Reckless Angel

by Jane Feather

  “Hey, lad. Come here!”

  Henrietta did not realize it was she who was being addressed until her neighbor nudged her. “Eh, master wants ye, boy.”

  Her heart in her throat, she approached the ladder to the upper deck, keeping her cap low, her eyes on her feet.

  “Take this and give it to the man with the gold chain,” Almaar instructed, dropping the pouch at her feet. “Look lively, now.”

  “Come on, lad.” The bosun stepped forward, swinging his rope’s end. “Over the side with you.”

  Over the side! They were telling her to climb down the sickeningly unsteady rope ladder swinging against the ship’s stern and drop onto the poop deck of the galley amongst all those savage barbarians with their dreadful knives. How could she possibly do such a thing? How could she possibly refuse without revealing her identity, and thus betraying everything?

  Swallowing convulsively, she bent to pick up the pouch, stuffing it into the capacious pocket of the capacious jacket, and slunk to the ship’s side, staring down at the frail ladder banging in the breeze. The rope’s end stung her shoulder in rough encouragement, and she swung her leg over the rail, grabbed the coarse hemp of the ladder, and lowered herself onto it.

  The deck so far below seemed to pitch and roll impossibly. It had not looked nearly this far down from the safety of the ship’s deck, but swinging perilously on a frail piece of rope far above the limitless depths of the ocean was more terrifying than anything she could have imagined in her wildest flights of nightmare.

  The ladder stopped a couple of feet from the deck. Closing her eyes tightly, Henrietta dropped, and the first sensation as solid wood cushioned her feet was one of the utmost relief. Until she looked up and found herself in a circle of grinning, dark-skinned, white-toothed men. She looked for the one with the gold chain and saw him standing a little apart. He was scrutinizing her with a strange expression in his eye. Dear God, surely he had not guessed? Her clothes so swamped her, there was no possible way of telling the shape beneath the ample folds. But what of her face? Her complexion? Surely she could pass for a mere boy not yet touched with the man’s beard? Keeping her eyes down, she darted through the circle of men, holding out Almaar’s gift.

  Someone made a comment in a strange tongue, and they all laughed, but not unkindly it seemed. Emboldened, she risked a quick look up as she reached her goal. He took the pouch, examining it with interest, for the moment ignoring the messenger. The others gathered around and Henrietta looked about her more openly. She found herself gazing down into the galley from whence emanated the reek that seemed trapped in her nostrils now, like some noxious gas. All she could see were backs, gleaming, dark, sweat beaded. Most of the heads attached to the backs had fallen forward as if in exhaustion as they rested their oars in this moment of respite.

  Anger and revulsion chased away fear and, for a split second, caution. She turned away, and her eyes flashed at the man with the gold chain. The speculation on the swarthy face became pure interest. “Such a pretty boy,” he said softly in her own tongue. “What a waste to make a sailor of you. ’Tis a life to coarsen such comeliness.”

  Laughter rose again. It had a strangely knowing quality, but Henrietta was completely bemused. She had no idea what the man could be talking about. He stepped forward, touching her cheek with a surprisingly delicate finger, tracing the curve of her jaw. “Such fine skin.” He smiled, and it was a smile that made her shudder with that same revulsion, yet she did not know why. It was certainly not a threatening smile, yet she felt threatened.

  “Stay with me,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on her face with a look of longing. “Be my catamite and I promise you only luxury, ease, and comfort.”

  Henrietta shook her head violently, speechless at an invitation she did not understand. She knew only that she must get away. She turned from him and ran for the rope ladder. It held no terror to match the nameless one posed by the man behind her, and she sprang for the bottom rung with an agility that surprised her. She scrambled upward as speedily as if she had been doing such a thing from childhood, tumbling over the deck rail, panting, wild-eyed with shock and fear, to come face-to-face with an ashen Daniel.

  He did not know when he realized exactly who it was down amongst the Turks. The knowledge seemed to seep into his bones as he stood watching the scene being played out below. He could hear nothing of what was said, could make little of the figure lost in that enormous jacket with the string holding up his britches. But the suspicion grew to become certainty. He stared, numb with terror as the galley’s captain pawed her face, seemed to devour her with his eyes. If he had guessed her sex, they were all lost, and none more so than Daniel Drummond’s wife.

  How had it happened? He could not begin to piece together the sequence of events that had led to her standing, quite unprotected, in the midst of hostile Turks who, if they realized what she was, would have no compunction in carrying her off as the spoils of war. And he dared not breathe a word to anyone of what he knew for fear an incautious gesture or exclamation would betray her; he must stand in his agony, his chest so tight with fear and tension he could not draw breath without pain.

  When she broke away from the man and ran for the ladder, he could control himself no longer. An oath broke from his lips and his hand went to his pistol as he waited for them to pursue her. When they did not, Almaar turned to him with a laugh. “Wonder what they said to make him jump like that?” But Daniel was already on his way to the main deck, reaching the top of the ladder a minute before she tumbled over the rail.

  Still he dared not say or do anything that would betray the presence of a woman on board. “The master wants you on the quarterdeck,” he said as if in explanation of his presence. It seemed to satisfy the listening crew, who patted the cabin boy’s back heartily and made jocular remarks about his coming up faster than he went down.

  Henrietta kept her eyes on the ground and shook her head at them, unable to speak even had she wanted to. She followed Daniel up to the quarterdeck, but the master was exchanging a few more words with the master of the galley and did not immediately spare the lad a glance. Then guttural orders were shouted from below. Sheets and halyards creaked as the galley swung onto the port tack and the sails bellied. At another harsh command, a hundred pairs of oars lifted as one, cleaved the water as one, and the curved prow moved slowly away.

  Master Almaar-let his breath out on a long exhalation and turned with a smile to Daniel. “Odd’s bones! I’d not willingly endure another half hour of that kind.” His gaze fell on the lad at his passenger’s side. “You did well,” he said. “But there’s no need to look so whey-faced.”

  Without a word, Daniel removed the blue cap from his wife’s head. Almaar’s mouth opened and closed in the manner of a landed fish. “Quite so,” Daniel said dryly, when it seemed that the master would remain bereft of speech for some considerable time. “My reaction exactly.”

  “Lady Drummond!” Almaar breathed finally. “How the devil…?” He fell silent again, shaking his head in disbelief. Then he looked at Daniel in horror, as if struck by a dreadful thought. “I could not possibly have known, Sir Daniel. I…I thought she was the cabin boy…the clothes…”

  Daniel nodded. “’Twas not your responsibility, Almaar. It was mine.”

  Henrietta spoke up for the first time. “Actually, I think it was mine.”

  “Then the consequences are yours to bear,” Daniel said gravely, his black eyes unreadable.

  Henrietta nodded slowly. “I only wished to see if I could be of help, but I’ll not deny your right to be angry.”

  “Angry!” He passed a hand wearily over his eyes. “I am beyond anger. Go below and give those appalling clothes back to whomever they belong.”

  She went hurriedly, aware of a rustle of whispers as she crossed the deck, anxious for a few moments’ solitude in which to review the extraordinary experience and prepare, if not a defense, then a position at least with which to face her husband.

&n
bsp; Daniel became aware that Almaar was regarding him with something like compassion. He looked over the deck rail to where the rope ladder swung and considered Harry’s perilous return journey. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” he muttered.

  Almaar coughed. “Ye’d have to admit it was plucky. One false move and we’d all have been lost.”

  Daniel gave a short, assenting laugh. She had certainly endured the unforeseen consequences of her impulse with customary courage, and the impulse had been born of that need she had to share in every aspect of his life, her complete inability to stand aside if she believed him threatened or in any way in need of her assistance. He had earlier thought her impulses motivated simply by a powerful sense of loyalty, but now he knew that love was the foundation. And being loved by Henrietta was a hazardous business, he decided, massaging his temples with thumb and forefinger. Hazardous, but for all that vastly rewarding.

  He went down to the cabin. Henrietta was sitting on the cot, once more clad in her gown of russet linen with its demure lawn collar and full, beribboned sleeves. Her hair hung loose, massed to her shoulders, feathering around her face, in the fashion she knew he liked best. It was well nigh impossible to see in this demurely pretty girl the monkey of the rope ladder. She offered him a tentative smile, her eyes wider than ever.

  He decided not to be seduced for the present and demanded curtly, “How did you get out of here?”

  With a sigh, she dropped the penitent air and told him the tale. “And I paid the cabin boy half a crown for the use of his clothes,” she said, as if ridding herself of the final confession.

  “A gross overpayment, considering their quality and fit,” he commented caustically, leaning against the door, studying her.

  “It would have been perfectly all right, Daniel, if the captain hadn’t sent me on that…that errand,” she offered. “I would have just stood with the others until it was over. I had to know what was happening. You could not expect me to stay in safety while you were in danger.”

  “Could I not?” he asked rhetorically. “And what was I supposed to do while you were in danger?”

  Her startled expression indicated that that aspect had not occurred to her. “Were you afeard?”

  “Terrified.”

  She bit her lip unhappily. “I ask your pardon, Daniel. I would not frighten you deliberately. It was just that matters did not work out as they were supposed to.”

  “They frequently do not.”

  There didn’t seem much else for her to say, Henrietta thought, plaiting her fingers in her lap while she waited for whatever unpleasantness was about to ensue. She did not deny Daniel’s right to be punitive, but she did wish he would get it over with. When the silence seemed to have lasted an eternity, and he still stood against the door in frowning consideration, she took a deep breath. “What are you going to do, Daniel?”

  “Do?” His eyebrows shot up in punctuation. “About what?”

  “Oh, please do not be odious,” she begged. “You know what I mean, but I cannot bear this dreadful anticipation. I have been frightened enough for one day.”

  “No more than you deserve,” he responded, and her head drooped in defeat. “Ramshackle creature,” he said. Her head shot up and she saw the laughter in his eyes.

  “Oh, you were teasing me!” She sprang into his arms in one movement, burying her head against his chest. “’Twas not kind to do so when I have been so afeard.”

  He stroked her hair and held her tightly as she clung to him with fierce need for the safety of his arms. He was able to lose the bitter taste of his own fear as he held the live, warm body.

  “Daniel, what is a catamite?” The question was muffled against his chest and he did not think he could have heard aright.

  “What is a what?”

  She lifted her head, showing him curious brown eyes. “A catamite.”

  “Where on earth did you hear that word?” He stared down at her.

  “The Turk,” she said. “He wanted me to be one…His, actually. I did not know what he meant, but I knew it was something horrid, just by the way he was looking at me.”

  “Good God! Was that why you suddenly ran like that?”

  She nodded. “I couldn’t help myself.”

  “Your disguise was amazingly convincing.” His voice shook with suppressed laughter. He had been petrified that the Turks would guess her secret and instead…The laughter of relief rocked him and he fell onto the cot, tears running down his cheeks.

  “Oh, what is so funny? What is a catamite?”

  He sat up, wiping his eyes. “Sweet innocent, ’tis a young boy who serves a man in the bedchamber in the ways of a woman.”

  She gaped at him. “How could he do so?”

  Daniel sighed and explained, and her eyes grew rounder. “My heavens,” she said at the conclusion. “Is it not painful?”

  “My love, I do not know,” he replied. “’Tis not a practice I have ever indulged. But those who do apparently enjoy it.”

  “Oh.” She sucked in her lower lip thoughtfully. “It seems very strange when ’tis so pleasant between a man and a woman. But I suppose people are entitled to do what pleases them best.”

  “As long as it does not hurt others.” A serious note found its way into his voice and she looked at him, reading his meaning correctly.

  “I would not hurt you, love,” she said. “’Tis just that I cannot seem to master the need to be with you at such times. You may think I cannot be of help, but ’tis always possible I might be, so I have to be with you just in case.”

  It was such a simple statement, one that told the truth as he had come to accept it, and he could find no words of dispute. He would simply have to take that truth into account in the future, since he did not think he could cure her and locking doors upon her was clearly no solution. But God only knew into what trouble this unmastered need and rash impulse to be of service would plunge them both next time, if he failed to circumvent it.

  Chapter 13

  Madrid: a landlocked city of narrow, winding streets and wide squares; a hot, airless city of strange customs. Henrietta toiled up a steep street, a basket of figs and pomegranates on her arm. The June sun was hot and she hugged the shade of the lime-washed houses lining the street, wiping beads of perspiration from her brow with her sleeve. At the top of the hill, she stopped at a gate set into a high stone wall. Behind the gate lay a small courtyard shaded with a vine-covered trellis.

  Daniel was sitting on a bench beneath an orange tree reading a sheaf of papers. He looked up as she came in and smiled. “What have you there?”

  She crossed the courtyard, bending to receive his kiss. “Fruit from the market by the cathedral.” She held out the basket for his inspection. “’Twas so delicious-looking, I could not resist.”

  He leaned back, squinting up at her as she stood dappled by sun filtering through the trellis. “But was that what you were sent to buy?”

  “How did you know?” She grinned ruefully.

  “Because the señora has been complaining to me most volubly about your unreliable shopping habits,” he told her. “Yesterday, she asked you to buy eggs and you came back with cheese. Today, she wishes for tomatoes for a sauce for dinner.”

  “But I did not have enough money for tomatoes as well as the fruit,” Henrietta pointed out logically. “We will eat figs and do without the sauce.”

  “You tell that to the señora.”

  “Oh, she will wail and wave her arms at me,” Henrietta said. “And I am only trying to help her by doing the marketing.”

  “I think perhaps she would prefer to do without your help,” Daniel said carefully. “’Tis most frustrating when she has planned a certain dish and she can never be sure you will return with the necessary ingredients.”

  “I suppose so.” She sighed, looking at her basket of produce. “But shopping is such pleasure here. I would never have enjoyed it so at home, or even in The Hague.”

  “Ah, Doña Drummond…Doña Drummond!” A dark-
clad figure bustled from the stone house at the rear of the courtyard and hurried over to them.

  With a conspiratorial grin at Daniel, Henrietta held out her basket. A stream of Spanish greeted the sight and Señora Alvara raised her hands in an appeal to the heavens. While the precise meaning of the words was beyond Henrietta’s comprehension, the sense was perfectly clear. Daniel dug a coin out of his pocket and handed it to the wailing señora, who, with another heavenward gesture, ran out of the courtyard into the street in search of the necessary vegetable.

  “Have a fig.” Henrietta sat on the bench beside Daniel. “How was your morning?” She bit deep into the succulent flesh.

  “It’s hard to say…messy brat.” He pulled his handkerchief from the pocket of his brown silk doublet and scrubbed trickling fig juice from her chin.

  “I’m not messy.” She wiggled away from this ignominious ministration. “’Tis inevitable when they’re so juicy. Why is it hard to say?”

  Daniel frowned. “They are all so very polite and welcoming, yet I cannot get close to the king’s chamberlain, without whose acceptance and patronage I will never have audience with King Philip. No one ever says anything in direct denial, but nothing happens. They smile, chat, are most hospitable, but avoid all serious subjects. I do not know whether it is because they do not know exactly how to treat the unofficial representative of a deposed king. There’s nothing in the rules of protocol to cover such a position.” He shook his head ruefully. “’Tis also possible that they suspect the nature of my errand, and if King Philip is either unable or unwilling to oblige King Charles, they may feel it easier simply to prevent the request’s being made.”

  “How frustrating,” she said with true feeling. Henrietta had not been to court, since women were not welcomed at a man’s court and she had not yet been received by the queen, so she could not attend at Her Majesty’s side of the palace. But she had received visits from the wives of Daniel’s acquaintances, visits that had to be returned punctiliously and had to follow certain rigidly prescribed rules of etiquette, so she understood well the kind of atmosphere Daniel was describing. “What are those papers?”