Devil in Tartan (Highland Grooms #4)(72)

She glared at him. He glared back. “Verra well,” she said pertly. “But you canna stop me from saying that the Mackenzies have been naugh’ but decent and kind and I have ruined that goodwill,” she added, directing that to his family.

His family was, for the first time in his memory, collectively dumbstruck. They stared at Aulay then at Lottie, their eyes wide with astonishment.

“You said sunk,” Catriona said carefully, breaking their silence. “What do you mean? Precisely, if you please.”

“I mean that it sank to the bottom of the sea,” Lottie said with great precision.

Aulay cursed under his breath. “That is enough! I am still the captain and you are still my prisoner!”

“Oh dear God,” Aulay’s mother said. She put a hand to her throat and slid into a chair next to Catriona looking as if she might faint. “Is it truly gone, Aulay?”

He swallowed down his bitterness. “Aye, Màither.”

“But...but what happened?” Catriona demanded frantically. “How?”

“Well, we were desperate,” Lottie said, chiming in again. “I saw no other way, on my word I did no’, but to take his ship as ours was sinking.”

“Yours. Oh. Oh!” Catriona said, and laughed with relief as she put one hand on her father’s arm, the other on her mother’s arm. “I beg your pardon, then, I thought you meant to say that the Reulag Balhaire sank.”

“That one too,” Lottie said meekly.

“No,” Catriona said, her gaze shifting to Aulay. “It canna be. Say it’s no’ so, Aulay.”

“I canna say it, Cat, because it is so,” he sadly admitted.

“I’ve seen two ships sink in as many weeks,” Lottie continued, clearly unable to contain herself, “and for that, I present myself to you to be punished as you see fit, milord. These men,” she said, gesturing behind her, “had naugh’ to do with it. Only me.”

“Well, that is no’ true,” Duff said haughtily. “I had a wee bit to do with it as we all did! You’d no’ have managed to steal the Mackenzie ship without my performance—”

“Silence!” Aulay shouted, throwing up his arms and startling everyone. He was extremely unwilling to listen to the Livingstones debate who had the bigger part in destroying his ship.

The hall grew quiet. All heads turned to him. He looked at Lottie and pointed to one of the many tables below the dais. “Go. Sit. No’ another word from any of you, aye? No’ a bloody word, or I’ll hang you in the bailey myself. Do you understand, then?”

Lottie bit down on her lower lip as if trying desperately to keep words from slipping off her tongue. She nodded curtly, tightened the plaid around her shoulders and returned to the table, Duff behind her. The sound of chairs scraping on the floor filled the room as the Livingstones took seats.

Aulay glanced up at his father. He’d remained silent, but his impenetrable gaze was locked on his son. Aulay could guess what his father was feeling. Disappointment. Rage. Incredulity. With a weary sigh of defeat, Aulay climbed the dais and leaned over his father to hug him.

“My heart is glad to have you home,” his father said. “An eventful voyage by the sound of it.”

“Aye, quite,” Aulay agreed, and took a seat beside him. A lad appeared with a pitcher of ale and some cups. Aulay helped himself, filling a cup, draining it thirstily. He filled it again.

“It’s true, then, darling?” his mother asked carefully. “The ship is truly sunk?”

Aulay nodded numbly, unable to say the words aloud, and burning alive with shame. He slowly, wearily, told his family what had happened these last many days. How the voyage had started off well, with good wind and clear skies and high spirits. They’d seen it as an omen. He told them how they’d seen one ship sailing away with fire on its deck, another ship listing.

“You saw a royal ship, prowling for illegal trade,” his father confirmed. “I’ve heard it is to be scuttled.”

So it had been a royal ship after all.

“Aye, and then what?” Catriona asked.

Aulay told them how the Reulag Balhaire had changed course to investigate the listing ship, discovering it was smaller and ill-suited for open sea. How the crew had appeared so hapless that it was clear they would all drown. “We invited them on board,” he said. He did not mention how he’d been struck dumb by the sight of Lottie, how her beauty had put him back on his heels. Or that he’d been wholly unprepared for an attack, because he’d been too bloody arrogant to suspect them of any trickery.

He told them they’d been ambushed and his men corralled, and he himself shackled and bound. His mother shot a dark look to the Livingstones, but his father remained impassive, listening closely. Aulay explained that in spite of their chief’s mortal wound, they had set course for Aalborg, where they believed they could sell illegal spirits.

“Why Aalborg?” his mother asked.

“Their laird, Duncan Campbell, suspected them of illegal distilling, and they believed their whisky could no’ be sold in Scotland because of it.” He shrugged. “They are Danes by lineage and have relations there.”

“Well?” Catriona asked. “Did they sell the whisky there?”

“No,” Aulay said, and related what happened in Aalborg, as well as the death of the old man.