—Shakespeare
“Good Lord! What the devil’s that? Get the poker, Dora! I’ll knock it senseless before it can get into the parlor,” Sam roared, glancing quickly around the kitchen in case there were more creatures lurking in the shadows, for he’d hate to have one catch him by the ankle.
Dora placed her hands on her hips and gave her husband a frown. “Sam Lascombe, hush that big mouth of yours,” she said. “I don’t want ye scarin’ our guests.” She moved quickly, hiding something by moving in front of it.
“All right, woman, let’s see what ye’ve been up to. Ye’ve been actin’ strange all day long. What have ye got behind your back ye’re not wishin’ me to see? Can’t be as dangerous as I first was thinkin’, or ye’d not be standin’ there with your back to it. Could nip off your whole rear end, Dora, in one bite,” Sam told her with a wide grin.
“Oh, Sam, what would the vicar say?” Dora fussed, flushing with embarrassment as she eyed the maid sitting on a stool beside the big fireplace. She was rotating the roast browning on the turnspit. Nodding toward her, Dora said, “Hush, now. Be mindin’ your talk.”
“Vicar would probably be too drunk to care,” Sam commented, sidling behind Dora’s back. His mouth dropped open in surprise as he stared down at the reptile in the center of the kitchen table. “Mercy!” he exclaimed, giving it a quick poke on the snout. “Ain’t alive, is it? Whatever is it?” he demanded suspiciously, much to the giggling amusement of the young maid.
“Oh, Sam, ye do carry on so,” Dora said, but she was, nonetheless, pleased as she stared down proudly at her creation. “’Tis in honor of the Marquis of Jacqobi having returned home to Merdraco,” Dora explained. “Reckon someone oughta be welcomin’ him, seein’ how most other folk won’t even be givin’ him the time of day. ’Tis such a pity, the sadness he’s known. And I’m doin’ it for the marchioness too. Such a nice young lady she is. Well? What d’ye think, Sam?” she had to ask.
Sam stared down hard at the creation occupying the middle of his supper table. “Well, Dora, I can’t say I’ve ever come across one of ’em before,” he admitted reluctantly. He was trying to be diplomatic, for Dora was standing very close to her pots and pans and he was wary.
“’Tis a dragon, of course,” Dora prompted him.
“Oh, yes. Wouldn’t have thought it to be anythin’ else,” Sam allowed, and thinking about it, he saw that it truly did resemble that mythical beast.
“Think they’ll be likin’ it, then?” Dora asked nervously, for it was to be part of Lord Jacqobi’s dinner that night.
Sam swallowed. “Well, they’ll certainly be surprised,” he declared, then added generously, “and I can’t see how they wouldn’t be impressed, Dora. Aye, ’twill certainly be somethin’ to be remembered. I won’t be forgettin’ it soon.”
That was an understatement. Dora’s creation was extraordinary. At first glance it certainly seemed that some reptilian creature had wandered into the kitchen of Bishop’s Grave Inn and taken up residence on the large platter in the center of the kitchen table.
The creature had green scales and a pointed snout. His eyes were red and beady-looking, and his tail curled off the plate, while his stubby legs had a hold of the table, and for a moment, Sam was concerned that it might take a swipe at the plate holding the baked mackerel.
Of course, that was nonsense. The scales were made of cucumber, and its eyes were currants. Beneath were several boned chickens tied together and stuffed with sausage meat and mushrooms. Dora carefully arranged sections of lettuce alongside the creature, with sweet red pepper and radishes cut into roses serving as decorations.
“Well, ’tis mighty fine indeed, but why did ye go to so much trouble, Dora?” Sam thought that her usual spring chicken with rice was tasty enough.
“’Twas because of what happened yesterday. I don’t like to see such cruelty, Sam. ’Twas Jack Shelby who did that to Merdraco. Tried to destroy it, just like he destroyed my only brother. Reckon I’m just gettin’ tired of seein’ him goin’ around hurtin’ people and gettin’ away with it. Oh, don’t worry, Sam. I’ll say nothin’ about the man to anyone. I’m not as brave as my Teddie was, God rest his soul.”
“Ah, Dora, I know ye be missin’ him. ’Twas a real shame,” Sam said with a sad shake of his head. He was ashamed that he could not have done anything to protect Dora’s brother.
“Ended up stabbed in the back, most likely,” Dora said. Wiping her hands on her apron, she continued, “Heard them talkin’ about what they found at Merdraco, and because I’m still thinkin’ kindly of the Lady Elayne, I got to wonderin’ what I could do to welcome her son back to Merdraco. There was no cause for them to be doin’ that to his home. No cause for it, Sam, except downright meanness.”
“Aye, ye be right, Dora. Although I’m wonderin’ if they did it on purpose.”
“What d’ye mean, Sam?” Dora demanded. “How could such viciousness be done without it bein’ on purpose?”
“Them Sons of Belial are used to livin’ like dogs. Don’t suppose they know better.”
“Well, Jack Shelby knows better,” Dora said while she quartered a tomato, and Sam couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking of Shelby while she cut and sliced with such precision.
“Well, I’m thankful they still have the huntin’ lodge. ’Twill make it easier on us if his lordship and his party aren’t stayin’ here—not that I would have turned them out,” Sam added quickly, “but at least we won’t have the Bishop burned down around our heads. ’Tis goin’ to be hard enough to explain to Shelby why we let Dante Leighton step through the front door, much less sleep under our roof,” Sam worried, thinking of Shelby’s black temper.
“Can’t say it hasn’t helped havin’ that extra money comin’ in,” Dora remarked, thinking of the more than generous amount her ladyship had given her for keeping an eye on Kit. “Was a real pleasure, Sam, bein’ able to buy these plump chickens at market and not have to pick through the wilted heads of lettuce. Got it nice and crisp, I did, Sam. And, ye know, I was thinkin’ that life hasn’t been at all good lately. Livin’ like hunted animals, we have, just ’cause we be worryin’ about that Jack Shelby, and whether or not he’s in a foul mood, or if ye’ve said somethin’ to rile him. Why, yesterday, when I had that sweet baby Kit on my lap, I felt as if I hadn’t a worry in the world. ’Twas like it used to be around here, Sam, when ye didn’t have to bite your tongue, or glance over your shoulder,” Dora said with a sigh.
“Aye. Wish I could change all that’s happened, but—good Lord, I’d forgotten,” Sam said suddenly.
“Forgotten what?” Dora demanded, sniffing. “What’s that I smell? Imogen, are ye keepin’ an eye on them gooseberry tarts? I don’t want them brownin’ too much, d’ye hear?” Dora warned the girl, who hurried over to the oven and peered inside at the delicately browned tarts.
“D’ye know what night ’tis?” Sam spoke softly.
Dora thought for a moment. “Tuesday night.”
Sam snorted rudely. “Think, woman! ’Tis a night of no moon.”
Dora’s lips compressed into a thin line. “And here we are with the Marquis of Jacqobi sittin’ at our table and me fixin’ a feast for him and his family. I just hope it ain’t goin’ to be the last meal he eats,” Dora said darkly.
“Aye, there’ll be hell to pay if Shelby shows up tonight after runnin’ the goods inland,” Sam agreed.
“Ye think it likely?”
“Aye, the storm’s held them up for over a week now. And this be the first moonless night, Dora. They’ll be runnin’ the stuff tonight for sure,” Sam said, glancing around uneasily as if darkness had already fallen and he could hear the tramping of feet drawing ever closer.
“Ye can’t be gettin’ word to him not to land the goods in Bishop’s Creek?” Dora asked. Shrimps in a spiced wine mixture were coming to a boil over a low fire in one of the fireplaces, a
nd she stirred them slowly.
“Not likely. He’s been in France for the past fortnight. He had to find a different source for the goods. The man the Sons had been dealin’ with died, or maybe he was cheatin’ them and they killed him. Heard they weren’t too happy with the Frenchy.”
“Well then, get the word to one of them who’d be down on the beach waitin’ for the goods. Tell them it won’t be safe to land ’em here,” Dora said worriedly, moving to check the crab pie baking in the oven.
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t know if I remember the code anymore. Never had a need to use it, what with the dragoons always bein’ down the coast when we’re landin’ the goods up the coast. Or, seems they’re up the coast when we’re—”
“Shelby’s goin’ to learn that his lordship’s returned to Merdraco one of these days, Sam Lascombe,” Dora interrupted him. “Ye just don’t want to be the one to tell him, eh?”
“Would ye?”
“No, can’t say I would,” Dora agreed, her hand shaking as she stirred the shrimps and wine into a heated egg and butter sauce. “Ye don’t have to be givin’ particulars, Sam. Just get the word out that ’tisn’t safe. We’ve got guests stayin’ here, and ’twould be better if they didn’t run the goods through here. ’Tis all they need to know,” Dora suggested with a pleading look at her husband.
“Aye, reckon that’s the best I can be doin’. Wouldn’t want his lordship stumblin’ across the Sons, especially if Shelby is with them,” Sam muttered, suddenly feeling as if the Bishop had been built on top of a gunpowder keg.
* * *
A log burning in the hearth fell in a shower of sparks, drawing an uneasy glance from Sam as he watched the flames licking voraciously at the wood. Soon he’d have to add more fuel to the fire. He heard the chiming of the tall case clock on the stair landing, and he glanced toward the darkened windows nervously, for although he’d gotten word to the smugglers not to use Bishop’s Creek, he usually expected the worst to happen.
This situation had the makings of an explosion, Sam speculated glumly as he eyed the laughing people sitting around one of his oak tables. They were enjoying their dinner before the warming glow of the fire, and acting as if they hadn’t a worry in the world.
Aye, ’twas all a pity, he thought, for they were real fine folk. They were highborn and needn’t say a kind word to anybody, but they weren’t that way at all, and the marchioness was a real lady. She always showed gratitude for Dora’s efforts, and never once had he heard her raise her voice to her own maids. She had reminded him on more than one occasion of the late marchioness, for Lady Elayne had been a real fine, gentle lady also. Sam glanced at Rhea and couldn’t help but admire her beauty. Dressed in a pale yellow gown embroidered with flowers, her golden hair waved back in soft curls and secured with colorful ribbons, she seemed heaven-born. And when her dimpled smile turned into a low laugh, he found himself envying the clear conscience that allowed her to look so pure. He hoped she would always be able to look at the world so innocently and that her life would never know the deception his had.
Sam’s gaze rested on the Marquis of Jacqobi. He was amazed that a man could change so drastically. Oh, he was still a handsome devil with those pale gray eyes and classical features, but his gaze was narrowed and hard, as if he were continually searching for an enemy on the horizon, and his face was bronzed from years spent raising it to the sun while he watched the sails of his ship billowing with a freshening breeze. Dante Leighton had become a man with a sense of responsibility, a determined man.
Aye, real fine folk they were, Sam thought as he listened to their laughter. He watched the two young boys sneaking food from each other’s plates when each thought the other wasn’t looking. And the marchioness’s brother, Lord Chardinall, was a handsome lad. What a privilege for the Bishop to have the heir to a dukedom eating and sleeping under its roof. Mr. Marlowe was a fine gentleman, quiet, but sharp, always keeping a wary eye.
“Oh, Mrs. Lascombe, you really shouldn’t have,” Rhea was saying as she stared down in amazement at the cucumber dragon sitting so proudly on that large platter that Sam Lascombe had to carry in, so heavy it was. The reaction to it had been amazement. Everyone was impressed, though perhaps a little bemused as well.
“This is quite stunning,” Rhea said, for it truly was an amazing feat of culinary expertise.
Dora smiled widely. “I’m glad ye like it, m’lady,” she beamed, and sending Dante a sidelong glance, she straightened her best mobcap. “’Tis in honor of Lord Jacqobi returning to Merdraco, and in honor of his family,” she said, and there was an almost defiant note in her voice. She exchanged nervous glances with Sam, something both Alastair and Francis noticed and wondered about.
The former captain of the Sea Dragon shook his head in disbelief, touched by the generosity and kindness. Getting to his feet, the others quickly following, he lifted his goblet and, catching Dora’s eye, said, “To Dora Lascombe, a very special lady. Thank you,” Dante toasted the woman. When she met those silver eyes that said so much to a woman, her cheeks turned as rosy as the radishes garnishing the platter. And she a grandmother too!
“Coooeee!” Conny whispered in awe as he stared at the dragon, itching to touch it. “How’d ye do it, Mrs. Lascombe? Is there a real lizard beneath?”
“I bet Mrs. Peacham couldn’t do this,” Robin commented, impressed. “She does make the best cherry tarts, though,” Robin amended, his loyalty to the Camareigh cook forcing him to say so, even if it meant Mrs. Lascombe might not give him quite as large a slice of blackberry roll the next time.
Kirby sniffed. “Aye, ’tis a fine job ye’ve done, Dora,” the little steward said gruffly, shuffling awkwardly.
Those rather begrudging words of praise seemed to mean more to Dora than all the others. “Well, thank ye kindly, Houston,” she said, the expression in her eyes warming considerably. Catching her husband’s eye, her smile warmed even more, for she had the admiration of the beau from her youth, who had first stirred her passion, and from the man she had wed and come to love.
For a few more minutes, the small group stood around the table admiring their dinner. It was that stillness and the tantalizing odors coming from the tabletop that drew the attention of a green-eyed feline. With purposeful stealth, Jamaica slowly approached the table, sinuously winding his way through the forest of legs blocking his path. He leaped to the table, his quarry one of those buttered shrimps that had been tempting him for the past half hour. What met his startled eyes, however, was hardly the succulent, bite-sized morsel he had been anticipating. Instead, a vicious-looking beast crouched, guarding the table, its beady eyes glowing red.
Jamaica arched his back, his fur standing on end as he faced the miserable-looking creature with the slimy green scales.
“Good Lord, what was that?” Alastair demanded as he heard a strange hissing at his elbow, and although he was crazed to even think such a thing, he nonetheless risked a quick glance at the green dragon that was supposed to be his dinner, expecting to see it slithering off the table, its tail swishing angrily.
“Jamaica!” Conny squealed as the tabby took a swing at the dragon’s pointed snout.
Dora watched in dismay as the cat hooked a slice of cucumber to his curved claw, his expression of surprise surpassing Dora’s as he stared down at the limp thing clinging to his paw.
Sam’s rumbling laugh filled the room. Dora looked as if she had sat on a mouse, she was that startled. But she was no more surprised than the cat. His tail was puffed up and rigid, spitting a final, insulting hiss at his cowed adversary, Jamaica leaped off the table across Kirby’s small shoulders, which seemed to cause Sam Lascombe no end of amusement.
* * *
Bishop’s Grave Inn was silent and dark when Dante let himself out the door some five hours later. He had left Rhea sleeping soundly, her face partly hidden by the wild disorder of her hair. Their son slept
peacefully in his cradle beside the bed. The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing coals but still gave off comforting warmth.
Dante made his way stealthily to the stables, the silvered light shining down from the myriad stars guiding his step across the darkened yard. In the twinkling of an eye, he opened the stable door and disappeared inside. Speaking in low, gentle tones, he made his way to his horse, slipped the bridle over the chestnut’s neck, and saddled him.
Leading him by the reins, Dante left the stables, where only the curious neighing of one of the horses indicated a disturbance. Dante glanced back at the dark inn. No light shone in any window. Mounting quietly, he walked the chestnut along the narrow, rutted track winding toward Merdraco.
The only sound was that of the restless sea.
The dark towers rose up before Dante as he sent his horse up the path to the top of the cliff. An owl hooted, followed by the eerie sound of flapping wings. Then all was silent again. Dante dismounted, the leather of his stirrups creaking softly. He looped the reins over the jagged edge of one of the large stones scattered across the courtyard of the castle, then unhooked from his saddle a lantern he had borrowed from the stables. His step light against the paving stones, he walked to the gaping entrance of one of the towers. He paused for a moment, staring up into the surrounding darkness, then entered.
Enshrouded in darkness, Dante stood where he was, listening. Then there was a striking sound, followed by a spark, then a pale, flickering light filled the small area, lighting Dante’s way to the first, narrow step of the stairs that spiraled into the tower above.
Slowly, the lantern’s yellowish light casting strange shadows that grew and shrank along the walls, Dante climbed upward, his every step placed carefully, for the stones were slippery with dampness and mold. Two of the three floors inside the tower had long before rotted out, so he didn’t even pause before the openings leading to those levels. He crept ever higher until reaching the third floor of the tower. He hoped it was intact. For one thing, the old marquis had insisted on keeping it repaired. But it wasn’t that alone which made Dante guess that the floor still could bear the weight of a man; it was the suspicion that the smuggling gang had been using the tower to signal their ships lying offshore.
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