CHAPTER ONE
1578, PORT MALLAIG
Today was the day. The first of a new chapter in James MacGregor’s life, leaving home and traveling across the ocean. For most this would have been intimidating or even frightening. But James found that he was rather excited about the prospect. There was something thrilling for him about stepping off his familial lands and onto the deck of a boat to carry him on the same pilgrimage as all his ancestors before him.
Standing at eight and twenty, there was no doubt that James was a red-blooded male. Cold morning air bit into his skin, the waves in the distance pushing fresh salt into the air in enough abundance that he could feel it grimy in the lines of his face as he squinted over to the slowly rising sun in the distance. The whole port was washed in a bath of pale morning light, crewmates finishing up the final headcounts and supply onboarding aroundhim. James held his rucksack up over his shoulder with one calloused hand.
He could get used to this, the brine and salt in the air, the rocking of the boat as they started to pull out of the harbor and into the water. The noise and constant chatter, somebody always moving, it felt so similar to the castle, it was hard not to feel at ease despite the unfamiliar faces around him.
James walked backward once more to the gangplank, his boot nearly catching on the wooden rungs. He bowed once, just an incline of his shoulders and head before the crew started to lift the gangplank and tied off the gap in the bow. A short journey all things considered, and then he would seek his blessing from Saint Cuthbert’s relic.
One of the crew clapped him on the shoulder, motioning with his head to follow him down below deck where his sleeping arrangements likely were. It was a much more difficult squeeze into the space for him than for the sailor in front of him. He had to angle himself sideways and shuffle down the stairs, his head bowed for quite some time before he could stand straight again.
The crewmate led him to his hammock, and he hurled his bag onto it without thinking. He supposed he could attempt to rest, but he was wired, wide awake. His focus, instead, shifted to the four men sitting around a circular table with tall edges to prevent anything from falling off and to the floor. But it was mainly empty, save for the cards in their hands.
“Dinnae stare like ye’re some bogle,” one of them said, speaking out of the side of his mouth, his cap pulled down low over one eye. “If ye’re goin’ tae sit, then sit.”
James decided that he liked him immediately. The other players around the table had to shuffle, squeezing closer together to accommodate for the space took up. He had always been a large lad.
“If ye think that sitting in me lap means that ye can cheat me cards, then ye’re sorely mistaken!” One of the others said, angling his torso away from the third man with an overly accusatory narrowed glance, cupping his hands around his cards and seemingly wholly unaware that by doing so, he was showing the whole hand to the man on the other side of him.
Just last night, he had been in the village, celebrating, in the local tavern. Edward and his other friends had argued similarly, over trivial things. Edward had gone on and on about how James was unlikely to have time for a proper buck’s night when he returned from his journey and he could choose his wife. Teased and pushed for him to lose himself in drink, to make merry.
The man with the hat pulled low plucked the cards right out of his crewmate’s hands, reshuffling the very weathered deck of cards. Quite a feat indeed considering that he seemed to be missing two fingers on his right hand, but he moved like he didn’t miss them in the slightest. In the dim room, it seemed to James that the ship was rocking precariously from side to side. Every crash of the waves on the side of the ship startled him, the sound loud and jarring, the force of them unexpected. Whenthey had boarded the ship, the sea had been calm, or at least calm enough. Now he was just glad to be sitting, knowing that were he to stand, he, too, would be swaying precariously.
“So, what brings ye ontae our ship?” He asked, not making eye contact as he focused more on dealing the cards to them all. “Name’s Callum, by the way. That’s Angus and Rory over there.”
As he spoke, Callum pointed to the other two sailors sitting around the small table—Angus, an older man with dark hair that was graying at the temples, short and solid and broad-chested, and Rory, a man closer to James’ age, perhaps even younger, apple-cheeked and ruddy-faced like a cherub.
“James,” He answered, reaching for his hand. “Well, me faither wants tae find me a wife, ye ken? Every man in me family takes the trip tae the convent before marriage.”
“Ah, ye’re the laird’s boy?” Callum grinned, a slow expression.
James nodded. They already knew that, but he appreciated the teasing. His title and future titles likely meant nothing to them when they were out at sea.
“Is she a fine lass?” Angus asked off-hand. “I had me a wife once, all she did was nag me all day and night. Drove me tae the sea she did.”
“Mm, the nagging is what drove ye tae the sea? Nae because ye were messing around and she threatened tae cut yer bollocks off?” Rory challenged.
It must have been right because the second stomped the third clear on his foot, loud and hard enough that the table rattled as the ship lurched to the other side. James and Callum had to latch onto it. James looked at the others to see if they were alarmed at all, but they were all simply looking at their cards idly as though this was a daily occurrence. Perhaps, for them, it was. Perhaps they were used to not having solid ground beneath their feet and James was the only one in that room who was alarmed at all.
He did his best to ignore it. If the sailors were unbothered by it, then it could only mean it was normal.
“I have a duty,” James offered, making his first play just to distract himself. “They will choose her when the time comes.”
Angus groaned. “Say the word, lad, and we shall keep ye on this ship, run away across the ocean.”
“True, true, there’s nay shame in it either. Ye never ken what ye’re getting with a marriage of obligation.” Rory said sagely, making his play. James had a sneaking suspicion that the two of them were likely to break out in a brawl before the game was even completed.
“This journey is nae jest tae me,” James answered, his tone serious. “The pilgrimage is a duty, and I intend tae honor it.Saint Cuthbert’s blessing means the world tae me—it’s meant tae protect me future, me family.”
He made eye contact with Callum, who nodded with obvious respect for his choice. No doubt the man could see the determination on his face. This journey was an honor, after all. He could not take that lightly, even if the adventures that they spoke about sounded appealing. His future wasn’t his own, he had responsibilities for the privilege of being born into his station. His clan meant far too much to him to be swayed.
One hand turned into another, and then again, as sparse conversation passed among the lot of them. There was no way of knowing how far they had gone, and James wasn’t about to question how it was that they were able to stay down here while the rest were working. But he appreciated the company. The last thing that he wanted was to have idle hands.
In the duration of the game, he had been so focused on the cards that he hadn’t noticed the way the sway of the ship had gradually turned into a wild rocking, the vessel moving from one side to the other. Never had it been so clear to James that he was at the mercy of the sea. The slam of waves against the sides and the deck, the chilly draft that entered through the gaps in the door, the knowledge that they were out in open seas—it all served to unnerve James, yet still, the other sailors seemed perfectly at ease.
“Oy!” A voice called down the open door to the quarters where they played. “Callum! Get yer arse up here!”
