Pleasing the Pirate: A Loveswept Historical Romance (23 page)

“So that’s it? You put me in a carriage and wave goodbye?”

He smiled, but it was a crooked smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Come now, Mairi. Let’s not be so melodramatic.” He took a step away from the door, fire burning in his eyes. “I wish you could see things the way I do. I wish you believed as fervently as I do how important this is to Scotland.”

He took her hand between both of his. “We can do this, Mairi.”

He honestly, truly believed what he was saying. He burned with the passion of it, with the intense belief that he was right and just.

With her free hand she touched his cheek and smiled softly at her brother. He’d always been intense, giving everything he had to give in whatever it was he pursued. Whether it was
tormenting his sister or learning to ride a horse, he did so with intensity and single-mindedness. She should not be surprised that he was giving the same dedication to this as well.

“I see you believe that.”

Disappointment darkened his features. He stepped away and opened the door. “I’m sorry you don’t. I’ll see to your journey. I’ll make certain everything is paid for and you have enough money to see yourself through the winter.”

He closed the door leaving her bereft and alone. And lost.

Phin stood on the threshold of Mairi’s bedchamber. The bed was made, the room straightened. There was nothing to indicate that Mairi had been here because she had brought no personal effects with her to his home.

What a melancholy thought. Even Phin had personal effects in his chamber. A brush, coins tossed on his bureau, a favorite painting that hung above his bed. Did Mairi have those things in Scotland?

He’d never asked her about her home. And now he might never have the chance.

Sebastian had gathered a bevy of men to search for the coach and driver that had snatched Mairi off the street but their inquiries led to nothing. People strolling the square claimed not to have seen anything except Susan and Annabelle hurrying home with an injured Ezra. Questioning the hackney owners had led nowhere as well. No one employed anyone that fit the description Susan had given, which led Phin to believe that whoever orchestrated Mairi’s kidnapping had used his own man.

And he had a very good idea who had orchestrated it all.

Grant.

The men he’d had stationed around the square had seen nothing out of the ordinary until they heard Mairi cry out, but by then it was too late. The driver had whipped the horses into a frenzy and they were gone before his men could even begin to give chase. They confirmed everything Ezra had said. It had all happened too fast.

When Phin had heard that Mairi had cried out his gut had clenched in fear and dread. Was she hurt? Was she still hurting? He wanted to smash his fist into the man who had taken her and treated her so ill.

His men were currently infiltrating the pubs where Grant had been seen, but there was nothing. It was as if he’d pulled all his men and left the country.

If that were the case Phin would never find them. Never see Mairi again. Never be able to tell her that she didn’t have to wed MacGowan because he’d provided for her.

He stepped into the bedchamber and turned in a circle. He caught a faint whiff of the
lavender soap she used to bathe with, but it was barely there, as if that was leaving him as well.

He opened the armoire and there in the bottom, crumpled into a haphazard heap was the gown she’d worn when they first met. The day she held a pistol to him and demanded he help her. Gingerly he picked up the dress. It was soiled beyond repair, the blue even more faded. He stared at it for a very long time before he stood, clutching it in his hands.

Was Grant treating her well? Was she right now on her way to Scotland with her brother?

His fingers flexed, crumpling the fabric of the gown, and as he did so he encountered something hard and unyielding. He sat on the edge of the bed and discovered that the hem of Mairi’s gown was heavier than it should be. The seams had been sewn and re-sewn so many times and the fabric so old that it wasn’t difficult at all to pick apart the hem. When he did coins and gems fell out into his hand.

She’d told him she had fifty pounds to pay him but in reality it was closer to thirty and the gems were so small they were nearly inconsequential. They would have amounted to almost nothing on the market if he wished to resell them.

He sat with the pittance in the palm of his hand. Everything he held was everything she owned. Everything she could scrape together to save her land and the people who relied on her.

No wonder she was angry with the English for what she perceived as overindulgence and extravagance. He folded his fingers around the money and gems and closed his eyes.

He had to help her. He couldn’t let her just disappear like this without knowing if Grant was truly going to help her or simply send her off to marry MacGowan. He had to know that she was taken care of.

But how to find her?

A noise had him turning his head. Susan stood there, her hands folded before her.

He knew Susan felt responsible for what happened, but there was naught he could say about it because he felt the same responsibility.

She tilted her head, her questions in her eyes. He shook his head. “We’ve not found her.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded once. “I’m sorry,” she signed. Since Mairi’s disappearance Susan had resorted to using signs instead of her voice.

“I am too,” he said.

“You love her,” she signed.

Phin huffed out a breath, ready to deny the accusation, but he found he couldn’t do so.
The thought of loving Mairi was frightening. He
couldn’t
love her. And yet when Susan signed those words his heart knew them to be true.

The thought of never seeing her again tore a hole through him that could never be repaired. He wanted to snatch her back from Grant and declare her as his.

“Yes. I love her.” Saying the words didn’t make the feeling any easier to bear. In fact it made it more difficult because it brought to light their impossible circumstances.

Susan sat beside him and put her hand on his arm. They sat in silence as he clutched all of Mairi’s wealth in the palm of his hand.

* * *

Throughout the long, cold night Mairi’s sadness over her brother slowly swung back to anger at his blatant disregard for his heritage.

She would
not
meekly return to Scotland and marry MacGowan because Grant didn’t want to deal with their problems. He would
not
bundle her into a carriage and brush his hands of her. McFaddens had lived on that land for centuries and it was
not
going to end with her, no matter what Grant thought.

She simply needed to speak to him again. Now that she knew his stance and she’d overcome the shock of it, she would think rationally, argue rationally. She would make him see the error of his ways. Mayhap they could compromise. He could show himself in Scotland, let MacGowan know they were not giving up their land. She could use some of this money he so carelessly spoke of. If he insisted on fighting this ridiculous, ill-fated fight, then he could do so but not before he secured their land and helped their people.

Sufficiently calm—or as calm as she would ever be—she ventured out into the hallway once the sun broke the horizon. Or at least she thought it broke the horizon. It seemed bright enough for it to be morning.

There was no one about. The stink of unwashed bodies and overcooked cabbage was much worse in the hallway than her room, but she withstood it as she made her way down the empty hall. The building seemed deserted except for the few voices she heard coming from a closed door. If people did live here then it was a travesty because it should have been condemned long ago. She took every step in fear that she would fall through the floor.

She approached the door where the voices were coming from. She recognized Grant’s voice, but the other she didn’t know. The masculine voice spoke English with a heavy French accent.

“The plan is for the third of November,” the stranger said.

“Let’s go over it one more time, just to be sure I have the facts straight,” Grant said.

“Britain’s land forces are weak. They’re spread too thin. If we can land our ships on English soil, we can take the country. It will take too long for the king to gather his army. Our plan is to cross over into England the night of November third. They will be unprepared for us. It will be a clear victory.”

Mairi pressed a hand to her mouth and leaned closer. What she was hearing was treason. Yes, she’d known Grant was planning something like this but to hear it in detail was shocking and frightening.

“Excellent. We will be ready,” Grant said.

Mairi closed her eyes and breathed deep, fighting the nausea crawling up her throat. Her heart pounded so hard she feared they would hear it on the other side of the door.
Oh, Grant
.

“You there!”

She spun around. The large man that had taken her from the square was running toward her. Panicked, Mairi ran in the other direction. Someone shouted after her, but she didn’t look back, intent on the steps that led to the lower level and praying they wouldn’t give out on her as she pounded down them.

“Mairi!” That was Grant calling her, but she didn’t pause, didn’t hesitate. That may be her brother but she didn’t know him anymore.

She stumbled down the steps, nearly falling several times. She could hear her breath sawing in and out of her, knew a fear that far exceeded anything she’d felt before. If she were caught she’d be killed because she now possessed damning knowledge about the fate of England.

When she burst out into the street she took a precious moment to blink against the bright sun and decide which way to run.

Phin.

She needed to get to Phin. He would help her. There was relief in that thought and so she went by instinct and turned right. She started running again and found that a woman racing through the streets of what seemed to be the worst part of London wasn’t all that disturbing.
People looked at her. A few stopped to stare, but when they saw the men running after her they hurried on their way, not wanting to get involved. People congregated on the corners, filth ran through the middle of the street. Clothes hung out of windows. Children ran willy-nilly and barefoot.

If she had to guess she thought she might be in St. Giles, the worst and most deadly part of London.

Mairi ran until her lungs hurt and a stitch in her side had her gasping for breath. Until her legs quivered and each step sent pain shooting through her heel and up to her knee. She began to stumble, pushing away from walls, clipping people in the shoulder.

The men behind her were yelling at others to stop her, but no one did. No one wanted to get involved with the surly, scary men. She was losing ground quickly, but she didn’t stop. As she was passing a doorway a hand reached out and grabbed her. Mairi screeched, or at least tried to, but there was no breath left in her for much noise. The hand dragged her through the door and slammed it shut.

In the dim, fetid entryway Mairi glimpsed a gaunt woman, her hair ragged, dirty and unkempt, her gown soiled and mended so many times that it looked like she’d given up the fight.

“Where you off to in such a hurry, deary?” When she smiled there were more gaps than teeth in her mouth.

Mairi recoiled, struggling for breath.

Someone beat on the door behind her, yelling her name and causing her to jump. She looked at the door, then at the woman.

“Please … Help …”

The woman contemplated her. “Yer a little old fer them, but what the hell. I seen ’em go after older.”

Mairi had no idea what the woman meant, and she wasn’t about to admit she had sensitive information that she needed to pass on to someone close to the king.

The door shook and rattled as the men continued to yell.

“Please,” Mairi begged.

The woman turned and, surprisingly quickly, walked down the narrow hall to the back of the lodgings. “Better come quickly. That door won’t hold ’em forever now. I done this a time or two.” She slid open a panel hidden in the wall of the kitchen and motioned Mairi into the black,
gaping hole. “As soon as I saw ye runnin’ I knew you was in trouble. Been there a time or two meself. Damn men. Up to no good, the lot of ’em. Go. They’ll be breakin’ down the door any minute now. Follow the tunnel all the way to the end. Knock three times on the wooden door, wait, then two more times.”

This was so bizarre. Even more bizarre than listening to her brother discuss battle plans with the French.

In better lighting, Mairi could see that the woman was much younger than she first appeared. Time and circumstances had carved lines in her face, but her eyes were bright.

The woman leaned close and it took every bit of iron will not to recoil from her. “Run as fast as ye can. It’ll be dark but someone on th’other side will help ye. Remember, three knocks, wait, then two knocks.”

She pushed Mairi into the dark hole and settled the board back in place before Mairi had a chance to object. Darkness so black smothered her, making it hard to breathe. Or she may have found it hard to breathe because panic was stealing her air. She was about to pound on the panel when she heard the crash of the front door and the angry voice of the Frenchman.

“ ’Ere now. What d’ye want?” The woman sounded cross, but if Mairi wasn’t mistaken her words trembled a wee bit.

“Where is she?”

Mairi’s back snapped taut. That had been Grant and he didn’t sound happy at all.

“I dunno who you mean.” The woman’s tone was defiant.

“The girl you dragged in here. What did you do with her?”

“Ain’t no
girl
in here.”

“Now, you listen here. That woman is my sister and she needs help. She hasn’t been the same since our da was killed and she escaped my protection.”

Mairi gasped, unable to believe that her brother was implying that she was not right in the head. That he was her guardian and protector.

She was so angry she almost wanted to confront him herself but only the knowledge of what she heard kept her quiet.