“I’d rather a bottle of claret, but I’ll take whatever’s going tonight.” He needed something to banish all amorous thoughts of the woman in the adjoining chamber.
Mackenzie placed his tankard on the stool, rummaged around on the shelf to his right, blew dust from an earthenware mug and filled it from the tap in the keg.
Drinks in hand they clinked vessels in salute.
“To the best-laid plans,” Fabian said.
“Aye, even if they’re not the most moral ones.” Mackenzie gave a weary sigh. “How’s the lass faring?”
“Better than expected. This time tomorrow she’ll be my wife.” Fabian clutched the mug and hoped Mackenzie didn’t notice the slight tremble in his fingers. “Please tell me you brought the Reverend Sykes with you.”
“Aye, we’ve brought the minister. He made a bit of a fuss. Tried to tell me you should marry on the mainland. As it turns out, the man’s a poor sailor and spent his time aboard casting up his accounts.”
Despite being five miles from shore, Raven Island was part of the parish of Branscombe in the county of Devonshire. Whether he liked it or not, the reverend had a duty to serve all his parishioners.
“Granted, no one has used the old chapel in a hundred years, but the Reverend Sykes cannot refuse to attend us here.”
Mackenzie swallowed a mouthful of ale and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Och, he soon saw sense when I gave him your generous donation to fix the leaking roof. He wanted to see proof of your common licence, mind, but I told him no one questions the word of the Raven.”
“I trust Isaac found him a comfortable room for the night?”
“Aye, though I’d best tell the reverend the ceremony is in the morning.” Mackenzie frowned. “I thought the lass would want more time to prepare, though I’m surprised she agreed to the match at all.”
“The lady has few options it seems.” A sharp stab in his chest forced him to curse the man responsible. “Blast Vane. I could string him up for his failure to care for her as he should.” The Lillian Sandford he remembered deserved to marry a duke, not a pirate. “We cannot afford to wait. Vane is a man of many talents. Let’s hope hunting isn’t one of them.”
“You need tracks to hunt. Those at Vauxhall were too eager to escape being hit by a giant basket to notice us. We paid a few of Mr Green’s men to cause a distraction.”
“And you’re certain Vane didn’t follow you?”
“Aye.” Mackenzie gave a hearty belch before refilling his tankard from the tap. “Trevane got caught up in the crowd. The gardens are too vast for one man to search alone.”
“What about the other man you hired to help? You know I would have advised against it had you told me of your plans.” One could not buy loyalty. His men knew that. “Are you assured of his discretion?”
“The other man, my lord?”
“The one whose face is pitted with smallpox scars. Lady Lillian said he frightened her out of her wits.”
Mackenzie drew his bushy brows together and shook his head. “We know better than to hire a stranger. The lass is mistaken. Happen the laudanum made her confused.”
“Perhaps.” The hairs on Fabian’s neck prickled to attention. After eight years at sea, he’d learnt to trust his intuition. “And you befriended no one during your stay in London?”
“Other than the odd conversation with the landlord of the Eight Bells, we kept to ourselves.” Mackenzie placed his tankard on the milking stool and straightened. “But on a different note, there is something you should know, though you’ll be none too pleased.”
Fabian swallowed. “Is that why you’ve been plying me with ale?”
“Happen it’s wise to keep your temper, what with a man of God sleeping but a few feet above.” Mackenzie drew in a deep breath. “Someone has been stealing food from the pantry. Small amounts, but often. Mrs Bell didn’t want to worry you and so mentioned it to me.”
When one lived and worked with a hundred or more seafaring men, trust was everything. “The men know to ask Mrs Bell for anything they need, and she would not refuse their request.” Some of his men lived a mile north of the castle, in a settlement of stone cottages close to the dock. Fifty or so men were out on The Octavia transporting wine from Bordeaux to Bristol.
Mackenzie sighed. “It’s not just food, but candles, a lamp and firewood, too.”
“Bloody hell! Why didn’t Mrs Bell mention it before?”
“I imagine she didn’t want to trouble you until she was certain of her findings. I told her I would investigate the matter. In the meantime, I’d best warn her about the banquet tomorrow. She’ll need all hands in the kitchen tonight if she’s got any hope of cooking up a feast.”
“The banquet?”
Mackenzie gripped Fabian’s shoulder. “Your wedding banquet. Surely you plan to give the lass a day to remember.”