The MacGalloways: Books #1-3

Chapter 20

20

P latja de la Garrofera was a very long, narrow beach with the sea on one side, and no more than a half-mile inland, a freshwater lagoon seeped into the shores of marshland. Duncan ran ahead of the captain and picked up a long piece of driftwood ideally suited for a walking stick. “I reckon snakes like it here.”

Gibb bit back a shiver. None of God’s creatures gave him a chill as much as the thought of a slithering asp. His instincts as a boy had been to give snakes a wide berth, and the conviction had carried into adulthood. “At least the wee beasties are skittish. I doubt we’ll see any.”

Duncan poked the stick into a bit of brush and lifted it up, peering beneath. “I’d like to find one.”

Gibb took a cautious step aside, squinting into the dark cavern. “Aye? What would you do with a snake if you found one of the beasties?”

The lad reached in, pulled out a frog, and examined the amphibian. “Mayhap I’d play with him.”

“I dunna recommend toying with snakes. Asps can be poisonous, especially in warmer climes.” Gibb regarded the little fellow, its eyes filled with trepidation. “Ye may fare better with frogs.”

Moving to the edge of the lagoon, Duncan bent down to the water and let the fella swim away.

“Come along. The ground is too marshy here. We’ll be more likely to find Roman ruins where it is dry.”

“I dunna think I would build a house here.”

“No? What about a temple?”

“What kind of temple?”

“Well, the Romans had a lot of gods. One in particular that Miss Harcourt’s tablets mentioned was Mars. I got the impression there was a temple on or near the beach.”

“Did they think Mars was a god?”

“Not the planet, I suppose. Mars was the god of war and the guardian of agriculture.”

“Aye? I reckon those two duties seem a wee bit contrary.”

“Why?”

“Because war destroys things and agriculture—well, it doesna exactly build things like houses, but it grows things so people can eat.”

Gibb slung his arm around the lad’s shoulders and gave a squeeze. “I am impressed with your reasoning.”

Duncan dragged his feet through the sand. “I’m nay so certain about that.”

“Because…”

“Well, I’ve been reading the book you gave me, Robinson Crusoe , and I canna understand why Friday became his slave. Isna slavery wrong?”

“It is, and that’s why the MacGalloways buy cotton from the Irish sharecroppers. They dunna believe in the use of slaves.” Gibb rubbed his knuckles through the boy’s thick brown hair. “Keep in mind the book was written before King George began taking steps to abolish slavery.”

Duncan kicked a stone. “Verra well, but if I were Friday, I’d tell Crusoe that I’m my own man.”

“I would expect no less. You are a very enterprising laddie, and if ye keep up with your lessons and your duties aboard ship, there’ll be nothing ye canna achieve.”

Gibb panned his gaze across the terrain. It was too flat, and there was nothing whatsoever that looked as if it might be from a previous civilization—nothing like a wall or steps or a pile of rubble for that matter. The sand was strewn with clumps of sea grass and peppered with driftwood and a few rocks. Perhaps he and Isabella had been too hasty to pinpoint this beach as the one near Marcus and Flavia’s home. After all, nearly seventeen hundred years had passed since the tablets were written.

Duncan set to prodding every molehill-sized mound with his newfound walking stick. “Do ye ken what I canna understand?”

Gibb could rattle off hundreds of quandaries—why the moon controlled the tides, why the earth was round, why women wore stays… “I have no idea,” he replied.

“Why did ye let Miss Harcourt marry that American? I liked her, and I ken ye fancied her as well. I even saw ye kiss her when you were standing near the bowsprit.”

Quickly looking away, Gibb swiped his hand across his face. He’d been so damned careful to ensure no one saw them when he stole kisses. But if anyone was crafty enough to spy, it was this wee blighter. “Ah…I most likely shouldna have done that. ’Twas a moment of weakness.”

“I dunno ’bout that, Cap’n. She was awfully bonny. Friendly, as well.”

“I agree with all those things, but her hand was promised in marriage.”

“Aye, but it doesna seem fair, does it? She was promised to an old man—a fella she’d never met.”

“Many things in this life are not fair, but we have to accept them all the same.”

“Well, I reckon you should have told that man on the wharf that you wanted to court the lady and that he needed to find someone his own age to marry.”

Clenching his jaw, Gibb looked southward without responding. What the hell was he doing in Spain on this godforsaken beach? He’d spent some time with a pleasant woman, piecing together some ancient tablets, and that was the end of it. He should have taken the Prosperity up to Scotland and found a seaside cottage that he could call home—a place where he and Duncan could stay when they weren’t at sea, as Martin had suggested. No, Gibb didn’t want a manor or a castle, just a little place of his own.

Archie and Gowan approached, their expressions glum.

“I dunna reckon there’s anything to find for twenty miles or more,” said the quartermaster, pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

Gibb raked his fingers through his hair. “Och, coming here was a harebrained idea if I’ve ever had one.”

“I want to find a real treasure,” said Duncan.

“Ye’re dreaming if you think we might find treasure here,” said Gowan. “The Spaniards wouldna leave a wrecked ship laden with silver on their own beach.”

Looking to his quartermaster, Gibb asked, “Shall we keep searching, or shall we head for home?”

“I reckon we ought to weigh anchor and head for Scotland. I’ve a hankering for a meaty Scots ale and a wench to match.”

It took a fortnight to sail to Valencia, and once Isabella arrived, it took another fortnight to find a guide and laborers, and to purchase mules, horses, and all the supplies needed for a proper excavation. Now, for the first time in all her days, she was following her dreams. For the first time in her life, she was in charge of her destiny. In fact, the only person who knew of her whereabouts was Maribel—be it folly or nay, Isabella was thrilled to have finally taken her destiny into her hands and followed her heart.

As the caravan headed south and away from the city of Valencia, the wind made the straw brim of her bonnet flip backward. She clapped her hand atop. “My, there’s quite a breeze today.”

Riding beside Isabella, the guide, Luis, gave her a gap-toothed grin. “It is always windy here, senora .”

“I don’t mind,” she replied, easing the tension on her reins to allow her mount to amble freely. Nothing could detract from the excitement of setting out on her first expedition. Things may not have turned out exactly as she had dreamed, but if anyone had given her choices, Isabella could not have chosen a better path. She was wealthy beyond her dreams and able to finance her very own expedition.

Sometime after they’d stopped for their luncheon, they passed a freshwater lagoon and continued toward Platja de la Devesa, a beach south of Platja de la Garrofera. It wasn’t until Isabella had pieced together a tablet during the return voyage from America where Marcus had written about his home and mentioned that the villa was built upon a hill overlooking the sands of Platja de la Devesa. And now she knew exactly why. Platja de la Garrofera was only a narrow tract of beach between the lagoon and the Mediterranean. It was marshy and sandy, and the ground was far too unstable to support the foundations for a house.

The sun had moved low on the western horizon when Luis reined his horse to a stop on an expansive beach. The guide swept his arm in a grandiose arcing gesture. “This is Platja de la Devesa, senora . Are you sure this is where you want to stop?”

“Up there.” Isabella tapped her heels, urging her horse to climb the dunes until they were atop a grassy plateau shaded by stout trees. She turned in her saddle and beckoned the guide. “Have the men make camp here.”

“This is the spot?” asked Maribel, sounding uncertain.

“At least it is a promising place to begin.” Isabella slipped her knee off the upper pommel of her sidesaddle and dismounted without assistance. “Come, let us stretch our legs and have a look about.”

At a brisk pace, Isabella led the way across the rugged terrain, looking to the hills. Farther inland, grass was greener, with far more trees and shrubs than there were near the shore.

Maribel held her skirts high enough to keep them from dragging in the sand. “I’m going to have to empty my boots of sand every day.”

Glancing over her shoulder, Isabella grinned. “I’ll be happy to empty the sand out of my boots because I know we are enjoying the adventure of our lives.”

“It is nice to see you so happy, but…”

“Hmm?”

“What do you think of Luis and his men? We hardly know them.”

When their ship arrived in Valencia, Luis had been on the pier, as had several other translators, but Luis was the only one interested in accompanying her on an expedition. His English was good and he knew exactly where to find everything they needed, and though his fees were rather exorbitant, Isabella had gladly paid. “I think he’s endearing, and he’s eager to help us.”

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Why do you ask?”

“It isn’t Luis so much as the two men who were riding behind us. Every time I glanced back at them, I felt as though if I were alone in a dark alley, they might take advantage.”

“I’ll admit that pair have rather leery eyes, but Luis assured me that all seven of his men are hardworking and trustworthy.” Isabella reached back and looped her arm through Maribel’s elbow. “However, that is exactly why we will be sharing a tent. We shall be far safer that way. Besides, I shall be sleeping with a pistol under my pallet.”