Crystal Passion

by Jo Goodman

  Neither Chubb nor Hank doubted Smith, but they both believed they were smarter than he. Of course they didn't understand that was precisely what Smith had counted on all along.

  The cannons had continued without pause for so long that Ashley no longer minded their ear-stunning roar. What she did mind, what worried her beyond all else, was the fierceness of her contractions. She had no way of knowing if her pain was shared by all women before they gave birth, or if something was wrong with her. More than anything she wanted Salem by her side and Charity's soothing hand on her brow.

  She had just finished knuckling away a tear, angry with herself for her weakness, when the hatch above her opened. She was so surprised when she saw the face peering down on her that she remained speechless.

  "Raise your hands, wench, and I'll pull you up," Smith directed emotionlessly. "You've reached the end of your journey."

  For a moment Ashley thought he meant the Arbus, then realized the cannons were still steadily pounding at nearly the same volume as before. The schooner had not neared the fighting by much more than a few hundred yards. She bit her lip, hoping she was doing the right thing, and put her trust in Smith as she thought Salem would have wanted her to. With surprisingly little struggle, Smith had her on the deck, and although she swayed on her feet she managed to steady herself with no help from the three men around her. Not that there was any help offered, she reminded herself uneasily. Even Smith made no move to assist her. She realized with a small shock that if she had never seen him before, if Salem had told her nothing about him, he would have looked just as cruel and merciless as the two strangers in front of her. She still did not know if these others were friends or enemies.

  Enemies, she decided as one of them touched her hair with thick and dirty fingers. "I know why you volunteered to stay," Chubb said to Smith. "You've a mind to have a little piece and no worry that you might plant your seed." Ashley shuddered and tried to pull away from the man. He wrapped his fingers tighter in her raven tresses so that she was jerked closer to him. "Now don't take offense, darlin'. You can always fight him off."

  Smith shrugged. "And you can always change your mind about stayin'. I'd like it just as well to go up river."

  Chubb dropped Ashley's hair. "Smith, I don't like you much above half, and I trust you even less. But I will say that you've done your best to make something of this mess that Flannigan got us in, so I'll be bringin' back your part of the ransom. You just keep the bird safe."

  Incredible, Smith thought, how a man could lie through his teeth when it served him. "I'll do my part. You do yours."

  Ashley hadn't heard a word that was said. Her attention was focused solely on the battle further down the inlet and on the Caroline as it was engulfed in flames. Even as she watched, men were jumping from her taffrail and swimming for shore. She could not make out her husband among them. Her face paled, and she brought her hands to her mouth to keep from screaming. As it was she could only smother the sound.

  "I'm gettin' her off here now," Smith said, swinging Ashley into his arms. Please don't yell for your husband, he thought. Please don't let them know you have ties to that ship. His pleas were answered because Ashley simply fainted. "Damn squeamish females," he said for the benefit of his companions, clumsily jumping into the shallow water. "Midnight. Caroler's Inn. Tell Robert McClellan that Smith has his daughter-in-law. He knows my reputation. He knows I won't hesitate to kill her if you don't come back with the money by midnight." He gave them each a hard purposeful glance, then turned his back on them and strode quickly along the river bank toward the town.

  Only when he was convinced the schooner had fled for the comparative safety of the James River did he stop and carefully lay Ashley on the ground. He cut her bonds, massaged her bruised wrists, then patted her tear-stained cheek gently. "Mrs. McClellan, you better come around or your husband is gonna kill me, and I can't say that I'll hold it against him. C'mon, Mrs. McClellan. You don't seriously believe Salem was hurt in that fire, do you? Hell, he's been in worse than that and done all right."

  Ashley blinked several times and caught her breath sharply as another contraction made her draw up her legs. "Please, help me," she said in a strained voice, raising piteous eyes to him. "I'm going to have my babies."

  Smith didn't even flinch at the word babies, smoothing away the damp tendrils of hair that clung to her cheeks. "You can whelp a half dozen if you want to. I'm gonna help you. Don't worry. Are you in much pain?"

  "Only every once in a while."

  "How often?"

  "I'm not certain. I think about every quarter of an hour."

  "Then we've got hours yet," he said with assurance to her. I think, he said to himself. "Can you walk some? I want to get you to an inn where you'll be comfortable until I can bring Salem."

  She levered herself on her elbows. "I think I can. I may have to stop once in a while."

  Ashley sounded as if she were apologizing. Smith smiled to himself, the first genuine smile to touch his lips since he had first talked with Flannigan nearly a week ago. If he had known then that Salem's wife was the intended victim of the Irishman's machinations, he would have killed the man right where he stood. Instead he had had to wait until early this afternoon to discover that Flannigan held Ashley. From there he had played everything by ear, thankful in part that he was not tone-deaf.

  Smith helped Ashley to her feet and let her lean heavily on him with every step. In this manner they reached the hostelry in under twenty minutes. Ashley's faltering steps were frequently punctuated by the intermittent report of cannon fire as the fighting slowed. Smith encouraged her the entire way, speaking to her in a voice made soft by concern for her vulnerability and respect for her strength.

  It was only at the end, as they reached the entrance to the inn, that Ashley's legs gave way under pain and exhaustion. Smith picked her up, nodded significantly in passing to the hosteler, and took her to the room that the bewildered man indicated at the top of the stairs. He kicked the door open, laid her on the bed, and began issuing orders to the maidservant who was on his heels.

  "I have to find Mrs. McClellan's husband. I want you to make her comfortable, get her some light broth or tea and see that she's kept warm. Send someone for a midwife or a physician. And above all, keep her calm. Can you do that?"

  The maid's flaxen curls bobbed energetically about her round face. "Yes, sir. I'll take care of her just fine. Don't you worry."

  Smith picked up Ashley's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. He looked at her with boyish anxiousness softening the hard contours of his face. "I'm going to bring Salem here directly, Mrs. McClellan. I don't want you to think about anythin' 'cept giving him some fine healthy babies."

  A wisp of a smile curved Ashley's mouth. "Thank you, Mr. Smith—for all that you've done."

  Smith jammed his tricorn tighter over his bright yellow hair and looked away, embarrassed by her simple gratitude. "I'll be goin' now, ma'am." He was out the door so quickly that he never heard Ashley affectionately call him a fraud under her breath.

  Smith quickly covered the few blocks from the inn to the wharf. Upon reaching the street his face lost all traces of the softness that Ashley had been privy to see. Everywhere he turned there was confusion as the fleet sailed closer to the town. Norfolk's defenses had been eliminated, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the British landed their regulars. The destruction they would cause he could only guess at. Already cannonballs were landing with unnerving regularity on rooftops and streets. Small fires were breaking out more rapidly than they could be snuffed.

  Smith had no difficulty in finding the men from the Caroline. They were engaged, along with many others of the town's defenders, in putting out a blaze that was threatening to engulf the wharf. They dodged cannon shot, yelling "heads up," as they passed buckets of water to the main source of the fire. He located Salem near the head of the line. In spite of his words to the contrary he had not known until now how afraid he had been that Salem mi
ght not have survived. Smith's relief was so great that he felt compelled to hide it. He shook his head in a mockery of disgust as he looked at his friend.

  Salem's clothes were stiffly wet from his dunk in the cold water. Where they were torn at the shoulder and thigh Smith could see burned flesh. Salem's hair was matted to his head, his face streaked with soot and sweat. His voice was raw from a combination of smoke and flames and issuing orders. When Smith caught his eye Salem raised a charred eyebrow in disbelief.

  Without pausing in handing off his bucket he demanded, "What in the name of God are you doing here?"

  "Just checkin' up on my men," Smith said and grinned.

  "Like hell!" Salem muttered. "Think you can help out? Or are you going to stand there looking entertained?"

  Smith pointed over Salem's shoulder to a frigate that was lowering its boats with infantry on board. "Got time for neither. That goes for you and the others. Order everyone out of here; this fight's over for now." When Salem hesitated, Smith lost patience. "Do it, man! You can't hold them off any longer."

  Salem knew Smith was right, but he had no experience in giving up. The idea didn't set well, and when he issued the word to evacuate the wharf, the command left a bitter, unwelcome taste in his mouth.

  Buckets were tossed aside as men ran toward the interior of the town, taking up shelter where it was offered. Salem threw down his bucket in disgust "Why didn't you just tell them to go if you wanted a retreat so badly?"

  "Most of them don't know me. They wouldn't have listened," Smith told him. "But they would have died for you."

  "Not for me. For the things they believe in."

  Smith jerked Salem's torn cuff and began leading him in the direction he wanted to go. "We can discuss the finer points of your command some other time. Right now we have to get out here. Mrs. McClellan is waitin' for you at Caroler's."

  Salem stopped in his tracks. "What in God's name is my mother doing here?"

  "Not your mother, your wife."

  "Ashley," Salem said, staring at him. "Damn you, Smith! I'll have your head for not telling me this in the first ten seconds of our conversation." He took off at a run.

  It was nothing less than Smith had expected. He shrugged philosophically and bolted after Salem. When he reached the inn Salem was already at the top of the stairs following the hosteler's frantic directions to the correct room. Smith mounted the steps at a slower, more thoughtful pace, concluding once again that marriage would probably never suit him.

  Still, it must have something to recommend it. Ashley was looking hauntingly beautiful as she held Salem's head close to her breast. Her emerald eyes were bright, shining with relief and love. The smudge on her cheek where Salem had obviously first pressed his face to hers did not in any way detract from her loveliness. Salem, Smith noted, seemed blissfully happy to be holding his wife, his hands running over her, assuring himself that she was all of one piece.

  Smith began to make a quiet exit from the room.

  "Not so fast, friend," came Salem's gruff voice. "You can close the door as long as you're on this side of it. I want some explanation."

  Ashley held Salem's arm as he sat up, fearing that he was going to leave her side and do some injury to Smith. She had never heard him speak so angrily before. His voice was unnaturally calm, coldly biting. "Salem, please. It was Mr. Smith who saved my life." She felt the muscles in his arm lose some of their tension.

  At that moment Salem was deaf to the shouting in the street, the intermittent musket shots, the frantic cries of those seeking safety from the fire the regulars were spreading through town. He was deaf to everything save his wife's tender pleading. He lifted his chin in Smith's direction, pinning his worthy opponent with eyes as cold and steely as the deadly weapon Smith carried. "How did you and my wife come to be here?"

  Smith straddled a chair, smiling ruefully. "Damned if I didn't know this was going to be the worst part of my day," he said to himself. To Salem he said, "I don't think we have much time, so I'll be brief. I came back to Virginia about a week before Christmas to uncover a squeaky wheel among our couriers. I stayed at a friendly tavern in Yorktown while completing my business. I was approached by a jovial Irishman, askin' if I wanted some employment. Somethin' didn't settle right with me, the man's explanations were a bit obtuse, but I played along, curryin' his favor until he decided it was safe to tell me a few details."

  "This is your brief explanation?" Salem asked dryly.

  "If you doubt it, I'll give you the longer version," Smith replied easily.

  "Pray, continue."

  "Flannigan, that's the fellow's name, told me he was lookin' for some men to deliver a special package to the Arbus. It seemed to me a perfect way to intercept some documents, for at that time that's all I thought he was talkin' about. Flannigan had already found the others for the job or I would have steered him to men I could trust. In the end I had no choice but to go it alone. I was told to stay where I could easily be found—" He broke off abruptly as Ashley groaned. "Are you all right, Mrs. McClellan?"

  She waved aside his concern and met her husband's stormy eyes. "The babies have stubbornly decided they will be born today. I can't talk them out of it."

  Salem's face paled. He turned his anger on Smith. "Why didn't you tell me she was going to have a baby?"

  Smith looked startled. "What a poser! Hell, I thought you knew."

  Ashley bit her lip to keep a bubble of hysterical laughter under control. "Salem, it's all right. My contractions are still at every fifteen minutes. The physician's already been here. He said it's hours before I deliver and he'll send a midwife."

  "Why didn't the doctor stay?" Salem and Smith demanded together.

  Ashley's eyes widened as the two men joined forces against her. "Gentlemen, I am only giving birth. I am not the first woman to do so, and I expect I shall manage the thing quite well. However, there are many people in need of attention beyond this room." She looked skeptically at her husband's burned shoulder. "And some in this room that need it more than I."

  While Ashley spoke Smith had left his chair to throw open the shutters. He grimaced at the view. The fire was spreading rapidly, aided by a wind that allowed it to jump from roof to roof. The darkening sky was being lit unnaturally by the leaping crimson flames. He turned to Salem. "I'm afraid your wife may have to do without the assistance of a midwife or a physician. The fire is coming this way. We need to get her out of here."

  Salem could have killed him for bringing a look of fear to Ashley's face. "It's all right, sweet. He'd say anything to get out of his explanation." He touched the sooty smear on her cheek with his blackened fingers. "We're a fine pair of sweeps, you and I. Can you bear the travel if I carry you?"

  "Yes. But where shall we go?"

  "Don't worry. Smith will think of something. It's why he's tolerated." Salem wrapped Ashley in her thick pelisse and added a blanket for good measure. She circled his neck with her arms as he lifted her, careful not to touch his injured shoulder. "C'mon, Smith. I hope that look on your face means you've hit upon an idea."

  Smith followed Salem out of the deserted inn then he took the lead, guiding them through narrow alleys away from the fire, past the edge of town until they were out of immediate danger. He led them along the same wooded path that he and Ashley had taken earlier.

  "Now what?" Salem asked tersely as Smith halted suddenly, looking around.

  Smith was too preoccupied to attend Salem's tone. "Damn, I know I saw it somewhere around here before. Probably comes in handy along these smaller inlets. It's got to be here. It was right—over—there!" He pointed to a skiff cleverly concealed among the trees near the water's edge.

  Salem eyed the small craft dubiously as he approached. He lowered Ashley carefully to her feet and motioned to Smith to support her while he inspected the skiff. It had a sail which looked to be in decent shape if one discounted the rot. There was a centerboard which could be lowered through a slot in the floor to keep the boat from drifting
leeward. The outrigger looked sturdy and would lend support, most likely preventing the tiny vessel from tipping. He had to search for the oars. He found them hidden in a hollow log about twenty feet from the skiff.

  "And where do you think this is going to get us?" he asked, leaning on the oars.

  "I reckon I was hopin' it would take us to the landin'. She looks yare to me."

  "Yare?" Salem's brows rose in disbelief. "She looks yare to you? What sort of kettles have you sailed?"

  Unwittingly Salem had touched a nerve. Smith's eyes were distant, cold. "I told you once I don't sail if I can help it."

  Ashley chose that moment to grimace in pain. Both men were solicitous, forgetting their grievances, just as Ashley intended them to. She may have gotten away with her subterfuge if a very real, very painful, contraction hadn't taken her by surprise. She would have folded to the ground if Smith hadn't held her.

  Salem dropped the oars and took her from Smith. "I thought you said your contractions were every fifteen minutes."

  "They still are," she admitted tiredly. "I was trying to divert your attention. I thought you two were going to argue again."

  "Argue?" Smith asked as he began to untangle the skiff from the branches and dried leaves that camouflaged it. "You figure we were gonna argue, Salem?"

  "No, I thought we were going to fight."

  "That's what I thought. She shook the mood right out of me. Hell of a thing to do, Mrs. McClellan."

  "You're a scoundrel, Mr. Smith. Now tell me, can my husband sail this thing?"

  "It's a skiff, ma'am. And your husband can sail about anything that floats."

  "Do you trust him to get us to the landing?"

  "You know I do."

  "So do I. Salem? Are you going to take us?"