Trade Winds (Choc Lit) (3 page)

His footsteps echoed on the cobbled stones of the narrow wynds and closes. It was late and not many people were out, but he kept his wits about him, looking out for cutpurses and pickpockets. It was dark between the houses and he didn’t fancy being caught unawares, especially not with his pockets full of silver.

He reached his lodgings, two cramped rooms on the first floor of a building that had seen better days. It was situated in the less salubrious part of Edinburgh, not too far from Holyrood. Although it was a dreary place smelling vaguely of mould and dirt, he managed to ignore that most days. It wasn’t the kind of accommodation he would really like, but he was reluctant to move. The elderly landlady had a soft spot for him and had agreed on more than one occasion to wait patiently until he could pay the rent. There were times when he didn’t have enough money to eat, let alone pay her, but kind Mrs MacIver never nagged him. She was a rare gem.

Stepping through the door, he tripped over a soft bundle on the floor, which uttered a muffled squeak. Killian swore. ‘Adair, what the devil are you doing there?’ he growled, while fumbling his way to the table to light a candle.

Adair, a grubby youth with a mane of wildly curling black hair, stood up and rubbed at his ribs. ‘Tha’s sore,’ he muttered, blinking and yawning hugely. His amber eyes, which as yet seemed too big for his small face, sent Killian an accusing glance.

‘Well, what on earth made you to go to sleep by the door? You have a perfectly good mattress over there by the fire.’ Killian glared at the boy and curbed the desire to throttle him. He wanted to do that at least ten times a day, so it was nothing new.

Adair was a most unsatisfactory servant. He performed only those tasks specifically set him each day and nothing more, but he was loyal in the extreme. He was also very useful when it came to slightly shadier business. Before working for Killian, he had been a pickpocket and a thief. Killian had first come across him in a dirty tavern where he observed him going about his business. He’d been fascinated by the boy’s dexterity and skill, and after he finished his gambling for the evening, he’d gone in search of him.

He found him in the courtyard at the back, being beaten to a pulp by the landlord. The boy yelled blue murder, while the man was shouting and swearing.

‘I’ll no’ hae the likes of you in here. Haven’t I told ye afore? Robbin’ my customers, it’s bad fer business. How’re they goin’ tae pay fer their ale if ye steal their purses? Dirty little thief! I’m goin’ tae hand ye over tae the magistrate and then I’ll …’

Killian intervened and pulled the large man away from the boy, who by then had a black eye and was bleeding profusely from a cut lip. ‘Leave him be, landlord. He’s with me. Here, I’ll pay you for lost earnings and I guarantee he won’t come back. Will that satisfy you?’

The landlord glared at him, his face still suffused with rage, but the sight of the silver coins in Killian’s outstretched hand calmed his temper. ‘Very well, sir, but I never want tae see him agin, ye hear?’

Killian nodded. ‘You have my word.’

As soon as the man had gone, he dragged the little thief back to his rooms. There he cleaned him up and gave him a meal, then sat him down for a talk.

‘What’s your name, boy?’ he asked.

‘Adair.’

‘Adair what?’

‘Dinnae ken, just Adair.’

Killian stared at the youth. It seemed to him a very sad state of affairs that Adair didn’t even know his full name. It tugged at a heartstring he hadn’t known he possessed. ‘I see. You do realise you’re going to get caught eventually, don’t you?’ he said, mildly. ‘The punishment for thieving is severe.’ He made a slashing gesture across his throat.

The boy nodded and wiped his nose on the sleeve of the clean shirt Killian had given him to wear. It was much too big for him and he looked as though he was drowning in a cloud of white linen. ‘I have tae eat. I dinnae ken whit else tae do,’ he muttered.

‘I understand that, which is why I have a proposition for you. How would you like to work for me? You can be my servant, but mostly I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. In my line of business, it never hurts to know your opponent’s strengths and weaknesses.’

‘Never bin a servant afore.’ Adair sounded doubtful.

‘Well, I’m sure you can learn. Are you willing to try?’

The boy nodded. ‘I s’pose. And I’d bide here?’ He looked around, his eyes resting longingly on the fire that smouldered in the hearth nearby.

‘Yes, you can sleep on a mattress on the floor. You’ll get food every day and I’ll buy you some new clothes and shoes.’

‘Aye well, I’ll gie it a try.’

That had been the start of an unlikely relationship, but Adair proved extremely useful. He warned Killian away from potential gambling partners when he heard rumours of them being in financial straits. On at least one occasion he also picked the pocket of a man who had fleeced Killian by cheating. He was unable to keep either himself or Killian’s rooms clean and tidy. Still, Killian became fond of the youth and he knew Adair hero-worshipped him in return. Although he frequently wanted to beat him to within an inch of his life, he never laid a finger on him. Adair’s unusual talents more than compensated for his other shortcomings.

He sighed now. ‘Explain yourself.’

‘Well, I noticed ye’ve bin on a winnin’ streak lately. There’s a fair bit o’ money in yer hidey-hole.’ Adair nodded towards a corner of the room where Killian usually hid his loot underneath a loose floorboard. ‘An’ I thought, if I’d noticed, mayhap other people aye had too. Someone might come an’ try tae steal yer siller.’

‘I see. And you think that sleeping across the threshold would stop them?’ Killian asked with an edge of sarcasm in his voice. Adair didn’t reply. Instead he produced a razor-sharp knife from the waistband of his breeches. Killian frowned at him. ‘Ah, now I understand. Where did you get that?’

‘Found it,’ Adair said, although he wouldn’t meet Killian’s eye.

‘Adair …’

‘I ken, I ken, ye said tae stop pickin’ pockets, but this man was so drunk, he’d not hae kent if I’d taken the coat frae his back. I swear. And there was nae one aboot.’

Killian shook his head. ‘Well, thank you for your concern. Perhaps it’s time I found another hiding place, especially now I’ve got this to add to it.’ He pulled his winnings from that evening out of his pocket and jingled the leather pouch slightly. Adair whistled.

‘Ye
are
on a guid streak, are ye no, sir.’

‘It would seem that way.’ He grinned and pulled out the note McGrath had written. ‘I’m also the proud owner of a ship.’

Adair goggled. ‘A wha’?’

‘The
Lady Madeleine
, to be precise.’ Feeling suddenly restless, Killian was seized by an urge to go and see the ship. ‘How would you like a little outing to the harbour?’ he asked. ‘Come on, let’s go for a walk.’

‘Now? It’s the middle o’ the bluidie night.’

Killian stowed the pouch and note under a different floorboard, just in case Adair was right, and turned for the door. ‘Now is as good a time as any. I want to see my ship.’

Adair scratched his head, making the black curls look even more tousled than usual. ‘If ye say so, sir.’

Killian retrieved his cloak from the chair where he had flung it earlier, and put it back on. Leading the way out into the street, he looked for a conveyance, but because it was so late, there was none to be found.

‘Let’s walk,’ he told Adair. ‘It’s only a couple of miles to the port at Leith after all, and it’s downhill most of the way. The fresh air might clear my head.’ Adair grumbled, but followed nonetheless.

It seemed even darker outside than before. Killian ordered the boy to walk slightly behind him so he could warn him of any danger. This had the added bonus of peace and quiet since Adair was unable to chatter in his usual fashion while keeping watch. Killian needed some time to mull things over.

His lungs filled with salt-tinged sea air and his thoughts became more ordered as he strode along. The physical exercise proved a great outlet for the restless energy that had him in its grip. As he came closer to the port, Killian felt his heart beating faster and realised that he was excited at the prospect of seeing his ship. He had never owned anything as substantial in his life. It seemed fate was taking a hand, showing him the direction he ought to go.

What had happened during the evening had triggered something inside him too, a cataclysmic change of view that startled him with its intensity. For several years now, he had supported himself solely by gambling. Against the odds, he’d succeeded fairly well. Tonight, however, he had suddenly and unexpectedly come to the conclusion that he simply couldn’t go on like this. He needed a proper income.

‘You should marry a rich girl,’ Rory said, when Killian mentioned it on the way home. ‘It’s the only thing to do. M’father told me, solves all problems.’

Killian snorted. ‘And where will I find one of those? I haven’t noticed them queuing up to wed me.’

By rights, they should have done. As the grandson of Lord Rosyth, he ought to have been welcomed everywhere. Unfortunately, this was not the case. Lord Rosyth was a rich Highland laird who had somehow managed to hold on to his estates during the recent troubles with the English. He had been less successful when it came to keeping the peace with his grandson. Killian and his grandfather clashed, for various reasons, and the old man had let it be known that Killian was to inherit nothing more than the title. He considered him a ‘profligate wastrel’ and a ‘good-for-nothing lazy layabout’, among other things. No parent worth his salt would accept him as a suitor for their daughter, certainly no one with an heiress to marry off.

Either way, Killian didn’t feel ready for marriage and the last time he looked, all the available heiresses were either old or ugly. (‘A desperate lot’ was how Rory had described them with a guffaw.) He didn’t much fancy being leg-shackled to any of them. No, he was sure he could do better than that on his own.

‘My ship.’ He savoured the words on his tongue as he walked and decided he quite liked the sound of that. He was the owner of something solid at last, not just a future title that meant little or nothing. He had something to his name other than gambling gains. It felt good.

Once at the port, it took them a while to find the
Lady Madeleine
, but when they finally did, they were both amazed.

‘Gor!’ Adair squeaked, his voice still at the stage where it shifted regularly between high and low. ‘Tha’s massive.’

‘You’re not wrong there.’ Killian stared at his acquisition with awe, feeling suddenly very small.

Far from delicate and ladylike as the name suggested, she was huge and bulky, like a floating behemoth: a sea-going vessel with more masts than he could count in the faint moonlight. Killian hadn’t realised McGrath owned anything so enormous and he swallowed hard, shocked at the thought that it was now his. No wonder the man had been so angry at losing.

The ship wasn’t perfect, by any means. Despite the darkness of the night, he could see that she was in need of repair and there were obvious signs of wear and tear. All the same, a feeling of hope began to build up inside him. This really was his future.

‘I thought ye meant a wee boat, like fer sailin’ in.’ Adair blinked and gazed up at the tall masts.

Killian grinned at him. ‘To tell the truth, so did I, but this is so much better. Absolutely perfect, in fact.’

He debated whether to try and go on board for a quick inspection, but before he had time to decide, he was suddenly grabbed from behind by strong arms.

‘Got him,’ someone crowed triumphantly.

‘What the …? Let go of me. Adair, run for the watch!’

Killian kicked backwards and bucked at the same time. He succeeded in freeing himself, but there was more than one man and they were coming at him from all sides. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adair avoid being captured and make a run for it. He began to fight back, hoping the boy would soon return with help, but he knew it might take a while. He was thankful he had left his hoard of money at home, but wished he’d brought a weapon of some kind. However, as he had proved earlier that evening, he could beat most opponents with his fists given half a chance. He set about trying to do just that.

The odds were against him from the start – he counted five men, hell bent on capturing him. Although he gave a good account of himself, in the end their sheer numbers got the better of him. With one of his eyes rapidly closing, and blood pouring from a cut on one cheek, he continued to fight until they jumped on him as one. They held him down until one of them managed to land a punch to the side of his head.

He still had no idea who they were or what they wanted when the world went black.

Chapter Four

Gothenburg, Sweden

‘There you are at last, thank goodness! I could really do with some help, I tell you. These two are such a handful and with the nursemaid sick, I’m at my wit’s end.’

Jess stopped just inside the door of her mother’s little sitting room, disappointed by such an un-effusive greeting. After all, they hadn’t seen each other for nearly a year and Jess had thought she’d been missed. Unlike Robert, Katrijna had replied to her daughter’s letters, although mostly with long rambling accounts of her two youngest children, Jess’ half-brothers Ramsay and James. Aged four and one respectively, it was only natural they should take up a lot of their mother’s time. Even so, Jess had expected Katrijna’s help in persuading Robert to let her return, but there had been only vague promises.