Tangled Hearts (14 page)

“You will have it when we return to the
Queen Siren
,” Captain Bart said and patted her arm. “You are plenty old enough now to protect yourself from your past. That was your mother’s demand, that you not get the box until you were grown. You have survival skills now.”

Will snorted around a bite of bread. “I’d say.”

“I need you to send the box to me,” Dory said slowly, “here.”

“Here?” Captain Bart asked. Ewan watched Dory try to slide her arm out of the man’s grasp, but he held fast.

She shook her head. “I will be here, helping Ewan find the traitor and clearing my mother’s name.”

Will strode over to her. “You’ll be going with us.”

“I won’t leave Ewan,” she said and blushed. “I mean, he’s basically condemned himself if we leave and he can’t produce the traitor for Henry’s wrath. He agreed to it to get you released.”

Will shrugged. “He can leave, too.”

“Then English troops will attack Druim,” Ewan said evenly, his arms crossed. “I represent the Macbains so the Macbains will be considered traitors. I will find the true traitor or take his place on Tower Hill. It will end here.”

“So be it,” Will said.

Dory punched his shoulder. “Not ‘so be it,’” she imitated. “If we don’t find the traitor, Henry could be killed, causing civil war.”

“He’s just a man,” Captain Bart said. “If he dies, he dies. War will decide the next leader of this country.”

“Children will be killed in a war,” Dory said and watched her father closely, but the man gave nothing away. “And if Henry decides to attack Ewan’s home, children there will be killed, too, because I decided to run away.”

Her father stood for a long moment in thought, his strong features tired, drained. Finally he shook his head. “I’m sorry, girl, but I won’t have you dying here because you came to get me out.” He glanced at Ewan. “I don’t think you’d have her die here, either, would you?”

“It’s not up to him,” Dory blurted out. “I gave Henry my oath that I’d find the traitor. To free you two, I promised.” Her eyebrows rose and she threw her hands wide, palms up. “My oath, on my honor.”

“Now why the damnation would you swear on your honor, you bird-brained dim-wit?” Will yelled.

Ewan watched the drama unfold before him. She was lying. She’d brought up the idea, but he’d been the one to make deals with Henry, not her.

“The king had to know I was serious,” Dory defended though she turned a scarlet shade.

“And you let her do this?” Captain Bart asked Ewan.

Ewan blinked, not sure what to say. Dory seemed to hold her breath. He was playing this game blind. “Have ye ever tried to stop her from doing something she’s bent on doing?”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t an answer, either.

Captain Bart grunted as if it was answer enough for him. “Well the king doesn’t know what it means for us to swear on our honor, Panda,” Captain Bart said. “You’ll come back with us and no one will know.”

“I will know,” Dory said. “Will and you will know.” She shook her head. “I must fulfill my oath to find this traitor to the English crown.”

“Fine,” Will said, “we’ll cut your foolish ears and then you can heal them back.”

Dory’s fingers fiddled with her little ear lobe. Ears? Finally some explanation. Ewan studied the long-haired pirate. He could barely make out the man’s ears hidden in the dirty hair. They looked misshapen. Captain Bart had deep groves in his one ear as if it had been sliced and made to heal apart.

“It would be cheating if I healed them,” she whispered. “You won’t let me heal the rest of the crew when they bleed out their dishonor.”

“What the bloody hell are you all talking about?”

“’Tis ship’s business,” Will said. “None of yours.”

“Dory is my business, every little bit of her. And none of her will be bleeding.”

Everyone stared at him. What? It was bloody true! There would be no bleeding of Dory.

“Since when is—” Will stopped when Captain Bart held up a hand. Bloody amazing! The fool could be trained.

“When someone on board the
Queen Siren
breaks their oath, they must pay with their blood,” Captain Bart explained slowly. “Their oaths keep my crew honorable and focused on our mission. But when they break one, they lose part of their ear.”

Och! Dory had been raised by men who’d been baking in the sun too long.

“It doesn’t matter,” Dory huffed, “because I am staying here with…” She seemed to have lost her words. “To find this traitor because I gave the king my oath that I would. I need my box because I think my mother left me something in it that might lead us to whomever she was working with besides my father by blood.”

“Did you meet the man?” Captain Bart asked with a surly frown.

“He’s dead and stinking up the stables,” she said.

“Is that what that smell is?” Will asked. “I thought it was where the Scots go to shite.”

The man really needed another broken nose.

Captain Bart studied her. “I’m sorry, girl, that he’s dead.”

If the man had known Rowland Boswell, he wouldn’t be sorry. But since the devil was dead there was no sense in making Dory feel worse about being his offspring. Ewan had a lifetime of embarrassment over his own family.

Dory nodded and Captain Bart scratched his face. “I suppose it is important to you to prove your mama was not a traitor, too. I’ll get your box and send it back.”

Dory smiled widely and gave him a huge hug.

Someone knocked on the door.

“Your baths,” Dory said and nearly skipped to the door, relief evident in her smooth features. Two wooden tubs were carried in, along with several buckets of water, two of which were in iron pots and placed over the fire to heat.

“You’re going to love this warm bath, Captain,” Dory said with a smile.

Will ripped Ewan’s shirt off over his head.

“Dory and I have… plans to make,” Ewan said and caught her arm. “And if she’s found in here with two naked men, the whole court will gossip.” He led her to the door to follow the men out who had brought the water.

Captain Bart strode after them. “Don’t get into trouble, Panda,” he said as she went out in front of Ewan. Just before he could follow her into the corridor, her father slapped a solid hand on the door, shutting Ewan in.

Chapter Nine

27 February of the Year our Lord God, 1518

Dearest Kat,

I write every month. Are you not receiving my letters? I’ve said over and over that I love you and don’t care that you were wed to another. I, too, am in a tiresome marriage. One day we will be free to love and rule together in the open.

Forever yours,

Rowland

Ewan turned to the commandeering pirate leader as the man started to talk.

“My Pandora is smart.” Captain Bart was so close Ewan could see his nostrils flaring. He wouldn’t be surprised to feel the man’s blade in his kidney. Captain Bart’s breath spit out on a whispered growl. “She wouldn’t give her oath to the king, especially when he’d have no idea what it meant.”

The man’s gaze searched Ewan’s, but Ewan didn’t say a thing. In the hall Dory banged on the door.

“So either my daughter has suddenly lost her sense or she’s lied to me in order to stay here.”

“The lass wants to clear her mother’s name,” Ewan replied.

“Open up!” Dory yelled.

“Or my Panda wants to stay with you,” Captain Bart continued, watching every part of Ewan’s face as if he could detect a lie. “If you stole my Panda’s heart, I’ll be cutting off more than your damned ears.”

“If you’re gutting Ewan, there will be hell to pay and I won’t be helping you afterward,” she said through the door.

“Do you understand?” Captain Bart asked.

“I believe, sir, that I do,” Ewan answered and the man’s weathered hand slid from the door. Dory fell inward, landing against Ewan. She righted herself, though her wild curls still swam around her face. She stared at Ewan for a brief second and nodded. Apparently she’d ascertained that he had not been gutted.

She turned her frown on her father. “What did you say to him?”

He smiled and shook his head. “Just making sure he’s respecting my Panda.”

Dory’s sharp gaze moved between them and she gave a little snort. “Whatever threats you give him, you can do in front of me.”

Captain Bart nodded, but from her frown it was clear she suspected that his nod was to placate her instead of offering agreement.

After a long pause she turned. “Well then, we’ll leave you two to your baths. Ewan and I,” she said looping her arm through his, “were about to take a walk in the gardens.” She pulled him along with her out the door this time and he let her.

Ewan kept up with her brisk pace, letting her calm down. He didn’t say anything until they reached the door that led to one of the gardens. “Captain Bart. He loves ye a lot.” What would his life have been like with a father like that?

“He doesn’t trust anyone around me.”

“Sounds like a doting father.”

“I suppose so, but most doting fathers don’t carry daggers and cutlasses.”

Ewan shrugged. “Actually, in the Highlands they carry daggers and broadswords.”

A gentle grin turned up the corners of her soft, pink lips. “Perhaps Highlanders are a bit like pirates.”

“I’m starting to see the similarity.”

Voices down the corridor prompted Ewan to lead her out the arched doorway into a sunken garden. The rain had left, and the sun caught the brilliance of the drops on the roses and tulips. The breeze was cool and tousled her hair so that she caught it in one hand to tame it.

“Ye don’t have a wrap.”

“I’ll make do. I need some air.”

They walked along the gravel path that twined through hedges and under trellises with climbing purple flowers.

“They’re beautiful.” She stopped to lean into a fragrant rose bush. The reddish hue of the petals matched her lips perfectly, and she brushed the top to her nose. Only the rise of her chest against the fabric of her bodice showed her deep inhale. “Aren’t they?”

He realized that she was looking up at him, expecting him to answer, though he had no idea what she was asking.

“The roses,” she prompted, “are lovely.”

“Aye.” He held her gaze. “Beautiful beyond any I’ve ever met before.”

She hastened along the path to a bench under an arched canopy of those purple flowers and tucked at a tie on one of her sleeves. Was he making her nervous? The woman could trick her way past guards at the Tower of London yet a simple compliment sent her running.

Herbs grew in raised beds, adding to the fragrant air. She sat and fooled with her skirts. He picked a flower from the vine and tucked it into her hair near her ear. She almost flinched away, but let him. He sat next to her, his thigh riding alongside hers on the narrow bench. The winds rustled the tulip heads, bending them about like synchronized dancers. Was he making her that nervous? The thought was…tantalizing.

“Dory.”

“What?” she answered quickly. The way she nibbled on her bottom lip seemed so anxious. Now this he knew how to deal with, an anxious lass who needed coaxing. The kisses they’d shared before sparked many possibilities. His blood heated as he considered some of the more adventurous ones.

He wrapped his large hand around her small one, letting the weight of it rest in the folds of her skirt. Her gaze darted from his like a frightened doe in the woods.

“Ye lass, are utterly beautiful.” And he meant it, watching her there with the sun streaking between leaves climbing the trellis. Her breathing quickened like he knew it would. Did she know she was being stalked by a skilled hunter?

He’d learned the art of wooing and coaxing at a very early age, after he learned that laughter and smiles stopped people from asking him how he was faring. He’d perfected the dance to win a kiss. Some said he used battle tactics. True, the lunge and deflect dance of battle could be viewed as similar to the dance of love, but a lass required more finesse.

Soft words sat on his tongue, the easy grin on his lips, the intensity of his gaze ready to meet hers. Despite her tough exterior, Dory was a lass underneath, with passion like he’d never met before. If he could just bring it out of her. The thought scorched a path to his crotch. Damn English trews!

She turned to look at him, and he felt a gust of wind. Any second a whirlwind would probably uproot half the garden, causing commotion. He froze. Bloody hell! They certainly didn’t need any more suspicion thrown their way.

Nay, he’d have to handle Dory Wyatt differently. He exhaled slowly. “We should list out those who were at court when your mother lived here.”

She blinked, confusion bending her brows for a moment. “Oh, yes, yes we should do that.”

“Then we can investigate each one. Their family backgrounds and political views,” he said.

She nodded. “I wonder if the servants know anything.”

“They tend to know everything.”

The wind had abated to a peaceful spring breeze. He opened her palm and ran a fingertip along a crease. “There is your uncle, James Wellington.” He marked another line, her fingers curling on a tickle. “Richard Pembroke certainly seems to have known yer mother, enough to realize instantly that ye look just like her.”

He rubbed his thumb in a lazy circle at the center.

“His wife was also here at the time,” she said evenly.

“Aye,” Ewan agreed, “but the letters refer to a man throughout.”

She nodded. “How about Seymour?”

“He doesn’t seem old enough.”

“There were hundreds of men hovering around court twenty years ago. How are we going to find him?” She stared down at her open hand that he continued to stroke.

“He would have been associated with Katharine and Boswell. He would be someone of rank if Boswell was willing to work with him, trust him enough to plot regicide with him. Pembroke has a son and a son is mentioned in the letters. I need to study them again.”

“Does James Wellington have any children?”

Ewan shook his head. “Not that I am aware of. He was married but his wife died without issue.”

“We should question the older staff,” she said.

A black bird flitted onto the brick path farther up that led deeper into the myriad gardens. They sat in silence for a moment, her hand still in his. Dory turned to him in a swoosh enhanced with a wind gust that swept the little bird across into the grass. It fluttered up and out of the garden.

“Just do it,” Dory said.

Ewan stared at her. “Do what?”

She snatched her hand back and flapped it toward herself. “Kiss me, seduce me, whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I… do ye want me to kiss ye?” he asked slowly.

She bit gently at her bottom lip. “Well we’ve already kissed. But then you up and left. Isn’t it time to move on to something more… carnal?”

Ewan choked on his inhale and came up with a lopsided grin. “You, Dory Wyatt, are quite unconventional.”

“I’m a lot of things. I know a lot about a lot of things.” She nodded to emphasize her point. “But I don’t know what all the fuss is about swiving.”

He coughed into his fist and chuckled until her glare quickly smashed it. The word was not something he’d ever heard outside a group of men full of whisky. “Ye want to know about swiving?”

She turned in the seat so her back was to the trellis and faced him. She lowered her voice. “I know how it works.”

He felt his face tighten. “And who exactly taught ye how it works? Captain Bart? Will?”

Her face reddened. “No. When I started asking questions, Captain Bart took me to a mission.”

“A mission? With nuns and priests?”

She nodded. “But the nuns there wouldn’t tell me a lot except that I should marry and pray to God for help to get through the ordeal.”

Ewan raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a nun’s answer.”

“They also told me about my monthly women’s curse, though I don’t think it’s a curse, but rather a nuisance. After all, without it, how could we make babies?”

Did she expect an answer? He nodded. “Aye, ye know a lot.”

“So then Captain Bart took me to his favorite whore, Adela, at port. She told me how everything fits together.”

Ewan felt a bit like he was watching some strange monologue, as if he were outside just watching and waiting to see where this conversation would lead. He blinked. “Fit together?”

She tipped her head and raised her delicately arched eyebrows. “You know, fit together,” she emphasized. When he only stared, she touched her forehead as if she had a slight ache. “Don’t tell me she got it wrong.”

“Nay, fit together sounds about right. I’m just not used to discussing the particulars, especially with…” He gestured to her.

“With someone who wants to swive?” she finished.

Ewan exploded in a coughing fit. He attempted to agree while she patted his back. “Really, you must be more careful when you breathe and swallow,” she said.

He shook his head and cleared his throat. “So she explained all the particulars.”

Dory nodded. “But it doesn’t sound as fun as the crew seems to make it out to be. Adela even said that it hurts.” Her brows furrowed over questioning eyes.

“That would be the first time only,” Ewan said.

“Good. I’ll heal myself if I’m injured.”

His smile faded and he looked at her seriously. “Don’t heal yerself new, lass, not completely, or it’ll hurt again. Some things are better broken.”

“Like a horse?”

Ewan paused, blinking several times. “I suppose… aye, yet there is no… comparison.” He shook his head. “So ye’ve learned all this from a whore?”

“Yes, why? Does it work differently for others?”

“Aye, it’s better.”

“Better?” She looked incredulous. “But the whores and the crew go on and on about it. It’s in every jest made and every reference that doesn’t pertain to sword play. They talk as if swiving were better than life itself. How could it be better?”

Ewan rubbed at the ache in the back of his neck. This wasn’t going at all like he’d thought it would. He tried to remember the talk Caden’s da had given him long ago when Ewan began to show promise with the lasses.

“It’s different—better—when no money is exchanged,” he said.

“Captain Bart says he’ll kill the man who gives me money for swiving. So I’m free.”

“Good to know. Ye seem to be fond of that word, swiving. There are other words for… fitting together.”

“Fornication, copulation, knowing someone, fixing, fucking…”

Ewan held up a hand to stop her before she surpassed his knowledge. Living with a crew of pirates had certainly given her a firm grasp of vocabulary. He glanced around but no one else was in the gardens. Bloody hell, she could be thrown in the Tower for her language alone.

“Let’s stick with swiving,” he said. “Although some call it making love or loving someone.”

“Oh, love should have nothing to do with it,” she said as if absolutely sure.

“Who told ye that?”

“Will, Gregor, Geoffrey, One-eyed James, Jack, and I believe Captain Bart agreed with them, though I think he has a soft heart for Adela.”

He sat for a moment, taking all that in. “Well, many believe that swiving is better with someone ye love, or at least like.”

She smiled. “I do like you, Ewan Brody. And I dearly wish to understand why everyone seems to go on and on about it. It’s really the one subject I…” She lowered her voice. “I know nothing about.”

Ewan’s stomach relaxed and he wondered briefly how long he’d been holding his breath. She knew nothing about sex. Had only heard about it, but had never been touched. His smile relaxed his jaw along with the fists he hadn’t realized he’d been squeezing. Despite being raised among the most notorious of fiends, somehow Dory had remained pure. Ewan would be buying Captain Bart a barrel of the finest Highland whisky.