Page 3 of To Claim His Highland Bride

“Some men hunt treasure for the money. Others for adventure. I discovered . . . I fall into the latter after my first discovery . . . nearly forty years ago.”

Eck straightened. “What did you do with all that bounty? Would there be anywhere safe to store such a treasure?”

Jacob swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a moment before proceeding. “I put fourteen chests filled with treasure in a place . . . no one would think to search . . . the Cave of Gold. Terrifying legends of the place . . . would protect my wealth, but not death.” He turned his head towards Marcus. “Recently, I was searching for two Spanish galleons that were said to be laden with gold off the shores of Sandwood Bay. They are there—I know it. My men and I found . . . a few Spanish coins. There are more. Before we could retrieve them, the wind changed . . . It blew our vessel onto the rocks. The Mandara broke in two. We had no chance . . . to lower the boats.”

“What day was that?” Eck asked, his voice soft.

Jacob’s brow furrowed, remembering. “September twenty-fifth.”

“Five days ago.” A wave of sympathy came over Marcus. It truly was a miracle the man was still alive after being exposed to the elements for so long.

“You saved me . . . so I will tell you. Continue my legacy. Promise to do something good . . . with the treasure.” Jacob reached out and curled his cold fingers around Marcus’s hand.

Marcus’s chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe. “I promise,” he said, though he had no idea how he would fulfil what the old man asked.

The man’s eyes drilled into Marcus’s. “I believe . . . you.” His voice was a mere breath of sound.

Marcus released Jacob’s hand. “Rest for now. We will talk later.”

Jacob shook his head. “I am dying . . . there’s no time. Deep in the Cave of Gold . . . I’ve hidden the fourteen chests. They’re yours . . . for trying to help me.” His chest rattled with every breath. “The two galleons . . . you’ll find them at the bearings I’ve scratched into the flesh of my arm.” He raised his left arm briefly before collapsing onto the cot once more.

Eck frowned down at the dying man. “Why would you hide your gold in a place called ‘The Cave of Gold?’ Isn’t that an invitation for thievery?”

“Too haunted.” Jacob’s lips tugged up as his face turned even more ashen in colour. “Too dangerous. Perfect hide.”

“It is a rather ingenious place,” Marcus agreed. “It is said the Cave of Gold is very deep. Some say it extends as far as Fairyland; others say it extends to Hell. It is also rumoured that a ferocious green dog guards the entrance, hiding in the shadows and ready to kill anyone who attempts to enter.”

“Saw . . . no dog,” Jacob said, the rattling in his chest growing louder.

Marcus offered the man a sympathetic smile. “And if what you say is true, then you are also the first person to come out of the cave alive.”

With difficulty, Jacob brought his right hand up over his heart. “Swear . . . what I say is true.” His words were slow and pained, then his face went slack and his hand sank down beside him. “Only wish . . . more time to enjoy . . . my efforts.”

Marcus reached for the old man’s hand. His fingers were icy cold. As Marcus watched the last vestige of colour drain from the man’s face, a cascade of emotions came over him. Angst twisted Marcus’s gut at the knowledge that Jacob had been saved only to die. And yet a flutter of hope filled his stomach at the thought that what Marcus and his crew sought might be obtained so quickly.

“You do us a great honour, sharing your life’s efforts with me and my men. We will find some way to do good with your treasure and to keep the memory of your life alive.” That was if they found any treasure, for Marcus was still not entirely convinced what the old man said was true, but Jacob did not need to witness this doubt when his time on this earth was coming to an end.

Jacob’s chest rose, then fell slowly, as a deep rattling sound followed.

Marcus swallowed against the thickness in his throat. “Rest in peace, friend.”

Jacob squeezed Marcus’s fingers lightly as his eyes closed. “Friend . . .” He went still.

Marcus’s breath arrested. His chest tightened as Jacob’s chest settled.

Several long moments passed as Marcus watched the old man as though waiting for him to take yet another breath. When he did not, Marcus looked to Eck. “He’s gone.”

Eck nodded. “Do you believe what he said about the Spanish galleons and the Cave of Gold?”

Marcus shrugged as his gaze dropped to the hand he still held. He released Jacob’s hand then with both hands forced up the sleeve of his shirt. There, cut into the man’s own flesh, were the numbers 58.5396 degrees north by minus 5.0623 degrees east. “He believed in the treasure enough to mar his own flesh with the location.”

Eck looked at Marcus inquiringly. “We’re close to those coordinates. Is it worth us taking a look?”

The air in the cabin was suddenly charged with possibility. “This man and his crew gave their lives for their belief that the Spanish galleons were there. I’d say we owe them a measure of our time as long as we can keep our own ship safely away from the rocks.”

“The men and I can do that.” Eck straightened as though awaiting orders.

Marcus rose to his feet. “Send two men here to prepare Jacob for burial. We will leave him with the rest of his crew in their watery grave.” He moved to his desk where he picked up a piece of parchment and his quill, and quickly wrote the coordinates before handing them to Eck. “The rest of the crew should prepare the ship and themselves for the treasure hunt ahead.”