#op36

Chapter 2: Eyes in the Hold

The Thistle was a bit worse for wear, but still intact. The crew that had boarded her tried their damnedest, but she was a sturdy ship; built for rough waters and violent men.

           The crew of The Thistle was not so lucky.

           Jamie surveyed the damage caused by the battle. The deck was stained with blood, shining black in the moonlight. Splinters of wood were scattered amongst the stains. Forty-eight men lie dead or dying. Twenty of those men were of The Thistle.

           The had won, but at what cost?

           The other ship had fled. Fair Dawn, it was called. The Thistle hadn’t the numbers or the weaponry to chase. Besides, they needed to bid farewell to their dead and lost.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

           “Malcolm McNeil.” The last body, wrapped in burlap, was honored and tossed overboard. Malcolm was a quiet man, but with deadly aim of a pistol. Some men said that he took three enemies to the grave with him.  Jamie was inclined to believe it.

           He leaned against the rails, watching Malcolm’s body bob with the waves until he disappeared beneath the surface. Returning to the sea.

           Would this be his fate as well?

           No. He promised his sister all those years ago. He would return to her.

           He could see her now in the back of his eyes. Dark hair whipping in the wind, blue eyes crinkled in amusement, or consternation. It could be either in regards to Jamie…

           He tried to send her small messages and letters whenever the ship was at port. But he knew he could never receive any in return. He wondered about her life now. Would she be married? Have children? Was he an uncle, and didn’t know?

           “Jamie, lad.” Murtagh came from behind him to lean on the rails next to him. Murtagh was an old family friend that Jamie had known his entire life. Dark, small, and severe, he was never free with his emotions. But Jamie knew he worried about him. “All the men are toasting their fallen mates. Yet, here ye are. Quiet as a dormouse. What’s on yer mind?”

           “Jus’ Jenny.” Jamie could be honest with the man. He always could be. His parents trusted him, his brother and sister trusted him. In turn, he trusted him as well.

           “Aye. I’m sure she’s fine, lad. She’s a braw woman.”

           “I ken she’s fine. She’d fight the devil if she had to.” This made Jamie smile, imagining his sister brawling with Lucifer himself. “I jus’… miss her, is all. I want tae go home.” Jamie had earned his fair share. Enough riches to last them, and generations after them. But Dougal would not let him go. He was an asset to the crew. A bonny swordsman and fighter, Dougal needed him as an ally. Of course, Jamie could leave at any time he wished. But Dougal held the gold over him. He could abandon ship, but he would not receive his share.

He must do his captain’s bidding before returning a success.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Jamie decided to join his comrades in toasting the fallen, as it would be a dishonor to their memory not to. The drinks flowed freely, as memories became slurs.

“De ye’ ‘memberrrrrrrr? ‘MemberWhenJohnFellOff zah ding-eee? He thought he washzzz drownin’, but. But. But… we washz 10 feet from shoooore!”

The best way to mourn a death was to celebrate the life.

“Aye! He washzzz thrasssshhhhing aye? But, hecoulda stood!”

“Nay, ye ‘member when Marcush drrrank 10 pintsh. In fivvve minoots?!”

“My ship an’ clothes are all in pawn!” The singing began, and the men answered in kind.

“Go down ye blood red roses, go down!”

“But, Malcolmm! He could drink ush all underrr the table!”

“Tis mighty draughty ‘round Cape Horn!”

“Go down ye blood red roses, go down!”

“Aye! I’d put muh gold onnit!”

“Oh, ye pinks and posies! Go down ye blood red roses, go down!”

Between the recollecting of memories and the chanting of songs, cups quickly ran dry.

“Ish there anymore rum?”

“I’m out!”

“Jamie, be a dearieeeee, and check the hold? Pleeeease?” Rupert begged Jamie, clutching his shirt front and grinning up at him, all teeth showing.

“Och, aye! If it’ll git yer dirty mitts offa me!” Rupert’s grin, surprisingly, grew bigger, stretching his face in an unbelievable way.

“Good lad.”

Jamie descended the rickety stairs into the dark and humid cargo hold. With not but a candle for light, he had to recall where everything was placed. Crates of medicinals and linens directly to the right, barrels of powder diagonal to that. There was a small chest of jewels of inconsequential size against the left wall. A box of mixed gold coins beside that. And the rum. The rum was in the very back left corner, if he remembered correctly…

He heard a scuffling behind him; that usually meant there were rats aboard, somehow. But the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and a shudder ran through him.

He felt eyes on him.  

Not the small, black eyes of a rodent. Human eyes, boring into the back of his head. Intelligent eyes that calculated his every movement. Did a man from the Fair Dawn sneak into the hold?

Jamie spun quickly, the flame from the candle wavering at the sudden rush of air. But, alas, there was no one there. No glint of eyes, nor creaking of boot. Just the crates and barrels that crowded the hold.

Yer three sheets to the wind, Fraser.

Jamie gathered as many bottles of rum that he could carry, and headed for the stairs, giving one last glance around the room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Claire watched as the man left, his eyes squinted in suspicion. She let out a gust of air then, thankful that she wasn’t caught by the large, Scottish man. He would have either killed her outright, or brought his men down on her. She was a gifted fighter, but she couldn’t take on an entire crew on her own.

She crouched, and quietly made her way to the spot the red-headed man just left. She stole a bottle of rum out of the crate, and crawled back to her hiding spot. She pulled out the orange she had stashed in her pocket, and had herself a small feast. She needed her strength.

After all, she didn’t know how long she would have to stay hidden in the hold of this ship.

Hello, friends! If you wish to hear the sea shanty the men of The Thistle sang, I’ve provided a link! Hope you enjoyed chapter 2. Chapter 3 is where the real fun begins!

Hello all! Rolling out chapter 1 a little earlier than I expected! It’s not the most action-packed. But it is our stepping stone!

Chapter 1-The Years That Pass

He woke to the sound of metal striking metal, and the shrieks of his crew.

          “Christ, we’re being boarded!”

          “Wake up, ye bastard!”

          “Where’s my bloody pistol?”

          He was dreaming of Scotland. Of her peaks and valleys. Of heather and thistle. Of his sister.

          Beautiful things now lost to him.

          He told her it would be but the one time, to replenish what they’d lost during the hard winter. But, 4 years flew by him, and he was still on this godforsaken ship.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lallybroch, 4 years prior

          Jenny sat by the window, paintbrush in hand, catching the last bits of daylight. The fire roared, warming her back through her thick, woolen bodice. It was March. The days were warming, but the evenings still held the ice of winter. She heard the howling wind rise as the door at the front opened, and welcomed her brother. Her only brother, now.

          “And what is it ye’ll be doin’, mo phiuthar?” Jamie stripped off his coat and boots, and strode over to Jenny, placing his hands on her shoulders.

“Ye great fool! Ye’re cold as snow!”

          “And just as lovely too, I expect.” Jenny did not appreciate his humor, but she could not help the tug of her lips, seeing his eyes crinkled in amusement. “But, ye did no answer me.”

          “And, what exactly, does it look like I’m doing? Or have ye gone blind as well as dumb?”

          “I ha’ got eyes like a hawk. I just dinna believe them right now.” Jamie’s tone softened, losing all traces of teasing. “Jenny, a ghràidh, ye’ve no painted since we were bairns.” Jenny heaved a sigh.

          “I ken that, Jamie. But, I dinna ken… I thought maybe to sell them? I’m no Ellen Fraser with a brush, but I’ve a fair enough hand.” Jenny felt the need to explain her reasoning into this frivolous endeavor. “Wealthy men will pay good money to sit for hours while their likeness is painted. Wealthy women adore paintings in their large houses. Wealthy…”

          “Jenny, please.” This conversation was one he was not looking forward to. “I’ve got everything figured.” Jenny did not appreciate the way Jamie seemed to shrug it off. Their hardships, their burdens, did they not touch him?

          “Oh, please enlighten me, my laird. What do ye plan to do? What do ye plan to do with the British Army? What do ye plan do with the dead crops? The dead tenants? Our dead brother?” Jenny was shaking. Partly from anger, partly from fear. The unknown future was frightening. There was barely any food. A new tenant dead every day. The sickness ravaging Broch Morda. Devastating the house at Lallybroch…

Dead tenants meant no rent. And no rent meant no money, for themselves, for the surviving tenants. They could barely take care of themselves, much less the hundred people counting on them.

Jamie breathed deeply, pushing the anger out of him. He couldn’t throttle his sister. Not now anyway. She would be even less pleased with his news.

“I spoke wi’ Dougal today,” Jamie started.

“And did he try to recruit ye? That man is as transparent as the air. When will he give up?” Jenny had turned her focus back on her painting. She wasn’t one to complain, but her uncle Dougal was a piece of work.

“I think that’s the last time he’ll try.”

“Oh, aye? Good.”  Jamie’s face told her it was not good. He didn’t quite look as if he were in mourning, but it was close enough that a stranger wouldn’t notice the difference. Jenny did, though. “Ye dinna look so happy about it. What did ye say to him?”

“Jenny, dinna be upset wi’ me…”

“What did ye say?” She was fierce, painting forgotten again. Her eyes were completely trained on her brother. They cut through him. Ice blue, and just as sharp. She knew how pig-headed he could be; how stupid he could act. She feared his answer.

“I told him I’d go wi’ him. Jenny, listen!” But Jenny had already thrown her brush on the floor, and stomped out of the sitting room. “Jenny, ye clotheid, listen to me!”

“I’M THE CLOTHEID?” She spun around quickly, causing him to lose his balance. “You decide to go on one of these ridiculous ‘adventures’ with our ridiculous uncle, and I’m the clotheid? Leave me here to tend to everyone? This is yer estate now!” Jenny was fire, on the path of destruction. Boots stomping, hair flying, cheeks flushing. She would leave no survivors.

“It’s Willie’s estate…”

“Willie’s dead, Jamie! Been dead for a month now! I’m sorry that ye have to grow up, and be a man!”

“I am a man! I’m trying to keep my tenants alive! Gold, Jenny! Think about it!”

But she would hear none of it. Ignoring his pleas, she plodded up the stairs, the sound of her boots reverberating through the house.

~~

Jamie did not see his sister until dinner the next evening. The silence was deafening. It told Jamie more than anything she could ever say.

“I have thought about it.” Jenny’s voice was soft and cracked, but startling in the quiet. “About the gold, ye told me to think about it. I did. I have. It would be lovely, to not worry about such things. To not only survive, but thrive. But, Jamie… Ye’ll be a thief! Ye’ll hang! I’ll no see my brother dead! Not the only one I have left!” Jamie saw it then. It was not anger, or hatred. But fear. Jenny was afraid. It was something he wasn’t familiar with.

“I’ll no die, Jenny. I promise. I’ll only be gone 3 months, maybe.” He walked around the table, kneeling in front of her. He brought his hands around hers, and felt her shudder.

“Dinna make promises ye canna keep,” Jenny whimpered, her voice thick.

“This one, I will.” He wiped a stray tear in the corner of her eye. She snorted at her silly tears.

“Ye’ll make a terrible pirate, James Fraser.”

“Aye.”

“This does no mean I approve of what yer doing. I just know I canna stop you.”

“Aye. But if I come home alive and with gold, we’ll ken it was for good.”

“When you come home…”

36,000 Btu Movin Cool Portable Server Cooler – OP36

Portable AC are available in various configurations. They include: Air Conditioning, Heat Pump, Gas Heat and Dual Fuel.