Fate & Fortune

by Michaels, Fern

  “Th’ slop pails, lass,” the cook bellowed. “Get a move on afore ’is ’ighness takes ’is boot ta ye. Stop th’ dreamin’. ’Tiz a poor pastime these days. ’Tiz only ’ard work tha’ll give ye th’ coppers ta fill yer belly.”

  “Oi’m ’ungry,” Tori said pitifully.

  The cook, eyes aghast, couldn’t believe her ears. “’Ungry! Why ye know ye don’ get no food till th’ inn closes an’ tha’s almos’ twelve ’ours from now. Wha’ in God’s name ’as gotten inta ye, Dolly? An’ t’day it’s only cabbage an’ bread, ’is ’ighness said ta take ye down a peg fer th’ sloppy work ye been doin’ this mornin’.”

  “Oi detest cabbage,” Tori said belligerently. “Dry bread!”

  “Oi, but ye’ll eat it when ye’re ’ungry!” Tori yelped as she saw the cook upraise her hand to swat the sassy girl. Mollified by Tori’s reaction, the cook headed back to the kitchen with Tori in her wake.

  “Get after the slop pails, lass. Why ye be followin’ me?” Tori looked blank. “Oi swear,” the cook continued, “yer wits be addled this day. Get over ta’ th’ lodgin’s an’ get those pails!”

  Tori walked on dragging feet over to the inn’s lodgings and down the hall. As she grasped the handle of the chamber pot, her stomach somersaulted; she dumped the contents into the pail. God, how could she ever do this? Setting the pail down, she leaned against the wall and gagged and tried to stem the flow of tears. She had to do it! If Dolly could do it then so could she! Gritting her teeth, she picked up the pail and opened the door. She repeated her task with each of the other six rooms and walked around the side of the building looking for the pit which emptied into the middens. Staggering near to the edge, she near vomited from the stench.

  Unable to go one step farther she leaned against the outside wall and gasped for breath. Her legs felt like jelly, her arms seemed as if they had been pulled from their sockets, her stomach muscles were drawn into a tight knot, and her neck felt like someone had tied a garrote around it. Again tears threatened to overflow.

  She had to sleep. She needed rest. And she was so hungry. Tori knew if she stopped now she would never be able to move.

  With a mighty heave she flung herself from the dank-smelling wall and stood upright on her trembling, quaking legs.

  Back in the inn she spotted her tormentor in the process of emptying a tankard of ale. “There be guests in th’ dinin’ ’all. Take th’ orders an’ serve th’ food. An’ be quick abou’ it. We don’ need any yellin’, bawlin’ customers.”

  Brushing the hair from her face, Tori entered the dining hall. She glanced around at the customers—all men who eyed her lecherously.

  “Cum ’ere, Dolly, me girl, an’ give me a kiss,” one bearded giant roared.

  Tori paled at the request and walked hesitantly over to the man. “Sir,” she asked quietly, “wha’ll ye ’ave fer dinner?”

  “Sir, izzit?” the man roared. “Ye be a tease, Dolly, me luv, cum ’ere an’ give me a kiss.”

  Tori’s step faltered as the man reached a long arm and brought her onto his lap. He gave her a smacking kiss on the mouth and set her upright. Tori gasped.

  “Now ye can get me my meat an’ potatoes,” he laughed.

  So this was the kind of game they played at the inn. Dolly was a plaything of sorts. She worked like a mule and then had to suffer these indignities! Through clenched teeth, Tori told the cook the customer’s order. She carried it in shaking hands and placed it before the bearded man. She smiled tremulously.

  “Ye’ll ’ave ta move faster, Dolly, me luv,” a man shouted. “Oi canno’ fill me belly on pretty smiles.” Tori hastened to obey.

  As Tori stood waiting behind the kitchen doors she watched the cook dish out generous portions of lamb and cabbage. The rough language and the boots of the men rattled her, and for the hundredth time that day she pitied Dolly for the long, hard years she had worked in the inn.

  The cook pushed a tray of food at her and glanced curiously into her face. “’Ere, Dolly, lass, wha’s eatin’ ye? Ye know if ye let them bullies get ye down they’ll stomp on ye! ’Ere, ’ere, where’s tha’ ole spunk o’ yers? Get out there, Dolly, and give them wha’ fer.”

  So, Dolly was spunky, was she? And none too gentle with the clientele’s feelings, too? Well, perhaps that was the way Dolly found to help her get through one long day after another. Taking a deep breath, Tori stepped out into the dining hall and delivered the tray. As she was bending over the table, she felt a hand reach up under her skirts and pinch the back of her thigh. Almost spilling a tankard of ale, she swung around and, not caring who was the recipient, slapped the reddened face of the man nearest her.

  Shocked at what she’d done, Tori prepared herself to do battle. Instead she was complimented and cheered by laughing jeers directed at the man whose face she’d slapped.

  “Tha’ be more loike our old Dolly,” a voice called from the far side of the room. “Brew and vinegar, Oi always says, eh men?”

  When her tasks were finally finished, she looked at the cook in hope of food for herself.

  The cook took a piece of boiled cabbage the size of an apple and a chunk of dry bread and handed it to Tori. Looking at the unappetizing meal, she shook her head. Her stomach turned and the bile rose to her throat.

  Shaking her head, Tori walked into the taproom for her wages. Weary to the bone, she didn’t see the booted foot of the bearded giant till it was too late. He caught her as she fell and started to paw her before the others. Tears gathered in Tori’s eyes as she fought off the man with all her remaining strength.

  “Cum on, Dolly, it’ll be fun an’ games. Stop th’ blubberin’.” Even though the tone was kindly, Tori was in no mood for the jeering and jesting at her expense. Seeing the tears, the man let her go. She walked over to the proprietor and waited patiently for her day’s wages. He doled them out and held back several of the coppers. Tori looked at the meager coins and wondered if it would be enough to pay the rent. Eyes smarting, she turned to leave when someone grabbed her from behind and swung her into the air. Tori screamed in fright as the man tossed her to a companion. They tossed her back and forth and roared with laughter at her screams. Unnoticed in the mêlée the door opened and a cold, hard voice rang out, booming over the commotion.

  “Leave the girl!”

  Tori, crying openly, looked up at the tall man with the piercing black eyes. Someone hissed!

  “Are you all right Dolly?” the brusk voice demanded. Tori nodded affirmatively. “Come with me. I’ll take you to your room to be sure you get there safely,” he said, raking the occupants of the taproom with a threatening, pointed stare.

  “Watch out, Dolly. Wha’ makes ye think Scarblade’s th’ one ta make ye safe?” a voice jeered, only to be cut off by a black look.

  The innkeeper called nastily, “An’ don’ return on th’ morrow! Oi’ll be havin’ a new lass ’ere. One tha’ can do th’ work an’ no’ weep an’ wail all th’ day. It wuz only a l’il jest th’ men were ’avin’.”

  Tori cast a frightened look at the innkeeper. “But . . .”

  “Ye got yer wages, now take yersel’ off!”

  Tori was barely cognizant of the events of the past few moments. She was only aware of her gratitude to this tall dark stranger who had saved her from the rough handling she had suffered. Suddenly she realized the identity of her rescuer!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Once he opened the door of her room he looked at her and waited for her to speak. Tori, in a quandary, did not know if the man and Dolly were friends, or what to say. He solved the problem for her. Looking into the room, he let his eyes rake it from top to bottom. He saw no sign of the ermine-lined cloak. Also, Dolly herself seemed different somehow.

  “Dolly, where’s the cloak?” he asked coldly, making his voice light.

  “What?” Tori managed to answer.

  “The ermine-lined cloak that you said a gentleman gave you. Where is it?”

  “Oh.” Tori’s thoughts race
d. “Oi . . . Oi returned it ta th’ gent since it seemed ta upset ye,” she said, quietly. Evidently it was the correct response to his question, for the man looked pleased.

  “So, you had a change of heart, is that it?” Tori nodded and watched him carefully. “You stole it, didn’t you?” the man demanded. “No gentleman gave it to you. You just wanted to trick me into giving you something of equal value. Am I right?”

  Not knowing what the correct answer should be, Tori merely nodded. “I thought as much!” Scarblade smiled, apparently pleased to have his convictions made valid. “Come here now and take those blasted pins from your hair,” he said in a deep-timbred voice. “I’m in a mood for loving this night.”

  Tori blinked. Did he mean . . . could he mean . . . ? Her mind raced, frantically searching for some diversion to occupy him while she tried to think of a way to make her escape.

  “And none of your wiles, my 1ass. I’ve come to claim the gold guinea or what it was meant to pay for.” His eyes swept over her mockingly, dangerously. Tori knew this was not a man to cross.

  “What’s it to be, Dolly? The money or the goods? You’ll not get off as easily as you did last night.”

  What did he mean? Had Dolly rejected his advances? No, somehow Tori could not believe that was so. Dolly had an eye and an inborn appreciation for the male sex. It wouldn’t be like Dolly to have refused this handsome rake anything!

  A movement of his hand revealed he carried a bottle of wine. “Surely ye’ll invite me ta ’ave a sip wi’ ye,” Tori said coaxingly.

  “Of course, I brought it especially for you, knowing your taste for the grape. Get your cup, Dolly. We’ll have a little celebration.”

  “Celebration?”

  “Aye! To mark the settling of the differences of last evening. Go on now,” he said as he worked with the cork in the bottle.

  She moved across the room. “Ye know Oi’ve not much cause fer celebratin’ now, wi’ losin’ me only means o’ livelihood this evenin’,” she said, falling back into Dolly’s native cockney.

  He gave a grunt as he pulled the cork from the bottle, then gave a raucous shout of laughter and seemed beside himself with the humor he found in her words.

  “Your only means of livelihood! Ah, Dolly love, now you’ ve no reason to play the grand duchess with me. This is the Blade, remember? You’ll make do somehow, I’ll count on that. A lovely young girl like yourself and so . . . agreeable! Dolly love, an agreeable female always finds her way in the world. Besides, where’s that hoard of coins you’re so fond of reminding me of? Last I knew, you had a king’s ransom in gold sovereigns. Now you wouldn’t be trying to connive me out of my hard-earned cash, would you?”

  So, Tori thought enraged, it seems Dolly carried more than an ermine cape in the bundle she kept clutched so close to her heart. The bawd! Leaving me without a ha’penny and the rent due . . . and Granger! When I get my hands on his neck...

  But more immediate problems flooded her mind. What was she to do with Scarblade? He truly believed she was Dolly and what he expected of her brought a hot flush of color to her cheeks. In a rush, the emotions she experienced while sitting atop the giant chestnut welled through her with all their vividness.

  His dark, heavy-browed eyes with their hidden depths of excitement and a thinly veiled passion looked into hers. Again she felt herself struggling to keep her breath from knotting in her throat as she had that September day when she had met the infamous Scarblade for the first time. But to meet him again . . . and in this manner!

  “Drink up, Dolly, is my wine not good enough for your ladyship?” he mocked. He approached her and Tori felt her knees weaken. If he touched her she knew full well what effect it would have on her awakened passions. She hedged, retreated a step, put the cracked cup up to her lips, and took a hearty swallow, choking on the raw brew. Scarblade put the bottle to his mouth and partook deeply of its contents.

  When he finished he put the bottle down and gazed at her with heavy-lidded eyes. His white teeth flashed during a quick smile and he called softly to her, “Dolly love, will you take the pins from your hair now?” Tori noticed the scar on his cheek become more pronounced, and this, more than his burning looks, terrified her. “S for seduction” echoed through her thoughts.

  He spoke so intimately. Couldn’t he see she wasn’t Dolly? Surely once a man slept with a woman he wouldn’t be so easily fooled. Dolly and Tori were very close in looks and build, but there were definite differences. The eyes for example—how could he fail to notice Tori’s tear-bright, cat-green eyes, so different from Dolly’s, which were a soft, willow gray? It occurred to Tori that as far as Scarblade was concerned, there was no discernible difference between women. He could enjoy them, use them, and possibly profit by them—and never take real notice of their dissimilarities.

  Tori struggled to gain control of her shaking knees. Then in a brazen retort to his demand that she let down her hair, she removed a pin, gathered a curl, and returned the pin to hold it more securely.

  Scarblade’s eyes narrowed. In one step he was against her, holding her fast to his lean, hard body. His lips were hot and wine-scented as they pressed against hers. She could feel her lips part beneath his as she struggled to free herself, as if fighting for her life. Scarblade held her closer, enveloping her within the strong fold of his arms.

  Weakened by conflicting emotions, Tori ceased her struggles. Scarblade’s answer was a renewed ardor as he pressed long, passionate kisses to her lips. She felt his hands in her hair, on her breasts, on the small of her back, and reaching lower.

  Tori felt her sensibilities leave her and in their place, from deep within, came an answering response. As though of their own volition, her arms sought the rippling muscles of his back, the narrowness of his waist. Her thighs pressed against his, feeling their strength through her skirts. He was no longer kissing her and she was aware that his breath came in sharp rasps that matched her own. Low groans of pleasure escaped his lips as he began to trail them along her neck and then down to the cleft between her breasts Tori clung to him, welcoming him, pressing herself closer, and she was aware of his tumescence. Violently she struggled to free herself from him. What was wrong with her to acquiesce to his salacious, lustful advances? Had playing the role of Dolly become so ingrained in this short time that she was actually falling prey to that girl’s loose morals?

  Tori lashed out blindly, feeling the broken nails of her hand gouge and rake at his chest and neck. Fury inflamed her cheeks, and shame and humiliation at what she had almost allowed to happen brought hot, stinging tears of frustration to her eyes.

  “You devil!” she shouted. “Keep your hands off me.” She lashed out again with a clawlike hand aimed at the ebony eyes that burned through her, too furious to remember to feign Dolly’s accent.

  Scarblade sidestepped her flailing arm, caught it cruelly by the wrist, and pulled her against him, holding her there in an iron grip.

  All the weariness of the past few days overcame her. Dry, wracking sobs of approaching hysteria caught in her throat. She was the vanquished and he the victor. Let him do with her what he would, then just leave her to sleep, perhaps to die.

  Closely pressed one against the other, they held each other; Tori’s lips were burning and bruised, and from time to time an involuntary trembling took hold of her.

  Through the light material of her bodice he could feel the provocation of her breasts, and was aware that she could feel him swell with desire.

  Feeling his lips part from hers, Tori opened her eyes and the flaming S on his cheek seemed to hypnotize her with its denotation of sexual arousal. He could read the desire in her eyes and his caresses on her breasts became more active. Again Tori surrendered herself, near to a faint, as though all energy within her was anticipating a most unsuspected pleasure.

  The sound of shrieking laughter filled her brain and she felt the ’Blade move away from her. Slowly, her sensibilities returned, as though she were pulling herself from a dream. When T
ori turned she was startled to see Mrs. Coombs filling the open doorway with her bulk.

  The hag was watching Scarblade and taking note of the murderous expression on his face; her laughter died in her throat. Retrieving her composure to a degree, Mrs. Coombs made her excuse for her abrupt entrance. “It’s me rent,” she said harshly, defying Scarblade to dispute her right to be there. “Oi’ve cum fer it an’ Oi wants it now!” Hanks of greasy hair hung over her bloated, swollen face, and she tossed her head with a jerking motion. “Well,” she demanded, “do ye ’ave it er no’?”

  Scarblade put his hand into a pocket, withdrew some coins, and tossed them to her. “Here!” he said in a deep voice that rankled with suppressed fury, “this should more than satisfy you.”

  Mrs. Coombs scurried to capture the scattered coins, near losing her balance in her haste. When she had picked up the last coin she turned to Tori with hate-filled eyes that bore into the girl’s being. “An’ Oi’ll thank ye ta take yer leave o’ me ’ouse. Oi’ll no’ ’ave th’ loikes o’ ye scandalizin’ me ’ouse. An’ be quick abou’ it or Oi’ll ’ave th’ watch on ye, an’ it’ll be more than jus’ back rent Oi’ll be ’avin’ ye picked up fer. Oi’ll tell ’em ’ow ye tried ta kill me, Oi will!”

  Tori’s obvious confusion was well marked by Mrs. Coombs. “An’ Oi suppose ye’ll deny ye tried ta kill me. Barley an’ goose grease posset, indeed! Oi near passed me innards inta th’ chamber pot, Oi did. Now out, Oi tell ye! This ’ere’s a respectable ’ouse . . .”

  Scarblade had heard enough. This old harridan was going too far. The intensity of his passion was replaced with a scornful dislike bordering close on hatred. “You have your money, Mrs. Coombs, more than enough. Certainly more than this poor room is worth.”

  Mrs. Coombs drew herself to full height, and although Tori could see the faint twitching of her many-tiered chin, the landlady spoke with authority. “Out she goes, ye hear? Now!” came the sneering final edict.