by Lisa Olech
“Since when do I need to be announced? Is she in the parlor? Never mind, I’ll find her.” He gave the man’s shoulder a quick pat.
Basil rushed to step in front of him. “I am afraid I must insist, Captain Steele. Lady Waterford is not prepared to greet you, if you will kindly wait—”
“So sorry, Basil, but we’re in rather a rush.” James paused by the parlor doors and turned back to him. “In fact, if you would be a good chap and get word to the groom, I’ll need Lady Waterford’s carriage readied as quickly as possible.”
Opening the double doors, he discovered the cause of Basil’s damp forehead and urgent insistence. Lillian and her “caller” scrambled to right themselves. No small feat with yards of skirt pushed clear to her waist and one pale breast freed from the confines of its corset.
The man valiantly tried to shield Lillian while she shot to her feet. Turning her back on them, she attempted to repair her appearance. He was tall and broad through the shoulders. Course clothing. Smelled of horses.
Ducky chuckled. “Ah, looks like you’ll be able to inform the groom yourself.”
Lillian spun back around, frantically smoothing her platinum hair. “James, you’re back.”
James raised an eyebrow. “You don’t look… pleased.”
Her corset was still alarmingly askew. Red flushed her chest and brightened her cheeks. “This isn’t what it looks like.”
“It looks like you’re getting private riding lessons from your groom.”
“And losing another groom in the process,” chuckled Ducky.
James glared at him. “Shut up, Dunbar.”
Ducky leaned toward the flustered stable master. “Captain Steele wants a carriage horsed and ready. I trust you’re properly motivated to make haste in providing that?”
The man didn’t need a second invitation to leave. With a quick exchange of glances between he and Lillian, she nodded and he gathered his jacket and left.
“Ducky, oversee the carriage, won’t you?” James jerked his head toward the gaping parlor doors.
“Certainly. Come, Basil, scandal always makes me ravenous, and I’m guessing Captain Steele will be requiring some stiff refreshments for our trip. We’ll raid the kitchens first, then find what’s hiding in the brandy closet.”
As soon as the doors shut behind them, Lillian’s composure crumbled. “James, I can explain.”
He shook his head. “There’s no need, Lillian. My eyesight is perfect.”
With each panicked breath, her milky right breast threatened to escape its confines. She fluffed at her wrinkled hems before notching her chin. “You don’t seem the least bit upset. You’re not angry, or even unnerved.”
He lifted a hand. The observation didn’t surprise him quite as much as it did her. “I’m none of those things actually.”
She planted her hands on her hips. A hank of silvery blonde hair fell from her elaborate hairstyle onto her shoulder. “Then what are you?”
“Frankly, Lillian, I’m relieved. Over the last few weeks, I have been regretting our arrangement, and now we can both make a clean break of it. Truth be told, I’m happy for you and…and…” He waved a hand toward the doors.
“Gerald,” she replied sheepishly.
“Yes,” he smiled. “Gerald. I hope you two are well suited.”
Lillian narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are you being so gracious?”
“I wish I had time to explain it to you, but as you’ve gathered, I’m in a quite a hurry to get to Weatherington.”
She dropped the hands from her hips. “Weatherington? Is someone ill? Your parents? Alicia?” Two flushed spots heightened the color on her cheeks.
“Your concern is touching. No, as far as I know, my parents are fine. Alicia is well. I have urgent information I must deliver, however.” He bent to kiss her cheek just as her breast escaped its hasty prison. “I’ll explain all another time. In the meanwhile, my darling, you may need some help from your maid reining in your chest… and I believe there’s horse shit on your carpet.”
* * * *
Leaving the city, the horses were given free rein. The coach raced north.
Ducky roared with laughter. “The bloody groom?”
“Better him than me.” James took a swallow of his drink. He couldn’t think about Lillian right now. His mind had only one thought—get to Weatherington as quickly as possible. He hadn’t even thought about what he would say to his father. ‘Oh by the way, I found the Scarlet Night. Aunt Alice is due to hang in the next few days. Don’t mention it to Mother, will you.’
He refilled his glass. Perhaps more brandy would erase the scene forever branded in his mind. The look of pure terror on Samantha’s face as she cried out his name. The men lowering her into the barge. And worse than the fear, her face as she coped with the pain of his perceived betrayal. Nothing tore at him more than knowing how deeply he’d hurt her.
Hours later, he nudged Ducky out of his brandy-induced slumber. “We’re here.”
The coach turned in to the long cypress-lined lane leading up to his parents’ grand estate. Wide, rolling fields of brilliant green stretched on as far as the eye could see in both directions. His father once described it as trading a blue rolling sea for a green one.
The house, while modest in scale of grand estates, was still impressive. Built of stone, it replaced the old manor that was destroyed by fire shortly before his parents met. They’d matched the old-world details of the original—stone archways and full gables lining the roof, but at less than forty years old, the estate was still regarded as new.
James was out of the coach before it stopped rolling and took the stairs two at a time. Bursting into the wide marbled foyer, he called out, “Father?” He flung open the heavy doors leading into his father’s study. His wide leather desk chair sat empty.
Back in the foyer, he called up the sweeping staircase, “Father? Mother?”
His sister appeared at the top of the stairs, “James, is it you?” Lifting her skirts, she rushed down the stairs and leapt into his waiting arms. “What are you doing here?” She kissed his cheeks. “The letter announcing your commission arrived day before last. We’re all so proud, but we didn’t expect to see you until the wedding. Wait until you see my new dress. Mother and I have been with the dressmaker all week.”
James hugged her and spun her about. “You’ll have to cancel the new wardrobe. I’m afraid the wedding is off.” He lowered her to her feet in front of a grinning Ducky.
The man looked as if he’d woken from a year’s nap. “Alicia…” He breathed her name.
“Hello, Goose.” She batted her eyelashes at him. The two had a playful, sibling-like relationship. Yet there seemed a new appreciation in Ducky’s eye. They hadn’t seen each other in near two years. However, James neither had the time to analyze it, nor to ship Alicia away to a convent.
“Wait.” She spun back to James. “The wedding is off? Why?”
“Lillian preferred steed over Steele, I’m afraid,” quipped Ducky.
“What?” Wide blue eyes blinked at both of them.
“Don’t listen to him. It’s complicated, but right now I need to speak to Father.”
“You’ve missed them. Both Mother and Father have gone to London.”
“Bloody hell,” cursed Ducky, earning a disapproving raised eyebrow from Alicia.
James tugged her sleeve to pull her attention back to him. “When?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “First light this morning.”
“We must have passed them going the other way,” Ducky noted.
“Why were they headed to London?”
Alicia held out her hands, palms up. “I’m not sure. We were sitting at breakfast when the Robbins arrived.”
“Robbins?” James searched his memory.
“Yes, Ric and his wife, Jo Beau. She’s French. Lovely dark hair.”
James drew his brows together. “I don’t know a Ric
or Jo Beau Robbins. Who are they?”
“Mother and Father knew them. Or at least they knew Ric. Mother was so excited to see him. She called him ‘Henry’ at first. Tall, blond hair, a bit gray at the temples. Very handsome.” She shot Ducky a coy look before continuing. “He must have had something to do with Father’s days as a privateer. They’d traveled from America. Jo Beau’s father was sick, and they’d just come from visiting France.”
“What did they want?”
“I didn’t hear all of it. Evidently, when Ric and Jo Beau returned to London, they heard something about Father’s old ship being there. The captain is in trouble?” Alicia shrugged again. “All I know is, they all left in a great hurry.”
“We’ll need fresh horses if we’re to catch up with them.”
Ducky nodded before he left in search of a servant. “I’m getting good at this.”
Chapter 27
“How many times do I need to tell you? I don’t want to see him.”
The guard dropped a basket of fresh bread. “He’s a persistent sot, I’ll give ‘im that. Been here since dawn.”
Samantha pulled her knees to her chest and huddled tighter. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“Suit yerself.” The door closed with a solid slam.
Her small triangle of blue sky hid behind a blanket of drizzling clouds. The dampness oozed between the rocks and leached their chill into Samantha’s bones. She couldn’t sleep. She’d lost all track of time. The concept of six bells was a long lost world away.
Sometime after noon, they brought her more food, but she hadn’t been able to keep the vile slop down. She’d survived without food before, and she was too light headed and nauseous to care.
She thought about Tupper. Samantha hadn’t seen her since they were transferred from the barge into the tower. Was she close? Had she already been brought before the magistrate? Did she still live, or had she gotten her wish for a quick end to her life? Bump’s death destroyed her. It made Samantha’s heart ache to think about it. Perhaps it was a better that Bump died trying to be a hero rather than swinging for being a thief and a traitor. Had she a choice, she would have picked anything over hanging. She closed a hand over her throat and fought the urge to retch.
Fear’s icy fingers joined the chill of the stones. Samantha’s body wracked with a fierce shudder. Closing her eyes, she pulled her knees tighter to her chest and lowered her forehead to them. Perhaps if she simply curled into herself, she would disappear.
Like Tupper, Samantha didn’t care anymore. Her fate was sealed. She had been used and broken. Letting her live with the shame and an empty future would be a crueler sentence than the rope.
When James held her gaze back on the dock, pinning her with his ice-blue eyes, and didn’t give the order to stop her transfer, part of her died. His silence hollowed out the space within her chest where her heart once resided, where it once fluttered at his touch. A now empty cave that had known the joy of his kisses and the passion of his lovemaking
All they had shared between them was stripped away in a single moment. Samantha hoped the hangman’s noose would make quick work and end the pain of her own heart’s betrayal.
She’d cried out to James. Begged for his help. But there was no help for her. He’d lied by promising amnesty when there was none. There would be no forever for them. She’d fallen for his every deception.
The scrape of the iron key in the cell’s ancient lock brought Samantha out of her thoughts. Four more guards entered the tiny space.
“I told you—”
“On yer feet. Ye’ve a date with the magistrate, ‘n he hates bein’ kept waitin.’”
“A date, and me without a maid to see to my hair.” Her bravado shook from her soul.
“What hair ye got. Look like a sickly lad to me. ‘Course, no lad e’er had such a lovely set of breasts, aye gents?”
Samantha crossed her arms and glared at the guard. She held her tongue. Hanging would be bad enough. She didn’t fancy fighting off a detail of rutting guards as well.
“Put yer hands behind yer back,” ordered one.
The heavy shackles snapped over each wrist. A guard took each arm. The other two flanked her front and back. They led her down two flights of stairs and through a maze of cell-lined halls. Shouts, leers, and lurid comments sprang from each rat hole. It was dark and rank, and the smell stung at her nose. Was it because she was a woman that they’d put her in an upper cell? She never thought she’d be grateful for such a thing.
The guards marched her down yet another spiraled set of stairs to a door, which blissfully opened to the outdoors. Samantha dragged fresh air into her lungs. Walking the short distance between buildings, she passed the waiting gallows at the river’s edge. Empty gibbets swung in the damp, fetid breeze as they awaited new occupants. Sleek-headed ravens pecked with thick beaks through the green stretch of lawn. They reminded her of Leviticus. A huge clock tower nearby struck three o’clock… six bells…. The sudden lump in Samantha’s throat threatened to choke her.
Her guards escorted her into the magistrate’s chamber. Tiered rows filled with wigged officials whispered, gestured, and rudely pointed in her direction as she was brought before the robed members of the judicial parliament. The guards pushed her into a tiny cage to stand before the men who would ultimately seal her fate.
Her shirt gapped in the front and hung off her shoulder where she’d torn it. She wished she wasn’t shackled and could at least cover herself. She’d never felt this exposed. Vulnerable. Defenseless.
The room buzzed with conversation. Her heart pounded over the din. Try as she might, Samantha could not help but scan the gallery. Wigs in various shades of gray and beige sat atop each head in the sea of faces staring down at her.
Then she saw him.
His head was unburdened by any wig, with russet hair kissed light in streaks by the sun, and a hauntingly familiar pair of blue eyes. Once again, he was the most noticeable man in the room. He held her gaze. The hollow space in her chest echoed with a crippling ache. She closed her eyes as a fresh wave of pain crashed over her.
Turning away, the pounding of a gavel startled her. A stern, dark-browed man stood and unfurled an elaborate scroll.
“Samantha Christian, you have been charged with piracy upon the high seas in direct disregard of the laws of this land. The defiance of the crown’s order of surrender adds the second charge of treason. Both charges are subject to a sentence of death by hanging. Do you understand the charges?”
“Y…” The word stuck in her throat. “Yes,” she croaked.
“What plead ye?” His voice boomed in the silent room.
Samantha struggled to stay standing. Her knees shook. “I am guilty, Your Honor.”
The crowded room sprang to life. The noise hit her like a fist. Repetitive raps of the gavel attempted to regain order to the proceedings.
“Do you realize what you’re saying, Mistress Christian?” the magistrate addressed her. “By pleading guilty, you leave this court no choice but to bring the full sentence down upon you. Is it your wish to sign your death warrant today?”
“I am certain as to the outcome of these proceedings, sir. I would think my expediting matters would be seen as favorable to you.” She lifted her chin. “Today is as good as any other to die, don’t you agree?”
The uproar was once again brought to a halt by the pounding of the gavel. “Do you not have anything to say in your defense?”
“I have no defense. I was thrown into a series of circumstances I could never have imagined, nor prevented. I did what I needed to do to survive. I am grateful to Captain Tupper Quinn for saving me. It would be my only wish to do the same for her in return.”
She tipped her chin. “You see only the surface of our offenses, sir, and care little as to the cause of what drove us to commit them. I wonder if, put in the same position, you fine gentlemen would not find yourselves fighting for your life and livelihood
behind the barrel of a pistol or the swing of a sword.”
“We are not standing trial, Mistress Christian.”
“Yes, sir, and as I said, I am guilty. Let us be done with this.”
“If that is your wish, so be it. Samantha Christian, you have pled guilty to piracy and treason against the king. You shall be held in the Tower of London until such time as this court issues its sentence upon you. At that time, you will be given the opportunity to make one final plea for your life. I would suggest you think long and hard before discarding that final opportunity.”
The guards dragged Samantha away amid the shouts and protests of the crowd. They marched her silently back to her tower cell.
Chapter 28
James stood in shock as he watched Samantha being led away. Guilty? Foolish, foolish woman. Didn’t she realize her stubborn pride would end with her swinging in the gallows? She hadn’t tried to explain how she came to be part of the crew of the Scarlet Night. Her desperation to leave Virginia, nor a word of Tupper’s hand in what happened.
What had she done? He’d told her to plead her innocence. More than a dozen times. Had she heard none of it?
He dropped into a chair and held his head. How had everything gone so horribly wrong? Marcus had deceived him. He had followed procedure as ordered. ‘No woman would hang for piracy.’ The trial would be a formality. James did as he was ordered, and handed Samantha and Tupper over. He’d saved his commission and his future, all the while ripping his heart from his chest.
But then they had kept Samantha from him. He’d tried to see her the next day, but he’d been denied access to her or to Tupper. The order came directly from Marcus. He’d been tricked. Admiral Marcus knew full well there would be no leniency shown to either woman. James had to resort to bribing Samantha’s guards to gain access to her only to have her refuse to talk to him.
When Samantha first stood in the defendant’s cage and looked up at him, he could read her thoughts as easily as he had always done. She was lost, without hope. Who or what had torn at her clothes? She looked beaten. Crushed by his betrayal. After all they had shared, how could she believe he would deceive her? He must find a way to reach her. Push past the wall of her hurt. If only he could talk to her, even for just a moment. He had to make her understand before it was too late. He wouldn’t watch her hang. Not for the crime of signing her damned name.
