Page 16 of The Swan Syndicate #1

Stella stood at the railing and watched the Daphne moor in a small port just north of Bristol. Beckworth didn’t expect to learn much from their stop, but he’d agreed it was worth investigating when he’d spoken about their route with Jamie at lunch.

She’d helped with the dishes and had just finished stowing the last pot when Beckworth pulled her away to review the mission plan prior to docking.

Though there wasn’t much to the port, several ships dotted the bay.

One of their tasks, besides listening for rumors of MacDuff, was to learn the name of his ship.

It was one thing Jamie and Fitz had never determined while trailing MacDuff along Ireland’s southern coast several months before.

He’d been seen often enough through the seaside villages, stirring up insurrection, but no one could name a ship and had assumed he’d grabbed passage wherever he could find it.

Before they’d left Waverly, Hensley had agreed with Jamie and Beckworth that if MacDuff was making a more significant play with France, luring Ireland ports to their side, then he might be paying a merchant vessel.

With word that MacDuff’s smuggling operation had grown since his run down the Irish coast, it only made sense he’d have his own ship now.

Stella noted a number of ships moored in the bay rather than dockside. Luck was with the Daphne after two ships had departed, leaving an opening alongside the pier.

“Why are there so many ships in such a small village?” Stella leaned over to catch a glimpse of a small boat moving between a ship and a small pier that seemed built for that purpose. Lando had called them jolly boats.

“It’s one of the reasons Jamie wanted to stop here.

” Beckworth stood close enough for their arms to brush.

“Unless they have a reason to stop in Bristol, most captains would rather not take the time to sail upriver. So, ships will stop in Portishead at the mouth of the river or travel north to here.”

He took her hand as the Daphne was secured to the dock. “Are you comfortable with your role?”

Her response died on her lips as she watched two young lads shimmy down a rope from one of the ships. They landed on their feet and raced toward town as a burly man yelled at them from the ship’s railing.

She laughed. “Were those two stowaways?”

Beckworth turned to see the two boys running away. “Most likely. They either hid when they moved from port to port, or they might have been caught and forced to work then decided sailing wasn’t for them. It’s not uncommon.”

“A rough life, even in the small towns.”

He shrugged. “They could be orphans or simply thought life would be easier at sea. I think we both understand that life at home isn’t always the best, regardless of the century.”

Not wanting to go down that dark hole, Stella steered the question back to Beckworth’s question. “Our task seems simple enough. We’re a married couple traveling north to visit family. We have a meal and drink then watch and listen.”

“Do you have your dagger?”

She patted her pocket. “Right here.”

“Good. Fitz will visit the pubs and inns first and determine which ones are the type MacDuff would want to visit. They’ll most likely be the rougher ones where the only women tend to be the servers. We’ll most likely be assigned to the inns, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be dangerous.”

“If I can be kidnapped out of an inn, then I should expect anything.”

Beckworth tensed when she mentioned the time she’d been kidnapped from bed with him at her side.

She squeezed his arm. “Let it go. Your guilt for that night in Saint-Malo is as bad as mine about Ipswich.”

“What a pair we make, Lady Caldway.”

“Indeed, Lord Beckworth.”’

They grinned, bumping shoulders, then turned when Jamie called for them. She took his arm as they strolled to the gangplank.

“Fitz says neither inn has any vacancy.” Jamie pulled out a timepiece not too dissimilar to Beckworth’s. “Lando and Michelson will take the inn on the north side and you two will take the other.”

“Wouldn’t it be more likely we’ll catch them in the evening?” Stella asked.

“Maybe,” Jamie answered. “But when we chased him in Ireland, it seemed he wasn’t particular to the time of day to hawk his rebellion.

He might have seen it differently when he was riling up the townspeople with the advantages of siding with the French.

If his focus is now solely on smuggling, he’ll be more careful about being seen.

So, we’ll monitor now and stay overnight.

This type of work requires patience and diligence. ”

Stella understood. “Like any stakeout.”

“What’s this about a stakeout?” Lando asked.

She turned as Lando and Michelson strode up. “In my time, cops—what you refer to as guards—sometimes perform what they call stakeouts. They find an inconspicuous place to watch a home or place of business, waiting for their mark to see what type of criminal activity they might be up to.”

The men nodded, and Jamie said, “Then we’re all aware of how long and unfulfilling most of our days will be.”

With that uplifting thought, they made their way down to the dock.

“Where will you be?” Beckworth asked.

Jamie took a left as soon as they reached the pier. “I’m going to visit the ship captains. Just one smuggler to another.” Then he strode off, humming a sea shanty.

Stella hadn’t considered other captains as a source of information. She figured they’d be tight-lipped about such matters. The talk would probably be about the weather and the best ports to hide in or maybe where the British patrols were. But something might come of it.

Arm in arm, she followed Beckworth toward their assigned inn, giving Lando and Michelson one last glance over her shoulder.

The inn was crowded with men and a handful of women. It was loud and overly warm. Beckworth found one of the few empty tables across the room near the hearth. They waited some time for the overworked server to bring their ales and a single platter of food that Stella picked at.

“If we’re going to spend our time at inns, no more eating on the ship. I think I’m going to bust.” She watched Beckworth finish the plate.

“That’s a good idea. How did you fare with the ship?”

“A bit queasy after breakfast, but it’s more likely my stomach is getting used to the food again.”

They spoke little after that, each of them listening to other conversations.

And while it felt awkward not to be talking, no one would think it odd.

She remembered seeing other couples at inns eating in silence.

It was common in her own time. It just wasn’t typical for her.

She squelched several thoughts she wanted to share, especially when Beckworth tilted his head ever so slightly as if he was having difficulty hearing a discussion.

After an hour, the empty plate had been removed, and beads of sweat that had been building since they’d first sat down were leaving rings of sweat under her armpits.

She had to get some air, but if she left the inn, Beckworth would follow, and he seemed interested in whatever the men at the table behind them were saying.

Their mugs were low, so she picked them up. “I’ll be right back.”

It broke his concentration, and he frowned. “The server will take care of it.”

“I need some air and won’t go any farther than the bar.” It wasn’t really a bar. More like a plank of wood over a few barrels, but several men stood next to it, chatting amongst themselves or the innkeeper.

She set the mugs down in between two old-timers who looked ready to pass out and three men who kept glancing at the door.

If she was correct, the men would ignore her for several minutes.

The air, while still stuffy and smelling of tobacco, alcohol, cooking meat, and unwashed bodies strong enough to bring on tears, was cooler than where she’d been sitting.

She rubbed her stomach, which had finally settled.

For the first few minutes, she focused on the two old drunks.

It would be far from the first time that someone spilled something they shouldn’t under the influence of alcohol.

But she soon determined their argument over the best type of bait would last for some time.

She grinned. Some things never changed. Even in two hundred years.

Her focus shifted to the men to her right.

They sounded like locals, one of them complaining about too many ships in town while another muttered something about smugglers, which caught her interest. Though to be honest, she was filling in the gaps through their garbled English.

Beckworth mentioned the Daphne would be running along the coast of Wales.

It was possible some of the speech she didn’t understand could be Welsh.

She focused on individual words, specifically listening for the name MacDuff, but it never came up.

It didn’t take long to realize that the words she was able to grasp weren’t worth storing away.

She’d always been known for her excellent memory and recall, which was another reason Jamie had agreed to her role. Now, if she could only understand what she was hearing. The innkeeper noticed her after about ten minutes and took the mugs to refill them.

She only had a few more minutes before she’d have to go back to the table when the men bent their heads lower, and she silently cursed.

No doubt they were talking about something juicy, which could easily be about a woman rather than a smuggler.

When the words Cheval and the horseman floated to her, they seemed out of context, and she took note.

As soon as the name was out of the man’s mouth, another hushed him then ducked his head lower. By then, the innkeeper had given her two fresh mugs, and she had no reason to stay. She thanked him, got an odd stare—which she assumed had to do with her accent—and picked up the mugs.

She set them on the table before she dropped into her seat. The men Beckworth had been listening to were gone, replaced by an older man and younger woman.

“Did you hear anything of value?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It was a group of sailors from one of the fishing boats. There’s been an increase in the number of smugglers in the area, but they think it has to do with the increase in British patrols south of Bristol, forcing them farther north.”

He took a swig of ale then pushed it away. “Too many of these and I’ll sleep the rest of the afternoon.”

She winked. “That wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

He smiled. “Don’t encourage me.” He glanced at the bar then leaned close. “Did you hear anything? Those men look like locals.”

“That was my thought, but they hardly spoke any English.”

“Welsh. That can be a bit of a problem along this part of the coast.”

She took a sip of ale, then stood. “I need to go. The heat is getting to me.”

Beckworth was at her side in a heartbeat, giving her a searching look. “You look flushed.” He put an arm around her shoulder as two men looking for a table approached. Beckworth nodded toward their mugs. “We’ve only taken a sip or two, they’re yours if you like.”

After getting a hearty slap on his shoulder for the offer, Beckworth steered them out of the inn. When they’d walked several yards, he turned her to him. “Are you alright? Or was that a ruse to leave?”

“I got overheated. It was too hot in the room to be sitting that close to a fire. I think I’d have preferred standing at the bar.”

“Duly noted.” He walked them along the stores, and she motioned toward the mercantile.

“I need a different dress. Something plainer. I don’t think anyone noticed, but I’d blend more with the crowd.”

He chuckled. “I counted at least eight men who noticed you standing at the bar, pretending not to be eavesdropping on the men next to you.”

She stopped. “Was I that obvious?”

He laughed and tugged her along. “Only to me. But I agree on something more simple.”

She waited by the door of the mercantile while Beckworth paid for a couple dresses and a warm shawl.

There was a notice posted on the door about stocking materials for ship repairs.

She snapped her fingers, suddenly remembering something she’d overheard at the inn.

“My god, I must have had a heat stroke.”

“What are you talking about?” Beckworth stepped next to her and peered outside. “Did you see someone? Stella?”

“Huh.” She looked at him. “Oh. I didn’t hear you.”

He stood straighter and squinted. “Are you alright?”

“I could use a drink.”

“You just had two ales and another good swallow of a third.”

“I think the heat sweated the alcohol out of me.”

“Do you need to sit down?” He took her elbow and glanced around for a place to sit.

She tugged her arm away. “I’m fine. That’s not it. I forgot to tell you that I heard those three men mention something. I can’t believe I didn’t remember sooner.”

“No harm done.” Then one of his maddening smiles slipped out. “Though, is it normal for you to forget things when you’re overheated? Do they have a name for that?”

“Are you laughing at me?”

“I was just curious if it’s something to be added to the list.”

She swatted his arm. “I’m sure it was a combination of the alcohol and the heat.

” Her cheeks warmed, and she held her grin when Beckworth’s lips twitched.

When they’d first met and had been running from Gemini, he’d discovered a few things about her that he kept on an imaginary list. They were common fears —claustrophobia, heights, and horses to name a few.

There was also the seasickness, and though it wasn’t a fear, it still went on the list.

“So, what did you hear?” He stopped when they reached the ship and nonchalantly scanned the area.

It was probably nothing. And what she’d heard had been taken out of context since it was just a couple of words in a sentence. Though, to her, one had sounded French. She was sure of it, which seemed odd with the rest of the conversation spoken in Welsh.

“It sounded like Cheval. I’m not good with languages, but does it sound like French to you?”

“Cheval? Are you sure?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I’m positive. They also said horseman. Does that mean something to you?”

He glanced around again. This time with purpose as if searching for someone. “I’m afraid it does. And if what you heard is true, we have a problem.”