The Jezebel

by Saskia Walker

  Once the bookkeeper arrived and unlocked the door, Roderick nodded at Clyde. “You’ll wait outside?”

  “Aye, I’ll keep watch.”

  Roderick had been expecting to be told the name of nearby lodgings. Instead, the bookkeeper handed him a letter written in Gregor’s own hand.

  It was with some curiosity that Roderick opened it. Perhaps Gregor was requesting they wait a few days, which would be a problem because the navy would be on their trail soon enough. Frowning, he read the letter.

  Roderick,

  I hope that you and the men of the Libertas have fared well. If you are reading this, it means you did not receive the word I sent to France to notify you that I will not be rejoining the Libertas at this time. As you know, I suspected my task in Fife could take longer than the six months we had agreed. That was not the case. The task took very little time indeed to reach its natural conclusion. However, my life took on a very different direction shortly after I parted ways with you.

  As you have so often pointed out to me, I needed to be more honest with myself and seek the truth, not revenge. I am not so clear-minded as you. It was in my search for justice that I discovered what I believed to be my true path. And you were correct when you joked it would be a lass that would change my manner of thinking on family matters.

  We are headed to the Highlands, and if my calculations are correct and you have returned to Dundee by the agreed date in September, I will shortly be pledging myself to my bride. I would have done it weeks ago, but she insisted that we spend four seasons together in order to see if we were truly well matched. It is a Highland tradition amongst some of the clans. She is a stubborn sort, but I argued it down to two seasons and we will be wed before the old festival of Samhain, so you will see how well matched I think we are.

  We have broken our journey north and lodge in rooms in Inverness. I’ve taken this opportunity to write you this second letter. Soon we will head onward to the far reach of the Highlands, to a village called Fingal, where my woman’s clan hails from. She has many kin there and we’ll be able to build a croft of our own. Finally, I will be able to honor my father—Hugh Ramsay—in a way he would have admired, by establishing a good smallholding for my family, just as he tried to do for me.

  I will be wed and settled before winter comes, all being well. Raise a glass to cheer us on our way, old friend. Drink to me and my bride, Jessie Taskill.

  Gregor

  * * *

  On his first reading of the letter Roderick was mighty amused at the information contained within. Gregor Ramsay had lost his heart to a woman, and he planned to make his home on dry land! Much like himself, Gregor had been entirely set against such a course, but apparently he’d changed his tune rapidly after spending a few days in Scotland.

  Did it affect every man that way? Roderick wondered.

  Not only did Gregor’s news startle and amuse him, but Roderick was astonished to find that his cohort was many, many miles from here in the far north. He had to read the letter again to be sure he’d got it right.

  By the second reading the laughter on his lips faded as his attention was caught by the woman’s name. Taskill. Jessie Taskill. He clutched the letter tightly, reading the name over and over.

  Maisie had confided her family name to him. It had to be her sister. Hadn’t she mentioned a twin, and talked about returning to the Highlands to find her? It had to be one and the same.

  Memories crowded in on him, other odd things that Maisie had said. She’d quizzed him about carrying another woman aboard the Libertas, stating that she felt an odd connection with the name Gregor Ramsay. If that was true, was it her witchcraft that had made her sense the link between him and Gregor, and his new bride? Roderick marveled at the very idea.

  Whatever the cause, he knew there was destiny in it. He also knew that Maisie had to find her kin. Regardless of his own needs, his sense of justice and honesty demanded that he supply her with this vital piece of information she had spent her life longing for.

  Foreign emotions erupted within Roderick. He needed to find her, to tell her. To see her. How the hell would he ever find her again, though? Futile, fledgling hopes were quickly shattered when he considered that problem.

  Thanking the bookkeeper, he took his leave.

  “Are we to wait for Ramsay?” Clyde asked when he emerged.

  Roderick forced himself to slow his pace when he noticed the old man struggling to keep up with him, having trouble managing his limp on dry land. Clyde was born to be aboard ship. Some men had sworn allegiance to the sea and would never give it up for a woman. Others could be swayed. Gregor had. Could he be swayed, as well? Roderick wondered.

  He shook his head. His immediate concern was to find Maisie and tell her about her sister’s whereabouts, not because he must know if she wanted him or not. At least, that’s what he convinced himself of in his frustration.

  “Gregor Ramsay will not be rejoining us. He’s decided to wed and stay on dry land.”

  Clyde nearly keeled over in shock.

  “And you must be off to the ship, for I have business to attend to that will keep me in Dundee for at least a day.”

  The old man drew to a halt.

  Roderick kept walking, but then stopped. The demand for an explanation was beating against his back as surely as if Clyde had been pounding his fists there. Roderick turned back. “Women, they are nothing but trouble,” he declared.

  Clyde pondered a moment, then broke into a wide, toothless grin. “I knew you would see sense and go after the lass. You can’t let a woman like that roam free. She’s born to be with you.”

  “You’ve changed your tune.”

  “Just because I am wary doesn’t mean I cannot see the truth. That Jezebel is a courageous woman, and a clever one.” He narrowed his eyes. “And if I am not mistaken she has looked after you well.”

  “You talk in riddles.” Roderick didn’t want to hear any of it. He felt a duty to alert Maisie to her sister’s whereabouts, but that was all he was going to allow himself to feel.

  Clyde chortled. “I see your shoulder does not bother you so much this morning.” He nodded at Roderick’s coat, darkly stained with dried blood.

  Roderick was about to respond when he realized Clyde had a point. Gingerly, he rotated his shoulder and found it perfectly mended.

  The old man reached over, poked about inside Roderick’s coat and tugged back his shirt. “No blood upon the bandage, she healed you while you rested in the rowboat. You were too busy thinking about the Libertas to even notice.”

  His eyes twinkled.

  Roderick grasped his clothing and pulled it back, tearing off the makeshift bandage that had been applied to him in the rowboat. There was not a mark upon him. And yes, now that he thought on it his shoulder had not even bothered him while he climbed the nets onto the ship the night before. She’d healed him, just as earlier she’d healed Adam, and from a distance, too. It shocked Roderick to the marrow. He’d seen her magic that night in the hold of the ship, but this made his heartbeat falter. “Witchcraft.”

  “Aye, but it is not so frightening when the witch is fighting in your corner.”

  Roderick peered at the old man. Clyde might talk in riddles, yet quite frequently he talked sense, too. Could it really be true, that she had taken the gun in order to save him, knowing that she could heal him?

  His mood shifted, a weight lifting from him. He couldn’t assume it was true, but he must seek her out with the information he had for her, and get to the truth of it. It was his way.

  “Go and fetch her back. It was you she wanted to be with. I caught her looking at you all the while when she was above deck, and you the same, like two young sweethearts.”

  Roderick stared at Clyde in dismay. He’d always known the old man was a watchful, canny sort, but hadn’t realized that he himself had been scrutinized alongside Maisie.

  “Captain, she went quietly only because I told her your life would be spared if she did.”

/>   Roderick was startled anew. If that was true, and he had no reason to doubt Clyde, ever, it changed everything. “How can I go fetch her,” he declared, feeling even more frustrated than he had been before, “when I do not know where she is?”

  “She and the man they called her guardian were taken to the naval garrison.”

  Her guardian was with her. That blackened Roderick’s mood. He was even more astonished that Clyde knew so much. “How do you know that?”

  “I forced it out of my quarry last night, before I lumped him on the head.” He gave a wide grin. “I pulled off his hat and wig, put my dirk behind his ear and told him I’d spare his ears if he told me what I wanted to know.”

  “Why did you do that and put yourself at risk?”

  “Because I knew the question was in your head and would remain stuck there. It was my duty to ask it.”

  “I’m grateful.”

  “So now you have no excuse.”

  “I can find her and assure myself she is safe, but there is no hope in this mistaken notion you have of sweethearts.... And she is fully able to defend herself if she pleases, we all know that.” Roderick paced up and down, frustrated. The fact that he could go to her only addled his head more. “She’s destined for the Highlands and I’m a seafaring man.”

  Clyde lifted his shoulders, eyes twinkling.

  Roderick stared at him, and then something in him gave way. He nodded. “Go to the ship, ready the men for departure. I will find her.”

  “And you’ll bring her back with you?”

  Again he felt thwarted. “If I did, the crew would have her walk the plank.”

  “Leave the men to me. It is me who muddled their thoughts, and can put them straight.” Clyde gripped Roderick’s arm. “Bring her back with you. She is meant to be with you aboard the Libertas.”

  He shook his head. “She seeks her kin in the Highlands, but if she needs me, and the men are agreeable to it, we will take her there before we head for Holland.”

  Clyde nodded. “I’ll go to the ship. Leave the men to me. They were already coming round. Brady is the only one fixed in his mind. You fetch your Jezebel, and be quick about it.”

  I must be mad, Roderick reflected as he shook hands with Clyde and then hurried through the streets to the garrison.

  When he got there, he knew with certainty that he was mad. It was a fortress, with soldiers standing all around. Lowering his head, Roderick passed them by, boldly daring them to call him out. There was a whispered discussion going on amongst them, news of a disappearing ship in the night making them uneasy, no doubt.

  As he skirted the building he could find no entrance that was unguarded, but luck was on his side when he came upon a delivery cart where three men were unloading barrels.

  He observed the action from a ways off, and as the third lifted a barrel onto his shoulder and headed into the garrison, Roderick strode to the cart and lifted a barrel in turn. Shielding his face from view with his arm, he fell in line behind the three men and entered the building.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Controlling Cyrus turned out to be much easier than Maisie had hoped. He was responsive to her whispered enchantments; he had an open mind to witchcraft, which made it easier for her to sway him and guide his thoughts. It was a relief to see the wickedness in him subdued. After the years where he had kept her grateful and needy, and had so often caused her to feel uncomfortable in his presence, Maisie felt there was justice in controlling him for just these few hours, before she escaped his special noose of companionship.

  If she did not focus on him entirely, however, Cyrus became disagreeable. It was as if he sensed he wasn’t in control, but couldn’t understand why. His mood at those times wasn’t pleasant. That was the situation now, while they sat over breakfast, and her thoughts had been whisked away to Roderick Cameron once again.

  They were provided lodgings overnight in the naval garrison in Dundee. Mercifully, the chamber Maisie was given had a bolt on the door. She slept only fitfully and out of pure exhaustion, then awoke at dawn to troubled thoughts and with an aching heart.

  That morning, a servant brought her a clean gown gifted to her by the wife of one of the officers. It was a simple design, but fitted her well. There were also clean undergarments and stockings. Warm water was provided for bathing, and when Maisie studied herself in the looking glass, she decided that, all things considered, her appearance was not too disgraceful. Shadows under her eyes were the only outward signs that she’d been split from the man who had so quickly come to hold a high place in her heart. Now that her allegiance was with Roderick—whom she might never see again—she found it harder with each passing moment to even look at Cyrus.

  As if he knew that was the case, Cyrus had stationed her opposite him at the table, where warm mead, bread and cheese had been served. Maisie glanced at her surroundings, a room of some grandeur with a long oak table for feasting. A window high up at the end of the room caught the light and poured it over the table. Weapons and shields were mounted here and there on the walls. Their breakfast had been served on a smaller, less ostentatious table to one side, and Maisie attempted to get some of the food down while she assessed Cyrus’s state of mind. It wasn’t good. Once her attention drifted and she did not sway him to her way of thinking, he became uneasy.

  “I still cannot believe you were so reckless,” he stated.

  Maisie noticed then how bitter and arrogant his tone was. Despite his romantic overtures toward her, it indicated he still viewed her as a wayward witch-child who needed to be watched over, a child who had no mind of her own and would be grateful for his protection.

  That had been the case, previously, but Maisie Taskill had matured greatly over the past days, and she’d been shown that even a powerful man, a leader of other men, could speak to her with respect—and adore her as a woman. How she ached for him, her seafaring lover. And the more Cyrus repeated the naval captain’s question and asked her if she had been defiled, the more it led her dangerously close to declaring she had been defiled in all manner of ways and enjoyed every one of them.

  The need to speak her mind was growing acute.

  “You should have talked to me about your desire to return to Scotland,” Cyrus continued. “It is a dangerous undertaking. Your heritage could so easily bring you to justice without me there to guard you....” His pause was deliberate, to make her afraid and keep her that way. “But I would have conceded, if it kept you content.”

  She was valuable to him. The lengths he had gone to in order to recapture her had proved that. During the hours since she had been reunited with her master, she’d forced herself to believe that he was humoring her, allowing her to spend time in Scotland before returning to London with her in tow. Nevertheless, Maisie could barely stomach the thought of spending a full day with him while they talked about hunting for her kin, kin that he had lied to her about. She’d acted repentant in order to be sure Roderick and his men had the best chance of escape, but she knew in her heart she couldn’t maintain that for much longer. All she wanted to do was vanish before his eyes. Soon, she would do just that. Steal away and find her way north.

  The cautious approach would have been to apologize and sweeten him. Maisie didn’t feel like being cautious. She pushed the food away. “I have often mentioned it.”

  “You didn’t, however, mention your intention to pursue it alone, to put yourself at risk in the hands of lawless men.”

  What could she say? Cyrus would never be able to think of her in the same way again, and yet he seemed fixed on keeping her. When she looked deep into his eyes, she knew that he still wanted her, still pretended to love her. The dark bitterness she saw there chilled her. He meant to make her suffer for her transgression. Punishment would be ongoing.

  She would turn her magic on him and pacify him. She would have to when she tried to leave him again. But right then she had a need for the truth to be unveiled. There was nothing else for it; she would have to voice her feelings
on the matter. “Cyrus, I am grateful to you, but as a guardian. I cannot be your lover.”

  The tension in the room thickened, sapping the space of air.

  The look in his eyes turned darker still, his temper growing.

  “You will warm to the idea, given time.” He attempted to smile at her. Given his black mood, it only made him look more sinister.

  Maisie knotted her fingers together in her lap, determined to press on. She shook her head. “Cyrus, it can never be. Even if the nature of my affection for you altered, I cannot forget the things you’ve done. You have molded me and used me to further your own cause, and that has become more apparent to me over the years.” She dared not mention him poisoning Mama Beth.

  “I have protected you and nurtured your craft!” His eyes were bright with fury.

  Maisie felt it, and wondered if he’d blinded himself to the dark nature of his deeds, believing his actions to be just and deserved. She couldn’t let him think that, had to show him the error of his ways or he would never change. “What about Gilbert Ridley and the courtesan who ruined his life? It was the very same woman I enamored him with. It was the love spell you encouraged me to do when I was still a child, wasn’t it?”

  Cyrus looked astonished.

  Did he think she would forget? “Don’t be surprised. You’ve educated me well and you tamed my fey ways. I’ve grown into a more observant woman than I might otherwise have been. How could I not notice things about you, the man closest to me, my master and my keeper? Did you really think I wouldn’t question your motives, once I was old enough to address them?”

  Cyrus had paled, as if his fury had been dampened by the truth. “Gilbert Ridley had wronged me in the past. He deserved what he got.”