. . . leaving Master Kieran MacTavish and everything else to do withThe Minervaas nothing more than a shadow disintegrating in the blinding light of her vibrant future.
5
September 1815
You were wise to bring aboard such excellent whisky, my friend.” Rafe tilted his glass toward Andrew.
“Aye.” Andrew leaned back in his chair. “Nothing tastes like home quite as much as whisky—”
“Haggis,” Alex interrupted. “Haggis tastes like home, too.” All eyes turned to him. Alex shrugged. “I dinnae drink alcohol, so it had tae be said.”
Kieran reached for his own glass, pouring another finger of the fine Scottish whisky Andrew had supplied.
“Well, we dinnae have haggis at the moment,” he said, “so whisky will have tae do.”
They were all seated around a table in Andrew’s quarters. The cabin had become a gathering place for them all—Kieran, Andrew, Rafe, Alex, and Ewan. A space where they could all be their most Scottish selves.
As a part-owner ofThe Minervaand the gentleman financing their excursion, Andrew had been given the largest guest cabin, the one big enough for a bed, a desk, and even a wee dining table. Though tonight, poor Ewan was perched on the foot of Andrew’s berth. The artist had sat too forcefully in his chair the night before and snapped a weakened leg right off. Ewan had sheepishly taken the chair to Mr. Chen for repair, blushing as he explained what had happened.
Kieran sipped at his whisky, humming appreciatively. “It will be a long time afore we see bonnie Scotland again, gentlemen. Enjoy the whisky while we have it, I say.”
The remains of their dinner lay scattered atop the table—a bowl of mushy peas, the crumbs of freshly baked bread, a slab of creamy manchego cheese, the cleaned bones of a roasted chicken, and even a thick slice of boiled plum pudding gleaming with currants and plums.
As the paying, high-station passengers, Andrew and his friends dined on significantly better fare than the hardtack and salted beef provided to the rest of the crew. Though Kieran had not known the other men before this voyage, as a senior crew member, he was entreated to join them.
No one enjoyed the promise of a good meal as much as a sailor. Kieran knew this and, as ship’s master, ensured the provisions aboard ship were of the highest standard. An entire menagerie of animals was lodged on the lower deck—chickens, pigs, goats, and even two cows. The animals would provide fresh milk and eggs, slowly being slaughtered for meat as their journey progressed.
“So you’re in charge of the ship’s navigation, not Captain Cuthie, correct?” Alex looked at Kieran and braced his elbows on the table, using a last piece of bread to mop up some peas.
“Aye. I’m the one who charts our course and makes recommendations—”
“Och, you’re being a mite humble,” Andrew snorted. He leaned toward Alex. “I made sure that Cuthie hired Kieran here. Every sailor in Aberdeen told me the same thing:Hire Master MacTavish. He’s the sharpest navigator in the merchant fleet. Ye don’t make recommendations, Kieran. Ye give orders and even the captain follows them.”
Kieran felt his cheeks warm. Damn, he hated blushing.
“Is that so?” Alex grinned, looking at Kieran.
“I’ve sailed around Australia before,” Kieran nodded. “It was terrifying, most of the time. But that terror compelled me to study the Southern Pacific waters thoroughly and chart a safer course. So, yes, Cuthie does listen when I speak.”
“Well, I’m glad the man pays attention tae something other than his own ego.” Rafe shook his head. “I cannot say I approve of our captain’s leadership style.”
Ewan snatched a slice of plum pudding, his long arms easily reaching the table from his seat on Andrew’s bed. Kieran had realized over the past few weeks that Ewan never really stopped eating. His large body required incredible amounts of fuel.
“If you’re charting our path,” Ewan said around a bite of pudding, “what will our course be between now and when we reach Australia?”
“Aye,” Andrew grinned. “Dazzle us with your navigatorly knowledge.”
Kieran shook his head at Andrew’s good-natured teasing. He picked up the cheese knife.
“Well, as youse all know, we just resupplied in the Azores.” Kieran pointed to the salt cellar as if it were the islands. “We’re now entering the longest stretch of the trip without land as we go through the Doldrums that straddle the equator. Hopefully, the winds will stay with us, and we willnae end up becalmed.” He dragged the knife across the table, moving right to left, ending by pointing at the platter with the picked-clean chicken. “Once through the Doldrums, we’ll resupply in Rio de Janeiro in Brazil and exchange our cargo. From there,”—he drew the knife back to the right—“we’ll head southeast to Tristan da Cunha—”
“I find it fascinating that we go to South America before heading east again toward Africa,” Alex said.
“Very navigatorly,” Rafe agreed with a wink.
Kieran shook his head and huffed a laugh. “I ken it makes no sense, but it’s the fastest route given ocean currents and trade winds. Now . . . where was I?”
“Tristan da Cunha,” Alex prompted, pointing at the bread bowl.
