15 A PIRATE TAKES HIS PLUNDER
NIGHT SETTLED OVER Moy in a gentle blanket, a swathe of stars coming out to play above. Standing upon the walls, Alec tilted his head to watch them. He knew all their names. There was the North Star, of course, a sailor’s compass, for it never changed position in the sky. His gaze slid to the Dog Star then, glittering brightly against the black curtain of night, before following the sparkling expanse of Orion’s belt.
Whenever life was in turmoil, he took solace in the stars.
They were old friends.
Ye should leave soon , he counseled himself. Ye don’t belong here .
Alec’s mouth thinned. It wouldn’t take long for word to spread that Lady Maclean had hired pirates to storm the castle, killing the laird and half the Guard. And soon enough, the clan-chief would hear of it.
Loch would want answers, and Alec would be wise to depart before the Maclean clan-chief came calling. But he wouldn’t. He’d assured Liza he’d make sure she was safe, and at present, she wasn’t. He would stay on at Moy until she found her feet.
She was putting up a brave front. Nonetheless, he sensed her worry.
Liza was too proud to admit it, but they both knew the truth. She didn’t know where to start with taking over from her husband. She needed guidance, and although Alec didn’t have experience running a castle, he understood how to command others.
Once she has the folk of Moy onboard , I shall move on, he promised himself.
His injured forearm twinged then, reminding him of how well Liza had tended to him. She had a healer’s touch.
Shaking himself free of his thoughts, Alec moved along the wall—still favoring the knee Camron MacDonald had injured, and his fight with Leod had aggravated—to where Cory stood keeping watch. His first mate was a lean shape silhouetted against the night.
“All’s well?” he greeted him.
“Aye,” the pirate replied, turning to him. His eyes glinted in the light of the brazier burning nearby. “For now.”
“Do ye think one of the villagers will have set off for Croggan or Duart … to raise the alarm?”
Cory harrumphed. “Most likely.”
“Lady Maclean will need to talk to the prisoners tomorrow then … find out who’s loyal and who isn’t.”
“Surely, that doesn’t matter to us?” Cory murmured. “We should just take our coin and leave.”
Alec flashed his first mate an arch look. “And we will … once the dust settles.”
Cory made another sound in the back of his throat, an exasperated one. “I thought ye wanted the crew to think ye are a ruthless wretch?”
“And I’ve been successful … don’t ye think?”
His first mate eyed him. “Ye have … but lingering at Moy and holding the new laird’s hand doesn’t make ye look like a villain. A pirate takes his plunder and sails away.”
Alec snorted, even as irritation speared his chest. It was unlike Cory to question him, but there was no mistaking the challenge in his eyes this evening.
His first instinct was to snarl at his friend, to remind him who was captain here. However, he checked himself.
As much as Alec hated to admit it, Cory was merely pointing out the truth.
“This way, Rankin.”
Holding a lantern aloft, Liza descended the damp stone steps to the cellar beneath Moy Castle. Behind her, she heard the scuff of the captain’s boots.
As promised, as soon as she’d broken her fast with fresh bannock, butter, and honey with Craeg, she’d called for him.
Best to get this over with.
Keys jangled at her waist as she reached the cellar—chatelaine keys. She’d always carried these, although there was one key her husband had never trusted her with, and she’d retrieved it from his desk in the solar. Reaching for the heavy iron ring, she selected the newest of the keys, making her way to the back of the cellar, past stacks of musty-smelling barrels, to a trap door.
Then, dropping to a crouch, she put down her lamp and unlocked the chain that secured the door.
“That’s quite a chain,” Rankin observed, stopping next to her.
“Aye, well … my husband didn’t trust his servants not to help themselves to his coin,” she replied. “No one but him has ever been down here.”
“Not even ye?”
She stiffened at his question, aware that when they’d been on board The Blood Reiver , she’d told him she knew what her husband had in his strongroom. It was time for some honesty. “ Especially , not me.”
The lock gave way with a grinding noise, and she pulled the chain free. She then opened the door and rose to her feet, glancing the captain’s way.
To Liza's surprise, Rankin wasn’t looking down at the open door, but at her.
There was a gleam in his eye that she didn’t trust.
“How is yer arm this morning?” she asked cooly.
His mouth curved. “On the mend.”
“Aye, well, I should take a look at it again later … just to make sure it isn’t souring.”
She stepped back from him then and jerked her chin downward. It was time to get back to business. “After ye.”
To her ire, his smile widened.
Without another word, he took the lantern she passed him and moved past her, lowering himself into the darkness.
A few moments later, Liza followed.
In truth, she was curious to see Leod’s strongroom. Over the past six years, she’d occasionally seen boxes of coin carried down here, yet she wanted to know just how much wealth the laird had accumulated. He collected taxes, not just for his own coffers, but for the clan-chief too, and Lochbuie had a thriving wool trade.
Reaching the bottom of the ladder, she surveyed the chamber that had been dug out of the rock. Her gaze widened as it slid along shelving that reached from floor to ceiling. Both sides of the strongroom were packed with wooden boxes and heavy bags of coin, and a large table that sat against the far wall groaned under the weight of a bulky iron chest.
Rankin gave a low whistle. “Christ’s teeth, I’d wager Loch Maclean himself doesn’t have as much wealth as this.”
“No,” Liza murmured, discomfort feathering through her. Aye, Leod had been a pinchpenny, but the wealth around her was shocking. The man had let his stronghold crumble around his ears while amassing enough wealth to build a fortress to rival Duart Castle. “How does a chieftain who makes most of his coin from wool amass so much?”
Rankin made a non-committal sound in the back of his throat before moving over to a shelf and opening the nearest of the boxes. Bronze, silver, and gold coins gleamed in the lantern light. “How much do ye know about yer husband’s affairs?”
She swallowed, heat flushing across her chest and creeping up her neck. She was glad the dim light in the strongroom hid her embarrassment. “Very little,” she whispered. “As ye might have guessed.”
The pirate opened another of the boxes on the shelf, and then another. Each was filled to the brim with coin. “There’s a fortune here,” he murmured.
Liza folded her arms across her chest, suppressing a shiver. “Aye, well … half of it’s yers.”
Rankin turned to her. The shadows in the strongroom highlighted his high cheekbones and the proud beauty of his face. “Are ye sure, Liza?”
She nodded, clenching her jaw once more at his overly familiar manner. She realized then how close they were standing. The scent of him—salt and leather, with that spicy hint of mint—made her pulse quicken, and her body’s response to the pirate unnerved her. Once again, it reminded her of their night together aboard The Blood Reiver , of how much pleasure he’d given her. “I’m sure.”
Stop it, she chastised herself as she gestured to the row of shelves they stood beside. “Take this entire side.”
He nodded, his gaze searching her face. “I’ll get the lads down here then.”
“Do that.” She took a step back, desperate to put some air between them.
However, Rankin’s gaze never left her face. “Aren’t ye curious to know how yer husband accumulated all this coin?”
“Aye,” she admitted, looking away from him to take in the laden shelves surrounding them once more. And she was. Leod was a man with secrets, it seemed. “I think it’s time I took a look at the ledgers in his solar.” She paused then, her attention returning to the captain once more. “However, there are a few things I must take care of first. Once ye have helped yerself to the coin, can ye bring the prisoners up from the pit? I want to speak to them.”