The Jezebel (Taskill Witches 3)

“She gladly took the weapon,” Brady interrupted. “We all saw it with our own eyes.”

“Aye, but I’d be willing to wager the other man would have chosen a target somewhere much less forgiving than your shoulder, and it would be a burial at sea we’d be arranging now, not a rest-and-repair task, with the captain alive and well.”

One man dipped his dirk in the salt water, then plucked at Roderick’s wound. “Barely scraped the skin,” the sailor announced. “Your coat and shirt have suffered more.”

Roderick closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. The pain from the exploratory poking he was being subjected to didn’t stop his mind from running with questions. Had Maisie turned the gun on him to save him from a lethal shot? Could she have wounded him on purpose, to protect him and his shipmen?

He couldn’t be sure and never would be, not unless he heard the truth of it from her own lips. But that was not about to happen.

Once his shoulder had been bandaged and his shirt and coat returned, Roderick stared across the water as the four ships sailed away, roundly putting distance between the rowboats packed with men from the Libertas, streaking away from them with Maisie aboard. Roderick barely felt the pain of the injury she’d given him. He plucked the spyglass from his pocket and scoured the deck of the navy ship, but could see no sign of her. “They are headed out to sea and back to London.”

As soon as he’d said it, the lead ship abruptly changed course again.

“One ship is now heading north, Captain,” someone shouted from one of the other rowboats.

Roderick frowned. A change of plan? Why did he care? He didn’t trust them not to turn on him, take down his men with cannon. Nothing to do with the woman, Maisie from Scotland.

“They did us a good turn, Roderick,” Brady insisted. “We wanted rid of her.”

Deep down, Roderick knew he was right. They were better off without her. She had caused dangerous friction between him and his men, and she’d taken vengeance on him for her imprisonment. Still, he watched the navy vessels and couldn’t bring himself to respond, instead wondering where they were headed. The only harbor large enough to receive them in the estuary was Dundee.

Clyde laughed low in his chest. “I wonder if they are aware they are carrying a witch.”

“So you admit she’s a witch?” quizzed Brady, apparently still angered by Clyde’s earlier comments.

“Oh, yes, she is definitely a witch.” Clyde paused, clearly enjoying the audience, for the other two rowboats full of Libertas men clung close to theirs despite the fact they bobbed about on the brisk sea, the men eager to hear the discussion. “Does that mean she had bad intentions? Maybe not. She’s from the Highlands, where many good healers hail from.”

“It’s true what Clyde said,” a voice declared from the second boat.

Roderick had to twist his neck—an uncomfortable maneuver, given that his shoulder was so tightly bound—to seek out who had spoken. It was Adam, the young Dutchman who she had healed.

When all eyes turned upon him, Adam brandished his hand. “She is a good person. She healed me, and I’m glad of it. If I had the chance, I would thank her by offering her my loyalty for life.”

“You see?” Brady declared. “She has enchanted you all so much you are blind to it. None of you see the danger now, despite the fact we are adrift without our ship because of her, and she has shot our captain. It is the work of the devil, for she has enslaved you all!”

Roderick could see he was going have to take charge of this and focus them on staying afloat, despite his injury. “Brady, be quiet.”

When Brady gave him a questioning look, Roderick nodded. “We must think on our next move.”

It was madness to think of anything else right now. Yet he couldn’t get the image of Maisie out of his head. It was a mercy that she had missed his vitals. Again the thought made him pause. Could Clyde be right, that she was saving him from a fatal shot? Roderick shook his head slightly, convincing himself it was only foolish lust that made him hanker after her. Wanting one woman this much was no good for a ship’s captain. “We head for Dundee, as planned. We owe it to Gregor to be there, if no other reason.”

Other reasons crowded his head, and his heart.

“They have the Libertas in tow now, Captain, and they are definitely headed into the estuary.”

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“As are we.” He and his men would meet with Gregor Ramsay as arranged many months before. But Roderick could not shake the curiosity he felt about whether the navy vessel that carried Maisie and the man she called her master were now bound there, too.

“Gregor Ramsay will not be happy about this,” Brady commented. “God help our sorry souls if he is there to see the Libertas dock in Dundee with the navy standard aloft.”

“No,” Roderick replied, “he will find out because we’ll be the ones telling the tale over a flagon of rum, well away from the British navy.”

His obligation to his fellow shipman, Gregor Ramsay, was his priority now, but he had the wild notion that he could regain charge of the Libertas. Once they were sure the navy men were not aware that they followed, they could head safely for Dundee, take back the ship, then await word from Gregor.

Why do I even think it’s possible? Roderick wondered.

It was a dream born of frustration.