Tender Fortune

by Judith E. French

  "Your mother must have loved that," Charity teased.

  "She didn't mind. My mother had a way with living things, man or animal."

  "Was your father proud you'd trained him when the others couldn't?"

  "I think so. He said he was the day he bade me return him to Hugh Thomas. My brother had seen me showing off in front of some of the village boys, making Merlin shake hands and back up on command. He'd cried to his mother and the lady had demanded I return her son's possession."

  "He made you give Merlin to your brother?"

  "Lord DunCannon gave me a fine thoroughbred mare in his place. But the first time Hugh Thomas rode him, Merlin threw him and drew blood with his teeth."

  "Did you get him back?" Charity was afraid of the answer.

  "The head groom shot him at my brother's request," Jamie said harshly. "I never put saddle to the mare."

  Charity's eyes filled with tears for the boy's heartache. "That's terrible. No wonder you hate him," she whispered.

  "I don't hate him. Hugh Thomas is beyond contempt. But I know him for what he is. If he sees Bold Venture, he'll take it back. He might sell it, or lose it at cards, but he'd make sure I didn't enjoy an acre of it." Jamie shrugged. "An ocean isn't far enough between us."

  "Stand and deliver!" shouted a loud voice. Two figures stepped from the trees and a musket's roar shattered the tranquility of the still morning. The near horse reared and fell back into the traces, snorting with fear. The bay beside him fell to his knees in panic.

  Jamie seized Charity around the waist and leaped off the wagon and into a brush pile, pulling her with him. He landed half on top of her, knocking the breath from her body. Only partially sensible, she was aware that Jamie had produced a pistol from somewhere and had fired back at the highwaymen.

  "Keep your head down," he yelled, shoving her face into the leaves. One knee pressed into the small of her back, and her ears rang from the sound of the explosion.

  One of the men fell facedown in the road and the other ducked back into the trees. "Are you hurt?" Jamie demanded.

  "I think you've broken my ribs! Get off me!"

  The musket blasted again and Charity dove deeper into the ground. "Who are they? Why are they trying to kill us?"

  The wounded man moaned and the downed horses struggled to rise in their harnesses. The other horses strained against the leather, threatening to overturn the wagon and do further damage to the trapped animals.

  "Jamie, the horses!" she urged.

  "Yer money or yer life!" The voice came from the trees, a little to the right. "Think of the woman!"

  Jamie pressed a tiny ivory-handled pistol into Charity's hand. "If it's only silver you want, you're welcome to it!"

  "Drop your pistol!"

  Jamie threw it onto the road and stepped away from Charity, hands in the air. "Spare my wife, in God's name," he cried.

  A scraggly bearded seaman stepped from the trees and leveled his musket at Jamie's middle. "Say yer prayers, Quaker," he taunted. "Yer goin' to meet yer maker!" The musket barrel spat fire and smoke just as Jamie dove under the wagon. Charity fired in the general direction of the bandit, then flung the pistol at his head when she saw she had missed.

  The little handgun struck him above the right eye. He let out a yell and covered his face with his hands. Charity drove her head into his middle and knocked him to the ground.

  A powerful hand caught her by the throat and flung her aside, but in the midst of the flinging, her teeth closed on the man's wrist. Like a terrier she hung on, kicking with her feet and punching with clenched fists. Then a fist smashed against her eye and she fell back in a shower of stars.

  Through a mist she heard Jamie's cry of anger, and suddenly the man was rolling off her. There was the awful sound of flesh against flesh, and Charity struggled to a sitting position and stared with her good eye. Jamie's fist connected solidly with the bully's chin. The man's head rocked back, but he countered with a heavy blow to Jamie's midsection. Jamie staggered backward, then took another hit to his stomach.

  "Hit him, Jamie!" Charity screamed. "Harder!" Jamie's hat and wig were off and he was bleeding from the nose. "Hit him!"

  He feinted left, then delivered a perfect right hook to the seaman's head. The blow hardly fazed him.

  Cursing, he drove Jamie back with punch after punch. Jamie fell and he kicked him in the stomach.

  "No!" Charity cried, swinging the musket by the barrel. The stock struck the back of the man's head and he whirled to face her, staggering from the blow. She ducked and swung again, catching him squarely across the knee. The crunch of bone sounded good to her ears as he fell clutching the source of his agony. She hit him once more on the head for good measure, then ran to where Jamie lay in the road.

  "Jamie, Jamie! Are you all right?" She cradled his bleeding head in her hands. "Jamie! Speak to me!"

  One bloodshot eye glared at her. His lips were split and a front tooth showed loose as he tried to speak. "You damned well took your time about it."

  "I thought you would beat him!"

  Jamie cursed under his breath. "God save me from a woman's logic. Did it look like I was beating him?" He wiggled his loose tooth with a bleeding tongue. "He's twice my size with fists like hams."

  Charity looked at the fallen highwayman. "He's not that big. A few stone heavier maybe."

  Painfully Jamie picked himself up and leaned against the wagon. Charity retrieved the wig and rumpled hat. They stared at each other. Charity's eye was swollen shut and the front of her gray gown was in ribbons. Her bonnet hung by one string, and she'd lost a shoe.

  "You're right," he admitted. "You don't look like a Quaker."

  She began to giggle. "Nor you, Jamie Drummond." His laughter mingled with hers as he pulled her against him so tightly she thought her ribs would crack.

  "By God... if anything had happened to you." The laughter was gone, his voice strained. "I shouldn't have brought you with me. I'm sorry, Charity. It was a damned fool thing to do."

  "Don't say that. Wherever you go I want to be with you." His trembling frightened her more than the attack. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away. "Besides"—she pulled away and looked up saucily—"I saved your neck."

  "You what?"

  "You heard me." She rubbed gingerly at her swollen eye. "And if you keep standing there, I might have to do it all over again. Shouldn't we do something about them?" She motioned toward the unconscious men.

  As quickly as it had come, Jamie's black mood passed. Together they unhitched and rehitched the animals. Jamie took rope from the wagon and tied the hands and feet of the two bandits.

  "I'm glad they're not dead," Charity admitted. "I'd not want to be the cause of another death, not even his."

  They tied the horses and made their way down to the river. Not far away they found a longboat beached. "I thought as much," Jamie said. "Deserters likely. Sailors by the clothes they wear. They had no horses, so they had to come by water. Like as not, someone is looking for them."

  "What are we going to do with them? We can't let them loose."

  "Not unless we want them to ambush some other travelers."

  Using one of the horses, they dragged the two to the beach and bound them tightly, head and feet together. Jamie set Charity to gathering brush and branches to pile in the empty boat, then he set the twigs afire.

  "The smoke will draw a boat," he explained. Setting the wig and hat back on his head, he gave a mock bow to the cursing seamen. "Godspeed," he said. "May the King give you justice and the devil claim you as his own."

  Charity hurried behind him back to the wagon. "Will they find them, do you think?" she asked. "Before they get loose?"

  "With any luck at all." Jamie shook the reins and the horses broke into a trot. The further they were from the scene by nightfall, the better they would both feel.

  "I did think you could whip him," Charity insisted.

  "Next time, just don't wait so long."

  The
actual meeting with the Dutch ship seemed almost tame in comparison with their encounter with the highwaymen. Jamie signaled to a ship with a lantern. Three series of three blinks came back, like a giant firefly in the darkness over the bay.

  There was no sound but the lapping of the water against the shore. Charity held the horses, her own heartbeat sounding loud in her ears. Then came the steady swish of men rowing and the grate of a small boat on the sand.

  Jamie called out in Dutch; a man's low voice answered in the same tongue. Charity could understand nothing. Jamie came, back to the wagon and dug a small chest from the bundles. His muscles strained to carry it down to the boat. A single torch flickered. In the light of that torch, she caught the gleam of gold as a man flung back the lid of the chest.

  The sailors began to dig a big hole. A half dozen barrels were lowered into the hole, then it was covered over. Other barrels and boxes were loaded onto the wagon. A final exchange of low voices, and the boat pushed off. Charity watched until they vanished against the black water.

  "Why did they bury some things?" she asked finally.

  "Plate and tools and French brandy. Too heavy for us to carry. It won't be there long. When I deliver the silk and spices and collect my profit, I'll tell the buyers where to dig. We're taking these things on to Dover. Some will remain in the lower counties, the rest will go to Philadelphia by English vessel with such proper seals and stamps that no customs official will dare to challenge them."

  "I didn't know you were carrying so much money."

  "Those sailors would have been delighted at their take. The ship's owners risk much in this venture. Each hand must be filled along the way. My own profit is a good one, but I'm not greedy. Our prices must be well below market value, or there will be no sales."

  They had not slept that night at all. They had ridden hard and fast away from the beach road inland to a deserted farm. As dawn streaked the sky, Jamie unhitched the horses and fed them grain from a bag on the wagon.

  With the first light, Charity could see the ruins of a frame house. Fire had destroyed it, scorching the trees nearby. Only a barn and smokehouse stood undamaged. Ripe apples hung unpicked from the branches of an old apple tree; Charity gathered an apron full to share with the horses.

  "There's good water in the well," Jamie said. "Draw some."

  "I'll do the graining. You carry the water," she retorted. "I've carried enough water to last me the rest of my life."

  "What's this, mutiny?" He leered. "Disobedience among the ranks?" Grumbling, he went to fetch the water, carrying enough to satisfy all four horses and then to quench his own thirst. "Aren't you thirsty?" he asked.

  Charity sat on a pile of hay, happily munching an apple. With a yawn, she tossed the core at him.

  "Mind your manners, wench, or you'll have this bucket over your head," he threatened. With perfect aim, Charity threw an apple into the bucket. It splashed water down his leg and arm. Giggling, she fled up the ladder as he charged her with the bucket.

  Clouds of hay rained down on his head as Jamie followed her up into the hayloft. The hat and wig tumbled off and drifted to the floor below. "Come here, you!" he ordered.

  She laughed and threw another armful of hay in his face. "Scarecrow!"

  Jamie lunged for her and she dodged past him and threw herself down on a pile of straw. He dropped on top of her and she encircled his neck with her arms. Tenderly she began to kiss his swollen lips.

  He supported his weight with a knee and elbow, breathing deeply of the sweet natural scent of her hair and skin. He could never get enough of her. Her lightest touch caused a growing need in his loins, but it was more than lust for a woman's ripe body... There was something about Charity that drew him to her... something almost magical.

  Charity moved her hips against his enticingly and he groaned. "Witch." His fingers tangled with the laces at her bodice. "Would you torture a man?" He kissed the hollow of her throat and the rise of her bosom. Her breasts were soft and full... the nipples taut. It was enough to drive a man mad.

  "Stop it," she teased. "You're getting hay down the front of—" She screamed as he jammed a handful of straw between her breasts. "No fair," she protested.

  "Fair? You expect fair from me?" Jamie freed a satin-skinned breast and flicked the nipple with the tip of his tongue. She tasted as good as she felt.

  Giggling, she twisted out from under him. "I'm all scratchy," she said, unlacing the bodice and slipping out of it. The other garments fell away until she stood before him clad only in a thin shift.

  Jamie rolled over on his back and beckoned. "Come here, wench."

  Without hesitation, she came into his arms. "You said you were tired."

  "Not that tired." His hands traced the familiar curves of her body. "Never that tired."

  She snuggled closely beside him. "We should not be doing this in morning light." Gently she kissed his wounds and rubbed the stiffness from his neck. "It is not seemly."

  "What we do in the dark is not seemly." He chuckled, moving his fingers across her silken skin until she gasped with pleasure.

  "I'll never make a lady," she whispered hoarsely. She touched the bulging proof of his growing passion, caressing the heated flesh until he shuddered with desire. Laying her head against his chest, she listened to the throbbing cadence of his heart. "I love you, Jamie," she vowed. "As I've never loved another man... and never will." If I die now, she thought, at this second, I would be content. The stillness of the loft, the sweet warm smell of hay and Jamie's strong arms around her... it was as close to heaven as she ever hoped to get.

  "And I you, sweet Charity," he murmured, sliding the thin shift over her head. "And I you."

  She trembled under his smoldering gaze; her cheeks flushed and a sudden heat coursed through her hotly. His hands on her skin burned with a bittersweet pain and she writhed beneath him as his mouth plundered the soft, tender hollows of her throat and shoulders.

  "Undress me," he commanded. Her fingers obeyed without question. Their limbs entwined, the fires within them both fueled by the touch of skin on skin... by the blending of breath and shuddering cries of rapture.

  His mouth was everywhere, covering her breasts with hot, scalding kisses, tugging at the hard, erect peaks, exploring the creamy curves of her belly and thighs. His fingers pressed against her spine, as, moaning, she arched against him, driven by the pulsating need within. "Jamie, oh... Jamie."

  His hands were on her, reaching gently into her most secret valley, caressing the silken mound above it. Probing fingers searched out the sweet, wet seat of her desire. "I want to taste you. All of you."

  Jamie's flicking tongue was a flame that threatened to engulf her in an inferno of consuming ecstasy. "I want you," she begged. "Now! Now!" Her fingers guided him into her welcoming, moist femininity, and she cried aloud as he plunged inside her.

  She rose to meet him, straining to be filled with his love, thrilling to his virile thrusts until they reached that place of ultimate culmination and, together, shattered in a million fiery shards that drifted slowly back to reality.

  Afterward they slept, with only the horses to stand watch below. The autumn morning stretched into afternoon, and rain pattered softly against the cedar shakes of the barn room before Charity stirred and stretched.

  Jamie leaned against an upright beam, watching her. "Good afternoon."

  She blushed and reached for her garments. They had been neatly folded beside her. "For shame," she protested. "To stare at me so."

  His lips curved upward in a smile. "Not between us," he promised. "Never." Tenderly he brushed the straw from her hair and helped her dress.

  She leaned against him, listening to the rain and the gentle sighing of the wind. "I wish we could stay here," she said. "Build the house again and live in it... never leave this place."

  His eyes twinkled. "We'll have to find other garb for you. You were right. No one would take you for a Quaker, not with that come-hither look in your green eyes." He kissed the
freckled tip of her nose. "Your mother should have named you Eve."

  "Who put that look there?" she flung back.

  From his coat pocket he pulled a small object and slipped it on her finger. "This is for you," he said. "It's very old and it comes from India."

  "Oh, Jamie," she breathed. Even in the shadows of the loft, the ruby blazed with an inner cold fire. The stone was small, exquisitely cut, and set in a delicate band of carved gold. "Jamie, it's too valuable!" She started to take it off. "I couldn't take such a..." Her face suddenly paled to ivory and she stiffened. "I won't take it as payment, Jamie. Never as payment."

  His strong hand closed over hers and he wrapped her slim fingers into a fist around the ring. "No Tidewater lady ever had such pride, to be offended by a gift." He tilted her face up to his. "What I've offered you, I've given out of love." He kissed the full moist lips and she clung to him.

  "So have I," she whispered.

  "Besides"—he grinned—"you can't take it off. There's a curse that goes with it."

  Charity stepped away from him, eyes wide. "A curse? You've given me a ring with a curse?" She stared down at the shining stone; it felt warm on her hand.

  "This ring, given in love, can only be removed by the lover. Or else..." His voice trailed off ominously.

  "Or else what?" She moved her hand slightly and the ruby glowed mysteriously. Could this beautiful thing really carry a curse?

  "Give me a minute," he teased. "I'll think of something."

  "Jamie!" Throwing herself on him, she knocked him backward into the straw and began to tickle him. Laughing, they rolled over and over, content, for an afternoon, to shut out the world and all its problems.

  Chapter 12

  In the evening, Jamie left her alone and rode away on one of the horses. He returned in less than an hour with a basket of hot food balanced across his lap.

  "At least it was hot when the goodwife packed it. She put in a warming stone to keep the stew fit to eat," he said, unwrapping the loaf of bread and homemade cheese. "There's half a pie, too." He winked at her, remembering how she had devoured the berry pie at the fair in Chestertown.