The Steel Rogue: A Valor of Vinehill Novel

by K. J. Jackson

  As much as she wanted to look forward, her stare stayed stuck on his profile. The night turning to light just beyond him lent an ethereal glow to his head. The blackness above blended into his dark hair, but then grey-blue brightness cut across the edges of his features—along his strong jawline with its scruff of a beard, along the cheeks and mouth she loved to drag her fingertips across, along his eyes. His steel grey eyes that looked almost blue in the light of the dawn. The man was one of the most beautiful creatures ever brought forth on this earth.

  He didn’t flinch under her gaze, though she knew her stare held onto him far too long.

  As hard as it was to drag her look off him, she turned her head and searched the undulating waves before them.

  “Is that…” Her look whipped to Roe. “Land?”

  A smile broke free on his face and he nodded. “Land.”

  She searched the dark outline of far-off land jutting up from the murky depths of the sea. “Why didn’t you tell me it was coming?”

  “One can never guarantee anything on how a ship travels, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up that we would be there soon.”

  Her eyes squinted. “How far away is it?”

  “We should arrive in port tonight before nightfall. We just have to run along the coast to Plymouth Dock, so unless these clear skies turn to storms, I should have you back on solid land within the day.”

  A smile so wide it hurt her cheeks cut across her face. “I can hardly wait. My feet much prefer solid ground under them.”

  He chuckled. “Aye. Mine as well. Solid ground and then home for you.”

  She watched the line of land bob as the ship cut across the waves, the smile slowly fading from her face.

  Home.

  She guessed he meant her London townhouse. Which had never felt like a true home to her. Desolate except for her staff. She hadn’t even realized how truly empty the whole of her life was. Even when she lived at the Apton townhome, she had never felt truly comfortable there, though she at least had her husband for company.

  Vinehill had been her one true home, once full of laughter and love and life. But she’d vowed to never go back there. Never to revisit the monster the pain of the fire had turned her into during that dark time in her life.

  Her head dipped down slightly, her look going to the waters before them. Roe had made no mention of accompanying her. No mention of their lives entwined in any way beyond the moment they stepped off this ship.

  Not that she had expected anything. Not that she could ask him for more. Not that she had thought at all.

  Life beyond this ship had never once entered her mind in the past two weeks.

  Entirely foolish.

  Her mouth tight, she gave a slight nod and stepped away from the railing. “I should get some more sleep if I’m to be traveling later today, please excuse me.”

  Without waiting for a reply, she turned from Roe to disappear into the confines of his cabin.

  ~~~

  “In here.” Roe pushed open the heavy red door, its paint peeling along the outer edges.

  Torrie’s eyebrows lifted. “Here?”

  “Yes. I know it’s not up to your standards, but it has the most edible food in this part of town.” He set his fingers on her lower back, ushering her into the tavern.

  He was starving, so he knew Torrie had to be famished. She’d eaten very little earlier in the day when he’d brought food to his cabin for her.

  It had become the highlight of his days, breaking work late in the morning and stopping by his cabin with pork and biscuits and cheese. He’d sit and eat with Torrie, transfixed at her liveliness. They would trade stories about the scrapes they were in as children—his all through fault of his own, hers all through fault of her cousins. But she’d always been mired in the thick of the trouble. For all she painted herself an innocent party in her cousins’ mischief, she was a more than willing participant.

  But when he’d brought Torrie food just before noon that day, she’d quietly picked at the bread on her plate, not truly eating, her mouth clamped shut and her gaze almost exclusively on the windows in his cabin.

  It had taken longer than he’d hoped to get to Plymouth Dock, and the sun had been dipping below the buildings lining the port as they’d climbed up onto the dock from the longboat they’d taken in from where the Firehawk was moored.

  They’d walked with the rest of the crew along the waterfront, man after man dropping out from the group as the call of whisky or women caught their fancy as they passed the establishments lining the streets. Darkness had settled onto the walkways as they arrived at the red door of the Lion’s Tap.

  With Roe holding the door, Weston and Des followed Torrie into the common room, stepping in front of her to make an impenetrable barrier between her and the many eyes trailing their way.

  It was still early enough that the patrons in the room weren’t too deep in their cups, but Roe wasn’t about to risk the chance that an early drunkard thought it wise to approach Torrie.

  He let the door close behind him as he scanned the men and a few women at the roughhewn tables. Torrie deserved better than this. Better than the stench of sailors and crooked boards beneath their feet. But it was the best he had to offer her at the moment, as they had to eat and he wouldn’t be able to hire a coach until morning.

  Des led the group of them to a table flanked by high-backed benches on the far end of the common room and he ushered Torrie into the inside of the bench, hiding her from sight of most of the patrons. Des sat opposite her, while Roe moved in on the bench alongside her. Weston stepped away from the table, going to the bar that ran along the back length of the wide room.

  Roe shook his head, his look still scanning the men in the common room. Early, but still boisterous in joviality. A ship must have just come in with lucrative cargo. Extra coins meant extra volatility. He looked down at Torrie. “I don’t like this. Your safety is questionable here.”

  “I’ve been to the docks before, Roe.”

  “Yes, and we all know how that turned out last time.”

  She scoffed, looking from him to Des. “You, Des and Weston, and I’m not safe?” Her gaze shifted back to him. “I could be locked in the tower with the crown jewels and not be as safe as I am with the three of you.”

  Des chuckled. “I doubt anyone even saw you in between Weston and me—you’re a wee one, Torrie. Or now that we’re back on solid ground, Lady Apton.”

  Her nose scrunched, mirth on her lips. “I’m still Torrie, Des. Unless you’re going to tell me you’re a lord and I have to start calling you Lord Des or some other such silliness.”

  The smile melted off Des’s face and he gave Torrie a slight nod. “Of course, Torrie. “ He looked to Roe. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll help Weston with the drinks and food.”

  Roe flicked his hand to his friend. Des wanted out of this conversation and Roe had to respect that. Des scooted his way out of the booth and joined Weston at the bar, an easy smile back on his face.

  “My legs don’t feel right.” Torrie leaned forward, her hands running along the tops of her thighs through her skirts.

  Roe looked to her, concern instant on his face. “Your scars?”

  “No…no…” She shook her head. “It’s as though my muscles have turned to jelly—like they don’t want to quite do what I’m telling them to.”

  “You looked like you walked here well enough.”

  “Well, I’m accustomed to forcing my legs into submission.” She gave a weak smile.

  His hand went down, clamping onto the top of her thigh and squeezing it. “It’s your sea legs. You have to get used to the ground not moving beneath your feet.”

  His hand paused in place, the instant heat between his fingers and her thigh turning all his thoughts in one distinct direction—a room above them. The rooms in the Lion’s Tap weren’t much, but they were private and he wouldn’t have the constant threat of one of his crew interrupting them.

  Just another thi
ng that wasn’t good enough for Torrie. But that didn’t quell his cock from springing alive and his mind from figuring out how long they had to stay below with Des and Weston before excusing themselves. Thank the devil he still had to get Torrie safely home to London, so he wouldn’t have to give her leave of him just yet.

  Not today, at least.

  Her green eyes opened wide. “Oh, I…”

  His grip on her thigh tightened. “What is it?”

  She gave a slight shake of her head. “I—I didn’t think that you’d touch me again.”

  It took him a full breath to realize the meaning of her words. “What? Why wouldn’t I—”

  “Cap’n Roe.” The gravelly voice of the owner of the Lion’s Tap came from his right and Roe looked up just as Kilmore sidled up to the table, looked hard at Torrie, then set his gaze on Roe.

  Roe inclined his head to his old friend. He’d known Kilmore since his St. Giles days. “Kilmore, how’s business?”

  Kilmore swished his thick hand in the air between them. “No time for that now, Roe.” He looked to Torrie. “This the girl from the ship?”

  Roe glanced at Torrie and then looked to Kilmore, his head tilting to the side. “We just got in here, Kilmore—you already been talking to Weston?”

  “No, no, mate.” Kilmore flicked his thumb in the air over his shoulder and Roe took the hint.

  He stood, taking several steps away from the booth and Torrie, but staying directly between her and anyone who thought to approach their table.

  Kilmore leaned forward to Roe’s ear, his voice dipping to a whisper. “Bockton’s been through here lookin’ for ye. Two days ago. Lookin’ for ye. Lookin’ for her.” His ruddy pink thumb jabbed toward Torrie.

  Roe cocked his head to the side, forcing a smile onto his lips as he found a barmaid with an overflowing bosom to concentrate nonchalantly on. For anyone observing, he was merely chatting up an old friend. He whispered back, his voice low, “Tell me.”

  Kilmore gave a quick glance around the room. “Ye need to run, Roe. Run. He’s after the girl. Asked about her specifically—she looks just like he described her. Dark hair, face that could sink a thousand ships.”

  Roe stilled, deadly fire festering in his veins, threatening to explode. “He’s after her? What the hell are you talking about, Kilmore?”

  “He thinks ye know where Cap’n Folback hid the box.”

  “The Box of Draupnir?” The words seethed out of Roe’s gritted teeth. “Why in the hell would I know where that blasted thing is?”

  Kilmore shrugged. “Who better to know than you? All I know is that he’s after the girl cause he can’t catch ye.”

  Roe’s fist slammed onto his thigh, words whispering from his tight lips that had lost their faux smile. “Because if he gets her, he gets me—the bloody bastard.”

  “Aye.” Kilmore leaned slightly back, rocking on his heels. “That he is, that one.”

  Roe ran his fingers along the back of his neck. “Did Bockton leave on the Minerva?”

  “Don’t know.” Kilmore shrugged. “The Minerva never came into port, so I don’t know if he was up at smuggler’s point and traveled down, or came ashore from another ship.”

  “Dammit.”

  Kilmore’s voice dropped again and he leaned forward, his hand scuffing along the short red whiskers lining his cheek. “What I do know, is that there are some blokes in here that took special care in watching ye and yer lady friend walk across the room. Too much interest.”

  “They were in here the night Bockton was?”

  “Aye.”

  Roe heaved a sigh, his fist repeatedly clenching and unclenching. “You have a key for me?”

  “As always.”

  Kilmore stood straight, pulling a key from inside his vest and making a show of slapping it into Roe’s hand. A room for upstairs. To anyone watching, Roe and Torrie would be spending the night.

  With an incline of his head, Kilmore patted Roe’s shoulder. “Godspeed, old friend.”

  Roe waved the heavy brass key in the air between them, setting a decidedly lascivious grin on his face. “Thank you, Kilmore.”

  Kilmore walked away toward the bar just as Weston and Des strolled back to the table with a silver tankard in each of their hands.

  Roe sat down next to Torrie as they settled into the other side of the booth.

  Torrie leaned into his upper arm. “Roe, what—”

  Roe shook his head, cutting Torrie’s whispered words as he clamped his fingers hard on her thigh. Warning her like he couldn’t do out loud at the moment. Warning her to be ready. He could hear the worry in her voice, see the worry furrowing her brow out of the corner of his eye. But he couldn’t explain. Not here. Not now.

  Weston pushed one of the tankards in his hands toward Torrie and then leaned back against the high-backed bench.

  Des set his spare tankard in front of Roe and lifted his own tankard to his lips, appearing casual.

  Far too casual.

  It wasn’t in Des’s nature.

  “Did you see them?” His first mate said the words low behind the lip of his drink.

  Of course Des and Weston had already identified the threats in the room.

  There was a reason he kept saving Weston again and again from himself. There was no one he’d rather be in a brawl with than the two men sitting across from him.

  But the woman to his left meant he’d do no brawling, not if he could help it. He’d not let one stray fist come close to Torrie.

  Roe nodded, picking up his own tankard with practiced ease in his movements. Carefree on the outside, coiled on the inside. Mastering the trick had done him well growing up in St. Giles.

  “Kilmore just passed along the information. Bockton is after the Box of Draupnir, and he thinks he has a key to getting it.” Roe took a sip of the ale in his tankard as his eyes shifted pointedly to Torrie at his left. The slightest action he hoped she missed.

  Des inclined his head. Perfectly understood.

  “I don’t have full sightline,” Roe said. “How many here?”

  Weston leaned forward, his left hand lifting to rub his mouth to hide his mutter. “Six, maybe eight.”

  Holding back a wince, Roe nodded, a smile on his face. “Bloody well eight? He must have put a price on it that’s made them rabid.”

  “Aye.” For all the hard features of Weston—his square jaw, the crook in his nose from being broken one too many times, a thick forehead that could crack walnuts—his hazel eyes lit up as he looked at Roe, making him look actually agreeable for a change. “Tell me we get to crack heads.”

  The man did love a good brawl.

  Roe shook his head ever so slightly. “We split. I’ll bring Torrie up to her room.” He flashed the key in the air over the table. “And we rendezvous—you know where. Ten days.”

  A smile and a loud laugh blurted from Des’s mouth and he slapped his hand on the table. “That’s it, Cap, you and the lass have a good night.”

  Roe slid to the end of the table and stood, holding his hand out to Torrie. Her mouth opened, questions on her tongue and Roe had to shake his head at her.

  Her mouth clamped closed and she grabbed his hand, letting him pull her along the bench and to her feet.

  His grip on her hand was tight, too tight, but he couldn’t communicate in any other way the danger they were in. How quickly she could slip from his grasp if there were eight blackguards in there hoping to take them down. Bockton must have put a pretty price on her head.

  He angled Torrie in front of him, blocking her as much as he could from the rest of the room as he steered her toward the stairs by the bar that led up to the sleeping rooms.

  Not a single man made a move as they exited the common room. He expelled a held breath. Now they just had to get up to the next level before the skirmish started behind them. He knew full well Weston and Des were about to move to the bar to block anyone that attempted to follow them up the stairs.

  It didn’t take long. His boots
set foot on the planks of the second level hallway just as a crash of glass echoed up the stairwell. A rain of blasphemies cut up through the floors. Bodies hit walls, shaking the building. A wailing scream.

  Weston and Des were right on time, as usual.

  Roe hurried to the door on his left and sank the key into the keyhole and turned it. He pushed the door open wide. Torrie stepped past the threshold and he grabbed her arm pulling her back out of the room. “No. Not in there.”

  He spun around, going to the wall opposite the door. “We go through here. The door just unlocks this panel.”

  Roe bent down onto his knees and pushed inward on a square section of oak wainscoting that lined the hallway. It flipped to the side, leaving a black hole in its wake. “In you go.”

  Torrie stared at him, her forehead impossibly wrinkled. “Roe, you cannot think—”

  “Do you trust me, Tor?”

  Her mouth ajar, she nodded.

  “Then get in there.”

  With an incredulous glance, she dropped to her knees and crawled through the opening in the wall. Roe jumped back across the hallway, closing the door and sliding the key under the gap at the bottom. A diversion that would buy him at least a few minutes if anyone made it up the stairs and started searching the rooms for them.

  He went to his knees and followed Torrie into the hidden room, kicking the wall panel closed behind him.

  Pinpricks of light through the wall to the hallway, along with a shard of light that cut under the bottom of the false wall panel gave him enough light to see Torrie standing in front of him. Barrels were stacked on either side of them, two, three high in some places.

  “What is this?” Her whispered voice cut through the stale air in the room.

  “Where Kilmore keeps contraband.” Roe grabbed her shoulders and turned her so he could slide past her and get to the window.

  Cracking open the old pane of glass, he popped his head out the window. The ladder attached to the side of the building was still in place and no one was yet in the alley. A sliver of time. “We need to get out of here—now.”

  “Can’t we just hide in here?”