Pirate Trip: (Historical Romance) (Scavenger Hunting Book 2) Read online

  Pirate Trip

  Scavenger Hunting: Book 2

  L.L. Muir

  Green Toed Fairy

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Excerpt from ROSS

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  About the Author

  License notes…

  Chapter One

  England, 1705. The road to Whitley Bay…

  There was no bigger fool in all of Scotland and England combined. But Connor McGee couldn’t seem to let Mallory disappear from his life, even when she’d intentionally left him.

  Damn her.

  After putting the forests behind him, Connor’s race to Whitley Bay became a blur of yellow gorse lining both sides of the road. By the time he reached the port he didn’t care if he never set eyes on the repulsively cheerful color again. Unless, of course, it was a brightly colored dress on Mallory Naylor’s body that would draw his eye and show him where he could lay hands on the blasted woman. But a clever female on the run would never wear anything so helpful.

  Damn her, again.

  Connor rode like the devil himself was on his tail. But in truth, it was a devil he was chasing, a devil with night-black hair and a foolish notion that, since Connor wasn’t dragging her before a priest, he didn’t care for her enough. Of course he cared for the lass. Hadn’t he spent the past weeks doing everything he could to clear the way for his friend, Rory, and Mallory’s cousin, Bridget, to finally be together with no impediments?

  Aye, he had!

  Mallory should be beholden to him. And if she couldn’t manage that, the least she could do was wait around until after the wedding celebration concluded and pull him aside. She should have explained her plans and given him the chance to explain why those plans were senseless. But she was an unreasonable Englishwoman and had caused him enough worry already to earn her a good beating.

  Aye, she was an Englishwoman. One day, their countries would cut ties again, and when they did, he planned to be on the north side of the border. She, no doubt, would wish to remain south of it.

  So why did he chase after her? Why not just let her go on her silly quest, have her fun or suffer the consequences of her foolish notions, and be done with her?

  If he were honest with himself, he reckoned he only wanted her because, at the moment, she didn’t want him. And if that were true, the quickest solution would be to find her, make her want him again, and be cured.

  He didn’t plan to break her heart. He only needed her to understand that he might never wish to settle with a wife and have a family of his own to worry over. So she would be better to return to her father, let the man find her a husband who could manage her, and live happily on.

  The husband would have to be an impressive man, however. Someone who’s wisdom she could respect. Someone who could curb her tendencies to run off on foolish little quests as soon as all backs were turned.

  Was there a man like that in the whole of England?

  No matter. She would be her father’s worry soon. Connor needed only to entice her to want him again so his pride could recover, then deliver her home. His duty would be done.

  His mount rounded a bend in the road and the smell of the sea met him like a lost friend, found again. His heart jumped in his breast, but he told himself it was the sea that had such an effect on him, and not the woman.

  She wasn’t right in the head. That was a certainty. For why else would she have left the safety and security of his company to set off on yet another foolish scavenger hunt? If it was a kiss and a trinket she’d been after, he’d given her plenty of kisses while others paid them little attention, and a few when there were witnesses a’plenty. And acquiring a trinket for her would have been a simple thing if she’d have simply asked for one.

  It wasn’t like Mallory to be silent when she knew what she wanted…

  His stomach plummeted at the possibility that his kisses were somehow inferior and didn’t meet the requirements of her silly list. What did it matter that he wasn’t a pirate, for instance? A Highlander, knighted by the new queen even, was far superior to an unwashed pirate. And ultimately, her list mattered not at all. Only her friends Vivianne and Bridget, and Connor and his companions, had known that Mallory’s quest had been to trade a kiss for a piece of pirate’s treasure. And none of them would have shamed her for failing such a thoughtless quest.

  And there was nothing inferior about my kissing!

  Connor growled and his horse took the encouragement to move faster, but they’d already reached the ridge above the bay, and it was time to slow. He’d been fair to certain he could catch up with the daft woman before she reached the water, but the harbor came into view with no sign of a fleeing female between him and the waterfront. Not one in skirts, at least.

  Would she be dressed as a man again? Or would those tempting tresses be down? What if she and the Kenton woman wore some other disguise? She’d been wearing green when last he saw her. Was it foolish to look for green?

  No ships in the harbor. And the tide seemed low with plenty of wood showing between dock and water. Hopefully he could find her before it rose enough to allow boats to leave again.

  Connor’s horse pranced beneath him while his narrowed eyes scoured the docks. The poor beast was ready to plunge into the sea if asked, so Connor ran a hand down the animal’s neck to let it know the race was over. After a few deep breaths, the giant ribs beneath Connor's legs shuddered, then relaxed. A pity he couldn't do the same, for he still had a madwoman to run to ground.

  He dismounted and started down the stone slope, but stopped at the sound of hoof beats at his back.

  A horse and rider rounded the ridge. It was Ian. Or at least the man resembled his friend. The Ian McDermott he knew wore a constant smile, a man of chronically cheerful humor except when he was fighting—and fighting only made him grin wider. The big blond before him was sober as a priest with a thistle up his backside.

  When Connor was preparing to leave Falstone, the property where Rory and Bridget were married the previous day, Ian had insisted that Lady Vivianne Kenton was free to go wherever she chose--who was he to stop her? If she had no inclination to spend more time with a fine specimen of a Scot like himself, then so be it.

  Connor waited for his friend to dismount. "What changed yer mind?"

  Ian's boots hit the ground with an angry thud and he shook the stiffness out of his legs like he was in no hurry whatsoever. "I decided Miss Kenton doesnae ken what she wants." Ian brushed dust from his long thighs while he eyed the dock and avoided meeting Connor’s gaze.

  Connor chuckled. In truth, it was disturbing to see just how possessive he was acting now that the same emotion looked back at him from Ian's face, but it was a relief he was not alone in his madness. What was it about Englishwomen that made them so damned...irresistible?

  He grinned at Ian. "And you ken what Vivianne wants, do ye?" />
  Ian nodded without smiling. "Me."

  "Oh? Aye?" Connor started moving again and gave his mount a generous length of slack in the reins until they reached a hitching ring. "If that were true, I would expect her to stay at Falstone, what with yer God-like person still attending the festivities. But no, she fled."

  Ian finally faced him. "Oh? And I suppose ye're here looking for Mallory only to save her from the likes of Blue Brian? It has naught to do with the way she gazed at ye over the fire for evenings on end?"

  Connor shrugged. "We were simply setting the mood, trying to push Rory and Bridget together, if ye remember."

  Ian's smile returned briefly. "Oh, aye. All pretense." He rolled his eyes to Heaven and back. "Then why do ye care if the miss goes hunting for a pirate? If she does fall into Blue Brian's hands--"

  Connor cut the man off with a sharp look.

  Ian’s smile only broadened. "Pardon me. Not his hands, then. Just in his...keeping.” He bobbed his head innocently. “Her father will pay the ransom, no question. No need for ye to interfere."

  "And her reputation?"

  Ian grimaced against the last ray of sunlight to the west and sighed. "Well, there is that."

  "Just so." Connor's chest eased a little with the justification. Of course he was also looking after the woman's reputation. Coming after her didn't have to mean he was well and goodly smitten with her. If he also wanted proof that his kisses were not lacking in some way, what was the harm in it?

  But his motives meant little if he wasted time finding her and she slipped away again. If he never found her, it didn’t matter if he loved her or not, she would still be out of reach.

  The thought worried at him again. Why did she go?

  Ian stopped short. "Connor." He put a hand out, pointing.

  A blade appeared in both Connor’s hands before he ever thought to reach for them. "What is it?" No one approached them. He sensed no threat.

  "The tide's gone out." With his chin, Ian pointed again.

  Connor relaxed. "Aye. So we've got until morning before the tide returns."

  His friend shook his blond mane. "And if they went with it?"

  Connor looked out at the empty bay. When he squinted, he could just make out the small dark spot where a ship made for the French coast. The possibility of Mallory being on that ship made him ill. Was she standing at the bow, looking at the distant shore? Was she looking back, wondering if he would follow?

  Or was she asking the captain if he’d ever done a bit of pirating!

  "They were hours ahead of us,” Ian said.

  Connor snorted and wiped the disturbing images from his mind. "Have ye seen Mallory on the back of a horse? We must have arrived first. They’ve stopped somewhere along the way to rest, or to hide from us. Or else they are here, awaiting the next tide."

  His friend put a hand to Connor's shoulder and pushed. He had to shuffle his feet quickly to stay on top of them and not end with his arse on the cobbles. "What was that for?"

  Ian's long arm rose and pointed up and to the left, following the progress of a black carriage as it made its way from the far end of the docks up to the road. "Could be Braithwaite's carriage,” he said. “There would have been no need of stopping along the way." He shook his head and scowled. "I remember well both lasses were in the chapel during the wedding."

  Connor nodded, his gaze fixed on the conveyance. "They were."

  "And we followed Braithwaite around the property for only an hour or so?"

  "At least two."

  Ian nodded. “And then another hour before we realized they were not joining us for supper."

  Connor started counting fingers. "An hour to find Rory and Bridget--"

  Ian chuckled. "She'll never forgive us for that, I think."

  Connor nodded, remembering the blush on the bride's cheeks when he and Ian had stumbled into their camp--a blush that was quickly replaced by a silent but clear promise of revenge. "At least it didn't take Bridget long to confess,” he said.

  "Because she wanted us gone, and quickly."

  They laughed a bit more, then Connor sobered. “Four hours’ head start then.” Together, they faced the low water in the harbor. The dark speck was gone. Had Mallory gone with it?

  Four hours’ start.

  Ian was right. He’d missed her again.

  Movement drew his attention. A man who might well have been the harbor master stepped off the dock, and Connor hurried to intercept him.

  Chapter Two

  Just over the Scottish border…

  Wrestling with her thoughts, in the shadows of the rumbling carriage, Mallory couldn’t hide from the truth. Connor wouldn’t be coming for her. He’d be a fool if he did, and the sober, black-clad, Scottish knight was no fool. Fiercely loyal to his friends, and far too truthful, Sir Connor was, regretfully, a gentleman—except for a few stolen kisses now and then. But you can’t steal what is freely given.

  If he’d just been a little less straightforward with her, she wouldn’t have been forced to leave Falstone so quickly.

  After she’d overheard his plans to return to Scotland, she’d confronted him. He’d dragged her into an empty room, careful to keep his and Rory’s presence a secret until just before the ceremony.

  “You do not want me,” she’d told him, just to hear him deny it.

  “Of course I want ye, Mallory. I only wish I didnae.”

  Hardly a declaration of love. And with the impending wedding—a surprise planned for the bride—Mallory had been in a far-too-romantic state of mind to be flattered by his honesty. He’d tried to cheer her with his assurance that he would most likely want to marry someday.

  Most likely? Someday!

  She’d given him a smile and a nod, then gone back to helping Bridget prepare herself. And the moment she and Vivianne had been alone, they’d made a plan.

  If she ended up sitting home with no marital prospects, after her Scavenger Hunt was over, she’d probably wish she would have given Connor more time. But until then, she would put the past on a shelf and admire it later. She had an adventure ahead of her.

  And she told Vivianne just that.

  "Mallory, dear, do shut your gob."

  Vivianne's comment stunned her so completely, Mallory forgot what she'd been saying.

  "My gob?"

  "Your mouth, dear. Please close your mouth. Stop talking." Viv sighed. "If you must worry about Connor not coming after you, then please do so silently. You are repeating yourself, and the sound of your voice is causing my head to ache."

  Mal's nose went in the air, but she was careful to keep her lips together, at least for a moment. "It's a lucky thing I know you love me, Vivianne, or I might be wounded."

  "Yes, a lucky thing," Viv said in a droll tone that insinuated her love was not as certain as Mal claimed it to be.

  In unison, they burst into laughter.

  Viv sobered first. "Seriously, my dear. You must cease your worrying. We've set our course. How Connor and Ian react is out of our hands now. And, like you say, if we are to have our own adventures, we must rely on ourselves alone. I refuse to spend the journey back to Edinburgh wondering if Ian cares for me." She turned her head and looked out the window, but Mal didn't miss the slight quiver to her friend's lower lip, and she realized Vivanne would likely spend her entire journey worrying about the giant blond. Or else she'd worry she worried too much, which was equally as tiring.

  "It is settled then,” she said cheerfully, then put a hand over Viv's and gave it a squeeze. "No more fretting over Connor and Ian. In fact, if they do come looking for us, we must send them away. All new adventures, I say. Bridget's hunt is behind us, along with everyone involved."

  Viv turned back from the view. If she wasn't relieved, she was at least determined. "An excellent idea. But what about Blue Brian? He was part of that, and yet you told Bridget you might seek out the villain."

  Mal laughed lightly to conceal her nervousness. "I only used his name to torment Connor. If
he does ask Bridget where we have gone, I wanted him to worry, if only a little. But I told her, privately, that I would be careful to avoid the Irishman. He might well be in league with the same men who kidnapped us before—well, except for the dead ones—and I would rather go home empty handed and ashamed than see those faces again."

  Viv gave a genuine sigh. "I am glad. I was trying to work up the courage to say you would be a fool to seek out his help. I actually toyed with the idea of kidnapping you myself and forcing you to come to Edinburgh with me.” She laughed. “I'd be a kind abductor. Soft cushions. No ropes."

  "Just a beating now and then...if I didn't shut my gob?"

  "Precisely."

  Chapter Three

  The harbor master was a thirsty man.

  He'd started his third mug of ale before Connor finally buried the tip of a blade in the wood near the man's knuckles to let him know his patience was gone.

  "Aye. Right, then. Two women. Black carriage."

  Connor nodded. "Where were they bound?"

  The man grimaced and closed one eye tight as if the light in the room was hard to bear. He was nervous. Not good.

  "Weeel, where they were bound is a good question, it is. A good question, indeed." He started pulling his mug toward him again but stopped when the zing of metal against metal rang out. Connor had pulled his knife out of the wooden surface and the man’s tin mug bore a shiny scrape across the back. The harbor master withdrew his hands and set them in his lap.

  "Just answers now, there's a good man," said Ian, forcing a cheerful smile that usually came naturally.