Devil's Own (Clan MacAlpin #2)

Devil's Own (Clan MacAlpin #2) Page 24

“Oh!” A little gasp escaped her lips. Aidan wasn’t done with her, after all. One more meeting—and perhaps she could devise a way to ensure one more after that. “Yes, that sounds lovely.”

“Oh.” He mimicked her, with a rakish grin. “You see, I’ve a … document I can’t quite puzzle out.”

She kept a smile on her face, even as the fire in her heart dimmed just a little. He wanted to meet with her, not because he wanted to see her, but because he needed her to read something for him. She told herself it was just as well—so long as it meant she’d get to see him. “But of course.”

Did he mean those mysterious papers she’d glimpsed once before? He’d guarded them jealously.

Her mood spiked as she considered the possibilities. He was likely involved in some sort of swashbuckling pirate business—a treasure hunt, perhaps. “I’d love to read your documents,” she said with enthusiasm.

A veil dropped over his face, making him seem grim and shuttered. “No, no, luvvie. You won’t be reading all of them.”

Elspeth pursed her lips. He’d be thinking those thoughts again—that she was too weak, or too frightened. Or perhaps it was worse than that. Perhaps he simply didn’t trust her.

Whatever his reasoning, whatever his business, she had to find out what he was about. “Where shall we meet, then?” she asked, even as her mind raced with possible ways she could uncover his secrets, perhaps help him.

“Come see us at Dunnottar. Tomorrow.” His grave expression vanished, and her handsome rogue appeared once more. He gave her a wink. “You can show me the library.”

Aidan knew he should keep his distance from her. Elspeth was too smart by half, and she’d figure out his business in a trice.

And he was growing impatient besides. He’d taken too long with his studies, and had begun to fear the man with the pearl earring might slip through his grasp. Though he’d never breathe a word of concern to Elspeth—never would he want her to think herself a failure.

He knew he should stay away from her, should keep his mind on his goal, but he found he couldn’t stop from visiting, couldn’t help but invite her to Dunnottar. Each time he told himself would be the last time.

The thing of it was, he liked her. He liked being by her side. He found he relished an honest day’s work, tied to the land, and with a woman by his side. Days when he saw Elspeth were good ones, even if they did often mean he had to endure her father in the bargain.

He liked how she carried herself—she was reserved, but she stood tall. She seemed a good person, a person who knew herself, knew what she was about. He liked the little things about her too, like the way she held her books, and her look of wide-eyed appreciation as she read them, the way she bit her lower lip in concentration. She’d finish and look up at him, meeting him with a face of open pleasure, lacking artifice, or judgment, or pity.

It was as though Elspeth saw him simply as a man whose company she enjoyed. With Beth, he was neither servant nor victim. He was only Aidan. And he found he’d begun to crave the feeling.

He realized with a shock that he’d begun to crave her too, in ways that made him wish their collaboration lasted longer than dawn till dusk. Because Aidan had decided he might like to keep her close the whole night through.

Chapter 16

Elspeth set out that morning, using her walk as an opportunity to replay Aidan’s each and every wink in her mind. She relived every brush of his hand, every twinkle in his eye, thinking if she could only but inure herself to his charms, she’d be able to face him with more composure.

However, she refused to be distracted by that charm. Surely Aidan knew how much his rakish ways devastated women, and she suspected that husky voice and those sparks in his eyes had only been tools with which to dis-tract her from documents he wished to keep secret. But she wouldn’t be dissuaded. She was too curious.

Not to mention too concerned for his safety.

She arrived at Dunnottar earlier than the agreed-upon time, her heart set on a little snooping. There was risk in her plan, but she was sure Aidan wasn’t the sort to linger about the house. She knocked repeatedly on the tower house door, and was relieved to find nobody around. She promptly turned and strode straight for the old guardhouse that he’d taken for his lodgings.

Elspeth listened at the door. Silence. Then, not allowing herself a chance to doubt, she darted inside, quickly shutting the door behind her. Bracing the door at her back, she gave her eyes a moment to adjust. Though light filtered in through a row of musket holes and the lone window, the room was dim.

Her heart pounded from the thrill. She was sneaking around as though she were the one on a secret and dangerous mission. Like a pirate bride helping her man. Or some mysteriously seductive lady spy.

As Elspeth’s sight adjusted and his few belongings came into view, she began to tremble for an entirely different reason. This was his room, and though she’d been in it before, it was a different experience getting to study everything so unabashedly.

She stepped farther inside, taking in every sight, every scent. She sat on his narrow cot. It was neatly made, and the crunch of dried heather was so loud in the silence she promptly stood again, careful to smooth the wool blanket back into place.

There was a small side table, upon which stood a child’s toy knight, whittled from a bit of wood. She picked it up, marveling at the detail. Marveling at the strange, unknown layers to his personality that Aidan kept hidden. Carefully, she set the knight back in its place by the washbowl, then dipped her fingers in the water and smiled—he’d probably used this to wash, just this morning.

“Fool,” she whispered to herself. Smiling and shaking her head, she dried her hand on her skirts. “Silly fool.”

She’d come to find his secret papers. So where were they? She paced the tiny room, nudging the slate flooring with the toes of her boots—she’d read that wee cracks and chinks made excellent hiding places—but no luck.

Aidan appeared to live a spartan life. No desk, no drawers, no wardrobe … no possible hiding places. There was just an extra blanket and a few items of clothing, folded and stacked in a tidy pile under the table. She carefully sifted through all of it, but again, no luck.

She sat again on the bed, this time heedless of the groan of the frame and the crunch of the mattress. She smoothed her fingers over the blanket and, not really expecting to find anything, slid her hand under his pillow. And that’s where she felt it: the crisp give of paper at her fingertips. “Here you are.”

She dared not risk any rumpling or ripping, and moved the pillow aside to read his papers where they lay. Riffling through, she paused at a peculiar-looking receipt of sorts. Squinting, she made sense of the words.

WARRANT OF ENTRY

BRIDGETOWN PORT, BARBADOS

CAPTAIN WM. DERBY-PHIPPS

THE ENDEAVOR (ORIG. LEÓN DE ORO)

TYPE: XEBEC, 160 TONNES BURTHEN, 18 GUNS

CREW: 95

GUARANTOR: DOUGAL FRASER, KING’S QUAY, ABERDEEN

It appeared to be a Barbadian port-of-entry clearance. But whose? She recognized Aidan’s handwriting by now, and these elegant loops looked nothing like his cramped scrawl. Who was Captain Derby-Phipps? And why would this hold such seemingly great importance to Aidan?

She lay on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. She adored a mystery—particularly a swashbuckling one— and scanned the document for clues.

She began to hum, distractedly at first, not even realizing that something had tripped a tune in the back of her mind. It was an old war song her father sang around the farm. Soon her humming became a low whisper of lyrics.

I sailed a great frigate by the name Nonesuch,

But I’d turn my coat for a four-bit groat,

And so I turned against the Dutch.

Yes, I turned against the Dutch, the Dutch,

I turned against the Dutch.

And what was a xebec? The name alone sent a shiver of excitement up her spine—it sounded so exotic, like something that might have a great, painted lady carved at its bow, or an army of swarthy men working its oars. It looked like the original name had been León de Oro, so maybe it was a sort of Spanish galleon, so laden with chests of gold and silver bullion, it rode low in the water. León de Oro, she mused with a smile, and sang another snippet.

But from Spain I stole their Lion of Gold,

And became the King’s man again, again.

Became the King’s man again.

William Derby-Phipps—why did the name sound so familiar? Captain William Derby-Phipps. The beginning of the song popped into her head, and her excitement turned to dread.

My name is Captain Will, oh Will,

I turned pirate when I killed good men,

Their worthy blood did spill.

Their worthy blood did spill, did spill,

Their worthy blood did spill.

Could this paper have belonged to the Captain Will? She racked her memory—was Derby-Phipps the name of the notorious traitor, or was her imagination running away with her yet again?

The Captain Will she knew had sailed in a small British fleet against Spain in the Thirty Years War. Facing resounding defeat, he’d infamously convinced his crew to go pirate, slaughtering what British sailors wouldn’t turn, and splitting from their Dutch allies.

But he’d reappeared weeks later, having repossessed a ship bursting with purloined gold from the Spaniards. Captain Will comported himself quite prettily, delivering a vast bounty to the Crown’s coffers. King Charles saw only a fine line between pirate and privateer—particularly when the privateer in question had such a knack for acquiring riches—and so with a slap for one cheek and a kiss for the other, he sent the captain off with a pardon and the gift of a strange, sleek Spanish ship.

A chill shot to her bones.

Was it possible this Captain Derby-Phipps was the pirate? Was the man even alive still? And if it was possible, and if he was indeed the pirate, what would Aidan have to do with such a man?

There was another name on the warrant, one Dougal Fraser, King’s Quay, Aberdeen. Did that mean the pirate had business in Aberdeen?