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SEVEN
The tide left without them, for Stan was too busy drowning his sorrows in drink to heed his cousins' call to come with them, and they were not so callous as to leave without him.
"I told you he would not allow you to marry her," Wystan said, shaking his head.
"It's not just that," Stan seethed. "It's that he dares to call me unworthy, when he's no better than any of us! Someone should teach him a lesson."
"I heard tell the natives already have. They stole all the flour in his mill not long ago," Grant said. "Maybe we should do the same."
Harlow slammed his hands on the table. "NO! Listen to yourselves. We're not thieves. We have coin enough to buy the flour we need."
"It's not about what we need. It's about what Stan needs," Grant said. "You heard William say himself that he'll be headed to Fremantle next, so he won't be home tonight. We could sneak in, under the cover of darkness, and leave with no one the wiser, and enough flour to see us to harvest."
"It's not flour or vengeance I want, but Carline," Stan protested. He lifted his tankard to his lips, and a brilliant idea struck him. He dropped the tankard down on the table again. "We're true Scots, are we not?"
"YES!"
"Of course."
"Yes..."
"And stealing brides is an ancient Scottish custom..." he continued.
"No," Harlow began, but Stan wouldn't be silenced.
"Tonight, we'll go to the mill, and kidnap Carline. We'll take her down to our farm, where we'll keep her safe from her brother and all her rich suitors, until she sees the light and agrees to marry me," Stan finished proudly.
"And steal all his flour while we're at it," Grant finished. "It's brilliant!"
"It's stupid," Harlow snapped.
"It is traditional, and if he truly loves her..." Wystan looked wistful. Likely thinking of his own dead wife.
It took another hour or two to convince them all, and Harlow maintained he was only going along to make sure they didn't get into trouble, but by then Stan already had a plan. He only prayed that nothing would go wrong.
