Chapter Six
Maguire shook his head. “They can go in with Tremaine’s people. Have him come aboard when the boats get here, and I’ll have
a word. And Tim, make sure Tremaine and his crew hear no mention of those guns we’ve acquired.”
“Aye.” The helmsman, Tim, nodded, secured the wheel and went out.
Maguire looked at Seamus. “Here we are, then. Tremaine will get you lot to Liverpool. After that, you may do as you wish.”
He strode for the door, saying over his shoulder, “I’ll send someone to fetch you when it’s time.”
“Wait.” Rynn’s voice was sharper than she intended as she released her death grip on the table. Maguire stopped, eyebrows
lifting in surprise as he looked at her. “I need to speak to you.”
His eyebrows went higher. “Speak, then. There’s nothing that I see stopping you.”
“In private.” Waving off Donal’s surprised look, she swept past them all and out the door.
A cold blast of wind hit her as soon as she stepped outside, whipping her hair out behind her like a banner.
She let it go. The wind smelled of the sea, of course, but also carried on it a hint of woodsmoke that told her that they were close to land.
The moon was out in the open now, riding high among the racing clouds, bathing the deck in a ghostly light.
On the island that stretched out before them, the moonlight illuminated a rough stone wall and a sprinkle of small houses beyond the narrow fingerling of the natural harbor in which they were anchored.
Dim lights showed in a few windows, as if someone inside waited for a family member to return home.
Metallic scrapes and clangs, the whoosh of a collapsing sail, the slap of waves against the hull, formed the backdrop to the rise and fall of masculine voices, many masculine voices, far more than should have been on the ship.
Glancing around curiously even as she stepped out of the wind to press her back against the wheelhouse wall where it was sheltered
and warmer, she was surprised to see what looked like a score or more of men moving purposefully back and forth across the
deck. The ones striding toward the rail bore large sacks of something slung over their shoulders, which they lowered to, presumably,
the boats Maguire had mentioned waiting below. Those moving away from the rail carried large wooden crates that were obviously
far heavier than the sacks.
“What are they doing?” Her question was spontaneous, born of surprise.
“Their jobs.” Maguire stopped in front of her, blocking her view. “I’ve work to do. What is it you want of me?”
Backlit by moonlight, he looked big enough to be intimidating, if she’d been in a mood to be intimidated. But she was too
heartsick, and too heartsore, for that.
“The guns,” she said. “If they’re to remain in your possession, you should be paying us for them.”
“What?”
“It’s only fair,” she said.
“You think I should pay for the privilege of saving your lives?” Maguire sounded as if he couldn’t believe his ears.
“No, I think you should pay for the guns.”
“The cheek of you!” he marveled.
“If you’re not wanting to pay for them, then we’ll have them back. I’ve no doubt they can be sold for a tidy sum. If not on Inishmurray, then certainly in Liverpool. Maybe not for what was paid for them, but for enough to provide a little cushion until something else comes along.”
“So now you’re proposing to take up gunrunning, are you?”
“No,” she said, not having quite thought of the matter in that way. “I’m proposing to get value from that which we already
possess.”
“It appears to me like I possess them, for the moment. And what if I say I’m keeping them as my price for saving your sorry
lives?” Maguire folded his arms across his chest.
“Then I’d say I’d be sorry to learn that the famous war hero Owen Maguire, head of clan Maguire, is a thief.” She folded her
arms across her chest in turn.
“What?” Maguire’s eyes narrowed dangerously at her. “The hell you say.”
“Either you intend to sell them or keep them, and whichever you choose it’s you reaping the value from that which doesn’t
belong to you.”
“They don’t belong to you, either. Or, more properly, to yon idiots who thought to smuggle them in.”
“At least they paid for them, which is more than you can claim.”
“As I understand it, they paid with someone else’s money. I don’t think that makes them the owners.”
“More so than you.”
“Perhaps I intend on turning them over to the Crown, as any good subject of the King should do.”
“Ah, but if you did that you’d have to explain to the Crown where you got them, wouldn’t you? And I’m thinking that would
prove awkward for you, since the Merrow will have supposedly sunk with all hands and the guns on board, though you could, I suppose, claim to have fished the crates out of the sea after the boat went down.
But then they might well start to ask themselves, as I do, why you’re out after herring on Christmas night with no nets out and no sign of fish on board and an island that produces illegal whiskey as your destination. ”
An almost imperceptible stiffening of Maguire’s shoulders was the only outward indication he gave that she’d hit a nerve.
Still, she knew. It was there in the air between them, in the sudden crackle of antagonism she could feel radiating from him like heat from
the sun, and logic backed it up. The only reason she could see that he would be sailing to Inishmurray in the middle of Christmas
night, a time when most were with their families and he could have expected the surrounding waters to be deserted, which,
except for the unfortunate appearance of the Merrow and, not coincidentally, a British gun boat they were, was to pick up a load of the illegal whiskey that the islanders made. And the only reason to pick up such a load would be
to sell it, which was also illegal. Engaging in such trade would account for the huge success of his fishing fleet, which,
come to find out, did not appear to have stemmed from fishing at all.
It might not have occurred to Donal and Seamus that Owen Maguire was every bit as much engaged in a criminal enterprise as
they were and was so concerned about their endeavors because they might call attention to his, but it had occurred to her.
And she meant to make what use of it she could.
Maguire met her gaze with a long, cool look. “It might interest you to learn that I’m out on Christmas night delivering much-needed
supplies to the islanders, though what I do with my boat and my time is no concern of yours.”
“Oh, my, have I offended? I hope you’ll forgive me for letting my imagination get the better of me! I quite see my mistake.
But I do still want you to pay for the guns.” Rynn returned him measuring look for measuring look. “It’s my understanding
that they’re worth upward of five thousand pounds.”
“You may believe me when I tell you I have no intention of paying you five thousand pounds for them.”
She clucked sympathetically. “It is a great deal to ask, isn’t it? I’m not so unreasonable as to expect that! We’ll take half
for them. You may keep the balance as our thank-you for the rescue.”
Maguire laughed. “And if I refuse? Do you propose to take the guns off me by force? Or will you go running with your preposterous
story to the authorities?”
The mockery in his tone told her he knew he had her there. There really was nothing she or any of them could do.
Rynn lifted her chin at him. “I will think poorly of you.”
“Oh-ho.” It was a jeer.
“You’ll still be coming out well ahead, you know. You may sell them for the full five thousand pounds or even more, and two
thousand five hundred pounds’ profit, at a minimum, is quite a return on your night’s work. And you will have our undying
gratitude, and the satisfaction that comes with knowing that you did the right thing.”
“And what of the Sullivans? Who are, quite properly, expecting to receive the guns they paid for?”
“They cannot expect such a thing with the boat sunk and all aboard perished.”
His lips compressed. “Quite the opportunist, aren’t you?”
“Only a fool doesn’t take advantage of opportunities.”
Before anything more could be said between them, someone called, “Owen!”
Maguire turned slightly in answer. With him no longer blocking her view Rynn saw Tim striding toward them, with another, bulkier
man following a pace or so behind. Spotting Rynn, Tim stopped, clearly hesitant to approach.
“What is it?” Maguire’s tone was testy.
“Uh, I have Mr. Tremaine with me,” Tim said, gesturing at the other man, who stopped beside him. “And Mulally wants to know what he should do about the one in the brig.”
By “the one in the brig” Rynn understood him to mean Fergus.
“Tremaine! I’ll be right with you! Just give me a minute to finish up here.” Maguire greeted the second man heartily, then
said to Tim, “Have the prisoner brought up, but tell Mulally to keep him under close watch until he’s off the Reaper.”
As Tim nodded and withdrew, Maguire raised an acknowledging hand to a shout of “We need to hurry, Major! A storm’s blowing
in,” that came from someone out of Rynn’s sight before he turned back to Rynn.
“Much as it goes against the grain with me to reward what I can only characterize as blackmail, I’ll give you five hundred
pounds for the lot. And that’s only because it’s Christmas and I’m feeling generous.” His voice was low and growly with annoyance.
“It’s a paltry sum compared to what they’re worth.”
The sound he made in answer to that persuaded Rynn to take what she could get.
“Very well, we have a deal,” she said before he could rescind his offer. Then, because he looked so out of temper, she smiled
at him.
He blinked, pulled a wry face, nodded curtly in acceptance of their deal and started to turn away.
She caught his sleeve. “You understand that we need payment before we leave the ship, and we need it in cash.”
“Do you now?” His eyes glinted at her.
“We do.”