“Isn’t that where the government decided to exile Napoleon Bonaparte, in the end?” Rafe asked, brushing bread crumbs off his fingers.
“Nae, that’s on Saint Helena. Stop trying tae distract my navigating.” Kieran waved the knife at them. The men laughed. “After Tristan da Cunha, we’ll enter into the Roaring Forties.” He drew the knife toward himself. “That’s the latitude where the ocean current moves swiftly toward the east. That will have us arriving in Sydney hopefully a week or so before Christmas.” He drew a line toward the cheese board at his right and then tossed the knife onto it.
“And that’s all before our expedition really begins.” Andrew snatched up the discarded knife and cut a slice of manchego cheese before reaching for more bread. “We won’t start our naturalist explorations in truth until we arrive in the New Hebrides.”
“Aye,” Kieran nodded. “If all goes well, we should arrive there by February.”
Ewan shifted on the bed, tucking his long legs to one side. “That’s a long time living in one another’s pockets.”
“Alreadypeely-wallyat having to look at Kieran’s face, are ye?” Andrew quipped, winking.
Kieran laughed, downing the remainder of his whisky.
“Nae!” A blush climbed Ewan’s cheeks. With his red hair and fair complexion, the artist’s emotions tended to leak onto his skin. “I was more thinking youse lot would be tired of my muckle self.” He lifted one hand, palm out and as large as a dinner plate.
“Ewan, ye are the gentlest man I’ve ever met.” Rafe shook his head. “I don’t think it possible to tire of your company.”
Ewan’s blush deepened. He ducked his head and went back to eating his pudding.
“Besides,” Alex chimed in, “as a medical professional, I consider emotional bonds tae be a sort of preventative medicine. Those who feel part of a larger group often weather the storms of life more readily. Therefore, as Scotsmen, it would be beneficial for us all tae become close friends.” He grinned. “Doctor’s orders, if ye will.”
“Well, there ye are.” Rafe waved a hand toward Alex. “We have to remain friends—a Brotherhood of Scots. It’s a medical necessity.”
Andrew belched and reached for the whisky bottle. “Are we naming ourselves then? Forming a proper fraternity? Like Robin Hood and his Merry Men?”
“Aye.” Rafe raised his glass.
“I would be for it,” Alex agreed.
Ewan nodded, cheeks still painfully red.
All eyes turned toward Kieran.
“What does your navigatorly instinct say, Kieran?” Andrew asked.
Kieran stroked his chin, as if thinking.
But he had already landed on the perfect idea—
“The Brotherhood of the Tartan,” he said, breaking into a grin. “That should be our name.”
“I like it.” Andrew raised his glass.
“Aye,” Alex said. “And we pledge tae always stand with one another.”
“And tae remain true friends throughout this voyage and beyond,” Ewan added.
“Hear, hear!” Rafe smiled. “Now what will our first order—”
A knock sounded at the door.
Raising his eyebrows, Kieran leaned back in his chair and opened the door. Andrew may have the largest cabin, but that didn’t mean it was, well . . . large.
Jamie Fyffe stood in the doorway, Ewan’s repaired chair in his hand. He looked at the assembled men with wide eyes.
“Mr. Chen asked me tae deliver this to youse.” He hefted the chair with one hand.
“Thank ye, Jamie.” Andrew motioned for the lad to come in. “That’s right kind of ye.”
