Rebel Kiss: A Historical Romance Novel (Scottish Rebels Book 1)

Rebel Kiss

A Historical Romance

By: Jenna Stone

Chapter One

North American
Coast, July 23, 1746

Twenty-four was
certainly not too young to die.  The problem was that Rowan Murray had never
intended to die a virgin.

As his life drew
to a sure and unexpected end, Rowan found himself regretting his noble
virtues.  Water rushed below the deck of the
Mary Catherine
plastering
Rowan’s wet clothing to his body.  The ship flailed in the storm, putting up
her final defenses before succumbing to the depths of the Atlantic.  Rowan’s
muscles strained against the shackles that bound him to the wall of the ship. 

I am going to
die.

He closed his eyes
and said a silent prayer, wishing for his last thoughts to be pure ones, and
not those of lusts that had been unacted upon.

“Lord have mercy! 
We’re all goin’ tae die!” bellowed the frantic voice at the top of the stairs. 

Rowan squinted,
wiping away the salty water that splattered his face.  He could make out the
form of a sailor standing at the top of the stairs, his thin gray hair was
plastered to his face from the combination of the whipping wind and the
frothing, angry sea.  The man braced himself in the doorway that led below
decks to the cargo compartment of the ship.  His eyes darted guiltily between
the crashing waves and the prisoners kept in the dark belly of the ship. 

The sailor gritted
his teeth together, his conscience having temporarily edged out his instinct to
survive.  He struggled down the stairs towards the prisoners.  “Get ye on deck
sae that ye can jump overboard.”

“We bloody canna
move!” Rowan yelled back over the thundering of the sea. “They’ve shackled us
tae the side of the ship.  Do ye have keys?”  Rowan’s heart began beating a
small drum of hope, thundering in his chest at the mere prospect of a chance at
survival.

The ship rolled
heavily from side-to-side in the storm.  Buckets of rain gushed down the open
stairwell into the cargo hold of the ship, soaking the prisoners to the bone. 
Rowan knew that if they were not unshackled now they would drown for sure,
helpless as the ship was torn apart in the storm.        

“Aye, I’ve got the
keys.  Spose’ it won’t hurt tae let ye have a fightin’ chance,” the man said as
he braced himself in the staircase and ambled down further into the cargo
hold.  He fumbled with a large iron key ring, eyes darting back to the
staircase and the water that was crashing down the wooden steps.

“Him first,” Rowan
insisted, pointing his shackled wrists at his younger brother Malcolm. 

Rowan noticed the
effort that Malcolm was putting into remaining composed despite the perils of
their present situation.  Malcolm’s jaw was set in a hard line.  His teeth were
clenched tightly together and only the slight quivering of his chin betrayed
him.  The boy was terrified.

Caught somewhere
between a boy and a man, Malcolm remained awkward and gangly.  Rowan felt a
surge of protectiveness as he looked upon Malcolm.  The boy looked so young
with his shortly cropped black hair and freckled skin.  Rowan said a silent
prayer of protection for his brother. Malcolm did not deserve to die today.

Please Lord,
let him make it.  Give him a chance to survive.

Malcolm’s eyes had
grown wild with fear.  He held his wrists up so that the sailor could fit the
key into his shackles.  Water poured into the cargo hold, now waist deep with
its icy chill.  The ship creaked and rolled, protesting loudly as wave after
wave crashed into her side.  The thick boards of the hull were on the verge of
cracking from the surge of the storm. 

Spouting a
continuous stream of filthy words, their unlikely savior knit his eyebrows
together in concentration against the swaying of the ship as he struggled to
fit the key into the lock of Malcolm’s shackles.  His skin was like leather,
tanned and hardened from too many hours spent in the sun.  A satisfying click
ensued, popping the iron cuff from the boy’s right wrist.  The rolling of the
ship made it difficult for the man to fit the key into the cuff binding
Malcolm’s left wrist.  He braced himself against the hull, cursing under his
breath as he forced the key into the lock.  The second shackle released
reluctantly and fell with a heavy clank against the wall of the ship.

Malcolm jumped
away from the wall.  He struggled to find his balance with the grace of a
newborn foal.  He rubbed his wrists experimentally, noting gingerly that they
had been chaffed raw from weeks of restraint.

“Hurry, man! 
Unlock them!” Malcolm exclaimed, desperate to have his brothers freed so that
they might also have a chance at survival.

“Do it yerself!” the
sailor huffed impatiently as he thrust the key ring into Malcolm’s trembling
hands and bolted up the stairs.  “It’s every man for himself now!” he shouted
over his shoulder as he retreated above deck.  “The ship’s coming apart around
us!”

“We’ve time yet. 
Doona panic,” Rowan spoke calmly.  His eyes searched Malcolm’s face and he
forced a half-smile, seeking to reassure his little brother as he raised his
shackled wrists.  “Breathe, Malcolm,” he instructed, nodding in approval as
Malcolm collected himself and took a deep breath.  The water was rising quickly
in the cargo hold, coming almost to Rowan’s chest.

Malcolm fought to
maintain his balance as the ship bucked sharply to the left.  Another gush of
water crashed down the stairwell dousing the prisoners with salty cold water.  
Malcolm slipped on the cascade of water and fell to his knees, clinging to the
keys for dear life.  The ship righted itself, sending a surge of deep water
crashing over Malcolm.  He fought to stand up, splashing and sputtering his way
back to Rowan.

Rowan closed his
eyes and said a prayer for patience.  The ship was going down.  If Malcolm was
unable to unlock their restraints soon, Rowan would command his little brother
to leave without them so that he might save himself.

“Bloody hell!”
Malcolm cursed as he righted himself, trying to brace his body against the wall
between his brothers.

“Watch yer mouth,”
scolded Quinn, wet chestnut hair plastered to his face.  “Ye can do this.  Take
yer time.  Get Rowan first,” Quinn coached, watching his youngest brother
fumble with the key ring.

Rowan again held
up his wrists, his eyes shifting warily towards Quinn.   Malcolm forced the key
into the shackle binding Rowan’s left wrist. 

“Stop shaking,”
Rowan said calmly, his eyes locking with Malcolm’s.

“I canna,” Malcolm
said, his voice wavering as he fumbled with the lock.

“Ye can,” Rowan
assured the boy.

The trembling of
Malcolm’s hands subsided and the lock sprung open, causing the metal cuff to
splash into the rising salt water as it fell slack by Rowan’s side.

“Well done,” Rowan
said hurriedly as he grabbed the keys from Malcolm.  “Ye may have just saved
us, brother,” he said hopefully as he shot Malcolm the hint of a smile.

The boy stepped
aside, relieved that Rowan had taken charge. 

Rowan struggled to
unlock his right wrist.  The lock was stuck, crusted heavily with a thick layer
of rust from many years at sea. Rowan forced the key desperately into the lock,
turning it slightly one way and then the other, willing himself not to panic. 
The key begrudgingly turned against the rust and after a moment of struggling,
the lock finally gave way.

The ship lurched
to the right, causing Rowan and Malcolm to be thrown hard against the opposite
wall of the hull.  Water spilled into the hold, now rising up to Rowan’s chest. 
The ship now lay almost completely on her side. 

The
Mary
Catherine
was going under. 

Quinn was now
suspended up in the air, his shackles hanging from the wall that was now the
ceiling.

“Go without me!”
Quinn screamed madly at his brothers.  “Ye canna save me, but save yerselves!”

“We’re not leaving
ye!”  Rowan bellowed against the roar of the ocean as he fought to right
himself in the water.  Water poured freely below the deck, filling the hold
with terrifying speed.  Rowan’s fist clenched the precious keys.  He held them
above his head, protecting them from the angry motions of the sinking ship.
Watching Quinn dangle helplessly above him still shackled to the wall of the
ship forced bile to rise in Rowan’s throat.  If there was one thing that Rowan
hated, it was being helpless.

A wave hit the
side of the ship with such force that the timbers of the hull threatened to
give way, creaking and splintering under the weight of the blow.  The ship
rocked back into an upright position, a final act of refusal before it would be
claimed by the sea.

Rowan rushed
towards Quinn and scrambled to fit the iron key into the shackle that tethered
his brother to the ship.  His hand shook, making it difficult to fit the rusted
key into the lock.  His powerful legs were braced apart and his body fought
with every muscle fiber to remain anchored to the slippery floor.  The right
shackle popped free just as another wave crashed down the stairs, knocking the
key ring to the floor.

Rowan’s heart sank
as he tried in vain to reclaim his grip on the keys, only to watch them slide
into the watery depths. 

Malcolm came
flying though the air from behind Rowan, diving towards the keys. “Got ‘em!” he
shouted, triumphantly raising the keys above his head as he staggered towards
Quinn, boyish smile lingering proudly on his face.

The ship lurched
suddenly, throwing Rowan and Malcolm against the wall opposite from Quinn. The
sound of splintering wood filled the hull.  This was it.  The ship was doomed
now, breaking apart as it succumbed to the pummeling of the relentless waves.

“Leave me!” Quinn
shouted, challenging Rowan to disobey him with all of the authority that he
could muster.  He glared at his younger brother with steely gray eyes. “Take
Malcolm and go now while ye still can!”

Quinn wanted to
die. 

“She wouldna want
this for ye, brother,” Rowan said, brushing aside the wet chestnut hair that
was plastered to his face.  “She’d want ye tae fight.  She’d want ye tae live,”
Rowan said, green eyes intense as he challenged his older brother.  Rowan
regained his balance and bridged the distance between them, never breaking eye
contact with Quinn.

“I
want
tae
die.  Let me go tae be with her,” Quinn sobbed as he slapped away the key that
Malcolm worked to fit into his shackle.  “Go!  Save Malcolm!” Quinn ordered,
body racked with emotion.

“I’ll bloody knock
ye out and jump overboard with ye, but I’m not leavin’ ye here, Quinn!” Rowan
challenged as he held his brother’s free arm and motioned for Malcolm to unlock
Quinn’s other wrist.  Quinn strained against Rowan’s grip, his muscles tense
and sinewy from the force of his revolt.

Malcolm struggled
to fit the key into the lock and forced the key to turn, popping open the
lock.  Rowan jerked Quinn’s arm and motioned towards the stairs, but Quinn
stood fast, steely gaze intent on challenging his younger brother.  Rowan met
his brother’s stare with ferocious intensity, eyebrows knit together over
piercing green eyes.

 Accepting his
defeat, Quinn followed his brothers up the stairs and into the mouth of the
storm, knowing that if he didn’t Rowan would knock him out at carry him.

..ooOoo..

Bang! Bang!
Bang! 

Anna Stanton stood
as still as a statue, blonde hair plaited back in a simple braid that rested on
the rough fabric of her gray woolen dress.  She stood straight and tall against
the cold flagstones by the window, seeking to mold her body into the ancient
stones of her family home.  Thin but agile fingers reached out ever so slowly
to push aside the heavy damask draperies.  Ever so cautiously her fingers drew
back the fabric. Anna tilted her head to peek through the opening in the
draperies.  Her breath was tight in her chest as she saw yet another collector
on her doorstep.

Bang! Bang!
Bang!
The sizable fist of man dressed in full military regalia pounded
against the heavy wooden door of Stanton Place.  “I know you’re in there!” his
voice boomed as he continued to beat on the door.  “I’ll be back this afternoon
with the magistrate if you do not open the door right this instant!”

Anna let the
draperies fall back into place and exhaled slowly, leaning her head back
against the cool stones.

 “Damned
collectors,” she whispered into the silence of the foyer, hanging her head in
defeat.

 
This is not
how my life was supposed to have turned out.

Straightening her
spine, Anna reluctantly left her hiding place and walked briskly towards the
door.  She unlatched the bolt and slid the heavy guard bar out of the way, then
pulled with all of her might to swing the massive door open.  The hinges
creaked loudly, needing oiled desperately. 

Anna grumbled to
herself.  Watching Stanton Place, her once beautiful home, fall into a state of
disrepair tore at the strings of her heart.  The downward spiral of her
mother’s health and her family’s financial ruin were almost more than she could
bear.

Pulling the last
shreds of her tattered pride around her and squaring her shoulders for battle,
Anna faked a smile as she opened the door. 

“May I help you,
sir?” she asked sweetly, forcing a smile in an effort to hide her annoyance as
she greeted the bill collector standing in the doorway.

“Indeed I am
hoping that you may be able to,” said the man.  He was bedecked in a red velvet
jacket heavy with medals and military honors.  The coat buttoned at his waist,
the single button straining to cover a rather large pot belly.

The man’s pale
blue eyes looked inquisitively at Anna, causing her to glance away.  His eyes
made her suddenly uncomfortable and she felt a blush rise up across her face. 
His face was punctuated with an awkward mustache, waxed at the ends in a manner
to make it curl up unnaturally.