by Grace Walton
Finn’s eyes tightened to angry slits as he looked down again at the girl. Trouble, he told himself. She was trouble. He didn’t need any more misfortune at the moment. Even if it was wrapped up in a delectable, feminine package. He turned to face the magistrate and the old woman.
“I always pay my debts.” His voice was deep and arrogant. “I’ll write the lady a bank draft.” He hadn’t wanted to do that before. Any activity on his financial holdings alerted Cedric to his whereabouts. That was never a good thing.
“Uh... Captain McLeod, would that be a draft on a London bank?” The magistrate was like a dog with a favorite bone. He would not give up.
A muscle jumped along Finn’s jaw. His chin jutted aggressively. The sailors standing around him knew what that meant. They scattered like a flock of frightened sheep. Only the cook failed to move. Saul hooked his elbow and dragged him below.
“What?” the man mumbled as he was tugged away.
Saul hissed in his ear. “Get a move on, man. The Captn’s got bloody murder in his eye. Somebody’s gonna get hurt. But it ain’t gonna be you or me if we move fast enough. Come on!”
The breeze ruffled a rebellious raven lock into McLeod’s deadly eyes. He didn’t move to brush it away. He stood there boots planted wide apart glaring at the magistrate, with an intensity that caused the older man to fall back a few steps and swallow hard.
“I don’t mean no disrespect, sir.” Sweat beaded on Asa’s brow. “It’s just that the lady don’t want money or a bank draft. She tells me she and her niece want to get to London, fast as they can. And your ship is the only one here. The only one that’s bound to be here for a good long while. And well, she’s a St. John, and I ain’t about to tangle with none of them St. Johns. They’re a mean bunch when you get on their bad side. Real mean... why I heard tell they done killed a score of men between the lot of them. In duels and the like. One’s a murdering pirate, one’s a heathen Indian, and the other one’s a bloody duke. No, I ain’t gone get on the St. Johns’ bad side, no sirree bob-tail.”
Dorcas managed to shove the magistrate out of the way. She began to bark, “Hush up.” Smoothing down her skirts she next addressed herself to the scowling giant holding her niece. “Captain McLeod, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She dipped a low curtsey at this point. Dorcas had taken a good look at this man. She’d promptly decided he was not one to be coerced into anything. So she was trying to accomplish her task a different way. There was more than one way to skin a cat, after all. True, this man was more of a panther than a house tabby, she warned herself, but the concept was surely still the same.
He inclined his dark head and replied in a sardonic voice, “Madam, forgive me for not bowing.” One raised black eyebrow mocked as he continued to steadily regard her.
“Oh, of course, my lad. We wouldn’t want you jostling the wee one and waking her up, now would we?” There was a devilish sparkle in her old eyes.
“No, ma’am,” there was a wicked glint in his own as he answered. “We definitely do not want to do that.”
Dorcas took several tentative steps up the gangplank towards him. “Sir, we desperately need to get to London.” Now her voice wheedled as she kept moving up the gangplank.
“Why?” He unconsciously shifted the girl in his arms so that her head was tucked more comfortably against one of his hard-muscled shoulders.
The sight encouraged Dorcas. Here was a man who would look after a woman. Why, he did it without even thinking. She was beginning to like him more and more. “You see, my niece has to be married sir, she’s almost on the shelf. She should have babes by now. Instead, I’m afraid she’s found no gentleman to suit her here in America.” She told this huge whopper with an innocent smile. “You can’t imagine how hard it’s been, trying to arrange a marriage for her.”
“Oh, I think I can,” he answered acerbically. “All she has to do is open her mouth. I’m sure the men all run for their lives.”
Dorcas ducked her head to hide her anger. She began counting to one hundred. Who does this oaf think he is, she asked herself angrily? She changed her opinion of him entirely. He may look like Adonis in a riding coat, but he needed taking down a peg or two. He was just a puffed up pirate with aspirations towards gentility. He needed someone to administer the means for his comeuppance. She promised herself she’d be the one to do just that, as soon as she’d gotten him to give them passage to England. When she raised her face, it was wreathed with an elderly, innocent smile. “Aye, the sweet girl’s a wee bit outspoken from time to time. I’ll agree, but on the whole, the child is an angel.”
“Angel?” A deep cynical laugh rolled around the empty deck of the ship.
“Captain McLeod, please.” She sounded pitiful, but she was still silently counting. “The lass needs a husband. Unless, of course, you’ve had a change of heart and will marry her yourself. I’m sure her eldest brother would approve your suit. Especially after the night you’ve just spent together.” It was a sly dig and a subtle threat all at once.
“Madam, my opinion of your niece remains the same. If I take you to London, I believe the only way you’ll secure a husband for the imp is to sew her lips shut and put about the gossip that she’s a mute.”
“Well, that’s as may be but...” Dorcas kept on trying.
“Sister St. John tells me she promised a Mother Marguerite Marie she’d go to London. Somehow, I don’t think your niece is looking for a man. No matter what lies she tries to spin about being compromised,” McLeod mocked. “Let’s be honest with each other, shall we?” He managed to make Dorcas blush at being discovered in a lie. “When a woman looks like Sister St. John, has a titled family, and fortune to boot, she can marry whomever she pleases. Even if she does possess the temperament of a striking cobra. So tell me, what is her real reason for fleeing to England?”
“Captain McLeod, the truth is, I don’t know the whole if it.” The matron shrugged her weary shoulders. “Jess won’t tell me the entire tale. I only know Mother Marguerite Marie, she’s the mother superior of the convent where we’ve been staying this past year, has some kind of special errand that must be done in London. And it must be done quickly. Jess has been very secretive. I haven’t asked much because I’m truly overjoyed to get the child away from that convent and her senseless idea of becoming a nun. She may not be planning on finding a husband. But I will see the lass wed.”
“And if I agree to take you both to London.” He frowned at the old lady’s little happy sigh. “If I agree, will you keep your niece away from me and my crew?”
“Of course, Captain McLeod,” she agreed happily. “You won’t even know we’re aboard. And don’t worry. I believe you when you say Jess was completely safe with you last evening. No one will accuse you again of compromising her.”
“There was no compromise,” he said in a hard voice. “Nothing happened between us.”
“Of course, sir. You are obviously a man of honor and a gentleman.” She walked up to stand beside him. “Any woman would be safe with you.”
The first mate, Hellwise, was an unwitting witness to their whole conversation. He started to cackle at this last observation from the old woman.
“Shut up, Hellwise. Get us underway.”
“Where to, sir?”
“London.”
“London, you say?”
“I did,” Finn said. “Did you have the ship supplied?”
“Aye, sir.”
“The tide is fair. Have the anchor hoisted and get us underway.”
“Aye, sir.”
The first mate’s renewed rusty, evil laughter withered quickly under a hot glare from his captain. Let the old crow think what she wanted, Hellwise knew better himself. The day a woman was safe around McLeod was the day pigs would fly. The seaman watched as the captain, with the girl in his arms, and the old besom trailing behind, went below decks. Well, the first mate mused, it was going to be a long voyage. A very long voyage indeed. But perhaps there would be some redee
ming aspects. Yes, there just might be some interesting opportunities to be exploited.
The first thing Jess became aware of, when she awoke, was the fact that the bed was rocking. The second thing was the bed itself. It was the biggest, widest bed, she’d ever seen. There were rich black and burgundy curtains around the whole outside. But the size was the most important feature. That and the fact that it was rocking. A rocking bed, fancy that, she wondered in amazement. She had a rocking chair and there was an old cradle that rocked in their attic in Richmond, but a rocking bed? She turned over. She admitted to herself that a moving bed was a wonderful invention. Someone was brilliant to have thought of such a thing. Every now and then the dark, brocade bed curtains would sway with the movement of the bed. It was altogether enchanting.
A woman would never have unfortunate nightmares in such a bed. She’d never imagine someone was hounding her. She’d never wake up trembling in fear or dripping in horrid clammy sweat.
Jess started to turn over. To let the steady, rhythmic lurching lull her back to sleep but two facts hit her at the same time. One, she was hungry. No, not just hungry, she was starving. And the other, she had no idea where she was, none at all. Then through the haze of her mind, a memory started to develop. She was surrounded by hot and angry men who were about to attack her. She was falling. Falling, falling ever so slowly, but she never hit the ground. Something happened before she’d crashed to the hard deck. Suddenly she was safe. Safe in a way she’d never been in her whole life. Safe in a nice though peculiar way. Safe with a heavy drumming slowly pounding in her ear. Thud, thud, thud.
“Jess love, are you awake, girlie?” The worried voice belonged to her aunt. The words were accompanied by a cool, wet cloth applied to her forehead. “Jess, wake up darlin’. We’re on our way to London.”
Then in a flood of recollection, her eyes opened wide. She remembered everything. Captain Blasted McLeod, the gaol, the cot.... ohh the cot. A crimson blush inched up her face.
“Sit up lass and let me see you.” Dorcas steadied her elbow and helped the girl lean back against the propped up pillows. “There now, isn’t that better?”
“What happened?” Jess grimaced. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. “How did I get here? Where are we?”
“That braw Captain McLeod carried you in here, pet. This is his cabin. But he’s loaned it to us for the passage.” She clucked as she drew the burgundy bedclothes up to Jess’s chin. “You had a wee fainting spell and he took care of you, love. It’s past dark now.”
An unladylike snort issued from the unbelieving girl. “I can hardly believe that, Aunt. I have never fainted in my life. Besides the man’s a barbarian.”
“Is he now?” Dorcas dismissed the disbelief in her niece’s voice. She walked to a table that held a variety of trays. Each was heaped with food. Fruits and pastries, meat pies and a roast bird. She prepared a plate for the girl and brought it to her. “His cabin looks to house a barbarian does it?”
Unwillingly, Jess scanned the cabin. It was beautifully and tastefully appointed. The furnishings were at once rich and masculine. The plate on the table was polished silver. Everything was tidy and thoroughly clean. A small brazier in one corner burned incense and filled the chamber with the sweet aroma of sandalwood and citrus.
Dorcas spread out a pristine linen napkin across the bedclothes. She carefully set the plate she had prepared upon it. “You’d better eat quickly, girlie. You never know when the barbarian will come back,” she teased and waggled her gray eyebrows at her niece.
Jess began to laugh. “All right Aunt, I know when to admit I’m wrong. He’s not a barbarian. He’s just a large gentleman who frequents gaols and kills people. And I will admit, he does have excellent taste.” A comic little moue twisted her lips. She dug her heavy silver fork into a delicious smelling mound of meat pie. “He’s a kind and meek man who should have been a vicar.” She took a sip of an excellent vintage wine from the Venetian etched wine glass her aunt handed her. “He is a champion of the oppressed. I’m sure he rescues climbing boys from the stews in his leisure time.”
“Jess,” Dorcas warned.
“No, no don’t stop me.” Her delicious giggles continued. “I haven’t finished. He gives advice to poor mad King George. He endows orphanages with his pocket change. In short, he is the very model of the modern gentleman.”
The raspy sound of a man clearing his throat caused the girl on the bed to jump in fright. It completely stopped all her silly conversation. He had a frown on his battered face. A trunk was precariously balanced on one shoulder.
“Ma’am?”
His voice sounded gruff and unsure to the women in the chamber. They recognized the trunk. It belonged to them. But they had no idea who the sailor night be. And the fact that he was able to open the chamber’s door and stand in its threshold without either of them hearing him wasn’t too comforting either.
“Ma’am?” He tried again. “I’ve got your baggage here. Your man delivered the trunks to the dock before we set sail. He didn’t wait around none either. He skittered out of town before I could stop him. I hope everything’s here.” The sailor set the trunk down in the doorway with a heavy thud. He looked at his clasped hands and waited. It seemed to Jess that he was prepared to wait forever. But why, she wondered?
“Ma’am?” he spoke again.
“Yes, me boyo?” Dorcas found her voice first. She was stunned by the rough man. He was almost as tall as his captain. But he lacked the polish and animal grace that was the hallmark of McLeod. And the red eye patch was rather startling.
“Ma’am? I don’t mean to say something to make you think I’m getting above myself. But I heard the young miss talking when I came in.” He swallowed hard and made himself raise his eyes to face the older lady.
“I’m sorry,” Jess began to apologize. She certainly didn’t want to upset this man or the rest of the crew by saying any more offensive things about their captain. “I never meant for anyone else to hear what I said, truly. It was a jest only, sir.” Her eyes were beseeching.
“It ain’t that, Miss St. John.” He was entranced by the little beauty lying in the Captain’s bed. “It’s just that I’d surely appreciate it if you wouldn’t go around talking about Finn’s orphans. He don’t like nobody to know about his orphans.” He finished. He looked immediately back down at his clasped fingers.
“His what?” Jess’s voice was a disbelieving squeak. “Did you say orphans?”
“Well, ma’am, you were the one who was talking about Finn’s orphans.” He still didn’t look up.
“You call him Finn?” Jess still couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“It’s his name, ma’am.” A tide of red started to crawl up his pockmarked face. “I mean, most everybody calls him Finn. He don’t stand on ceremony. Once a deckhand called him Lord Maitland and Finn knocked him on his ars...” Realizing who he was talking to made the man redder still. “I’m sorry, Miss St. John. Finn knocked the deckhand on his backside, and right quick too.”
“Lord Maitland?” Dorcas’s interest was suddenly captured. Was their host really a peer, she wondered? She halfway remembered something the magistrate had said about his having a lord for a brother.
Jess’s reaction was just the opposite. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He’s got a title then?” She really didn’t want to hear the answer she knew was coming.
“Of course, ma’am,” he said as if he was speaking to a backward child. “Finn’s brother is the Duke of Maitland.”
“His legitimate brother?” Jess knew she was grasping at straws.
“Jessamine!” Her aunt chastised. “What kind of question is that?”
“Yes, Sister St. John, what sort of coarse question is that?” It was a deep, drawling voice coming from the hallway outside the cabin. The sailor heard it too. He quickly stepped aside to let his captain come into the chamber.
Jess pulled the bedclothes up to her chin. She tried to burrow into the
linens as far as she could. Drat the man. He had heard that slur upon his parentage. Curse him and her own reckless tongue.
Dorcas dipped a graceful curtsey to acknowledge him. “Thank you again, Captain McLeod. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help in getting us to London.”
He bowed gracefully in her direction. But his narrowed amber eyes never left the girl in his bed. “I am, as always, your obedient servant, Mrs. Moore.” He came into the center of the room. His presence seemed to dominate the space just as he’d planned. Let the little nun talk her way out of this, he told himself. “Did you want to know anything further about my family, Sister St. John?” he goaded.
“Will you stop calling me that?” Jess was frustrated. “I don’t like it.”
“I do,” he said coolly. “Sister St. John suits you perfectly. Prim, proper, and… bland.”
Bland, bland? He thought her bland? Robert Styles had said she set his soul on fire with longing. Millard O’Steen said her hair was like a shaft of sunlight on the water. Bland? She’d show him bland.
“Well, Captain McLeod, if anyone would know what a bland woman was like, I’d wager that would be you. I’m sure you’ve known more than your share of bland women. After all, you’re hardly a man to inspire passion in a woman.”
One of his ebony eyebrows shot up. So the kitten wanted to test her claws, he thought. He’d be glad to oblige her, especially if it scared her into keeping her distance from him. “You think not?” he answered softly.
“What? What did you say?” She couldn’t concentrate as he moved to stand closer. Too close.
Propping one hand on the headboard of the bed, Finn leaned seductively down towards her. He carefully brushed the rioting curls away from her forehead one by one.
“What... uh… what were you saying?” She could only manage a whisper.
A smile twisted his lips at her obvious confusion. “You said I don’t seem the kind of man to elicit passion in a woman,” he reminded her. Then he ran a hard finger slowly down her cheek.
