The Whaler's Treasure

Chapter One, Scene 1

The table by the back wall of Gordon's public house gave sitters the best view of the door and today it was as crowded as ever. Beth Gordon skirted it as much as she could, but she couldn't avoid the sound of Wat MacPherson's voice. The old reprobate loved an audience, for certain, and today he was in rare form.


She stole a glance his way once or twice—enough to know that Wat had at least one of the American seamen's rapt attention. The thought sickened her, particularly when the old man moved on to one of his favorite topics.


"Name's Gordon, ye ken? The old duke left more than one bastard about Moray, I tell you." She didn't have to look to know he nodded in her direction when he said it. MacPherson's faux whisper carried to every corner of the tavern. Most of the patrons had heard it all before, but it hurt all the same. "Looks like the young duke, don't she?"


One of the men turned toward her, a familiar gleam of speculation in his eyes. If the mother, then the daughter. Apples don't fall far from the tree. The other glowered at MacPherson as if he found the gossip distasteful. Well he should! Distaste didn't mean he didn't believe it, however.


Beth turned to the diners closer to the door, longing to escape, and smiled at the miller and his son, while she served their midday bread and mutton stew. The father glanced away as if embarrassed, and she didn't linger. The usual noontime crowd generally looked at her with a mix of pity and curiosity although disdain frequently followed.


She scurried into the kitchen and untied her apron just has her brother Alec slammed down the wood he carried in. His stormy expression, one that threatened trouble, met her welcoming smile.


"I don't care what Mam says. Someone needs to shut MacPherson's mouth," he growled. Dawning manhood had given him inches in recent months, and he had taken on an aggressive sense of protectiveness toward his sister.


"You know what your mother says," Beth reminded him. Her stepmother claimed stories about Beth's parentage gave the tavern some notoriety that helped business. She let the rumors fly and forbad them both to speak of it.


"But Gran says—"


"It doesn't matter, Alec, truly." She silenced him with a hug. He and Gran were her only supporters.


MacPherson's stories about Beth held not one drop of truth, but they took legs and ran through the village. Never mind that half the people of Glenlivet were named Gordon. Never mind she had her father's eyes. Never mind her mother had been a woman of impeccable virtue. Still the stories traveled.


Alec opened his mouth to argue, only to shut it again when his mother bustled into the kitchen.


"Two more bowls," she demanded, glaring at Beth who meekly ladled out two bowls of stew and began to cut off thick slices of bread.


"Nae so thick!" the woman chastised. "Are y' trying to beggar me?" She loaded the bowls and bread on a tray. "And where is yer apron? The lunch rush isnae over."


"Those will be the last two regulars. If we have stragglers Alec can handle them. I am due at Mrs. Haggart's boarding house."


"Yer a fool Elsbeth Gordon. You natter on about yer precious reputation, but invite more scandal. Shouldn't be nursing those seamen, should ye? Th' two out there told the room how ye helped." She shrugged a shoulder to indicate the Americans and managed to make help sound like Beth had let them all bed her.


Beth faced her down with a stony look. "Who's to blame for scandal, Janice Gordon?" she demanded.


Her stepmother looked away. "Go if you must," she spat, and she bustled through the door with her tray.


Deep down Beth suspected Janice not only permitted rumors about Beth to spread, but that she might have actually started them. Whether she did it to out of spite toward her stepdaughter or to savage the reputation of Beth's mother, her predecessor, who held John Gordon's heart until the day he died, Beth couldn't say. Perhaps it was simple greed, and she honestly believed the notoriety had value.


Beth sighed. "Alec, Mrs. Haggart may need me to stay late tonight. I suspect your mother has forgotten." Janice cooked dinner, but she relied on Beth to serve. "Can you wait tables if I'm not back on time?"


The boy frowned, making his distaste for women's work clear.


"I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll carry water in tomorrow."


"Did Mam agree to that?" he asked.


"Didn't ask her, did I? This is between us," Beth told him.


"I'll do it. I don't think you should be working in the public room at night anyway. I've seen how the men look at you." His frown deepened.


When did Alec grow up enough to know about men's looks?


"You should go home to Gran," the boy went on.


"Your Mam says no." She gave him a cheeky grin to turn the subject. "Besides, how will I meet an eligible man in the Braes?
"

So says Mam. How does she think you'll meet a decent one in a tavern with all the talk she lets fly, I wonder."


She gave him swift hug and went out the kitchen door before he could see her face. He worried for her future. She worried for his. If he created a row with MacPherson Janice would beat him, and he'd grown big enough to fight back. She couldn't shake the thought that Alec hated the tavern as much as she did and resented that his mother took him out of school to claim his work. What if he runs off? What will become of him then?


Distracted, she came around the side of the tavern without looking, failed to notice the two men coming out the front, and slammed into the hard chest of one of them. She teetered backward and almost fell until a warm hand reached out and grabbed her elbow.


"Th—" 
She stuttered to a stop. The dark eyes of the man who had glowered so fiercely at Wat MacPherson gazed steadily back at her, and she felt her cheeks heat, unable to pull her eyes away. She had seen him before, she realized, when he came to check on the men recuperating at Mrs. Haggart's boarding house. His men. Captain Thorpe—that realization intensified her discomfort. She tore her eyes from his penetrating gaze, murmured an apology, and rushed away only to regret the impulse.


You bungled that you daft girl. You just convinced those strangers you lack wits entirely.