PIRATE TRIP

Episode 1

SCAVENGER HUNTING: Season 2

By L.L. Muir

PUBLISHED BY

Lesli Muir Lytle

www.llmuir.weebly.com

Pirate Trip © 2017 L.Lytle

Scavenger Hunting Series © 2015 L.Lytle

All rights reserved

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This ebook is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of

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DEDICATION

For my Kilt Trip fans…

who never gave up hope

that Mallory and Connor would

share their story.

BOOKS IN THE SERIES

The Ghosts of Culloden Moor

by L.L. Muir

1. The Gathering

2. Lachlan

3. Jamie

4. Payton

5. Gareth (Diane Darcy)

6. Fraser

7. Rabby

8. Duncan (Jo Jones)

9. Aiden (Diane Darcy)

10. Macbeth

11. Adam (Cathie MacRae)

12. Dougal

13. Kennedy

14. Liam (Diane Darcy)

15. Gerard

16. Malcolm (Cathie MacRae)

18. Watson

19. Iain (Melissa Mayhue)

20. Connor

21. MacLeod (Cathie MacRae)

22. Murdoch (Diane Darcy)

23. Brodrick

24. The Bugler

25. Kenrick (Diane Darcy)

26. Patrick (Cathie MacRae)

27. Finlay

28. McBean (coming soon)

You’ll find more books by L.L. Muir

on the books page.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

DEDICATION

BOOKS IN THE SERIES

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

Excerpt from KILT TRIP

MORE BOOKS by L.L. Muir

About the Author

PIRATE TRIP: Episode 1

CHAPTER ONE

England, 1705. The road to Whitley Bay…

There was no bigger fool in all of Scotland and England combined. But Connor

McGee couldn’t seem to let Mallory disappear from his life, even when she’d

intentionally left him.

Damn her.

After putting the forests behind him, Connor’s race to Whitley Bay became a

blur of yellow gorse lining both sides of the road. By the time he reached the port

he didn’t care if he never set eyes on the repulsively cheerful color again. Unless,

of course, it was a brightly colored dress on Mallory Naylor’s body that would

draw his eye and show him where he could lay hands on the blasted woman. But a

clever female on the run would never wear anything so helpful.

Damn her, again.

Connor rode like the devil himself was on his tail. But in truth, it was a devil he

was chasing, a devil with night-black hair and a foolish notion that, since Connor

wasn’t dragging her before a priest, he didn’t care for her enough.

Of course he cared for the lass. Hadn’t he spent the past weeks doing

everything he could to clear the way for his friend, Rory, and Mallory’s cousin,

Bridget, to finally be together with no impediments?

Aye, he had!

Mallory should be beholden to him. And if she couldn’t manage that, the least

she could do was wait around until after the wedding celebration concluded and

pull him aside. She should have explained her plans and given him the chance to

explain why those plans were senseless.

But she was an unreasonable Englishwoman and had caused him enough worry

already to earn her a good beating.

Aye, she was an Englishwoman. One day, their countries would cut ties again,

and when they did, he planned to be on the north side of the border. She, no doubt,

would wish to remain south of it.

So why did he chase after her? Why not just let her go on her silly quest, have

her fun or suffer the consequences of her foolish notions, and be done with her?

If he were honest with himself, he reckoned he only wanted her because, at the

moment, she didn’t want him. And if that were true, the quickest solution would be

to find her, make her want him again, and be cured.

He didn’t plan to break her heart. He only needed her to understand that he

might never wish to settle with a wife and have a family of his own to worry over.

So she would be better to return to her father, let the man find her a husband who

could manage her, and live happily on.

The husband would have to be an impressive man, however. Someone who’s

wisdom she could respect. Someone who could curb her tendencies to run off on

foolish little quests as soon as all backs were turned.

Was there a man like that in the whole of England?

No matter. She would be her father’s worry soon. Connor needed only to entice

her to want him again so his pride could recover, then deliver her home. His duty

would be done.

His mount rounded a bend in the road and the smell of the sea met him like a

lost friend, found again. His heart jumped in his breast, but he told himself it was

the sea that had such an effect on him, and not the woman.

She wasn’t right in the head. That was a certainty. For why else would she

have left the safety and security of his company to set off on yet another foolish

scavenger hunt? If it was a kiss and a trinket she’d been after, he’d given her plenty

of kisses while others weren’t paying them much attention, and a few when there

were witnesses a’plenty. And acquiring a trinket for her would have been a simple

thing if she’d have simply asked for one.

It wasn’t like Mallory to be silent when she knew what she wanted…

His stomach plummeted at the possibility that his kisses were somehow

inferior and didn’t meet the requirements of her silly list. What did it matter that he

wasn’t a pirate, for instance? A Highlander, knighted by the new queen even, was

far superior to an unwashed pirate. It wasn’t as if the list really mattered. Only her

friends Vivianne and Bridget, and Connor and his companions, had known that

Mallory’s quest had been to trade a kiss for a piece of pirate’s treasure. And none

of them would have shamed her for failing such a thoughtless quest.

And there was nothing inferior about my kissing!

Connor growled and his horse took the encouragement to move faster, but

they’d already reached the ridge above the bay, and it was time to slow. He’d been

fair to certain he could catch up with the daft woman before she reached the water,

but the harbor came into view with no sign of a fleeing female between him and

the waterfront. Not one in skirts, at least.

Would she be dressed as a man again? Or would those tempting tresses be

down? What if she and the Kenton woman wore some other disguise?

No ships in the harbor. And the tide seemed low with plenty of wood showing

between dock and water. Hopefully he could find her before it rose enough to

allow boats to leave again.

Connor’s horse pranced beneath him while his narrowed eyes scoured the

docks. The poor beast was ready to plunge into the sea if asked, so Connor ran a

hand down the animal’s neck to let it know the race was over. After a few deep

breaths, the giant ribs beneath Connor’s legs shuddered, then relaxed. A pity he

couldn’t do the same, for he still had a madwoman to run to ground.

He dismounted and started down the stone slope, but stopped at the sound of

hoof beats at his back.

A horse and rider rounded the ridge. It was Ian. Or at least the man resembled

his friend. The Ian McDermott he knew wore a constant smile, a man of

chronically cheerful humor except when he was fighting—and fighting only made

him grin wider. The big blond before him was sober as a priest with a thistle up his

backside.

When Connor was preparing to leave Falstone, the property where Rory and

Bridget were married that morning, Ian had insisted that Lady Vivianne Kenton

was free to go wherever she chose—who was he to stop her? If she had no

inclination to spend more time with a fine specimen of a Scot like himself, then so

be it.

Connor waited for his friend to dismount. “What changed yer mind?”

Ian’s boots hit the ground with an angry thud and he shook the stiffness out of

his legs like he was in no hurry whatsoever. “I decided Miss Kenton doesnae ken

what she wants.” Ian brushed dust from his long thighs while he eyed the dock and

avoided meeting Connor’s gaze.

Connor chuckled. In truth, it was disturbing to see just how possessive he was

acting now that the same emotion looked back at him from Ian’s face, but it was a

relief he was not alone in his madness. What was it about Englishwomen that made

them so damned...irresistible?

He grinned at Ian. “And you ken what Vivianne wants, do ye?”

Ian nodded without smiling. “Me.”

“Oh? Aye?” Connor started moving again and gave his mount a generous

length of slack in the reins until they reached a hitching ring. “If that were true, I

would expect her to stay at Falstone, what with yer God-like person still attending

the festivities. But no, she fled.”

Ian finally faced him. “Oh? And I suppose ye’re here looking for Mallory only

to save her from the likes of Blue Brian? It has naught to do with the way she

gazed at ye over the fire for evenings on end?”

Connor shrugged. “We were simply setting the mood, trying to push Rory and

Bridget together, if ye remember.”

Ian’s smile returned briefly. “Oh, aye. All pretense.” He rolled his eyes to

Heaven and back. “Then why do ye care if the miss goes hunting for a pirate, then?

If she does fall into Blue Brian’s hands—”

Connor cut the man off with a sharp look.

Ian’s smile only broadened. “Pardon me. Not his hands, then. Just in

his...keeping.” He bobbed his head innocently. “Her father will pay the ransom, no

question. No need for ye to interfere.”

“And her reputation?”

Ian grimaced against the last ray of sunlight to the west and sighed. “Well,

there is that.”

“Precisely.” Connor’s chest eased a little with the justification. Of course he

was also looking after the woman’s reputation. Coming after her didn’t have to

mean he was well and goodly smitten with her. If he also wanted proof that his

kisses were not lacking in some way, what was the harm in it?

But his motives meant little if he wasted time finding her and she slipped away

again. If he never found her, it didn’t matter if he loved her or not, she would still

be out of reach.

The thought worried at him again. Why did she go?

Ian stopped short. “Connor.” He put a hand out, pointing.

A blade appeared in both Connor’s hands before he ever thought to reach for

them. “What is it?” No one approached them. He sensed no threat.

“The tide’s gone out.” With his chin, Ian pointed again.

Connor relaxed. “Aye. So we’ve got until morning before the tide returns.”

His friend shook his blond mane. “And if they went with it?”

Connor looked out at the empty bay. When he squinted, he could just make out

the small dark spot where a ship made for the French coast. The possibility of

Mallory being on that ship made him ill. Was she standing at the bow, looking at

the distant shore? Was she looking back, wondering if he would follow?

Or was she asking the captain if he’d ever done a bit of pirating!

“They were hours ahead of us,” Ian said.

Connor snorted and wiped the disturbing images from his mind. “Have ye seen

Mallory on the back of a horse? We must have arrived first. They’ve stopped

somewhere along the way to rest, or to hide from us. Or else they are here,

awaiting the next tide.”

His friend put a hand to Connor’s shoulder and pushed. He had to shuffle his

feet quickly to stay on top of them and not end with his arse on the cobbles. “What

was that for?”

Ian’s long arm rose and pointed up and to the left, following the progress of a

black carriage as it made its way from the far end of the docks up to the road.

“Braithwaite’s carriage,” he said. “There would have been no need of stopping

along the way.” He shook his head and scowled. “I remember well both lasses

were in the chapel during the wedding.”

Connor nodded, his gaze fixed on the conveyance. “They were.”

“And we followed Braithwaite around the property for only an hour or so?”

“At least two.”

Ian nodded. “And then another hour before we realized they were not joining

us for supper.”

Connor started counting fingers. “An hour to find Rory and Bridget—”

Ian chuckled. “She’ll never forgive us for that, I think.”

Connor nodded, remembering the blush on the bride’s cheeks when he and Ian

had stumbled into their camp—a blush that was quickly replaced by a silent but

clear promise of revenge.

“At least it didn’t take Bridget long to confess,” he said.

“Because she wanted us gone, and quickly.”

They laughed a bit more, then Connor sobered. “Four hours’ head start then.”

Together, they faced the low water in the harbor. The dark speck was gone. Had

Mallory gone with it?

Four hours’ start.

Ian was right. He’d missed her again.

Movement drew his attention. A man who might well have been the harbor

master stepped off the dock, and Connor hurried to intercept him.

CHAPTER TWO

Sitting in the shadows with her thoughts, Mallory couldn’t hide from the truth.

Connor wouldn’t be coming for her. He’d be a fool if he did, and the sober, black-

clad, Scottish knight was no fool. Fiercely loyal to his friends, and far too truthful,

Sir Connor was a gentleman—except for a few stolen kisses now and then. But you

can’t steal what is freely given.

If he’d just been a little less straightforward with her, she wouldn’t have been

forced to leave Falstone so quickly.

After she’d overheard his plans and questioned him, he’d dragged her into an

empty room, careful to keep his and Rory’s presence a secret until just before the

ceremony.

“You don’t want me,” she’d told him, just to hear him deny it.

“Of course I want ye, Mallory. I only wish I didn’t.”

Hardly a declaration of love. And with the impending wedding—a surprise

planned for the bride—Mallory had been in far too romantic a state of mind to be

flattered by his honesty. He’d tried to cheer her with his assurance that he would

most likely want to marry someday.

Most likely? Someday!

She’d given him a smile and a nod, then gone back to helping Bridget prepare

herself. And the moment she and Vivianne had been alone, they’d made a plan.

If, after her adventure was over and she ended up sitting home with no marital

prospects, she’d probably wish she would have given Connor more time. But until

then, she would put the past on a shelf and admire it later. She had an adventure

ahead of her.

And she told Vivianne just that.

“Mallory, dear, do shut your gob.”

Vivianne’s comment stunned her so completely, Mallory forgot what she’d

been saying.

“My gob?”

“Your mouth, dear. Please close your mouth. Stop talking.” Viv sighed. “If you

must worry about Connor not coming after you, then please do so silently. You are

repeating yourself, and the sound of your voice is causing my head to ache.”

Mal’s nose went in the air, but she was careful to keep her lips together, at least

for a moment. “It’s a lucky thing I know you love me, Vivianne, or I might be

wounded.”

“Yes, a lucky thing,” Viv said in a droll tone that insinuated her love was not as

certain as Mal claimed it to be.

In unison, they burst into laughter.

Viv sobered first. “Seriously, my dear. You must cease your worrying. We’ve

set our course. How Connor and Ian react is out of our hands now. And, like you

say, if we are to have our own adventures, we must rely on ourselves alone. I

refuse to spend the journey back to Edinburgh wondering if Ian cares for me.” She

turned her head and looked out the window, but Mal didn’t miss the slight quiver

to her friend’s lower lip, and she realized Vivanne would likely spend her entire

journey worrying about the giant blond. Or else she’d worry she worried too much,

which was equally as tiring.

“It is settled then,” she said cheerfully, then put a hand over Viv’s and gave it a

squeeze. “No more fretting over Connor and Ian. In fact, if they do come looking

for us, we must send them away. All new adventures, I say. Bridget’s hunt is

behind us, along with everyone involved.”

Viv turned back from the view. If she wasn’t relieved, she was at least

determined. “An excellent idea. But what about Blue Brian? He was part of that,

and yet you told Bridget you might seek out the villain.”

Mal laughed lightly to conceal her nervousness. “I only used his name to

torment Connor. If he does ask Bridget where we have gone, I wanted him to

worry, if only a little. But I told her, privately, that I would be careful to avoid the

Irishman. He might well be in league with the same men who kidnapped us

before—well, except for the dead ones—and I would rather go home empty

handed and ashamed than see those faces again.”

Viv gave a genuine sigh. “I am glad. I was trying to work up the courage to say

you would be a fool to seek out his help. I actually toyed with the idea of

kidnapping you myself and forcing you to come to Edinburgh with me.” She

laughed. “I’d be a kind abductor. Soft cushions. No ropes.”

“Just a beating now and then...if I didn’t shut my gob?”

“Precisely.”

CHAPTER THREE

The harbor master was a thirsty man.

He’d started his third mug of ale before Connor finally buried the tip of a blade

in the wood near the man’s knuckles to let him know his patience was gone.

“Aye. Right, then. Two women. Black carriage.”

Connor nodded. “Where were they bound?”

The man grimaced and closed one eye tight as if the light in the room was hard

to bear. He was nervous. Not good.

“Weeel, where they were bound is a good question, it is. A good question,

indeed.” He started pulling his mug toward him again but stopped when the zing of

metal against metal rang out. Connor had pulled his knife out of the wooden

surface and the man’s tin mug bore a shiny scrape across the back. The harbor

master pulled his hands away and set them in his lap.

“Just answers now, there’s a good man,” said Ian, forcing a cheerful smile that

usually came naturally.

“The truth of it is...” The man gulped air. “The blond lass has gone to Rome,

the brunette to Paris.”

A silent Ian pushed the mug back at the nervous man who reached for it with a

tentative hand, then drank as if it had been his first in a long time, not his third. He

quickly stood, put a finger to his forehead, and offered a mock salute. “Good day

to ye, then.”

Connor stretched his leg forward and caught the man’s boot with his own, then

lifted it. The harbormaster lost his balance and landed with his backside once again

on the bench, his eyes wide, his hands spread and shaking. “What do ye want from

me?”

“The name of the ships,” Connor growled.

The man’s shoulders rose and dropped. “Now, how would I be knowing that?”

“It’s yer harbor.” Ian leaned forward and towered over the man even though

both of them were seated. The Viking had lost his patience as well.

“Nay,” the man whimpered. “They never left from my harbor, mind.”

Connor wondered if he needed something stronger than ale to understand the

daft man. But if the fellow had simply been standing in the hot sun too long with

the light reflecting off the water, it was going to take more patience to get the

information they needed.

“Let us begin again,” he said calmly. “How do you know the women are bound

for France and Italy?”

“The women from the black coach?”

A deep breath. “Aye.”

“The coachman told me.”

“The coachman?” Perhaps they were making progress. “Did he book their

passage?”

The nervous man shook his head and looked longingly at the empty mug

before him. A barmaid appeared with a heavy pitcher, but Connor shook his head

and she backed away.

The harbor master sighed. “The coachman gave me a tidy sum, but bought

nothing. Said he to me, ‘There were two women in my coach, ye ken. The blond is

bound for Italy. The brunette for Paris.’ Then he was gone. Ye asked where two

women went. Lucky for me, I knew the answer for ye. More grateful than a pint,

ye should be, but I’m not one to be greedy, mind—”

The man broke off when he noticed the murder being planned in Connor’s

eyes. Luckily for him, he was not the intended victim, for Connor was certain he

would murder a too-clever Englishwoman who had slipped away from him for the

last time.

At the very least, the harbormaster realized he’d worn out his welcome, along

with any further chance of free ale, because he made his excuses and departed,

leaving Connor and Ian alone to speak freely.

Ian shook his head, crestfallen. “It’s just like the time they had those lads lie

for them, trying to send us in the opposite direction. Either Bridget lied to us, or

Vivianne and Mallory lied to her.”

“Just so.” Connor remembered the blow he’d felt in his gullet when he realized

the form beneath his grasp was a lad and not Mallory, that the women were still out

there, somewhere, wandering Scotland without protection. That ache was back.

“The first time I caught up with her, Mallory fought hard to keep a course for

Glasgow, but I gave her no choice. I’d bet gold she’s headed there now.”

Ian nodded. His scowl faded. “Aye. And if Vivianne still seeks a blasted love

letter from a poet, she’s likely headed back to Edinburgh and a university full of

the bastards. She was ever wanting to visit the school, but Bridget’s grandmother

never gave her the chance.”

Ian called for two fresh ales and drank his own standing up. When he set his

mug on the table, he noticed Connor sipping his drink.

“Why do ye sit there?” he said. “What had been a four hour lead is now double

that. We should be about it, aye?”

Connor turned to the maid. “I’d like a room.”

Ian gasped. “What are ye thinkin’, mon? The woman you...” He cleared his

throat and lowered his voice. “Lady Mallory is, at this moment, riding hard in the

direction of Blue Brian and you mean to sleep?”

Finally, Connor stopped studying his questionable drink and looked up at his

friend. “First of all, if I know anything at all about Mallory Naylor, she cannot ride

hard anywhere. And the lass has proven, time and again, that if she means to find

Blue Brian, there iss no stopping her.”

“And ye doona care, is that it?”

Connor winced at the accusation. “I am finished chasing the lass. I have

decided I shall never again have dust for supper because she has a mad notion or

two.” He turned back to his drink and tried to wash the bitterness from his

tongue—a tang that came from his words, not the ale. He ignored the large form

looming next to him for so long he wondered if Ian had walked away without his

noticing. So he looked.

Still beside him, his friend stood like a statue, his brow furrowed with an

uncharacteristic pucker. Somewhere outside, a bell clanged. The smell of the sea

was fading with the sunlight. Activity would die down until the tide came back

again.

The bell rang closer. A voice called out, “A calm channel. Winds to the

sou’east! Tide at five!”

Connor glanced guiltily at Ian, then turned back to his mug.

Ian chuckled. Then he laughed outright. “That is it then? No more dust, ye

say?”

“That is what I said.”

The big man clapped Connor’s back and sank down into a chair beside him,

then asked for two suppers, the second of which might or might not have been

intended for Connor.

“No more dust for supper,” his friend chuckled again. “But I assume sea spray,

on a short voyage to Glasgow, won’t upset yer gullet?”

Connor couldn’t suppress his grin. “Auch, nay. I reckon it will be a nice

change.”

“And what if some fool comes upon Lady Mallory during her journey?”

Connor ignored the worry outright. He would simply have to land in Glasgow

and, if Mallory wasn’t already there, backtrack. If Blue Brian laid a finger on the

woman, no matter what their past, the man would die.

He shrugged and felt the comfortable weight of eight blades strapped beneath

his dark clothes. “Well, then, I suppose someone should pray for them…”

CHAPTER FOUR

Hawick, Scotland

After delivering the bad news, the innkeeper stacked their luggage on the floor

between their table and the wall, gave a quick bow, then hurried away as if he had

something important to do. Mallory was more inclined to think he was afraid she

and Vivianne might kill the messenger. If her own face was any reflection of

Vivianne’s, she couldn’t blame the man.

They sat in stunned silence for a moment. What was there to say? What was

there to do, really? If the driver said he would take them no farther, they couldn’t

force him. And who could fault a fellow for accepting a fare that would take him

back home again? He was English. Of course, he’d take the first chance to leave

Scotland, especially if there was no coin to be lost by doing so.

The man’s word must not matter much to him. That was all.

Vivianne forced a weak smile. “Why is it,” she said, “that I feel like laughing,

when the situation is hardly amusing?”

Mallory nodded. “Madness is setting in. I feel it too. If we are not careful, they

shall find an asylum and lock us away. Let us think of something pleasant until we

have some food. We cannot be expected to think clearly in our starved state.”

Viv emitted a noise somewhere between a whimper and a giggle and stared

toward the window while they waited. Every seat at the Lurden Coaching Inn was

filled with people waiting for one coach or another. Though Mal and Viv had both

worn inconspicuous gowns, they’d been given a table a bit apart from the rest, and

the last four places at their table were ignored.

Finally, a serving maid headed in their direction with a blissfully steaming and

assuredly heavy tray. The soup smelled so tasty Mallory felt faint with relief. She’d

been fearing blood pudding and bannocks.

The maid set the dishes on the table and removed the tray. Then she hesitated.

“What is it?” Mallory asked, expecting a confession that the soup might

contain questionable ingredients.

“Would ye mind, terribly, sharing yer table? Only with gentry, of course, like

yerselves.”

Mallory laughed in relief.

Vivianne smiled at the girl. “Of course, we would not mind sharing. Do not fret

on our behalf.” Of course, they wouldn’t have dared be so accommodating were

they wearing disguises again and avoiding close scrutiny.

The girl twisted and waved her arm above her head, then bobbed a light curtsy

and hurried away. The innkeeper led a trio of travelers to their table, gestured at the

empty seats, then disappeared too.

The oldest and shorter of two men inclined his head. “Lord Thomas Nalder, at

your service. My sister, Lady Honoria,” he nodded at the woman to his left. “And

our brother, Reginald.” His r’s rolled only slightly. Nothing like Connor’s lilting

tongue, but still Scottish.

“Please, join us,” Viv said. “I am Vivianne Kenton from Carlisle. This is my

friend, Lady Mallory Naylor.”

Mallory winced inwardly, but it was too late to give false names.

Thomas helped his sister into her chair and sat at the head of the table.

Reginald bowed cheerfully to Mallory before taking the seat beside her. “What a

perfect day to be traveling through Hawick,” he said.

Mallory laughed. “You like the rain, sir?”

His brows lifted playfully. “You mistake me. A perfect day only because

chance has brought us all together, you see?”

“Ah,” she said. “A charmer, then. I am duly warned.”

He leaned slightly toward her. “As am I,” he whispered loudly.

Everyone laughed at that, and Viv seemed as instantly at ease as Mallory felt.

They exchanged a look, a promise to forget their troubles for a bit longer.

Honoria turned toward Viv. “Ye’re from Carlisle, ye say?”

“I am.”

“How long have ye been away?”

“Most of the month, actually. It seems like only a week, but when I think of my

family, it seems like a year.”

Honoria inhaled deeply and her eyes widened with excitement. “Well, Miss

Vivianne, rest easy. I’d be in no rush to hurry home were I from Carlisle.”

“Oh?” Viv’s brows peaked with instant worry. Mal reached across the narrow

trestle table to grip her friend’s hand.

“The city is in chaos,” the woman said. “Englishmen from all over the country

are stomping ‘round the town in search of their daughters.”

“I do not understand,” Viv said.

“Have ye not heard?” Reginald looked surprised. “Dozens upon dozens of

young ladies of English nobility are missing from their beds. It is believed most of

them are fleeing to Scotland, Ireland and France for something called a Scavenger

Hunt. By now, every villain in the country is lining up along the border with

butterfly nets. Kidnapping isn’t considered as serious a crime here as it is in the

rest of the world, of course. So I’ll wager a great deal of English coin is going to

make its way over the border before the summer is done.”

Mal dared not look at Vivianne. “Dozens?”

“It is strange,” Thomas said, his accent much less pronounced than his sister’s,

“that no one will confess what started it all. An English friend of mine has a

daughter of that age. She vowed she had no intention of participating in the hunt,

but she obviously knew something. However, even with the threat of a beating, she

would not confess how she knew about it.”

“A pact has been made, apparently.” Honoria’s eyes still sparkled with

excitement. “And those who never got away in time are finding their own fame as

martyrs to the cause.” She put the back of her hand to her forehead and sighed

dramatically, then laughed.

Thomas wasn’t laughing. He gave his sister a stern frown, but it was clear he

didn’t expect his opinion to stop her dramatics.

“A season’s worth of spinsters, is how they’ll end,” he said sadly. “Poor things.

Obviously, someone started it all, and when one of those young ladies decides that

martyrdom is not as glamorous as it sounds, the original rabble-rouser will be

tarred and feathered. Perhaps hanged.”

Reginald laughed. “And if this rabble-rouser is a woman?” He winked at

Mallory and her heart stopped.

Surely he doesn’t know!

“Women are hung now and again, brother.” Thomas’ attention turned to his

supper arriving over his shoulder and all conversation was suspended. The meal

was consumed, for the most part, in a comfortable silence.

Eventually, Honoria pushed her bowl away. “So, tell us, Mallory. What brings

the two of you to Hawick? Are you here to hire a carriage? Are you returning

home?”

Mallory took a final drink of wine while she decided what to say. The trio

would obviously think she and Viv were fools if they were participating in The

Hunt, so she had no intention of letting them in on their adventure.

“We were in Edinburgh, shopping,” she said. “Then we came south for our

friend’s wedding.”

“Is he a local, then, a Scot? And your friend English, like yerselves?” Honoria

seemed thrilled by the idea and Mal wondered if the young woman was wishing

she could do a little adventure-hunting herself.

“Yes,” Mal said. “And now I’m off to…visit a relative in Glasgow before I go

home. Vivianne is returning to Edinburgh. Her holiday was cut short by the

wedding, you see. And if what you say is true, it is best we both avoid the border

for the time being.”

Reginald nodded. “Excellent. No doubt every young woman will be detained

and every hungry-looking Scot hanged if they come anywhere near that line. At

least until all English daughters are accounted for.”

The image came instantly to mind of Connor and Ian sitting on the backs of

their horses with their hands tied, sporting nooses around their necks. And some

silly, outraged father prepared to startle the horses out from under the two.

Viv’s hand slid around her throat. “Hanged?” she whispered. Her eyes flew to

Mallory’s. Her thoughts were easily read. What of Ian? And Connor? What if they

come after us? We have to go back!

Mallory hid her worry with a laugh. “No need to fear, Vivianne. Our Scottish

friends, returning from the wedding, will be coming north. If they were hunting

Englishwomen, they’d be headed south. No one will harry them for going home.”

“Quite right,” said Thomas. “Shame on us for worrying you both. It is just a

little drama to keep our travels from getting dull.”

“What time are your coaches?” Reginald peeked past the table at their bags. “I

will help you load your things.”

Viv opened her mouth to speak, but Mal shook her head. Then, with a smile

she told the Nalders they hadn’t looked into coach schedules yet, but they were in

no hurry.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. Without comment, he looked back and forth from

her to Vivianne. Then his eyes widened almost imperceptibly. A heartbeat later, his

face went blank. Completely blank.

Heaven help me, he knows!

CHAPTER FIVE

The muffled clang of a bell woke Connor just after five in the morning. He was

instantly alert and it took no time at all for the other sounds of the dock to penetrate

his brain. Quiet calls. The rumble of oars being stored and barrels rolled. The tide

had returned to Whitley Bay.

The back of Connor’s neck tingled. Something was...off. He opened his eyes

only a slit and breathed deeply. If someone else was in their room, they would

believe him still asleep.

Ian lay perfectly still on his bed in the opposite corner. Awake, then. Ian

McDermott could never lie on his back without snoring to rouse the dead.

Barely disturbing the threadbare curtain, a thin white arm of fog reached in

through the open window, but nothing earthly joined them. The rest of the room

was silent as death.

“Did you sleep?” Ian asked in a voice too low to penetrate the walls of the inn.

“Aye,” Connor answered. “Best rest I’ve had since those three women crossed

into Scotland.” Perhaps he was simply not alert enough to remember his life before

that.

Nearly a month had passed since he first laid eyes on the dark-haired lass

sporting an equally dark beard and a set of men’s clothing that couldn’t conceal her

curves. There had been few peaceful nights since then. But if he could sleep aboard

a ship, he might soon learn what a string of peaceful nights might feel like again.

At the moment, it sounded dull.

He grunted at the turn his thoughts had taken. Had it only required one night’s

sleep to recover? The sun had yet to rise and he was ready to jump back into the

chase!

Disgusted with himself, he rolled onto his side, determined to sleep until the

fog lifted.

~ ~ ~

Mallory raised her chin slightly—she would not be cowed by Thomas Nalder’s

opinion. And she had a wicked idea the man might take her over his knee and exact

punishment on her oblivious father’s behalf if he could prove his suspicions.

“I assume something happened to your lady’s maids, your chaperone.” he said

simply.

“Yes,” Vivianne admitted. “Our driver quit on us. The girls panicked and

begged to go back with him. Perhaps they heard about the trouble you speak of.”

Clever Viv! “The innkeeper delivered the message, and our baggage, after they had

already left us.” She donned a brave smile. “But at least we were abandoned in the

best possible place. I am certain we shall have no trouble finding coaches bound

for Edinburgh and Glasgow.”

Thomas studied her for a moment and seemed to accept her story. “You’ll

accompany us, of course.”

“Of course!” Honoria quietly squealed with delight.

Mal turned a smile on an overly cheerful Reginald. “Your destination?”

“Edinburgh. I have some studying I wish to do there. Thomas has agreed to

teach a little. Honoria is coming along to play hostess for us.”

“You teach, sir?” Vivianne did a fine job of keeping her relief from being

obvious. But Mal knew her friend was pleased she would have friendly faces for

traveling companions. And Mal was relieved she wouldn’t have to worry about

her.

Viv’s reputation would be safe with the Nalders. She’d have an excuse to visit

the university, and she would have friends in the city in case of trouble. And there

was no question she would be welcomed back at the Duchess’ residence in the city,

to remain at her leisure. They would probably give her the same bedchamber she

had less than a week before.

A little adventure, a great deal of comfort and safety. What could be more

perfect?

Honoria patted her older brother proudly on the arm. “Thomas teaches poetry

and theology. They offered him a permanent position, but—”

“Alas, I have other duties. Family duties. Perhaps if I were a second son…”

Reginald rolled his eyes. “Let’s don’t start, shall we?” He stood. “I’ll just have

your bags loaded into our boot—”

Mal laid a hand on his arm. “Her baggage is the lighter colored. Three in all.”

His brow puckered. “Will you not consider coming with us? Surely you can

visit this relative another time? Or better yet, come to Edinburgh with us, then you

can go onto Glasgow en route home. A triangular adventure.”

“No. I am sorry,” she said firmly. “My visit to Glasgow has already been

postponed long enough. But I am happy that Vivianne will have your company

along the way.”

Reginald gave her a slight bow in surrender, then collected Viv’s baggage and

carried them through the crowded room and out the door.

“Please excuse me,” Honoria said, then headed for the side door, likely looking

for the privy.

“Oh! I shall come along.” Viv glanced at her. “Mallory?”

“I am content to keep Lord Thomas company.” As soon as the other women

were out of hearing, she dropped the smile.

Thomas was equally sober. “I cannot suppose you would be willing to tell

me—”

“Not on pain of death, sir.”

He laughed without mirth. “Someone will break. Eventually.”

Mallory lifted an eyebrow. “If you wagered on it, you would lose your purse,

sir.”

The man’s eyelids lowered and he studied her face. “I will wager the rabble-

rouser is important, somehow, to win such loyalty.”

She didn’t flinch, but hid her smile behind her goblet. “Everyone is important

to someone.”

A true smile tugged at one end of his lips. “How did a clever lass like you get

cajoled into a dangerous game like this?”

“Game? I do not know what you mean, sir.” She made a diligent attempt to

appear innocent.

“Forgive me,” he nodded deeply, then stared at the table for a long while.

When his attention returned, it took him a moment to speak. “Lady Mallory, would

you be so kind as to accompany us to Edinburgh. We can send word to your

family—”

“What family, sir?”

“Your parents must be worried—”

“What parents would those be?”

“The…Naylors, I believe your friend said. Surely, it won’t be difficult to locate

the Naylor family in Carlisle—the family missing a daughter?”

She smirked. “Carlisle?”

The man lost his patience and jumped to his feet. “See here—”

“Sit down, sir. Your brother is returning. If you tell him what you suspect, I

will not allow Vivianne to leave with you. And you do want to protect her, do you

not? She is not like me, after all. Quite innocent, I assure you.”

The man nodded, then bowed and excused himself just as his brother neared. “I

will return shortly,” he murmured to Reginald, then left through the side door as

Vivianne and Honoria had.

“It’s not an easy thing to get the best of my brother,” the blond said as he sat.

“Let me guess, shall I?”

“I would rather you did not.”

He seemed amused by her response. “Ah, now. Dinna fash, my lady, My guess

would be that he asked you who the rabble-rouser is and you refused to name

them?”

Mallory opened her mouth but no clever response came to mind.

Reginald shook his head. “My brother loves a good mystery to solve. And he

gets a mite rude if someone withholds a piece of his puzzle. That is how I goad

him on a regular basis.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment. “You all know?”

He shook his head again. “My sister is far too charitable to suspect you, But

you are roughly the same age as all those who are missing. You are from just

across the border, I assume? And you have been running around Scotland for as

long as the game has been afoot.” He winked, then bit his lip briefly. “I suppose

you prefer not to gift me with that name. I would love to lord it over my brother’s

head for a few months.”

Mallory rolled her eyes.

“No? All right then. What about telling me what you are hunting for?”

Mallory shrugged a shoulder. “I cannot answer a question I do not understand,

sir.”

“Oh, ho!” He sat up straight. “Then Lady Vivianne doesn’t have a quest I

might be able to help her with?”

She gave the man’s long forearm a good pinch. “If you so much as—”

“Woah, now.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I will forget I ever

suggested—”

“Then I shall allow you to live, sir.”

He chuckled and began picking over what food was left on the table. “Mind

you, it will be a torturous ride to Edinburgh, wondering, but unable to ask.”

CHAPTER SIX

Mallory had no time to waste, but she couldn’t leave the table until she knew

for a certainty that Vivianne would be treated respectfully by the Nalder brothers.

So she sought one more reassurance from Reginald.

“Do you think Thomas will harass Vivianne? I cannot allow her to accompany

you if he might embarrass her.”

The man shook his head soberly. “My brother would not accuse her or make

her feel unwelcome. He may try to distract her, but he will not try to wheedle out

her secrets. I shall take him aside and make him promise to be on his best behavior.

Will that do?”

“Yes. Thank you. And I believe, to keep from causing a scene, I should leave

before he comes back.”

Reginald laid a hand on hers. “Must you go so soon?”

She smiled and nodded. “I would count it a great favor if you bid Vivianne

farewell for me. She will understand. Tell her I found a carriage to Glasgow, but

had to leave quickly to catch it. And I think I would like a promise from you as

well, sir.”

He pulled his hand back and grinned. “And what would you like me to

promise?”

“That you will not allow your brother to come looking for me, nor will you

come yourself.”

He tried to suppress a smile, but a dimple got away from him. “I must confess I

had considered it. If I am late for the start of classes, my brother could make

amends—”

She rolled her eyes and stood, then pressed a hand on his shoulder to keep him

in his seat. “I have a flock of men following me, intent on protecting me, sir. I do

not need one more.”

“Tell me you jest, Lady Mallory.” All smiles were gone.

“Friends of ours, I assure you.”

“You are evading well-intentioned friends? Come now—”

“It is true. And they may go looking for Vivianne as well. So do keep an eye

out for her sake, will you? Do not let them spoil her innocent fun.”

Reginald gave a gusty sigh, then nodded. “Very well. Though I do wish you

would allow me to protect you instead.”

She laughed and plucked up her bags. “Kind sir, I will have you know that, if

you followed me, it would be you who needed the protecting.”

The maid came with a tray to clear the table. Mallory gave her a smile. “Do

you have a private room where I might change?”

Reginald laughed. “You think my brother will not recognize you, if you change

your clothes?”

She gave him a cryptic smile. “If he does, I promise to do whatever he says.”

He narrowed his eyes, no doubt trying to guess her game. “You promise? So

you are saying that if my brother recognizes you, after you have changed clothes,

you will come along to Edinburgh with us?”

“I promise. But you cannot tell Thomas to look for me. That would hardly be

fair.”

~ ~ ~

Fifteen minutes later, when Mal descended the stairs, Thomas, Honoria, and

Vivianne had resumed their seats around the table. Reginald’s attention was on the

staircase, and though his gaze passed over her, it moved on. When it returned, it

rested on her bags, then his eyes found hers.

She smiled, tipped her tricorn, and continued through the room. When she

reached the doorway, she turned back to look at Vivianne. Her friend gave her a

smile and a wink, and when Thomas’ head began to turn, she spoke to regain his

attention. Only Reginald watched her go.

Mal only hoped that, seeing her dressed as a man, Reginald Nalder would

believe she was, indeed, able to take care of herself.

She only wished she were so confident…

CHAPTER SEVEN

Why did everything have to be blue?

Connor couldn’t have been more disgusted when it turned out the carrack

bound for the North Sea, and then along the west coast to Glasgow, was named

The Blue Marlin. He expected the larger ships to have more dignified names, but

admitted it was only the color that troubled him, and only because he had spent far

too much time worrying about what Blue Brian was up to.

Perhaps the bastard wasn’t in Glasgow at all. Perhaps he was still inland,

searching for valuable folks to kidnap. Or he might have given up the trade

altogether after the fight with the fat man. It lay to reason there had been

consequences to the Irish pirate changing sides in the middle of a stramash. Once

word got ‘round, few would trust the man enough to work with him. So it was

possible he’d changed his occupation...

Connor cursed and smacked his hand against a barrel that rang low, which

made him curious about the contents. Whiskey or water wouldn’t have so low an

echo. Dried food would have rattled a bit, but swallowed the sound.

He struck the barrel again and a quick gasp escaped the wee hole. Someone

was inside!

Two deck hands gestured for him to get out of the way, then bent to hoist it up.

It jostled a bit, as if they had a hard time keeping it steady, and all he could do was

laugh as they carried their stowaway on board. He only wished Ian were coming

along so he would have someone to lay bets with. And if he did wager, he would

bet the lad inside the barrel would be discovered before nightfall—as soon as he

pissed himself and could no longer stand to sit in his own water.

At least he hoped it was a lad. If the barrel would have been larger, he might

have wondered if Miss Mallory Naylor were trying to sneak aboard in hopes of

finding a real pirate among its crew.

Damn! Where the blazes did they go with that barrel?

~ ~ ~

Mallory slipped into a stable yard at the far end of town. It was less hectic than

a coaching inn, and with so much horseflesh about, she hoped to find something

docile for sale. Better yet would be a horse and cart, but it would hardly befit a

gentleman of Lord Braithwaite’s taste in clothing to sit atop a cart when he could

just as easily sit a horse. And renting a carriage and driver seemed too dear a

luxury when she could not predict how long she would be on her own.

So, she wondered, what would make a dandy be unable to ride a horse?

A wound? To his backside?

No. Then he couldn’t very well sit on a bumpy wagon.

What then?

She perused the wide yard, hoping for inspiration. A dog with only three legs

limped out of the stable doors and into a patch of sunlight against the outer wall.

There, he crumpled into a pile and closed his eyes.

She wasn’t about to remove a limb to be believed, but she could certainly limp

easily enough. As a horse and rider trotted by, she pretended to have a rock in her

boot and limped out of the way.

With a dramatic hobble of his own, a man hurried across to yard and gave her a

bow. “What pleases ye, milord?”

She remembered to lower her voice as much as she was able. “What would

please me most, good man, would be to find a horse and cart fine enough to get me

to Glasgow. As you can see, I could not possibly get into a saddle, let alone remain

there. And I have pressing business.”

“Shall I find ye a mail coach, then?”

An hour in a coach, face to face with strangers, and she couldn’t be trusted to

keep up her manly facade for an hour. On a patient horse, it would take her two

days at least, if she only rode part of the day. But at least only the horse would

know she was a woman, and the horse wouldn’t care.

A cart was preferable, there was no doubt about it. However, her last

experience inside one was the most frightening of her life, and she would die a

happy woman if she could resist reliving that nightmare again, even in her mind.

There was no use for it. She had to improve her riding skills, which could only

be accomplished with practice. By the time she reached Glasgow, she would draw

no notice at all. And what was more, the length of her journey mattered little when

no one would be watching the roads between Hawick and Glasgow. A certain

Highlander, if he cared to search for her in the first place, would expect her to stay

to the main roads and not cut through the center of the Lowlands. But she doubted

he would look for long. The false trail she’d laid for him would lead only to

discouragement. And if he were as indifferent as she feared, a little discouragement

would put an end to it.

She refused to chide herself for the ruse. If Connor McGee didn’t care enough

to press after her, no matter what the obstacles, he certainly wasn’t the man she

wanted. But oh, how she had wanted to want him.

The stable hand stood patiently with his cap in his hands, staring at the dirt. At

the last instant, she remembered not to apologize for keeping him waiting.

“Never mind about the cart. I would like to purchase your most docile horse, if

you please. Not too tall, as I cannot mount easily.”

The man nodded and bobbed, then disappeared into the older of the two

stables. The horse he brought out first looked far too much like Round Rob

McMurtry, and there would be no putting her nightmare behind her if she were

riding atop such a potent reminder.

“Your next most docile, then,” she said.

The man frowned slightly before turning away, and she realized she’d already

forgotten her voice.

When he came back, she was quick to rectify it. “How much?”

“Twenty pounds, mum.”

She narrowed her eyes and abandoned the pretense. “Four.”

He had the grace to look embarrassed for trying to pick her pocket. “Four and

six?”

“Four and none.”

His face drooped pitifully, as if she were the one cheating him, but he nodded.

“And sixpence for the old saddle and tack.”

“Done.”

When he noticed her limp was gone, he was smart enough not to say anything,

but he wheedled her out of another coin for a clever contraption he claimed to have

invented himself. It was made of two small but sturdy frames of wood and a strap

of cloth that created a step for her. And once she was securely seated, she simply

pulled on the small length of twine to take the step with her.

Only after she had paid for the thing and secured it to her saddle did she realize

it would do her no good when dismounting. But the next time she needed to gain

the saddle, she would have no need of a mounting block.

She rode out of Corbridge on a decently docile beast, much less stubborn that

Old Hamlet had been, and she reckoned the confidence she’d been lacking wasn’t

as lacking as she’d thought.

She’d had a bit of practice on a number of things, she realized—negotiating

with men, for instance. Stable masters, Nalders, Highlanders. She had ridden a bit

on the wrong horse, been kissed a bit by the wrong man. And all of it combined to

convince her that things were not always what they seemed, including herself.

She was certainly not the same young woman who had left home in search of

adventure. And though her goal was the same, to find a pirate with a romantic bent

who might give her a kiss and a trinket to cherish, she would not settle for just any

pirate. He would need to be tall, handsome, and charming enough to outshine her

memories of Connor McGee.

A difficult order, but not impossible. And if it took her a long while to find

such a man… Well, it was best she hadn’t squandered her coins on a carriage.

With every mile that passed, Mal grew more comfortable in the saddle. She

could hardly wait to prove to Viv and Bridget that her first harried experience on

horseback had truly been Old Hamlet’s fault. Even her father might be proud…

Her father’s letter was a heavy weight against her skin, but she ignored it for

the time being. Once she had her pirate’s treasure in hand, she would worry about

sending a reply. As long as he believed she was in the care of Bridget’s

grandmother, it was doubtful he thought much about her, other than to praise God

for the reprieve he’d been given. And with no troublesome daughter to demand his

attention, he could devote all his time to his horses. A letter from her would only

disturb his idyll.

Fathers were such nervous things…

She glanced down at her black garb and laughed aloud before she thought

better of it. As far as anyone could guess, she might well be one of those worried

English fathers. As long as she maintained her costume, she could strut across

Scotland with no need to explain herself to anyone.

She’d retrieved her well-made beard from Blue Brian because she’d wanted to

keep it as a memento of their first, surprisingly dangerous adventure. Little had she

known it would facilitate the next chapter…in the Grand Scavenger Hunt of 1705.

THE END OF EPISODE 1

I hope you have enjoyed the beginning of PIRATE TRIP. The next episode

will be along shortly. In case you missed the entire first season, you’ll find it in

Kilt Trip.

Be sure to follow my new releases on my Amazon, Bookbub, or Facebook

pages, under L.L. Muir. You can also sign up to get my newsletters at

www.llmuir.weebly.com.

Thank you for playing!

Excerpt from KILT TRIP

Alistair Graham was dead.

Alistair Rory Macpherson had arrived in time to give his grandsire a good

shock, a good laugh, and a good burial. The shock had come when the old man laid

eyes on his favorite red-haired grandson from the Highlands. The laugh had come

after Rory had confided his purpose for his visit. The burial may or may not have

come days later had Old Alistair not laughed quite so hard nor so long.

His young widow was but content the man died with a smile on his face.

After surveying the crowd come to mourn his grandfather, Rory began to

understand why the man had laughed so. There was nary a wed-able, bed-able, or

even palatable lass to be found among the clan. The only suckling bairn appeared

to be Old Alistair’s new son, or else such lasses of a breeding age were well hidden

from the likes of Rory. He began to wonder if they’d caught wind of his arrival and

hidden the womenfolk, but if that were true, his grandsire would not have been so

surprised when he’d walked into the old man’s hall.

Besides the loss of his favorite relative, Rory was disappointed on two counts;

first, he would have to look elsewhere for a wife; and second, his grandsire’s clan

looked to be dying out. Living among the border reivers, they’d most likely had

their fertile women carried off along with the occasional herd of cattle. If these

Grahams didn’t do a bit of reiving of their own, they were doomed.

As doomed as Rory felt.

Perhaps somewhere between the border and his Highland home he could find a

lass who’d never heard of him, and carry her off before his tragedy reached her

ears. If he could please her enough, she either wouldn’t believe the lies, or

wouldn’t care.

No lass from his own clan would have him now, and he’d have no

Englishwoman, but he wasn’t quite prepared to leave his beloved island to find a

suitable mother to bear his children. Not yet, anyway.

Standing on the wall walk surrounding the Graham keep, Rory was relieved the

mourning days were coming to an end. With his grandfather’s home open to

mourners, all kith and kin had been needed upon the battlements. No Elliot, or

other border clansman could be trusted to keep their thumbs in their belts when

paying their respects.

“Laird Macpherson!” A Graham spotted him from the ground and scrambled

up to the narrow wall steps. “Laird—”

“I’m no laird, mon.”

“Yes, sir. Forgive me, sir. But I thought you would wish to ken some

Anglishmen are coming, all lather and leather.”

Rory’s gut clenched. He should have never ventured so far South.

“How many?” He forced himself to sound the confident Highlander he

appeared to be.

“Three, Laird.” The man cleared his throat. “I thought that since ye’re

grandson to auld Alistair...”

“Nay. Ye’ll need to settle on a new laird from among yer own. I’ll be leaving

on the morrow.” Rory nodded once for good measure.

The man’s shoulders slumped.

“You should choose a mon who will go after things that have been taken from

ye, ye ken?” He put a hand on the other’s shoulder. “If the Grahams are to survive,

you’ll need someone with fire in his belly, and a head on his shoulders. Someone

young.”

“Someone like ye, then, laird?” The man grinned. “Are you sure ye cannot be

swayed into settlin’ here?”

“I’ve little taste for English air, Mister Graham.” Rory looked South and tried

not to shudder. “And I’d not be much use as a laird if I sickened every time the

South Wind blew.” He dropped his hand back to his side. “Tell the captain of the

guard to make ready for the invaders. We’ll let the bastards come mourn, and then

Heaven help them if they’re not back across the border when the black cloths come

down in the morning.”

“Aye, laird.”

“Only for the day, Mister Graham. Dinna forget that. My friends and I will

leave when my grandsire’s tucked in the soil.”

So, Rory would play the part of laird until the Englishmen fled. It would not do

to have their enemy see how poorly led the Grahams had become, especially if

measuring the new Graham laird was the purpose in their coming.

Within the hour, Rory was wondering if he’d made a considerable mistake by

sitting at the head of Alistair’s table with his two companions, Ian and Connor, at

his sides. The Grahams had lined up for his attention to discuss matters that had

been neglected since Alistair Graham had become ill and it would take days to sort

through all the grievances, let alone hear witnesses. And Rory’d be damned if he’d

judge a man unfairly, as he himself had been judged.

“Until the English are gone,” he announced, “and you can choose a new laird, I

will only hear concerns that cannot wait a day or two. I promised only to stay until

the mourning cloths come down.”

The queue dwindled as one by one folks nodded and walked away. One lad

stood his ground.

Rory called him forward and the lad shuffled close. He smelled of dust and

pine. He looked as if he’d slept with the pigs.

“Yer lairdship.”

“I’m no laird, cousin Jamie.”

The boy’s face lit for a moment, then he took a deep breath and began.

“Since the men have been called to the wall, laird—I mean, Rory—I mean,

cousin—” Jamie blushed.

“Go on, cousin.”

Seated to his right and left, his companions, Ian and Connor, hid their smiles

behind their mugs.

“Aye.” The boy frowned, then must have remembered what he was going to

say. “Since you’ve needed the men on the walls, the lads and I have been riding

patrol...and I have a message for you from the three Englishmen, only they’re not

Englishmen at all—”

“Take a breath, Jamie. Fill yer sails and take yer time, aye?” Rory took a deep

breath too, relieved their visitors weren’t English after all. “I’ll have the message

first.”

The food ushered into the hall was of much less interest than the tale the lad

quietly told, and Rory and his friends gave the boy their complete attention until

the report was finished.

It was all Rory could do to remain seated instead of flying out the gates to see

for himself!

If you’d like to read the entire story, you’ll find it here. KILT TRIP

MORE BOOKS by L.L. Muir

*Regency Historical Romance

Blood for Ink

Bones for Bread

Body and Soul

Breath of Laughter(coming in 2017)

The Brothers Grimm (starting 2017)

Lord Fool to the Rescue

*The Ghosts of Culloden Moor

1. The Gathering

2. Lachlan

3. Jamie

4. Payton

5. Gareth (Diane Darcy)

6. Fraser

7. Rabby

8. Duncan (Jo Jones)

9. Aiden (Diane Darcy)

10. Macbeth

11. Adam (Cathie MacRae)

12. Dougal

13. Kennedy

14. Liam (Diane Darcy)

15. Gerard

16. Malcolm (Cathie MacRae)

18. Watson

19. Iain (Melissa Mayhue)

20. Connor

21. MacLeod (Cathie MacRae)

22. Murdoch (Diane Darcy)

23. Brodrick

24. The Bugler

25. Kenrick (Diane Darcy)

26. Patrick (Cathie MacRae)

27. Finlay

28. McBean (coming soon)

*Scottish Time Travel Romance

Going Back for Romeo

Not Without Juliet

Collecting Isobelle

What About Wickham

The Curse of Clan Ross Series (bundle of the first 3)

Christmas Kiss

Kiss This

*Scottish Historical Romance

Kilt Trip: Part 1

Kilt Trip: Part 2

Kilt Trip: Part 3

Kilt Trip: Part 4

Kilt Trip: Part 5

Kilt Trip: Part 6

Kilt Trip Complete

Under the Kissing Tree

*Romantic Suspense

Gone Duck

*Young Adult Paranormal Romance

Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow

Freaking Off the Grid

*Middle Grade Children’s Books

Where to Pee on a Pirate Ship

*Western Romance

under the pen name Bella Bowen

BRIDE SCHOOL Series

Book One: GEN

Book Two: LIZZY

Book Three: MOLLY

Book Four: MARY

Book Five: NADIA (coming soon)

The Infamous Mrs. Wiggs Series

PICKLESFORK

American Mail-Order Brides Series

(50 books by various authors)

DARBY: Bride of Oregon

About the Author

L.L. Muir lives in the shadow of the Rocky Mountains with her husband and

family. She appreciates funny friends, a well-fed campfire, and rocking sleepy

children.

A disturbing number of lima beans were consumed while writing PIRATE

TRIP, part 1. I kid you not. Lima beans. But then again, any amount is disturbing,

yes?

If you like Lesli’s books, be a sport and leave a review on the book’s Amazon

page. You can reach her personally through her website—

www.llmuir.weebly.com , or on Facebook at L.L. Muir.

Thank you for playing!