The Baron's Bounty (3 page)

“My lord, the swells are getting high,” called out Toft from the deck of the Lady Bellicose - Conlin’s cog. The ship moved up and down in the waves, and the knotted lines hanging over the side of the ship slapped against the pier.

“Make certain our cargo is tied down securely,” Conlin shouted above the wind. “And bolt the door to the hold. I’ll not have rain water added to the bilge waters that already cover the floor.” Conlin headed over to his ship, watching over the procedures of his men making haste, hoping they’d finish up in time. The breeze picked up, blowing so strong now that it was hard to walk against the wind. Rain pelted down like a barrage of arrows, just as the last of the men from the beach hurried either onto their docked ships or toward town to get out of the storm.

“Sandwich, let’s get to the pub before we’re drowned,” called out Nicholas with a wave of his arm from across the wharf. Conlin had intended to do just that, until his steward called out from the forecastle of his ship, shouting loudly into the wind to gain his attention.

“Baron, there seems to be a ship caught in the storm out at sea. It is listing so much I’m sure they’re taking on water. It doesn’t look promising.” He pointed toward the ship in trouble, and Conlin suddenly remembered that his betrothed was crossing the waters right now. It could be her that was in trouble.

“Lady Catherine,” he called out and ran toward his ship. Nicholas ran behind him, following.

“Do you think that is your betrothed out there?” Nicholas asked as they made their way up the boarding plank and onto the ship’s deck.

“Dammit, I can count on it.” Conlin’s fury grew inside his chest. He would not let another wife die by the hands of God nor nature. He hurried across the wet and slippery deck, and made his way to the forecastle of the ship to try to survey the situation. Nicholas followed at his heels.

“They’ll be torn to pieces in this storm,” Toft pointed out.

“You don’t have to tell me, Squire, I’m quite aware of it,” growled Conlin feeling anxiety coursing though his blood.

“Well, it’s obvious there’s naught you can do, so just leave it.” Nicholas surveyed the situation and shook his head. “If you risk your fool neck going after them, you could lose your own ship in the process as well as your men.” He headed down the forecastle stairs. “Come, Conlin, John is waiting for us at the pub. I could go for an ale and a warm fire to dry my clothes.”

“Nay. You go, Romney. And take care of Rose if . . . if I don’t make it back.”

“What?” Nicholas spun on his heel and looked up to Conlin shaking his head. “Nay! You’re not really going to be daft enough to take your ship out in this storm.”

“I don’t have a choice,” he said in a low voice. “She’s my betrothed.”

“Your ship will be torn to pieces in this squall. Don’t be a fool, Sandwich.”

Conlin felt a nerve tick in his jaw. He knew what his friend said was a possibility, but he didn’t like him pointing it out. His heart told him to forget about the shrew and go back to his daughter instead. But his head told him it was his duty as a knight and as the betrothed of the wench that he do everything in his power to try to help her.

“Get off the ship, Romney, or I swear I’ll push you overboard myself,” he warned his friend.

“I’ve got a wife and children to think about, Conlin, or I’d volunteer to go on this crazy venture with you. You know I always have your back.” Nicholas hesitated, and Conlin could see the turmoil of his decision. He didn’t blame his friend at all. He had naught to gain by coming with but everything to lose.

“Go,” Conlin told him with a wave of his hand. “I understand. I won’t ask you to come with since there’s a good chance we won’t return. Go back to Muriel and the babies where you belong.”

Nicholas just stood there for a moment, and then gritted his teeth and shook his head. “By the rood, you know I want to come with you.”

“Get out of here and stop slowing me down.” Conlin decided he wouldn’t take Nicholas along even if he did change his mind. Things were different now that the man was married and was also a new father. Conlin wouldn’t be responsible for making his wife a widow at such a young age.

“Godspeed, good friend.” Nicholas hurried down the boarding plank and headed toward shore. Conlin watched him head toward the pub, and was glad to know he’d be returning to his family. He thought about Rose. God-willing he’d return, and be heading back to her as well. But right now his betrothed was in danger, and he would not sit back and just watch her ship go down in the storm.

He had to hurry before it was too late. It’d be hell to get his ship out to sea in this weather, but he’d sailed in bad weather before and knew what he was doing. He would only take a small crew with him – those he could count on. Just enough men to bring his ship safely through the storm.

“Are we really going after the ship in the storm?” His squire had a look of terror mixed with excitement spread across his face. He was twenty years of age, and had more than once come close to earning the right to be made a knight. If he proved his worth in this endeavor, Conlin would sincerely consider dubbing him a knight sometime in the next year or so.

“Aye. We’re going after the ship.” Conlin hurried down the stairs and called to his First Mate. “Shadwell, make sure we’ve got a crew of at least a half dozen men who are experienced in rough waters, and then pull up the boarding plank. Ready the sails and check the lines, and prepare to cast off.”

“I have the men you need, my lord.” Shadwell pointed out the ones who would come with, and waved the others off the ship.

“Good.” Conlin nodded, and looked up to the mast. His ship, The Lady Bellicose was just like her name – a real fighter, always ready for war against man or nature. He loved this ship and only hoped she was ornery enough to ride out the storm.

“Let’s get moving. We’ve got a ship full of people to save,” he called out to his crew. “And by God, I will not turn this vessel around and head back to shore until we secure my betrothed and her dowry as well. Do you all understand?”

“Aye, captain,” shouted one man.

“We’re with you til the end, Baron,” said another.

Several more affirmations assured Conlin he had the right crew to do the unthinkable task of taking a ship out to sea in the middle of a storm.

“Shrew or not, I won’t let you die,” Conlin said under his breath, and made his way to the stern to commandeer his ship and crew on a dangerous and ruthless mission. “Take good care of Rose, Nicholas,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder to the shore to see Nicholas making his way quickly toward the pub. His heart already ached, knowing the danger of this mission, and that there was a good chance he may never see his daughter again. But he’d made a decision and he would stick to it. “Cast off!” He called out into the punishing winds, hoping he could make it to his betrothed’s ship before it went down in the storm and he lost another wife – this time before he’d even met her.

* * *

The previously sunny day took a quick turn for the worst as the winds picked up and rain pelted down, soaking everyone aboard the ship sailing from Scotland to England. Isobel found herself once again doing Catherine’s bidding because of a pair of shoes. She held onto the sidewall of the ship for dear life as the captain and his crew rushed about the deck trying desperately to shorten the sails. But lowering the sails was not an easy task, even in good weather. It took time – time they didn’t have with the storm that blew in from nowhere.

“Shorten the sails,” the captain shouted at the top of lungs to his crew. The canvas sails filled with air, pushing the ship dangerously fast across the waters. The crew took hold of the lines, but the tension was so taut that one of the lines snapped, whipping around them dangerously in the wind. The men ducked as the line struck out like an adder looking for its prey. The corner of the main sail whipped in the wind, tattering and causing more trouble. The loose line flipped upward and tangled with the others, hindering any progress of their task.

“She’s stuck, Captain,” called the crewsman. “We canna lower the sail with the lines tangled.”

“Then get them untangled, and fast!” The captain shouted the order. Waves slapped at the high sides of the ship, and water sloshed onto the deck, adding to the discomfort of the rain slicing down like arrows from the sky.

The ship listed and a loose barrel rolled across the deck directly toward Isobel. She barely managed to dart out of its path, only thankful she hadn’t been hit. She grabbed onto the centerboard at the end of the sterncastle, and held on tightly.

The ship moved even faster across the punishing waters, and several brave sailors climbed the rigging to get to the yardarm to try to lower the sail by hand. They pulled at the already taut lines, and shouted out as the rope burned against their hands. Isobel watched as the ship tilted so far to the side she swore the main mast almost touched the water. One of the crewmembers lost his grip and screamed as he fell and was swallowed up by the dark waters below.”

“He’s fallen,” she cried out, making her way carefully to the side of the ship, trying to see him. “Elliot, someone’s got to save him!” She looked to her guard who was serving as her escort on this journey. Elliot made his way over to join her, holding onto everything along the way in order to keep his balance. He was a guard and good with a weapon, but worthless when it came to sailing. He looked down into the waters, but neither of them could spot the man.

“Lady Isobel, get below deck afore ye’re thrown into the sea as well.” He grabbed her arm and tried to move her, but she pulled back to look out over the water.

“Ye canna jest leave him,” she said, horrified to think they’d let the man die.

“We’re all goin’ te die if this storm doesna let up,” said Elliot.

“Nay. We’ll be all right.” She tried to convince herself this were true. “Someone will help us.” Looking at the size of the swells that were now almost up to the top of the mast, she was no longer certain.

“Dinna be a fool,” growled the guard. “No one is daft enough te risk their own neck comin’ after us in weather like this. And if this crew doesna get those sails lowered quickly, the ship will be torn to pieces.”

Lightning flashed across the blackened sky, and she saw the silhouette of the second crewman floundering atop the mast. He reached out for the lines just as another gust of wind hit the sails, and he almost lost his hold. The ship lurched back the other way, and a large wave hit the side, causing everyone to be set off balance. She heard the man in the rigging scream when he fell, but she never saw nor heard him hit the water because the high swells carried him away before anyone could try to help him.

Her stomach roiled and she felt as if she were going to retch. She dug her nails into the wooden railing, and said a silent prayer. Now she knew why her cousin, Catherine, feared storms. She also wondered if the woman had somehow known bad weather was on the way, and that was the reason she was sent to meet the baron instead of Catherine coming on the journey herself. Marry, not meet, she silently corrected herself. Once again she thought of why she was even aboard this ship at all. She was her cousin’s proxy, sent to marry the baron in Catherine’s place until her cousin decided to grace all of England with her own presence.

Isobel looked down at her new ankle-high suede boots and felt sickened at the sight of what the saltwater had done to them. The hemp thread holding them together was frayed and thinned and she could see her feet through the gaping holes in the sides of the shoes. She sighed. Yet another pair of shoes ruined and another mission embarked upon for naught.

“God’s eyes, nay.” She picked up one foot and almost lost her balance as she tried to see the bottom of her shoe. She’d fallen for one of Catherine’s ploys once again. And this time, more than shoes were being offered as part of the deal. Supposedly if she did this task, Catherine had told her she’d convince her father to let Isobel live at Carlisle Castle in Galloway. That is, the castle that was once Isobel’s home.

Isobel missed her parents dearly, and had no other family except for her uncle and cousin. But she hadn’t been happy living in Fife for the past eleven years. She wanted more than anything to go home once again.

Carlisle Castle was where all her memories of her parents lie. She hadn’t been back since her father’s death, and would do anything to have the chance to see her home again. But now by the looks of the storm, she wasn’t even sure they’d make it to England so she could carry out her task of being a proxy in a marriage to a man who she wasn’t at all convinced didn’t kill their Scottish king.

“Captain canna ye do somethin’ te keep the ship from lurching?” she yelled out, feeling dizzy and very ill.

The captain glanced over to her and Elliot with a look of frenzy on his face. “Get the wench below deck afore she falls inte the sea.” He went about trying to help what was left of his crew.

“Come on, lassie,” said Elliot. “Ye need te get outta their way afore ye cause trouble.”

“I swear Catherine must o’ kent a storm was comin’,” said Isobel regretting her decision once again. “Damn her eyes!” Isobel followed behind as the guard dragged her over the deck and toward the hold. She felt she’d lost control of her life lately. Catherine had decided at the last minute before the ship left that Isobel was to be her proxy. She was being sent to marry Lord Conlin de Braose in her place, and was not happy about it. She felt doomed since that night five months ago, and wondered if God were punishing her because she’d never told anyone but Catherine what she’d witnessed.