Silver Enchantress

by Patricia Rice

  With an inquiring lift of her eyebrows she asked, “What did my father ever do to you that you must destroy all trace of him?”

  De Lacy looked startled. Then, he shrugged. “He always got everything I wanted, and then did not have the sense to keep it.”

  He strode out, slamming the door behind him. From the corner Elizabeth spoke. “He coveted everything your father ever possessed. He resented Richard being the eldest son. He swears their parents loved Richard more. He even craved the same women and horses. Your father bent over backward trying to offer Peter whatever he wanted. If Peter wished to court one of the village girls, Richard bowed out. If Peter wished to own the horse Richard bought, Richard would sell him. The only two things Richard never gave him were the lands and me. So Peter took them both.”

  She spoke as if she read the words from a book, but Eileen heard the emotion hidden behind them. For the first time she had some glimmer of understanding of what had happened that day.

  “You do not need to speak of it,” Eileen answered, wishing to spare her the pain.

  “I will not speak of it again, but before we die, you must at least understand why. After he killed your father, he spent days raving his imagined misfortunes to me. He is perfectly sane in all else, but he is utterly mad when it comes to Richard. In the six short years of our marriage Richard came to realize this, too. It was one of the reasons he decided to declare his religion openly. He began selling off his lands to provide a school for the Catholic children in the county. It meant we would have little to live on but my dowry, but it also meant we could leave Peter and escape to some corner of the world where we could live in peace. His decision was the final blow to what wall of sanity remained in Peter.”

  Elizabeth began to remove her cap and cloak. Eileen hesitated, uncertain if this meant the tale was complete. She could piece together many of the pieces from this knowledge, but she felt a gap remained.

  The last piece fell in place as Elizabeth finished the tale. “There are always those who resent change and covet power. Peter had cultivated these types for years. The news that Richard practiced his religion and meant to protect it drew fury from the upper echelons of society. His decision to sell his lands caused fear and anger. Peter had no difficulty in finding his band of assassins, I’m certain. I doubt that they had in mind killing women and children, but Peter chose that role for himself.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself and stared out the window. “I honestly don’t believe he rode in with the intention of killing us, but his madness led him to worse. After he killed Richard and struck you, he knew he could never hold me. We both thought he had killed you. It took days before the servants could get him drunk enough to pass out. By then I was barely conscious. I do not even remember being transported to the convent. When the fever ran its course, the physician told me what Peter had done to me would keep me from ever having children again. After that, I saw no reason to leave. I knew Peter had been told I was dead, so I did nothing to dispel the rumor, not even to write my sister. Without you and Richard, I wanted no further part of the world.”

  Pale-faced after this confession, Elizabeth completed her undressing and fell into the bed. Within minutes she was sound asleep.

  Eileen continued to watch her, unable to seek that blessed state of oblivion. She tried not to imagine what that madman below could have done to her frail mother in those few days, but her imagination had always been too vivid. De Lacy was a large, powerful man even now. Fifteen years ago he would have been in the prime of manhood. The images played through her mind in painful detail. Drake had never been anything but gentle with her, yet she often found herself bruised and sore after an evening of love-making. How much worse might it be were the act done with vengeance and hatred?

  The steely inner strength she had drawn on these last few days was almost exhausted. Trapped in this cage de Lacy had built, Eileen had tried not to tire herself with useless protests, but the tension had taken its toll. Had it only been herself, she might have held out longer, but the terror of what might happen to her mother and the babe ate at her soul. The tale she had just heard gave her the renewed strength of fury, but that was a surface strength at best. She had nothing left to fall back on. How would they ever escape this fiend’s hold?

  De Lacy’s warning that they had only a few days of luxury left confirmed Eileen’s worst fears. In a few days they would be in Calais and on a ship that de Lacy commanded. She doubted if they would ever see the other shore.

  It had been a cold journey to the distant convent in France in late October. Now Michael watched Sir John grow old before his eyes as the priest recited his tale with much gesticulation and anxiety. Michael understood little of what was being said, but he understood Eileen’s absence and the name de Lacy. It did not take long to put two and two together. He wished desperately to ask where and when and be gone after her, but he curbed his impatience and awaited Sir John’s word.

  Not until they were outside the convent’s walls did the baronet find the strength to speak. The small band of Drake’s cousins, friends, and ex-soldiers Michael had hastily assembled lingered with the horses. Sir John gripped Michael’s shoulder. “De Lacy was a week ahead of us. He has taken both of them.”

  Michael flinched. An entire week. It would not pay to dwell on what could be done in a week.

  But Sir John was not through. His lined face an ashen gray, he lifted his blurred eyes to meet Michael’s stern ones. “Eileen is near seven months gone with Drake’s child.”

  Beside them, Drake’s young cousin blanched. “Mon Dieu,” he whispered to no one in particular.

  Chapter 22

  London-Calais, November, 1746

  Drake leaned against the cell door listening to Edmund’s bragging. As long as his cousin felt secure with the iron bars between them, he dared speak as he had never done before. Drake clenched his teeth until the muscle in his jaw twitched, but Edmund was too engrossed in himself to note the poised tension of an animal prepared to strike.

  Not until he uttered Eileen’s name did Edmund realize the extent of his danger. The supposedly locked door flew open and Drake leapt to grab his cousin by the cravat.

  “When? When did you hear from de Lacy?” Drake shook Edmund so brutally the men hiding in the darkened cell behind him stepped in to interfere.

  Edmund grew white at the appearance of members of His Majesty’s cabinet, but the hand at his throat presented more immediate peril.

  “A week. . . a week ago.” Edmund gasped. “He’ll have her by now. There’s nothing you can do.” Drake’s other hand closed around his cousin’s windpipe. “How does he know where she is?”

  “Avignon. . .” Edmund gasped for breath until Drake loosened his grip. “De Lacy had you traced and knew of the convent. He has men outside all the walls. She has only to set foot outside the doors and she is his. It’s too late, cuz.” Even in his capture Edmund could not disguise his triumph.

  As Edmund began to turn blue, Lord Westley stepped from behind the other witnesses to lay a hand on Drake’s shoulder.

  “We have heard enough, Sherburne. I am sorry for my part in this, but Edmund is my responsibility now. Go to Miss de Lacy. We will not stop you.”

  With a cry of anger and despair Drake flung Edmund across the floor and fled down the corridor. The door at the end barely swung forward in time as he shoved through the opening and raced down the stairs. Not enough time. There would never be enough time.

  Outside, he spied a rangy stallion of promising strength and grabbed the reins from the startled attendant. They could hang him for a horse thief. The convent was more than a week away, and Eileen would never stay within the walls for more than a day at a time.

  Eileen stared out the upper-story window to the ships bobbing in the bay, their sails furled and all signs of life swept away by the torrents of rain pouring from leaden skies. Rain ran in rivers down the warped and dingy glass, making it impossible to open the window to allow in even the slight
est breath of air. Confinement to these narrow chambers these last days had given her a taste of the tomb, and the need to scream and flee kept her fingers clinging to the windowsill.

  The child within her weighed heavier than usual, and she could not stand for long. Lowering herself to the window seat, Eileen glanced at her mother. Elizabeth sat in the room’s only chair, counting her rosary from morning to night.

  Whatever assistance she sought from the heavens above did not seem to be forthcoming.

  De Lacy entered the room without knocking, an irritating habit he had developed these past days. Eileen threw him a look of annoyance and returned to staring out the window. Elizabeth did not stop counting.

  “We sail when the tide turns. I’ve had enough of this delay,” he announced without preliminaries.

  “Besides, if our bodies by some mischance are washed up to shore, it will be easy to blame the storm.” Eileen spoke without inflection.

  Before de Lacy could reply, Elizabeth rose from her chair and distracted him. In the gloomy light none of the lovely copper shone in her hair, but she was still beautiful. De Lacy watched with suspicion as she approached him. She had not spoken two words to him throughout the journey.

  “Let Eileen and her child go free. She cannot be a threat to you.” She said without a hint of plea in her voice.

  De Lacy leaned against the door jamb to study his brother’s wife with. He disdained powder and wigs while traveling, and his own black locks framed his sardonic face.

  “She has already threatened me. As long as she lives, I can expect a knife in my back at any time. I don’t like being threatened, Elizabeth.” His gaze lewdly traveled over her.

  Eileen spoke sharply. “Don’t plead for me, Mother. I have no fear of dying. It will be better than spending my life waiting for him to turn his back so I may plunge a knife into it.”

  Elizabeth ignored her taunt and de Lacy’s sharp bark of laughter. “She is young and does not understand the finality of death. Let me be hostage against her good behavior.”

  Eileen gasped, but one look at her mother convinced her protest would be futile. The woman she remembered from so long ago stood with emerald eyes blazing, her stance proud and haughty. She could not rob her mother of this chance to return to life, however briefly. The look in de Lacy’s eyes would have withered a flower, and Eileen had to bite her tongue to keep from crying out.

  “That is an interesting proposition.” The earl crossed his arms as he eyed his opponent. “After all these years without a man, you must be eager to rectify that.”

  Elizabeth grew pale, but she did not retreat. “If that is what I must do, God will forgive me. Let Eileen go.”

  “No, Mother!” Eileen cried in dismay, coming to her feet, but the two combatants took no notice.

  De Lacy’s mouth bent in an anticipatory grin. “I cannot allow her to return home, but it would be easy enough to sell her into service in the colonies. After fifteen years of indenture she may give up the foolish notion of revenge. A wench like that will likely find a husband to father her bastard and settle there. That’s the best I can offer, Elizabeth.”

  Eileen saw her mother’s silent nod of agreement. Stunned, she fell back into the window seat. Hope licked at her heart. She might have days, even weeks to make her escape. But what her mother offered in exchange for this reprieve was revolting.

  Trying to hide the tremor in her voice, Eileen intervened. “You had best delay payment until you are assured of my arrival in the colonies, Mother. The opportunity to drop me in an even larger sea will have already occurred to our charming host.”

  Elizabeth sent her a weak, grateful smile. De Lacy scowled.

  “I will cut your tongue out one of these days and make you truly silent.” Turning his black gaze back to Elizabeth, he declared, “You have until we arrive at my home to make your decision.”

  He turned on his heel and strode out.

  Eileen held her hand to the place where Drake’s child kicked and lifted her eyes questioningly to her mother.

  “For the babe,” Elizabeth whispered, emerald eyes wide with fear and loathing. “Drake will come for you. I know it.”

  Eileen nodded, but an icy chill crept through her bones. Drake would come, if they did not hang him. And even then, how many weeks, how many months would it be before he found her? Her mother would surely die in the hands of a man like de Lacy, but she—and her unborn child—would die if she refused. The choice was no choice at all.

  Sir John’s lips tightened grimly as he listened to the tale told by the village innkeeper. He gave the man a gold coin for his kindness to the two “saints” who had resided in his upper room for a night, and thanked him for his information. He strode out with the strength of a young man, but his face was lined and old.

  Saints indeed, he muttered as he approached the band of horsemen waiting for him. If de Lacy had made saints of those two miscreants, he should thank the man. If they ever caught up with him.

  He met Michael’s anxious gaze with a shake of his head. “They are well and still two days ahead of us. Calais is another day’s ride. We will have to search every inn in the town and pray they did not board ship immediately.”

  The other members of the party looked glum at this news. Except for Michael and Pierre Monsard, the others were only casually acquainted with Eileen and had never known her mother, but they had become as involved in this quest as her uncle. To a man, they followed Michael’s gallop down the road to Calais with grim speed and murderous intent.

  They arrived in the port city just before dusk. Storm clouds had settled on the horizon again, and a cold wind whipped their cloaks about their ankles as they sped through the mud to the waterfront. Soaked to the skin, splattered with the filth of their week’s journey, they made a sorry sight as they dismounted in front of a low-slung, rough stone tavern.

  With a determined set to his jaw Michael gave the orders. “We’ll divide in half. Pierre can speak the language. Three of us will follow him and begin questioning down the road to the right. Sir John will take the rest of you and go to the left. Fire two shots in the air if you find anything.”

  “If nothing else, that will test our gunpowder,” Pierre grumbled as he removed his once jaunty tricorne and shook the water from it. But he swaggered down the road with the knowledge that he had some value in this adventure.

  Cursing the tide that delayed their arrival in Calais, Drake trained his spyglass on the harbor ahead. He could not hope to see anything except empty streets, and frustration ate at him.

  The foul weather had driven all signs of life from the ships lined near the shore—except one. Drake trained his glass in that direction. Braving the rough weather, men scuttled up and down the rigging, releasing battened sails. Someone must be in a hurry to chance these winds, but the tide would soon be in their favor. It would make for a speedy journey.

  Just as he was about to turn the glass on the houses along the shore, Drake caught an odd movement on the ship’s deck. He adjusted the focus and searched the stern, locating the whipping black cloak that had caught his eye. Few sailors wore cloaks. Even fewer stood as small and delicate as this. The wind caught the cloak’s hood and flung it back, revealing a long, shining strand of copper.

  Drake yelled and the sailors standing nearby scrambled to attention. He crushed the glass’s barrel as he fought to bring the still figure closer, but the mist in his eyes prevented focusing.

  It was Eileen; it had to be. What other female would stand in this gale without even the protection of her hood? But even as he watched, a towering, masculine figure approached her and led her from the deck. Drake could not even glimpse her face as she went without protest. That seemed odd, but so did her movements. Eileen had always darted about with the grace and agility of a butterfly. This woman moved slowly and heavily.

  Drake cursed and flung the glass to the nearest sailor before running to the helm. It had to be Eileen, and if de Lacy had harmed her in any way, he would murder
the villain with his bare hands. In the meantime they had to prevent that ship from leaving the harbor.

  As Drake’s captain maneuvered his small craft to intercept the right-of-way of the larger vessel, Drake continued studying the deck they approached. Things had changed since his last glimpse, and his heart leaped in hope. In the gathering gloom there appeared to be a struggle on the gangplank between dock and ship. A sword caught the last rays of sun, and a puff of smoke from a firearm rose in the wind.

  If he could, Drake would push the damned ship to close the gap faster. He groaned as more sailors poured from the hatch to halt the men from the dock. Then a six-foot giant leapt with gun in hand over the side of the ship, blocking the sailors. He was joined by three others bearing swords and muskets. In the ensuing battle Drake could identify only the familiar giant—Michael.

  Fear and rage at Eileen’s predicament overwhelmed any jealousy that Michael had arrived first. As his ship scraped against the side of the larger one, Drake raced to the bow and helped heave grappling hooks over the side. Before anyone could stop him, he had the rope in his hands, pulling himself aboard. Eager to join the fray, the men behind followed his lead.

  From her cabin, Eileen heard the first shot with a start of alarm. Cautiously she peered into the corridor and, seeing no one, opened the door across from hers. Elizabeth glanced up in fear as she entered.

  Another shot rang out and they could hear the pounding of feet racing across the deck. As memories returned of a day long ago when shots and screams had destroyed their world, they grabbed each other’s hands.

  But not for long. The clash of swords ringing down the hatchway brought wild, searing hope. It could only mean help had arrived, and she would do all she could to aid it. Despite her unwieldiness, Eileen hurried down the corridor, Elizabeth close behind her.

  The wind caught her braid as she raised her head above the hatchway, and her breath was nearly swept away at the sight encountered. Men swore and fought, falling over lengths of hemp, rolling about the deck with knives flashing, and slashing the air with blades of steel. Those with pistols and muskets had flung them aside without reloading after the first shot, leaping into the fray with fists and whatever weapons came to hand. She gasped as she recognized the younger Monsard brother rolling about the deck with a lad much his size, fists flying, but her gaze was distracted by another sight.