Page 4 of Highland Crown
“What did they want?”
“Nothing that concerns ye.”
The answer didn’t make her feel less anxious. She was caught in a blind alley and recalling what she’d gone through only reinforced the helplessness of her position.
“Is there anything I need to know? Or be worried about?”
“Aye. Plenty.” Jean looked sharply at her. “But no matter what happens, ye gave me yer word ye won’t be leaving this cottage.”
“I shan’t. I have nowhere to go. But what do you mean ‘no matter what happens’? Do you expect trouble?”
“Ye ask too many questions,” she snapped.
“With good reason,” Isabella replied, softening her tone. “I’ve been through a great deal of trouble, and none of it I asked for.”
The old woman paused, keen grey eyes studyingIsabella’s face. “This storm is blowing hard from the north. When that happens, we got to be prepared for what the sea gives up. That’s why someone was at my door.”
A shipwreck, she thought. How the villagers lived was none of her business. She put down her bag.
“The sea is a harsh mistress,” Jean continued. “And seafaring folk must ply their trade, no matter the weather. The sea takes, and the sea provides; that’s the way of things. Now, ye go to bed.”
CHAPTER2
Come as the winds come, when
Forests are rended;
Come as the waves come, when
Navies are stranded…
—Sir Walter Scott, “Pibroch of Donald Dhu”
TheHighland Crown. His home. His pride and joy. His dearest possession after twenty years at sea. But there was no saving her. His beloved ship was lost.
Stinging, wind-whipped water—chill and sharp as ice—lashed at Cinaed Mackintosh’s face as he squinted through the rain at the mortally wounded brig he’d sailed through a dozen storms as fierce as this one. He lived a good life aboard her. She had the speed to outrun many a ship with far more canvas. She could maneuver in the tightest spots and in the highest winds. She needed it, for they’d operated on both sides of the law. He’d been fortunate indeed in his years as master of this vessel. But his good luck had run out the momentHighland Crownwas driven up onto the godforsaken rocks of this Scottish coast.
Cinaed’s eyes burned from the brine. His ship was lying nearly on its side. The masts had been reduced to splinters, and the wind and crashing surf continued todrag the hull over the jagged reef, tearing huge holes in the timbers and threatening to tumble her into the wild green maelstrom of the sea. He peered toward the patches of black shoreline that appeared like momentary rends, opening and quickly closing in the shroud of dark mist enveloping his vessel.
Two longboats bearing his crew had already disappeared into the storm. The booming sounds of rollers crashing in the distance told him reaching shore was no certain feat.
The ship shuddered and groaned as a wall of water struck and washed over everything, briefly submerging Cinaed and his second mate, a former gunner, who clung to a torn ratline. A handful of men, the last of his crew, struggled nearby to keep the third longboat from swamping.
Not even a day ago, they’d been sailing up from Aberdeen to Inverness. When the storm struck, it hit fast and hard.
It pained him to do what needed to be done now. In a secluded inlet east of Inverness, Cinaed was to deliver his cargo, but that plan would never be played out. On the other hand, he couldn’t allow those goods to fall into the hands of just anyone. The political sympathies of the folk living along this coast and across the Highlands were never a certainty, and he didn’t want any of the consequences of discovery to fall on his crew.
“Burn it,” he ordered. “You know what to do.”
His second mate nodded grimly and climbed through the hatch leading into the bowels of the ship.
Not long after he disappeared, another watery surge hammered at the boat. TheHighland Crownlifted andthen dropped, breaking the keel like a wrestler’s back. Cinaed held tight to the tattered lines. Worry for his man pushed him toward the hatch. The entire vessel moved again as a section of the bow of the brig heaved, broke off, and began to slide into the sea. Around him, lines snapped and planking exploded like dry kindling. Then, the bow was gone, and only a few casks and crates and splintered timbers remained to mark her passing.
He knew it was only a matter of time before the rest of the ship would follow, spilling its cargo into the churning, grey waves. He didn’t want to lose another man. Reaching the hatch, he called down into the dark recesses of the hold. The fury of the storm obliterated any chance of an answer.
He dove through the hatch, moving swiftly through the lower decks in search of his gunner. Cinaed found him, his leg trapped against a bulkhead by one of the very casks he’d set out to destroy. The mate’s eyes flashed white with terror. He was holding a lantern at arm’s length.
Hanging the light from a beam, Cinaed found a pole and managed to lever him free. Half carrying, half dragging the man, he made his way back to the deck.
