The Jezebel

by Saskia Walker

  “But you cannot play with people’s lives that way, Cyrus. Just because someone has wronged us doesn’t give us the right to destroy them.”

  He frowned heavily. His movements were erratic, his eyes flashing as he tried to address her comments. “You don’t know the extent of it. He humiliated me amongst my peers.”

  “But you knew that my magic, my heritage, was to be used for good. You twisted me into something I shouldn’t be. I would never have done those things if you hadn’t duped me.”

  “You were eager to explore your magic.” His voice had grown quiet, and his desperate tone revealed that his argument was crumbling.

  “And you took advantage of that. I could never stay with a man who did such things.”

  He buckled visibly, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. “Margaret, please. We can discuss these matters together, when you are my wife.”

  Maisie was incredulous. The burning question that remained in her mind was something she would have to know or forever be haunted by it. “Cyrus, did you poison Beth?”

  His head shot up and he looked at her with astonishment. His eyes shifted left and right, and she wondered whether she would even be able to tell if he was giving her the truth. She wouldn’t rest until she knew.

  “Who told you that?”

  “Did you poison her or not?”

  “Pray tell me what made you think such a thing?”

  Still he avoided her question. “You were observed putting something in her broth.”

  Lips pressed together determinedly, he glared at her. When he eventually did speak, it was through gritted teeth. “It was a tincture of mandrake root to aid her rest even while she was in pain.”

  “Mandrake?” Maisie was aghast. Mandrake was exceedingly dangerous in large doses. Nor was he a true healer, one such as she, who had come from a long line of gifted Highlanders.

  Cyrus struck his fist on the table, rattling the dishes. “You are not the only one who learned about healing herbs and potions when we studied together. The physician told me her organs were weak and she might suffer at the end.”

  He knew enough to cover his tracks. A large and fatal dose could be hidden by his good intention to ease her pain.

  “You seem overly concerned with your wife’s quick end.” Maisie fired the accusation at him.

  “Beth lingered too long.” His voice was oily as he tried to justify murdering his wife. “It wasn’t good for her. It wasn’t good for any of us.” His mouth twisted. He couldn’t hide it, his true intentions, his wicked nature.

  It was all the confirmation Maisie needed. “You could have asked me to do that, if your real purpose was to make her more comfortable. I begged you to let me help her, and you wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Don’t be foolish. I didn’t want us to be at her bedside together! You are the future, my future. She is gone from us now and I am glad of it.”

  There it was. He’d been driven by his desire for Maisie, his obsession with what could be. Even now, since she had pulled away, he was still struggling to maintain his hold on her, talking of their future together.

  How sad it was that Beth had gone to her grave knowing the worst of her husband. She knew he desired his ward instead, and she no longer trusted him. Maisie felt intense sorrow and guilt, knowing it was her arrival in their lives that had brought such a terrible situation to pass.

  Before she had a chance to say another word the door burst open.

  A serving girl tottered into the room. The look on her face was fearful and her cheeks were flushed as if with fever. Maisie quickly surmised something was badly amiss.

  A low command was issued from beyond her, and the girl entered the room fully. She was all atremble, and it was little wonder, for there was a man at her back directing her, a cutlass raised in his hand and pointed between her shoulder blades.

  Roderick.

  Maisie shot to her feet, one hand covering her mouth to stifle the cry of disbelief that rose to her lips. It was really him. His hair was wild and his coat stained dark where she had wounded him, but she was grateful to see he was fully healed, moving easily, as if he had not been wounded at all. Her chest swelled with longing, with joy and pride.

  Cyrus turned in his seat, but not quickly enough to gain the measure of the situation.

  Urging the servant on, Roderick slammed the door behind them and then pushed her to one side, warning her with a glance to stay there and be quiet. In the blink of an eye he was at Cyrus’s back instead.

  Cyrus had been rising to his feet, but Roderick pushed him back down onto his seat. With one hand he gripped him by the hair, pulling his head back, then rested his cutlass across the base of his throat.

  Light from the window glinted on the polished blade.

  The arrival of an assailant seemed to bring Cyrus to his senses, and he gripped the arms of his chair and narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the man who held a sharp blade to his gullet.

  “Make no move, and I might let you live,” Roderick instructed.

  Cyrus gave a twisted smile, staring directly up at him. “If you knew the power that could be unleashed in this room, you would turn on your heel and flee this place.”

  “Oh, I know the power, for I have witnessed it in her myself.” Roderick looked across at her meaningfully.

  Their eyes locked. Maisie wondered if he had come for retribution, but the deep affection she saw in his eyes assured her that wasn’t the case. Emotion welled in her. The way he looked at her, as adoring and possessive as ever—despite the trouble she had brought upon him and his men—made her feel as if her knees might give way. She’d thought him forever lost to her, feared she would surely never see him again, yet here he was. Then he smiled at her, and she felt as if she was alight with joy.

  “Then you should be more wary,” Cyrus responded angrily, but clearly unsure what was going on.

  “Silence,” Roderick ordered, leaning over Cyrus to enforce his command. “I have come because I have something to tell the lady. You would be wise to let me deliver the message before you irritate me further. I am not in the best of humor.” He lifted his head and looked at her again, maintaining his death grip on Cyrus.

  He had something to say to her? Maisie waited with bated breath.

  “I know where your sister, Jessie, is. I will happily escort you to her.”

  It was not what she’d expected or hoped he would say, but his words nevertheless astonished and delighted her. “How do you know?”

  “She is with Gregor Ramsay, the man I told you about.” He gave Cyrus a glance, and Maisie saw that he didn’t want to state their whereabouts, not while Cyrus listened. “I received word from Gregor this very morning.”

  Her mind raced back over what he’d said to her about his partner, and she felt suddenly enlightened. “That’s why I sensed my sister, the connection, aboard the ship. Now I understand it.”

  “Margaret,” Cyrus barked, addressing her with a stern stare. “Take action and get rid of this lawless heathen. He is trying to dupe you. Your sister might not even be alive. He is luring you with promises he cannot keep.”

  “The lady knows that I do not offer her promises that I will not do everything in my power to keep.”

  It was true. Even when his men turned against him, he’d planned a way to deliver her safely onto Scottish soil. Maisie felt light-headed, thrilled by his comment and the way he looked at her as he delivered it in that gruff, determined way of his. He did not hate her for what she had brought upon them. Never had she been more thankful for anything. It gave her strength.

  Moving slowly, she stepped out from the table, one eye on the door.

  The serving girl had moved closer to it, cowering by the hinges. How long did they have before the men who guarded this place were told of an intruder’s presence? Would she be able to hold them back by magic, should they come for Roderick?

  “Cyrus, I have made clear how we stand with one another, and you must accept that I do not inten
d to stay with you.”

  “Never!”

  She stared at him, aching from the pain and disloyalty that Mama Beth had experienced. “You called this man a heathen. Many would call me a heathen, but you told me that did not matter. It does matter. It always will matter.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me.”

  “Oh, but it does, for it is my heathen craft you wanted, and all that would be unveiled when you claimed me as your lover.”

  “Margaret—”

  “You have played with the truth, and you have used me to gain power and prestige.”

  Roderick cursed beneath his breath and tightened his grip on Cyrus. Maisie realized she would have to be cautious, for now that Roderick was sure of Cyrus’s identity, he looked on him with revulsion and anger. “Say the word and I will put an end to him,” he growled.

  “No!”

  Roderick did not relinquish his grip on Cyrus’s hair, but grinned. “Can I at least hit him?”

  Maisie sighed. Men, it seemed, relished injuring their opponent in some way even after they had claimed the woman.

  Cyrus shifted uneasily, struggling to maintain eye contact with her while pinned to his seat by a lethal weapon. “Get rid of him, and I assure you, you will come to understand how much you mean to me.”

  It was he who looked betrayed now, he who looked pained and aggrieved and heartbroken. He did love her, twisted though it was.

  “I cannot,” she responded, and braced herself to tell him why. “I cannot, because this man is my lover, and I care for him deeply.”

  Roderick’s mouth curled, and he looked across at her proudly. “And that is why I found myself healed.”

  She nodded.

  The moment was broken by the sound of Cyrus kicking out at the table before him.

  Across the room, the servant reached for the door handle, dragged the door open and took flight.

  For a moment Maisie thought Cyrus would slit his own neck, for he twisted and bucked against the blade of the cutlass as he tried to break free of Roderick’s grasp.

  Roderick cursed, glanced back at the open door, drawn by the sound of the serving girl’s departure.

  Cyrus broke free. He flitted to the far wall and lifted down a sword from the mounted display. “You gave yourself to this oaf?” he shouted, as he approached Roderick, sword at the ready.

  “I gave myself to an honest man.”

  “A mistake I will obliterate from our lives forever.” He lunged in Roderick’s direction, weapon lifted.

  “Roderick, be careful, for he is a skilled swordsman.”

  Roderick looked Cyrus up and down with some doubt, then stepped forward, defended and quickly returned.

  Maisie watched, aghast. Their movements were fast, each man driven by his own, very different, belief in justice. Their blades flashed in the morning sunlight that cut through the room from the far window, the clash of steel on steel a symphony of sound that assaulted her senses, magnifying the terror she felt. If Roderick were to perish now, her life would be over, for he was everything to her.

  “If you intend to challenge me, sire, you should perhaps recognize your limitations.” Roderick wielded his cutlass again, easily deflecting the more refined blade Cyrus used.

  Through her terror Maisie saw that he was scarcely working at all, while Cyrus—overwrought and with panic in his eyes—was determined there would be bloodshed.

  They traded thrusts and parries, their blades ringing.

  Over and again her heart leaped.

  Then Roderick turned his back on Cyrus and Maisie cried out, fearing for his life. But with a quick maneuver, his cutlass shot out as he spun around. Cyrus, who was moving at full pelt to stab his opponent’s back, was impaled on Roderick’s lethal blade.

  Maisie’s breath stalled. With a darting glance, she tried to make sense of it. It had happened so quickly, but then she saw it. Roderick turned away to lure him, and Cyrus, in his frenzy, had impaled himself on his opponent’s blade.

  When Roderick pulled his weapon free, Cyrus staggered backward and fell to the ground, his body awkwardly splayed on the hearth rug. His limbs vibrated and shook, and he cried out, his words garbled.

  Maisie crossed to his side.

  His breath gurgled in his throat, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. When she knelt beside him, she saw his eyes had faded. His lips moved, mouthing her name silently. Even in death, he could not let her go. There could be no other way. Even if she ran and ran, he would always pursue her.

  But now he was almost gone. As much as she was relieved that it was over, it wasn’t in her nature to have him leave in this way, in immense pain. Fingers to her lips, she drew the magical words from deep inside, then blew them on their way. As her words touched Cyrus, his body slumped. The death rattle of his last breath rang into the silence, and Cyrus Lafayette was at peace.

  Roderick stared down at the slumped body of his ill-fated opponent, intrigued. “Come, we had better depart this place and quickly, for the servant girl fled a few moments ago.”

  Maisie nodded. He picked up his weapon with one hand and reached for her with the other. Maisie ran into his arms.

  He quickly led her out of the room and into the corridor beyond. How good it felt to be pressed to his side once more, and to feel his strong arm embracing her. His body, now so familiar to her, felt like a haven.

  “You came for me,” she whispered, and glanced up at him as they hastened away. She could still scarcely believe it was true.

  “I had a good excuse. I had a message to pass along.”

  “Is that the only reason?”

  “No.”

  How she loved the honest emotion she saw in his eyes, and how she would have missed it if she’d never seen him again. He’d not only made her passionate and strong, he’d warmed her spirit and set her free.

  “Now use your magic well, my lady. We must hasten out of here and make our way along the coast, to where the Libertas is safely hidden in a cove beyond Broughty Castle. And we must leave no tracks when we go.”

  “You regained the ship?”

  “Of course we did, because we were aided by magical weather.” He looked at her affectionately. “We rowed into Dundee when it was dark, and found the ship had been left under a skeleton watch. It seemed very easy to get it back, in fact. I wondered if I was in possession of a lucky charm.”

  “You believe the magic and you do not fear me?” She clutched at his coat.

  “From nearly the first time it was mentioned I could not dismiss it. However, I’d rather we were on the same side.”

  “We have always been on the same side, lover of mine. Once you had bedded me our destinies became entwined, because it became a matter of the heart.”

  He touched her lips with one finger, smiling all the while. “I’m glad we are finally agreed on something.”

  Maisie could not argue with that. “The men will not be angry?”

  “Clyde has gone ahead to prepare them for your return. He will win them over. Brady will be a tough nut to crack, but I will ensure your safety, don’t fret. Now let us be on our way,” he added, “for we must reunite you with your kin.”

  Maisie nodded and followed his lead, ready to create havoc with her magic if necessary, to aid their escape. But as they hurried along the long corridors of the garrison, she wondered on his words. Was that all he wanted—to reunite her with her kin? If so, did he do so out of a sense of duty, or love?

  Maisie wanted to know, but for now it was enough to find her hand in his, and to be close at his side again. She happily followed her lover, grateful for whatever time they might still have together.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The late-September winds on the North Sea were fierce but magically generous to them, hastening their passage north along the coast of Scotland. Roderick didn’t ask, but he knew it was Maisie’s doing.

  Now that she’d been accepted by someone other than her guardian, she didn’t hide her fey nature as much as sh
e had. Moonlight glittered strangely in her eyes and her magic was all around. As surely as an eerie sea mist it enveloped him, drawing him into her voluptuous spell. Roderick didn’t fight it or reason with it anymore, because she was everything he wanted, and if she would have him, he would protect and fight for her until his dying breath.

  Clyde had surely worked his own sort of magic, because the men nodded and welcomed her aboard when the two of them rejoined the ship. The older men adopted a grudging, wary acceptance of her. The younger lads, such as Adam, were more curious, and their eyes glittered with excitement over whispered exchanges. Sometimes Roderick would hear them discussing her in pairs, comparing notes on what they thought had happened and what had occurred by magic. That made him chuckle. None crossed her, and few had words with him on the matter. Brady was the least accepting, inevitably so, and he glowered at Roderick as he went about his duties.

  When Roderick spoke with him, Brady defended his view. “How can you be sure she will not turn, once she has safely reached her destination?”

  “She will not turn on us. Believe me, if she wished to harm us it would’ve happened long before now. She has not hurt one of us, despite the sorry conditions that were forced upon her.”

  Brady pursed his lips, clearly unwilling to concede, even though there was a touch of regret in his eyes.

  “She uses her natural powers judiciously and does not mean to hurt anyone.”

  “That may be, but I cannot bring myself to trust her.”

  “I know that, and I cannot change your mind on the matter. But you trust me, and I will make sure you return to your family in fine health and with a pocket heavy with coins.”

  The first mate grumbled beneath his breath.

  Roderick took the opportunity to raise a question. “Brady, there is something I must ask you. If I were to leave the ship awhile, would you be prepared to take on the captainship?”

  Startled, Brady peered at him. Eventually, he replied. “Aye, I would. But what nonsense is this? Surely you do not mean to leave the ship for a woman?”