Discovering Caroline

By Sheila Atley

There's a certain magic in pursuing something one cannot quite grasp…

Lady Caroline Stewart loves life, especially the enchanting one she lives on her father's ancestral estate in Yorkshire. But, beyond those happy borders exists another world – one heavy with political strife and disputed kingships, failed risings and partisans seeking revenge. It is in this bitter mood rebels hatch a scheme to spirit her ladyship away for the hefty ransom she will bring - a deed easily done when she and her family travel to London. Stolen off those very streets and put to sea, Lady Caroline is stunned to find herself aboard a vessel bound for some unknown end. Still, she refuses to give fear a foothold, vowing instead to survive, to thresh out a way home, but first she must outlast the ill-intents of men…

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 12, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543989267

Book preview

off.

Part I

Of things unseen and beauty disturbed,

whence jealous fate deceives –

Chapter One

London, four years later…

Straining on tiptoes as though she could view the whole of London from the tall, mullioned windows of her bedroom suite, Lady Caroline sighed, Oh, Mrs. Lockwood, is the city not wondrous to behold?

London is as London was three years past, my lamb, her nurse replied, tapping an impatient foot.

It has been three years, has it not? I’ve been so long in Yorkshire I’d forgotten how grand a city it is!

If ye ask me, Castle Beaumaer is just where ye –

Oh, look there! A coach approaches, perhaps it’s Cousin Elizabeth, said she as four Cleveland Bays, pulling a lacquered coach of black and gold, clip-clopped along granite setts paving St. James Square. As seconds ticked and the bays trotted well beyond the wrought iron gates of Lord Beaumaer’s newly built three-story manor of white-gray limestone, her shoulders sank, It wasn’t my cousin after all.

Nor was it countless times afore. Pray sit, I’ve re-pinned yer curls twice now.

Letting go the drapes done in a brocade of sage, rose, and pale gold depicting an idyllic garden scene, she plopped onto a tufted vanity stool, teeming with frills of ivory satin, and asked, Must you take so long? Cousin Elizabeth will be along at any moment. 

We’d be well-nigh finished if ye’d not been fidgeting an’ running to the window ever and anon, she rebuffed as they exchanged glances in the looking glass.

Very well, I’ll sit positively wooden, if it pleases you.

Caroline Sophia Stewart, if ye wish to stir my temper, yer fast on yer wey.

Mrs. Lockwood, you’re positively cross this morning!

I can’t like yer roaming the city with yer cousin – it don’t bode well.

We’re merely calling upon her modiste, said she as knees began a relentless bob.

"Humph, ye’d be better served to receive Madame Côté in yer own abode."

You well know mama is much discomfited with arranging new servants and putting all to rights. I daresay she’s relieved to give the chore of selecting my new gowns over to Elizabeth.

I cannot like it. London is rife with the worst sort of villainy and wickedness –

Oh pooh, she giggled, Elizabeth’s maid and our coachman shall be keeping watch.

Ach, there’s no reasoning with ye, said she, as Caroline, weary of her nurse’s fractious mood, refrained from speech, choosing instead to take in the freshly fitted up suite. And although the lush Turkey carpets, pastel tapestries, elegant mahogany furnishings, and ornate moldings setting off plasterwork ceilings of florid scrolls and scalloped shells were all perfectly pleasing, nothing could possibly compete with the majesty that was Beaumaer, her father’s ancestral estate in Yorkshire.

Do you wonder Stewart House caught fire thrice whence papa was having it built?

Aye, the fires did vex his lordship. But, once he sets his mind on something, he makes certain it’s finished. Now, I ken ye meant to get me off my nagging, but if ye and yer cousin are dreaming up schemes fur making mischief, ye best –

Of course, we aren’t, she protested, "it’s only that papa is allowing me but a sennight in the city afore I’m interned at Madame de Renaud’s Académie for Gentle Ladies. Oh! Now I think of it, a ride about Hyde Park would be just the thing or perhaps peeking inside a coffee house, like Lloyd’s or the Bedford –"

The countess would never allow ye to set one toe inside a coffee house.

My brothers are allowed.

Ye are not yer brothers, natheless, after the tongue lashing ye received from the earl a fortnight past, I doubt ye’ll receive privileges for a twelvemonth. Did I not say ’twould end badly if ye continued skirting yer studies for the stables and mischief? And what did ye do but sneak off to the fair in the village with the steward’s daughter to spy the long sword dancers – I’ve ne’er beheld the countess in such a state.

That was naught but an absurd lark –

So spoke the posies in yer hair, she tsked.

Oh, those, she frowned, I’ve gotten myself into quite the mare’s nest, have I not?

Ye have indeed.

Aye, they were both of them sorely vexed, grimaced she, thinking back upon that most dreadful of days as she, poised before her papa’s great mahogany desk, cringed inside as he ticked off her many crimes.

"Still and all, it’s beyond everything! I don’t wish to leave Beaumaer for the Académie, I would as lief do most anything else," sighed she as her bearing wilted. 

"Mayhap, my lamb, Madame de Renaud’s will be a grand adventure."

But for an entire twelvemonth? What shall I be required to learn that I don’t already know? I have excellent manners when I wish –

I would that ye wished more oft.

And, continued she, I speak French well enough and perfected my curtsey long ago. Plying a needle, pouring tea, and painting landscapes shan’t bring me to heel.

Shall aught?

Why should it, when its only purpose is to – to make me into a perfect bore, pouted she, besides, it will be as dull as ditchwater, I shan’t attend.

Ye shan’t? An’ when, pray, will ye be informin’ the earl?

Fie – devil take it.

Mind yer language, said she, rapping her ladyship’s shoulder with a comb.

Ouch!

Gentle ladies do not curse.

Well, it will be most vexatious, I just know it.

Ye know no such thing, riposted her nurse, when a footman tapped on the door announcing Miss Elizabeth Stewart’s arrival.

Springing from the vanity stool, she quickly bussed her nurse’s cheek and skipped hurriedly below the stairs. Minutes later, she collected a scarlet cloak of plush velvet, lined in white silk, and ran hurry-scurry to her father’s coach, where her cousin and her cousin’s lady’s maid waited. As she was handed in, Lord Richard Henry James Stewart VI, the eighteenth Earl of Beaumaer, twelfth Earl of Wyeth, tenth Baron Chester, sixth Baron Allesdale, and Knight of the Order of the Garter, called to her from the portico of Italian marble, decked in no less than six large urns bursting with manicured evergreens, "Farewell, ma petite, and mind you stay in sight of Mr. Howard at all times."

I shall, good-bye, papa! called she, blowing him a kiss.

Once her long-suffering errand with the modiste was ended, her ladyship directed the coachman, upon Elizabeth’s promptings, to London’s Cheapside.

Forgive me, my lady, said he with a severe crease in his brow, Lord Beaumaer insisted I see you directly home. He’ll be most aggrieved to learn –

Pray, don’t fret, Mr. Howard, we shan’t tarry overlong. I’ll explain all to papa upon our return, said she, pulling the door to.

Mr. Howard did as she bade and in little time, was letting the cousins and Elizabeth’s maid, Agnes, from the coach. Stepping down, Caroline thought her eyes not quite big enough to take it all in. The market boasted a seemingly endless row of storefronts on either side of the street, some five stories high, adorned with a multitude of glass and glazing and over-large windows – some bowed, others boxed – displaying their goods.

Hawkers marked the edges trumpeting the worth of their wares, while peddlers peddled newspapers and treats. Adding to the medley, was a street teeming with carts, coaches, carriages, horses, and a sea of people sure to fill the shops to overflowing.

Still, that could in no way compete with the brilliance of the draper’s shop. Crossing the threshold, Caroline found it cast in a golden halo from hundreds of lighted chandeliers illuminating gilded woodwork, sending shimmers of light bouncing off the many glass cases and brass filaments of floor to ceiling windows.

As she paused to absorb the wonder, Elizabeth, with a little tug, said, Come, we’ve much to see to!

Coursing excitedly from room to room, her cousin selected bolts of drapery that were kindly stacked on a walnut cutting table by the draper himself. And upon seeing the towering collection of silk’s, satin’s, velvet’s, in a variety of hues, patterns, and blends teetering precariously, Caroline leaned in, Elizabeth, it is all too much!

"Nonsense, your mama would have you properly outfitted, and since Madame Côté required extra fabrics, I thought it best to see to it myself."

But –

Not only that, you are very nearly seventeen and cannot be seen abroad wearing frocks meant for the nursery!

Oh, breathed she, fingering the high neckline of her gown fashioned in exquisite angel-blue velvet.

Anyway, we’re very nearly done here. I merely seek a length of damask in a certain shade of blue.

That singular hue secured, Elizabeth consigned Agnes to the draper’s assistant to sort out the particulars of cloth lengths, deliveries and billing before the cousins went dashing off to look in on various other shops. They first purchased soaps and creams from the perfumer, bonnets from the milliner, gloves from the glover, and were soon setting their booted toes atop Cheapside’s cobblestones, when a chilly autumn breeze whipped up provoking the worse sort of shivers.

Wrapping the scarlet cloak snuggly about her, Caroline giggled, I fear poor papa may swoon whence all the packages and notes arrive.

He’ll be positively vaporous, replied Elizabeth, returning her cousin’s bright smile, and send for a physician with utmost haste.

Not before I’m soundly scolded! quipped she, oblivious to long shadows slowly creeping over Cheapside shrouding shops across the way in a dark, sooty veil, or of the man lurking within. Wearing a woolen coat of muddy brown, with a well-worn leather tricorne pulled low over keen blue eyes, he leaned against the recess of a building watching as her ladyship paused before an assortment of dainties delectably arranged in a confectionery window.

With a jaw very nearly sagging to her knees, she sighed, I’ve only just realized – I’m quite famished.

Cousin, we mustn’t, comfits will spoil our figures.

In answer, she swung the door wide, and as she did, the man put two fingers to his tricorne and gave up his post.

After purchasing a paper-cone filled with sugarplums, the pair strolled past Bow Lane, when extravagantly fashioned millinery in the multi-paned windows of a shop beckoned. And there, whilst expressing her astonishment that one would dress a bonnet in such an overabundance of ostrich feathers, Caroline’s eyes drifted to the reflection of a brawny figure in the glass curling his lip much like a rabid dog, accentuating a deep scar running from his brow to the very tip of his square, cleft chin. Looking over her shoulder, she scanned the crowd and seeing all manner of humanity but him, shrugged, Did the Bow Bells not chime six-of-the-clock some time past? 

Indeed, they did – only where ever is Agnes? huffed Elizabeth, stomping her foot.

I’ve not laid eyes upon her since quitting the draper’s or Mr. Howard for all that, replied Caroline, nibbling a comfit, only then glancing up to notice an evening sun just beginning to slide ever so slowly into the fissure of the horizon, The hour does grow late.

Oh bother, I do trust they’re searching us out.

As am I, for I know not how I shall explain –

Brigands, halt! called a ruffled shop-keep racing out into the streets, raising a hue and cry.

Ho, filthy priggers! shouted a second, giving chase. A woman screeched, and in seconds, six grimy faced youths, in ragged, tattered clothing came barreling through the crowd.

Before the pair could form a thought, Elizabeth was thrust face-first onto gray pavestones, just as two felons plowed into Caroline forcing her backward some few paces, and in the ensuing chaos, drove her briskly down a side street and firmly into the walled grasp of a hulking beast whose meaty hand closed over her mouth, Good e’en, lass, he snarled as a second iron brace encased her in a relentless bear hug, squeezing the breath from her. 

Unhand me! she gasped, as a rough cloth was stuffed in her mouth.

Wrestling and kicking, she fought mightily to free herself from his massive grip when she heard her coachman calling out her name. She answered with a muffled cry, but the brute would have none of it. In a dizzying whirl, she was hefted over a shoulder and whisked away.

Moving at a hot pace, he cut through a narrow corridor and down an alleyway as she kicked, and clawed, but it was to no effect. The goliath had her in a vise.

She managed to spit out the gag when glancing up, caught a glimpse of the masts of ships at anchor in the River Thames rising above unlit buildings. Terror coursed through her limbs, and sucking in a breath, screamed, shouted, and tearing at his coat, let go a guttural cry that went unanswered, echoing instead against a void of darkened streets.

Shifting her higher on his shoulder, he darted through a maze of back streets and making a sharp turn ducked down a cart path running alongside a tavern that joined an alley. It reeked of stale liquor, rancid scraps, and something too foul to name.

Ye’re a spirited wee bit, are ye no? the scar-faced man chuckled as he swung her down aside an ox-cart, Noo, be a good lass an’ haud still.

Never! cried she, pounding his muscled chest with balled fists.

Lass, t’would be best ye stop yer blasted flitterin,’ advised the ogre, as he stripped away her cloak, sending sugarplums bouncing and scattering across the polluted street. Then pinning her against the cart with his body, withdrew a length of rope from the tumbril when she caught him off his guard, smacking him squarely across his jaw. He captured her hand in his massive one fixing her with a chilling glare, then growling jerked her arm round her back and spun her.

Despite the breadth of him, she continued to struggle, throwing elbows and stomping on his booted feet, when he pressed her even harder against the slats and drawing her other arm behind, wound rope tightly about her wrists.

Crushed against the cart, she fought to breathe as tear-filled eyes darted about for an exit – a rescue – then trembled as a guttering taper, sitting atop the tumbril, flickered, casting odd shapes against the hindmost quarter of buildings, when suddenly, another came to stand beside her – she beheld a snicker on his face – something in his hand – a cudgel.

She gasped and started to scream when a sudden, blinding pain seized her…then all was darkness.

Chapter Two

Floating between worlds in a dreamlike haze, Lady Caroline fought desperately to reach some faraway place, that glowing resplendent, encompassed the whole of the horizon and beyond. But each time she drew near, a dazzling light shone so brightly it made her head throb. Upon turning back, a dizzy discomfort claimed her coupled with the clamor of angry voices – strange voices – giving her such a fright, she’d once again seek that which lay beyond the light, when suddenly, the violent slam of a door forced her to wake.

Only she did not wish to, she only wished to seek that other world.

And although she wrestled against it, her eyes began to flutter as she slowly came to, and stirring, wondered how her buttercream bed linens had gone stiff and scratchy, and why her head ached so.

Blinking through the megrim, she glimpsed bits and pieces of a chamber to but find it oddly unfamiliar. Mistrusting her own eyes, she thought she still lay dreaming for this was neither the shining city that beckoned nor was it a place she knew – in fact, all seemed uncommon strange. But for a crease of light slipping beneath a door, the dank room she occupied would be cloaked in darkness, if indeed, one could call it a room – it seemed a mere box with plates of armor reinforcing the door’s hinges and lock.

Something was dreadfully amiss, dull senses grasped when an overwhelming urge to retch, no doubt brought on by an incessant rocking warring with the pain in her head, had her struggling to rise. Finding movement restricted, she sucked in a horrified gasp – she was fettered – bound to a small wooden berth on what she surmised was a ship of some kind in threadbare clothing that did not belong to her.

A sob escaped – closing her eyes to the nightmare, she began to weep, when the clacking of iron striking flint was followed by the glow of a lighted candle bobbing across the dark space. In mere moments, the flickering flame came to hover just above her illuminating the features of its bearer – one whose deep, hoary lines and buttonlike eyes studied her frankly before saying, La, so ye live!

Beg pardon? she sniffled.

How ye survived such a blow I dinna ken, but ye have, and that’s a fact.

A blow?

Aye, lass, an’ a mighty one, said she, bustling about the room lighting candles, Losh, but the surgeon were in a rum dither, swearing down all of heaven and hell cause the captain would no have ye bled.

Have me bled – was I so indisposed? asked she, as the woman pressed a cool cloth to her face.

Aye, ye were nigh onto death, declared she, returning the cloth to the basin, then standing before the door, knocked twice. When the lock was turned, she looked back to say, I’ll be returning anon with the ship’s surgeon.

Wait – who are you – how did I – come here? she asked, as the woman passed through the door.

Upon hearing the bolt turn, her shoulders sank. Laying her head against the berth, she contemplated her present circumstance and finding herself utterly perplexed, exhaled in frustration.

Minutes later, the surgeon entered, and after a thorough examination, scratched his head, I don’t know how you managed, miss, as you was within an ames ace from the grave, but to see you now, nobody’d imagine what you suffered.

What I suffered? Pray, won’t you tell me what has happened?

I ain’t been given leave to speak to what befell you, all’s I can say is someone give you a sound cudgeling.

Why would anyone do such a thing?

Don’t you know?

All I remember is shopping with my cousin – and a window filled with bonnets –

Your memory should be restored anon – it often does after such an injury.

Oh, but, good sir, is this a – a prison hulk? 

Nay, this ain’t no prison hulk, miss, he chuckled.

The fetters – caused me to wonder –

Don’t you be fretting overmuch as you must needs rest.

I shall try, only –

That’s a good lass, said he, rising, then, since the poultice is showing good results, I’ll fetch another straightaway, and an elixir for the pain in your head.

Good sir, might I bathe first? I feel – positively grimy.

I should think you hungered.

I’m quite famished, in sooth.

Mrs. Tallach?

Aye?

Fetch a tray from cook, if you please, then looking to Caroline, said, I’ll give you time to take your dinner before applying a fresh poultice. You may have your bath on the morrow, perhaps.

I’m obliged, doctor, for all your care.

Your servant, miss.

After a meal of broth and dark bread, the surgeon entered to see to her wound. He worked quickly, and despite her efforts, left all questions she put to him unanswered. Then, before abandoning her to the gloomy space, he measured out a dose of the elixir then quit the room.

Staring into the silence a short while, she fought for some recollection, some spark of a memory…but none came. All that remained of that one day were shadowy spaces of nothingness woven amongst garbled images making some terrible muddle.

How could one whole day go missing, she wondered when her head began to swim, and though she fought against it, succumbed to deep and undisturbed sleep.

The following morning, the surgeon agreed to her bath. On his orders, the shipmate brought in a copper tub as a column of seamen filed in toting cans of heated water. Soon, the doctor returned to see her wound tended before insisting she take another dose of the elixir that made her sleepy. Pretending to swallow the brew, she spat it out as soon as he turned his back – a trick she learned long ago in the nursery – and afterward asked Mrs. Tallach for a tray.

Having taken a light dinner, her ladyship settled into the berth, feeling much restored when, hours later, the door flew open to admit a tall, lean, well-muscled man with tanned skin, wearing a smartly plumed tricorne atop dusky sable locks that curled past his shoulders, complemented by a neat mustache and beard.

Donning a plaid neck scarf over a white linen shirt, his hands rested on a wide, leather belt sporting a sheathed sword and several well-placed dirks. Swaggering towards her with a smirk lingering about his lips, she swallowed hard then set her aristocratic little chin just so to meet his pewter stare when he seemed to have lost his footing. All smugness erased – he simply stood there gazing at her. Though the crown of her head was wrapped in bandages, she had no idea of the vision she made as some few blonde curls arranged themselves into a halo of sorts, and her eyes, bespeaking inner joy, sparkled despite her angst.

Clearing his throat, he drew closer, I thought to welcome ye aboard the Providence, lass, and see after yer health.

Good sir, might you be the captain?

Aye, Captain Alasdair MacGregor, at yer service.

I’m obliged, Captain, and think myself much recovered – though I should thank you for not allowing the surgeon to subject me to a bloodletting.

Yer servant, he bowed, a rare smile arresting his face. She studied him a moment, struck to discover his tongue profoundly immersed in a Scottish burr – quite unlike her nurse, Mrs. Lockwood, whose speech held the most middling of traces. Oh, but when her ladyship misbehaved, and her nurse was in a pucker, the burr was not so slight. All she had do was hear her name, Carrroline Sophia Stewarrrt, cried out in rolling r’s to send her fleeing to her father’s study at a dead run, and leaping into his strong embrace, he’d chuckle, "Ma petite, haste you from your nurse once again?"

 I’m trying ever so hard to be good, papa, truly, she’d cry, tucking her face in his lace cravat.

I’m quite sure you are, child.

Oh, papa, whispered she, lowering her chin.

If yer in want of aught, pray inform yer nurse, she’ll make any petitions known to me.

I’m obliged, grimaced she, attempting to shift her weight atop the straw mattress.

Yer uncomfortable, lass?

A little, must I remain bound? asked she, somewhat encouraged by his concern.

He hesitated, before calling out, Brody!

Aye, Cap’n?

See to the fetters, but if the lass misbehaves, return her to them.

Aye, Cap’n, replied he, putting a key to iron bands.

Once free, she eyed the shipmate, and lowering her voice, said, Captain, I would that I could have speech with you, when you’ve a spare moment, of course.

Perhaps on the morrow, replied he with a nod.

Thank you, said she, then smiling asked, might I sit up – if only for a trice?

A pillow, Brody, if you please, said he, taking her arm to gently ease her upright, and catching the downy cushion that was tossed to him, placed it betwixt her and the oak, saying, I’ll have a few books I keep on board brought to ye – ’twill help quell the boredom many feel on a long voyage a-sea.

Long voyage?

Ignoring her question, he bit out, Brody, where’s that Tallach woman?

She’s gone after a tray, Cap’n.

A tray?

I requested tea, interjected Caroline, was it wrong of me?

He stared at her a beat before mumbling, Nay.

Turning on his heels, he quit the cabin and rushing into the passageway, nearly collided with his shipmaster, Skene, There ye be, Cap’n, the navigator’s asking to see ye in the steer room.

Finding him pouring over charts, MacGregor asked, Is aught amiss, Gibbs?

Aye, Cap’n. Seems as how the westerlies be forcing us south an’ a wee off course.

Ach, growled he, how far south?

Aboot ten leagues thus, an’ if the winds keep to, we’ll be a sennight off oor timing.

Bloody hell, that puts us thirty days oot.

Not only that, Skene added, the delay means we’ll have to resupply. The cargo below canna survive the length to Charles Towne if we dinna.

Jist so, he agreed, we’ll drop anchor in Londonderry upon oor return to water and victual the ship.

Aye, I’ll inform the boatswain.

This errand is fast becoming a trial, MacGregor lamented. The tumbling stones of Kenna canna come soon enough.

Aye, the sooner we have done with this muddle, the better. E’er since the lass was brung aboard with a cracked skull, I kent the fairies was working against us.

It’s no owing to fairy magic, Skene, it’s owing to that fiend, Campbell – at least that’s what he calls his-self these days. 

Aye, he would make a bloody affair of it. But, do ye no worry of what his grace’ll make of oor ill-timing?

I warned them of the winds, yet they were determined to see this course through. Sailing north from the Thames could have placed the scheme in jeopardy – I see the wisdom there. But circumnavigating the Irish Isles an’ Outer Hebrides, afore reaching the old castle contains risks of a different nature.

I say again, we shouldna had naught to do with the scheme.

Caroline spent what remained of the afternoon trying to wrestle information from her nurse about her situation, but found the dratted woman to be as tight-lipped as the surgeon.

And so, by the time candles were extinguished for the night, she had determined her predicament desperate, and prayed her family was aware some ill-fate had befallen her and was even now searching for her – for a surety they were – any notion elsewise could not be borne.

For the first time in her life, she felt helpless, forsaken, afraid – and the strangeness of it all – of being lost and alone – had her crumbling into tears well into the night.

But with dawn came hope – she would be rescued – of course, she would – her brothers would seek her out as they always did and see her returned.

With that image bolstering her resolve, she raised her chin in defiance of the tears that possessed her during the night, and anyway, she did not mean to cry and would not do so again. She must be brave – her brothers would expect it of her.

Later in the day first mate, Tomas, and shipmate, Brody, escorted Lady Caroline to the quarterdeck, as the surgeon kindly granted her permission to take a brief stroll, The sea air will doubtless do ye good, lass, but ye mustn’t take in too much sun.

I’m obliged, sir, and promise to wear the bonnet Captain MacGregor supplied.

To her surprise, the sun did prove overly bright, and shading her eyes stepped a little unsteadily to the railing to behold the vast surround of brilliant, sparkling waters.

With fair winds wafting around her, Lady Caroline grasped the rail firmly, and looking out upon the deep marveled at how easily the boat moved over the sea when the voices of sailors manning the vessel caused her heart to falter – she did not know these men – these pirates, and suddenly perceived how utterly defenseless she was.

Shivering with the thought, she cried out to her papa with her whole being, stirring up tears.

No, I shan’t cry – I shan’t let them see my fear, whispered she, exhaling a ragged breath as a traitorous teardrop trickled down her cheek. Being brave, she thought, was much too hard, and as her chin quivered, a terrible screech pierced her ears. Searching the skies for a creature that could make such a sound, she discovered a white bird, with a cape of black feathers slung across his back, fairly standing atop a glittering white cap that sparkled briefly then vanished.

Her gaze lingered where the bird once alighted marveling at the abyss – the sea was the deepest, darkest blue and lay so calmly upon itself – it was mesmerizing, like dark liquid glass – and if she touched it, would it shatter? As if to test it, she leaned over the rail, when the gull’s cry roused her once again, and in seeking him, found naught but an endless canvas of melding blues and greens. 

It would be dispiriting if it weren’t so beautiful.

All too soon, a tap on her arm found her guards waiting to return her to her cabin, where she found a well-worn copy of Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe sitting atop her bed stand. Welcoming a respite from her daily habit of staring at bleak, oaken bulkheads, she read until her candlestick guttered and burnt itself out.

Several days passed when Caroline stepped above deck under blue-gray clouds bedimming the atmosphere in an ashen haze, as the fully-rigged ship sliced through waters mirroring sooty skies above. It was then her gaze met MacGregor’s for the merest of seconds, as he stood leaning against the mizzen mast speaking with the shipmaster, who, upon seeing the line of his stare, chuckled, She’s a wee bairn, ye ken.

Aye, but a bonnie one, is she no?

I’ll grant ye that, but –

Bairns do become full-grown women.

Ye best bridle yersel, Cap’n, his grace warned –

Ach, his grace be hanged. Why’d the devil no tell me all of her, eh Skene?

Happen, he kent ye’d turn the commission doon.

With oor exiled king in attendance, I couldna, e’en if I’d wished.

Nay, ye couldna, he agreed.

How the bloody hell am I to deliver such a one to those filthy cutthroats knowing all they’ve planned?

I dinna ken, said Skene, shaking his head, We shouldna had naught to do with it.

So ye’ve said a time or two. Anywey, ’twas my doing, so ye can discharge yerself of blame.

It ain’t jist that, certain crewmen have begun to take notice – she’s a sight most men be wanting to gaze upon.

Then ye best remind them of the consequences should they daur entertain aught but my orders.

Aye, I’ll be remindin’ them whence they’re called to mess.

Verra good.

Noo, aboot oor southerly course, the navigator finds the winds easing, and recommends we shape a course towards the Celtic Sea.

No jist yet.

Nay?

Nay, murmured he, looking to the one tossing crumbs to the stowaway bird, then casting a grin Skene’s way, turned to stroll in her direction.

Laughing gaily as the gull soared aloft before hovering near her, she threw a morsel high, as he, chasing the crumb, dove in a glorious arc of white feathers set bright against a leaden sky. Capturing it, he returned to his perch atop the main topsail yard to but return moments later for thirds, when a voice over her shoulder chuckled, It’s no wonder we canna rid ourselves of the blasted creature.

He merely follows our journey, Captain. 

Does he – an’ no acause ye lure him?

Perhaps he’s lost too.

Perhaps ye’ve made him yer pet.

Perhaps, she smiled.

Ye require speech, do ye no?

I do, and think myself most happy that you’ll hear me, for what I have to say is of the utmost import!

Is it?

It is, she nodded, for I must make it known to you, I’m utterly bewildered to find myself aboard your vessel!

Indeed?

I mean no insult – it’s only that I’m convinced an odious mistake has been made.

A mistake?

Perhaps a crime, she whispered, as the idea dawned.

A crime?

Well, I would have to be a perfect milksop to not understand that I am some sort of prisoner – yet, I’ve not the least notion why.

Lass, it would be well for ye to –

"And not only that,