Pirate Trip: (Historical Romance) (Scavenger Hunting Book 2) Page 3

  “Edinburgh. I have some studying I wish to do there. Thomas has agreed to teach a little. Honoria is coming along to play hostess for us.”

  “You teach, sir?” Vivianne did a fine job of keeping her relief from being obvious. But Mal knew her friend was pleased she would have friendly faces for traveling companions. And Mal was relieved she wouldn’t have to worry about her.

  Viv’s reputation would be safe with the Nalders. She’d have an excuse to visit the university, and she would have friends in the city in case of trouble. And there was no question she would be welcomed back at the Duchess’ residence in Edinburgh, to remain at her leisure. They would probably give her the same bedchamber she had less than a week before.

  A little adventure, a great deal of comfort and safety. What could be more perfect?

  Honoria patted her older brother proudly on the arm. “Thomas teaches poetry and theology. They offered him a permanent position, but--”

  “Alas, I have other duties. Family duties. Perhaps if I were a second son…”

  Reginald rolled his eyes. “Let us not start, shall we?” He stood. “I shall have your bags loaded into our boot--”

  Mal laid a hand on his arm. “Her baggage is the lighter colored. Three in all.”

  His brow puckered. “Will you not consider coming with us? Surely you can visit this relative another time? Or better yet, come to Edinburgh with us, then you can go onto Glasgow en route home. A triangular adventure.”

  “No. I am sorry,” she said firmly. “My visit to Glasgow has already been postponed long enough. But I am happy that Vivianne will have your company along the way.”

  Reginald gave her a slight bow in surrender, then collected Viv’s baggage and carried them through the crowded room and out the door.

  “Please excuse me,” Honoria said, then headed for the side door, likely looking for the privy.

  “Oh! I shall come along.” Viv glanced at her. “Mallory?”

  “I am content to keep Lord Thomas company.” As soon as the other women were out of hearing, she dropped the smile.

  Thomas was equally sober. “I cannot suppose you would be willing to tell me—“

  “Not on pain of death, sir.”

  He laughed without mirth. “Someone will break. Eventually.”

  Mallory lifted an eyebrow. “If you wagered on it, you would lose your purse, sir.”

  The man’s eyelids lowered and he studied her face. “I will wager the rabble-rouser is important, somehow, to win such loyalty.”

  She didn’t flinch, but hid her smile behind her goblet. “Everyone is important to someone.”

  A true smile tugged at one end of his lips. “How did a clever lass like you get cajoled into a dangerous game like this?”

  “Game? I do not know what you mean, sir.” She made a diligent attempt to appear innocent.

  “Forgive me,” he nodded deeply, then stared at the table for a long while. When his attention returned, it took him a moment to speak. “Miss Mallory, would you be so kind as to accompany us to Edinburgh. We can send word to your family—“

  “What family, sir?”

  “Your parents must be worried—“

  “What parents would those be?”

  “From Carlisle, I believe your friend said. Surely, it won’t be difficult to locate a family in that city who is missing a daughter called Mallory? And another, missing a daughter named Vivianne?”

  She smirked. “Carlisle?”

  The man lost his patience and jumped to his feet. “See here—“

  “Sit down, sir. Your brother is returning. If you tell him what you suspect, I will not allow Vivianne to leave with you. And you do want to protect her, do you not? She is not like me, after all. Quite innocent, I assure you.”

  The man nodded, then bowed and excused himself just as his brother neared. “I will return shortly,” he murmured to Reginald, then left through the side door as Vivianne and Honoria had.

  “It’s not an easy thing to get the best of my brother,” the blond said as he sat. “Let me guess, shall I?”

  “I would rather you did not.”

  He seemed amused by her response. “Ah, now. Dinnae fash, my lady. My guess would be that he asked you who the rabble-rouser is, and you refused to name them?”

  Mallory opened her mouth but no clever response came to mind.

  Reginald shook his head. “My brother loves a good mystery to solve. And he gets a mite rude if someone withholds a piece of his puzzle. That is how I goad him on a regular basis.”

  She couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You all know?”

  He shook his head again. “My sister is far too charitable to suspect you. But you are roughly the same age as all those who are missing. You are from just across the border, I assume? And you have been running around Scotland for as long as the game has been afoot.” He winked, then bit his lip briefly. “I suppose you prefer not to gift me with that name. I would love to lord it over my brother’s head for a few months.”

  Mallory rolled her eyes in response.

  “No? All right then. What about telling me what you are hunting for?”

  Mallory shrugged a shoulder. “I cannot answer a question I do not understand, sir.”

  “Oh, ho!” He sat up straight. “Then Miss Vivianne doesn’t have a quest I might be able to help her with?”

  She gave the man’s long forearm a good pinch. “If you so much as—“

  “Woah, now.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I will forget I ever suggested—“

  “Then I shall allow you to live, sir.”

  He chuckled and began picking over what food was left on the table. “Mind you, it will be a torturous ride to Edinburgh, wondering, but unable to ask.”

  Chapter Six

  Mallory had little time to waste, but she couldn’t leave the table until she knew for a certainty that Vivianne would be treated respectfully by the Nalder brothers. So she sought one more reassurance from Reginald.

  "Do you suppose Thomas will harass Vivianne? I cannot allow her to accompany you if he might embarrass her.”

  The man shook his head soberly. "My brother would not accuse her or make her feel unwelcome. He may try to distract her, but he will not try to wheedle out her secrets. I shall take him aside and make him promise to be on his best behavior. Will that do?"

  "Yes. Thank you. And I believe, to keep from causing a scene, I should leave before he comes back."

  Reginald laid a hand on hers. "Must you go so soon?"

  She smiled and nodded. "I would count it a great favor if you bid Vivianne farewell for me. She will understand. Tell her I found a carriage to Glasgow, but had to leave quickly to catch it. And I think I would like a promise from you as well, sir."

  He pulled his hand back and grinned. "And what would you like me to promise?"

  "That you will not allow your brother to come looking for me, nor will you come yourself."

  He tried to suppress a smile, but a dimple got away from him. "I must confess I had considered it. If I am late for the start of classes, my brother could make amends--"

  She rolled her eyes and stood, then pressed a hand on his shoulder to keep him in his seat. "I have a flock of men following me, intent on protecting me, sir. I do not need one more."

  "Tell me you jest, Miss Mallory." All smiles were gone.

  "Friends of ours, I assure you."

  "You are evading well-intentioned friends? Come now--"

  "It is true. And they may go looking for Vivianne as well. So do keep an eye out for her sake, will you? Do not let them spoil her innocent fun."

  Reginald gave a gusty sigh, then nodded. "Very well. Though I do wish you would allow me to protect you instead."

  She laughed and plucked up her bags. "Kind sir, I will have you know that, if you followed me, it would be you who would need protecting." The maid came with a tray to clear the table. Mallory gave her a smile. "Do you have a private room where I might change?"

  Reg
inald laughed. "You think my brother will not recognize you, if you change your clothes?"

  She gave him a cryptic smile. "If he does, I promise to do whatever he says."

  He narrowed his eyes, no doubt trying to guess her game. "Let us be clear. You promise, that if my brother recognizes you, after you have changed clothes, you will come along to Edinburgh with us?"

  "I promise. But you cannot tell Thomas to look for me. That would hardly be fair."

  Fifteen minutes later, when Mal descended the stairs, Thomas, Honoria, and Vivianne had resumed their seats around the table. Reginald's attention was on the staircase, and though his gaze passed over her, it moved on. When it returned, it rested on her bags, then his eyes found hers.

  She smiled, tipped her tricorn, and continued through the room. When she reached the doorway, she turned back to look at Vivianne. Her friend gave her a smile and a wink, and when Thomas' head began to turn, she spoke to regain his attention. Only Reginald watched her go.

  Mal only hoped that, seeing her dressed as a man, Reginald Nalder would believe she was, indeed, able to take care of herself.

  She only wished she were so confident…

  Why did everything have to be blue?

  Connor couldn't have been more disgusted when it turned out the carrack bound for the North Sea, and then along the west coast to Glasgow, was named The Blue Marlin. He expected the larger ships to have more dignified names, but admitted it was only the color that troubled him, and only because he had spent far too much time worrying about what Blue Brian was up to.

  Perhaps the bastard wasn't in Glasgow at all. Perhaps he was still inland, searching for valuable folks to kidnap. Or he might have given up the trade altogether after the fight with the fat man. It lay to reason there had been consequences to the Irish pirate changing sides in the middle of a stramash. Once word got 'round, few would trust the man enough to work with him. So it was possible he'd changed his occupation...

  Connor cursed and smacked his hand against a barrel that rang low, which made him curious about the contents. Whiskey or water wouldn't have echoed. Dried food would have rattled a bit, but swallowed the sound.

  He struck the barrel again and a quick gasp escaped. Someone was inside!

  Two deck hands gestured for him to get out of the way, then bent to hoist it up. It jostled a bit as they had a hard time keeping it steady, and all he could do was laugh as they carried their stowaway on board. A pity Ian wasn’t on hand so they could lay bets. And if they did wager, he would bet the lad inside the barrel would be discovered before nightfall--as soon as he pissed himself and could no longer stand to sit in his own water.

  At least he hoped it was a lad. If the barrel would have been larger, he might have wondered if Miss Mallory Naylor were trying to sneak aboard in hopes of finding a real pirate among its crew.

  Damn! Where the blazes did they go with that barrel?

  Chapter Seven

  Mallory slipped into a stable yard at the far end of town. It was less hectic than a coaching inn, and with so much horseflesh about, she hoped to find something docile for sale. Better yet would be a horse and cart, but it would hardly befit a gentleman of Lord Braithwaite's taste in clothing to sit atop a cart when he could just as easily sit a horse. And renting a carriage and driver seemed too dear a luxury when she could not predict how long she would be on her own.

  So, what would make a dandy be unable to ride a horse? A wound? To his backside?

  No. Then he couldn't very well sit on a bumpy wagon.

  What then?

  She perused the wide yard, hoping for inspiration. A dog with only three legs limped out of the stable doors and into a patch of sunlight against the outer wall. There, he crumpled into a pile and closed his eyes.

  She wasn't about to remove a limb to be believed, but she could certainly limp easily enough. As a horse and rider trotted by, she pretended to have a rock in her boot and limped out of the way.

  With a dramatic hobble of his own, a man hurried across to yard and gave her a bow. "What pleases ye, milord?"

  She remembered to lower her voice as much as she was able. "What would please me most, good man, would be to find a horse and cart fine enough to get me to Glasgow. As you can see, I could not possibly manage my way into a saddle, let alone remain there. And I have pressing business.”

  "Shall I find ye a mail coach, then?"

  An hour in a coach, face to face with strangers? She couldn't be trusted to keep up her manly facade for an hour. On a patient horse, it would take her two days at least, if she rode just part of the day. But only the horse would know she was a woman, and the horse wouldn't care.

  A cart was preferable, there was no doubt about it. However, her last experience inside one was the most frightening of her life, and she would die a happy woman if she could resist reliving that nightmare again, even in her mind.

  There was no use for it. She had to improve her riding skills, which could only be accomplished with practice. By the time she reached Glasgow, she would draw no notice at all. And what was more, the length of her journey mattered little when no one would be watching the roads between Hawick and Glasgow. A certain Highlander, if he cared to search for her in the first place, would expect her to stay to the main roads and not cut through the center of the Lowlands.

  In her aching heart, Mal suspected Connor wouldn’t spend much time looking for her, if at all. The false trail she’d laid for him would lead only to discouragement. And if he were as indifferent as she feared, a little discouragement would put an end to it.

  She refused to chide herself for the ruse. If Connor McGee didn’t care enough to press after her, no matter what the obstacles, he certainly wasn’t the man she wanted. But oh, how she had wanted him to be that man.

  The stable hand stood patiently with his cap in his hands, staring at the dirt. At the last instant, she remembered not to apologize for keeping him waiting.

  “I have reconsidered the cart. I would like to purchase your most docile horse, if you please. Not too tall, as I cannot mount easily.”

  The man nodded and bobbed, then disappeared into the older of the two stables. The horse he brought out first looked far too much like Round Rob McMurtry, and there would be no putting her nightmare behind her if she were riding atop such a potent reminder.

  “Your next most docile, then," she said.

  The man frowned slightly before turning away, and she realized she'd already forgotten her voice. When he came back, she was quick to rectify it.

  "How much?"

  "Twenty pounds, mum."

  She narrowed her eyes and abandoned the pretense. "Four."

  He had the grace to look embarrassed for trying to pick her pocket. "Four and six?"

  "Four and none."

  His face drooped pitifully, as if she were the one cheating him, but he nodded. "And sixpence for the old saddle and tack."

  "Done."

  When he noticed her limp was gone, he was smart enough not to say anything, but he wheedled her out of another coin for a clever contraption he claimed to have invented himself. It was made of two small but sturdy frames of wood and a strap of cloth that created a step for her. And once she was securely seated, she simply pulled on the small length of twine to take the step with her.

  Only after she had paid for the thing and secured it to her saddle did she realize it would do her no good when dismounting. But the next time she needed to gain the saddle, she would have no need of a mounting block.

  She rode out of Hawick on a decently docile beast, much less stubborn than Old Hamlet had been, and she reckoned the confidence she'd been lacking wasn't as lacking as she'd thought.

  She’d had a bit of practice on a number of things, she realized—negotiating with men, for instance. Stable masters, Nalders, Highlanders. She had ridden a bit on the wrong horse, been kissed a bit by the wrong man. And all of it combined to convince her that things were not always what they seemed, including herself.

  S
he was certainly not the same young woman who had left home in search of adventure. And though her goal was the same, to find a pirate with a romantic bent who might give her a kiss and a trinket to cherish, she would not settle for just any pirate. He would need to be tall, handsome, and charming enough to outshine her memories of Connor McGee.

  A difficult order, but not impossible. And if it took her a long while to find such a man… Well, it was best she hadn’t squandered her coins on a carriage.

  With every mile that passed, Mal grew more comfortable in the saddle. She could hardly wait to prove to Viv and Bridget that her first harried experience on horseback had truly been Old Hamlet’s fault. Even her father might be proud…

  Her father’s letter was a heavy weight against her skin, but she ignored it for the time being. Once she had her pirate’s treasure in hand, she would worry about sending a reply. As long as he believed she was in the care of Bridget’s grandmother, it was doubtful he thought much about her, other than to praise God for the reprieve he’d been given. And with no troublesome daughter to demand his attention, he could devote all his time to his horses. A letter from her would only disturb his idyll.

  Fathers were such nervous things…

  She glanced down at her black garb and laughed aloud before she thought better of it. As far as anyone could guess, she might well be one of those worried English fathers. As long as she maintained her costume, she could strut across Scotland with no need to explain herself to anyone.

  She’d retrieved her well-made beard from Blue Brian because she’d wanted to keep it as a memento of their first, surprisingly dangerous adventure. Little had she known it would facilitate the next leg…in the Grand Scavenger Hunt of 1705.

  Chapter Eight

  High tide came and went from Whitley Bay, and along with it, The Blue Marlin.

  The ship was well on its way north when Connor realized the barrel he sought was not aboard. And if that was true, he worried one of the crew had discovered the stowaway inside and took it upon himself to toss the young criminal overboard. It was certainly known to happen. And if he'd searched the cargo hold and galley twice over and still not found the barrel with a partially hollow ring to it, what other explanation could there be?