Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(17)

“Slaves?”

She gasped with indignation. “Of course no’!”

“What, then?”

“Things! Sundry things.”

“Liar,” Aulay said coldly. “Sundry things that must be sold in a foreign port? Sundry things that have caused a flush to creep into your fair cheeks? Things that your dying father insists you carry on rather than return for help?”

“He is no’ dying!”

“What is it you mean to deliver to Aalborg?” he pressed.

“It has no bearing on you—”

“It has every bearing on me, you wee fool! I would know what I carry on my ship, aye? I would know if illegal whisky is in my hold! I know a ship running from the excise man when I see it. That was a royal ship you set on fire—”

“Entirely accidental! And they fired first!”

“You’d no’ be the first to run illegal whisky from Scotland’s shores. But damn you, you are the first to throw my cargo overboard to make room for it!”

Her eyes darkened. “No’ all of it. As I said, I stopped them. Most of what we brought is on your deck.”

“Mi Diah,” he muttered and sagged against the wall. Now he was carrying illegal goods in plain sight? Aulay seethed with indignation. His was not the indignation of the righteous, no—it wasn’t so long ago that his family had resorted to running goods around the royal navy and excise bounties the crown would impose on imports. They’d felt forced to do it, felt it was the only way they could provide for their clan in those years before the Jacobite rebellion, when the crown imposed a usurious tax their clan could ill afford on the most basic of necessities.

But they had not thrown over anyone’s legitimate goods to make room, and they’d not stacked illegal cargo on their bloody decks! Worse, much worse, if Aulay lost this cargo, if he failed to do what he’d promised William Tremayne and deliver it to Amsterdam, he couldn’t bear to think what might happen to his family’s livelihood. He couldn’t bear to think of the mix of anger and pity in his father’s eyes.

He turned a cold gaze to the woman who was pacing, the hem of his greatcoat dragging the floor behind her. Her brow was furrowed and she seemed lost in thought. Bloody whisky runners. His mind raced with the necessity to free himself, to salvage what he could before all was lost.

The lass stopped pacing. She turned to face him, and damn her if she didn’t look almost tearful. “Help me,” she said softly. “Tell me what to do!”

“Help you pirate my own ship?”

She groaned heavenward. “You’ll have your ship as soon as we are to Aalborg!”

He stared at her, his thoughts racing. “If we are to Aalborg, you’ll need my men to sail us there, aye? Best you bring Beaty in so that he might chart the course.” That was a lie—Beaty could navigate by the stars overhead, and it was almost impossible to chart a course when the day was as bleak as this. For all Aulay knew, Beaty might have already turned this ship about. But he hoped she would give Beaty entry into the cabin.

She considered his suggestion.

“Of course, you canna be certain I’ll no’ chart a course that turns us about and sends us back to Scotland and into the hands of the crown, can you, then?”

She shot him a suspicious look. “You’ll no’ do that. You’ll no’ risk putting your ship into the hands of the crown. They’ll no’ believe you’re innocent, no’ with whisky on board. You need me and mine off your ship, I should think.”

Clever and beautiful. But Aulay would see her brought to justice. And he would do it by taking full advantage of her naiveté.

“Aye, you’re right, you are.” He held up his hands. “Untie me, and I will help you.”

She blinked. She moved closer, so close that Aulay could see flecks of light gray in her pale blue eyes that, under different circumstances, would have tempted him. His gaze slid to her lips, succulent and pursed, and errant thoughts began to wander into places they ought not to have gone. This was the woman who had aggrieved him, had stolen his ship, had put his crew in peril. How could he imagine kissing her? He’d been addled by that blow to the head, clearly.

She seemed to know what he was thinking, because she smiled saucily and tilted her head back. He held up his hands to her so that she might release him. “I’ll no’ deny it, I need you, I do, Captain,” she said silkily, and a warm shiver ran down his spine. “But donna take me for a fool.” She abruptly put her hands on his chest and shoved him away, then stepped back.

She took the greatcoat from her shoulders, slid one arm into a sleeve, and then the other, then buttoned the coat up to her neck so that she looked as if she was wearing a priest’s robe. She picked up the gun from the table and slid it into the pocket before she shoved her feet into wet boots. “There are men to be fed, and my father needs a change of bandage.” She moved to the door.

He realized she meant to leave him. “If you want my help, bring me Beaty,” he said sternly.

She opened the door and went out. A moment later, he heard what sounded like a barrel or a crate being slid across the decking and shoved in front of the door.

All right, then, she was no fool.

Well, neither was he...all evidence to the contrary. He would help her, all right. He would help her right into the arms of the authorities.