Jennifer Horseman

by GnomeWonderland

  He looked from Garrett to Juliet, and in the space of the moment he saw her changed: her innocence profound, startling, moving. Kindness appeared in his gaze as he replied softly, honestly: "Yes. At one happy time in my life, I was her most frequent customer. So enamored with her charms, we ... ah, extended our relationship. I came to care for her very much."

  "You ... courted her?" Juliet's eyes filled with the wonder of it. "Did she . . . oh, monsieur, did she ever mention me to you?"

  "Indeed!" he laughed, "but oh, my lovely Juliet, how this makes a man feel his age! You were only four years old, as I recall. Anna used to say you were the great joy of her life, that I could never have all her love because you had so much of it." He added softly, "I was very sad upon my return to Paris to discover she had left us."

  Juliet's blush was heartfelt. The admiral was hardly the only man to be taken by her innocence. He finally turned to Garrett with congratulations, the unspoken message passed between them. "Your touch is gold, Garrett," he said out loud. "I am torn between envy and admiration. And as always with you, Garrett,"—he chuckled—"the hardest part is seeing that you deserve the treasure."

  Having so little social experience, Juliet remained ignorant of the stir she created. Garrett was only too aware of it, and of his response. He had never felt this protective, much less this possessive, of a woman, and the avalanche of these feelings amused him. Throughout the endless stream of introductions, she kept looking up at him with a smile, a shy smile conveying emotions that Garrett had to keep reminding himself were unwise to contemplate in a room full of people with the fate of so many at hand.

  They gathered around a low table to be seated. Protocol demanded they all wait for the king to sit first. The king snapped his fingers. Two servants rushed to his side to help him to his feet. As they lifted him to move him to a table, he grimaced with pain. She saw his clubfoot. "Oh, Garrett?"

  "Aye, he's in a great deal of pain. Not just his foot. Rumors give him any number of ailments."

  Concern appeared in her lovely eyes. Garrett lifted the wayward strand of hair, wrapping it around the loose crown made of the rest, and she looked up to see his tenderness. How strange! In this crowded roomful of strangers she felt closer to him than ever, as if indeed she did belong to him. Like a warm shroud, the feeling was powerful and that much more troubling. As if she were betraying Tomas ...

  Which was not true, she told herself. She had never been in society that included a king and an admiral, an audience held within the grand walls of a royal palace. Other than church, she had never been in any society! Garrett and Leif were the only people familiar to her, and thoughtfully, Garrett provided the security she needed, that was all. . .

  She forgot everything as a small whimper brought her gaze up to the king, as with a spasm of pain he adjusted to the new position at the table. Again, everyone pretended not to notice, everyone except his women, who quickly gathered behind him, worry and concern appearing in their dark eyes.

  Like a sudden crescendo of string instruments, talk sprang all around her, all of it directed at Garrett and Leif, expressing their collective surprise upon seeing The Raven sail into Tangiers that morning. At first all of this was expressed in jests about The Raven's uncanny ability to find the eye of a storm, when the presence of the French fleet was the most heavily guarded secret of the century. Juliet was not listening now. Not when she suddenly saw the possibility sitting fatefully in her reticule.

  Like anyone else, she believed in coincidence up to a point, then it became something else entirely. Why else would fate put that pain potion in her reticule? And why not offer it as a gift? He could only refuse, and in front of this many people . . . well, he'd have to refuse politely, would he not?

  "Pardon, Your Highness?"

  With the loud backdrop of sounds, she expected relative privacy, an expectation that fell dramatically short of reality as the soft whisper of her voice sounded like an explosion. Garrett and Leifs gaze shot to her instantly, followed by that of the admiral and, of course, by that of King Tallihasi, himself. Silence descended over the table, spreading out, and to her ever-mounting horror, like dominoes falling, each table behind their own followed as people turned to see what had happened, until she owned the interested gaze of every living soul in the room.

  Scarlet color rushed to her cheeks and she couldn't breath, much less continue. For the first time in her life the idea of dying seemed not at all unpleasant. She might at least faint and she would, she truly would if it weren't the only thing that could make it worse. Drawing on a strength and courage she was surprised she owned, she said, "A thousand pardons, Your Highness, but I," she realized midsentence the voice she heard was her own, and the shock made her pause before continuing: "I meant only to take the opportunity to present you with a modest gift I prepared for you."

  She lowered her gaze in a pretense of humility, guessing Garrett's expression was of shock and alarm, as with fingers that trembled, she withdrew the potion from her reticule, holding it for all to see. Remembering what people said of Garrett, she added as an explanation: "It is a magic-potion, one to banish your pain."

  An unnatural silence came over the room. With stunned expressions, everyone stared, waiting for the king's response to the dozen commandments of protocol she had just breached in a single sweep; women did not speak unless spoken to, most especially women did not speak to the king; no woman could offer a gift to anyone but her husband; and the worst, the very worst thing anyone could ever do, was mention the king's pain. King Tallihasi executed people for that . . .

  Garrett had only one thought above the roar of his alarm and he looked at Leif, who motioned behind him, which meant Leif could probably hold back that side of the room long enough for him to get Juliet out of here. He nodded, prepared if it came to that. To his surprise, the admiral caught his gaze and nodded too. A nod that meant the admiral would risk his position to save her too, should it come to that.

  "Your Highness, my wife is far too modest. She is highly skilled in the medicinal arts. This gift comes at great expense, an expense that includes over a year of her hard effort and labor. The potion is truly made of magic."

  Upon hearing this, the king's angry gaze finally turned from her to Garrett. Emotion seemed to swell, trembling through him, causing a sudden spasm of pain. Trying to control it, he took a deep breath and locking his gaze upon Juliet, he motioned with his hand.

  Against the ominous silence, a servant ran to her side with a small gold tray. The manservant took the potion from her hand, bowing as he quickly retreated. The jar was opened and a gold spoon thrust inside, which was then presented to a small, heavily robed man. After swallowing it, this man spread his legs and placed his hands behind his back, staring straight ahead into the distance. The king continued to stare at her. She looked across the table to see anxious gazes turn from her to the king and back again.

  Oh God, what had she done? Just as she was quite certain she was going to faint after all, Garrett slipped her hand in his. She clung tightly to this lifeline as he whispered what he thought was reassuring news: "You owe to your resemblance to your mother the possibility that we might get out of this alive after all, which is glad news," he smiled at her, "for it will give me the pleasure of killing you myself . . . with my bare hands."

  Juliet shot a terrified gaze to him. Their lives were in jeopardy! Dear Lord, what had she done? She still didn't even know . . . exactly. The king too, what was wrong with him? He just sat there staring at her, waiting—

  After an interminable amount of time, time in which she understood what it meant to die a thousand times, or more accurately, to wish she had died a thousand times, two men stepped forward to examine the heavily robed man who had tasted the potion. To her still escalating horror, they checked the man's eyes and pulse, one leaned over to listen to the man's heart. Dear God, they thought she meant to poison the king! The heavily robed man had the dubious distinction of being the king's taster!

  A
t last the potion was presented to the king. Without looking at it, his gaze glued to her, he drank from the golden goblet. The taste must have surprised him, for he peered into the goblet before finishing the rest.

  He closed his eyes, sitting in silence.

  Everyone else fell silent as they sat waiting.

  Seeing the nightmare continue, Juliet shot a glance at Garrett. Like the king, he, too, sat in a meditative state, legs crossed, back straight, eyes closed. Not a word was spoken, not even the rustle of a whisper. The incessant chatter of the birds" began to sound like a roar in her mind; her heart pounded savagely and she couldn't breathe, not when she felt the animosity of every soul in the room.

  Desperately wishing she could faint, she had started to close her eyes and hold her breath when suddenly she saw it. A sudden light shot from Garrett to the king, cascading like water over the king's head. In the second it took to gasp, the light disappeared, gone as quickly as it came. She looked around. No one else saw it. She was starting to hallucinate, and dear Lordly, yes," King Tallihasi whispered, a whisper that carried around the entire room on the great backdrop of their collective silence. "Yes, a miracle. I begin ... to feel relief sweeping through my limbs, an indefinable warmth. After all these years . . ."

  All these years of constant numbing pain, a force that began to invade even the brief sanctuary of his dreams. He had tried and taken every cure in his kingdom, then the kingdoms beyond, but nothing and no one had been able to touch his pain. Not the skilled men in the healing arts, not the prayers of the muezzin, the blasphemous tricks of the shamans from other lands, or even the opium trials that made him so sick. He had forced himself to accept it, even control it somewhat, but it constantly wore away his will and strength, so that all he had to look forward to was deep sleep where no dreams intruded. Every waking hour he had spent in prayer asking for a respite, however brief, until at last the young woman was sent. "Yes, it is ... is like floating toward heaven. . . ." He opened his eyes to Juliet and he smiled, slapped his leg and to the utter incredulity of the entire room, he laughed.

  No one had ever seen the king laugh before. They were too shocked to respond until Garrett's laughter joined the king's. The dominoes fell again as one by one, the entire roomful of people started laughing, stopping at last when the king raised his goblet to Juliet. "To my salvation! I am forever indebted, Juliet."

  The shift of fortune was almost too much for her to comprehend. She sat perfectly still, as if unable to believe the glad news of her senses, waiting, it seemed, for the king to say, "And now off with her head!" Then Garrett leaned over, chuckling into her ear. The warm tease brought an irresistible shiver, passing like a caress through her. He kissed her lightly beneath the sensitive lobe of her ear. She felt flushed, on fire, a miraculous surge of sudden giddy joy bubbling up, as he whispered,

  "This is well beyond luck, love."

  Indeed! The king's women gathered behind her, kneeling in tight clusters, taking her hand one by one and pressing it to the black dots on their foreheads in a lavish display of gratitude. She began to grasp the magnitude when she saw they were crying. The last woman pressed something in her palm, closing her fist over it. She backed away as Juliet opened her hand to see an emerald the size of a shilling, the gold encasement shooting around the sparkling gem like the light of a star.

  She could hardly speak, managing only to say, "Garrett . . ."

  He smiled at her. "To refuse any gift would be a terrible insult."

  "Why, I wouldn't dream of refusing!"

  Now Garrett threw his head back and laughed. The king was still laughing, floating closer and closer to a state of bliss Juliet remembered only too well. As the admiral raised a toast to her, Garrett took the emerald star in his hand, shifting his position so that Juliet fit neatly between his legs. It was like being drawn against fire. She held perfectly still as her consciousness centered on his hands above her breasts, where he pinned the star to her gown. The warmth of his fingers through the silk fabric of her dress alighted her nerves, shooting tiny shock waves through her. A small hand went to her cheek to feel the heat rising there. He felt the tremble his touch brought and said, "Kiss me, love."

  Only her eyes registered the surprise of the request, if it was a request. She tried for a moment to resist but couldn't. The harder she tried the more elusive the idea of resisting became until . . . until it disappeared altogether. She leaned toward him. He lowered his head slightly to accommodate her as she placed her hands on the wide width of his shoulders. Drawing a deep, uneven breath, she closed her eyes.

  Softly, timidly, she pressed her lips to his. The touch of his lips felt warm and firm, beckoning with a caress that made her gasp. He caught the sweet taste of her breath before taking her lips in his, filling her with the sweep of his tongue, a taste of warmth and sunlight. She never wanted anything more than this moment. A sensual surrender, she leaned against his chest as he tilted her head ever so slightly to accommodate his pleasure.

  The kiss ended at last. She emerged as if from battle, staring starry-eyed across the room with the certainty that the roomful of people stared back with the shock of their public kiss. No one was looking at them, not a soul; it was as if they had been invisible. A man raised his goblet for another toast in her name. Toast after toast was raised in the king's name, then at last to Napoleon. The music and talk resumed as the women began serving again.

  Heady and intoxicating emotions trembled through her. She had kissed him, of her own volition, she had kissed him. How could she? How could she when she loved another, loved Tomas so desperately and completely that it felt at times as if he were the center of her universe, the inspiration of every thought and action and feeling. Yet, she had leaned over and kissed Garrett, acting on her own will— . "I give you my will . . ."

  No ... that could not be. The idea was far too far fetched, too fanciful. How could he take her very will by mere words? She didn't really believe in magic. . . . Yet like a spell, she had said those exact words to him. . . .

  Like any drunkard, the king fell over laughing at something. His men righted him immediately, smiling, bemused, it seemed, at his bliss. Most of the others were relieved to dismiss him for the evening. Garrett paid no attention to her now as the admiral told him of the ships, the outfitting and preparations being made for the ensuing battle, a battle that would destroy the British naval fleet. Though Juliet struggled to pay attention to the matter at hand, her consciousness fixed on magic and kisses and on him. She was indeed caught in a spell.

  Garrett dominated the conversation, often only by what he chose to pay attention to. Everyone, especially the admiral, seemed to hang on his every word, and while she heard his voice and his occasional chuckle, the wielding of his wit, she felt far more aware of the heat of his hand on her back or arm, the way his gaze came to her and how it could make her blush, feeling hotter still when he raised his goblet or a treat to her lips. . . .

  "How many's that?" Garrett put the question to the admiral as he finished telling of the installation of the new guns on board six of the ships.

  "Well, of course, the number varies, depending—" He stopped midsentence.

  A brow lifted, Garrett's face registered patient inquiry as he awaited the end of the pause.

  Taking a deep breath, D'Villeneuve realized it had happened again. How did Garrett do it? Every time he swore he would not tell Garrett anything of importance and yet, here he sat, discussing his battle preparations as though Garrett was his most trusted ally. In truth, no one knew for sure if Garrett could be trusted; opinions varied on this hotly debated subject. While he always argued in favor of Garrett, there were far too many unknowns surrounding his battles and the force, the incredible luck, of the pirate known as Black Garrett.

  The admiral's gaze came to rest on Juliet as she whispered something to Garrett, her love for him as obvious as his for her. Juliet was the culprit tonight. The lovely young lady carried him back to one of the great loves of his life and one
of the precious few happy times. Unbelievable, but he had been more than willing to risk the position of the entire fleet to save her, and he would have, too, he had no doubt; one never grasped the power of women until a thing like this happened. The relief when her potion worked was so intense as to make the entire room, himself included, drunk on it. Even now the laughter, the talk, the repeated toasts, had a nervous, giddy edge to it, as if they had all just survived a disastrous confrontation with a most unpleasant fate.

  Since morning, when The Raven had been spotted, he had sat in contemplation of the implications. Why was Garrett here now? Had he known where the fleet hid? A coincidence or what? It was time to discover.

  "You were saying?" Garrett prodded with a knowing grin as the admiral's attention returned.

  "As usual, I was saying too much. I believe, Garrett, it is your turn."

  "And I was beginning to wonder when you'd ask."

  Admiral D'Villeneuve looked to Juliet. "With all the excitement—"

  "Yes, I quite understand." Garrett said as his fingers brushed the curve of her neck, a light caress but one with the power to make it impossible for her to attend more to their conversation. "Well, admiral, I'm afraid I can't tell you everything, such as why The Raven was sailing off the shore of Bristol in English waters, but," he looked meaningfully at Juliet, the glance an explanation, "no matter. It's not important. What is important is the man-of-war we ran into, escorting a most unlucky British* freighter."

  The table fell silent as the shock and disbelief of Garrett's audience warned the rest of the room. All gazes turned to the king's table. Not surprising, the ominous silence was first broken by the admiral's laughter, followed by others who were within hearing distance. Garrett, it seemed, was about to become a French hero again.

  "Well, naturally, my men and I wondered why such a grand ship sailed with a merchantman. I have a most insatiable curiosity about such things — "