The Woodcarver's Secret (Samantha Sweet Mysteries)

by Connie Shelton

  Her bowl was empty before Meggie set down her spoon. “So, as I see it, you want something inside that fort and you could use some help.”

  Her blue eyes were so direct that he couldn’t look at them. He stared at his stew.

  She reached toward him, touching his hand lightly, speaking so softly he barely heard. “You need something. I can help.”

  He shrugged, pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  The direct blue gaze would not go away. Finally, he spoke.

  “Why? Why you do this?”

  The pub had grown noisy with the midday crowd and Meggie raised her voice slightly, without risk of being overheard.

  “My father was shot down by the English.” She gestured the firing of a gun. “My brother too. I’ve no love for them. You come from another country—I don’t know where. I don’t care. But you’re here to take something from the English—am I right?”

  He worked to follow her words but caught only the gist of it. He nodded.

  Meggie looked down at his empty bowl. “C’mon. We’ll figure it out.”

  She stood and he followed her out of the pub. As they walked he whispered of his goal, to get inside the fort and find the room where the generals planned their strategy. He needed to know where the English sailing fleet was.

  “I know which one he is,” Meggie said. “The general in charge of the fort.”

  Her expression hardened and Rodrigo understood. This was the man responsible for killing her father and brother.

  * * *

  The sky had cleared slightly by the time darkness fell. As the bell in the church tower struck eleven, a watery half moon began to peer through the clouds. Meggie led Rodrigo from the small, abandoned stone cottage where they had stayed away from the prying eyes of the populace and of the soldiers. Anyone seeing them come and go from the place might think it a lengthy tryst, but she did not care. In reality they had spent the afternoon scratching out diagrams with a stick on the dirt floor. The fortress, he told her, consisted of a rectangular stone building, with entrances on each side, guardhouses only on the two longer sides. After midnight, one of those was locked. All ingress and egress had to take place through the one guardhouse facing the main road. Now, they had a plan.

  Two lanes away from the fortress they split up, Rodrigo planning to work his way to one of the side doors where, with luck, Meggie would come to let him in. First, however, she had a less-pleasant task ahead of her.

  She peered around the corner of a woolen shop and studied the front gate of the fortress. As they’d hoped, two guards provided the extent of the contingent. According to Rodrigo’s information the rest of the men, along with most of their leaders, were away on a series of military maneuvers near Dublin. She waited patiently until one of the guards said something to the other and walked away.

  She lowered her cloak and let one side of her dress slip off her shoulder. With a sway to her gait she crossed the road and began singing quite loudly, a bawdy pub tune. The middle-aged, paunchy guard’s attention became riveted on the young blonde woman who was obviously intoxicated. When she stumbled into him, neither was particularly surprised.

  “Hello—where did you come from?” she said with a wink and a slur. She dipped to pick up the end of her fallen shawl, making sure that her breasts were easily visible to him.

  He reached to assist with the shawl and she ran a finger down the length of his arm.

  “Ooh, a right strong one you are,” she said, prodding at his bicep.

  He subtly flexed the muscle and sent a stupid grin her way. Men were so easy.

  “Say, maybe we could find a little privacy?” she whispered when he leaned in close, ostensibly to drape the shawl over her shoulders.

  The guard glanced both directions, but Meggie had already seen to it that the road was clear. There was still no sign of the second guard. The man squeezed her shoulder as he let go of the shawl.

  “Sure, luv.” He pulled her into the small enclosure that served as a guardhouse.

  “Not here,” she breathed urgently. “Your friend will come back.”

  The randy man seemed to at least have enough decorum to want the lady to himself. He lifted the latch on a door at the back of the enclosure and pushed a heavy door inward, into the fortress itself.

  “Wait there,” he said, pointing to another door across the corridor. “When the other bloke comes back I’ll take my break. Ten minutes, no more, I promise.”

  He gave a final, longing gaze at her almost-exposed breast as he watched her walk into the second room. She backed across the space then blew a kiss across the corridor and smiled to herself as he tugged at his trousers.

  The room in which she found herself was apparently the bunk room for the troops who were away. Rows of beds lined the walls. By the sliver of light from the corridor she rummaged through a couple of knapsacks, coming up with only a roughly bound soldier’s diary and a few coins in addition to the articles of worn clothing she expected to find. She pocketed the coins, with the fleeting thought that she could run now and avoid more contact with the pudgy guard who had practically slobbered at the prospect of fondling her.

  However, if he came back and she was gone he would have no choice but to go looking for her and raise the alarm about a stranger inside the fortress. That would not do. Before she could come up with an alternate plan she heard voices, the guard telling his comrade that he would take a turn at patrolling the corridor. She stepped outside the bunkroom the moment she heard the heavy wood door to the guardhouse close.

  “Not here,” she whispered. “It’s … smelly. Like a hundred unwashed men slept there.”

  She grabbed his hand before he could protest and pulled him toward the better-lit end of the corridor.

  “It’ll be a lot more exciting in a nicer place,” she said.

  The guard seemed at a loss. Clearly, he should be ordering her to stop, threatening to kick her out, but libido had taken over and his stupid smile indicated that he would go along with nearly anything at this point.

  “What’s this? The general’s quarters?” Meggie didn’t read well, but she recognized a familiar name on the plaque at the door. “Ooh, I feel meself gettin’ all steamy.”

  Before the guard could protest she pulled him into the room and closed the door behind them. Moonlight coming through two large windows revealed a large desk with a high-backed chair behind it.

  “Sit in the chair,” she ordered, lifting her skirt. “I love to ride a powerful man.”

  Where did that come from? She closed her mind to the act itself as the guard unbuttoned his trousers and she faced him. Over his shoulder she could see that the rest of the large office contained a worktable with maps spread out on it. In the dim light she couldn’t make out what they were but they seemed something that would be of interest to the Spaniard.

  On a shelf beyond the worktable she saw more papers. A carved wooden box sat there, probably too small to contain valuable documents, but Meggie felt attracted to the design. She might as well get something for herself out of this little adventure.

  The guard pumped away, taking far longer than she would have expected, but at last he heaved a contented sigh and relaxed against the back of the chair. In an awkward attempt at after-play he mauled her breasts with his hands and planted wet kisses on them.

  Meggie stood up and backed away. “Button up, now,” she said. “Can’t let you get caught in forbidden places.”

  He didn’t catch her meaning until he noticed that she was looking around the important man’s office. His eyes widened and he quickly put his clothing back in place.

  “There must be a back way out,” she whispered. “Quick! Show me!”

  He peered out into the corridor before fully opening the door. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her out of the office and closed the door behind them. They headed away from the guardhouse and Meggie could see that the long corridor made a left turn shortly ahead. Immediately after the turn, an alcove reveal
ed another heavy wooden door. The guard reached into his pocket and brought out a heavy key, which he inserted into an ornate metal lock. He gave a twist and pulled the door open.

  “Here. Stay to the left and that path leads to another along the quay. Follow that one to the right and you’ll be back in town with no one the wiser.”

  Meggie moved in close, placing her hands on his chest. “I could come back tomorrow.”

  The man beamed. Obviously he had pleased her. He nodded and moved to kiss her on the mouth.

  She teased him with a smile just before he could land the kiss. “Tomorrow. Now go. Before you get in trouble.”

  She pressed against his shoulders, turning him back toward the corridor. The moment his back was turned she slipped the corner of her shawl into the lock in the doorframe. He pressed the door shut and she heard his footsteps move away. Dropping her shawl on the stone stoop, she hurried away to find Rodrigo.

  “Psst!” came a sound from a large shrub at the corner. Meggie slowed, turning to be sure she hadn’t been followed. At her low words, Rodrigo emerged.

  “Come,” she said. “I have the way.”

  They kept to the shadows and she hurried to the fort’s side entrance where her shawl had disabled the locking mechanism.

  “Quickly!” Any passerby could notice the garment and alert the soldiers.

  Meggie pushed inward on the heavy door, retrieving the cloth, and Rodrigo ducked inside. With quiet steps and hand signals, she showed him to the general’s office. While he snatched up the maps and folded them, she checked the contents of the shelves. A heavy bag clanked with the satisfying sound of coins and she peered inside to discover that they were gold. It was probably the payroll for the entire fortress. She wound the strong cloth tightly around them and shoved the bulky packet into the wooden box she had spied earlier. Two treasures!

  “Is this box not beautiful?” she asked, holding it up.

  Rodrigo had shoved the folded maps into the inner lining of his cloak and was shuffling through papers that littered the general’s desk when Meggie heard a sound from the corridor. She hugged the wooden box to her chest and picked up a knife that the commanding officer probably used to remove sealing wax from his correspondence. A hand signal to Rodrigo sent him scurrying to conceal himself beside a large cupboard.

  “ … no rest for me tonight,” a male voice was saying.

  A second man responded with a formal, “Yes, Sir.” Meggie recognized it as the guard’s voice.

  The door opened and a tall man with wide shoulders entered. He carried a glowing lantern and his gaze took in the entire room at one glance. He spotted Meggie with the wooden box in her arms.

  “Thief! Put that down!” he shouted.

  Meggie backed away a step but did not relinquish the box. The general came farther into the room, holding the lantern high for a good look at her. She thought fast but could come up with no options. She would surely be put to the gallows. At this point all she could do would be to help Rodrigo get away. In the corridor, she heard the guard call out to the general, asking if everything was all right.

  “Put that down,” the general said in a menacing tone. He took another step closer.

  Meggie stepped toward the man who’d murdered her father, raised the short knife and brought it across his neck. “Run, Rodrigo! Go!”

  Blood gushed from the military man’s neck in horrid spurts. Meggie jumped aside and leaped over his fallen body.

  “Go, go!” she said to Rodrigo, dropping the knife and reaching for his arm. He stared at her with wide, dark eyes.

  She yanked at his sleeve and rushed to the corridor. At the far end, the guard she had seduced stared in their direction, not quite comprehending what he saw. There was not a moment to lose. Meggie, pulling Rodrigo with her, raced for the side door where they’d come in, hearing the guard call out to the other one. By the time they reached the turn, both guards were thundering down the hall toward them.

  She fumbled the latch for a moment, forgetting exactly how it operated. Precious seconds flew by but eventually it gave way and Rodrigo yanked the heavy door open. He pinched at her sleeve and guided her to the left, away from the street. Behind them they heard the fortress door slam, a sound that would surely wake the city. Meggie hugged the wooden box to her chest with one hand and gathered her skirts with the other, racing after Rodrigo down toward the quay.

  “Run faster!” he called over his shoulder.

  She stumbled and dropped the box. In one move, he turned and scooped it up, then pulled her to her feet with his free hand.

  “We must hurry. A boat is coming for me,” he said, his breath coming in rasps now.

  Behind them, a soldier’s shout ordered them to stop. Meggie hesitated a fraction of a second, turning to look. The shot caught her in the chest, taking her breath, stopping her heart, throwing her to the cold, muddy ground.

  * * *

  Rodrigo stood at the rail as the sun appeared at the horizon. The Irish coast, only a pale dark line now, vanished as he stared toward it. The woman, Meggie. She’d given her life for something she didn’t even understand, for the precious information needed by Phillip II for the planned invasion of England’s kingdom. He remembered her upturned nose, the way she’d teased a hot meal from him, her later sacrifice to help him get into the fortress.

  In Rodrigo’s memory the events stood out clearly: the bleeding general, the sprint from the fortress, reaching to assist Meggie followed by his own hard-breathing dash down the quay to the spot where—blessedly—the dinghy bobbed at the coastline. He’d fallen, nearly unconscious, into the small boat while the Spanish sailor’s powerful shoulders took them past the range of musket fire as the two guards must have rallied additional troops to the chase.

  “We are safe now,” said a voice at his side. “Go, descansa. My cabin is yours for the day.”

  Rodrigo knew he should rest but the captain’s offer would have to wait.

  “I hope the maps are useful,” he said. “I had no time to look them over, to choose carefully.”

  The stocky sailing man nodded. “I have seen them—the king will be most pleased. We have only three months to prepare and it is vital that he know where the British reinforcements are stationed. We shall bring this intelligence to him with all haste.”

  True to his word, all sails on the Santa Teresa were fully raised, the wind filling them and moving the galleon at a clip through the waves. At last, Rodrigo allowed himself to go below decks to eat a meal and stretch out on the bunk assigned to him. Beside him, he wrapped the wooden box in his cloak and kept the bundle secure beside his body as sleep overtook him.

  The nights ashore in Ireland had taken their toll, for the spy slept through two days and three nights before he awoke to realize that other crew members were snoring away in the bunks around him. He stretched, patted his blanket to be certain that the box of gold coins was safe, and discovered that he was starving. He could make his way quietly to the galley where there would surely be some scrap of bread or perhaps a joint of salted meat left from the evening meal before, but he came to understand that the heavy box would soon become a burden. Was he to carry it to the privy, to each meal, to have it at his side as he walked the decks? And there was no place—other than on his person—where it would not be discovered and preyed upon by the men. His head fell back to the thin mattress and he drifted to sleep thinking of it.

  When he woke again, the other bunks were empty and the sounds of heavy footfalls overhead indicated that the crew was already at work. He distributed most of the gold coins throughout the pockets of his garments, placing them carefully so they would not jingle against each other, and went to seek out the captain.

  “Ah, Señor del Fuentes, you slept well indeed,” said the man when he saw Rodrigo approaching him.

  “I did.” On their port side, Rodrigo could see the hazy edge of a coastline.

  “France,” the captain explained. “We dock in Portugal in two days. The Armada is alrea
dy assembling, I am given to understand. More than one hundred ships.”

  He gave a sigh and Rodrigo was unsure whether it meant this captain and the Santa Teresa were to be included among that number.

  “Captain, I meant to ask a favor?” He explained about the wooden box, that he wanted it kept safely somewhere until he could present it to the king. “It contains twelve gold pieces, a contribution to the war effort.”

  In reality there were more than sixty gold coins but Rodrigo wanted no one other than himself and King Phillip to know this. Temptation ran too strongly among sailors; he dare not let the word get out.

  “I shall be happy to secure it in the strong box in my quarters.”

  Rodrigo handed the box over and watched the other man walk toward his cabin at the stern. It was all he could do to assure the safety of the items he had taken in Ireland. His stomach growled, reminding him that he was long overdue for a meal.

  The next two days went smoothly, Rodrigo spending most of the time at leisure as he had no crew duties and knew no one to speak to, other than the captain. Apparently, the story given to the crew was that his position was as an emissary who reported to the king. It was mostly true—a year ago he had been a supply master in Cadiz when the devastating raid by Sir Francis Drake took place and decimated their fleet and their stores. He’d taken the loss so personally that he had volunteered to do whatever it took to help his king defeat the English. Now, he hoped the box of gold coins would redeem him in the monarch’s estimation.

  The port of Lisbon teemed with life—galleons, galleys, and carracks anchoring out in the harbor, awaiting their supplies. Smaller ships ferried crates out to the massive ones. On shore, throngs of men moved in a hive of activity. Shouts overrode other shouts, commanders organizing their men and readying to sail.

  “The fleet is due to leave within the week,” said the captain when Rodrigo found him in his quarters, leaning over his table of charts. “I understand that thirty thousand soldiers will join them, to be picked up in The Netherlands.”