by Cory Barclay
Without making eye contact, Dolly hesitated, then shook her head, wobbling her fat chins. “Not since last night, my dear.”
Rowaine scowled. She was good at reading people. The way Dolly spoke, taking too long with her words, speaking in a high voice . . .
But Dolly would only lie to Rowaine for a good reason. “Doll . . .” she said slowly.
The big woman twirled around and sashayed back to her bar. “I guess you’ll have to come back another time, lass. I don’t know what to tell you. I just don’t know.”
Rowaine’s blood began to boil. She understood. Her mind started racing. Too many things were happening too fast. Dominic’s death, the discovery of Sybil and Heinrich, her arrival back in Amsterdam, the information about her mother’s killer. Suddenly she lunged toward the stairs, racing around the tables through clouds of tobacco smoke.
When Daxton tried to follow, she held up her hand. He stopped in his tracks. His captain had spoken.
She continued climbing the stairs alone, her boots stomping louder with each step. At the top, she waited for a moment, listening.
At first she didn’t hear anything.
But then . . . she did.
A whimper.
Rowaine sped toward the nearest door—not running, but not walking. She put her ear to it and heard the whimper again, this time louder. Then a moan.
She tried the door but it was locked.
She stepped back, braced herself, then kicked it with a violent grunt. The lock disintegrated and wood splinters exploded across the room, freezing in place the two bodies in bed.
Don’t let it be . . .
But it was. Mia’s shocked head popped up from beneath the sheets, her eyes wide with panic.
Rowaine didn’t even notice the other person. She didn’t care. Her eyes focused only on Mia’s amber, terrified face.
“Row!” Mia gasped, holding the sheets high to her neck. “What in God’s good graces are you doing here?”
The man lying next to her smirked, eyeing Rowaine, then Mia. “The two of you?” he said.
Rowaine pulled her pistol from the back of her trousers and aimed it squarely at the tented sheet above the man’s crotch.
The man screeched and rolled to his side. As if that would do any good. Then he jumped from the bed and ran like a rabbit for the door, his socks the only thing clothing his flabby white body.
“Goddammit,” Rowaine said under her breath, still holding the gun.
Mia’s eyes remained fixed on the gun, until Rowaine realized she was still pointing it at her and returned it to her holster.
After a moment, Mia said, “What do you mean, ‘Goddammit’? You haven’t answered me. What the hell are you doing back so soon?”
“Something’s come up,” Rowaine muttered, eyes sinking to the ground.
Mia jumped from the bed and put her hands on her naked hips. “Well, you can’t be angry with me. You can’t do that.”
“I can’t?”
“You know what I do, Row!”
At that moment, Daxton burst into the room. He eyed the splintered door, then glanced quickly at Mia’s body. His cheeks flushed, his mouth gaped, and he quickly lowered his stare to the floor. “J-just wanted to make sure everything was all right. I heard a loud . . . bang.” His stare remained fixed to a spot in front of his feet as he spoke.
“Get out!” Rowaine shouted.
The red-faced carpenter stammered and took another quick glimpse at Mia’s gorgeous, naked body before exiting the room without another word.
When Rowaine turned back to Mia, she was putting on her tunic. Rowaine’s eyes couldn’t help taking in her sheer beauty, her bare, dark legs, from foot to hip, smooth as a well-oiled wheel. She stuttered. “I-I found someone who recognized the face in my picture.”
Mia’s mouth fell open. “You did? That’s great news! Isn’t it?”
“That’s why I’m back.”
Mia stepped toward Rowaine and reached out. “Come now, Row, let’s celebrate. You know I cared nothing for that man . . .”
Rowaine stepped back. Her heart sank as she gazed into Mia’s pouting eyes. “I can’t,” she said, unconvincingly. “I have things to take care of.”
Mia scowled. “Rubbish, Row. If you didn’t want to see me, why’d you walk up those steps?”
“I’m . . . not sure.” Rowaine suddenly felt dizzy. Her adrenaline was wearing off, replaced by that lethargic aftershock that often came after raiding a ship.
She looked into Mia’s eyes. “Come with me this time,” she said abruptly, her eyes pleading.
But Mia wasn’t ready. “Dammit, Row. Nothing has changed with you. I can’t. Papa still isn’t dead! You’ve only been gone a week!”
Rowaine clenched and unclenched her fists. She ground her teeth until her jaw hurt.
This will never work. She can never love me the way I love her.
“What’s that look in your eye, Row? I know that look.” Mia pressed forward another step.
Again, Rowaine retreated. “I’ve . . . I’ve got to go,” she said. And with that, she rushed from the room, her steps echoing down the stairs.
She couldn’t stay in Dolly’s tavern for another moment. She walked outside and gazed up at the sky, thinking of the past few days. Of Dominic, which brought tears to her eyes. And Mia, which brought a different kind of sorrow.
Perhaps I should have given Dominic a chance. Maybe that could have saved him? Maybe it was my fault.
She didn’t normally think that way—people’s lives were their own, to do with as they saw fit.
But I know he loved me. I saw it in his eyes.
Someone cleared a throat behind her. She spun around. Dieter and Sybil stood there, waiting patiently.
“Why are you two following me?”
“I’m sorry about your . . . friend, Captain Donnelly,” Dieter said.
Rowaine grunted. “I don’t need your pity, priest. Life goes on. Why are you here?”
“We’re waiting to see what you’re going to do with us,” Sybil said.
She certainly speaks more directly than her husband. Maybe she has more gall and strength in those thin bones than I gave her credit for.
“The day is yours, Sybil,” Rowaine said, looking up at the sky again. “Like I said, we leave at twilight. I can’t go back in there, but you can do—”
She looked down to finish her sentence but no one was there. Sybil and Dieter had already scurried back ino the tavern.
She sighed, then directed her attention to the street and businesses around her. At the corner of the tavern building she noticed Martin standing there against the wall, staring back at her. She yelled out to him, “What is it, boy?”
Martin’s face lit up, but he couldn’t seem to speak.
Maybe he’s simple.
She walked toward him. “Well? Say it.”
Martin tried to stand tall, but was still a head shorter than Rowaine. His fingers fiddled and twisted at his stomach.
Rowaine put her hands on her hips.
Martin stuttered, then blurted, “You’re very pretty, like a summer rose! I’m sure you’ll find someone special!”
And with that, the boy fled back into the tavern.
Rowaine smiled to herself and shook her head. Despite her pent up anger, she blushed.
Two hours later, Daxton met Rowaine at another tavern not far from Dolly’s. Unfortunately, Dolly had noticed Rowaine slip into the competitor’s business and had scowled at her, slapping a towel in her hands and cracking it like a whip, before waddling back into her place.
Rowaine knew she’d have to explain her behavior to Dolly, but another time.
“If this is about earlier, Row,” Daxton began, “I-I’m sorry—I saw nothing. I just wanted to make sure you were safe—”
Rowaine held out her hand, stopping his apology. She closed her eyes. “This isn’t about that. I forgive you.”
An awkward silence followed, until a waitress came to their table. “Would
you like some food in ya?” she asked, but Rowaine promptly waved her off.
Rowaine reached into her pocket and fingered a small brass pin. She pulled it out, but kept it hidden. “I’m going on my own journey, Daxton. I’m sure you noticed. I’m sorry for being so flustered. That wasn’t very . . . good of your captain.”
Daxton massaged his temples. “Well, I’m not sure I can get everyone to come along, but I’ll round up some of the boys. The loyal ones—they’ll come with us.”
Rowaine shook her head. “I presumed you might say something like that, and that’s why I know my decision is right. That isn’t what I want from you, Dax.”
Daxton arched his eyebrows.
Propping her elbow on the table, Rowaine revealed the pin to Daxton. It was a roaring lion’s head.
Daxton stared at it like a hungry boy seeing his first meal in days.
Before Daxton could say anything, Rowaine leaned in, grabbed his grimy shirt, and stuck the pin through. She grazed skin while trying to close it, causing Daxton to wince, but he made no complaint.
Once in place, she smiled at him. “I told you I’d make it up to you, Dax. Now I have.”
“What are you on about, Row?”
She chuckled. “Take good care of the Pride and the boys, my daft friend. Their future is in your hands, Captain Wallace.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
SYBIL
Sybil sat on an uneven bench in Dolly’s, kicking her legs out, watching Little Sieghart run around. Every time the lopsided leg of the bench knocked onto the stone floor, Peter’s eyes would shoot over, big and wide, and his dimples would show on his confused face.
Sybil looked across the room where Dieter sat talking to Dolly behind the bar. Sybil assumed the subject was likely religious, judging from the serious expressions on both their faces.
Even when he isn’t practicing his faith, God is beside him.
It seemed Dieter was becoming more outspoken about his faith the closer they got to Bedburg, as if the town were a religious beacon beckoning him.
Shouting from the back of the tavern drew Sybil’s attention. Rowaine and her lady friend stood at the front of the stairs in the midst of a heated argument.
This is the company I keep . . . an easily amused toddler, a religious zealot of a husband, and a vengeful woman angrier than the stormy sea.
Her eyes moved to the door, where Martin sat next to the crackling fire, entranced with the argument Rowaine and her woman were having.
And an adolescent boy allured by the vengeful woman . . .
Sybil stood from the bench, the wooden leg knocking on the stone, causing Peter to turn once again. She tousled his hair, then walked over to Martin. “Will you watch Peter for me, Martin?”
Martin’s eyes never left the scene developing between Rowaine and Mia. Sybil glanced over just as the two women apparently decided to make up with a huge hug. She turned back to Martin and waved her hand up and down in front of his preoccupied face. “Hello there?”
Martin blinked. “I’m sorry Beele, I was . . . distracted.”
“Is that right?” she said with a smirk.
“What did you want?”
“Make sure Peter stays safe, will you?” She glanced toward Dieter at the bar. “I’ve got something I need to do.”
“Always,” Martin said, focusing again on Rowaine and Mia. Their passionate embrace had evolved into an even more passionate kiss. Martin’s eyes bulged wide.
Sybil sighed. “You like that woman, eh?” she asked. “You can’t seem to take your eyes off her.”
Martin finally looked at Sybil. “I think I’m going to be alone forever.”
Taken aback, Sybil kneeled next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “Why would you say that?”
“That woman’s so pretty, but she doesn’t even notice me.”
“It’s not that she doesn’t notice you, Martin, it’s that she has certain . . . other interests.”
“Is it because I’m too young?”
“No,” Sybil scoffed, watching Mia grab Rowaine by the arm and yank her up the stairs like a ragdoll. “You could be the most handsome man in Amsterdam and, sadly, she wouldn’t notice you. At least not the way you’d want. But don’t sulk. We’ll find you someone. I prom—”
Sybil cut herself off. No promises.
She squeezed Martin’s arm, then stood up.
She pressed her wrinkled dress and walked to the bar. Standing behind Dieter, she waited a moment for him to notice her, but he kept preaching to Dolly. She cleared her throat.
And got the desired result.
Dieter turned around, eyebrows raised. “Oh, Beele, we were just talking about you. I was mentioning how—”
“May I see you for a moment, my love? Privately?”
“O-of course. Is something wrong?”
She grabbed his arm and pulled him from his stool, across the room, to the stairs. Then, as Mia had done with Rowaine, forced him to follow her up.
“What’s the matter?” Dieter asked, stumbling to keep pace.
Sybil leaned down toward his ear. “We haven’t had any time alone since we left England, Dieter,” she whispered. “And we probably won’t for quite some time once we get on the road.”
Suddenly Dieter stopped stumbling. With a big smile on his face, he marched the rest of the way up, arm-in-arm with his sweetheart.
Once they were alone in one of Dolly’s small rooms, Dieter closed the door and turned. Sybil stood facing him, already snapping the dress-straps from her shoulders. She let her dress fall, her smile broadening, her eyes piercing his soul.
When Dieter realized he’d been holding his breath, he quietly exhaled, her exquisite nakedness too much to bear.
Sybil held her arms out, guiding him to the bed. Sitting on the edge, she tenderly removed his clothes, then took his hands, laid back across the sheets, and gently pulled him on top of her.
After that, everything dissolved into a blur of passion, fury, and ecstasy. Their breathing grew rapid together, as did their beating hearts. Caught in each other’s gaze, they could have been together for minutes, or days. All sense of time evaporated as the two lovers melted into blissful unity.
When it was over, there was a long silence as they lay next to each other. Sybil ran a single finger down Dieter’s arm.
When one of them finally spoke, it was Dieter. His comment took Sybil by surprise. “I was thinking we might try to run. While we have the chance.”
Sybil’s gliding finger stopped. “Run? From what?”
“From Rowaine, Beele. Don’t you see we’re still prisoners, just with a different captor? She might not be trying to kill us, but she has her own motives. Remember that we’re fugitives in Bedburg. I want to help her, believe me. But it isn’t safe. We have to think of Peter.”
Sybil propped herself on her side, resting her weight on her elbow. “Aren’t you tired of running, Dieter? I am. We’ve been running since we had Peter. Look where it’s gotten us. We’re right where we started—even when we haven’t been running, we’ve been fleeing.”
“You would follow her to Bedburg? Where we might be arrested and tried?”
“That was years ago.” Sybil flopped her head down on the pillow. “Maybe they’ve forgotten about us. Bishop Solomon is no longer there.”
Dieter snorted. “The new bishop is Balthasar Schreib. Those people don’t forget, Beele. Not when you’re the daughter of a supposed killer. If we go, we’re walking right into the den of the beast. It just seems foolish. Especially with all the talk I’ve been hearing of witch-hunts.”
“Then we’ll be fools together. I want to help Rowaine. I want to uncover what’s really going on in Bedburg. I want to clear my father’s name. No one else is going to do it. I mean, Heinrich Franz . . . a killer? We could be investigators ourselves. Doesn’t that excite you—a little bit—hunting the hunter?”
“It sounds exciting for all the wrong reasons, my love. It sounds dangerous.”
“What do you imagine Georg would say to that? Don’t you want to learn what happened to him?”
“You’re starting to sound like Rowaine.” Dieter sighed. He knew he was losing the argument. Still, he had to try. “Georg would tell us to live our lives. He would be the last person to advise us to return to Bedburg.”
Sybil bit her bottom lip. “Well, like I said, I want to help Rowaine. And that’s what I’ll do. I hope you’ll join me.” She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing what his choice would be.
Dieter coughed or chuckled—Sybil wasn’t sure which.
“You know I go where you go, my love,” he answered. “For better or for worse. It’s always been that way, and always will.”
Rowaine embraced Daxton once again. Then she pushed him back and smiled into his eyes. “You’re a much more fitting captain that I would ever be, Dax.” She squeezed his arms.
“I doubt that, Row. I just hope I can get these boys from one end of the sea to the other without sinking the ship. Or starting a mutiny!”
Rowaine playfully shoved him. “I’m sure of it, you big bastard. Now get out there and raise some hell.”
“Now that, my captain, I can do.”
He gave Rowaine a final salute, to which Rowaine responded in kind. Then he stepped onto the wooden docks to begin preparing for departure. They’d likely be in port for another day or two before leaving, since so much needed to be done.
Rowaine watched as the newly-annointed Captain Daxton Wallace directed his crewmen back and forth from the deck to the shore, reloading gear, rigging the sails.
Sybil came up alongside Rowaine. “You really trust that man, don’t you, Row?” Sybil asked, not realizing she’d used her nickname.
“More than any of those other scoundrels,” Rowaine replied. “Even when I doubted his allegiance, he stayed loyal. There’s something to be said about that. As long as he does right by his crew, he’ll be a great captain.”
Sybil watched the sun sink into the western horizon. The water flashed emerald green as the last sliver disappeared beneath the waves. “Is your friend coming with us?” she asked, noticing that Mia wasn’t around.