we'll be bedeviled all the way to London.”

“Aye,” the other sailor added. “'Tis their fault the storm came up.”

Moving as one, Ian and Robert stepped in front of the women, Ian with his hand on the hilt of his sword and Robert fingering the musket he wore strapped to his thigh.

“The storm is no one's fault,” Robert said.

The first sailor glared at him. “Ye are an American. Do ye nae respect the gods of the deep?”

“I respect the sea—”

“Fiends lurk beneath the waves,” the second one interrupted. “'Twas Davy Jones himself I saw in the rigging earlier. Sittin' on the yardarm he was, switching his tail and blowin' blue smoke out his nose.”

“He came for the women,” the first one said.

The two men who had just come on watch cleated their sheets and came closer, wide-eyed and gaping. “Ye saw Davy Jones?”

“Aye and kelpies following us in the wake.”

“Waitin' to take the women down to the depths.”

“Superstition,” Ian said, his eyes turning nearly black. “Ye are a superstitious lot, all of ye. Now get back to work and be done with this.”

For a moment, no one moved. Shauna, standing behind Robert, saw him turn his wrist and a dagger slid down his sleeve to his left hand. She knew Ian carried a
sgian dubh
in each boot as well. She saw her brother's shoulders tense, a sure sign those knives would be in his hands in an instant.

With black looks in the women's direction, the two sodden sailors turned away.

“Ye will be taking your rest on the foredeck where I can keep an eye on ye.”

They looked sullen, but they moved forward.

“What about ye?” Ian asked the two remaining.

They looked at each other. “Mrs. MacLeod has been on ships before and they've returned in one piece,” one said.

The other nodded. “Aye. I've seen her about the docks as well. No ship sank because of it.”

Abigail smiled at them. “Thank you, gentlemen. I shall put in a good word for you with my husband. Perhaps he will assign you as permanent crew.”

“'Tis kind of ye,” one of them replied while the other nodded.

“Then back to your tasks,” Ian said.

Shauna let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding and felt Abigail's trembling hand on her arm. “'Tis over.”

Ian shot her a glance that told her it wasn't, but he refrained from saying so. Once they were on solid ground again, it would be a different matter.

The dagger had disappeared up Robert's sleeve as he turned to Ian. “It seems we will be putting into port a bit sooner than we planned.”

“Aye.” Ian glanced at the men working the rigging. “They might be all right, but I doona trust the other two.”

“Nor do I.”

Ian pulled a chart out of the locker behind the wheel and laid it on top of the case. “We should be close to Whitby.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “The River Esk flows into it so there will be some type of port in the estuary. We can unload the two on the foredeck and take on new crew.”

“There is no need to take on more superstitious sailors,” Abigail said. “Shane has taught me something about sailing. I can help.”

“So can I,” Shauna added. “Ye remember we took out the skiffs as bairns.”

Robert looked amused, but Ian raised one black brow. “If ye think these men will allow ye to
crew,
ye have gone barmy. 'Tis enough they tolerate ye.” He fixed both women with a look that would have made grown men back away. “The two of ye will stay in my cabin—
locked
in my cabin—with either Henderson or me on guard outside the door. That is the end of it.”

Shauna exchanged a glance with Abigail. For now, they'd let Ian win.

But there was always tomorrow.

Seated between Mari and Abigail on the library sofa, a safe distance from Ian's stomping boots—and his wrath—Shauna watched the other men in the London townhouse library. Jamie stood with his arms folded across his chest as Ian paced back and forth. Captain Henderson lingered by the hearth silently. Ian had not stopped talking—or pacing—since they'd arrived nearly an hour ago after an agonizing two more days at sea.