by Grace Walton
Jess raised a quieting finger to her lips. She hadn’t come this far to have the whole thing wrecked by an arrogant aristocrat. And, at the moment, Finn was completely and utterly arrogant. And furious. Jess edged nearer the fuming man.
“I’ve come so you can confess your sin,” she said in a loud, carrying voice.
Other than a few obscene invitations and loud curses, she was completely ignored by the tenants of the gaol. She moved closer still to McLeod. She pulled her hands out of her wide sleeves to show him a large Bible.
“Let us pray,” Jess announced like a village fair barker to all within earshot. “There is much to be gained by prayer and quiet reflection.”
“Sod off, you auld crow,” one rude oaf said as he shoved her into Finn’s arms. “We ain’t got the time for your pouncy bleedin’ prayers.”
McLeod’s arms gathered her closer. “Are you insane?” he growled. “Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you, if they find out who and what you are?”
“Do you have any idea what they’ll do to you and my brothers come the morrow?” she answered pertly. “Look under the Bible,” Jess hissed.
He did as she requested and found himself in possession of both a pistol and a knife. One he tucked carefully into a hidden seam in his boot. The other he hid under his long coat.
“Have you more?” he asked. It appeared he’d come around to her way of thinking.
Jess nodded. “I’ve an arsenal under this habit. Enough to arm you and all my brothers. Where are they?”
“Dylan is inside, locked in a strong room. He was quite persuasive. A few of our gaolers begin to think he may truly be a duke. So he is afforded a better class of accommodation than the rest of us. Connor somehow disappeared as we were being led through the streets. Griffin is chained to the well.” He jerked his head towards a corner of the rough stockade.
Through the smoke of the innumerable small fires, Jess saw a lump on the ground. A thick length of chain bound the mound to one of the well’s supports.
“Why is he chained?” she asked. Her heart sank. They had no way of freeing him from his iron shackles.
“The watch thought him a bit too belligerent,” Finn said. “So they punished him for his bravado.”
“Is he hurt?”
“Not mortally.”
She was amazed at the man’s sangfroid. “How will we get them out of here?”
“We won’t be doing anything. Give me the weapons. I’ll pray with you, to confirm your ruse. Then I want you out of here.”
“But… “
“No buts, Jess.” He bowed his head. “Now pray. And while you’re at it, pass me the weapons.”
“This is not the way I planned it,” she spat out under her breath. “I was going to help you all storm out of here and get to the horses I’ve had sent to the Cotton Exchange.”
“Welcome to cold, hard reality, love. Life is never the way we plan it. I’ll get Dylan and Griffin out of here. And we’ll take full advantage of the mounts. But you will not be any part of storming anything. It’s too dangerous. You will get away from here as far and as fast as you can.”
Jess snorted. “I’m no coward.”
“No, you’re the most courageous, lovely, hard-headed woman I’ve ever known. So I’ll say again, life is never, never the way we desire it to be. Do you honestly think I want to be a cursed circuit rider? In your wildest imaginings, did you ever picture yourself slopping through this particular bloody nightmare?”
“No, of course not. I had my whole life planned out in great and careful detail.”
“If you want to hear God laugh, tell Him your plans.” His sudden glamourous grin stilled the heart thumping in her breast.
“I love you, Finn McLeod,” she said with all the passion and conviction she could summon. “I’ll only ever love you and no other. Get out of this alive.”
His eyes became somber, “I can’t make you any promises, love.”
“Yes, you can. You can make me this one. Get out of this horror alive.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said. Then he bowed his head close to hers. “I love you, Jess.”
“I know,” she answered as a veil of tears crowded her eyes.
“Lord, help us. Save us. Be with us. Make us more like you,” he whispered against the cool smoothness of her cheek.
“Amen and amen,” she finished the prayer.
It only took another moment for Jess to transfer the pistols and knives she had hidden under her nun’s habit. Finn used the gathering darkness to stow them under his own clothing. The last thing she gave him was a tattered scrap of parchment. Once it was slipped under his shirt, he gently shoved her towards the poorly guarded gate.
“Now go, while I still have the will to send you away.” He tenderly set her from him.
“Read my note. I hate this,” she whimpered searching his stoic face for any sign that he might change his mind and let her stay with him.
“So do I,” he said quietly back to her. Then he frightened her by shouting out to the watchman, “Guard! Get this dried-up excuse for a female out of here. She’s prosing on about God and His eternal love. I’ve had enough of her boring drivel.”
His eyes told her of his love. But his face and demeanor were ones of classic boredom and disdain.
“Here now, Sister,” the fat man lumbered over to Jess. He latched himself to her arm and propelled her towards the ramshackle gate. “It’s time you got back to the convent. This here’s no place for a good woman.”
Jess let herself be escorted out to the street. She couldn’t trust her voice. It was sure to break and reveal the terror she felt. So she just bowed to the dirty man. He soon forgot her existence. She heard the first shots of the prisoners’ insurrection as she lifted her muddy skirts and turned into the square. She doffed her habit, stowed it behind a massive water oak, and ran as if her life depended upon it towards the docks.
Her headlong escape was brought up short by Connor’s snagging of her arm. He unceremoniously dragged her behind another huge, Spanish Moss festooned tree.
“What are you doing here?” he asked in that quiet, peculiar lethal way of his.
“There’s no time for explanations,” Jess said. “You need to go back to the gaol and help Finn get our brothers out.”
“No, I need to know why my baby sister is prowling about the streets of Charleston like a cut-purse.”
“There’s no time. Help them get to the Cotton Exchange.” Jess pulled away and darted off.
“The Cotton Exchange?” he called after her. “Why the Cotton Exchange?”
Getting no reply, he strode towards the riot that was the Charleston Gaol. No one guarded the door. Most likely the guards had fled at the first sign of trouble. Connor easily jerked open the iron-work gates. He fought his way through the melee to Finn.
As was always the case, once the issue of the watch was dispensed with, the criminals turned upon each other. McLeod stood over an unconscious Griffin defending him from the mob while Dylan struggled to get his brother free from the chain that bound him.
“Get him loose,” the big blonde man directed as he shoved a burly attacking seaman into the mud.
“Yes, well, we had thought of that,” Dylan answered sourly.
“Shoot the weakest link with your pistol,” Connor ordered.
“Tried that,” grunted Finn as he used his elbow to incapacitate a leering man who’d just moved to kick Griffin. “Didn’t work.”
“How about here?” Connor used his knife to indicate a small, almost jewelry-perfect, link resting in the hollow of his youngest brother’s throat.
“It’s too close to his flesh,” Dylan said.
Connor rolled his eyes. “You’ve both been living like lords too long,” he derided. “Step back. I’ll get it off him.”
Dylan frowned. “No, Connor.”
Finn saw no other way to free the man. So he shrugged and accepted whatever Connor would try.
There was no warning. The
middle St. John brother slipped his sharp knife under the edge of the chain. He jerked the blade as hard as he could along the seam of the smallest link in the chain.
Griffin came to with a start and began fighting. He choked and gagged as the chain tightened around his throat. His face began turning an alarming shade of blue before the stubborn iron gave way under the combined force of Connor’s strength and the razor-edged blade.
Griffin coughed and sputtered. He rubbed a rough hand over the new set of garrote marks encircling his neck. When he finally caught his breath, he muttered a dire warning. “I’m going to kill you.”
“For saving your scrawny hide? If I’d left the task to these two buffoons, we’d all be dead,” Connor said while he wiped the length of his knife blade against the rawhide of his britches.
“You’re all still gonna die,” assured Hellwise Smythe. He stood before them with a cohort of his grimy followers.
“You can leave now, and live,” Finn suggested.
“Or you can stay and be slaughtered,” Connor finished the statement.
“It makes no difference to us,” Dylan shrugged.
“It makes a difference to me,” Griffin argued. “I’d rather they stayed.” He got to his feet and stood with his brothers.
“You think you can take us all?” Smythe mocked.
“Is he jesting?” Connor asked to no one in particular.
“No, I believe he thinks he’s intimidating us,” Finn commented.
“That would be poor judgement on his part.” Dylan grinned.
Griffin took off his thumb ring and cracked his knuckles in anticipation. “Maybe he’s got a death wish.”
As the wall of big warriors stepped closer and closer to Smythe, one by one his followers deserted him. It appeared they, collectively, were much wiser than their erstwhile leader. For he still brayed and postured.
“You can’t hurt me,” he blustered.
“Yes, we can.” Connor’s smile was chilling.
“It won’t do you any good,” Smythe boasted. “Cause I know exactly what’s going to happen.”
“You’re going to die. Slowly and painfully?” opined Griffin.
“You St. Johns always did swagger around like you were better than the rest of us.” Hellwise was beginning to feel the precariousness of his position. But he just didn’t seem to be able to keep his foolish mouth shut.
“They are better than the rest of you.” Finn cocked his head towards the motley group racing away like rats from a sinking ship.
“It don’t make no difference,” Hellwise spat on the already muddy ground. “Your brother, the duke, he’s set it up so you will fall. I was just the warning. Your real reckoning is coming.”
“What is the fool blathering about, McLeod?” the Duke of MacAllister asked.
“Nothing that concerns you,” the pirate captain answered.
“Your brother hates you,” cackled the first mate as he turned tail to run with the rest of the fleeing prisoners. “His revenge is almost upon you. But you won’t see it coming. And the first one to feel its sting will be that little tart you’ve been so intent on claiming.”
The man gulped when he felt the blade at his throat and saw three steady pistols cocked and pointed between his eyes. Every one of Jess St. John’s brothers and her own beloved turned into cold-hearted killing engines at the mention of her name.
Chapter 13
Savannah
Finn stood staring at them all with his hands clenched into fists. It had been a torturous overland ride through the Low Country to get to Savannah. Mosquitoes, snakes, and swamp rats made the journey dangerous and miserable. But now that he was here, the only thing he wanted was to assure himself of Jessamine’s St John’s safety.
A small part of the man understood the tender reunion that was taking place in the tea shop. He didn’t fault the Duke of MacAllister for being glad to be back in the arms of his loving wife. And the woman in question was truly beautiful, if one favored small titian-haired females. His own tastes ran to a different type. And one woman in particular. One with tawny hair and a questionable temperament.
“I hate to break up this tender reunion,” the tall pirate said sarcastically. “But does any one of you know where in Hades Jess could be?”
They all turned to look at him. With a wide variety of differing expressions, they all shook their heads. Finn felt like breaking something. It was bad enough the chit had made off with his ship. Though he supposed he couldn’t fault her for that. He’d suggested she get back to the safety of his vessel. He just hadn’t expected her to sail away with it. McLeod wouldn’t have been so infuriated if he hadn’t been just as equally worried. This was the peak of the hurricane season in the Atlantic. There were no guarantees she’d make it to Savannah, if that’s where she was currently headed.
Tirzah seemed fascinated by the pirate brooding in the middle of her tea room. He was a tall man with long black hair. He stood arrogantly glaring at all of them. He was dressed outlandishly in knee boots, tight breeches, and a loose white shirt. He had a red kerchief tied around his head instead of a proper hat. A small gold hoop dangled from one ear. His hand was clenched on the butt of a curving saber. It hung from a wide loose belt at his hips. But all those paltry details were put in the shade by the sheer masculine appeal of the man.
“You wearing a ear-bob?” the old black woman asked. She didn’t ask about the brightly-colored kerchief. Those were fairly common in the Low Country, especially among the lower classes and the slaves.
Her comment caused more than a few snickers from the other men present. The pirate rolled his eyes. He tried to intimidate her with a cold, long stare. Tirzah was unimpressed.
“Ain’t no call for you to get all high and mighty. It a honest question. I ain’t ever seen no man sportin’ no ear-bob,” she grumped. She leaned over to pick up the porcelain plate with Rory’s uneaten portion of trifle.
“It isn’t a piece of jewelry,” Finn ground out. “It’s a symbol that I’ve sailed around the Horn of Africa.”
“Africa got a horn?” the irrepressible Tirzah wanted to know.
Finn didn’t deign to answer her question He had more important issues to resolve. The main one being, where was Jess? And was she safe? He started to begin interrogating them all when a distinguished looking mulatto man strolled into the tiny shop with a red-haired urchin in tow.
“Papa!” the boy screamed as he fearlessly launched himself into the duke’s waiting arms.
Dylan hoisted the wriggling child up onto his shoulder. “You’re looking fine today, Master Gabriel,” he said.
“You’re back” the lad said by way of conversation.
“I am that.” Dylan grinned.
His active youngest son was proving to be a trial for them all. There was nothing the child would not try. And no mischief he felt constrained to stay out of. Consequently, they all minded the little redheaded terror like a hawk.
“You was gone too long,” the boy said calmly plopping a thumb into his mouth.
“Yes, well... you see… ” his father was cut off by Finn.
“This is all marvelous. I’m very happy you’re in charity with each other. And, of course, there is nothing I’d rather do than take tea with the lot of you… but,” he drawled, again with heavy sarcasm. “Aren’t any of you the least bit concerned about where your cursed sister has got off to?”
The easy familiarity that had previously filled the room was suddenly cloaked in a distinctly Arctic chill. Each of the quick-tempered St. Johns took umbrage at his comment. And they all began to berate him at once.
“I knew we should have left him in Charleston,” Connor complained.
“If you’ll recall, I voted to leave him in the gaol,” Griffin added.
“What are so you so upset about, McLeod? It’s only a ship, and not a very swift one, at that. I will make you a bank draft for the thing,” Dylan egged the longsuffering man.
“You know bloody well, this has not
hing, nothing to do with my ship.” Finn’s shout made the very rafters of the small establishment shake. “I just want to find Jess.”
“If I may be so bold?” the black man interrupted with perfect courtesy.
“Of course, Lysander.” Dylan bowed to his uncle.
“I believe the ship you are all seeking has just docked. That’s why I brought this imp inside,” he said as he smiled towards the boy. “I couldn’t have him trying to ride the rolling barrels that are beeing unloaded.” The black man shuddered thinking what catastrophe would surely ensue, if Gabriel was given free rein among the stevedores.
Finn rushed out the door of the pretty little café. The others soon followed after him. All except Dylan and Rory.
“Why is he so upset with your sister?” the beautiful woman asked her husband.
Instead of answering her, he gathered her into the circle of his arms and ruthlessly kissed the breath right out of her. After a long and leisurely interlude that left them both gasping, he finally spoke.
“He’s not upset with Jess.”
“From the way he’s behaving, one would think he hated her,” Rory said as she readjusted her rumpled clothing.
“No, it’s far worse than that.” Dylan clasped her small hand into his larger one. He led her to the door of the shop.
“He’s a dangerous looking man. What could be worse than having such a ruffian at odds with Jess?”
“He’s not a ruffian. He’s the brother to the Duke of Maitland. But he is dangerous. That’s why I want you and the children to stay away from him, as much as possible.”
“As much as possible? I’d think we’ll hardly see the man,” Rory said.
“You’d think that, wouldn’t you? But God has an ironic sense of humor.”
“Dylan, stop speaking in circles,” she ordered as they both stepped out into the crisp fall sunshine.
Savannah was bustling with every type of enterprise. A black man sold green hats woven from fresh palmetto fronds on the corner. A dray wagon pulled by stocky mules lumbered up the street. It was loaded with trunks and wooden crates. The tinkling of an out-of-tune pianoforte could be faintly heard. The tinny sound came from a nearby tavern. Tirzah’s Tea Room was the former notorious bordello, The Lavendar Rose, so its situation was not the most genteel in the city.