Page 16 of Highland Crown
The younger woman refused to be ignored. “And just how are you going to explain this dead villager?” She pulled at Jean’s sleeve. “How can we explain to John that we left you in this predicament?”
“Don’t ye be worrying about telling my nephew anything.”
“I don’t care what you say. You’re coming with us.”
Jean pulled her sleeve free and spoke to Cinaed. “My nephew, John Gordon, always stays at the Stoneyfield House on this side of the port. It’s right on the coast road, so ye should have no trouble finding it. Deliver this one to him. Ye might as well keep the cart and the horse, for Habbie won’t be doing any more hauling in the future.” She waved off the other woman like some annoying insect. “And don’t forget ye owe her yer life. Taking her to Inverness is the least ye can do to repay her for all she’s done.”
Inverness. Perhaps some of his crew had made it safely to shore and found their way to the port town. After delivering his cargo, he was supposed to continue on to Citadel Quay at Inverness. He was to be paid on delivery by his kinsman Searc Mackintosh.
Worse, those who’d been expecting him would be seriously disappointed. Months of planning and waiting and secrecy had all come to naught. And Cinaed doubted they would be very agreeable about helping him get a position on another ship or find his crew.
He had to get back to Canada somehow if he were ever to begin rebuilding. But whatever he had to do, it needed to start in Inverness. This blasted hamlet was nothing but a death trap for him. If the villagers found him, they’d hang him for sure. He had the blood of one of their own on his hands.
“We’re going,” he said abruptly, motioning to the doctor. “Now.”
“Not without her.” Her eyes flashed. She pointed at the corpse, ignoring him. “This brute threw you about for a paltry ring. I don’t want to think of how they’ll treat you after this.”
“Ye’ll be the death of me, woman,” Jean huffed, digging in. “Go. Leave me be. I know how to lie, and they’ll believe what I say.”
“The way this one believed you?” the doctor scoffed.
Soft footfalls. From the direction of the beach, someone was creeping up on them. Cinaed edged over to the corner of the cottage. The women continued to argue,paying no attention to him. He’d been only nine years old when his clan had rejected him and sent him away to become a ship’s boy. Good instincts and quick reflexes had saved him from harm many a time. More often than not, he sensed danger before it struck.
“You say the ship’s captain owes me his life,” the younger woman snapped before softening her tone. “Well, I feel that I owe you mine. When the village discovers this man’s body, you’ll not be safe here. Come with us now. Your nephew can bring you back if you wish it. But I’m not leaving you here alone.”
The sound of breathing told him someone was listening around the corner of the cottage. Cinaed moved fast. Reaching around, he grabbed a collar of a greasy jerkin and yanked the stalker off his feet, slamming him to the ground. Putting a knee on the scrawny back, he pressed his knife to the throat of the wide-eyed intruder.
“Don’t,” Isabella shouted, rushing toward them. “Don’t kill him. He’s only a boy.”
“I’m no boy,” the lad protested, squirming like a speared fish and craning his neck to glare up at Cinaed. “I’m a grown man and worth ten pox-eared sea rats. Ye let me go, and I’ll show ye in a fair fight.”
The boy was tall and thin, and his eyes flashed fire at the indignity of his position. He couldn’t be more than eleven or twelve years old. Shaggy hair stuck out from a woolen cap and a filthy jerkin covered equally filthy pants. He was doing his best to act tough, Isabella thought, but his bravado looked more like stupidity at the moment.
“The lad’s just a wee fool,” Jean told them. “Habbieuses him to run and fetch. Teaching him to be a lowdown dog, same as him.”
The ship’s master appeared to have no intention of letting the boy up or fighting. His gaze was focused on what they could see of the beach. Isabella continued to be shocked by his speed and his strength, despite the newly stitched hole in his chest. Trapped with him earlier, she’d never seen him reach for his knife. And when she got to Habbie’s body behind the cottage, she’d been amazed by the precision of his aim.
He was now using her scalpel as a weapon. He had to be in tremendous pain, and yet he showed no suffering. His stern face was pale but the picture of concentration. He was as relentless and vigilant as a scout scanning the area for any potential dangers. Despite the unbuttoned coat and vest, and the torn and bloody shirt beneath, he was clearly ready to do battle. She couldn’t help but be impressed. More than impressed.
Isabella was certain she’d never in her life met anyone like him. She didn’t even think men like him existed outside of stories. Wounded warriors who rose above physical pain and debilitating injury, who never gave up even in the face of certain annihilation. Like the mythic heroes of ancient times. Prometheus, Hector, Odysseus, Achilles’s Myrmidons. She recalled the Athenian warrior who carried the news of victory from the plains of Marathon.
“How many more are with you?” Cinaed asked, sparing the boy only a glance as he withdrew the blade.
The young one didn’t answer fast enough and got a knee jammed harder into his back for his trouble.
“No one,” he yelped. “I was down by the cart waiting. When he didn’t come back, I thought to see what happened to him.”
The boy turned his head and his eyes fixed on Habbie. His mouth hung open for a moment. Suddenly, he didn’t look like the young tough he was trying to be. In Isabella’s eyes, he was no more than a child unable to fathom the sight before him.
“What have ye done to him?” he croaked, staring wildly at his captors before looking back at Habbie. The high-pitched wail made it clear he’d seen the handle of the knife protruding from the man’s chest.
Isabella was tired of the bloodshed, but she wasn’t about to blame the ship’s master for the dead man lying at their feet. She doubted that any explanation or any plea would have convinced Habbie to let them walk away unharmed. She was a physician. In the past, she’d found it impossible to condone the taking of another’s life. But this case was an exception, and she couldn’t bring herself to assign guilt. If Cinaed hadn’t acted, more violence would have occurred.
“He knew ye was up to no good, ye auld hag,” the boy cried out. “He was right, and ye had to kill him for it, didn’t ye?”
Only moments ago, Jean had been arguing that she wouldn’t go to Inverness with them, despite the dead body on her doorstep and evidence that she’d been harboring two strangers in her cottage. Isabella hoped the older woman would now see things differently. This boy’s words would go a long way with Habbie’s friends in the village, and he wouldn’t be alone in accusing her.
Suddenly, the boy began shrieking for help.
