CHAPTER ONE
Inverlochy, Scotland – 1265
“Another?” Gordon Marsanta, the dry goods merchant, raised a wine bottle, eager to pour. “Only the best to seal our bargain.”
“My thanks. The next time perhaps. I must get to the docks before the ship sails.” Wesley Mills put down his half-empty glass, said his good-byes, and left the shop.
Best wine? He worked his tongue against the roof of his mouth to rid it of the vinegary taste. He did all he could when he sipped the vile liquid not to spit it out.
Wesley closed Marsanta’s door behind him. He stood at this same place with his father three years ago, pleased with their visit. At last he was taking action to fulfill his father’s last request. Sometimes, when he allowed his mind to wander he saw his father lying in bed unable to speak, begging him with his eyes. The numbness had passed, but the pain would strike him from out of nowhere. Nobody as good as his father could simply fade away, no longer exist. His father was waiting, watching. Wesley could feel it.
He took a deep breath to tamp down the overwhelming grief that started to rise in his chest and stared at the crowd of people. They flowed down the narrow lane like the River Lochy rushed along on its way to Loch Linnhe. The mood of the people swirled in unseen currents as they hurried along. Where had all these people come from?
He met with Marsanta at day-break in order to complete his business in time to sail on the morning tide. It was still early yet the footpaths teemed with people when it should have been empty. Advancing into the horde, the crush made it difficult for him to move. He swore he retreated one step for every three he took forward. He bumped into people and got his toes treaded on as he navigated through the throng and tried his best to hurry toward the docks.
When he left the ship earlier in the morning with the bolts of silk tucked under his arm, the blackness of his surroundings had been absolute. Little by little, the outlines of houses and market stalls emerged as the dark sky softened to blue and a pink blush stained the clouds.
He hurried through the market-place on his way to his appointment without having eaten. The aroma of fresh bread that rode on the morning air made his mouth water and his stomach growl. Swiveling his head, he caught sight of a woman arranging a basket of baked goods in her stall. There was no time to stop. The transaction had to be finished quickly before the ship sailed. He made a mental note to purchase the bread on his way back to the ship and enjoy the pastry with some morning ale.
Wesley spent a healthy part of the morning, much longer than he anticipated, with the merchant. The man drove a hard bargain, demanding the silk for a fraction of its value. He had held his ground.
The quality of the material was not in question. The price was a bit high, but Wesley had taken all the risks on the Silk Road and waters of the Hebrides where pirates relieved merchants of their goods without payment.
For Marsanta, verbal sparring with Wesley was a game he enjoyed. Sometimes Wesley let him win, but not today. He hefted the bag of coins tied to his waist. In the end, he got his price.
The bruising wind battered him as he made his way down the lane. He glanced at the sky. The weather had deteriorated. The soft blue of dawn was now gray and darkened by the minute. A line of ominous black clouds streaked the horizon, replacing the morning’s billowy white ones. Tension and anxiety filled the marketplace as the tumult of people scurried around in a mad rush to complete their purchases and return indoors before the skies opened.
He licked his lips, eager to taste the fresh bread as he headed for the baker’s stall. He needed something to help rid him of the taste in his mouth.
Gusts of wind raced down the streets. Merchants used stones and anything at hand to anchor their wares to the tables to prevent them from blowing away. He hurried past booths that were cleared and closed and came to an abrupt halt in front of the baker’s stall. Nothing. His mood fell faster than a loaf of bread taken from the oven too soon. Had the baker sold all his bread? His head snapped to the right in the direction of the bakery. Or did he fear the bad weather? Perhaps the goods were inside. He moved down the lane. In the distance, a river of people moved in the same direction, toward the bakery where a young boy hurried out clutching his prize.
He slipped into the front of the line.
“Where does he think he’s going?” Shoved from behind, Wesley straightened to his full height and looked down his nose at the villager. The complainer shrank back a step and examined the ground.
Intimidation, a tactic he’d learned training to fight with his bare hands, served him well at court, in the Kings service, at other times, and apparently, now.
“We’ve all waited in line.” A woman with a red scarf tapped her foot and shot him a cold stare. “Wait your turn like the rest of us.”
He said nothing as he stepped to the baker’s table. He shifted from one foot to the other as he waited for the old woman in front of him to arrange the three breads she bought in the basket and finally left.
“One loaf of bread.” He slapped his coin on the table.
The baker gave him an evil look while he swiped the coins from the counter, and his wife gave Wesley a loaf of bread.
He let out a breath and glanced at the line behind him. Fifteen people filled the small area. Some avoided looking at him, tapped their foot, kept looking out the door and still others gave him a tight-lipped smile. All they wanted was their bread so they could get wherever they needed to go before it rained.
Wesley took more coins out of his pouch and gave them to the baker’s wife.
“What’s this for?” she asked as she examined him then the coins. The people around him quieted and listened.
“This should be enough to pay for everyone’s bread. It’s my way of thanking them for letting me come to the front of the line.”
The woman in the red scarf stared at him then at those around her. Whispers rushed up the line like a fast moving storm.
With a tip of his hat to the baker’s wife and a respectful grin to the woman behind him, he made his way out of the bakery the beneficiary of smiles and blessings.
He stepped into the intersection of two lanes amid a flurry of people and wagons. The wind whipped around the buildings. A lost child wailed for his mother and shopkeepers shouted offers at the top of their lungs, trying to sell the last of their goods.
Urgency won out over politeness as people hurried along, bumped into each other, and stepped on toes without any sign of remorse.
Villagers gave a wide berth to a young boy, the same one he saw rushing out of the bakery. The child was trying to tug a loaf of bread from a growling dog. The animal was obstinate and refused to let go. Wesley stepped around the scene as the animal fiercely shook his head, snapped his prize out of the child’s hands and sent him backward.
Wesley caught the lad before he tumbled in front of an oncoming wagon.
“Are you hurt?” Wesley asked, setting him upright.
The lad searched up the lane, his face a mass of tears, a small piece of bread clutched in his fist.
He didn’t have time for this. But his heart went out to the lad with a gaunt face and scrawny arms.
“No use going after the dog. He’s eaten your bread by now.”
The boy looked at him with sorrowful eyes.
Wesley went to his pouch to take out a coin, then decided against it. The child would never get through the baker’s line.
“Here, I have an extra loaf.” He handed the bread to him.
“Sir? I don’t—”
“Don’t lose this one.”
The youngster clutched the bread close to his chest and looked up at Wesley, his eyes full of gratitude.
“Many thanks, sir.” The lad’s face lit in a smile.
“Now off with you,” Wesley nudged him on.
The boy hesitated a heartbeat then hurried off.
Wesley’s stomach snarled and growled. He licked his lips then shoved his hands in his pockets and continued on to the dock.
He kept his eyes on the distant housetops searching for the mast with the blue flag. The mast should be visible from here. Still looking up, he turned the corner and slammed into a gentleman, sending the man’s hat flying.
“Whoa, Wesley. Why the hurry?” Graeme Maxwell, a ship-owner and head of the Ellenbeich Merchant Association, stood in front of him. Startled, Wesley picked up the older man’s hat, brushed it off, and handed it to him.
“Sorry, Maxwell. I’m on my way to the dock. My silks are aboard the Trade Winds.”
Maxwell gave him a pitiful look and laid his hand on his shoulder. “There’s no need to rush. She already sailed.”
He glanced toward the harbor and checked again. Surely Maxwell was wrong. He controlled the epithet that formed behind his teeth and raised his arm toward the waterfront.
“My silks.” His arm fell to his side. He gave his thigh a hard slap. “I stowed them on board this morning. How will I get to Dublin now?” He ran his hand through his hair.
“You’re in luck. I brought my new ship, the Sea Diamond, to the Hebrides from my European route. The Trade Winds’ Captain Hawker challenged my Captain Richards. He was adamant that his birlinn ship could beat my cog to Ellenbeich. We’ve given Hawker a head start. Come with me. Richards and I would be happy for you to join us.”
“I don’t know how to thank you.”
“After you are reunited with your cargo in Ellenbeich we can all celebrate our victory while you wait for a ship to Dublin.”
“Here, let me pay for my passage,” Wesley began to reach for his money pouch, but thought better of it. He pulled a large green gem from his pocket placing the jewel in Maxwell’s hand. Maxwell dealt in gems and would find this more appealing.
“The gem is beautiful.” Maxwell held it to the light and studied the stone then gave it back to him. “Put your treasure away. I won’t take advantage of you, down on your luck having missed your ship. I know the tight margins of trade.”
“You are the gem expert. Did I strike a poor deal for this?”
“Strike a deal? Is that how you came to own this gem? Or were you trying to keep it? You’re bruised and cut.” Maxwell stared at the discoloration on his face.
As a boy, Wesley was bullied and never was any good at fighting, but in the King’s service he quickly understood that fighting was a path to survival. He learned that lesson two years ago.
“Your money or your life.” Two thieves demanded.
“I have nothing of value.” Wesley pulled his pockets inside out to show them he had nothing.
The bigger of the two came at him. He pushed the man’s hands away, turning him to the side. Wesley grabbed his opportunity. He bent low, his shoulders into the man’s hip and wrapped his arms above his knees and pulled him down.
The other thief pulled him up by his collar and pinned his arms behind him.
The big man swung and hit him in his stomach. He bent over but didn’t go far. The man holding him pulled his arms back further. Dazed, his head came up in time to see a fist aimed at him.
“This is too easy.” The thief pulled back his arm for another blow, a wide grin on his face.
“Then let me make it more difficult.” The man spun around and was caught in the jaw by a right cross, then fell to the ground unconscious.
“Now, now, we was just having fun with our friend,” the thief said.
Through swollen eyes that could hardly see, Wesley saw his protector approach, his glare focused on the man holding him.
The thief pushed him toward the man and fled. The Viking lord, to whom he had sold three bolts of silk, caught him. “You don’t look too bad. Come, we’ll get that swelling down.”
“You have my thanks,” Wesley said.
“You need to learn a thing or two about defending yourself, my friend. Consider this your first lesson, one on what not to do. We’ll start the rest of your instructions tomorrow.”
The memory faded. Wesley touched his bruised chin. He was still taking lessons from the Viking.
“You found me out, Maxwell” Wesley jested. “I train with a friend whenever our paths cross, but I assure you he looks no better.”
“Maybe I should hire someone to teach me. Trading is becoming a dangerous livelihood. Pirates roam the waters seeking easy prey. But enough about somber things, you asked if the stone is valuable. It is. Let me know if you’d like to sell it. I’m sure we can agree on a price.”
Maxwell’s confirmation to its value satisfied him, although he was surprised the man didn’t take the stone for passage.
“I saw your Sea Diamond at the dock. She’s impressive, but a cog design is big, not as sleek or fast as the lighter birlinn design of the Trade Winds. Some would say without any oarsmen and only wind for power, you are at a disadvantage.”
Many along the shipping route were aware Maxwell was bringing his new ship to the Hebrides. None of the traders suspected a cog design. It was a radical change from the birlinn design used in these waters, and an expense. He glanced at the man from the corner of his eye.
“Do you really believe that? You’ve captained ships similar to the Sea Diamond in the Mediterranean. You must know the cog is more maneuverable. Their sail can be moved to catch the wind no matter the direction. The stationary sail on the birlinn can’t do that. The cog’s deep hull can carry more cargo for trading, and soldiers for fighting. I had fore and aft-castles constructed for protection and comfort. But you can see that for yourself. Come, we must hurry. I don’t want to give Hawker any more of an advantage than I already have. We can discuss the merits of the ship once we’re on board.”
Maxwell didn’t give him a choice, just pulled him along at a quick pace toward the dock. But few did something without taking payment or without a reason, Maxwell included. That all remained to be seen.
* * *
A privateer for the English King out of the Cinque Ports in the south of England, his actions lined the King’s pockets and made Wesley a wealthy man. He piloted many cogs in Europe and had a lot of experience with a ship like this. The lessons he learned on the sea served him well.
Now, Wesley walked the deck of the Sea Diamond, a cross between a merchant ship and a man-of-war. The improvements were impressive. It would take Maxwell’s crew some time to learn the ship if they didn’t lose it to the pirates.
The Sea Diamond had fortifications in the bow and stern. Built above the gunwales, the small castle had arrow slits in the walls. He nodded his approval at the protection they gave archers as they rained arrows down on the enemy from their position. If the ship was boarded, the fortifications would be powerful strongholds, very difficult to breach. Under the one at the bow was an open storage area, but there were closed cabins under the fortress at the stern of the boat.
The Sea Diamond had the usual main square sail and a triangular lateen sail as well. The lateen was angled to extend far above the square sail and down nearly to the deck. The free end of the sheet secured near the stern. With an adjustment, this sail captured the wind no matter what direction it came.
He inhaled the salty air and took a position at the starboard rail. With the mainsail full, the ship raced on. He let his mind wander and soaked in the view. It was good to be on Loch Linnhe after being away. His father would have approved.
The trip half-over, he glanced toward the stern and the darkening clouds that followed them. They appeared to be catching up. His mind worked to determine how to manage the sails and the tiller in a hard blow. Even after all these years, he remembered the loch, the shallow and the deep parts. In a pending storm sailing the ship would be a challenge, but one he could manage.
Maxwell came up beside him, rested his forearms on the rail, and stared at Lismore Isle in the distance. “What do you think of my ship? I want to convince others in the Association to invest in ships like this so we can all thrive.”
“The Sea Diamond is a beauty and well deserves her name.”
“The improvements are an expense. Over the last few years, pirates have hampered merchant shipping. Many owners either abandoned these waters for less troublesome trade routes or took their trade by land. They could not afford the pirate attacks, cargo losses, or worse, confiscated ships.”
“I understand your passion. I support your cause, but I’ll let men like you stand against the pirates. My business is in Europe. I’m here to deliver silk to the Isle of Skye and Dublin. If I hadn’t been so eager to sell two extra bolts in Inverlochy, I would be on the Trade Winds right now.”
“Ship off the larboard bow,” a sailor atop the mast shouted.
He and Maxwell glanced up at the sailor to see where he pointed. Wesley hurried to the larboard side, Maxwell one step behind him.
At the call, crewmen ran up the ratlines making their way halfway up the mast.
He strained with the rest of the men to make out what ship was near, but Shuna Island, one of the many Hebrides blocked their line of sight. The Sea Diamond kept moving and as it passed the outermost point of the island, the other ship came into view. It, too, ran with the wind.
“She’s a birlinn by design. She doesn’t fly any colors,” the barrel man called down.
“I can’t make out the ship’s name. Do you think she’s the Trade Winds?” one of the men asked.
“Hawker wouldn’t stop here. He’d be rushing to Ellenbeich to win the bet,” Wesley said. He turned to Maxwell. The man’s concerned gaze riveted on the birlinn.
“Men,” Richards boomed. Maxwell and Wesley turned with the rest of the crew toward the captain. “We must keep our course and the sail full. Take your positions and stay alert.”
“Captain, Wesley, come with me,” Maxwell said. “I want to discuss our options.” The men made their way across the deck to the cabins in the stern. They entered a narrow passageway and went into the center cabin. Maxwell lit the lantern on the desk, sending light everywhere.
Wesley could only stare. He’d examined the forecastle on the bow of the ship with Captain Richards, but with Maxwell in his quarters, he hadn’t examined the structure at the stern. He’d assumed the fore and aft structures were similar windowless rooms with only arrow slits in the walls.
This room appeared oddly out of place, more suited for an estate house than a cabin in a merchant ship. Dark polished wood covered the walls. A series of bookcases made up one wall and held rolls of parchments. Maps he assumed. A case on one side held three carved ivory elephants in a variety of sizes, a picture with oriental characters, a warrior’s ax, and a long jeweled knife. As a well-traveled merchant, Wesley met traders with similar mementos. He had little use for sentiment. He kept his focus on trading.
Instead of a hammock for sleeping, a four-poster bed was nailed to the floor. He examined the other furnishings, desk, dresser, and washstand. All were secured in the same manner. Only the desk chairs were moveable. The bed was covered with a red, green, navy blue and white tartan of the MacDougall clan, Maxwell’s benefactor, and close friend.
Wesley’s hands clenched at his side seeing the tartan of his sworn enemy.
Maxwell took a key from his pocket, slid a small plank on the wall behind his desk and without any pretense of hiding his actions, unlocked a small metal door. The sparkle of gems glistened in the limited light.
“You can put your gem in here if you like, in case we are boarded,” Maxwell said to Wesley.
“No, my fortune is on the Trade Winds,” he said. He wasn’t surprised to catch sight of the jewels in the small box. Maxwell traded precious stones and was renowned for the jewelry designs he sold in Scotland and Europe.
“Are you expecting trouble?”
Maxwell let out a deep breath. “You’ve not been here for some time. Recently, all the merchant ships have been harassed by pirates. I’d rather be cautious.”
Any pirate would be happy to relieve Maxwell of the ship and that small box. They wouldn’t bother asking for the key.
Maxwell set a pouch on top of a black velvet cloth, put it in the wall, locked the door, then slid the board back in place.
“Come, take a seat.” Maxwell’s hand swept over the empty chairs. “We are not close enough to Ellenbeich to make a run for it if our new companion is a pirate ship. But we do have an alternative.”
“An alternative?” he asked. Maxwell seemed calm for having a possible pirate ship nearby. Wesley flexed his hand to relieve the tension as his host poured each man a glass of wine.
“Yes. If that is a pirate ship in our midst,” said Richards. “It may be best we go to Dundhragon. The castle isn’t far. However, we don’t have to make that decision until we reach Rudha-Fionn-aird Point.”
“We’ve seen nothing of the Trade Winds. I’d hate to lose a bet without true cause. When will we reach the Point?” Maxwell asked.
“By the time we finish this bottle of wine,” Richards said. The captain sipped his wine, relaxed as if they were out for a quiet Sunday cruise.
He glanced at Maxwell over the rim of his glass. A sheen of satisfaction lit the man’s eyes.
“We don’t need to make a decision now. This ship may be no threat at all.” Maxwell put down his empty glass.
“If they are pirates, do you think they will let the Sea Diamond go without a fight? With a ship like this, they would own the area.” Wesley swirled the wine in his glass.
Maxwell’s eyes widened for a second before narrowing in anger. Wesley wondered what the man was thinking, weighing the pros and cons? Was it the prospect of losing the ship, or was winning a bet with Hawker that important?
“You make a good point. But the channel before the castle has its own issues. We have no oars. What if we lose the wind? The crew is new to the cog and how to handle her. But let’s not worry about that until we have to.”
Maxwell stood up and stretched. He pulled back his shoulders, picked up his glass, and took it to the sideboard for more wine.
“No need to get in a twist until we know what we’re up against,” Richards said. “We’ll keep watch. Let’s hope she doesn’t fly a black flag, or a red one. I witnessed what was left after pirates flying a blood flag attacked a ship.”
“Pirates are bad enough, but to kill everyone? No.” Maxwell shook his head. “Thank God we haven’t seen a blood flag in these waters.”
“My thanks for the wine. It is quite good, but I must see to the crew.” Richards rose from his chair and left the cabin.
Maxwell glanced at Wesley, the bottle of wine in hand. “Another?”
Wesley raised his glass. He didn’t have to be asked twice. This Norman wine was worth sipping, a contrast to Marsanta’s offering.
“To calm waters and good friends,” Maxwell said, lifting his glass.
The two sat in comfortable silence. Maxwell’s worried expression grew darker as they finished the bottle.
Wesley had no doubt the flagless ship behind them was manned by pirates. He pushed thoughts of Maxwell out of his head and spent the quiet time wondering if the bandits had encountered the Trade Winds.
A soft rap on the door drew their attention. Richards entered. “We’re almost at the Point. The ship is getting closer and still doesn’t fly their flag.”
Maxwell had a haunted look about his eyes. “I’ve had brushes with pirates, but I was able to avoid them, slip away. This time we may not be so lucky. Have the men ready. We will finally find what our friend is about. We go to Dundhragon. Our course change will either have them happily sail by or try to stop us.”
Maxwell led the way out of the room, Wesley and Richards close behind. Wind howled down the passageway making it necessary for them to fight their way onto the deck and top of the aft-castle. He and Maxwell stood near the captain and stared at Rudha-Fionn-aird-Point. It was only a matter of a few heartbeats until the Sea Diamond sailed past.
The dark clouds behind them clawed their way toward the ship. Gusts of wind raked through Wesley’s hair as sea spray bombarded him. The snap of the ship’s sail drew his attention and the boat surged forward. He glanced at the water and saw the smaller ship glide near them drawing close. Still, no flag displayed.
“Look lively, men,” Richards shouted above the din. The captain stared at Maxwell, an expectant expression on his face. “Sir?” he called to Maxwell obviously asking for final confirmation of their destination.
“Dundhragon Castle,” Maxwell said.
“Hard to larboard,” Richards said to Leo, the helmsman.
“I hope the Captain knows what he’s doing. The wind is against us in the channel,” Leo said standing next to Wesley.
In a burst of speed, the birlinn came alongside the Sea Diamond. A sailor from the other ship grinned and then pulled a rope. A black flag unfurled. Another sailor tugged to free the dark cloth covering the ship’s name. Black Opal.
The swift Sea Diamond cut through the choppy water. The pirates let loose their arrows as the Black Opal raced alongside then veered across the Sea Diamond’s bow. The silent bolts pierced the mast and deck. Shouts from the men who were struck echoed through the storm.
Leo had already moved the tiller as ordered, but the Black Opal’s maneuver set the two ships on a collision course. Before the helmsman could make his next move an arrow struck him in the shoulder, the head of the arrow sticking out his back. The turn incomplete, the sail emptied. Wesley caught Leo as he fell to the deck, then dragged the man to the side.
The Sea Diamond narrowly missed the Black Opal. Its sails limp, the ship drifted. Without oars, the ship would be dead in the water soon and at the mercy of the pirates.
Richards shouted orders to the crew. Wesley grabbed the tiller and pulled it hard to port. The crew handled the rigging and the sail snapped as it once again filled with wind, gracefully circled the Black Opal, and sped by.
Richards had the men manage the sheet while Wesley steered the ship toward Dundhragon Castle. But, their troubles weren’t over. The Black Opal was in pursuit.
“More sail,” Wesley demanded.
Richards stood at the rigging, barking orders. They hauled the lines to adjust the sail. The canvas billowed out and strained as it took in more air.
The wind raced down the water against the Black Opal. The pirates struck their sail and were forced to row. Unable to keep up, the Black Opal fell behind.
The Sea Diamond continued on into the channel.
“Keep to the center of the channel. These waters are littered with rocks and boulders,” Richards told him. It didn’t take them long to reach the castle and secure the boat to the dock.
“I sent word to Lord Ewan about the pirates,” Maxwell said as he left the ship with Richards and Wesley.
“We were lucky today that you missed the Trade Winds. Your quick action saved us all,” Maxwell said to Wesley, pounding him on the back. “You are the hero of the day.”
“The Black Opal is captained by that pirate, Fynn. The man is ruthless. With him in command, I expected a blood flag, not a black one. We were lucky.” Richards looked from Maxwell to Wesley. “This time.”
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