The little man provided it, watching him anxiously. He drank, forcing himself to be careful. His voice remained a sorry croak as he asked, “What manner of ship is this? Into what pit of hell have I fallen.”
“A sorry pit, indeed,” the little fellow said. “You’re on the convict ship, Revenge, bound for labor in Australia, mate.”
“Sweet Jesus, heads will roll for this! I am the heir to Laird Douglas of Craig Rock!”
The little man was still. In a fury, David knocked the bowl of gruel from the very hands that had tried to help him. “Why will no one believe me, man?”
“The Douglas heir was killed in a fire a good two weeks ago now.”
“What? The fire was two weeks ago?—”
“The laird’s son is dead and buried, MacDonald, and most men aboard think it’s blasphemy that you, the murderer of a young woman, dare to use his name.”
“What young woman was murdered? Shawna of Craig Rock?”
The man shook his head in confusion. “Nay, MacDonald! The serving wench you met in Oarmsby Tavern!”
“I met no serving wench, and I haven’t been to Glasgow in years! If we can but turn this ship around, I can prove?—”
“Shh! Shh!” the little monkey of a man warned him. “Some think as how that fever you suffered has you daft now, man, believing you’re a laird and able to put on airs and all. But the captain, he’s a fierce man, and he says that from now on, every time as how you start claimin’ to be a Douglas, you’re to receive twenty lashes with a cat-o’-nine-tails.”
“I am David Douglas!” he roared.
There was a bursting sound as the swinging door to the hold was thrown open. Peg Leg maneuvered down the ladder, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the hold. He was followed by a number of his seamen, one of them the nasty-looking fellow David had previously struck in the jaw.
The seaman’s face was still swollen. David had probably cost the fellow a number of teeth.
“MacDonald, I’ll have no more of your mad cries on board my ship!” Peg Leg roared. “See to him, men.”
Again, David fought. In the end, he was too weak to face so many men. He found himself dragged up, still naked, bound to the center post in the hold.
And the threat of the twenty lashes with the cat-o’-nine-tails was carried out. The man with the swollen face was to carry out the punishment, but even he paused, voicing a protest to Peg Leg. “’E’s half-dead, now, Cap’n. Twenty lashes will kill him.”
“He stands tall as an oak, and he’s muscled like a fighter. He used that strength against the innocent. God will judge him. If he dies, so be it, but I’ll watch each strike—he’s a fine one for work in Sydney, and worth more to me alive than dead. Carry on.”
Each lash bit cruelly into David’s flesh. In his weakened state, the pain was unbearable. He blacked out before it was over.
He came to with the little man by his side, staring at him sorrowfully. “Your name is Collum MacDonald,” the little man warned. “Ach, sir! Be you the laird’s issue in truth, you’d best forget it for now. Captain Barnes will kill you like as not if you give him more reason! Work the sails, scrub the decks as he commands you. Live to tell your story where someone might care to hear it!”
“I am David Douglas, eldest son and heir to the laird of Castle Rock, Craig Rock, the Highlands,” David insisted.
“Fine, man, and I’ll believe you. But if you’ve a mind for livin’, answer to the name ‘MacDonald,’ sir. And try to eat this broth. Something’s got to keep you going. They’ll be draggin’ you up to work soon enough.”
David stared at the little man and frowned.
“Who the bloody hell are you, and why do you care, man?”
The jackanapes smiled. “Once upon a time, I was Dr. James McGregor of High Street, Glasgow. But that was before a great man’s mistress chose to abort his child, then come for my help. She died as I tried to staunch the flow of blood pouring from her womb. The great man let the courts convict me, but the mercyof a judge sent me aboard this ship rather than straight to the hangman. Now, sir, they’d not believe my story, and they’ll not believe yours.”
“Doctor,” he mused.
“They call me murderer now.”
David stared at the little man, and at last saw the wisdom in his words.
“I am MacDonald, eh?”
“Aye, that I beg of you.”