“Mag-nus!”
He whirled around. A giant had his cousin Ian pinned against the mast. Ian struggled to keep the man’s black sawtooth blade from slicing open his neck. Magnus drew his dirk and sank the long spike under the giant’s arm, straight through the cavity of his chest. Quick, bloodless, and lethal. He withdrew his blade and watched the pirate drop. Ian nodded sharply before collecting his sword from the deck and trotting toward the fo’c’sle.
Magnus blinked away the sting of smoke and sheathed his dirk. He scanned the aft deck: a sea of flashing sabers, swinging limbs, shouts of rage, and cries of pain. This is what hell must look like.
“Who’s bloody next?” he roared.
He sensed the attacker’s presence before he turned—a disturbance in the atmosphere, a vibration under foot. He sidestepped the blade, thrust, and ran the man through so cleanly his sword arm encountered no resistance. Ghostly thin, stooped and toothless, the old man remained skewered on his sword until he kicked him off. He shouldn’t let the varlet’s age bother him. It was kill or be killed today. But, Jesus, the fellow was so ancient, it was hardly fair.
A flash of petticoat materialized beside him, the wearer squinting and waving her arms in front of her. She lost her footing, and he caught her with his free arm, saving her from falling in a heap on top of the dead man at his feet. They had boarded this heaving mass of piracy to rescue his cousin Declan’s stolen bride. But this one wasn’t…
“Oh, help!” The slender female writhed in his arm and pounded a fist against his chest with the force of a kitten, an oddly arousing feeling, considering the circumstances.
“You’re not Caya,” he said. Bloody hell. Had they raided the wrong ship?
She stopped resisting and panted, “I’m Virginia Whitebridge. Caya is still below. Are you here to save us?”
Us? How many women had the pirates stolen? And were they all as bonnie as the one he held? For a reckless moment, he considered kissing her. Instead, he gave her a gentle squeeze meant to reassure. And for that second, no longer than a breath, the nightmare aboard the ship faded into silence, and time slowed to a near stop. Her body relaxed and sank into his, molding to him. Breast to chest, hip to belly, thigh to thigh. Warm and soft and—
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Magnus Sinclair.” He was about to tell the woman that he was indeed on a rescue mission when he caught sight of a blade, and the world flashed back into motion. Unbelievable. The bloody old bag of bones he’d just run through was on his feet again.
He tossed his lovely burden behind him to shield her from attack, but not quick enough to save himself. The ancient tar’s blade nicked the right side of his jaw. Christ, the old gray was hard to kill. This time, he made certain the man stayed down. The pirate’s head hit the deck with a thud and rolled away before the body collapsed.
He returned his attention to—did she say her name was Virginia? But another two women, neither of whom were Declan’s beloved Caya, were helping her to her feet. He glanced in the direction from which they came and saw Peter at the hatch helping yet a fourth woman, also not Caya, up onto the deck. She grinned at him and yelled above the din, “Get us off this bloody bucket, ye bastard!”
…
The Scots who’d rescued them said very little when they’d taken them to shore. They were, no doubt, shocked by their bedraggled appearance as much as they were to find not one but five female captives. Virginia and the other women were silent, as well. Happy at the sudden change in their fortune, yet unsure of what was to come, stunned by the sunlight and fresh air. The men transported them by a cart to a place called Balforss, a large graceful stone house occupied by Laird and Lady Sinclair. During her few hours held captive aboard the Tigress, Caya Pendarvis had spoken fondly of the Sinclair family and their Balforss estate, a place Caya thought never to see again. But here they were. All of them. Safe. It’s a miracle.
A bevy of servants hustled them upstairs to guest chambers and immediately went about finding food and clothing for them and drawing much-needed baths. As if in a dream, Virginia lowered herself into a steaming tub. She hugged her knees, wanting to enjoy her soak in the warm sudsy bathwater, yet not daring to believe she was really free, that they were all free, all five of Captain O’Malley’s captives: well-bred unmarried women he had planned to sell to rich plantation owners in the West Indies for purposes she never wanted to imagine. Light laughter came from down the hall—Mary and Charlotte’s voices. So, it was true. She wasn’t dreaming. They had been rescued.
She remembered that terrifying moment after she emerged from the hold onto the ship’s deck. The stinging gun smoke in her eyes, the shouts and curses, the smell of blood and feces. And then…him. The big man who had swept her into his arms, held her to his solid, heaving chest. Close enough that, even without her spectacles, she could see his face, his sleek dark hair, his handsome bearded jaw, and those eyes. At first, she’d thought he was another pirate and that he would kill her. But then he’d rumbled his name, Magnus Sinclair.
Magnus. Yes. It suited him, the name meaning “great.” He was a big, big man, and he had caught her in his arms as if she weighed nothing. Her clumsy, gawkishly tall body had felt feather-light dangling in his embrace. For a heartbeat, as she’d gazed into his beautiful dark-brown eyes, she’d thought he’d kiss her. Then he’d tossed her aside, not to harm her, not through carelessness, but to protect her, to save her from harm. She’d never been saved before. And though the two men in her life—her father and her husband—had provided for her, neither had ever protected her. Quite the opposite. The two had a habit of inflicting, rather than preventing, damage to her person. But the Sinclair men had saved her—saved all of the women and brought them here to Balforss for safe-keeping until they could be returned to their families, reunions in which all would rejoice. All except Virginia.
After lingering two and a half months in the freezing hold of the Tigress, she had lost hope, accepted her fate, even encouraged the others to do the same. Until last night when Captain O’Malley had added Caya Pendarvis to his collection of stolen women. Miraculously, only hours after Caya’s capture, the Sinclairs of Balforss had boarded the ship to reclaim her.
Caya must be very special to the people of Balforss. No one else had attempted to rescue any of the other women. Certainly no one had tried to rescue her. Virginia huffed a bitter laugh. Had anyone even noticed her absence?
She flinched at the knock on her door and tightened her grasp on her knees. Has someone come to take me back to my cell? Has this all been a cruel joke?
A young woman’s voice called from the other side of the door. “May I come in, miss?”
Virginia’s filthy pink gown lay on the floor just out of reach. Damn. Trapped.
“It’s all right, miss. It’s jess me, Haddie the maid. I’ve brought you some aught to wear, as they’ll be serving up dinner soon.”
She relaxed fractionally. “Come in.” Her voice sounded childlike, and so she repeated with more force, “Come in, please.”
The door opened and a fuzzy image entered. At this distance and without her spectacles, Virginia couldn’t see the details of the woman’s face, only colors and shapes. The vague impression of a white apron and mop cap reassured her that the girl was indeed a maid.
“Afternoon. I’ve brought you a linen to dry yerself and one of the mistress’s gowns, as she reckons yer aboot the same size.”
“Thank you.”
As the maid approached, her facial features came into sharper focus. “Yer most welcome. It’s Miss Virginia, is it no’?”
Was it safe to reveal her true identity? Fear had driven her to keep her title secret, even from her fellow captives while on board the Tigress. Her survival depended on the pretense that she was unmarried. Now that she was safe, she should be able to tell everyone, and yet, uncertainty made her continue her charade.
“Yes. That’s right. Virginia Whitebridge,” she told the maid. Not a complete untruth. It was, after all, the name given t
o her at birth.
“Do you need help dressing?” Haddie asked.
“I can manage on my own.”
“I’ll jess put the clean gown and such on the chair and take yer things to be laundered.”
“Quite honestly, you can take them away and burn them, as far as I’m concerned.”
“A’ course, miss.”
After bustling around the room, tidying, and poking up the fire, Haddie slipped out and shut the door, leaving Virginia alone again in a space twice the size of the tiny wooden pen in which she and the others had been kept like livestock. Odd. The expanse made her uncomfortable, as though so large a room would be unsafe. Indefensible.
She rose from the bath and dried. The simple act of washing and dressing herself, a ritual she had always taken for granted, brought her to the brink of tears. She was human again. Back in her own skin. But she doubted she’d ever be herself. Not after the last ten weeks. And what, dear Lord, lies ahead for me?
The next logical step would be to return to London. But that future was as uncertain as the one on board the ship. She’d had a long time to think about her abduction. She’d seen Thadius Mudd and Crusty on the street that afternoon. Could her husband’s men have abducted her? And if they had, had they acted on their own or on her husband’s orders? Either way, returning home was a frightening prospect.
She’d also had time to worry about the fate of all the children she and Mrs. Pennyweather could have saved. The woman did what she could for the foundlings in her care with what little she had, but unless Virginia could get her trust money back from Langley, their plan for building a clean and loving home for London’s motherless children would never be realized.
She should dress and eat something. Perhaps with a full belly and a clear head, she could reason out what she should do next. Her ears pricked at the sound of a baby’s cry and she smiled. There was a child here, a baby she could hold. And suddenly this house felt warmer, safer, a more welcoming place than she’d first thought.
She hastily dressed herself. The borrowed shift, drawers, petticoat, stays, skirt, and bodice fit her as though tailor made. The mistress of Balforss, Lady Sinclair, had fine taste. Although not stylish by London standards, the gown was well made from a fine gold and red floral chintz and finished with ornate brass buttons. Virginia made use of a comb she found near the basin, drew out the tangles in her hair, and plaited it into a simple side braid.
Another rap on her door, this one excited. “Virginia? Mary’s still in the bath, but Morag and I are going down for dinner. Are you ready?”
“I’ll be along soon, Charlotte. Go ahead without me.”
She waited until their light footsteps had retreated. Thank goodness her hearing was excellent. Having lost her spectacles on the day of her abduction, she’d come to rely on sounds and smells the way others relied on eyesight to know their surroundings. Granted, being able to tell one sailor from another by his smell or his particular grunt had not been a treat. Her stomach rolled over remembering the men and their lewd activities. The captain of the Tigress had kept his crew from touching his captives but had turned a blind eye on those who’d entertained themselves outside their slatted wooden cell.
She shook off the memory. Time to go down and introduce herself to the rest of the household. Hopefully, the men had all returned from the ship uninjured, and she could thank them personally for their valor. Perhaps Mr. Magnus was below stairs. She would like very much to thank him. She stepped into the dim hallway and immediately realized her mistake. There was no one to help her find her way to the dining room. Knowing how clumsy she was, she’d probably topple down the stairs. Wouldn’t that be rich? To be rescued after all this time only to break her neck on her first day of freedom.
“Ginny?” a woman asked tentatively.
Virginia spun to face the unfamiliar female voice. No one had called her Ginny since the days of her decorum classes when she was a girl. “Yes.”
“When they said Virginia Whitebridge, I wondered, but…I can’t believe it’s really you.”
English. The woman was English. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you recognize me?”
Her heart picked up speed. “I beg your pardon. I’m without my spectacles. I lost them, you see.”
“It’s me. Lucy FitzHarris.”
The name was familiar, but disorienting. What on earth was Lucy FitzHarris doing in Scotland?
“Only I’m no longer FitzHarris. I’m Mrs. Alexander Sinclair now.”
Ah, yes. She remembered reading something about the Duke of Chatham’s daughter marrying a Scotsman among the other gossip in the newspapers.
Lucy hurried closer, breathless with excitement, and Virginia could just make out her face in the dim hallway light. “But I forget myself. You’re no longer Miss Whitebridge. Welcome to Balforss, Lady Langley.” She made a low bow.
Damn and bollocks.
“Please don’t,” Virginia whispered.
“What?”
“Shh. Please. No one knows who I am.”
“But why?”
Dear Lord, if Lucy told the mistress of the house, they’d have her packed up and on the next coach headed for London. She couldn’t return now. Not yet. Not until she had a plan. Not until it was safe.
“It’s a long story, and I will tell you, but for now, I need you to please keep my secret. It’s…” What reason could she give for what seemed an absurd request? “It’s important to me. Very important.”
“Yes, of course, but my God, Langley must be half out of his mind with worry. He might even think you’re dead.”
He probably did think she was dead, but she doubted he’d spent a moment worrying over her disappearance. More likely, he’d celebrated. “Yes. I realize that. All the more reason I need to wait a while and break it to him slowly.”
“All right. If you think it best. What shall I call you, then?”
“Do you mind terribly if you call me Virginia like everyone else? We’re old schoolmates, after all.”
Lucy waited for a half second too long to answer, and Virginia almost got on her knees to beg, when at last, she said, “Of course. Whatever you like. You’ve been through hell, and I want to make things as easy as possible for you.” Lucy took hold of her hand. “Come, I’ll show you to the dining hall. You’ll need to watch your step in this house. It’s easy to get lost.”
Virginia breathed a little easier. She was safe. For now. But sooner or later, she’d have to reveal herself and face her old life—something she was not yet ready to do. Not until she had a plan.
“I heard a baby cry,” Virginia said.
Lucy slid an arm through hers. “That’s my Jemima. It took forever to get her settled, but I’ll introduce her to you all when she wakes from her nap.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “She can be a bad-tempered tyrant when she doesn’t sleep. Just like her father.” She laughed, then, and Virginia smiled, the appropriate response to Lucy’s jest. Living in this house with these good people, Lucy had no idea what the words “tyrant” and “bad-tempered” really meant.
The mouth-watering aromas wafting up from the dining room made her stomach grind out a loud feed me. But as they reached the bottom step, she hesitated. To her left, she heard the clink and rattle of dishes over the gentle conversation of her friends. To the right, muffled shouts and angry curses emanated from behind a closed door. If only she could see where she was, where she was going. If only she could see the faces of all these new people.
Lucy gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “It’s all right, Virginia. You’re safe.”
“Miss Pendarvis—Caya. What’s happened to her? I haven’t seen her.”
“She’s fine. Laird John returned with her a little while ago. They’re both resting, I believe.”
Despite Lucy’s reassurances, Virginia felt frozen to the spot as if her slippers had been nailed to the floor. Lucy stepped in front of her and held her gently by the shoulders. They had never been close as girls. Lucy was
the daughter of a duke, albeit illegitimate, and Virginia the daughter of a merchant, but now, that gap in their social standing seemed to have melted away.
In a low and comforting voice, Lucy said, “Laird John informed me that Captain O’Malley is dead. All of the villains are dead—cut down and buried at sea. They can never harm you or Caya or any of the others again. The Sinclair men made certain of that. You’ll be safe here at Balforss.”
Virginia released the breath she was holding and her body relaxed. “Thank you. How lucky I am to find a friend, here, so far from…everything.”
Lucy brightened. “You must be starving. I know I am. Wait until you taste Mrs. Swenson’s molasses cake. It’s divine.”
A woman approached with agitated steps.
“Mother Flora,” Lucy said. “What’s the to-do in the library?”
“Och, you must be Virginia. Welcome, my dear lass. I see the frock fits you nicely. Sorry to be so abrupt, but I need assistance. Lucy, will you come hold Magnus down while the doctor stitches his face?”
Virginia’s heart jolted. “Mr. Magnus was injured? How badly?”
“Not bad, but he’s being difficult about it. I need your help, Lucy.”
“Mother Flora, you know how I get at the sight of blood.” Lucy already sounded queasy.
“I’ll go,” Virginia offered. “I’m not bothered by blood.”
“Fine.” Lady Sinclair—for that is who Virginia deduced her to be—took her hand and led her to the library door. “Wait out here until I call you inside. And don’t let Magnus bully you. Perhaps he’ll remember his manners and stop his cursing if you are there.”
“I’m not bothered by cursing, either.”
…
Magnus eyed the doctor with suspicion. He didn’t like medical men. Didn’t trust them, any of them, least of all Dr. Farquhar, the man who’d tended to his family at Balforss for years. If he could summon the energy, he’d flee the room and return to his cottage for some sleep. Instead, he remained slumped in his chair with a blood-soaked cloth held to his cheek and his free hand balled into a meaty fist.
Forgetting the Scot Page 2
