“The inventories are yet to be finished,” Calder said. “Ye canna verra well record everything loaded until it is loaded.” He spat on the ground, barely missing the toe of Cranson’s boot. “Besides, this is theVengeance’s berth, and all has been properly filed and cleared through the harbormaster.”
“In other words, ye paid the man off.” Cranson craned his neck, squinting as he eyed the nearly empty warehouse.
Teague’s heart nearly stopped as Mila stepped into view and took her place beside Calder. “Master Cranson, have ye not tormented my family and my people enough?”
Cranson gave her an evil smile. “Yer husband brought this sorrow on yerself and yer people. Not I.” He lifted his chin as though daring her to punch it. “Where is he?”
She snorted a disgusted huff. “Halfway to London by now, unless those cutthroat guards of yers have already made me a widow.” She jerked a cloth from her sleeve and pressed it to the corners of her eyes. “I know I will be soon, anyway.” Her voice quivered. “I know my beloved husband willna receive any justice in England.” She hitched out a soft, pitiful sob and buried her face in the crumpled square of linen. “For the love of God, leave us in peace. Can ye not see ye have already forced us from Scotland?”
The fiend shook his head and laughed. “I did no such thing. Ye couldha stayed in yer keep.” He gave her a lewd up-and-down look. “I feel sure a woman such as yerself couldha had another to warm yer bed in no time at all.”
Calder grabbed Cranson by the chest and shook him. “Ye will not speak to Lady MacDonald in such a fashion.”
The soldiers lifted their muskets and shoved the bayonets into Calder’s face.
With another wicked chuckle, Cranson lifted his hand, and the redcoats stepped back. “My apologies,” he said, not sounding apologetic at all. “And to show ye I offer no ill, once I search that ship and this warehouse, I shall leave ye in peace, aye?”
Mila responded with a teary-eyed sneer. “What the devil are ye searching for? Ye already stole my husband.”
Cranson just smiled, then flipped a hand at the soldiers. “Find him.”
Two of the soldiers trotted up the gangway to the ship while the others scattered into the warehouse and started scouring the shadows.
“Who?” Mila clutched her fists to her chest while backing up against the barrels that hid Teague.
He held his breath, praying Cranson would not see through her act.
The man swaggered forward with a suggestive leer. “Ye know who I am looking for.” He reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. “However, I might be persuaded to look the other way.” Without releasing her, he jerked his head toward a pile of hay at the back of the warehouse. “For yer people, aye? I feel sure they wouldna mind waiting while ye paid for their freedom with one last tumble.”
“Get yer hands off my wife, ye bastard,” bellowed a familiar voice from behind Cranson.
Ready to lunge around the barrels himself, Teague halted, unable to believe his ears. He peered through the slit between the stacks to make sure he had heard right.
And there he was: Dugald, dressed in Teague’s favorite black coat with the wide cuffs, and his best cocked hat. He held the tip of his sword in the middle of Cranson’s back.
“Kill him!” Cranson shouted.
Musket fire echoed through the nearly empty warehouse.
Dugald shoved the blade through the man, then held him upright and slit his throat with a dagger. But as Cranson sagged, so did Dugald. Blood stained the ground in an ever-widening puddle.
The soldiers rushed in from the ship, joining those in the warehouse as they surrounded them. Mila shoved through them and dropped to her knees at Dugald’s side.
“No,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “Ye canna die.”
“To make amends,” he rasped loud enough for Teague to hear. “Forgive me. Forgive us.”
“Ye have always been forgiven.” She cradled his head in her lap, tears streaming down her face.
“We must take him with us, ma’am,” one of the soldiers said.
“Can ye not at least let the man die with those who love him?” she shouted. “Get the hell away from him. I will tell ye when ye may take him, ye heartless bastards. Now, get out!”
The redcoats eyed each other, then eased a few paces back.
“I said get the hell out of here! Get outside with ye,” she screamed. “Grant me privacy to share our last words.”
The men tipped their hats and nodded. The youngest of the four bowed. “We will wait at the end of the boardwalk, ma’am. But please understand, we must take his body with us to show the matter closed.”
