Mardon (Pirate Lords Series Book 2) Page 4

  “Nairnie, we won’t be docked long, so pick up whatever supplies you need from the kitchen and make it fast.”

  “Hrmph,” spat the old woman. “I’m no’ goin’ to be pillagin’ and plunderin’ like ye and yer men, stealin’ food for yer crew, Mardon. So, dinna even think I am goin’ to do it.”

  “Did you call him, Mardon?” The nun’s head snapped upward. She almost looked a little scared. “So you – you really are a pirate,” she said.

  He raised a brow in amusement. “My men and I prefer to be called seafaring adventurers,” he told her with a grin. He’d hoped to make her smile but she didn’t seem to think it was funny.

  “Och, they’re pirates all right,” Nairnie blurted out. “Pirates who cheat, steal, and kill.”

  It never ceased to amaze Mardon at what came out of the old woman’s mouth.

  “Oh!” The nun slunk back into the shadows, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “Nairnie, stop scaring the holy woman,” said Mardon in a low voice. “And stop answering when she is talking to me. Where are your manners?” He threw her own words back in her face and smiled.

  “Well, it’s true. Everythin’ I said,” answered Nairnie stubbornly, refusing to admit she was being rude.

  “Sister Emmaline, I assure you that you have naught to fear,” Mardon promised her. “Neither I, nor my crew, will do anything to harm you.”

  Nairnie snorted, and lifted her arm, waving over the serving maid. “Do ye have any whisky?” she asked the girl.

  “Whisky? Nay. Don’t even think of it,” Mardon scolded her this time. Then he looked over to the serving wench. “Give her an ale.” He reached out and pushed Nairnie’s hand back down. His grandmother was already being much too boisterous and he didn’t want to have to deal with her when she was drunk on whisky, too.

  “Oh, are ye the one who the nun was waitin’ for and who is goin’ to pay for her drink?” The serving girl looked up at Mardon and batted her lashes. Mardon suddenly had a feeling he knew her, too, but just couldn’t quite remember who she was. He’d bedded many women over the years, but never stayed around long enough to get to know any of them. Sometimes, he’d never even gotten around to asking their names. All his passionate nights ended with him leaving in the morning and heading back out to sea.

  “Nay, I’m no’ goin’ to pay anythin’. I dinna have any money,” Nairnie said, thinking the girl was talking to her. She gave the serving wench a look that said she thought the girl was daft.

  “I’ll pay for both of them,” Mardon offered. “Bring them some food as well. The old woman will also be picking up food for me and my crew to take back to the ship.” He dropped a pouch of coins on the table in front of Nairnie. It made a clinking noise and several coins spilled out. “That should be more than enough to cover all of it.”

  Nairnie pursed her lips and glared over her shoulder at Mardon, mumbling something about him calling her an old woman again.

  Mardon spotted Aaron across the room, waving him over, trying to get his attention. “Make it fast, Nairnie, because we won’t be here long,” he told her before turning and leaving before she started insisting he call her Grandmother again.

  Emmaline watched Mardon hurry away from the table, feeling relieved that he had walked away. If he had stayed there any longer he might have recognized her. She couldn’t have that.

  “Blethers,” spat the old woman, taking the pouch and pushing the coins back inside. Then she pulled the strings tightly to close the pouch and shoved the whole thing down her ample cleavage.

  “What are you doing?” asked Emmaline. This old woman amused her with her antics. It made her smile.

  “We’re surrounded by drunks, thieves, and godforsaken pirates,” answered Nairnie in a crackly old voice. “What do ye think I’m doin’, lass? I’m protectin’ the money even if it was stolen to begin with,” she griped.

  “I see.”

  The server returned and plopped down one bowl of some nasty looking pottage on the table, followed by two tarnished spoons.

  “That’ll be a shillin’ for the food and drinks.” The woman’s palm shot out as she waited for her money.

  “A shillin’?” gasped Nairnie. “I could get an entire barrel of ale for that price!”

  “A shillin’,” repeated the girl, still holding out her hand. Emmaline had no doubt the girl was charging them much more than she should, since she saw the pouch full of coins that Mardon threw down on the table.

  “What is this slop?” asked Nairnie, crinkling her nose and taking a sniff of the contents in the bowl as Emmaline picked up a spoon and wiped it against her robe to clean it.

  “It’s pottage. Now pay up.”

  “How auld is it?” Nairnie asked.

  “Three days at most. Don’t worry. It’s still good.”

  Nairnie picked up the other spoon and dipped it into the bowl. Bringing the spoon to her mouth, she took a nibble. Her nose wrinkled and her eyes narrowed. Then her tongue shot out as if the taste displeased her. “I’ve fed better food than this to swine. This isna worth a penny and I’ll no’ pay ye anythin’ for it.”

  “If ye don’t pay, ye don’t eat.” The serving wench snatched the bowl away just as Emmaline was about to dip her spoon into it.

  “Now, is that any way to treat a messenger of God?” Nairnie asked the wench.

  “What messenger?” sniffed the girl.

  “God’s eyes, ye must be blind if ye canna see the nun sittin’ across from me at the table. Ye take food away from her and God will punish ye, lass, I can promise ye that.”

  “I’m not afraid of God.” The girl balanced the bowl of pottage in one hand and a tray of drinks in the other. “Neither am I afraid of the devil.”

  “Mayhap no’, but are ye afraid of pirates? Because my grandson will have yer head if ye mistreat us.”

  “Ye mean Mardon?” The girl smiled and giggled. A wry look covered her face. “I know Mardon and he would never hurt me. He’s a pirate but he likes the ladies. I’ve been with him myself, and it was a night I’ll never forget.” Lust filled her eyes as she sought out Mardon across the room. “Actually, I’d enjoy a little spankin’ from him right now.”

  “Enough of that kind of talk!” Nairnie’s hands slammed down on the table and she shot up out of her chair. Emmaline didn’t think anyone that old could move so fast. Then the old woman put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, squinting one eye as she glared at the girl. “Ye may no’ be afraid of my grandsons but then again, mayhap they’re no’ the ones ye should be fearin’.”

  “W-what do ye mean?” asked the girl, her smile fading.

  “If I had my ladle right now, I swear ye’d feel it against yer rump and ye wouldna be smilin’ about it either. Now put down the food and tell yer cook I’ll be in the kitchen shortly to buy supplies for the crew of the Falcon.”

  “Well . . . I . . .”

  “Do it!” snapped Nairnie, making the girl jump.

  “All right, I’m goin’.” She put the bowl back down on the table and slid it toward Emmaline. “Here ye are, Sister. The food and drinks are on the house today, so don’t worry about payin’. I’ll make sure Mardon pays later . . . in ways that don’t involve money.” She smiled wickedly and turned and strolled across the room toward Mardon, wiggling her hips more than she had before.

  “That’s better.” Nairnie brushed invisible lint from her sleeve, fixed her skirt, and sat back down.

  “That was amazing! How did you do it?” asked Emmaline in awe.

  “Do what?” Nairnie picked up her tankard and took a swig of ale.

  “That girl almost seemed frightened of you.”

  “Well, there was no reason for her to be frightened. Then again, she doesna want to see me when I really get mad.” She looked down to the bowl of pottage and nodded. “Eat up, Sister. And tell me, what in the devil’s name are ye doin’ in a place like this to begin with? A nun is the last person I’d expect to see in a tavern.”

&
nbsp; “I . . . I came up the channel on a fishing boat.” She took a little pottage on the spoon and gently blew on it to cool it off. Then she nibbled at it and licked her lips. Pulling a cloth out of her pocket, she gingerly dabbed at her mouth.

  “So, ye’re a nun, are ye?”

  “Aye.” Emmaline’s eyes roamed across the room, settling on the pirate named Mardon. She knew she recognized him, and when she heard his name she was sure of it now. Her heart sped up for more reasons than one.

  If the pirate was here, this meant the painting was probably still aboard his ship. That excited her almost as much as remembering the gentle way he’d held her in his arms and passionate way he’d kissed her. Just thinking of how close she’d come to coupling with the man made her feel very warm and also naughty. She should never be fantasizing about making love with a pirate! What was the matter with her? She used her cloth to dab her forehead and fan her flushed face to cool down.

  “A nun in a tavern all alone,” Nairnie stated, looking at her over the rim of her tankard.

  “That’s right,” she said, focusing on the food and taking another bite. It did taste awful, like Nairnie said. However, she was so hungry right now that she didn’t care.

  “Why are ye alone?”

  “Oh. I’m not. I mean . . . I’m waiting for . . . someone.”

  “Really. Who?” Nairnie looked one way and then the other. “I dinna see another holy person in here.”

  Emmaline swallowed the food and dared to look up at Nairnie. This woman was asking way too many questions. Emmaline was afraid she’d be able to see right through her lies. Nairnie seemed like a woman who wasn’t fooled easily.

  “It doesn’t matter, because it seems they are not coming after all.” Emmaline put her spoon down next to the bowl and, once again, looked over at Mardon. He and the blond-haired man that she remembered as his brother were searching everywhere for something and she wondered what they were doing. They checked under tables, inside bottles and jars, and even swept aside the rushes on the floor with their feet, looking closely at the floor.

  “Will ye be headin’ back to the convent then?”

  “The convent?” She looked at Nairnie in question, almost forgetting she was posing as a nun. She’d been so intrigued watching Mardon from across the room that she was having a hard time focusing on their conversation. “Oh, yes. The convent.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Where is what?” She picked up her tankard and chugged some more ale.

  “The convent. Yer home. The place where ye pray and worship God.”

  “Oh, that. It’s . . . not far from here.” Emmaline put down the tankard and nervously picked up the spoon again, trying to find something to do other than to look at the old woman. Nairnie was sure to see it in her eyes that she was lying. She scooped out some pottage.

  Nairnie leaned over and looked her right in the eyes now. Emmaline was bent over blowing on the food and stopped in midmotion. “Why are you staring at me?” she mumbled.

  “I’m waitin’ for ye to tell me the truth . . . Sister.”

  “I did.”

  “Mmm hmm. If ye’re a nun then I’m the Queen of England,” spat the old woman.

  Emmaline tapped the food from the spoon back into the bowl and precisely put the spoon down on the table. Then she picked up the tankard again, clutching it in her hands. “I have no idea what you mean.” She tried to sound convincing.

  “Ye’re no’ a nun, so drop the act . . . Sister,” Nairnie ground out. “Dinna try to pull the wool over my auld eyes because I can see right through ye. Now, tell me who ye really are, and dinna make up another lie.”

  “I told you. I’m Sister Emmaline.”

  “Nay, ye’re no’. Ye’re a lady if I’ve ever seen one.”

  Her eyes snapped up and she could barely breathe. “A l-lady? Why would you say that?” She faked a smile.

  “Because I have spent a lot of time with ladies, and I ken how they act.”

  “You? The grandmother of pirates? You’ve spent time around ladies?” She chuckled, thinking the woman was making this up.

  “I most certainly have. Their names are Ladies Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter, and they are the sisters of the Legendary Bastards of the Crown.”

  The tankard slipped from her grip and hit the table, spilling ale. Everyone knew about the Legendary Bastards of the Crown. They once worked together posing as the Demon Thief, stealing from the king who was their own father. One of them was even a pirate if she remembered correctly. Nairnie surely got around!

  Emmaline quickly righted the tankard, using her hand cloth to wipe up the liquid. Nairnie’s words shook her up so much that she didn’t know how to answer. Finally, she spoke. “Well, I’m not a lady,” she tried to convince the old woman, needing to keep her secret for now.

  “Nay? Then ye’re a whore pretendin’ to be a holy woman,” said Nairnie, making Emmaline even more upset. Nairnie started to squint one eye and glare at her the way she’d looked at the serving wench.

  “I most certainly am not a whore and I demand you stop calling me one!” She banged her hand down on the table, just like Nairnie had done earlier. Emmaline was getting very angry. She didn’t want anyone ever referring to her as a whore again. It was bad enough that all her late husband’s friends thought she was a loose woman because of that damned painting!

  “Ah, so ye’re a noble after all, I see. I was right the first time,” said Nairnie, nodding her head. “Only a noblewoman would demand anythin’ from the grandmathair of a pirate.”

  “Nay! You’re wrong.”

  “I saw the way ye nibbled at yer food and dabbed yer mouth with a hand cloth. I also saw the lust in yer eyes when ye looked at my grandson, Mardon. No nun would ever act that way, lass.”

  It was evident that Nairnie wasn’t going to stop until she got the answer she wanted. Her behavior was already starting to cause a scene. Several men glanced over in their direction. Emmaline didn’t want the attention. She needed to stay hidden in the shadows. This woman was going to ruin everything for her. She had to say something to satisfy her, or Nairnie was going to blow her cover.

  “All right,” she finally said in a soft voice. “I’ll tell you, but you have to swear not to tell a soul.” Emmaline needed a way to get on to the pirates’ ship so mayhap this would work in her favor. She couldn’t take the chance of the painting resurfacing. Not when she was trying to clear her name. Most of the men who had seen the painting were all back in France. Hopefully, not many in England had taken a look at it yet. It was imperative she find it and bring it to King Edward immediately.

  Before sending her to the convent, Emmaline’s father told her there was only one way to clear her name and marry again. He was friends with the king. If Emmaline could prove the painting was not going to resurface, he said he was sure King Edward would find a nobleman to marry her here in England. With the painting as proof, the king would then destroy it and, hopefully, restore her reputation. Now that she had escaped the convent that her stepmother fought to send her to, this was her only chance. Nairnie might just be the answer to her prayers after all. It was a chance she was going to have to take.

  Nairnie studied her as she spoke. “I might keep yer secret. That is, if I feel it deserves keepin’.”

  Releasing a deep breath, Emmaline told her the truth before she could talk herself out of doing it. “I am Lady Emmaline de la Croix from France.”

  “Hah! I was right, ye are a noble,” Nairnie said a little too loudly, once again slamming her hand down on the table. Her face lit up with a smile.

  “Shhh,” said Emmaline, looking around. “A year ago, I married a Frenchman and my husband has just recently . . . passed away. Now, before I tell you any more, answer me this. Are you really the grandmother of pirates?”

  “I most certainly am. I’m grandmathair to Mardon and Aaron, and their brathair, Tristan, who just got married and thankfully gave up piracy. He stayed back in Ravenscar with his new wife.
”

  “I see.” She started devising a plan in her head. “So . . . do your grandsons steal lots of things?” she asked nonchalantly.

  “They’re pirates. What do ye think?” Nairnie clucked her tongue. “For a noblewoman, ye certainly are naïve.”

  “Well, what kinds of things do they steal? From other ships, I mean.” She was fishing for information on the painting. She had to know if it was still on the ship without just coming out and asking about it.

  “They steal whatever they can. Why?”

  “Have they ever stolen anything . . . I don’t know . . . big or odd? For a pirate to have, I mean.”

  “I dinna ken that much about their doin’s since I havena been with them long. I suppose they do steal odd things. Some of them are despicable and I wish I were strong enough to lift and throw them overboard.”

  “Really?” Emmaline’s eyebrows arched with intrigue. Now she was getting somewhere. She lifted her tankard, trying not to sound too excited. “Like what?”

  “Well, that paintin’ in the captain’s quarters for one. It is disgustin’ and appallin’!”

  “Painting?” Her heart sped up. This had to be the painting she was looking for. What other painting could have the old woman so worked up? “What kind of painting?” She fished for more information, trying not to rouse suspicion.

  “Well, since ye’re really no’ a nun, I suppose I can tell ye.” She leaned over the table and said in a loud whisper, “It’s a paintin’ of a strumpet stark naked, spreadin’ her legs, pushin’ her diddies up into the air and with her mouth opened wide in a lustful moan.”