When she and her unborn babe had gone down withThe Minerva,Kieran had been nearly mad with grief. It had taken nearly four years for Kieran to begin to heal from the loss.
Then last year, the Brotherhood discovered that Captain Cuthie and his first mate, Robert Massey, had survived the wreckage. They claimed that the ship had not accidentally shattered on a reef as previously thought but had been intentionally blown up.
The knowledge that others had survived the wreck, but not his Jamie, had sent Kieran into a steep decline, drinking heavily. He was dismissed from his ship for excessive drunkenness. Alex still recalled his own panic at hearing this news.
He had already lost too many loved ones to despair and addiction. Kieran’s name wouldnotbe added to that list.
Alex spent two days, going pub to pub in Leith and Edinburgh, finally finding his friend drunkenly passed out in the dim light of Anchor Close. Alex had taken Kieran to his own flat and nursed him back to health, attempting to wean him off the whisky bottle.
A few months later, Kieran had disappeared entirely.
But he was back now, looking worse for wear, but blessedly not drunk.
“Did ye find what ye seek?” Alex asked.
Kieran let out a long breath, fingers tapping atop the table. “Nae, not yet. Cuthie and Massey have gone to ground. They’re still prowling around the Caribbean last I heard. Moreover, I saw this in the paper this morning.”
Kieran pulled a folded copy of theEdinburgh Advertiserfrom his coat pocket and slid it across to Alex. A notice was circled.
The sinking ofThe Minervamust be more fully examined. Gross crimes were committed, and those responsible have yet to be brought to account. Do not allow this debt to go unpaid.
“Another one?” Alex shook his head, setting the newspaper down. “This is the third notice in little over a year.”
“Aye, and they are all similar, demanding that those who survived the wreck ofThe Minervamust pay some debt. I’m assuming we still dinnae know who is posting them?”
“No. Cuthie and Massey have both insisted they have no part in these notices.” Alex tapped the newspaper. “The fact that both men are currently abroad—and have been for the better part of a year—confirms it.”
“Aye, I thought the same. In the past, we have assumed that the notices must refer tae the Brotherhood somehow, as we are the only ones who survived. But have we considered that the notices might be referring to Cuthie or Massey instead?”
Alex lifted his eyebrows. “Nae, I hadnae considered that, to be honest. I’ll have to mention it tae Andrew and the rest. Or perhaps ye can do it yourself, assuming ye’re back in Scotland to stay for a while?”
“Nae, I’m for Spain in a week’s time. A retired captain is said to know something.”
“About Jamie?”
“Something of the like. He supposedly tells tale of fishing an English woman from the waters of the South Pacific. This might be the information I’ve been seeking.”
Oh, Kieran.
And what would become of his friend when this rumor, like all the others, came to nothing? Would Kieran return to the bottle to drown his grief?
Something of Alex’s dismay must have shown on his face.
“Haud yer wheest.” Kieran held up a hand, palm out. A bleak sort of determination in his jaw. “I ken that I’ve been a wee bit crazed over this, but I will find out, once and for all, what happened tae Jamie. I cannae move on ’til I know.”
“Kieran . . . ,” Alex began, “how many times must we all say it—if Jamie were alive, she would have contacted us by now. She loved you too much to not fight for ye. It’s been nearly five years sinceThe Minervasank—”
“Please, Alex. I need your help in this.” Kieran sat forward, his eyes pleading. “I need answers. I need tae know if my Jamie is dead or alive. I keep looking but all I’m finding are more questions, more hints that all is not as it seems. This captain in Spain may know something helpful.”
Alex scrubbed a hand over his face.
He knew Kieran’s expression all too well.
It was the look of a man begging for one more bottle of laudanum, one more glass of whisky, one more pipe of opium. One more venture into the sludge of appetite and addiction.
A bone-deep weariness pressed on Alex’s skull. Why did he feel as if his life’s work was simply to free others from the quagmire of their darkest habits?
Worse, with this tangle of the marquisate looming over him, Alex didn’t havetimeto monitor Kieran, ensuring that he didn’t slip into yet another cycle of destructive grief.
