Shifting Andrew to his outside arm, Gage slid a hand to the small of her back and rested it there as they walked along the boardwalk toward the tavern. Shemaine held herself in rigid reserve, acutely aware of the tall, handsome man strolling beside her and his lean hand lightly riding her waist.
A furtive movement in the recessed entrance of the general store made Gage halt in sudden apprehension. Delaying Shemaine with a hand on her arm, he silently bade her to wait and put Andrew down beside her. He crept forward cautiously, wondering if Jacob Potts had decided to come back and launch another assault. But when he reached the covered entry, Gage released a sigh of relief, for he saw only the hunchback crouching in the shadows.
Realizing that he had been found out, Cain shuffled from his cubbyhole and, leaning forward, peeked around the front of the store at Shemaine. In his hand he carried a wilted bouquet of wildflowers. Facing Gage, he held them up, but when the tall man refrained from taking them, Cain lifted a hand to indicate the girl.
“Floawers . . . faw . . . Shamawn. Plawse . . . gawve . . . haw . . . floawers.”
“You give them to her,” Gage urged, and motioned for his bondswoman to draw near. “It’s all right, Shemaine. It’s Cain. He’d like to give you something.”
Shemaine reached down to take Andrew’s hand, but he balked at the idea of going anywhere near the deformed man and shook his head vehemently. Despite her soft assurances, the boy would not be convinced and hung back in trepidation, making it absolutely clear he wanted nothing to do with Cain. Finally leaving him, Shemaine moved to the doorway where his father stood. At her approach, Cain retreated back into the shadows again, as if reluctant to let her see him up close, but her smile encouraged him, and as she waited, he stepped forward clumsily and handed her the bouquet.
“Thank you for the flowers, Cain. They’re very lovely,” she murmured kindly. On an impulse, she leaned forward and bestowed a kiss upon the man’s cheek.
Cain stumbled back in astonishment and gaped up at her. Then, quite baffled, as if unable to believe what she had done, he gently touched the place where her lips had brushed.
Gage marveled at her benevolence. “ ‘Twould seem you’ve won his heart, Shemaine.”
She had seen many heart-wrenching sights since her arrest and, in many cases, had been frustrated by her own helplessness. There was nothing like cruel incarceration to make one yearn for a kindly word or a charitable deed. The hateful insults and the mean-spirited persecution to which she had been repeatedly subjected during her confinement had instilled within Shemaine a deeper compassion for the pitiful and less fortunate. It was not hard for her to discern that this poor, unsightly man, ill-favored from birth, was most desperately in need of friendship and a little tenderness.
Shemaine clasped the nosegay to her bosom. “I shall treasure your gift, Cain,” she gently pledged. “Thank you again for your kindness and also for the return of my shoes. I don’t know many people here in the hamlet, so if you don’t mind, I shall consider you a friend.”
Not knowing what to answer, the misshapen man canted his head to peer up at Gage as if to glean a bit of understanding from one who knew this gentle-hearted creature. Gage could offer the hunchback nothing at all, for he was just as amazed by her compassion as the one upon whom she had bestowed it.
Bewildered and yet filled with a rare feeling of awe, Cain took his leave, shuffling away in the opposite direction from where the young child stood rooted in wide-eyed trepidation.
Gage took pity on his frightened son and, stepping near, swung him up in his arms. Andrew hugged his father’s neck, extremely relieved that he was safe and the monster man had gone.
“Are you still hungry?” Gage asked softly, drawing back to look into his son’s face. The child nodded eagerly and, with a sudden grin, tightened his arms around the elder. Gage smiled and embraced him in return. Glancing toward Shemaine, who seemed poignantly distracted by the flowers, he whispered in the boy’s ear, “What about Shemaine?”
“Come . . . Sheeaim,” Andrew called, extending an arm toward her. “Daddee . . . hungee.”
Shemaine laughed as she glanced at the two grinning males. Heeding the irresistible summons, she approached them, but the familiarity of the sprightly tune flowing from the tavern seized hold of her Irish spirit, and with a soft cry of glee, she danced a fleet-footed jig toward them, much to Andrew’s giggling delight and Gage’s smiling pleasure.
When she fell in beside him, Gage resettled his hand at the small of her back. It was a nice, comfortable place for his hand to rest, and he really didn’t care what lewd conjectures were being dispersed about the village in regards to his motivation for buying her. He enjoyed touching her, and that was enough justification for him.
“I’d better take you home soon,” he remarked as his lips twitched with unquenchable humor. “Or I might find myself fighting off the town bachelors in droves. And I can assure you, my girl, it wouldn’t be because they’d have a yearning to kill you like Potts tried to do. Indeed! They’d be trying to steal you from me!”
Shemaine could imagine the proud and elegant Edith du Mercer fainting from shock after witnessing her undignified cavorting. Mimicking the elder’s condescending demeanor, she held out a hand as if laying it upon the carved silver handle of the tall walking stick the woman had never gone without and, lifting her chin, strolled forward imperiously. “I suppose you’d prefer me to act more refined and aloof, sir.”
Gage’s eyes glowed as he viewed her enchanting mime. “Andrew and I like you just the way you are.”
Rising upon her toes, Shemaine twirled about to face him and then sank into a deep, graceful curtsy equal to those she had once executed at lavish balls. At their applause, she laughed and threw up her arms in girlish verve. “You may blame it on the Irish blood, Mr. Thornton. ‘Tis strong-willed and usually gets the upper hand despite my very best efforts to control it. More often than not, it tempts me to play the jester.”
Gage was captivated by her playful antics. “You bring a lightness to our hearts that we’ve not experienced for some time, Shemaine,” he acknowledged with a lopsided grin. “You make our spirits soar.”
Shemaine felt strangely exhilarated by his relaxed smile. Beaming, she bobbed a curtsy. “I’m delighted you’re delighted, sir!”
At Gage’s responding laughter, Andrew clapped his small hands, showing his own approval.
“Sheeaim funny, Daddee!”
“You’re funny!” Shemaine accused, pressing her face close to the young one’s. She snickered playfully and waggled her head from side to side. When she straightened, she gently tweaked the small nose, evoking more giggles.
Once they stepped beyond the tavern door, a loud din assailed their senses. Andrew wisely covered his ears. Shemaine cringed, wanting to do the same. Gage promptly suffered second thoughts about his ability to endure the noisy bedlam. The place was alive with imbibing sailors and loose women decked out in colorful garb. Shemaine saw Morrisa Hatcher sitting on a man’s knee and leisurely sipping from a mug of ale as she watched him playing a game of chance. Her attire was as brazen as her profession, which apparently would continue under the supervision of her new owner. Thus far the woman had failed to notice them, and Shemaine sincerely hoped they would be able to find a secluded nook before she did. Hardly anyone in the tavern gave them heed, for the customers seemed too involved in their own adventures and endeavors to care what happened beyond their narrow world. While the patrons laid out coin for food and libations, frazzled tavern maids in drab garb rushed about with large platters of food or mugs balanced on trays. One serving wench passed near the door, and Andrew’s eyes widened at the heavily laden trenchers she maneuvered through the crowd.
“Perhaps we can find a quieter corner in back,” Gage suggested, taking Shemaine’s hand in his and leading the way.
James Harper had quaffed a liberal amount of ale by the time he caught sight of the tall, dark-haired man and recognized him as the colonial who had bou
ght Shemaine. With a sudden snarl contorting his visage, the bosun pushed through his companions in a concerted effort to block the other man’s passage. Upon reaching Gage, he rose on his toes and leaned forward to gaze intently into the colonial’s face. “I don’t like you, Mr. Thornton,” he sneered drunkenly as he sought to focus his gaze. He staggered back unsteadily, then caught himself. Assuming a more dignified mien, he straightened his coat with a jerk and stumbled a step closer. “In truth, I think you’re the most obstinate, conniving scalawag ever born. ‘Tis certain that Shemaine O’Hearn is far too good for the likes of you.”
“I came in here to eat,” Gage announced gruffly. “If you want a fight, I’ll have to accommodate you another day. I’ve got my son and Shemaine with me now.”
James Harper’s brows arched to lofty heights as he searched beyond the colonial for the young woman he had become enamored with. He settled a bleary-eyed gaze upon her and began to leer with avid appreciation of her refreshing beauty. Spreading his arms, he plowed toward her as if he would take her into his embrace, but he came up short when Gage caught his lapel in one hand and yanked him around.
“Keep your distance, Mr. Harper,” Gage growled in low tones. Though he held his son within the crook of his other arm, Gage stretched the stocky fellow to the very tips of his toes and held him in a steely vise. “She’s mine now, not yours, and I’ll break your bloody hands if you try touching her again. Do you understand me?”
“You don’t frighten me,” Harper mumbled above the white-knuckled fist clasping his coat. “You’re only a cloddish colonial. . . .”
Gage gave the bosun a rough, angry shake, causing Harper’s eyes to roll like loose marbles in their sockets. “I may be a cloddish colonial, but you’re a fool if you don’t think I can embarrass you in front of your shipmates. If you don’t leave us alone, you’ll be licking spittle from the spittoon ere I’m finished with you. Do you understand me now?” Lending emphasis to his threat, he lifted the man until his feet dangled above the floor.
Some sanity returned when James Harper tried to draw a breath and found that he couldn’t. The other’s fist was wedged tightly against his windpipe, preventing any passage of air to his lungs. Suddenly doubtful of his survival, Harper nodded briskly, and then, almost gently, he was lowered to his feet. The hard fist relaxed and dropped away. In the next brief moment the lean fingers were again clasping Shemaine’s hand and leading her through the spectators, who had halted what they were doing to gape at them.
Testing the condition of his throat, James Harper swallowed several times and gingerly stretched his neck to assure himself that nothing vital had been damaged or broken. Though he might have suffered some shortage of breath for a few moments, he felt amazingly clearheaded for a man who had partaken copiously of so much ale. He lurched toward a chair and slithered loose-jointedly into the seat. Thankful to be alive, he heaved a wavering sigh of relief, expelling fumes that reeked of strong ale.
A serving wench paused beside him and tilted her head aslant as she considered first the bosun and then the couple who were presently making their way toward the back of the tavern. “By rights, gov’na, ye should consider yerself fortunate,” she informed the seaman. “That Thornton fella can be mighty mean when he wants ta be. Once I saw him thrash a man twice his size when the bloke tried ta accost his wife on the street outside this here tavern. O’ course, Miz Thornton’s dead now, an’ some maybe wonder if’n Mr. Thornton didn’t kill her himself, seein’s as how he’s so ornery an’ all, but ta me own way o’ thinkin’, that would be a bloomin’ shame ’cause he’s so handsome an’ all.”
Harper had difficulty deciphering her words at precisely the time she said them. The dawning came with agonizing slowness several moments later, prompting him to finally lift his gaze and stare aghast at the dowdy woman.
The serving maid grew immediately worried at his stricken expression. “Ye needn’t fret so fearful like, lovey.” She patted his shoulder in a motherly fashion. “Mr. Thornton’s forgotten ye by now. Ye’re safe.”
Morrisa Hatcher elbowed her way through the crowd, shoving the serving maid out of her path as she passed the bosun. James Harper’s eyes wavered unsteadily as he observed the widely swinging, gyrating motion of her hips, but the harlot gave him no heed as she followed in the wake of her red-haired adversary. Halting at the table Gage had selected near the back, Morrisa struck a sensual pose and smoothed a hand over her voluptuous curves as she awaited his notice. Gage stood Andrew in a chair between himself and Shemaine, and then pulled another chair out for his bondslave. Finally facing Morrisa, he acknowledged her presence with a stiff twitch of his lips, the best greeting he could offer the woman.
“Morrisa Hatcher, I believe.”
“Right ye are, gov’na.” The harlot flexed her arm in a sly movement that sent the sleeve of her magenta gown falling over her shoulder, leaving much of it bare. “I been watchin’ for ye ta come in here, but I didn’t knows ye’d be o’ a mind ta bring yer son in with ye. A right handsome li’l boy he is, too.” She considered the child thoughtfully for a moment before concluding, “ ‘Tain’t hard ta see ye done yer manly duty by his ma. He’s the spittin’ image o’ ye, al’right.”
“Did you want something?” Gage asked impatiently, hardly in the mood to tolerate her mischief.
“Nothin’ what could be called real important, gov’na.” She shrugged, managing to lower her neckline over her bosom. “Just thought I’d invite ye ta come back an’ stay a spell when ye ain’t got yer kid or Sh’maine hangin’ onta yer shirttails. If’n ye be o’ a mind, I can service yer manly needs right good-like. I knows more’n Sh’maine ’bout what kind o’ things can pleasure a bloke like yerself. I might could even teach ye a thing or two, if’n ye’d let me.”
Shemaine’s face flamed scarlet at Morrisa’s bold solicitation. Quickly directing her attention to Andrew, whose nose barely reached the edge of the table now that he was sitting down, Shemaine jumped to her feet again and made use of a small nearby cask, which she turned on end and, as his father lifted up the boy, placed in the chair beneath Andrew.
After Andrew was resettled on the keg, Gage faced the harlot again and grew rather annoyed that she hadn’t decided to leave of her own accord. He sighed in exasperation. “All I really want right now, Morrisa, is to be left alone with my son and Shemaine. I sincerely hope that’s not too much to ask of you or anyone else here.”
His reply drew an angry sneer from Morrisa. “Ye ain’t a very friendly bloke, are ye?”
“No, I’m not,” Gage admitted. “It seems everywhere I’ve gone today I’ve met someone from the London Pride, and the encounters have always ended in some kind of fray, so I beg you leave us in peace before I really lose my temper.”
“Suit yerself, gov’na!” Morrisa snapped in a huff. “I was only tryin’ ta offer me services . . . seein’s as how ye’ve got a li’l know-nothin’ under yer roof.” Morrisa started to turn away, but paused as she glanced at Shemaine. Gratification had turned rapidly to frustration when the colonial had snatched the Irish twit from Potts’s grasp. She yearned to deliver a death blow to her adversary even now, but while there were witnesses to mark her actions, she had to limit her efforts to a more acceptable form of torture. “I hears Annie’s papers got bought up by that squeaky li’l mouse what came aboard the Pride yesterday ta look us over, Sh’maine. Him bein’ single an’ all, I ‘spect Annie won’t be havin’ any babies ta look after. But as I figgers it, she’ll be needin’ shelter from that sour ol’ carp afore too long. A li’l mouse like Samuel Myers can be meaner’n a big rat when ye gets right down ta the truth o’ the matter.”
“Are you finished?” Gage asked curtly, seeing through the harlot’s vicious schemes. The distressed frown that Shemaine now wore was a fair indication of her deep concern for her friend.
“That’s all, gov’na! Sees ye ’round sometime . . . maybe after ye gets tired o’ M’liedy Prig here.” With that, Morrisa tossed her dark mane over her s
houlder and pranced off, exaggerating the sway of her hips as she went.
Shemaine leaned forward to claim her master’s attention. “Mr. Thornton, do you really think Annie is in danger of being abused by the man who bought her? That Mr. Myers?”
Gage met his bondslave’s troubled gaze. “I don’t know, Shemaine, but if you’d like, I can make inquiries about the nature of the man from some of the townspeople who know him better.”
“I’d be grateful, Mr. Thornton. Annie has been hurt in so many ways. I’d like to see her able to enjoy her work and be content with her life.”
“I’ll see what I can find out.”
A serving wench came to their table and, in a bored tone, announced the fare. “We’ve got Burgoo and biscuits. Take ’em or leave ’em.”
“We’ll take ’em,” Gage informed her, and then gestured toward Andrew. “Not so much for the boy.”
“Burgoo and biscuits?” Shemaine repeated in confusion after the woman had left. She had chewed on a few hard biscuits in the dank hole of the London Pride, but the word burgoo meant nothing to her.
Gage responded with a casual shrug. “Burgoo is a stew made with different meats and vegetables. Biscuits are a type of bread we eat here . . . definitely much better than the sea biscuits you might have tolerated on the voyage.”
In a few short moments, separate dishes of the stew and a large platter of biscuits were placed before them. Shemaine copied Gage’s lead as he buttered Andrew’s bread, and then, at his urging, she sampled a bite. Much to her amazement, she found them delicious.
Gage smiled, noticing how brightly her eyes glowed when she was elated, and watched in anticipation as she carefully tasted the stew. “Good?”
Shemaine nodded eagerly. “Oh, yes!”
“Good, Daddee,” Andrew agreed with a toothy grin.
Gage peered at the girl questioningly, managing a crooked grin. “Then you’ll forgive me for bringing you in here?”
Petals on the River Page 19