“She’s the same. She mutters but it’s nothing important that she speaks. Ride safely, good friend, and take care!” Marcus turned and spurred the beast he rode.
Again Josh touched the girl. She appeared to be worse. If possible, her cheeks were more flushed. There was nothing else to do but wait.
All through the day Josh sat at her side and swabbed her head and arms. From time to time Tori opened her feverish eyes and saw a gigantic man with a golden beard watching her. She mumbled occasionally in her delirium. He tried in vain to catch the snatches of words but they made no sense to him. She spoke of “darling Granger, dear Granger”! Josh shook his large head like an angry bear and patted the girl’s hand. “Sleep now,” he said softly.
Josh kept up with the herb-soaked cloths, and several hours later, when he checked her again, she appeared to be awake and talking coherently.
“How sick am I?” she questioned hoarsely.
“Well, lass, a few hours ago I wouldn’t have given a ha’pence for your chances, your fever was that high. But now,” he smiled, “I think it has broken and that you will be well in a few days’ time. How do you feel?” he asked.
“Weak,” Tori whispered. “My bones ache and my head throbs like a drum. Where am I?”
“With Scarblade and his men, lass. I am Josh. Surely you remember me?”
Tori looked puzzled; then memory returned in snatches. She nodded weakly. She must not give herself away.
“Tell me, Dolly. How is it you are in this position, sick and such?”
“I had not the money for the rent. The old hag threw me out and Scarblade helped me,” Tori whispered, her strength almost gone. Her eyes closed and she slept. But this time it was a healthy sleep. Gone was the flush from her face, and her brow was cool to the touch.
Josh dragged his weary bones to the fire and helped himself to some rabbit stew. He washed it down with ale and immediately had an attack of coughing. The blood was coming up in greater quantities these days. He had hoped to hide it from Marcus but the younger man had seen it this morning. He would have to make sure that nothing happened to himself till after the tax robbery. Marcus needed him, as did the colonists in that far-off place, North Carolina. God would give him the strength. He laughed at the irony of the situation, praying to God to let him live so he could help rob the King. “But to feed starving people,” he defended himself. If there was a God, He would see to it that the task was carried out.
For hours Josh sat by the fire, feeding it from time to time so that the flames crackled and danced. He spread a mound of blankets near the fire and lay down. He dozed and woke as the embers sputtered and sizzled. It was but an hour to dawn when the sound of hoofbeats could be heard coming across the clearing. Josh stirred himself and placed the tall coffeepot on the flame.
There was much laughing and joking as the men tied their horses and came near the fire. Josh poured the steaming brew and watched silently as the men drank. Marcus was the last to arrive. His eyes questioned Josh but he spoke not a word.
“The fever is down and the lass will be as right as rain in a few days’ time. How did the night go?”
“Almost a king’s ransom,” Charles laughed loudly. “We made a pretty penny this night. All the fine ladies had their best jewels with them.”
Josh watched silently as the men dumped their booty on the dirty rag in front of the fire.
“At least two hundred sovereigns,” John laughed. “Right, Scarblade?”
Marcus let his eyes rake the pile of gleaming jewels. Tomorrow they would have to be redeemed for sovereigns. After dividing with the men he would have about one hundred sovereigns to give to Captain Elias to add to the cask he held for him. He sighed. It still wasn’t enough. But there was no question of withholding the men’s shares. He must be fair to them.
“Listen to me, men. I have warned you before many times. Don’t spend any of the guineas or the sovereigns as yet. Bide your time and wait.”
There followed a chorus of grumbling, but it was good-natured for the most part. They knew Marcus was right. All but Charles.
“Ah, Scarblade,” he sneered. “Wha’s th’ good o’ ’avin’ th’ money if we can’ use it? Oi, messel’, wan’ ta do a bit o’ wenchin’ an’ Oi need money an’ this is as good a toime as any ta say tha’ John an’ me ain’t satisfied wi’ th’ way th’ division on th’ spoils go. Oi wants more! Oi takes as many risks as ye an’ th’ others. Ye get ’alf a share an’ th’ other ’alf is ta share among th’ four o’ us. ’Tiz ’ardly fair, Scarblade. Own up ta th’ fact!”
Marcus had never liked the looks of Charles Smythe, and he liked his brother John even less. Were it not for the fact that they came highly recommended, he never would have engaged these two unlikely fellows.
Charles and John, of a like height, six feet tall at least, were both slim and light-haired. While John was the less attractive of the pair, being dirtier and more malicious-looking, both shared the same quickness and furtiveness of eye. Marcus, when he looked at them, was reminded of two half-starved, mangy dogs, scurrying to a far corner with a much-prized bone, all the while casting nervous, watchful glances to see no one came near to deprive them of their booty.
Now Marcus was incensed because of their ever-encroaching greed. Ned and Richard, on the other hand, had endeared themselves to Marcus. Poor, beggarly street urchins, who in manhood had become petty thieves and pickpockets, they now rode with Marcus for the promise of a better life in Chancelor’s Valley. Still, Marcus was leary of Charles’s and John’s influence upon them. They were not far removed from the street urchins they once were.
Marcus’s anger toward Charles burst forth. “You agreed when we set out on the venture. I warned you then that I was not in this to make money for myself. It is for the colonists in America. Your share is your own. To a man you agreed. I also offered you land and a home in America for those of you who want to return with me. Ned and Richard are wise enough to accept my offer for a better life. You would be wise to consider it also. What more can I offer you?” Marcus said coldly, his raven-black eyes narrowed.
“An even split,” Charles barked, his mouth slanted in a sneer.
“There’s no way that the money will be split evenly. If you don’t like it you’re free to ride out of here. No one will be the wiser,” Marcus growled threateningly.
“Ride out, izzit?” sneered Charles, “wi’ th’ biggest robbery yet ta take place? If we left ye’d ’ave all th’ tax money fer those people o’ yers. No, Scarblade, we’ll stick ta ye loike a mustard plaster till after th’ tax robbery. Then we’ll decide.”
“Then it’ll be too late,” Marcus said through clenched teeth. “For I sail the day after. Or were you thinking of turning me in, Charles, and collecting the reward and the rest of my share? Speak up, man, or I’ll tie you to the nearest tree.”
“No, ’Blade, Oi wuz jus’ ’avin’ a bit o’ fun wi’ ye. Ye be righ’, tiz a fair arraingemen’. Oi gave me word an’ it’s good. Oi speak fer me brother John as well.” Marcus didn’t believe a word of the man’s talk. He knew him too well. He shot a knowing look at Josh, who didn’t believe him either.
* * *
Tori fingered the rough material of the breeches she wore. At last her fondest dream had come true: to wear breeches. Yet, now that she had her way she suddenly longed for her own beautiful gowns. She didn’t fancy looking like a boy after all!
Tori watched Scarblade mount his steed with great ease; she longed to do the same. She would miss the men when she left. While they hadn’t been exactly welcoming, they had treated her kindly. But now it was time to leave. She was feeling better after her bout of illness. If Scarblade would let her have a horse, she could be on her way by first light of day. If not, then she would have to walk. Where would she go? She’d have to try to find Granger. Having made her decision, Tori approached Scarblade hesitantly. Almost shyly, she raised her eyes, for the man inspired fear within her still, and flashes of that night in Dolly’s room flooded and ebbed
within her. The man’s powers had thrilled her and yet filled her with dread. That he was a man to be reckoned with Tori was convinced; she had only to see the effect his commands had upon his men to know this. She had witnessed his anger. Feet planted firmly apart, S-shaped scar blazing on his handsome face, black eyes scornful in his ominous rebuke of the unfortunate object of his wrath. Now Tori herself risked being the recipient of Scarblade’s anger and she trembled slightly with dread.
“Scarblade, it’s toime Oi left,” she said softly as he swung around at her slight movement.
“Leave? Where will you go?” he asked, his eyes cold, his mouth tight.
Tori shrugged. “Oi’ll find a place fer mesel’. l can’ stay longer wi’ ye. Oi truly appreciate yer kindness while Oi wuz sick. Propriety makes it necessary tha’ Oi leave.”
Scarblade smiled wickedly. “Propriety, is it?”
Disconcerted, Tori realized her mistake. Dolly wouldn’t care about propriety, let alone know the word. “’Tiz a word Oi ’eard from a friend o’ moine. Don’ it sound nice when it rolls off yer tongue?”
“I’m afraid your wishes count for naught, my lady,” Scarblade said coldly as he dismounted from his steed.
“Wha’ d’ye mean?” Tori asked fearfully.
“Just what I said, dear lady,” Scarblade said, his face all cold indifference.
Alarm caused Tori’s eyes to grow wide. Panic settled over her like a pall. “Wha’ kind o’ man are ye, anyway?” she demanded. “If Oi choose ta put off yer advances, why don’ ye take it loike a man instead o’ some churlish lout? Ta keep me ’ere till Oi weaken will never ’appen, so let me leave an’ Oi’ll no’ bother ye again.”
“Dolly, my love,” Scarblade chuckled, “it is Dolly, is it not?”
So that’s it, Tori thought. Her mind raced. “Wha’s in a name?” she inquired softly, her heart pumping madly.
“In your case, quite a lot, dear lady,” Scarblade mocked. “For example, if you were really Dolly, the men would respect you for the life you lead, which is hard-working and fair. A day’s work for a day’s wages. A little frolic on the side and everyone is happy. Now for the other example, let us say that you were a lady of quality, and a spy for the Crown. That,” he said coldly, “makes a new story. Why, the men would be most upset! I would find it hard to interfere if they decided to have their way with you. They would rape you, to a man. They could use a garrote on you, they could shoot you down like the spy you are. I see by the tears that are welling up in your eyes that you are about to deny the truth.”
Tori fought them back. “So my name is not Dolly. That does not make me a spy for the Crown. For personal reasons I took Dolly’s name, but I assure you that I am no spy. And if you think to frighten me with the tales you have just spun for my benefit, think again. I can ride as well as any man here. I can also outthink any one of you. To die is not so terrible, if what one believes in is worth dying for, is that not so, Scarblade?”
He measured the girl before him. Why did she make him feel like a schoolboy? He felt like hunching over and scuffing his feet in unison.
“I want to warn you, my lady. I have no control over the men. You will stay. There is to be no mention of your leaving, now or later. When it is time for you to make your departure I will give you notice, not a second before. Is that understood? For your sake I will try and keep the men in line and away from you.”
“So you can have me to yourself?” Tori demanded. “The spoils to the victor?” Tori was instantly contrite for her unfair words. If anything, Scarblade had drawn a wide berth around her.
As she faced the truth behind her anger her face flushed a deep crimson and she knew her ire stemmed from Scarblade’s obvious indifference. Almost insulting, when one considered the wild moment they had shared in Dolly’s room.
Marcus narrowed his eyes and brought his face within inches of Tori’s. “I shall be the victor, make no mistake. As to the spoils, I think not. You are too skinny for my taste. I prefer more flesh on my women. And I prefer to have them come to me. They appreciate me more.” Marcus laughed mockingly as he reached out a long muscular arm to jostle her shoulder.
“You, you insufferable . . . lout,” Tori spat. “Don’t touch me unless I give you permission!” she shouted angrily. “I am not some piece of merchandise to be pawed and passed from hand to hand! And furthermore, I will not give you my word that I’ll not try to leave here. I will leave! You cannot keep me a prisoner here for your own nefarious pleasures. I won’t have it! Do you hear?” Tori shouted as she stamped her foot in the dust. “I’ll kill the first man who comes near me!” she said as she pummeled his chest with her small fists, eyes glittering angrily.
Marcus looked down at the shining, golden head as she pounded his chest. Suddenly he smiled as he grasped her arms; she was a handful, there was no doubt about that. He marveled at the soft feel of her through the thin material of the shirt she wore. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes sparkled. Marcus looked into the angry eyes and felt a sharp longing come to the surface. Slowly he brought his face closer. Tori, reading the intent in his eyes, struggled to escape the strong hand which held her. She was unable to move; his lips touched hers and she continued to struggle, aware of her resolve slipping away. Tori felt warm all over, her blood coursed, she felt dizzy and light-headed. Unexpectedly, she found herself on her knees, her arms upstretched, reaching. Tori looked up into his somber, licorice eyes. What she saw there made her silent.
Awareness dawned on her of the picture she made there, kneeling in subjugation before this dark-haired, sun-bronzed giant with her arms supplicating his favors.
Tori hated him with every fiber of her being. What kind of devil was this who could rankle her to an hysterical fit of scratching one moment and then dissolve her sensibilities to those of a wanton.
And he, with booted feet spread firmly apart, the cut of his trousers clinging to the tense, steely muscles of his thighs. The wind-tousled dark head was cocked majestically, his expression uncaring and aloof. Only his hands, which were clenching and unclenching on his hips, revealed something of his embroiled emotions.
Suddenly he lifted his piercing gaze from her, his attention caught by something in front of him. Turning slowly, Tori came face to face with the sneering men who now stood in a semicircle behind her.
Lust distorted their faces. She looked to Josh for assistance. There was only kindness and pity in his eyes. Tori blinked as he bent to help her to her feet.
“Back to your tent, lass, before there’s trouble,” he cautioned. Tori stumbled and hastened to obey. The laughter that followed her undignified retreat stung her to the quick.
Chapter Fifteen
Curling herself into a tight ball in the corner of the tent, Tori pulled her legs up to her chin and closed her eyes, hiding her shame. Where was Granger? What had happened to him? Why hadn’t he come to Dolly’s room? What was to become of her if she stayed here? She had to find some way to leave! With Scarblade and Josh she felt reasonably safe, but she didn’t trust the men. Ned and Richard were all right, she supposed, they seemed engrossed in the job they had set out to do, and seemed to respect her rights as an individual. But Charles and John made her very uncomfortable with their leers and blatant remarks about her morals. It was no secret that they thought they were entitled to her favors for a price.
Tori decided she would wait till Josh had the night watch. Several times she had lain awake and seen that when it was his turn he would doze and drop his guard. Tori knew he was ill, very ill, and she wished there were something she could do for him. Josh had tended her so gently when she had the fever, and she knew him to be kind, a gentle man in spite of the fact that he was in complete sympathy with Scarblade.
Someone approached, then stopped outside her tent. Tori listened as the men spoke together. “It’s too risky to let Josh go with us tonight, Scarblade,” Richard said quietly. Marcus respected Richard’s and his friend Ned’s opinions. They were tough and serious boys in their early
twenties. Marcus felt he could rely on them because both wanted to better themselves. Whenever Marcus sat about the campfire talking of North Carolina, a wistful look would shine in their eyes.
“If he has a fit of coughing it would be our undoing.” Richard continued speaking of Josh. “It’s best that he stays and guards the girl and sees to the camp.”
Marcus grumbled his agreement. Richard asked, “Have you given any thought to finding out who the lass is, Scarblade? We know to a man that she isn’t Dolly. So who is she and why is she here? Are you holding her for a ransom? A little money in our pockets isn’t hard to take. And she doesn’t belong here, ’Blade. She’s too soft for this kind of life; there’s something about her, as though she’s a real lady. But she’s got a lot of spunk, I’ll give her that.”
“I’ll decide what to do with her later,” Marcus said loudly; “right now there’s business to be decided.”
“Ha!” jeered Charles, who had approached Scarblade and Richard and had heard the tail end of their conversation. “Now’s th’ toime th’ decision’s ta be made! If ye don’ wan’ ta ’old ’er fer ransom then let’s ’ave a bit o’ wenchin’. ’Tiz always yer decision, Scarblade. There wuz nothin’ said in th’ beginnin’ abou’ any wenches joinin’ us. Ye made th’ rules an’ we all followed ’em. Th’ wench is somethin’ else. Ye denied me an even split so Oi’d ’ave some money in me pocket fer a bit o’ wenchin’ on th’ town an’ now ye mean ta deprive me an’ th’ men o’ this ’eaven-sen’ opportunity!”
There were loud mutterings from the rest of the men; they sounded to be in accord with Charles. Marcus cast an ominous glance in Josh’s direction. The big man had his hand on the pistol which rested at his hip. From the look of things it would be two against the group.
“I said I’d decide later; there’s business to be settled now,” Marcus shouted angrily.
“Th’ business can wait! Th’ wench is ta be decided now!” Charles sneered ominously. The men behind him muttered their agreement.
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