by Lisa Shea
Braun nodded. “If Luigi and Philip get their full sleep, then at least two of us will be full strength in the morning, in case of trouble.”
Philip gave the room a final glance. He looked down at Isabel. “You should be safe enough here for the night. Just bar the door once we leave.”
Her throat tightened on that word, on leave. He had only been in her life for forty-eight hours, a scant blink of an eye, but the scent of him had been seared into her memory. The adrenaline rush of the shipboard attack, coupled with his sure, steady presence at her side, had carved him into her soul.
And now he was going?
Philip’s gaze held hers, his eyes flared in response to her heat, and he took a step toward her.
Johann’s voice was a mild rumble. “Philip, you are her bodyguard,” he reminded him.
Philip’s voice was hoarse. “Ten minutes,” he muttered. “I just need to talk with her about our plans once we land. The captain will understand that.”
Johann’s lips curved up into a smile, but he nodded to the others, and they slipped from the cabin, closing the door behind them. Isabel had no doubt that one or more were standing guard just outside.
Philip’s voice ground out of him. “We can’t be long.”
She reached for him. “Ten minutes of kissing you could sustain me for a lifetime.”
* * *
There was a low knocking on a door, and Isabel pulled her pillow over her head. Had Diggory forgotten to pay the innkeep again? She wasn’t looking forward to covering the bill through labor yet another time. Another mind-numbing three days of scrubbing gruel-caked pots or hauling heavy pails of water from a too-distant well.
Philip’s voice carried to her, muffled. “Isabel, we’re approaching land.”
She blinked awake, sitting up and carefully swinging her legs around. The ship was slowly rolling from side to side, and golden sunlight streamed through the small windows. She limped her way over to the door and slid the bar free. She drew it open.
Without a word Philip slipped in. He closed the door behind him, pressed her up against it, and his mouth found hers.
There was a long moment where the world fell away.
At last he pulled back. “Good morning.”
She smiled up at him. “Good morning indeed.”
He traced a hand along her cheek. “Sleep well?”
She gave a wry smile. “I still have dreams that Diggory has gotten me into yet another mess. Another bill overdrawn due to his gambling. Another apartment we have to creep out of in the middle of the night.”
His gaze shadowed. “I’m sorry that you had to endure that.”
She looked out the porthole. “He died run down in the streets. An ignoble end for a man who felt he would someday have the world at his feet. And he left me destitute.”
He tenderly ran a hand through her hair, “And if I had my way, I would take you to a flower-strewn cottage on the Mediterranean. You would drink fine wine and eat fresh venison.”
Her eyes sparkled. “And you would kiss me whenever I wished?”
He chuckled. “Whenever you wished.” He shook his head. “But that will have to come later. Right now we are a mere minutes from shore.”
She nodded. “Then we need to figure out our plan.” She hobbled over to sit on the edge of the bed. “I feel we should get all the passengers off first. That is the most important thing, to see them to safety. Then we find out if the captain knows who our contact here is.”
He glanced at the closed door. “The passengers will do whatever we request, in terms of supporting our story. I say we ask them to maintain the lie of you being Marianne for a week or two at least. That should give us enough time to get as far as we can. But we can’t ask them to lie forever. Not about something this important in their lives.”
Isabel nodded. “The next full moon, then. They should keep quiet about the truth until then. After that, they are released from that burden.”
A low knock came on the door. Philip called out, “Come.”
Johann peered around the door, then smiled. He made a hand signal, and the others came in behind him. “So?”
Philip rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. “We get the passengers off, then we seek out this contact. Any trouble, and we handle it as usual.”
Johann shrugged. “Sounds good to me.”
Isabel pushed herself to her feet. “Then I vote we go up on deck and watch the remainder of our voyage from there. Keep an eye on things.”
Philip smiled. “I would expect no less from you.” He put out a hand, and in a moment they were all up in the salty breeze, with the shimmering white cliffs of Dover drawing ever nearer.
Philip’s eyes went to the coastline, and for a moment his gaze was distant. His voice was a mere murmur, hoarse with emotion.
“We’re home.”
Isabel wondered just how long he had been away, and what he had faced, to make his homecoming so raw.
She drew her eyes along the shore, and a twist of regret and resignation mingled in her soul. She had left London a newly married woman, heading out on a grand adventure, finally taking charge of her own life. She was returning injured, widowed, and destitute.
In addition, for all she knew, her life was now in serious danger.
She looked to the man at her side, and all other thoughts melted away.
Chapter 6
Isabel smiled in satisfaction as the last few passengers – the quiet group of nuns – made their way carefully down the gangplank and onto the long dock which stretched out into the harbor. The rest of the passengers could be seen walking down the wooden length, melding into the chaos and miscellany which was a seaport. There were black-tipped seagulls soaring high overhead, the calls of a fisherman selling his wares, and the grunts of laborers loading boxes onto the cargo ship opposite.
The captain came up beside her, his hands twined into each other, his face lit with hopeful supplication. “And we have done everything just the way you asked, yes? You will be sure to tell Eric that?”
Isabel needed him to be cooperative, so she allowed herself a small smile. “Yes, in the end, it was quite adequate,” she agreed. “With the passengers safely ashore, news will spread of how the two messengers fell overboard. The delivery will not reach its destination, just as we had hoped. And the rest of the cover remains nicely intact.”
He nodded, his eyes shining. “Good … good. And now it’s all in Talbot’s hands. My part is done.”
Isabel glanced at Phillip, and he gave a minute shake of his head. She pursed her lips in thought. Perhaps the captain might be lured into leading the way.
She drew a smile onto her lips and looked over at the captain. “You do deserve some credit for finding where we grounded,” she commented. “Some men would have given up after the storm.”
His eyes shadowed. “Some men would have been gutted alive by Eric for that,” he murmured.
“Still,” pressed Isabel, “it earns a thanks. Come along with me to see Talbot, and we’ll have a drink together.”
The captain snorted in disbelief. “What, to the Zigzag Zebra? And have all those white-polished nobles looking down their noses at me? While I pay ten times the going rate so I can drink watered-down horse piss?” He shook his head. “The Duck’s Bill serves ‘em cheap, large, and Fanny has this way of …” He caught Philip’s glare and pulled to a stop. “Anyway, thanks but no thanks.”
Isabel shrugged. “All right, then. You know where to find us if you change your mind.”
She looked to Philip, and he nodded, going before her to the gangplank. She followed him down to the dock, with the others behind. When her foot landed on the wood, she gave a sigh of relief. They had made it through that stage without any serious issues. It boded well for the future.
The sea made its soft whoosh, a seagull called out as it curled to a landing, and the coming and going of the main dock area reminded Isabel again of her own trip to Calais all those long months ago. Somehow it s
eemed both just a blink away and a lifetime.
She could still remember, when they had first landed on the French coast, that her legs could not quite walk in a straight line. Diggory had looked at her in weary exasperation. “God’s teeth, woman,” he had sighed. “Just how much did you drink last night? I didn’t realize I was acquiring a drunkard for a wife.”
Philip hooked an arm at her waist, offering her a wry smile. “Watch yourself there,” he murmured. “It’s always hard coming off a boat, especially when you’re not used to it. Your head will settle in soon enough. Let’s get you sat down and a drink in you. That’ll help your system equalize.”
Braun came up alongside them, hefting one of the men’s sacks of belongings. He pointed to the right. “That looks like it,” he called out. “A zebra with zigzags.” He raised a questioning eyebrow. “Looks like the captain called it, in terms of its clientele. Not the sort of place I’d have chosen.”
Isabel smiled, brushing down her crimson dress. “Luckily, I am dressed the part,” she pointed out. “You men-at-arms are expected to be scruffy.”
Philip chuckled. “Scruffy and well-armed.”
He went up to the polished oak door and pressed it in for her. “After you, M’Lady.”
Her eyes sparkled, but she held her head aloft and stepped into the room.
They must have employed an army of servants to keep the place this pristine, especially with the salt air and rocky sand only feet away. The wood plank floor gleamed with polish. The walls were pale ivory and sported none of the dents or marks that Isabel equated with the average tavern. There were perhaps ten tables, all clean and neat, with delicately carved chairs flocked around each one. Perhaps half of them held clients, carefully sipping ale from pewter mugs or nibbling on roast venison or partridge.
A few looked up to scan her and her men as she came through the door, but they went back to their meal and conversation with disinterest.
Patrick tapped her on the arm, then nudged his head left.
Ah, that undoubtedly was Talbot. He sat alone, a large mug of ale and trencher of roast vegetables before him. He was gazing at her with a calm, appraising look.
She strode toward him with an even smile, and he rose as she approached. He was a few inches taller than her, perhaps mid-thirties, with short, dark hair and eyes that were nearly black. His ebony tunic and leggings were neat to the point of Spartan. When she drew to a halt before the table he gave a low bow, then swept his hand. “Please, have a seat.”
She glanced at Philip, and he and his men moved to the empty table to the left, arranging themselves at the chairs there. Isabel took her own seat opposite Talbot, holding his gaze.
He gave a short nod. “I heard how you handled the ship,” he murmured. “Very nicely done. And the word is that the messengers were lost at sea, with no trace of their possessions left behind?”
She nodded her head, keeping her features even. “That is the word.”
He chuckled, waving a hand in the air. In an instant a slim waitress with flame-red hair was at their side. He barely looked at her. “Ales all around. And your best venison, as well. Undoubtedly, given the captain’s reputation, these poor people have had little but bread crusts for the past few days.”
The waitress scurried off toward the kitchen.
Isabel gave a small smile. “It wasn’t quite as bad as that.”
“Bad enough,” countered Talbot. “And, besides, Eric’s orders were clear. The mission must succeed. If some aspect were to go ill due to parsimony, I would be exiled to a barren cell on the Isle of Man and master the true nature of an ascetic’s life.”
The waitress came over balancing a large, metal tray with five mugs on it. She carefully set one down in front of Isabel, then brought the remaining four over to the men’s table. She looked at Talbot. “Meals will be out in a few minutes. Chef’s making them hot.”
He nodded, making a dismissing wave with his hand. “Fine, fine.”
He turned back to Isabel. An eyebrow went up. “So, I hear tell that you are thinking of taking on the task in London yourself.”
She gave an enigmatic smile.
He chuckled at that. “I’d like to be there for that.” His shoulders lifted in a shrug. “But then again, maybe not. Some things are safer to observe from a distance. In any case, it should be quite interesting.”
He took a long drink of his ale, and Isabel followed suit. The captain had been right – the alcohol had been watered down. Still, it was a fine enough way to wash the salt and grit from her throat.
The waitress was back, laying out their meals, along with a slender knife by each person. Isabel held in a chuckle. She had been brought up in a soldier’s world, where each person wore their all-purpose dagger on their hip. The idea of special, formal utensils for a meal seemed beyond wasteful. But Talbot was picking away at his cubes of venison with a similar implement, so she lifted hers up, stabbing at a square of meat and bringing it to her lips.
Her smile came of its own accord. Whatever else this place might lack, the food was just right.
Talbot took another sip. “I’ve hired horses for you and set up stops along the way. A lad will be watching for you in each of the staged towns. I assumed with your rough journey so far, that tonight you’d just ride two hours or so before you got some decent rest. Then perhaps seven hours a day for the next four – should get you into London on the seventeenth. It gives you a day’s grace before the ball on the nineteenth.” His mouth quirked into a smile. “Time to be sure your outfit is ready.”
Isabel wondered just who might be giving the event, but she serenely nodded. Plenty of time to figure that out. She ate the remaining pieces of meat, washing them down with the weak ale.
Talbot finished his meal and drained the rest of his own mug. He glanced at Isabel’s empty plate. “Shall we?”
The men were on their feet before Isabel, and she followed Talbot through the door and left to the large stables. Grooms came and went leading horses of a variety of shapes and sizes. Talbot guided her past a pair of small, white ponies before he came up to a row of stalls apart from the rest. He waved a hand at them, stepping back.
Isabel’s face lit up in delight. At the tower, growing up, there had rarely been a reason to ride. Anything they needed was either brought in to them or was a short walk away. The horses available for her to use were often the run down, aging ones that no longer served a purpose for the main forces.
And once she had left home with Diggory … she shook her head. Riding was a luxury he felt quite unnecessary. They either walked or hopped a ride with a passing farmer’s wagon.
But these steeds …
She stepped up to the gray one, running her hand down the side of his neck. He was just like Quicksilver, the horse the Tower had kept prepared and fed for any emergency messages. And the next, dappled white, was more like Thunder, a horse able to carry a double load. Each horse here was steady, healthy, and in prime condition.
Talbot’s voice held a smile. “Do you find them to be adequate?”
Isabel schooled her features before turning. “Yes, quite adequate,” she agreed. “They should get us to London on the required schedule.”
Talbot waved a hand, and a young, tousle-headed boy of around ten came running. Talbot looked down at him. “Get these steeds saddled immediately.”
Philip stepped forward. “I prefer that we do that ourselves.”
Talbot shrugged. “If you enjoy manual labor, Philip, all the better.” He waved a hand. “Have at it.”
Isabel fought off a frisson of fear.
Talbot knew Philip’s name.
Isabel wondered just how complete Talbot’s report had been from the ship’s captain, if he knew the names of her traveling companions. She hoped Talbot didn’t have a matching roster from the beached ship to compare against. She pushed the thought out of her mind – she could only tackle one issue at a time.
Philip stepped into the first stall. Without a word the othe
r three men each gathered up a saddle blanket and moved to the other horses.
Talbot took a fist-sized black leather pouch off his hip and handed it to Isabel. It made a heavy jingle as she took it.
“Some funds,” he murmured. “Might want to give those to Philip to keep an eye on.”
She shook her head. She knew without question what Isabel’s response would be. “I’ll keep that pouch myself, thank you.”
Talbot’s eyes sparkled as he looked down at the leather pouch heavy with coin. “I figured you would prefer to maintain a tight hold on that,” he responded. “Just thought I’d recommend an alternative. The road between Dover and London is one of the best traveled in England, but it still doesn’t make it perfectly safe.”
Isabel’s lips drew up. “If I was seeking a safe road, I’m in the wrong line of work.”
Talbot laughed at that, then leaned back against the wall. He glanced over at the stalls for a moment, to where the men were settling the bits into place. He dropped his voice. “Still, be careful,” he advised. “A lot of people want this mission to go well – and a few are just as strongly positioned against its success. For example, I heard that Lord Bedemor has been seen in the area.”
Fury snapped through Isabel’s veins, flaming them into heat and setting her fingers tingling. Her voice was a growl. “The bastard!”
The corner of Talbot’s lips danced into a grin. “I see you’ve heard of Lord Bedemor.”
“He’d better hope he doesn’t come across my path,” Isabel muttered.
“I wouldn’t want to be your enemy,” smiled Talbot. “Yet my advice is to put your antipathy toward him aside, just for a few days. These things have a way of working themselves out.”
Isabel could feel the tension stretching tight between her shoulder blades, and she rolled them to work it free. “We shall see.”
Philip stepped from the stall. His voice was low and respectful. “All the steeds are ready, M’Lady.”
Talbot stood tall. “Well, then, you should be off. Unless you need anything further of me?”
