The Ladys Pirate

by The lady's pirate (lit)

  "Fool!" March laughed and lunged. The blade headed toward Hal's heart.

  Hal let him come. Then he stepped aside and wrapped his arm around March's weapon hand, carrying it outside, pulling the man's body close. The blade in his hand bit, then sank deep into March's side.

  Gurgling breaths told Hal he'd torn up the man's lungs. He twisted the blade. March gasped and fell limp in his arms.

  Hal dropped him to the sand, then felt at his throat for a pulse. It was there, but weak. He straddled March's back and reached under his chin, pulling his head up. Setting the blade against March's neck, he split the monster's throat from side to side. Blood spurted onto the sand as his heart pumped him dry.

  One shuddering breath wracked the body and then the spirit was gone. Hal passed his blade around the top of March's head, then pressed the edge against the skin, making the first cut.

  He glanced over to see Elspeth watching in horrified fascination.

  "So that's how it's done."

  "Turn away, Ellie."

  "No. I will see it all."

  Hal averted his eyes from her and concentrated on the scalp. He took a handful of March's hair and slid his knife in along the outline he'd made, separating the skin from the skull. In a moment it was done. He held the bloody mess in his hand.

  He stood up, still astride the dead body. He'd lived for this moment for so many years, playing it out in his mind. He'd imagined how Mary would react when he brought the hair of her enemy back to her. Why did he feel so empty?

  It was because Elspeth was here, because she'd witnessed something no woman like her should see. Her face told everything she felt: disgust, revulsion, confusion. She looked at him and he saw in her eyes the question, why? Why resort to such barbarism?

  He couldn't expect her to understand why this was necessary. She wasn't of the People. He had been a fool to think she could be his woman for more than a night.

  He went to their place and picked up his shirt. "Where do you want me to take you?"

  * * * *

  Wherever you are going.

  That was the answer she wanted to give him. What came out was, "Spanish Town."

  She watched him put on his shirt, trying to control the growing sickness washing over her. Her blood pounded in her ears, drowning out all sound. Even the endless wash of the waves on the beach was hidden beneath the roar in her head. Her vision faded, closing in as though the world were being erased from the edges of her sight toward the center.

  Somehow she was on the ground, on her knees, vomiting, choking, her body spewing forth the memory of what she had witnessed. A pair of gentle hands held her, wiped her brow, rubbed her back.

  When there was no more, when her belly ached from the effort of disgorging it all, she straightened, allowing those gentle hands to help her sit on the warm sand.

  Hal swept sand over the mess and sat beside her. Though he hesitated, his arm went around her shoulders.

  He held her for a long time, shielding her from the sight of the two dead men on the beach, giving her his strong shoulder to lean on.

  "Talk to me, Ellie."

  His plea touched her heart, but she had nothing to say. How could she begin to tell him what she felt when she didn't know herself?

  * * * *

  Spanish Town came into sight and Hal didn't know if he should be relieved the trip was over or frustrated he had no more time with Elspeth, no more time to try to make her understand. He sat by the rudder, watching her in the bow, her back to him. As he had since leaving the cove, he steered silently and waited for her to speak so he could know her mind.

  At first, she'd been so silent and unreactive, she reminded him chillingly of Mary. Then she'd puked and he'd been relieved. His lady would not be damaged by the horror she had witnessed.

  He'd knelt by her, holding her hands and wiping her hair away from her face, small ministrations, but all he'd been able to do for her. She'd seemed to be comforted, but she wouldn't speak. The only words she'd said were she wanted to be taken back to Spanish Town.

  Had he finally convinced her to go, to leave him? She hadn't given him a chance to ask. She'd shaken the sand from her fine gown, then stepped into it, pulling it up over her ruined shift. She'd been forced to seek his help in closing the buttons and he'd gladly complied, but before he covered her back, he touched one finger to the single mark her husband had left upon her body.

  She jerked at his touch, but stood still as he buttoned her dress. When she stepped away from him, she was once more Countess Greymere and as far removed from him as the sun from the moon. They hadn't exchanged a single word all the way back and she'd separated herself from him as much as the space in the boat would allow.

  Several times during their trip back to civilization, he'd opened his mouth to ask her to talk to him, to say anything, but pressed his lips together. What good would it do? He had taken what she'd offered and now it was time to let her go.

  He ignored the pain the thought caused. It was for the best. What did he have to offer a woman like Elspeth?

  Now that his quest was over, what did he have to offer himself?

  "Ahoy, boat."

  The call from the dock broke him out of his depressing reverie. He turned to get the bowline, only to see Elspeth already tossing it up with a strong throw.

  "Fine toss, milady." The one-legged salt on the dock grinned toothlessly.

  She grimaced a small smile in return and gave her hand to the salt who helped her up onto the dock.

  Hal checked to see the bowline secure. She stood on the dock, clearly unsure of which way to go.

  He tossed a coin to the sailor who'd helped and took her arm, guiding her down the dock.

  "Where are you taking me?"

  Was it his imagination or was her voice shaky?

  "To the governor's palace."

  He flagged down an enclosed carriage and spoke quick instructions to the driver, passing him a quid for his silence. Hal didn't fool himself the driver would actually keep to himself such a good story.

  He could almost hear it. In exchange for a pint, the driver would describe the beautiful, somewhat unkempt lady being taken to the back entrance of the governor's palace. Elspeth was a singular beauty and, since there were no ladies of her quality in Spanish Town, it wouldn't be long before Countess Greymere was the subject of scurrilous songs and ribald tales.

  Short of killing the driver, Hal had no idea what else he could do to protect her reputation.

  Not that Elspeth seemed to care. She didn't resist him when he helped her enter the carriage. Nor did she sweep her clothing away from him when he sat on the seat next to her. But all the same he felt her pulling farther and farther away, distancing herself from him in her mind. He longed for her to speak.

  * * * *

  She wished he would say something. Since they'd left the cove, Hal hadn't said a word to her. Sometimes, she thought he would start, but then he'd just turn back to steering the boat. Perhaps she should have made some effort.

  But no. What was there to say now? He must hate her for the degradation she'd caused him. His kindness to her in the aftermath was only what was natural to him, what she'd known from him from the beginning.

  How long ago that all seemed now.

  She hazarded a quick glance to his face. What she would give for a glimpse of the painted savage who had helped her make her escape from Sandgrove. Or better yet, the gentle lover who had shown her such glories as she had never imagined.

  That man barely resembled the grim-faced person who sat beside her now. And she knew their idyll was over forever. Richard had come and with him all the memories Hal had carried for so long. His quest for revenge was done.

  "What will you do now?"

  He jerked toward her. She herself was astounded that she'd spoken the question aloud.

  "I have to go home."

  She waited for the words she so desperately wanted to hear.

  Come with me, Ellie. Throw away everything and co
me with me.

  Didn't he know she would? The title, the wealth, everything. But though he wanted the wife of Richard March, would he want the widow as well?

  Had she so badly judged him? She had been certain he had feelings for her, but it appeared now that he'd had his revenge and Richard's scalp was tucked in his pocket like a fine lace handkerchief, he had no further use for her.

  The coach rounded the Governor's Palace to the back. Kind of him to think of saving her from scandal but it would make no difference. Her scandal was assured when she fell in love with an American. An Indian. A pirate.

  As the coach stopped, he reached for the handle of the door, then paused. He glanced at her, his lips parted, then again, as he had so many times during the trip back to Spanish Town, he pressed his lips together and turned away.

  She knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to explain why he no longer wanted her. Perhaps he would say he'd thought his desire for her genuine, even though he realized now it was only an extension of his desire for revenge on her husband.

  After a long moment, he opened the door and stepped down. He held out his hand to her. She took it, reveling in the feel of his flesh on her ungloved hand. She could almost feel the sensations of his hands upon her body.

  Tears of loss pooled in her eyes. She held her eyes down toward the ground. No need to make this more difficult for either one of them.

  "Here we are, my lady."

  "Thank you, Captain."

  He held her hand for an extra moment. Or did she hold his? Then as if by mutual agreement, they released one another. She turned from him and entered the palace.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Hal watched her until the door closed behind her, shutting her off from his sight. He thanked the Great Spirit for giving him the strength to not fall to his knees before her, beg her forgiveness for subjecting her to what had to seem to her a brutality beyond telling. His hand grazed his pocket, where the scalp waited. This was Mary's revenge. He had no right to demean it by begging a white woman to understand. Not even for Elspeth could he do that.

  "Need a lift, sir?"

  The driver waited, obviously eager for another fare. Hal climbed up on the seat.

  "Back to the docks."

  The driver complied. While they were on their way, Hal pulled his knife from his boot and pressed the point against the driver's neck.

  "If I ever hear any rumors, stories, songs, anything about the lady you just delivered, I will find you. When I'm done with you-" He pressed the point until a tiny drop of blood ran down the man's neck. "There won't be enough left to bury."

  The driver, eyes wide in fear, nodded.

  "Good." Hal pulled another coin from his pocket and paid the man well for his service. "Stop here."

  The driver, glad to be rid of the madman at his side, stopped the horse. Hal jumped down and set off for a tavern to get drunk.

  * * * *

  "Milady." Jeannette wrung her hands. "Where have you been? I was worried Captain Merritt had made off with you."

  "He did."

  Jeannette blanched. "Milady?"

  "I wish a bath, please."

  Jeannette hurried off muttering about "strange noble folk." She was barely out the door when the Governor arrived.

  "My lady, are you all right? What happened?"

  "What are you talking about, Sir Charles?"

  "Lady Greymere, you have been gone since yesterday. Your husband came here yesterday to collect you and was enraged that you had left."

  "That is Richard's normal state, Sir Charles."

  "My lady!" Sir Charles sputtered. "Well, at least now that your husband is here, will you both be staying?"

  "No. My husband will not be returning." Ever.

  She was free of him forever.

  "Where is he?"

  "Dead."

  Sir Charles stepped closer. "What did you say, my lady?"

  "I said Sandgrove is dead."

  "What happened?" he asked in a breathless voice.

  Elspeth pondered that question for a long time. So long, Sir Charles seized her arm.

  "What happened, my lady?"

  She shook him off. "Do not touch me again."

  "My lady, as the Queen's Governor-General, I must insist."

  "I will make my report to the Queen directly."

  "Indeed you will. Her Majesty has sent a command for you to present yourself immediately upon your return to England."

  "Good. I will be leaving on the next available vessel. Please see to the arrangements." She turned her back on him, uncaring of he stayed or went.

  "My lady," he said just before the door closed behind him.

  Elspeth went to the window. She imagined she could see the docks from here when in actuality she had no idea if the window even faced in that direction. But it was something.

  * * * *

  The ornate doors of Kensington Palace opened to admit her. A hovering servant took her wrap.

  "Her Majesty will see you, Lady Greymere."

  Elspeth turned toward the voice. The Queen's secretary, a very proper man by the name of Styles, stood at the bottom of the stairs. Had he been waiting for her long? Did the whole palace know she had been called to present herself to the Queen?

  How stupid, she thought, following him to the Queen's private rooms. Of course. The whole bloody city knew.

  Elspeth bit her tongue for the imagined word. She really must remember she was no longer among rough pirates but about to go into the presence of the Queen of England, Ireland, and Wales, et cetera.

  Where had her sudden irreverence for her Sovereign come from?

  A chuckle escaped her, causing the secretary to turn his very proper head around. Countess Greymere put him back in his place with a look. Her resulting smile was to the man's back. Her wry humor died as she wondered who would meet her behind the polished doors where she now stood?

  Would it be her Sovereign to pronounce some dire consequence for her adventure, unwilling though it had been? Or would Drina greet her, her good friend, who had stood with Elspeth at her wedding, wept with her when the truth of Elspeth's marriage had become known.

  She hadn't spoken often with Drina since the Queen's marriage, though Elspeth knew how besotted she was with her Albert. And from the guarded comments Drina had let slip in her happiness, as well as from her own observation, Elspeth knew he returned his young wife's devotion.

  Elspeth rejoiced in Drina's happiness, but not without yearning for such a life for herself. If only-

  "Ellie!"

  Elspeth forced a smile and opened her arms to embrace Drina, bending to accommodate her much smaller friend's height.

  "Shouldn't I curtsy first, ma'am?" she asked as she straightened.

  Drina laughed. "No, please, don't. I'm so weary of being Queen today. Let me just be me."

  She took Elspeth's hand and pulled her to a comfortable sofa where tea waited.

  "I know it's early, but I thought we could spend a long, cozy tea while you tell me absolutely everything."

  Elspeth tipped a smile. "A cozy tea? I had thought I was to present myself to Your Majesty."

  Drina waved that off. "There is some small scandal and I had to appear to be bringing you to task for it. So, while you confess your sins to me, I'll pour us tea."

  She leaned forward and poured two cups and added a dollop of milk to Elspeth's. Tending to her own cup, she almost carelessly spoke her command.

  "Now, Lady Greymere. Everything."

  "Everything?" Elspeth raised her eyebrow at her friend. "Are you sure?"

  "Absolutely. Unless it's terribly scandalous," Drina said. "Albert wouldn't like me to wallow in scandal. Of course, my duty may force me to listen even so." Her large blue eyes twinkled.

  Perhaps this wouldn't be so hard after all. And Elspeth did want to talk to someone. Her heart lightened as she realized she was with the one person in all the world who would listen and not judge her. She should never have doubted Drina's affection a
nd loyalty.

  Drina took up her cup and sat back, pulling her legs up underneath her, curling on the sofa like a cat, obviously waiting for Elspeth to speak.

  "Tell." It was not a Queen's command, but a loving woman urging her friend to share a burden.

  Elspeth drew in a sigh and settled comfortably on the sofa.

  "Where shall I start?"

  She sipped and, as the tea warmed down her throat, she stared into the cup, seeking... What? Perhaps some hint of the future?

  "I suppose there are really two stories here." Her gaze met Drina's. "Did you know Richard was cruel to me? More than I told you." Heat crept up her cheeks as she admitted her shame. "He beat me. Used me in terrible ways."

  Drina cringed, her half-smile fading. "Dearest, I'm so sorry." She averted her eyes for a moment. "I had heard rumors. I confess I feared to ask. What a fool the man was."

  "That's what Hal said."

  "Who's Hal?"

  Indeed, that was the question to begin with and over tea and biscuits, Elspeth told Drina the tale of her adventure, but when she got to Richard's death in Jamaica, she stopped, afraid to go on. Murdering a peer, even one so dissipated as Richard March, was a capital offense.

  Drina helped her. "I have had word from the governor that Sandgrove is dead, though the details were sufficiently sketchy to give rise to all manner of rumors. What really happened?"

  Elspeth was sorely tempted to deny any knowledge, but gave Drina the truth.

  "Hal killed him. It was a fair fight, as fair as Richard could participate in anyway, and it was self-defense as well."

  "So now you've become a barrister?"

  There was no humor in Drina's voice. Given the topic, Elspeth didn't suppose it was appropriate, but the tone sounded very like a disapproving Queen. A Queen who wasn't finished.

  "Would you defend your champion in the Queen's Courts?"

  "Of what charge?"

  "Of murder, of course. We can't have people killing peers of the realm with no consequence."

  "He deserved to die, Drina."

  Elspeth was as shocked by her words and the firm tone in which she spoke them as Drina appeared to be.

  "You say that with such passion. Is there no feeling for you husband?"