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

  "The truth of it is..." The man gulped air. "The blond lass has gone to Rome, the brunette to Paris."

  A silent Ian pushed the mug back at the nervous man who reached for it with a tentative hand, then drank as if it had been his first in a long time, not his third. He quickly stood, put a finger to his forehead, and offered a mock salute. "Good day to ye, then."

  Connor stretched his leg forward and caught the man's boot with his own, then lifted it. The harbormaster lost his balance and landed with his backside once again on the bench, his eyes wide, his hands spread and shaking. "What do ye want from me?"

  "The name of the ships," Connor growled.

  The man's shoulders rose and dropped. "Now, how would I be knowing that?"

  "It’s yer harbor." Ian leaned forward and towered over the man even though both of them were seated. The Viking had lost his patience as well.

  "Nay," the man whimpered. "They never left from my harbor, mind."

  Connor wondered if he needed something stronger than ale to understand the daft man. But if the fellow had simply been standing in the hot sun too long with the light reflecting off the water, it was going to take more patience to get the information they needed.

  "Let us begin again," he said calmly. "How do you know the women are bound for France and Italy?"

  "The women from the black coach?"

  A deep breath. "Aye."

  "The coachman told me."

  "The coachman?” Perhaps they were making progress. “Did he book their passage?"

  The nervous man shook his head and looked longingly at the empty mug before him. A barmaid appeared with a heavy pitcher, but Connor shook his head and she backed away.

  The harbor master sighed. "The coachman gave me a tidy sum, but bought nothing. Said he to me, 'There were two women in my coach, ye ken. The blond is bound for Italy. The brunette for Paris.' Then he was gone. Ye asked where two women went. Lucky for me, I knew the answer for ye. More grateful than a pint, ye should be, but I’m not one to be greedy, mind--"

  The man broke off when he noticed the murder being planned in Connor’s eyes. Luckily for him, he was not the intended victim, for Connor was certain he would murder a too-clever Englishwoman who had slipped away from him for the last time.

  At the very least, the harbormaster realized he’d worn out his welcome, along with any further chance of free ale, because he made his excuses and departed, leaving Connor and Ian alone to speak freely.

  Ian shook his head, crestfallen. "It's just like the time they had those lads lie for them, trying to send us in the opposite direction. Either Bridget lied to us, or Vivianne and Mallory lied to her."

  "Just so." Connor remembered the blow he'd felt in his gullet when he realized the form beneath his grasp was a lad and not Mallory, that the women were still out there, somewhere, wandering Scotland without protection. That ache was back. “The first time I caught up with her, Mallory fought hard to keep a course for Glasgow, but I gave her no choice. I’d bet gold she’s headed there now.”

  Ian nodded. His scowl faded. “Aye. And if Vivianne still seeks a blasted love letter from a poet, she’s likely headed back to Edinburgh and a university full of the bastards. She was ever wanting to visit the school, but Bridget’s grandmother never gave her the chance.”

  Ian called for two fresh ales and drank his own standing up. When he set his mug on the table, he noticed Connor sipping his drink.

  "Why do ye sit there?” he said. “What had been a four hour lead is now double that. We should be about it, aye?"

  Connor turned to the maid. "I'd like a room."

  Ian gasped. "What are ye thinkin', mon? Miss Mallory..." He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. "The woman is, at this moment, riding hard in the direction of Blue Brian and ye mean to sleep?"

  Finally, Connor stopped studying his questionable drink and looked up at his friend. "First of all, if I know anything at all about Mallory Naylor, she cannot ride hard anywhere. And the lass has proven, time and again, that if she means to find Blue Brian, there is no stopping her."

  "And ye dinnae care, is that it?"

  Connor winced at the accusation. "I am finished chasing the lass. I have decided I shall never again have dust for supper because she has a mad notion or two." He turned back to his drink and tried to wash the bitterness from his tongue—a tang that came from his words, not the ale. He ignored the large form looming next to him for so long he wondered if Ian had walked away without his noticing. So he looked.

  Still beside him, his friend stood like a statue, his brow furrowed with an uncharacteristic pucker. Somewhere outside, a bell clanged. The smell of the sea was fading with the sunlight. Activity would die down until the tide came back again.

  The bell rang closer. A voice called out, "A calm channel. Winds to the sou'east! Tide at five!"

  Connor glanced guiltily at Ian, then turned back to his mug.

  Ian chuckled. Then he laughed outright. "That is it then? No more dust, ye say?"

  "That is what I said."

  The big man clapped Connor's back and sank down into a chair beside him, then asked for two suppers, the second of which might or might not have been intended for Connor.

  "No more dust for supper," his friend chuckled again. "But I assume sea spray, on a short voyage to Glasgow, won't upset yer gullet?"

  Connor couldn't suppress his grin. "Auch, nay. I reckon it will be a nice change."

  “A pity yer Peregrine is not at anchor here.”

  “I’ll never ken where Captain Oriel has her unless I ask at the Glasgow office. But aye, free passage would have been convenient.”

  “Not all ship owners can trust their captains to be fair.” Ian had a hard time trusting the Frenchman, but Connor’s accounts had regular and generous amounts added to them quarterly, and he had no intention of spending his life worrying over the man’s shoulder. Oriel was a genuine sea lover, and it was unlikely he was laying aside great riches from running the small transport ship.

  But if he were? What did it matter if he also gave Connor enough money to ransom his friends when the occasion called for it?

  “And what if some fool comes upon Lady Mallory during her journey?”

  Connor ignored the worry outright. He would simply have to land in Glasgow and, if Mallory wasn’t already there, backtrack. If Blue Brian laid a finger on the woman, no matter what their past, the man would die.

  He shrugged and felt the comfortable weight of eight blades strapped beneath his dark clothes. “Well, then, I suppose someone should pray for him…”

  Chapter Four

  Hawick, Scotland

  After delivering the bad news, the innkeeper stacked their luggage on the floor between their table and the wall, gave a quick bow, then hurried away as if he had something important to do. Mallory was more inclined to think he was afraid she and Vivianne might kill the messenger. If her own face was any reflection of Vivianne's, she couldn't blame the man.

  They sat in stunned silence for a moment. What was there to say? What was there to do, really? If the driver said he would take them no farther, they couldn't force him. And who could fault a fellow for accepting a fare that would take him back home again? He was English. Of course, he'd take the first chance to leave Scotland, especially if there was no coin to be lost by doing so.

  The man’s word must not matter much to him. That was all.

  Vivianne forced a weak smile. "Why is it," she said, "that I feel like laughing, when the situation is hardly amusing?"

  Mallory nodded. "Madness is setting in. I feel it too. If we are not careful, they shall find an asylum and lock us away. Let us think of something pleasant until we have some food. We cannot be expected to think clearly in our starved state."

  Viv emitted a noise somewhere between a whimper and a giggle and stared toward the window while they waited. Every seat at the Lurden Coaching Inn was filled with people waiting for one coach or another. Though Mal and Viv had both worn inconspicuous gowns,
they'd been given a table a bit apart from the rest, and the last four places at their table were ignored.

  Finally, a serving maid headed in their direction with a blissfully steaming and assuredly heavy tray. The soup smelled so tasty Mallory felt faint with relief. She’d been fearing blood pudding and bannocks.

  The maid set the dishes on the table and removed the tray. Then she hesitated.

  “What is it?” Mallory asked, expecting a confession that the soup might contain questionable ingredients.

  “Would ye mind, terribly, sharing yer table? Only with gentry, of course, like yerselves.”

  Mallory sighed in relief.

  Vivianne smiled at the girl. “Of course, we would not mind sharing. Do not fret on our behalf.” Of course, they wouldn’t have dared be so accommodating were they wearing disguises again and avoiding close scrutiny.

  The girl twisted and waved her arm above her head, then bobbed a light curtsy and hurried away. The innkeeper led a trio of travelers to their table, gestured at the empty seats, then disappeared too.

  The oldest and shorter of two men inclined his head. “Lord Thomas Nalder, at your service. My sister, Lady Honoria,” he nodded at the woman to his left. “And our brother, Reginald.” His r’s rolled only slightly. Nothing like Connor’s lilting tongue, but still Scottish.

  “Please, join us,” Viv said. “I am Vivianne, from Carlisle. This is my friend, Miss Mallory.” Mallory winced inwardly, but it was too late to give false names.

  Thomas helped his sister into her chair and sat at the head of the table. Reginald bowed cheerfully to Mallory before taking the seat beside her. “What a perfect day to be traveling through Hawick,” he said.

  Mallory laughed. “You like the rain, sir?”

  His brows lifted playfully. “You mistake me. A perfect day only because chance has brought us all together, you see?”

  “Ah,” she said. “A charmer, then. I am duly warned.”

  He leaned slightly toward her. “As am I,” he whispered loudly.

  Everyone laughed at that, and Viv seemed as instantly at ease as Mallory felt. They exchanged a look, a promise to forget their troubles for a bit longer.

  Honoria turned toward Viv. “Ye’re from Carlisle, ye say?”

  “I am.”

  “How long have ye been away?”

  “Most of the month, actually. It seems like only a week, but when I think of my family, it seems like a year.”

  Honoria inhaled deeply and her eyes widened with excitement. “Well, Miss Vivianne, rest easy. I’d be in no rush to hurry home were I from Carlisle.”

  “Oh?” Viv’s brows peaked with instant worry. Mal reached across the narrow trestle table to grip her friend’s hand.

  “The city is in chaos,” the woman said. “Englishmen from all over the country are stomping ‘round the town in search of their daughters.”

  “I do not understand,” Viv said.

  “Have ye not heard?” Reginald looked surprised. “Dozens upon dozens of young ladies of English nobility are missing from their beds. It is believed most of them are fleeing to Scotland, Ireland and France for something called a Scavenger Hunt. By now, every villain in the country is lining up along the border with butterfly nets. Kidnapping isn’t considered as serious a crime here as it is in the rest of the world, of course. So I’ll wager a great deal of English coin is going to make its way over the border before the summer is done.”

  Mal dared not look at Vivianne. “Dozens?”

  “It is strange,” Thomas said, his accent much less pronounced than his sister’s, “that no one will confess what started it all. An English friend of mine has a daughter of that age. She vowed she had no intention of participating in the hunt, but she obviously knew something. However, even with the threat of a beating, she would not confess how she knew about it.”

  “A pact has been made, apparently.” Honoria’s eyes still sparkled with excitement. “And those who never got away in time are finding their own fame as martyrs to the cause.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed dramatically, then laughed.

  Thomas wasn’t laughing. He gave his sister a stern frown, but it was clear he didn’t expect his opinion to stop her dramatics.

  “A season’s worth of spinsters, is how they’ll end,” he said sadly. “Poor things. Obviously, someone started it all, and when one of those young ladies decides that martyrdom is not as glamorous as it sounds, the original rabble-rouser will be tarred and feathered. Perhaps hanged.”

  Reginald laughed. “And if this rabble-rouser is a woman?” He winked at Mallory and her heart stopped.

  Surely he doesn’t know!

  “Women are hung now and again, brother.” Thomas’ attention turned to his supper arriving over his shoulder and all conversation was suspended. The meal was consumed, for the most part, in a comfortable silence.

  Eventually, Honoria pushed her bowl away. “So, tell us, Mallory. What brings the two of you to Hawick? Are you here to hire a carriage? Are you returning home?”

  Mallory took a final drink of wine while she decided what to say. The trio would obviously think she and Viv were fools if they were participating in The Hunt, so she had no intention of letting them in on their adventure.

  “We were in Edinburgh, shopping,” she said. “Then we came south for our friend’s wedding.”

  “Is he a local, then, a Scot? And your friend English, like yerselves?” Honoria seemed thrilled by the idea and Mal wondered if the young woman was wishing she could do a little adventure-hunting herself.

  “Yes,” Mal said. “And now I’m off to…visit a relative in Glasgow before I go home. Vivianne is returning to Edinburgh. Her holiday was cut short by the wedding, you see. And if what you say is true, it is best we both avoid the border for the time being.”

  Reginald nodded. “Excellent. No doubt every young woman will be detained and every hungry-looking Scot hanged if they come anywhere near that line. At least until all English daughters are accounted for.”

  The image came instantly to mind of Connor and Ian sitting on the backs of their horses with their hands tied, sporting nooses around their necks. And some silly, outraged father prepared to startle the horses out from under the two.

  Viv’s hand slid around her throat. “Hanged?” she whispered. Her eyes flew to Mallory’s. Her thoughts were easily read. What of Ian? And Connor? What if they come after us? We have to go back!

  Mallory hid her worry with a laugh. “No need to fear, Vivianne. Our Scottish friends, returning from the wedding, will be coming north. If they were hunting Englishwomen, they’d be headed south. No one will harry them for going home.”

  “Quite right,” said Thomas. “Shame on us for worrying you both. It is just a little drama to keep our travels from growing dull.”

  “What time are your coaches?” Reginald peeked past the table at their bags. “I will help you load your things.”

  Viv opened her mouth to speak, but Mal shook her head. Then, with a smile she told the Nalders they hadn’t looked into coach schedules yet, but they were in no hurry.

  Thomas narrowed his eyes. Without comment, he looked back and forth from her to Vivianne. Then his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. A heartbeat later, his face went blank. Completely blank.

  Heaven help me, he knows!

  Chapter Five

  The muffled clang of a bell woke Connor just after five in the morning. He was instantly alert and it took no time at all for the other sounds of the dock to penetrate his brain. Quiet calls. The rumble of oars being stored and barrels rolled. The tide had returned to Whitley Bay.

  The back of Connor's neck tingled. Something was...off. He opened his eyes only a slit and breathed deeply. If someone else was in their room, they would believe him still asleep.

  Ian lay perfectly still on his bed in the opposite corner. Awake, then. Ian McDermott could never lie on his back without snoring to rouse the dead.

  Barely disturbing the threadbare curtai
n, a thin white arm of fog reached in through the open window, but nothing earthly joined them. The rest of the room was silent as death.

  "Did ye sleep?" Ian asked in a voice too low to penetrate the walls of the inn.

  "Aye," Connor answered. "Best rest I've had since those three women crossed into Scotland." Perhaps he was simply not alert enough to remember his life before that.

  Nearly a month had passed since he first laid eyes on the dark-haired lass sporting an equally dark beard and a set of men's clothing that couldn't conceal her curves. There had been few peaceful nights since then. But if he could sleep aboard a ship, he might soon learn what a string of peaceful nights might feel like again.

  At the moment, it sounded dull.

  He grunted at the turn his thoughts had taken. Had it only required one night's sleep to recover? The sun had yet to rise and he was ready to jump back into the chase!

  Disgusted with himself, he rolled onto his side, determined to sleep until the fog lifted.

  Mallory raised her chin slightly—she would not be cowed by Thomas Nalder’s opinion. And she had a wicked idea the man might take her over his knee and exact punishment on her oblivious father’s behalf, if he could prove his suspicions.

  “I assume something happened to your maids, your chaperone.” he said simply.

  “Yes,” Vivianne admitted. “Our driver quit on us. The girls panicked and begged to go back with him. Perhaps they heard about the trouble you speak of.” Clever Viv! “The innkeeper delivered the message, and our baggage, after they had already left us.” She donned a brave smile. “But at least we were abandoned in the best possible place. I am certain we shall have no trouble finding coaches bound for Edinburgh and Glasgow.”

  Thomas studied her for a moment and seemed to accept her story. “You’ll accompany us, of course.”

  “Of course!” Honoria quietly squealed with delight.

  Mal turned a smile on an overly cheerful Reginald. “Your destination?”