Falcon's Angel

by Judith E. French

  She nodded.

  "We'd flourished after the war, bought more ships than we should have. The shipping business has always been cutthroat, but my father wouldn't compromise. His handshake was as good as any signed contract. Merchants respected him."

  She mixed cornmeal, salt, water, and a little bacon grease, then unpacked a cast-iron, three-legged skillet. When the fire was hot enough, she balanced the spider over the coals, poured in a little of her precious oil, and began to fry the mush.

  "We weren't alone. Three other small companies were forced out of business in the last two years. There's some who believe all our bad luck wasn't accidental. There's a relative of the governor, a man by the name of Edward Mason. He's well connected with the politicians. Mason and my father disagreed on a lot of issues. Anyway, Mason always seems to benefit by the losses of the other shippers. After..." Will's voice grew husky with emotion.

  "After my father's death, I sold off what was left to pay the debts. Mason tried to steal our house at a fraction of its worth at the sheriff's auction, but Lady Graymoor outbid him. She owns it now, and I rent it from her."

  "So, this man you don't trust, this Edward Mason. He took your ships?"

  "No. I sold out to a family friend, Richard Hamilton, Julia's father. He hired me to captain the Katherine."

  "And you claim you lost two ships here, on these islands. When?"

  "A few months before my father took his life."

  "What kind of vessels were they? Carryin' what cargo?"

  He told her, and she thought back to that winter and spring. There had been a schooner that might fit the description of one, but she couldn't be sure. She did remember helping bury several drowned sailors. "There was a storm," she said. "A bad nor'easter. How can you be certain it was us and not the weather took them? Off these islands, there's many a ship gone under and not seen again."

  "Hamilton's lost ships here as well. You'll not make excuses for your Brethren, woman."

  She held her tongue and handed him a plate. She didn't want to argue with Will Falcon tonight. He'd hurt her when he'd made it clear that her kissing hadn't been what he was used to. It wasn't fair. She'd had no practice, and if he had just given her time... been patient... she knew she could learn.

  She needed to think through what had happened between them and what she should do next. And she was chock-full of notions about places he'd been and things he'd seen.

  She'd thought she was hungry until the food was in front of her, but now her appetite faded away. She moistened her lips, trying not to think of how he'd fondled her and how bold she'd been. Obviously, there was more to kissing than she'd even thought possible.

  Things had gone bad for her just when it had seemed she and Will had a chance to be friends. Maybe what folks said was true. Mayhap her pulling Will from the sea had brought on more bad luck than she could deal with.

  She hoped that getting him to talk about his father would make things easier between her and him. But now, he'd turned to accusing her folk of piracy again.

  "Are you tired?" she asked him when he'd finished his supper.

  "Why?"

  She shivered at the thread of steel that rang in his voice. It was too dark to read his eyes, but she could feel his wariness, and she knew she'd have to tread softly to get him around to her way of thinking again. "I've a notion to go back to the beach," she said. "There's a moon tonight, and no better time for fishing."

  "You want me to come with you?"

  "Aye." She drew a ball of fishing line, sinkers, and hooks out of one of her baskets. "No tellin' what we might catch."

  "And what did you intend to use for bait?"

  "Sand fleas."

  "All right," he agreed. "I'll come along on your fishing trip, but what happened earlier... when I... when we—"

  "Kissed?"

  "Yes." He stood up. "It was a mistake, Angel. I apologize. It won't happen again."

  No? She averted her head so that he couldn't see her lips curve into a smile. We'll see how long you can stick to that, my fine gentleman, she thought. We'll just see.

  Chapter 10

  When they reached the beach again, Angel led him to a spot at the base of a sand dune, which looked exactly like every other dune, and pushed aside a tangle of wild grapevine. Dropping to her knees, she began to dig.

  "What are you doing?" he asked. He didn't trust her. Worse, he didn't trust himself.

  Silver moonlight and pearl-gray shadows colored the May night, transforming an ordinary shoreline into a realm of enchantment. Will couldn't remember when he'd ever felt so aware of the slippery feel of dry sand giving way under his feet, or the fecund, almost primeval odors of seaweed, dune grasses, and salt water mingling with the cedar and pine of the encroaching forest.

  "You might be giving me a hand," Angel said. "Instead of standing there with your mouth hanging open."

  But helping meant kneeling beside her, risking an accidental touch. And he had to keep distance between them, because if he didn't, he couldn't be sure that he could resist her charm.

  "You might give me a hand."

  Even when Angel was taunting him, he noticed she was making a genuine attempt to improve her grammar.

  "I can't understand why you're digging in the dunes for bait," he replied. "Sand fleas burrow close to the—"

  "There!" she declared triumphantly. Getting to her feet, she motioned to him. "I found it. Now pry off the lid. Just twist it. And treat it gently, or you'll be cursin' yourself for a hamper-arsed fool."

  Will got down and reached into the hole, feeling what could only be the top of a small wooden cask. "What's in it?" he asked. After the episode with the poison ivy, he wouldn't put it past her to have him stick his hand into a beaver trap.

  "Flint and steel, a knife, some fishing line and hooks, and something you'll like even better."

  "A boat?"

  She laughed. "You won't get shed that notion, will you? I like that about you—that you're stubborn. Shows you're more than a fair-weather man."

  He wrested open the lid, and Angel pulled out an oilcloth wrapping and then a small leather pouch. Lastly, she drew forth a crockery jug plugged with a cork. "The rest you can put back in for a rainy day," she said. "And cover the keg as we found it. We've no need of the contents, and some other poor wight may."

  "As though he'd have any chance of finding it," Will grumbled.

  "It's a Brethren hidey-hole, and we've more on these islands than you'd suppose. There's lots buried here besides Blackbeard's treasure."

  "And you know the location of that as well, I suppose."

  She laughed again. "Wouldn't I love that? Nay, I do not, and neither does Cap'n, although he tells tales of seven chests of Spanish gold. Guarded by the ghosts of a black dog and three faithful crewmen."

  Angel lifted the jug, sipped, then passed the container to him. "Carolina nectar. Made from corn and moonbeams, and clear as well-water."

  The whiskey was smooth, and Will held it in his mouth to savor the taste before he swallowed.

  "Well?" she asked. "Would you be ashamed to serve that to your grand gentleman friends?"

  Will chuckled. "I must admit that I've had far worse on Church Street."

  "And is that in your Charleston?"

  "It is. A street of fine old homes and the best families."

  "Good." She beamed. "I made it."

  "You?"

  "Aye, Will. I've a touch for making spirits. 'Tis another of my talents, of which I have many you've not seen."

  He groaned. "And why do I think I may yet witness these marvels?" And he laughed with her. "I warn you. If your intention is to get me drunk and then have your way with me, there's not enough whiskey."

  "Listen to you. Accusing me of all manner of trickery, when my only thought was to put a smile on your face, Will Falcon."

  For a moment, he could almost forget where he was and enjoy being here with a lovely woman on a white stretch of sand with the dark waves rolling in and stars
blanketing the sky overhead.

  "Come on," she urged. "Now that you've had a nip to keep ye awake and to ease the itch of that poison ivy, I'll teach you how to fish."

  "You teach me?" He made a sound of derision. "Woman, I was catching whales when you were still a babe trailing wet nappies."

  "Bett always says that you can't call a man a fisherman until you've seen the length of his—"

  "To hell with Bett and her common talk," Will said.

  "His cast," she finished. "Did you think I meant something else?"

  "Start digging sand fleas," he said. "We'll see who catches the first fish tonight." He took another drink of the corn liquor and tried not to scratch the spreading rash on his hip.

  * * *

  Three days passed on the island without a repeat of the intimacy he and Angel had shared, three of the longest days and nights of Will's life. He was determined not to fall into her trap, and not to allow her to do something she'd regret once he was gone.

  To his surprise, he found Angel a great companion. As long as he would talk about the ships he'd sailed on, the ports he'd put into, and life on the mainland, she appeared content to listen.

  If only Aaron were here, Will thought. Would his friend believe half of what he told him about Angel or about the Brethren when he was back aboard the Katherine? Somehow, these islands, these people, seemed to be lost in the past, belonging more to Blackbeard's time than to the present. It was hard to keep focused on what needed doing. And it was harder still to look at Angel without thinking of the kisses they'd shared or the way she'd felt in his arms.

  One thing he knew: The sooner he was away from her, the better. She was trouble, and he had enough of that to last him. He needed to put distance between them and forget he'd ever seen her... all of her.

  By day he kept busy. He built a pile of driftwood and dried grass and brush on the beach that he could light as a signal if he sighted a sail. He'd not taken Angel's word that there was no boat. He'd walked the entire perimeter of the island, taking special care to search both sides of the inlet that cut through the north end of Huskanaw. He didn't find what he was looking for, but parts of the isle were so tangled with wild grape and cedar that Angel could have been hiding a fleet of ships.

  This morning, she had gone to a cove on the protected side of the island to dig clams for chowder while he'd continued collecting fuel on the beach for his signal fire. He'd already found two good pieces of driftwood and wanted one more before he turned back. Rounding the point, he stopped short and dropped his armload of wood. Not a hundred yards out, just inside the area where the ocean floor dropped off into deeper water, a sloop lay at anchor. And upside down in the surf, he saw a rowboat. One newcomer was already on the beach, while a second, cursing and leaning on an oar, waded out of the water.

  "Hallo, the beach!" Will shouted. The first man heard him and turned. Will waved. He didn't know if these two were pirates, but he was ready to gamble that they weren't. He waved again and strode toward them. "Good day to you!"

  * * *

  The pair identified themselves as Jarvis and Archie Gunn, brothers from Philadelphia hauling a cargo to Savannah. A third member of the crew, a cousin of theirs named Martin Hiron, was still aboard the sloop.

  Archie claimed salt water had leaked into their barrel of fresh, and they'd come ashore looking to replenish it. From the sly glances the Gunns exchanged, Will was half convinced that they were lying, but he didn't care. He spent the better part of an hour convincing Archie, who seemed to do the thinking for the two, that they'd be well rewarded for transporting him to Charleston. Furthermore, he warned of the danger they were in by sailing so close to islands frequented by the Brethren.

  "Best we get that water and get off this island," Archie said, hitching up his single suspender. "Don't want no truck with pirates." Archie was a gaunt, gap-toothed man with a potbelly, thinning hair, and a bad complexion.

  His younger brother, Jarvis, the man still clutching the oar as though it were his lifeline, was even dirtier, skinnier, and less attractive. Will wouldn't have allowed either man to set foot on the Katherine as passengers or as crew.

  "We got to be paid in hard coin," Archie warned. "Don't want none of your paper money."

  "Yep," Jarvis echoed. "Hard money. And we want it first."

  Will forced a laugh. "I suppose you would. But when I get to Charleston dock, you'll get paid. And not a minute before."

  "How do we know you won't try to cheat us?" Archie asked. "Come aboard, get where ya want to, then leave us high and dry?"

  "Look at it this way," Will said. "I can provide you with fresh water and a jug of good drinking whiskey. That shows my good faith."

  Jarvis tugged at a greasy lock of hair and looked at his companion. "Whadda ya think, Archie? If he don't pay up, we could keep them fancy boots of his'n. They're bound to bring somethin'."

  "Exactly," Will said. "But I've given you my word as a gentleman. You're bound for Savannah. Your course takes you directly past where I want to go. And you can always take my boots if I try to cheat you. What have you got to lose?"

  * * *

  "I could have married a duke's daughter, She would have married me, but I have returned to Edinburgh Town, All for the love of thee..."

  Angel sang softly as she dropped another clam into the bag tied around her waist. Straightening, she hummed the ballad's refrain as she watched an osprey with a large fish drop into its nest at the top of a dead tree.

  She hefted the bag, trying to decide if she had enough. Just one more, she thought. One more, and then I'll head back. It wouldn't do to leave Will on his own too long. No telling what mischief he might get into.

  He'd spent most of the last few days finding driftwood and piling it up so that he could light a signal fire if he saw a sail. He thought he'd kept it a secret from her, but she'd trailed him and watched what he was doing from the woods.

  Angel grimaced. She'd come so close to becoming a woman. When Will had kissed her like he had and touched her, she'd known he was as near to swivin' her as shell to an oyster. She'd wanted it bad, and she reckoned he wanted it. And why he hadn't done it, she couldn't come close to guessing.

  One thing was certain, when Will was gone, she'd miss him terrible. There'd never be another man like him, not in looks, not in his smooth way of talking, and not in...

  She didn't even have the words to fit what she was feeling inside. Just watching Will made her go all shivery. Lightning-struck, she'd heard Bett call it, when a maid lost all sense and set her mind on a man.

  Angel didn't know what being hit with lightning felt like, but one minute she was bubbling with joy and the next near to tears. She was either starving or she couldn't eat a bite, and she had an overwhelming urge to touch him whenever she was close enough.

  There was hardly anything about Will that didn't please her. She liked the way he smelled, and the cunning way he arched one dark brow when he teased her. And his smile gladdened her as much as sunrise after a moonless night.

  Will Falcon had passed every test she'd given him, even when she'd handed over a jug of her best brew. A jug-bitten varlet would have started on that sipping whiskey and not stopped until the bottom was dry. Not Will. He took a few drinks and set the crock aside for another day, proving he was a man of good sense.

  He'd proved his courage against Dyce. Will wasn't lazy, and he seemed game for any task she put him to. The only thing he wouldn't do was what she wanted most—to have him be the one who broke her maidenhead.

  She might be ignorant, but she wasn't stupid. She knew that other than in her dreams, she couldn't keep him forever and a day. There was no way an island woman with sand between her toes could be a match for a dashing gentleman like Will. But if he went away, leaving her as virgin as the day he'd first lit eyes on her, it would be her eternal sorrow.

  She walked back and forth in the hip-deep water, feeling with her feet for clams. And when she struck something hard that felt like a brick buried in
the silt, she ducked under the water and dug it out with her hands.

  Coming up with her clam, she gulped air and wiped the water out of her eyes. What she saw made her heart skip a beat. A sloop, maybe a forty-footer, with sail snapping, was making straight for the cove.

  It was too far off for her to tell if they were friends or foe, but she knew better than to stand there gawking.

  She made for shore as fast as she could. Gulls flew up as she waded through the shallows and ran for the cover of the trees.

  "Angel!" Will motioned to her from the game trail. "There's a boat. Is it one of yours?"

  "I don't know." Shielded from the water by thick foliage, she paused to catch her breath, untied the heavy bag of clams, and let it slide to the forest floor. "We'd best make ourselves scarce until we can be certain who they are. I know what ye think of the Brethren, but there are worse folk than us on these waters."

  He nodded, coming to stand beside her. "You said your friends wouldn't be back for a month."

  "Aye. If it's them, there's a good reason. I don't—" She broke off as Will clamped a muscular arm around her shoulder. Instantly, her inner warning alarms went off. "What are you doing?" she demanded, trying to pull away.

  In answer, he slipped his free hand under her legs and swept her up into his arms. "They're not your people," he said. "They've come for me."

  "Let me go!" Suddenly, everything was wrong, and Will was a stranger. "Put me down!" she cried.

  "I'm taking you with—"

  Angel knotted her right hand into a fist and punched him squarely in the jaw. Will groaned, and his head flew back. Without uttering another sound, she kicked wildly, swinging another punch with all her might. They went down together with Will on top of her.

  She crawled out from under him, leaped to her feet, and darted away. Cursing, he sprang after her, seized her flying braid, and yanked her to a halt.