The black-cliffed shoreline of Ireland edged closer. Now came the dangerous part.
‘We were lucky to come out of that in one piece, and some of the haul went over the side,’ spat Elsa’s father and ship’s captain, Hardy Rabham. ‘There’s ice in my marrow, and I’m too pissing old for this foolishness.’
‘Would you rather be at home, mouldering into your dotage before a fire, while life passes you by?’ said Cullen with a grin.
‘Aye, most likely, I would.’
‘Do not fash, old man. We lost some cargo, but we’ll be right. We’ll just charge more for what we have left.’
‘They’ll not like it.’
‘They don’t have to like it. There’s few other vessels that risk this crossing with the spring storms, so they’ll pay what I want them to pay.’
Elsa sidled up to them. ‘Easy, Cullen. You don’t want to make enemies of Butcher and his muggers. Those villains may refuse your wares if you treat them with contempt.’
He met her eye. ‘Aye, but they are welcome to look elsewhere for their pleasure if they don’t like what I am offering.’
‘They’ll skin you alive if they don’t get satisfaction,’ she replied.
‘I’ll take my chances,’ said Cullen, winking. Elsa got his meaning, for the lass was canny enough. She darted a wary look at her father and stifled a smile, and Cullen’s grin broadened.
‘Well, I think I will get below and take my leisure until night falls and foul deeds beckon,’ said Cullen.
He made his way down to the ship’s hold. A cask had rolled free and broken open in the squall, making the whole place stink of whisky. Cullen could almost taste it as he waited. Soon, he heard her step on the stairs, and she rushed in.
Elsa pouted. ‘My arm hurts like the blazes, you know, Cullen.’
He grabbed hold of her and hoisted up her skirts. ‘Aye, but you are a sturdy lass and used to a bit of rough handling.’
‘You are no gentleman, Cullen Macaulay.’
‘Never said I was. It’s what you like about me, lass.’
‘A stiff cock is what I like about you, and nought else. It stinks in here,’ she wailed as he silenced her with a kiss on her neck.
‘Let me take your mind off it,’ breathed Cullen.
Their coupling was rough and quick, like animals in a barn, and it was curiously unsatisfying, despite the illicit thrill of discovery. But then he’d always taken any scrap of pleasure where he could find it, no matter how low and grubby. He was a fool to tempt fate twice in one day by tupping the captain’s daughter under his very nose. But losing himself in Elsa’s soft flesh was not nearly as dangerous as offloading smuggled cargo on a moonlit night in rough waters to men who would hoist you by your ankles and slit your throat like a hog, if you crossed them.
Aye, the dangerous part of his day was yet to come when he haggled with Butcher. He may as well enjoy himself first.
Chapter Two
It was dark, no light filtering through the iron bars set high above, so it must still be night or very early morning. Something scrabbled in the corner, and Lowri shuddered and shrank into herself. Her mind had begun to play tricks on her, and sometimes she imagined a corpse lurked there, shuffling ever closer in the suffocating blackness, intent on dragging her to Hell. Or was she the corpse – still breathing but settling into her coffin?
The punishment for reiving was hanging.
She deserved it for what she had done, that reckless folly which now had her chained to a damp wall with just the relentless drip of water and the rustling of the rats for company. The shuffling came closer, and a scream clawed up the back of Lowri’s throat. But then her ears caught a sweet sound. Birdsong. A starling or a sparrow, darting among the trees outside, shaking off sleep and fluffing its feathers out to greet the new day. The image soothed her harried nerves. There was still life around her, still hope. Wasn’t there?
Soon after, thin light streamed in, illuminating the yellow-green ribbon of slime where water ran down the opposite wall. Lowri reached and rubbed her leg where it chafed on the ankle chain. There was nothing to do but give in to the misery – the mouldy smell of old hay strewn all about, the drip, drip, drip of water, and the growling of her empty stomach folding in on itself.
Memories of that night crept back in - the cold wind over the hills, Donnan’s eagerness, Rory’s pale and frightened face. Tears stung Lowri’s eyes and ran hot down her cheeks, but the clomp of boots heralded the arrival of her gaolers, so she brushed them away. Pray God, they came with food. But Lowri’s heart sank as the door swung open and Laird Griffin Macaulay sauntered in with another, younger man. The Laird narrowed his eyes to see her in the gloom, sniffed the air like a rodent and grimaced.
‘Bit foul in here. How do you fare today, lass?’ he said, cruelty all over his pinched face.
‘Worse for seeing you,’ Lowri replied.
‘I don’t doubt it.’
