A Stroke of Luck (5 page)

"Forgive me," she said through gritted teeth. "It seems I was wrong in assuming you were three sheets to the wind."

In response to the rather ungracious admission, he inclined his head a barely civil nod.

"But I was not wrong on the other accounts. You are at least partly to blame for us being stranded upon these shores."

"And you, Miss Admiral of the Amazons?" The sarcasm had returned, and was fairly dripping from his words." I trust you are also going to bear some responsibility for running us up on the rocks—"

"That's quite enough." Stump punctuated his gruff order with a slap of his one remaining palm upon one of the rocks. "Hell's Bells, you should both be ashamed of yourselves. We have enough obstacles to overcome without the two of you brangling like children." After a quick glance at Perry and Nonny, who were following the heated exchange with great interest while polishing off the rest of the rabbit, he amended his analogy. "Not that the present company of young people have exhibited any such behavior."

Zara suddenly felt all the fight leak out of her. She did not often give way to doubt, but like the smashed hull of her sailboat, her confidence had sunk to rock bottom.
Good Lord, had she made a terrible mistake in setting out on this voyage?
She had known that the elements were unpredictable, and that it would take a great deal of skill to navigate through all the dangers, but the risks had seemed worth it.

Now, she was not so sure.

However, it was too late to turn back. Ducking her head to hide the tears she felt welling up in her eyes, she began to stuff her few meager possession back into the small canvas sack.

"Oh, what does it matter whose fault it is?" The words, hardly more than a whisper, were meant more for herself than anyone else. "What is done is done, and we shall just have to make the best of it." Squaring her shoulders, she turned to her brothers. "Finish your breakfast, and then let us pack up our bags and pick a direction to start walking."

Nonny scrambled to his feet. "Don't worry, Zara. We have been in far worse places than this and have always found our way clear."

"That's right," piped up his brother. "Remember that inn in Genoa—"

"Actually, I would rather not." However their plucky attempts at keeping her spirits afloat did manage to buoy her sense of humor. She managed a wan smile. "That was an awfully close shave."

"As I recall, you had to remove a bit more than just whiskers from the chin of that drunken Venetian merchant." Nonny's eyes narrowed as he cleaned off the blade of his knife. "You should have let me help you fend off the son of a—"

"I only resort to violence when absolutely necessary."

"You should not have to fight off such louts by yourself." Assuming a twisted scowl, he set his hands on his hips and thrust his chest out. "Not when you have Perry and me to protect you."

His adolescent limbs were still as gangly as those of a growing puppy, so the effect was not quite as menacing as he intended. Still, she took great care to repress any quirk of amusement. "And I could not wish for two more stalwart defenders," she assured him. But as she spoke, Zara could not help wondering what it might be like to have a man's shoulder to lean on. Such girlish fantasies were then ruthlessly shoved aside. She had learned quickly over the course of her journey that it was not a shoulder that most men sought to offer a lone female.

"However, our main concern at present is not fending off a lecherous Lothario, but in finding some way out of these wilds. So let's be off."

Stump levered somewhat awkwardly from his seat on the sand. "Mind if we come along with you?"

Zara noted that his companion looked about to argue, then clamped his jaw shut.
 
"Oh, why not?" she answered with a wry grimace. "Like it or not, it looks as if we are stuck with each other for the time being."

Chapter 3

The young lady was right. Her problems were not any of his concern, Prestwick assured himself. And she was wrong. It was hardly his fault that some submerged hunk of rock had sabotaged her plans. Still, he could not help feeling a tad guilty for having contributed, however unwittingly, to the burden upon those slim shoulders. He tried to imagine Lady Catherine—or any young lady of his acquaintance—left on her own in a foreign land, with two younger siblings to look after and naught but her own pluck and resourcefulness to fall back on.

To no avail, save for grim images of shattering vinaigrettes and fainting females. The confounded chit may be as abrasive as a pebble between his toes, but he couldn't help feeling a grudging admiration for the flintiness of her courage.

Not to speak of a debt of thanks for saving his life.

And the lads themselves appeared to have redoubtable spirit, despite their tender years. They had faced the uncertainties of the raging storm without a whine or whimper, and had shown a gritty self-reliance that would have put many a grown man to shame. That their tongues were impertinent and their manners disrespectful was irritating in the extreme, yet he had to admit that the fierce loyalty and obvious affection the siblings had shown for each other was impossible to find fault with.

Ignoring the sting of his blisters, he picked up his pace a bit, so as not to fall too far behind the others.

Stump had lingered at the crest of the high dune and now fell in step beside him. "Good news. We have spotted a number of sheep up ahead. It is a sure sign that someone is living close by."

"Good news, indeed," growled the duke. "Even better news would be the sighting of a leg of mutton, garnished with roast carrots, baby peas and mint sauce."

"You should have sampled the rabbit. It rivaled any of the specialties that your fancy Frog chef whips up."

"Hmmph! I suppose you, too, are going to roast me for being a pampered prig."

"I've already done that," replied the valet dryly. "But perhaps it bears repeating." The snort from his employer caused the corners of his mouth to turn upward. "Come, this ain't so bad, is it. Fresh air, a brisk walk, stimulating company—"

"Another damn platitude from your lips and I swear, I shall throttle you on the spot," muttered the duke.

A bark of laughter slipped from his valet's lips instead. "I'm pleased to see your sense of humor ain't quite so waterlogged as before." Seeing his gentle teasing had coaxed a loosening of his employer's rigid features, he added, "Wouldn't want Miss Greeley and her siblings to think you naught but a peevish, pompous peer."

The duke's jaw quickly tightened. "I don't give a fig what the impertinent Greeley clan thinks."

"Well then, go ahead and keep snapping and growling like a bear with a thorn stuck in his paw."

Prestwick marched on in injured silence. Heaving a sigh, Stump followed with a heavy step. They continued on for a bit.

"I just might keep snapping," grumbled Prestwick. "Seeing as I am a duke with a cursed stone lodged in his toe."

"Perhaps you need a new bootmaker."

"No, what I need is my high perch phaeton and team of matched bays."

Stump's good-humored grin had returned. "Aw, as young Master Perry said, this is an adventure. You don't mean to say you are anxious for it to come to an end so soon?"

"It may be a moot point, as my demise from starvation may occur at any moment."

As they crested yet another tufted mound of sand, their bantering was interrupted by the sight of the young lady and her brothers waving wildly at a lone cart wending its way along a narrow path between the dunes. The commotion must have caught the attention of the driver, for the shaggy pony drew to a halt.

Slipping and sliding through the loose sand, the Greeleys hurried toward the waiting conveyance.

Urged on by the prospect of food and a ride, the duke broke into a shambling run as well. He reached the cart just as the bearded figure perched on the rough plank seat responded to Zara's question of where in the world they were.

"Eyeaaah"

At least that was what the burred roll of vowels sounded like to Prestwick's ears.

The answer must have been equally incomprehensible to the young lady, for she cleared her throat and asked him to repeat it.

"Eyeaaah."

She exchanged puzzled looks with Nonny and Perry, then turned to the duke and his valet. "Have you any idea what he is saying?"

"Eyeaaah," said Prestwick dryly.

"Very funny." She did not appear overly amused.

"Well, you did say one was supposed to maintain a sense of humor about these things."

"Hmmph!" was her only response. And yet, as she shot a warning look at the boys to leave off their giggling, he thought he detected a faint twinkle in her eyes. For some odd some reason, he found himself feeling rather pleased that he had made her expression lighten, if only for an instant.

Her attention was now focused back on the driver. "Forgive me, sir, but I seem to be having a spot of trouble in understanding what you are saying."

After a tug at his grimy tweed cap, the fellow removed the briarwood pipe from his mouth and tried again.

The results were marginally better—the duke was able to make out two distinct syllables and a hint of a consonant. "Eye-la?" he repeated, looking to the driver for confirmation.

A dip of the beard seemed to signal his guess was correct. "Cannae unnerstand why yuh Sassinach hae so much trebble unnerstanning thay own King's Englesh."

"Islay?" Zara's face fell. "Why, that is an island off the coast of Scotland!"

The fellow nodded again.

She went a bit pale. "Lud, I hadn't realized that the storm had blown us so far to the north." Then, forcing her chin up a notch, she drew in a deep breath. "Tell me sir, there must be at least a few people from here who sail regularly to the mainland?"

"Auch, aye." The black and white dog by his side added a sharp bark. "Including mesself."

"How fortuitous! Would you, perchance, be willing to take us along?"

"Auch, aye." He relit his pipe, then named a price.

Prestwick needed no translation. Nor, apparently, did Miss Greeley. After a choking sputter, she placed her hands on her hips. "That is outrageous, sir! I would rather swim to Glasgow than be taken for such a ride."

"Speak for yourself." The duke was also of the opinion that the deuced fellow was more mercenary than a Barbary pirate, but he didn't care. "The lady may do as she pleases, but my man and I will pay double if you can depart within the hour."

"Well, if that isn't outside of enough!" The glint in her eyes was no longer remotely resembling a twinkle. "It appears that not only are you an insufferable boor but a skinflint to boot! After wrecking my boat, the least you can do is offer to pay for our fare, too."

"You didn't ask," he replied with a deliberately supercilious smile. He intended, of course, to do just that, but for a few moments he wished to see her squirm a bit in payment for the small humiliations he had endured since being tossed into contact with the Greeley clan.

"Don't worry," he added. "You need not swim all the way to Glasgow. From what I recall of my schoolboy geography, it is only about fifteen miles across to Kilberry." As he spoke, his hand was already reaching into his coat for his purse.

And came up empty.

A frantic search of the rest of his pockets proved equally fruitless. "Hell and damnation!"

"Must have washed away with the waves," murmured Stump.

Muttering another oath under his breath, Prestwick made one last check before looking back to his valet. "You must have some pin money tucked away."

"Not a penny, sir."

Out of the corner of his eye, Prestwick saw that the young lady's expression was beginning to change from open-mouthed outrage to a rather evil smile.

He thought for a moment, then smiled back at her. "No matter," he announced with an airy wave. "As soon as we are ashore on the mainland, I shall send word to my banker to forward the funds to you."

"Your banker?" The driver ran his flinty gaze from the shriveled soles of Prestwick's boots to the matted tangle of salt-stiffened hair, taking in the briny breeches, torn shirt, misshapen coat and unshaven cheeks. The bark of laughter that followed caused the pipe to fall into his lap. "Duyya think we Scots hae no more brains than yonder sheep?"