The Pirate and the Pagan

by Virginia Henley

  She tried to push his hand away and with a ragged moan cried, “Ruark, please.”

  He lifted his head momentarily, but didn’t think he could stop.

  “I will trust you implicitly. … I will let you set the pace, Ruark,” she said softly, knowing they were the only words to stop him.

  He groaned. He knew she was virgin. The sweet trust in her voice made him curse. “Dammit, Summer, you shouldn’t trust me. You mustn’t trust me! I want to be alone with you … I want to make love to you. Go … go now, run before I take your maidenhead!”

  She laughed prettily. “I won’t run from you, Ruark. I know you will protect me with your life,” she said simply.

  “I’m going to seduce you, Summer,” he threatened, to give her fair warning.

  “I don’t care, Ruark. If that is what you want, then seduce me.”

  He groaned hoarsely and bit back a curse. He drew her to a bower and pulled her to the seat beside him. “Forgive me, love, for my rampant male behavior. I should be shot.”

  His mind searched desperately for safe ground and he turned to the subject of his work. “It’s a good thing I’m going to be kept busy here. Tomorrow I have to visit the local militia and read them the riot act. They’ve been so slack, smuggling and even wrecking goes on under their noses. I intend to tear a strip off someone. I’ve got reinforcements coming down from the Bristol garrison. Then I’ll inspect the Marine Patrol and their ships and point out their shortcomings. I’m going to be a very popular man,” he said ruefully.

  “Will you have to be away from home often?” she asked ingenuously.

  “Yes, I’ll have a circuit of courts at Falmouth, Penzance, Newquay, St. Austell, Bodmin, Saltash, and Plymouth.”

  “Plymouth is in Devon,” she ventured.

  “Yes, but I have jurisdiction. You see, it’s too easy for Cornwall criminals to run across into Devon and think themselves safe from the long arm of the law.”

  “You won’t really have to sentence people to death, will you?” she asked in a small voice.

  He hesitated, then told her the truth. “I’m afraid so, Summer, but I will always be fair, impartial.”

  “I trust you,” she said softly.

  “That is unwise,” he murmured.

  “I throw myself upon your mercy,” she said, laughing.

  “I am known to be merciless,” he admitted.

  Her heart beat thickly with fear, for she knew he spoke the truth. Surely Spider would be finished with the business by now. She arose to walk slowly back toward the hall and he followed, keeping his dangerous hands stuffed into his pockets so they would not reach out to crush the delicate primrose.

  As they approached the house, Mr. Burke came to the door with a lantern in his hand.

  “Thank you, Mr. Burke, I shall see the lady home.”

  Panic rose in her throat. She gasped, “I’ll not scandalize your servants.”

  “Mr. Burke would not tolerate such gossip among his staff,” Ruark asserted.

  “Then Mr. Burke is a most upright man.” She smiled at the Irishman. “Would you do me the honor, sir, of lighting me home?”

  Mr. Burke bowed formally and glanced at Ruark. “The lady knows what is correct even if the lord does not,” he said dryly.

  As soon as Summer looked down from her window and saw a man leading two horses, she knew it was the fellow who had bought Ebony. She sent a silent prayer to St. Jude that she had acted promptly in removing her stallion to the Helford estate and shouted down to the kitchen where she could hear her brother boiling the kettle for breakfast. “Spider,” she called urgently, “go out the back way and get your pony out of the stables. Better clean up the horse droppings, too … spread it on the kitchen garden.”

  She grabbed an old gown which had gone to the rag bag a year ago and tousled her hair untidily with both hands. Automatically she thrust her knife into her belt, then she ran lithely down to the kitchen, chopped a spring onion, and held it to her eyes until they watered with irritation, then went outside to face their visitor.

  She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Did you bring us food, sir?” she asked hopefully.

  “No,” he answered, slightly annoyed. “I’m here on business. Is Lord St. Catherine here, girl?”

  The tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “My father is dead, sir,” she whispered.

  The horse man frowned. He eyed the raggy gown apprehensively. “I have a receipt here for a black Barbary I purchased from St. Catherine a month back. I’ve come to collect him.”

  “Sir, what is a black Barbary?”

  “A horse, girl, a horse!”

  “It has been a long time since we could afford to keep horses, sir,” she said with embarrassment.

  “Who is in charge here? Show me to the stables,” he demanded.

  “No one is in charge,” she said helplessly. He didn’t dismount, so she walked meekly beside his horse to the stables. He tied his horses to the hitching post, dismounted and fastened the reins of his own horse securely. Then he strode inside, saying, “I’ll take any livestock you’ve got if there’s no horse.”

  He came to a full stop when he saw that the stables were empty. Just then Summer’s tummy gave a loud roll and he looked at her in disbelief. He knew now what he had only suspected; namely that he had been cheated. What made him livid was the knowledge that he had been a fool to pay money out before he’d received the merchandise. Greed had prompted him to do such a thing, of course. The price asked for the Barbary had been a fraction of what it was really worth.

  “No horses, no livestock … then I demand my money back,” he said aggressively, and his voice echoed about the empty stables.

  “Money?” she asked quietly as if she’d never seen such a commodity. “Sir, we don’t even have food.”

  His eyes narrowed as he looked beyond the raggy gown. She might be a bit of trash, but she was magnificent trash! His eyes gleamed with speculation as he decided he would have something for his money. What better place than a deserted stable? He’d never coupled with a female this young and beautiful in his life. He was suddenly harder and randier than he had been in months. If his luck held, he’d keep her in the stables long enough to enjoy her tender flesh two or three times, If she resisted, he knew ways to force her to his bidding. Spirited fillies sometimes needed a taste of cruelty before they were ready for total obedience. If he hurt her, it was no more than she deserved for cheating him out of what was his. His eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted into a leer.

  Before he took one step toward her, however, she had her knife in her hand.

  “Cat,” came a voice from the stable door. He whirled about to see a male version of the girl, also with glinting drawn knife. “Spider,” she answered, and the two began to slowly close in on him. The hair bristled on the nape of his neck as he realized the pair who used code names were primitive, uncivilized, savage. He took to his heels and ran. He mounted his horse with a filthy curse as he saw the lead rein had been cut and one of his horses was missing. He thought better, however, of inquiring after it.

  Summer looked at her brother with admiration. “Where did you put your pony and the other horse?”

  He winced. “Actually I put them in the back kitchen.” He took off at full speed to assess what havoc they might have wreaked.

  “Spider, I’ll brain you! As if the place isn’t in enough shambles,” she cried, taking after him. They reached the back kitchen door together and collapsed upon each other mirthfully as they saw the big bay gelding and Spider’s pony had devoured every scrap of their food. Gone were the freshly baked loaves, a basket of apples, a bag of oats for their porridge, and the pan of cream to go on it.

  Spider said, “I could nip next door and steal some eggs.”

  “Don’t you dare,” cried Summer in great alarm, then she caught the teasing gleam in his eye.

  “There’s a ham in the larder. Let’s hurry and eat before the wagons arrive for the brandy,” he urged.

&nb
sp; “You mean they’re coming in broad daylight?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re turning into an old woman,” he scorned. “Oh, Spider, you’ll give me a heart attack,” he mimicked in falsetto.

  She glared at him and bared her teeth. “I don’t get heart attacks; I give them!”

  Later in the day when they counted up their money and were about to lock it safely in their cash box, she said with pride, “We have almost three thousand pounds with what I brought back from London. Oh, Spider, I don’t know how you’ve done it.”

  He grinned happily. “Only another seventeen thousand to go, don’t despair.” He filched a sovereign from the box before she locked it and tossed it into the air. “Don’t wait up for me, Cat,” he said, winking.

  The candles had burned themselves out when suddenly Summer came wide-awake. She sensed something was not as it should be and fumbled to light a fresh candle. She reached for her crimson velvet bedgown, took up the candlestick, and went downstairs. In the front hall Spider leaned back against the door, his face ashen.

  “What’s wrong?” She ran to his side, her heart beating wildly in her throat.

  “Militia,” he whispered, “took a shot at me.”

  “My God, what were you doing?” she whispered furiously.

  “Nothing … well, nothing much … stuffs still in the cave. Almost caught us red-handed … had to make a run for it,” he said breathlessly.

  They nearly jumped out of their skins as a loud hammering came upon the door. Summer jerked her thumb toward the stairs and he silently disappeared up them.

  “Open in the name of the law,” came an order in a voice which almost froze her blood in her veins. She waited silently until he hammered on the door again, then she flung it open and held her candle high. It showed her a burly young man with a florid face and small, piggy eyes. “Who are you?” she asked. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “I am Sergeant Oswald, Falmouth Militia,” he said with authority.

  “And so?” she demanded.

  “I have reason to believe that this household is involved in smuggling.” He took a step forward with one boot touching the threshold. Summer did not move back, but thrust the candle closer to his face.

  “This household, as you put it, consists of one lady. How dare you accuse me, Sergeant?” She sensed one or two men beyond him in the darkness and knew her only weapon was to humiliate him.

  “We followed the felon here. No doubt he is one of your servants or grooms. Stand aside while we search the house.”

  “You pompous ass!” she flared. “Are you aware that it is the middle of the night, Sergeant? Are you aware that I am alone here, in a state of undress, Sergeant? Are you aware that this household is in mourning, Sergeant?”

  His neck flushed until you couldn’t tell where his bright uniform began. “If we find neither culprit nor contraband hidden within, we will leave you in peace, m’lady.”

  “You would find neither, Sergeant. You may take my word for it. Good night.”

  Oswald thought of Lord Helford’s cold fury and contempt and the verbal flaying Helford had subjected him to that morning. “The new magistrate has ordered that we search any household under suspicion.”

  “Then the new magistrate is a bloody fool,” she asserted.

  “Fool he may be, but he is a black-tempered authoritarian and I dare not disobey his orders. We must search your house.”

  “You may search my house, Sergeant, when you have shown me your search warrant.”

  “I don’t have one yet. I didn’t think it would be necessary,” he said with narrowed eyes.

  “Let me assure you it is imperative! I suggest you go and get the warrant and come back.”

  “It is the middle of the night,” he spat.

  “Since you have ruined my sleep, I think it only fair that you ruin the magistrate’s sleep, or you could return in the morning, Sergeant, at a more civilized hour,” she suggested sweetly.

  He pressed his lips together in rage and spun on his heel.

  Summer threw home the bolt and climbed the stairs on very shaky legs.

  Spider, still dressed, lay stretched out on his bed. “The whole story, if you please,” she said quietly.

  “It wasn’t wrecking,” he said quickly. “Somebody else must have done that. When we saw the vessel, it was floundering. Belgian or Dutch, so where’s the harm?”

  “We’re not at war with Holland yet,” she pointed out.

  “Anyway, the wreckers had already looted her before we got to her. All the casks were gone except the broken ones. It was gin by the smell of it.”

  “What’s in the cave?” she asked.

  “I’ve no idea what it is. It could be worthless, for all I know. It’s wrapped in oilskins.”

  “Well, whatever it is, we’d better go down now before the tide carries it out again.”

  “Perhaps that would be best. If they search the house in the morning …”

  She stood like a pagan in her crimson robe. “We are part of the sea; we will give up nothing.”

  There were six heavy oilskin-wrapped bundles. It took them three trips each to carry the contraband into the cellars and another three trips to fetch it upstairs. Summer knelt before the bundles and carefully unwrapped one of the oilskins. Her breath caught in her throat as the candlelight revealed the beauty of the rich cache. “It must be Brussels lace,” she said in awe, reaching out to touch the fine, costly material.

  “Who the hell can we sell that to?” asked Spider with disappointment.

  “We must find some way of getting it to Auntie Lil. It’s worth its weight in gold. Of course we’ll have to settle for less than its true value, but it will bring us a few thousand.”

  “Where will we hide it?” asked Spider.

  “In my bed, I think. I’m reasonably certain I’m the only one with access to my own bed,” she said decisively.

  She arose at dawn as usual, but it was not to ride the beach. She chose with care the loveliest day gown she owned. It was a cream linen decorated with pale green ribbon loops. She fastened some cream-colored roses into her hair and went to awaken her brother.

  He blinked at the vision before him. “You’re going to a ball?” he asked, bewildered. Then he guessed again. “You’re getting married!”

  “No, silly. This is a day dress, and a simple one at that, I warrant.”

  “Well then, it’s for his benefit,” he grumbled.

  “No, Spider, it’s for yours. I have to get to Lord Helford before Sergeant Oswald does. Ruark will have to choose between us.”

  Spider grinned. “That bastard Oswald doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”

  “No, I’m afraid he doesn’t,” she said honestly. “Now come and hitch your pony to that little ponycart for me.”

  “You know how to do that; you’ve done it dozens of times,” he said, yawning.

  “Not in cream linen, I haven’t, you lazy dolt.”

  As she came up the long driveway to Helford Hall she saw that Ruark was just ready to depart. A groom held his saddle horse while Mr. Burke stood by holding a stirrup cup. The moment Ruark saw her he came toward the cart, but she jumped down in a flurry of petticoats and ran to him. He took her hands in his, wondering how she could possibly look so delectable at six o’clock in the morning.

  She looked up at him with distress clearly etched on her lovely brow.

  “You’re trembling, love, what is it?” he demanded.

  She opened her mouth to speak and closed it again hesitantly.

  “Come inside and sit down,” he urged.

  “Well … I … well … I.” She hesitated breathlessly.

  “Well … I … will,” she said, allowing him to persuade her.

  With a protective hand at the small of her back he led her through the entrance hall to a small salon with comfortable chairs and a cheery fire. “Some coffee, Mr. Burke.” He sat down across a small inlaid table from her and said anxiously, “Tell me what’s amiss. Some
thing has frightened you.”

  “It was a man,” she said, low. “He came in the middle of the night demanding entrance. I was alone … undressed …”

  His eyes blazed with fury; the muscle in his jaw clenched into an iron knot.

  Mr. Burke’s voice carried to them as he answered the door and bade Sergeant Oswald wait in the entrance hall. Summer looked through the doorway of the salon.

  “Ah, no …” she cried, her hand going to her throat in alarm.

  “Was that the man?” Ruark demanded.

  Summer closed her eyes and nodded imperceptibly.

  Ruark strode into the entrance hall and Sergeant Oswald saluted him smartly and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, Lord Helford, but I need your authorization for a search warrant for your neighbor’s property.”

  Helford took a threatening step toward the militiaman, who stepped back in alarm. Ruark ground out, “Yesterday, Oswald, I questioned your gross incompetence. Today I think I have my answer. Do you drink, Sergeant?”

  “Yes sir, no sir, not on duty, sir.”

  Ruark was enraged that this ruddy-faced lout had seen Summer in her nightclothes. “What other explanation could you possibly have for harassing Lady St. Catherine in the middle of the night?” he thundered.

  “Sir, we chased a suspected smuggler onto the St. Catherine property. She refused to cooperate and let us search for him.”