The duke lifted his hand and pointed at the man who had accompanied him to the shore. “Adan will take care of you; he will see you safely to England. He knows much of the estate dealings. You can trust him.”
England was so far away. A strange and mysterious land that Andrew knew little about. All he had ever heard from his father and other sailors was that England was a place from which men chose to flee. It was somewhere he hadn’t ever planned to go.
He took a hold of William’s hand. It was already cold. They sat quietly while the crew rowed out to the ship, Andrew’s gaze flittered from the darkened shore to his fading uncle.
“What did my father mean when he said, ‘Nihil necesse est cedere’ to you?” he asked.
The duke gave a pained smile. “It’s the McNeal family motto, part of our coat of arms. It means, nothing must be yielded. I thought you would already know that.”
Andrew scowled at the words. His father had certainly been true to them, never once backing down. “Yes, I know the meaning. I just didn’t understand why he had to say it to you when you parted.”
The ship loomed closer. Ropes were tossed down to the rowboat. A stretcher was lowered over the side. Andrew moved out of the way while William was lashed to it. As he was lifted, the duke cried. “Halt!”
William held his hand out and with a sense of dread and foreboding Andrew stepped forward and took it once more. It was freezing. His uncle’s body temperature was dropping rapidly.
William coughed up a mouthful of blood, the dark crimson staining his white cravat. “Your father meant that the most precious things had to be protected. And by that, he was referring to you, Andrew. You are the hope for our family’s future. I came from England to collect you, so that the Duchy of Monsale would survive. It is now up to you to continue the bloodline.”
His eyes rolled back in his head and his grip on Andrew’s hand fell away. A gurgling, rattling breath escaped William’s lips.
“Heave away!” cried one of the crew.
The stretcher was hoisted over the side of the ship. Adan was hauled onboard by a separate rope. When it came back over the side, a hand tugged firmly on the sleeve of Andrew’s jacket, “Take the rope, lad,” said the sailor.
In a half daze Andrew grasped the line. He gave one last look back to the shore, then tugged on the rope signaling his readiness to come up. His feet lifted clear of the rowboat. As soon as he was level with the deck rail, he swung a leg over the side and dropped onto the floor of the frigate.
He hurried over to where his uncle lay sprawled on his back. His steps slowed as all those who had gathered around William, went down on bended knee. Hats were slipped off and heads quickly bowed.
No. Please lord. No.
In a matter of minutes, he had lost both his father and uncle. His world was forever changed. William’s man Adan, rose and approached. He was followed by the ship’s captain. They stopped several feet in front of Andrew and bowed low.
Don’t say it.
“Your grace,” they said in unison.
A shroud of anger quickly enveloped him. All sadness was swept away. There may well come a time for tears and grieving, but that was not this moment. Not this day.
The only thing which remained was the burning need for revenge. Andrew turned to the captain.
“Does this ship have any shot on board?” he asked.
Adan frowned but Andrew ignored him.
“It does, your grace. Your late uncle only borrowed HMS Grafton from the British navy for this expedition. They want it back as soon as it is returned to England. And while we may only have thirty men onboard who can man the cannons, we can still inflict serious damage if required,” he replied.
The Monsale steward gasped. “Your grace, you can’t seriously be considering aiming the ship’s guns at the men on the beach, it would be a bloody slaughter.”
Andrew raised himself up to his full height. He was still a good five inches shorter than the steward. “No, I am not going to attack the blackguards who just killed my uncle.” He turned back to the captain. “You are to sail the Grafton around into the next cove. There you will find a ship ablaze. You are to sink it. When that is done, you are to turn the full force of the ship’s weapons on the town. Raze every building to the ground. I want nothing left.”
With a hasty bow, the captain hurried off, shouting orders left and right. Andrew turned his attention to Adan, fixing him with a hard glare.
“I don’t know what sort of relationship you had with my late uncle but let me make things clear. That is the first and last time you ever dare to correct me. I am Andrew McNeal, the fifteenth Duke of Monsale, and my word is law.”
There had been a changing of the guard. A new duke now stood in the place of the old one. Andrew was offering William’s steward a clear choice. Accept his rule or resign his position. And while he very much wanted Adan’s guidance, he was also determined to be the one who made the final decision.
The look of deep concern on Adan’s face slowly faded to one of quiet acceptance. He would yield.
He bowed low. “Yes, your grace.”
