Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(39)

“I donna see why Dru may go and I may no’,” Mathais complained. “I’ve as much to do with this as he.”

“Dru must help us keep a close watch on the captain, Mats,” Lottie reminded him.

“I donna want to keep an eye,” Drustan said, fluttering his fingers. “I want to go home, Lottie.”

“Aye, we all do, but first, we must find a physician for our father, aye? If you donna come with me, Drustan, how will I find a physician?”

Mathais hopped up onto a crate, wrapped one arm around the mast, and swung his body around. “I thought Gilroy was to go because he speaks Danish.”

“Duff speaks a wee bit of Danish.”

Duff held up his finger and thumb to indicate just how wee.

“Keep an eye on our father while I’m gone, Mats.” She glanced across the deck to Beaty. “Have you told him?” she asked Gilroy.

Gilroy winced and shook his head. “I’ve no’ had the heart to tell him, no. He fancies himself in control of the ship and his men.”

“Well, he is,” said MacLean. “’Tis a bloody miracle they’ve no’ cast us overboard. We’d all be sunk to the bottom if we hadna promised to pay them.”

“Perhaps you ought to tell Beaty,” Gilroy suggested to Lottie.

“Me?”

“He’ll no’ lift a hand against you,” Gilroy said.

Why must it always be her? “Mi Diah, you men!” Lottie huffed. “It’s a wonder any of you have lived as long as you have without me to help you.”

Gilroy looked as if he might tear up at her admonishment.

“I’ll tell him,” she said. “But you must ready Captain Mackenzie. He must be allowed to bathe and dress and shave. He canna go ashore looking as if he’s our captive. He should at least give the appearance of being in command. Just...just please do it, aye?” she said, and set out, marching across the deck to give Beaty the news that now he’d be the one with a shackle around his ankle.

Predictably, Beaty did not agree with the Livingstone plan, even though Norval pointed a gun at his head the entire time he argued with Lottie about it. He made such a commotion that Lottie was forced to reassure the Mackenzie crew that she had every intention of honoring her promise but needed to take certain precautions, as would they, were the situation reversed. Still, there was quite a lot of disgruntlement as Beaty stomped off in the company of Drustan and another Livingstone man to be bound up.

“I’d no’ tell you false,” she entreated the crew, clutching her hands together at her breast in a manner she’d learned at an early age men seemed to believe was a sign of sincerity, as they tended to rely upon what they saw and never really questioned it. She assured them that the sooner they were done with this business, the sooner they’d have their money and all the Livingstones off their ship.

“Aye, and what of our cargo? What are we to do with it?” Iain the Red demanded.

“You’ll be on your way to Amsterdam,” she said. “You’ll collect two pays for this voyage.”

The men looked at each other. “I donna believe it,” Iain said. He was big, with thick, curly ginger hair that matched the curly beard he wore. “I’ve never in me life collected two purses for one voyage, have any of you?”

The answer was such a resounding no that Lottie felt a slight tick of panic. The Livingstone’s entire scheme to sell this illegal whisky depended on her ability to convince every single man on this ship that this could be done. She noticed even the Livingstone men—whose guns were no longer trained on the Mackenzies, but used as staffs on which they might lean—were eying her skeptically.

“Aye, she speaks true,” said the young man with a splint on his arm.

“What do you know of it, Billy Botly?” said one Mackenzie, and cuffed him on his ear. “You’re scarcely more than a whelp.”

“She’s no’ lied to us,” Billy said. “Everything she’s said, she’s kept her word, aye?”

“The only thing she’s said that matters is that she’ll pay us, and that we’ve no’ yet seen,” someone shouted in the back.

“Aye!” shouted several of them.

Lottie felt on the verge of losing control of the situation, but at that moment, Captain Mackenzie emerged from his cabin with Duff and Gilroy behind him.

A shock ran through her that ended in a shiver up her spine. His was a commanding figure; she wished she possessed even a wee bit of his confidence. He was dressed in the last clean shirt, and a waistcoat, pantaloons and stockings, and the greatcoat she’d worn. His hair was combed in a queue, his face clean-shaven. He looked somehow taller, and broader through the shoulders, and curse the devil, but he took her breath away.

He strode into their midst, and suddenly, everyone was cheering. He held up his hands and began to speak. Lottie stared at him, lulled by the deep, dulcet tones of his voice. He made the guttural Gaelic language sound almost lyrical.

“English!” she said, shaking off her infatuation.

He shifted a cool gaze to her. “Donna fret so, Miss Livingstone. I merely explained that they are to keep the ship ready to sail, that when we return, we will resume our voyage at once.”

She didn’t believe him, but whatever he’d said had calmed his men. Relief began to snake through her. “Only that?”