The Far Horizon

by Marsha Canham

  The first mate shrugged. "Weren't takin' any chances on them excise men not knowin' how to tell time." He saw movement in the carriage and scowled. "Be my eyes deceivin' me or do I see two women?"

  "One of them is wounded. Have someone fetch Digger and send him to my cabin with his barbers kit. Then turn every sober man out of his hammock and get the rest of that cargo stowed away. Have the guns primed and the crews standing by. If anyone tries to board us, we'll show them our teeth."

  "Blow em all to hell, with pleasure," Grundy chuckled. "Along with half the waterfront."

  "It could only be an improvement," Dante said and reached back into the carriage to retrieve his tricorn.

  "For the time being, the safest place for all of you is on board," he told Bella. "You can decide what you wish to do after you've had some time to calm down and get warm. You're shaking so hard I can hear your bones rattling."

  "My mistress is shaking because she has been shot, sir," Molly said.

  "What? Where?"

  "It's nothing. A scratch." Bella covered the hole in her stomacher with her hand. "We must see to Molly first."

  But when she started to climb down from the carriage, the world spun and the floor of the vehicle slid out from beneath her.

  Dante caught her before she tumbled head first out of the open door. He swung her up into his arms, where she tried, feebly, to resist.

  "Please put me down, Sir Pirate. I am quite able to walk."

  "I can see that."

  Her head lolled against his shoulder and Dante carried Bella the short distance to the end of the dock. Clusters of curious crewmembers peeled away like spindrift as their captain boarded the ship.

  Dante ducked through a narrow, darkened hatchway that led belowdecks. Bella was only in possession of half her senses, the other half clung to Dante's broad shoulders and squeaked in protest every time he bent to pass beneath a low beam or swung her sideways to carry her along a narrow companionway.

  She was dimly aware of descending stairs and passing through a dark space that ended at a closed door, but when Dante kicked it open with his boot, the sound startled her head up off his shoulder.

  They entered a spacious cabin that spanned the width of the ship's stern, where Bella was settled onto a large berth that was suspended against one wall. Her face was pale and her eyes took a few moments to focus.

  "I insist you take care of Molly first. She has been through more this night than anyone should have to endure. Please, Captain. Please have someone tend to Molly first."

  "Molly is right here." Varian St. Clare entered the cabin with Molly leaning heavily on his arm. He guided her into a chair, then set about lighting several lamps to brighten the cabin. A few moments later a short stub of a man ambled into the cabin. He looked to be at least as old as Moses, with leathered skin and fingers so thin and gnarled they resembled twigs with knots for knuckles. A single tooth shone in his upper gum complemented by an amazingly full head of long, wiry white hair.

  "Master 'Obbs says someone needs doctorin'."

  Dante looked at Bella, who returned his gaze with a steadfastness that suggested it would be a waste of breath to argue with her.

  "Aye, the young lass over there. She has a cut on her head that needs tending."

  He walked to a sideboard and uncorked a tall green bottle. He filled three silver goblets and handed one to Bella, one to Molly. He picked up the third, but the driver, Smith, was nowhere in sight.

  "Where is the driver?"

  Varian shook his head. "Said he would rather step into hell naked than get on board a ship. He claimed that his stomach was halfway up his throat just thinking about it and wished me to tell her ladyship he would wait at the Blue Boar tavern until morning if she has further need of his services."

  Jonas handed the goblet to Varian then filled another for himself, emptying the contents in four deep swallows.

  Digger, meanwhile, had unwrapped the makeshift bandage from Molly's head.

  "Fetch the light closer an' give me room to work 'ere." He pushed her hair aside and examined the wound, nodding, muttering to himself, running his tongue around his solitary tooth. He touched a finger to the damaged flesh and clucked his tongue when he saw white bone showing through.

  "Looks clean enough. I warrant the wound's bled like a spigot. Stitch 'er up, she'll be good as new. Pity for the scar, mout be an ugly one, but can't be 'elped."

  Digger rummaged in the little wooden box again until he found a thin needle whittled from bone. He reached up to his head and plucked a long strand of thick white hair then threaded it through the needle.

  Molly's eyes grew as big as coins as she watched. "Will it not heal if it is just bandaged again?"

  "Nay. Need to sew it up tight or the flesh won't hold. Other else, I can seal it wi' a hot iron, but then ye'd not just 'ave a scar, ye'd 'ave a dent in yer brow like a third eye."

  Molly raised the goblet to her lips and drained it. Expecting to see her cough and sputter half of the fiery rumbustion back up into her lap, the men were more amused to see her hold the cup out for more.

  Bella could not watch; the roiling in her stomach made her turn away while Digger sewed the torn edges of flesh together. Her side, which had not pained her up to now, started to ache fiercely at the thought of that same bone needle soon sliding in and out of her own flesh.

  She took a sip of the sweet, strong rumbustion and felt the heat ripple all the way down into her belly. Her hands were trembling and her teeth would not stop chattering. She took another sip, deeper this time, and felt the heat prickle outward. Someone… the duke, she thought… placed a blanket around her shoulders and that helped add a little more warmth. By the time her cup was empty, Molly's wound was sewn shut and a bandana was being tied around it to help keep the stitching tight. The maid was decidedly light-headed by then and Varian, after a word with Dante, helped her to her feet and led her out of the cabin.

  "Where is he taking her?" Bella asked.

  "A cabin close by. She needs to sleep a while, at least until the rum wears off." Having said that, Dante fetched the bottle and refilled Bella's glass then beckoned Digger over. "Your turn, m'lady."

  "I am fine. Truly. It is just a scratch."

  Dante lifted the lower edge of her stomacher and saw the wide stain of blood beneath. "Just a scratch, you say?"

  He drew his knife quicker than she could blink and sliced through the lacings that had not already been cut. Without troubling to ask, he unfastened her sleeves from her bodice and when he saw the blood had soaked through that garment as well, he unhooked it and would have stripped it away if Bella had not snatched the loosened edges and held them tight against her chest.

  "You seem overly familiar with women's clothing, Captain. Yet I would wager to say you are not as quick or handy to help put them on as take them off."

  "Not by half," he agreed without hesitation. "Too many layers too tightly fastened. Once they're off, they should stay off, so I say."

  She batted his hands away. "I thank you for your earnest desire to assist, but if anything more needs to come off, I shall be the one to do it."

  He ignored her and tugged the edges of the bodice out of her hands before she could tighten her grasp. As the silk came away, so did the emerald salamander that had, until recently, decorated the brim of Dante's hat.

  He looked at the brooch as it skittered across the floorboards, then turned his gaze sharply on Bella.

  She moistened her lips. "Your hat blew off when you jumped into the carriage. Had it flown out the door I did not think you would want to lose such a valuable possession."

  "Very considerate of you to save the brooch… and the hat."

  "The hat would not have been such a dreadful loss for it smells even worse than it looks."

  Jonas drew a breath that swelled his chest. But before he could offer a retort, Digger brought a lantern over and set it down beside Bellanna.

  "Gi' us a look then," he said, pointing to the bottom of
her bodice. Bella waited, glaring at Jonas until he turned away to retrieve his brooch before she inched the bottom of the bodice higher. Her thin linen chemise was also red with blood, but Digger found the hole in the cloth and with all the finesse his name implied, stuck his two forefingers through the tear and ripped it open enough for him to see the pale flesh beneath.

  "Ye were lucky," he said after prodding around the small wound with enough indifference to start it bleeding again. "Ball's not too deep. Yer female armor stopped it goin' deeper into yer belly."

  "The ball… is still in there?"

  He pinched her flesh between a thumb and forefinger, hard enough to make her scream from the pain. Then, as she collapsed into a dead faint, he triumphantly held up a bloodied ball of lead.

  "N'owt nay more, it i'nt."

  Chapter Seven

  Bella woke to the sound of faint scratching noises. She was lying down on the berth, a round bolster under her head, a blanket drawn up to her chin. She remained perfectly still for a long moment trying to determine where she was and how she had come to be there. Heavy wooden beams were overhead. The air smelled of lamp oil, musty dampness, and something else rather nasty that she could not quite identify.

  It came back to her then. She was on board Jonas Dante's ship. Her faithful servant Hendricks had been killed. Molly had been wounded. They had been chased through the streets by Dimcock's gang.

  And she had been shot!

  It all came rushing back along with an image of the last thing she had seen: the triumphant grin of the ship's doctor holding up a dripping red ball of lead. She moved her hand beneath the blanket and felt the lump of a poultice and some bandaging wrapped around her waist. She could feel nothing else but skin above or below and realized, with a start, that she was naked.

  "Joined the living again, have you?"

  Bella had to turn her head and arch her neck to see to the rear of the cabin where Jonas Dante was sitting at his desk, quill in hand, scratching his way through a sheaf of papers. He'd had his wound tended and wore a stark white band of linen wrapped around his throat.

  "Where are my clothes?"

  "They were torn and filthy and covered in blood," he said without looking up. "I had Young Pitt burn them after he cut you out of them."

  "Young Pitt? Who is Young Pitt?"

  "Over there," he said, pointing with the tip of the quill. "My cabin boy, Simon Pitt. One of twelve offspring sired by my randy uncle, Geoffrey Pitt, and since he bears the same name as my father, we call him Young Pitt to avoid confusion."

  Bella raised her head off the bolster enough to follow the pointed end of the quill and saw a slender lad sitting in the corner of the cabin. She could not see much beyond tousled blond hair, for his head was bowed forward onto bent knees and he appeared to be sound asleep.

  "Where is Molly?"

  "Sleeping off the effects of her ordeal, I would imagine."

  "What time is it? How long have we been here?"

  Jonas had not yet looked up. "Not long. The ghost watch just took to the deck."

  She blinked. "You have men watching for ghosts?"

  "Four bells," he said. "So named because the mist is usually thickest at that hour and men half awake have been known to imagine wraiths moving out in the darkness."

  "Has there been any sign of… trouble… on the dock?"

  "You mean were we followed to the river? Aye, that we were. A dozen of them came slinking out of cracks and crevices and growled at us from the shadows but my men easily discouraged them from coming any closer." He set his quill aside, sanded the last page he had been writing on, then blew away the excess. Only then did he lean back in the curved oak chair and look at her. "They are very persistent, whoever 'they' are."

  The observation was couching a question; one which she ignored.

  She wrapped the blankets firmly around her shoulders and pushed herself upright, wincing at the jab of pain in her side. She shimmied around and propped her back against the bulkhead so she could see the privateer captain without having to wrench her neck from her shoulder. She also used the time to decide how much she should confide in a man she'd known but a few hours.

  In the end, assuming she would only know him for a few short hours more, she saw no reason to share her suspicions about Liam. No reason to share any personal information at all with Jonas Dante.

  "How soon might Molly and I be able to go ashore, Captain?"

  "And go where? You cannot return to your house. The gunshots would have roused the entire street and if someone searched the premises, they have likely found the body of your manservant. While the authorities might not instantly suspect you of killing him, I'm sure they would have enough questions to keep you under lock and key for a while."

  Bella bit down on her lip. "There are other places we can go."

  "Safe places?"

  "Yes. I think so."

  "You think so? Then you must also think you know who attacked us tonight?"

  She lowered her eyes. "No. No, I have no idea."

  Dante let the lie pass for the moment. "Would it not stand to reason that until you do know who was shooting at you, the places you think are safe may very well not be?"

  "We cannot remain on board your ship forever, Captain Dante."

  "No one is inviting you to do so, dear lady. God forbid you should accept my hospitality—and protection—a moment longer than necessary."

  She looked up, her eyes huge and darkly violet against her pale complexion. "You have, indeed, been very generous, Captain, and I did not intend to sound ungrateful. I simply do not wish to abuse your generosity."

  A bare arm snaked out from beneath the mound of blankets, her hand pushing a slippery lock of hair off her face. The spiral persisted in sliding forward and she started to tuck it back behind her ear when a thought occurred and what little color had come into her cheeks drained away again.

  "You said you had my clothes burned? All of them?"

  "There wasn't much you would want to save. Your stockings had no feet left in them, the skirt was crusted with filth from the alley and the rest was hardly worth keeping. Well… except for this, perhaps."

  He lifted the small velvet pouch Bella had taken from the hiding place in the floorboards. He swung it from a forefinger for a moment, then without asking permission, untied the drawstring and upended the contents on his desk, both amused and impressed by the quantity of jeweled trinkets that spilled out.

  "Quite the tidy little haul you had squirreled away. No wonder you were reluctant to leave without it. I gather this is what your nocturnal visitors were searching for?"

  Bella started to lean forward, but was hampered by the twist of blankets as well as the sudden, sharp pain in her side that caused her to wince and sink back against the bulkhead.

  "Those are mine, Captain Dante. I worked very hard to get them."

  "No doubt you did. And I would ask how much it was worth to you for me to have saved your neck… twice!"

  "Twice, sir?"

  He picked out a large ruby ring and set it aside. "At the party tonight, I did not cry thief and have you dragged away to Newgate." He chose a second large jewel, a pearl the size of a quail's egg that had been pried out of its setting. "Then at the house, you might well have walked into a trap and not been able to escape without your head being sliced from your shoulders… as mine very nearly was," he added, touching the kerchief that was wrapped around the cut on his throat.

  "Add to that," he culled a small gold cross from the glittering pile and moved it over with the ruby and the emerald, "the insult of you stealing my own brooch by way of repaying my near loss of life and limb."

  Bella's breath caught and a hand rose to her bare throat. Her father's cross. Her good luck talisman. It took an effort, but when Dante glanced over at her, she dropped her hand and kept her face blank as if the trinket meant nothing more to her than anything else he was fingering. His cocky grin rankled, but she was in no position to challenge him. Yet.

/>   "Very well, Captain. You may have your pound of flesh. Take whatever you deem a fair price for your generosity... and for providing me with something other than a blanket to wear."

  He contemplated the mound of coverings she had pulled up to her chin, then stood and opened a nearby sea chest. He rooted around until he found a reasonably clean shirt and a braided twine belt. A second dive produced a pair of canvas galligaskins, the baggy, shapeless breeches worn by common sailors.

  When he piled them beside her she let a hand wriggle out again to draw the clothes closer. "Thank you Captain. If you don't mind leaving the cabin for a few minutes so I might dress?"

  "But I do mind. It is my cabin. You can leave if you have a mind to dress out in the corridor. You shouldn't run into too many of the crew there, though they are a curious lot and there are probably a dozen ears pushed up against the door as we speak."

  "I am not in the habit of dressing in front of strangers… or pirates."

  "You wound me, madam. You still consider me a stranger after all we have shared tonight, including the removal of your clothes?"

  "You said the boy did that."

  "I may have been mistaken."

  She set her jaw and glared. "Might I remind you, sir, of your promise earlier tonight to behave like a properly cavalier lout."

  Her words surprised a laugh out of him. "You would do well not to throw my promises in my face. I honor few enough of them as it is."

  Bella's gaze turned flinty. She maneuvered her legs over the side of the wide berth, wriggling down until her bare feet touched the plank flooring.

  Dante caught a glimpse of long slender legs before the blankets fell to cover them, whereupon she turned her back to him and shook out the folds of the shirt. It was huge and reached to her knees like a nightdress. She let the blanket slide to the floor and stepped into the galligaskins, which were so ill-fitting, she could have put two of her legs into one of them. There were laces at the waist but even though she drew them as tight as the cloth would allow, there was still a danger of the breeches sliding down to her ankles on the first step. The twine belt helped to gather the excess bulk of both the shirt and the trousers, but the sleeves on the shirt were so long she had to roll the cuffs several times before she could see her hands.