“Nae. Nothing will come of it.” Master MacTavish fixed the others with a stern expression.
“I hope not,” Hadley said, “but with every exchange, we dance a bit closer tae the possibility.”
Silence hung.
Eilidh looked back and forth between them. “I would appreciate some explanation before I am tossed into the lion’s den with Mr. Patterson.”
“It doesn’t impact ye, lass,” Master MacTavish said, jaw clenched.
“But it could,” Sir Rafe said.
Mr. Campbell studied Eilidh from his seat beside his wife, his eyes kind. Eilidh sensed that this was his habitual mien. That despite the intimidating size of his enormous body, he was at his core, an astonishingly gentle soul.
But why did she feel that way? Was it simply intuition? Or did she remember this from their former deeper acquaintance?
“Miss Fyffe should be told,” he said, looking at the others. When no one objected, Mr. Campbell continued, “Unlike the rest of us, yourself and Kieran were members of the ship’s crew. Therefore, Kieran’s actions—and by extension, your own—could be viewed as mutinous during that last night before Captain Cuthie marooned us. The captain had wrongfully imprisoned Andrew and Rafe and . . . there was a fight between yourselves and the captain and his men—”
“I fought the ship’s captain?!” Eilidh reared back, horror clogging her throat. “Why would I . . . How could I . . .”
“Aye. It might seem hard tae believe without your memories, but aye, ye did fight.”
“Ye were remarkably brave,” Sir Rafe agreed. “Ye saved us.”
Eilidh was sure her eyes were saucers. Her? A fighter?
The very idea was laughable to her current self.
But she had been a different person aboard that ship. One who had donned trousers and impersonated a brother and abandoned being a lady. So perhaps it wasn’t such a stretch that she would fight, too.
But still.
“The point is,” Hadley said, “that as crew members openly fighting against the ship’s captain, Master MacTavish and yourself could be charged with mutiny—”
“It willnae happen,” Master MacTavish bit out.
“Kieran—” Lockheade began.
“Nae. The Admiralty has had ample opportunity tae charge myself over the years, and they havenae done it. Cuthie knows that he is also guilty of crimes around those same events. Andrew was a part-owner ofThe Minerva, and technically, Cuthie’s employer. And yet, Cuthie had him chained and beaten. Andrew has not levied charges of assault against Cuthie, and so, in turn, Cuthie has not pursued accusations of mutiny against myself—”
“Areyou guilty of mutiny?” Eilidh asked.
Kieran shrugged. “I suppose it depends upon your point-of-view, but a case could be made. In order to claim I mutinied, Cuthie has tae admit his own perfidy.”
“In short,” Hadley said, “we exist in a sort of rapprochement with Cuthie and Massey. We stay out of one another’s orbits—Cuthie and Massey have remained abroad for years now—and neither of us says a word, thereby maintaining an equilibrium. With neither side willing to make an accusation or bring corroborated evidence, the Admiralty can do nothing.”
Master MacTavish turned his head toward the sound of a carriage on the front drive, his chin lifting, his attention instantly arrested.
The movement was so familiar, something aching and hot caught in Eilidh’s throat.
Abruptly, she saw him in her mind’s eye, that same expression on his face, only this time striding across a ship’s deck, his coat flapping in the breeze, ruggedly handsome and moving with liquid ease—
She grasped at the image, but it slipped away in a wispy puff.
Was it a memory? Or just a fanciful thought?
Hadley walked over to the window, looking out to the drive.
“That will be Mr. Patterson himself. We shall resolve this simply enough, I am sure.” He turned back to Eilidh, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps we can finally, once and for all, put this behind us.”
