Fire Dragon's Angel

by Barbara Blythe

  When Geoffrey’s merchantman rose into view, Latimer called out, and the gangplank that was being lifted was quickly lowered. Several sailors murmured greetings while one alerted the captain of his arrival. High in the rigging, men climbed about, fearlessly accustomed to the height. Latimer’s attention was drawn to the captain who hailed him from the quarterdeck.

  Thrusting the lady before him, they headed up the wooden plank; Latimer was forced to prod her along with his hands firmly pressed to her back. Captain Stokeley hurried to the lower deck as soon as they boarded. It was then Latimer noticed how badly she trembled, her hands shaking uncontrollably. Pity and compassion warred with his anger and fury as the tension ebbed. Her terror was very real and doubtless the result of Herrington’s assault. He was shamed that he’d only added to her fear with his taunts and callous words. What the Lord must think of him.

  “We thought you’d changed your mind, Lord Kirkleigh. You arrived just in time. And this must be the Lady Heloise?” Captain Stokeley swept off his hat as he bowed.

  “The Lady Heloise had a change of heart,” Latimer returned stiffly. “This is her replacement.” Captain Stokeley’s eyes registered confusion even as Latimer mentally labeled his comment as callous. He shook his head. “I’ll explain it all later. My intended has hurt her hand and requires stitches. And I’m sure she wishes to freshen up. I’d like to give her the opportunity to do so.”

  She tugged on his arm. “Please, you don’t understand. Let me leave.”

  Latimer looked down, willing himself not to shake her into silence. Her beautiful eyes filled with tears, and he almost changed his mind until he thought of what could happen if he complied with her wishes.

  “Excuse me, Captain. I believe my fiancée would like a word with me in private.” Grasping her arm, he pulled her to the side fully aware of the interest. He noticed that a silver-haired man and a young girl watched them with open curiosity from their place across the deck.

  “Might I remind you I’m trying to save your life?” He spoke between clenched teeth.

  “I know you are. But I have to return to Sir Geoffrey. Please.”

  Her eyes and voice twisted everything inside him. She’d already enticed him to commit the greatest idiocy in rescuing her and angering a dozen bloodthirsty sots.

  “Your only choice is to come with me.” His tone was intentionally sharp as he glared at her. He could feel the rage mounting as the tears dripped from her quivering chin.

  That served as his undoing. Folding her in his arms, he lowered his face into unbound curls, scented with a hint of rose. “Why did you lie? Why did you go to Herrington? Answer me. Answer me!” He demanded. He felt her body relax, as though she had resolved something—her fate, perhaps? He dared to raise his head and met her gaze.

  “I have deceived you,” she whispered raggedly. “And I pray that God and you will forgive me. What I have told you about my parents is true. But I am not a stranger to you, as I allowed you to believe. My name—my real name—is Ceressa Quarles.”

  ****

  Ceressa withered beneath his glare, aware of his twitching jaw and tautly stretched lips. She squeezed her eyes shut, not sure what she expected. To her surprise, he released her and walked away. Taking a few steps, he whirled about, once more reminding Ceressa of a dragon; this time fire shooting from his eyes.

  “Are you coming or shall I carry you?” he asked with stunning calm.

  She greatly feared and suspected he was a seething cauldron, ready to boil. When she failed to move, he returned. Without warning, he put his arms beneath her and lifted her.

  “Latimer, I cannot—will not—what are you doing?” she screeched, as he walked toward the captain who was surrounded by officers, all open-mouthed and gawking at this unexpected spectacle.

  “It would be pointless to indulge in needless chatter, madam. My father, apparently, has had the last laugh.”

  “Put me down,” she shrieked, hitting his chest with more strength.

  He did as she instructed, and as soon as her feet touched deck, she lifted her skirts and petticoats and ran toward the gangplank, dutiful sailors once again lifting it up. Ceressa knew she couldn’t leap over the side and land, but she surged forward even as Latimer called her name in warning. A wet, slippery deck and ropes scattered all about didn’t aid her escape efforts, and when her heel caught on a hemp line, her other foot slipped out from under. As she went down, the last thing she noticed was the gangplank being stored securely. Then everything went black.

  Fire Dragon's Angel

  9

  Ceressa’s return to consciousness was both painful and unwelcome, the semi-conscious bliss preferable. If she awoke, she’d remember. But if she didn’t awaken, she couldn’t put to rights the situation. How could she have known things would get so out of hand, that Charles Herrington would exact twisted revenge upon her and her parents, that she would seriously injure him while trying to defend herself? What if he died from his wound? And there was her terrible deception—she’d never fully understood the sins of omission because she’d never deceived anyone before this night. She was certain to burn in the eternal fires of torment. How could God ever forgive so terrible a sin?

  Groaning, she opened one eye then another, at last focusing on a young girl seated at her side, the girl’s chestnut curls hanging loose. She was pretty, but her clothing was old, faded, and bore the evidence of many repairs. The girl gave Ceressa a timid smile.

  “Oh, you’ve come around, milady. Thank goodness,” the girl said, removing a rag from a bowl nearby. The bed was more like a bunk and, looking about, Ceressa realized she was in the cabin of a ship. As the girl laid the wet cloth on her brow, Ceressa recognized the gentle, soothing sway of a ship at sea. Sitting up with a shriek, she reached out to grip the girl, whose eyes widened.

  “Tell me we haven’t sailed. Tell me this ship hasn’t left London,” she begged as she unconsciously shook the girl; panic, fear, and horror merged. Dear God, will this night ever end?

  “We’ve been in open water for an hour, milady. You’ve been asleep ever since you took that nasty bump to your head. Lord Kirkleigh asked me to make sure you didn’t need anything.”

  “This is my fault,” Ceressa cried, dropping her face in her hands. “I should have told him who I was. And he thinks I went to that inn to meet Charles Herrington.” Shudders wracked her body. “I can’t leave England. I have to find my parents. They need me.” Nearly hysterical, Ceressa squeezed her eyes closed and shook her head, trying to shake free of the obsessive terror that held her. Why couldn’t she pray? Why wouldn’t her mind form the words she needed God to hear? “If only I’d told the truth,” Ceressa said brokenly, pressing fingers to her throbbing temple.

  “Lady Quarles, everything will be all right.” Ceressa looked at the girl in surprise. Latimer must have told everyone her name.

  “If you only knew what I’d done, you’d not think very highly of me.” That brought a smile to the girl’s face.

  “I think you’re the most beautiful lady I’ve ever seen, and Lord Kirkleigh was very worried when you hit your head. He’s quite taken with you.”

  The girl spoke in a cultured voice, and her manner and expression conveyed that of a gentlewoman fallen upon hard times. Wondering about the girl forced Ceressa’s mind from her current plight.

  “What is your name?”

  “Mariette Jones. I’m sailing to Virginia with my grandfather. He makes clocks, but he lost his shop, so we decided to start over in a new land. Of course we’ll be indentured for seven years, but that won’t be so bad if we end up with a good family.”

  “What if you are separated?” Ceressa asked, genuinely concerned. It was possible no one would have much use for an elderly male, but there might be many who’d want a pretty, young girl—possibly for all the wrong reasons. Ceressa’s trembling returned as she recalled the face of Charles Herrington.

  “We stay together,” Mariette Jones said firmly. “I won’t be parted fro
m my grandfather. He raised me, and we’ve had only each other for twelve years. He taught me to read, write, and do sums, and I kept his books. He’s taken care of me all of my life. Now, it’s my turn to take care of him.”

  “He’s very lucky to have you,” Ceressa said and smiled. “I pray things work out just as you’ve dreamed.”

  “They will,” she assured Ceressa with the naiveté of the very young. Mariette didn’t look to be more than fifteen or sixteen. “We have God watching over us. Now that you’re awake, shall I call Lord Kirkleigh?”

  “No!” Ceressa gasped as she swung her legs to the side, then quickly clutched her aching head. She had to do something—could she pay the captain enough to return her to London? She had to let the authorities know that Charles Herrington had attacked her and that she’d stabbed him only to save herself. It was also important a search commence immediately for her parents. Sir Geoffrey would believe and help her...but could he save her from execution if Herrington died from the wound she’d inflicted? What if Sir Geoffrey was powerless to see her proven innocent? What if she was convicted of murder? Dear Lord, what should I do? Why can’t I reason through this mess?

  Let it go.

  How many times had her parents told her that when she was faced with difficulties or choices? Let the matter rest in the Lord, and He will take care. Looking up, she saw Mariette was watching her worriedly.

  “I mean, I shall go to Lord Kirkleigh. But thank you for offering.” Cautiously, Ceressa placed her feet on the floor and stood, swaying a little before she found balance.

  “I’m not so sure you should be up. You took a terrible fall.”

  “I’m quite well now,” Ceressa said, although she felt anything but. Looking at her right hand, she saw it was bandaged, linen strips replacing Latimer’s handkerchief. “Mariette, did you do this?” she asked.

  “Not I, milady. ’Twas Lord Kirkleigh that cleaned, stitched, and wrapped it. He growled quite fiercely, mumbling about foolishness.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me. His lordship is on deck?”

  “He needed to have a word with the captain, and he said to tell you these trunks contain your things.” Mariette gestured toward two huge trunks with shiny brass fittings, tucked in a corner. Were these Heloise’s?

  “Thank you.” Picking up her blood-stained cloak, Ceressa shuddered as she put it on. Gathering it close, she drew a deep breath, certain she would be facing far worse than Daniel’s lions when he’d been thrown into their den. Indeed, she was to face a dragon. Letting herself out of the cabin, she moved carefully along the dimly lit companionway.

  ****

  As Latimer looked up at a starless, cloud-filled sky, he couldn’t recall a time when he’d allowed a woman to complicate his life. Heloise’s defection had proven an aggravation, and Phyllis’s flirtations had grown annoying. When she’d learned he was returning to London to find a wife, she focused her fickle affections upon the insufferable Willshire—or so Latimer had heard. But this woman, this Ceressa Quarles who should have still been a child according to his faulty memory, had in one night wreaked havoc. How could she have single-handedly destroyed everything he’d once so highly prized—solitude, freedom, and control—and done it so completely with but a flash of her eyes and a tear on her cheek?

  Life as he’d known it had ceased with her revelation. He should have been intelligent enough to put it together: Geoffrey’s odd suggestion that he marry Ceressa, her offer to marry him, the scent of roses that clung to her hair. Though he’d last enjoyed her company when she’d been barely into her teens, she’d possessed that stunning shade of hair and those eyes that sparkled with life, wonder, and compassion.

  How contagious her excitement had been when she’d successfully ridden Geoffrey’s mare around the paddock without assistance that long ago summer. And what elation the first time the protected tip of her épée had found its way beneath his chin. Could this truly be Ceressa—Ceressa, a woman with curves and certain physical endowments that couldn’t be ignored? Could he forget the kiss they’d shared, that unexpected mix of innocence and passion? Blast his unc—father. Blast his own self for being a blind dolt too wrapped up in his affairs to see what was before him. Why did he like the way she felt in his arms, imagining himself her protector, the slayer of all the dragons that threatened?

  And with Ceressa’s revelation came the more troubling matter. Why had she been with Charles Herrington? She should have known better than to meet with him alone.

  Years ago, before Latimer traveled to the colonies, he’d heard how Herrington had abused a prostitute and left her half dead. The brother-in-law, Lord Cason, rumor had it, had helped him avoid any consequences. Latimer knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but think what a blessing it would be if Herrington didn’t recover from his wound. He quickly asked God for forgiveness and pushed the terrible thought from his mind. And why did Ceressa keep insisting her parents were in trouble?

  “Latimer? Might I have a word with you?” Turning, he found himself face to face with a pale but composed Ceressa, a purpling bruise marring her lovely brow. What right had she to look so when he was a roiling conflagration of anger, confusion, and emotion? What was her part in Geoffrey’s plot to see him wed to her?

  He stared, searching for the child he’d once known. But all he found was a woman with sweet lips, violet-brown eyes, and a mass of wheat-colored curls. The wind snapped his unbound hair across his face, ending his perusal. He wanted to rage, shake, and kiss her all at the same time. The scent of roses gently teased, irritating him even more. How dare she smell like a spring garden after all she’d put him through?

  “As this ship precludes any effort at escape, I may as well give you a moment of my time. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes…thank you for asking. My hand doesn’t hurt nearly as much. The girl, Mariette Jones, told me you tended it.”

  He nodded stiffly, recalling the sight of Ceressa in that filthy room with Charles Herrington. There was no excuse for a man to physically abuse a woman. It was only the lowest and basest beast that would do so.

  “I tried many times to tell you the truth,” she began uncertainly, and he found himself clenching his fists as he struggled with a new emotion. Fear—fear that Ceressa could have died, either at the hands of Herrington or the drunks that gave chase. She took a step closer and he backed up, afraid to let her get too near, afraid she would see his vulnerability.

  “Sir Geoffrey knows nothing of my offer to you. He doesn’t know that I deceived you about who I was.”

  “How can I be sure you’re telling the truth? This is exactly the sort of thing he’d try, knowing that once you’d been compromised, I’d have no choice but to marry you.”

  “He would never do that.”

  Latimer turned his back and gripped the rail so tightly his hands ached. The wind was picking up and the clouds were thickening. Rain was imminent.

  “Sir Geoffrey played no trick upon you.”

  “And you expect me to believe you?”

  “I know that is difficult after I led you to believe I was someone you didn’t know. But I tried to straighten things out when you found me with Charles Herrington.”

  He could hear the tears in her voice, but to look would invite certain disaster, for he feared he couldn’t sustain anger if he saw her tears.

  “I wasn’t there for what you think.”

  “It’s reassuring to know that a lady as discriminating as you would never voluntarily visit such an establishment.” He despised sarcasm but knew it was the only way he could speak and retain some semblance of composure. God, I haven’t spoken to You much of late. But I need help. I need to know what to do. “You’re remarkably fortunate you salvaged your virtue during that little adventure. You strike me as a willful, spoiled child sorely in need of thrashing.”

  “Have you no idea how horrible this is for me? You’re making it difficult to tell you why I came to be at the Red Rose. If you could but stop raging—” />
  “You’re lucky I’m only raging.” He turned to face her. “Start from the beginning, and you’d best tell me everything. And don’t try to protect—my father.” Bitterness filled him each time he said the word. “Do you hear?”

  Ceressa nodded while clasping her hands. Latimer noticed the blood that stained her cloak—hers or Herrington’s? He would have the garment destroyed. Heloise’s trunks contained two cloaks, one lined with ermine and the other mink. Surely, one of those would suit Ceressa.

  “My parents received word that my Great Aunt Lydia passed away. Mother is her closest of kin—her niece—so she and Father felt it necessary to travel to her home in Cornwall. They left a few days ago. I’d just recently recovered from a mild fever, so they felt I should stay home and not risk a relapse. Before leaving, they delivered me to our London residence and asked Sir Geoffrey to look in on me. After you and I parted at Sir Geoffrey’s, Mrs. Haycock told me there was a man sent by Charles Herrington waiting in the kitchen. He intimated to Mrs. Haycock that my parents had been in a terrible accident.

  “I spoke to the man, but I didn’t want to leave without explaining matters to Sir Geoffrey. Neither I nor Mrs. Haycock could find him, and I didn’t want to waste time, so I left with the man.”

  “But Herrington couldn’t be your father’s barrister. Your father is much too honorable and ethical to employee the services of one such as he.”

  “He isn’t. But Lord Cason, his brother-in-law, is. I was told Lord Cason was away and Herrington was taking care of matters in his absence. So I left in my carriage, following Herrington’s messenger. The man told me I was to meet Herrington at the Sword and Crown, but instead he took me to the Red Rose Inn, explaining he’d gotten the places mixed up. When I went upstairs, Herrington was awaiting me. He told me that my parents had been involved in an accident and were dead, and that I had no one but him to turn to, and that he planned to have his revenge. I did not understand what I or my parents had done to make him so angry. I told him I didn’t believe him. He tried…he tried...” Her voice failed and Latimer moved closer, allowing himself to clasp her arm in a reassuring gesture. She was shaking worse than the leaves in an autumn gale.