Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(31)

“I canna simply free your men after taking such care to tie them up!”

“Hold your guns to us, I donna care, but I bloody well need men up on the rigging now!” Beaty demanded, his face red.

“All right,” she said, throwing up a hand. “I need but a moment to—”

“Lottie? Lottie!”

She suppressed a groan and turned about as Drustan came barreling across the deck. “I want to go home now,” he said. “I donna like it, I want to go home.”

“I know, Dru, so do I,” she said soothingly. “We’ve a day or two to Aalborg, then quick as a fox, we’ll be on our way home.”

“I want to go now,” Drustan shouted, and slammed his fist down on a barrel of whisky so hard that the top of it cracked, causing both Lottie and Beaty to jump. At the sound of it, Duff and his brother turned about, abandoned the barrel they’d been trying to open, and hurried forward.

Drustan was prone to violent fits when he was confused or frustrated, and sometimes, those fits were impossible to contain. Judging by the way he huffed now, Lottie feared such a fit was imminent if she didn’t do something. “Would you like to see Fader?” she asked quickly to divert his attention.

Drustan jerked toward her with his fists clenched, blinking.

“We’ll bring him some food, aye? Will you help me, then, Dru?”

Her brother nodded as his breathing slowed.

“Cracked the lid, you did, Drustan,” Duff said, examining the top of the barrel. “Good on you, then—we’re in need of a tot or two to keep the Mackenzie men from revolting.”

“Whisky!” Beaty cried. “I need those men working, no’ in their bloody cups! Look here, I need men on the sails!”

Lottie could feel Drustan tensing beside her. “All right, all right!” she cried, and caught Duff’s arm to have his attention. “Let him have his men, Duff,” she said. “Remind them that they will be well paid.” She felt anxious, too—there was too much happening, too many things to think of, and the fear of what would happen once they reached Aalborg was beginning to ratchet in her thoughts. “Keep guard, but let them set the sails.”

“That is most unwise, madam,” Duff said majestically.

“Please, Duff. We’ve a calm sea—we must reach Aalborg by the morrow or risk more trouble.” She pulled Drustan around and made him move with her, leaving Duff’s complaints behind her.

Mathais was below deck with Mr. MacLean. He was wet from the waist down, his dark blond hair sweeping across one eye. He was assisting in the delivery of breakfast to both the Mackenzie and Livingstone men. “Look what we caught this morning, will you,” he said proudly, pointing to a fish that was at least as long as Lottie was tall. MacLean was hacking off chunks of it and throwing them onto a brazier. “I reeled it in myself.”

“With a wee bit of help,” MacLean wryly corrected.

“You ought to have seen me, Lot!” Mathais mimicked pulling in a line before taking a whack at the fish, slicing off a chunk of the meat, and tossing it onto the brazier.

The Mackenzie men, she noticed, seemed much more relaxed than the previous day. Quite congenial, really. Two of them were engaged in a lively discussion about the price of wool, of all things.

Lottie took some of the cooked fish and some ship’s biscuits, and two flagons of beer, and left Mathais to hack away at the fish.

Morven was already in the cabin, leaning over her father, when she and Drustan entered.

“Ah, there’s me lad!” her father said brightly when he saw Drustan.

“We brought you food,” Drustan said.

Lottie closed the door, then made herself glance at her captive. He returned her look with such cool rancor that her pulse fluttered madly. He had a way of looking at her as if he could see her thoughts, her organs, her heart beating like a bloody drum. As if he could see her foolhardy regard for him.

She looked away from those piercing blue eyes and went to her father’s bed, juggling the ale and food, and together with Drustan, served him some biscuits and fish.

Her father ate heartily. He licked his fingers as Mathais came in, banging into a pair of chairs in his haste to see his father and knocking one chair into the captain’s foot without notice.

Mathais was eager to relate his fishing tale, and launched into it so loudly and without preamble that no one could squeeze in a word while Morven mixed something in a wooden bowl.

Lottie moved away from her father and handed the captain a biscuit. When he reached to take it, she noticed that the skin of his wrists looked much worse today. Raw, open wounds.

“Aye, and how did you know to fish the starboard side?” her father asked, interrupting Mathais before the lad succumbed from lack of breath.

“Och, Fader, I had a feeling, I did,” Mathais said, hooking his thumbs in the waist of his pantaloons. “I had the idea from the wind, and I said to the man in charge—Beaty is his name—that I should think there is some fish on this side of the ship, aye?”

“Morven?” Lottie called quietly as Mathais carried on. She motioned the healer forward. She pointed to the captain’s wrists. Morven frowned at them.

“Can we remove the ropes?” she asked.

“Aye, if we donna, he’ll suffer worse,” Morven said grimly and reached for the captain’s wrists. He untied the rope and let it fall. Palpable relief instantly washed over the captain’s face; he closed his eyes and swallowed.