Fire Dragon's Angel

by Barbara Blythe

  “Go on,” he urged gently. Now his only wish was to ease her suffering.

  “He had a knife and…” Again she faltered.

  “He would have raped you, perhaps killed you,” Latimer finished for her. When she raised her gaze, something strong and powerful rushed through him. “I know of Herrington’s reputation. Usually, he preys upon women of the lower classes who would never be believed should they accuse him of abuse. His connection to Cason has allowed him to bilk, cheat, steal, and blackmail under the guise of the law without so much as raising an eyebrow. He doesn’t deserve the life the Lord has given him.”

  “Even so, I do hope he’s alive. I don’t want to hang.”

  “You’re not going to hang.” Latimer released her and began to pace, running his thumb over his lip as he pondered what he knew firsthand of the night’s events. He stopped and turned. “You are telling me true that Geoffrey didn’t put you up to this? He has unique ways of getting his way. He very much wanted me to marry you.”

  “No.” Ceressa shook her head. “I’ll not deceive you again. Sir Geoffrey knows nothing of what I’ve done this eve. I didn’t tell you who I was because I overheard your conversation and knew you still believed me to be a child. I wanted you to be interested in me as…as a woman.”

  “Why?” Latimer was confused by her words. “Why would you want me interested in you, and why would you offer to marry me?”

  “I—” She faltered.

  It seemed that now her tongue was tied in the same knots with which his stomach wrestled.

  “I admire you. I have since that summer you taught me to ride and fence. I’ve never forgotten you.”

  “You admire me?” Latimer snorted, disbelieving that anyone could admire him. April followed him like a puppy, but that was because he was the closest thing to a parent she had. Poor child. “Either you’ve taken leave of your senses or you take me for an idiot.” Angry and frustrated, he stalked away, disappointed for not being the hero she expected him to be.

  To his surprise, someone grabbed his arm, halting him. Ceressa Quarles moved up close and jabbed him in the chest, those beautiful eyes hurling daggers.

  Fire Dragon's Angel

  10

  The nerve of Latimer Kirkleigh. Ceressa glared indignantly. How dare he insult her? She was sorely tempted to dig her heel into his toes. He wasn’t wearing boots, so he most likely would feel the pain. The world Latimer had once opened he now cruelly closed.

  “I take you for far worse than an idiot,” she retorted. His brows lifted at her words. “I was never happier than I was that summer at Sir Geoffrey’s, spending time with you. But now your spirit is hard and unyielding. You are suspicious and cynical. I know I should have been forthcoming. To play coy was immature. I never, in my wildest imaginings, thought I would need your intervention tonight. When we reach Virginia, I’ll write to Sir Geoffrey. He’ll take care of everything. And you’ll be free of me.”

  “Cease speaking of that man,” Latimer thundered so fiercely she wanted to drop to the deck and cover her face. But she held her ground even though rain had returned, a light mist filling the chill air. She could see their breaths mingling, silver vapor rising heavenward. “Do you not think I can be of some assistance in this matter?”

  “I only wish to relieve you of a difficult burden, which is not of your making. You should send me back to England.” This brought another fierce scowl to Latimer’s handsome face as he gritted his teeth.

  “How could you think I would send you back to England? What do you take me for?” His voice was raw and hoarse. Silence fell, broken only by the flap of the sails, the low murmurs of the sailors, and the crash of the waves against the bow. “I apologize,” he surprised her by saying. “How can I expect anything else? You are Jonathan’s daughter, through and through. Your father is a dreamer and out of touch with reality—a good man but impractical. It seems you’ve followed in his footsteps.”

  “Mock and belittle my father if it makes you feel more a man,” Ceressa declared passionately, “but he is kind and loving to his family. A decent Christian man who is generous and giving. He looks for the best in whomever he meets, and when he fails to find it, he is charitable enough not to judge. You could take a lesson from him.”

  “Lessons in futility. Look where such has gotten him. He may be dead at this moment for all we know, because he looked for the best in Charles Herrington. I tell you such cannot be found.”

  “Your own father is not so unlike mine,” Ceressa pointed out.

  “My father?” Latimer raised his face to the sodden sky and laughed bitterly. “Which father? The one I believed was mine for a score and ten years or the one I discovered just days ago?”

  “I was referring to Sir Geoffrey. I don’t know much about Cameron Kirkleigh.”

  “Cameron never took anything seriously other than his duties to King Charles,” Latimer said, his tone cold. “My mother, apparently coveted by both Cameron and Geoffrey, wed the wrong man, for I have been told she was of a serious bent of mind.”

  “Mrs. Haycock says your mother was a great beauty.”

  “She was. Although I never knew her, her portrait hangs in Kirkleigh Hall. My sister, Constance, did remember her. She often told me our mother had a sweet voice and would sing Constance to sleep.”

  A deep sadness filled Ceressa.

  “But, as you know, my birth killed her. And not long afterward, Cameron was taken prisoner by Cromwell and lost his head. As for Geoffrey, I don’t think he is anything like your father.”

  “He’s good and kind, compassionate and generous. And he’s a Christian.” Latimer laughed again in that cynical way that sent ice flowing through her blood.

  “A Christian, is he? He wasn’t much of a Christian when an Exeter don decided to have me expelled.”

  “I thought only those who planned to enter the ministry attended Exeter.”

  “Yes, well”—he uttered a soft chuckle—“at ten and seven, I had higher aspirations. I imagined that I wanted to spread the Gospel. Can you fancy that?”

  “I can,” she assured, his words tugging her heart. What terrible thing happened to turn him from serving the Lord? “I know something unfortunate occurred to change your mind.”

  “The Exeter don gave a lecture, during which he shared a theological interpretation that he must have devised while heavy into his cups. I publicly challenged his reasoning. He considered my challenge an affront; thereafter, I became the target of the man’s pettiness and hatred. He brought charges of cheating on an examination against me that, because of ofttimes immoderate antics, were fully believable. Geoffrey chose to believe him, although cheating wasn’t, and never has been, a shortcoming to which I succumb.

  “I decided God didn’t need or want one such as I to spread His word. Thoroughly disgusted with the man I believed to be my uncle, I decided to cast my lot with the ‘savages and barbarians’ in Virginia. I believe those are Geoffrey’s words.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Didn’t Sir Geoffrey know better than to believe Latimer would stoop so low as to cheat? Even she didn’t believe him capable of that.

  “Don’t waste your pity on me. I have no need of it.”

  Her concern angered him.

  “Perhaps I would be better if I ran around with my nose in a book spouting poetry and debating philosophy. Is that why you find Montvale fascinating? Does he remind you of your father?” His words stung.

  Was that a hint of jealously in his voice? “I don’t find the viscount ‘fascinating,’” she said, relieved that Latimer had stoked her wrath. “You mock those who think profoundly and dismiss those who have tender hearts. Yes, I do pity you, Latimer Kirkleigh, for I fear you have no capacity to love. And you never will if you don’t stop running from God. One day, He will find you.”

  “Ah, Lady Quarles, you’re looking so much better.” Captain Stokeley approached.

  Latimer snapped his mouth shut.

  Ceressa noted the fury radiating from his g
olden-green eyes.

  “I do hope your journey on the Virginia Princess will prove much more pleasurable. Lord Kirkleigh, as her ladyship is recovered, I was wondering if—”

  “Yes,” Latimer snapped and Ceressa looked closely, wondering what he was saying yes to. “There’ll be no better time than the present.”

  “Let me gather the officers, and then we can begin.” The captain gave a little bow then hurried off.

  Though her throat was oddly constricted, Ceressa managed to squeeze out words. “Of what is he speaking?”

  “Our wedding, of course. You haven’t forgotten that you’re still to become my bride?”

  Her trembling noticeably resumed, and fire shot from his eyes.

  She shrank back.

  “How is it I frighten you when you should have been frightened enough of Herrington to have stayed away from the Red Rose Inn? You make no sense.” His bark ended as a bellow, and Ceressa felt the tears burning.

  Stokeley returned with his first and second mates in tow. Latimer took hold of her arm and drew her close. Ceressa went rigid, and she knew that only angered him more.

  “Without further ado, let us begin,” Captain Stokeley said, while flipping the worn pages of a prayer book.

  Ceressa managed to find her voice. “Latimer, this man isn’t a minister.”

  “He most certainly is,” he snapped, while the captain and his officers chuckled. Ceressa saw nothing humorous—indeed she feared she might be sick to her stomach.

  “Exeter College, class of 1650,” Captain Stokeley offered. “I was the vicar at Wexleigh parish for ten years until the Lord called my good wife home and me to the sea. I assure you, once I’ve spoken the words, the two of you will be legally wed.”

  Ceressa wasn’t convinced and tried to pull free of Latimer’s grasp.

  “This isn’t to be a marriage like those conducted at Fleet Prison, is it?” Ceressa had heard the servant girls whisper about this acquaintance or that friend who’d been convinced to skip the banns and marry in haste. Fleet Prison operated outside the church so clergy willingly performed clandestine or “irregular” marriages for those who wished to marry quickly. Ceressa’s dream of a wedding in the country church where she’d been christened as an infant in a sanctuary filled with roses and lavender disintegrated into ashes.

  “Not at all, Lady Quarles,” Captain Stokeley said, his expression serious. “I’ve never performed a ceremony of that ilk. But as this marriage is taking place at sea, the requirement of banns does not apply; therefore you could consider this wedding irregular, though most legal.”

  “But it seems—” she began until Latimer impatiently interrupted.

  “Would you prefer that we be wed by the Archbishop of Canterbury?” Those gathered chuckled again. “Now, if you’ve no further questions, could we begin?”

  Ceressa wanted to scream. Could this be happening? Surely, this wasn’t God’s plan for her to be yoked to this insufferable, boorish, egotistical…yet hours earlier she’d wanted to marry him…hours earlier she’d believed God was directing her path. Wasn’t He now, as well?

  Captain Stokeley spoke.

  “We are gathered here this night in the presence of God and these witnesses to join in holy matrimony—”

  A comedic nightmare ensued, the likes of which William Shakespeare could not have penned. Ceressa’s tongue clung to the roof of her mouth, and her vocal cords collapsed as the enormity of the situation plunged her into a chasm she had not the wits nor sense to pull herself from. She could barely utter the words that irrevocably bound her to Latimer Kirkleigh.

  Too soon, Captain Stokeley pronounced them husband and wife, and Latimer gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek while slipping a ring on her finger that was a bit too large. The irony was, until tonight, becoming Latimer’s wife was all she’d ever wanted. Ceressa couldn’t escape the captain and his men quickly enough as humiliation escalated, and she nearly tripped in her haste to disappear.

  Unfortunately, Latimer had no trouble keeping up and followed her into the companionway. Unable to endure one second more of his presence, she whirled upon him, raising her fist to emphasize anger. “I’ve had about all I’m going to take from you tonight. Isn’t it bad enough that you’ve falsely accused me of affairs and liaisons and all manner of immoral behavior? Then you force me into this travesty of a marriage and—” Her flow of words ceased when he pulled her against him, his face and his lips terrifyingly close. Good heavens—he couldn’t mean to kiss her again? Would he kiss her again?

  “I suggest you cease your harangue and have a care with that tongue of yours. Lest you find it plucked from your pretty little mouth and thrown to the sharks.”

  “You wouldn’t dare…you think my mouth is pretty?” What was wrong with her, Ceressa wondered as she touched her lips, embarrassed by her silly words. To her amazement, Latimer laughed.

  “Don’t ply me with any coy antics, or I will administer that thrashing I mentioned. I’m taking you to my—your cabin. I want you out of those clothes. Give them to the girl, Mariette, with instructions to bring them to me.”

  “What do you plan to do with them?” she asked, aghast at parting with her garments. He wouldn’t try—oh, no, no, he wouldn’t, she assured herself but without conviction.

  “Burn them. I never want to see them—especially that cloak—again.”

  Ceressa knew her eyes widened in fear.

  “Don’t think I’ll be availing myself of my husbandly rights tonight or ever. I have neither need of nor use for a deceitful woman. You’ll find clothing in the trunks in the cabin. Do with them what you will.”

  “Where will you be tonight?” Her voice was unsteady, and the lowering of his brows made her nervous.

  “As far from you as possible.”

  “I can’t take your cabin. This situation is not of your making.”

  “Funny that you recall that. Hie yourself from here before I forget I’m a gentleman.”

  “That’s a side I’ve yet to see,” she retorted. “And I don’t care where you take yourself, just so I don’t have to see you.”

  “So it’s spunk and spirit you present now instead of weeping and wailing.” His strong, bronzed fingers brushed her cheek with unexpected gentleness, and his eyes flared a dark gold.

  Ceressa quivered, not from fear, but from an excitement his touch invoked deep within. Instantly, she drew back, shocked by her reaction. He appeared to be equally dismayed—revolted, she thought, as disappointment flooded—and he quickly released her. Turning without so much as a good night, Latimer retraced his steps, leaving her in the dimly-lit companionway.

  This was not the man Ceressa had once adored. Nor was she the shy, simple child she’d been. Now she was deceitful and murdered people. How could things have come to this? What had she done to bring this on herself? How could it be she was traveling to Virginia when her parents needed her? How was it that Charles Herrington was bleeding, or worse, dying, in a filthy room in a sordid London tavern, and she was fleeing a hangman’s noose? And how could it be that she was married to Sir Geoffrey’s reprehensible son?

  Burying her face in her hands, she gave in to the sobs she’d held when verbally battling Latimer. “Oh, Lord, what am I to do?” she asked aloud. “I’m afraid and sickened that I could have taken a man’s life. How can I be a wife to a man who detests me? How can I remain when I know he’s only helping me out of some illogical sense of duty? And what of my parents? They need my help.”

  What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee. The words floated through Ceressa’s mind, and her sobbing eased. That one verse reminded her Who was over all. Surely, God would see her through this. Somehow—some way.

  Fire Dragon's Angel

  11

  Suddenly, she was looking into the terrifying face of Charles Herrington, his knife pressed to her throat. Horror washed over her as she struggled to elude him. Where was Latimer? Where was Sir Geoffrey? Why hadn’t she told her godfather about Herrington’
s messenger before leaving? Sir Geoffrey would take care of everything. He would help her find her parents. Sir Geoffrey...Sir Geoffrey.

  “Ceressa!” Someone was shaking her, and she fought the hands that clamped her. What if Charles Herrington had found her? What if he meant to take his revenge?

  “No,” she screamed, slapping at the hands that grasped her shoulders. “No!”

  “Ceressa, you’re dreaming. Wake up.” She was shaken again. “Wake up.”

  The voice that penetrated her terror was commanding, and she obeyed. Her eyelids lifted and, atop the bunk in the cabin, she drew in huge, ragged breaths as she tried to separate dream from reality. A candle illuminated Latimer, who was kneeling beside her, devoid of his finery and dressed simply in a wide-sleeved shirt and dark breeches. Clasping the coverlet tightly, she tried to steady her nerves while recalling she wasn’t properly attired, clad only in the over-large nightrail Mariette had located in one of the huge trunks.

  Apparently, Latimer’s first choice for a bride had been taller, wider in the waist and smaller in the bosom. She recalled Mariette’s comment that Lord Kirkleigh had ordered clothing to fit himself rather than his intended. The girl didn’t realize the real bride had defected and Ceressa was merely the unplanned replacement.

  “I must have been dreaming,” she offered tremulously as she pushed up, wondering why Latimer was in the cabin. Had he changed his mind about sleeping arrangements? A lump of pure panic lodged in her throat. She hoped she didn’t choke again.