The Wicked Viscount

by Heather McCollum

  But with the way suspicions were being thrown about in James’s antechamber, the African princess would at least be questioned and retained in the Tower where she could grow sick and die before being released. Cat was right to take her from the grounds. Nathaniel’s father would bellow that Nathaniel should drag both ladies back to court, that allowing either woman to escape would kill his political career and make him forfeit the position in the King’s Guard. The rush of blood in Nathaniel’s ears and the pounding of his heart as he imagined grimy, sneering men grabbing Cat at the docks, smothered the booming memory of Benjamin Worthington.

  As vendors tended their carts along the narrow, uneven streets, Nathaniel was forced to slow Gaspar to a trot. “Move aside,” he yelled, maneuvering his large steed through the press of people trying to stay warm in the winter frost. Most scurried out of the way, likely thankful that his business didn’t involve them.

  Gaspar clipped along the road leading toward the Thames where the ships would dock to load and unload goods. The sure-footed horse dodged frozen puddles and the thin layers of slick ice that would send them crashing on the stone streets. Time was Nathaniel’s enemy. What he wouldn’t give for those weeks of journeying alone with Cat again. So much time wasted when he could have been honest with her, trusted her to listen and maybe understand.

  But what would he have said? That he was pushed into the commission? That he didn’t want to win against the enemy? Lies. He was a warrior, a bloody good warrior. And he’d been raised English, believing in the right of the king, following his orders. And the covenanters meeting at Bothwell Bridge were not worshipping, they were rallying for an attack.

  Damn. Nothing in life was as easy as naming someone evil and someone good. There were men with evil hearts that followed orders to do good things to serve the people. And there were men with honorable hearts who did things that they later regretted. Would Cat only judge him by his actions or would she turn one day to look past them at his heart?

  None of that mattered now. Nathaniel clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. All that mattered was making sure Cat was whole and safe. Anything else was too horrific to consider.

  He rounded the corner lamppost and spotted the soaring masts of the tall ships beyond the three-story beamed homes that ran right up to the warehouses at the dock. Almost there. Slowing at the last turn, Gaspar rode into a crowd of dock workers, several yelling curses at nearly being trampled. One shook his fist at Nathaniel as he picked himself off the damp cobblestone.

  The rush was on to set sail with the tide. Nathaniel could see the barges plowing slowly through the broken ice that had reformed during the freezing night and morning.

  Pulling back on Gaspar’s reins to make him stop, Nathaniel cut his gaze wildly along the wooden dock and gangplanks leading up to various ships. “Where are you?” he murmured.

  “Half a crown, and I will tell you where your ladies went,” a stocky man with a full beard called from where he leaned against a building. He spat on the ground.

  “What ladies?” Nathaniel said, his gaze going back to the mass of bodies, hurrying with a bend to their backs as they huddled inward to block the wind.

  The man pushed off the wall. “Whoever you be looking for, milord. Not too many down these ways that would cause a gentleman from court to come flying through here.” He threw his hand out to the docks. “Whipping his head around to see everyone, like he had lost his lady love.”

  Nathaniel dismounted, holding the end of Gaspar’s reins. Some might try to steal the horse, though they’d likely get a kick to the head for their effort. He strode quickly to the man, his face hardened like stone, the Worthington stare that had reduced courtiers to tremors. “Who have you seen, and where did they go?”

  “Half a crown,” the man said, though he shifted from foot to foot and glanced down at his ragged shoes.

  Nathaniel grabbed the man by the scarf at his throat. “Where are they?”

  The man’s eyes grew so wide, Nathaniel could see the red veins snaking in the whites. His lips pulled back to show brittle teeth. “On the Morgenster,” he said, nodding beyond Nathaniel. “Saw them talking to the captain.”

  “Both of them?”

  “One with dark skin, one with light skin and spots all over her pretty face.”

  Nathaniel fished a half crown from his coat pocket and pressed it into the man’s hand, turning away.

  “Captain Jansen is a black-hearted bastard,” the man yelled after Nathaniel, but he already knew the name of one of the worst jackals in the slave industry. “Half his cargo dies before making it to the colonies.”

  Nathaniel dodged people as he ran toward the Morgenster, with Gaspar’s lead still in hand. He dropped it, and his arms pumped by his sides as he leaped onto the gangplank, pounding up it as it bobbed under his weight. “Captain Jansen,” he yelled. Several of the crew rushed forward, but Nathaniel continued up the wooden slats. “Captain Jansen!”

  “Nathaniel?” Cat’s voice called from behind, and he pivoted on the thin planks, the knot in his chest loosening as he saw her on the dock, Mouse and a tall girl in boy’s clothes standing with her. Even her horse, Stella, turned big eyes toward him.

  A tanned man stood beside her, frowning. Cat’s brows were lowered in question, connecting with his gaze. He gave a distinct shake of his head. Danger here, he willed her to understand. Her eyes widened as she glanced beyond him.

  Ekua stood above him at the rail, but she began to weave her way between sailors who had turned to watch the spectacle. She slipped past half a dozen before anyone noticed her. Good bloody Lord. The princess was amongst the mass of men who were quickly unsheathing short swords.

  “Nathaniel,” Cat yelled up to him, her eyes on Ekua. She didn’t need to say anymore. He charged up the gangplank, his sword drawn.

  “Release her,” he yelled.

  “Sard off,” the first sailor replied, barring her way with his arm, short blade in hand. “The lady has agreed to go with us.”

  “I have decided to disembark,” Ekua called out, but the men didn’t move aside.

  Behind Nathaniel, he heard Cat yell and glanced toward her for the briefest of seconds. Jansen had wrapped his arm around her. Damn. He was torn between the two of them, the princess who was in much greater peril surrounded by several men and Cat, the woman he was quickly realizing he’d do anything to keep from harm.

  Ye don’t trust in my abilities. Her accusation rang through his ears, and he turned back to Ekua. With a whispered prayer, Nathaniel charged up the gangplank, ducking to slash his blade across the belly of the first man he met. The sturdy man fell forward, his weight coming down on him like a boulder, blood soaking quickly through his dingy white shirt.

  With a heave, Nathaniel lifted him over the low rail of the gangplank, his body splashing through the broken ice. He turned in time to meet the next man’s sword, knocking the point away from his throat a mere inch from impact.

  At the top of the narrow bridge, he could see Ekua swinging her elbows, her jabs aimed and sharp. The man holding her grunted and then cursed as her elbow cracked into his nose. He dropped her and cupped it as blood poured out. Ekua wasted no time, flying forward as Nathaniel met another downward thrust of the sailor’s sword. She kicked at the bend of the man’s legs, but then another grabbed her from behind, dragging her back up.

  Nathaniel crouched, using his shoulder to slam the sailor in the stomach with an upward force so strong it knocked the air out of him. Before the man could bring a blade down on him, he pushed upward to hurl the man over the rail and surged once again up the narrow ramp.

  The man at the top held Ekua by the throat. “I will break her lovely neck,” he said. Ekua remained silent, but her eyes bulged.

  The plank below Nathaniel’s feet bobbed as someone ran up behind him. “Nathaniel,” Cat yelled a few steps back, but he couldn’t take his gaze from the princess. “Duck,” Cat called, and he dropped without hesitation, his fingers wrapping around the plan
k at his feet. The breeze of a blade flew over his head, turning in the air to stab directly into the man’s hand covering Ekua’s throat. The sailor yelped, drawing away to yank the knife out. Blood swelled up from the thick cut in his hand.

  Nathaniel leaped forward, grabbing the startled woman to drag her back down. Cat was already running to the end of the gangplank where her horse stood blocking the way as others crowded around to see the uproar. Both girls crouched under Stella’s belly for shelter in the press.

  “Tiugainn!” Cat yelled, grabbing Stella’s reins and reached for Mouse’s hand underneath. “Let’s go!” She guided the horse through the onlookers. “Move aside.” Nathaniel led Ekua to dodge past Captain Jansen where he lay crumpled, clutching his ballocks, his nose bleeding all over him so much that Nathaniel wondered if Cat had also skewered the bastard.

  Gaspar stood near, swinging his large head back and forth to stop a couple of dock workers from grabbing hold of his bridle. “Leave off,” Nathaniel yelled, his voice making the men jump and scuttle away. “Make way.” People parted, letting him walk the horse and princess after Cat along the row of tall ships.

  “Court guards,” Mouse yelled back to him, and the crowd seemed to hustle away, their interest turned instantly from curiosity to blending into the stonework around them. He’d put Ekua on Gaspar’s back, but she’d be that much easier to spot.

  No doubt James had sent men out looking for the princess and possibly for himself when he didn’t return. Cat and he would look guilty, as if they were fleeing Whitehall. Even the fact that the two of them battled for him last night in the gardens might not be enough to sway the man’s suspicious mind if he thought they were harboring the woman leading the assassination attempt.

  He glanced at Ekua. “We need to move swiftly and without drawing attention.”

  “Swiftly, I can do, but I fear I draw attention here,” she said, pulling her shawl up over her silk headdress and most of her face.

  He watched Cat ahead of them. She glanced back. “Keep going,” he said, and she nodded. Her long, fire-hued braid swung down her back to her hips.

  Tall ships with flags from different countries sat anchored along the docks. Most were being readied to pull away with the high tide. The barges had finished breaking the ice, and deck hands were loosening the sails to catch the wind. Men shouted to one another and ropes creaked as the last barrels and pallets were hoisted aboard. Several seagulls cawed overhead, circling, as he scanned the ships.

  It had been two years since he’d visited the docks, walking along the row of large ships with his father. Benjamin Worthington had begun investing in shipments of tea as the China Drink continued to gain popularity among nobles. He had been poisoned just after finding a trustworthy partner for the venture, by the same assassins who had likely poisoned King Charles and were now plotting against James.

  Moving around Gaspar to his right, he pulled Ekua with him up beside Cat so that the five of them were between the two horses as they moved through the throng. As he came level with Cat, all he wanted to do was grab her. “Are you hurt?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

  “Nay,” she said, though she sounded breathless.

  “I do not believe you,” he said, noticing a slight limp in her gait.

  “’Tis just an old injury,” she said, meeting his gaze. “From falling off a horse.” Her stare seemed softer than before.

  “You are helping Princess Ekua leave London without permission,” he said as they led the small group.

  The softness in her tone vanished. “She is not a prisoner, but if she remained, she would be. And ye know it would be under false accusations.”

  “You should have sought me out,” he said, his voice just as hard. Damn! To think she could be on that ship, surrounded by those men and a body of seawater. “Were you planning to leave on that blasted ship, too? Without telling me where you were going?”

  They marched on, his gaze scanning the tall ships and the men on each, searching out one he hoped to find.

  He heard her clear her throat. “I had decided to stay, help the children make their way over land up to Scotland.” She sniffed, tipping her chin higher. “I do not think Stella would have liked being down in the belly of that swaying beast.”

  So, she would leave him behind but not her horse. His anger flared hotter, and he grabbed her shoulder, turning her to him. “Dammit, Cat,” he said close to her face. They frowned fiercely at one another. “I understand if you can never forgive me, but you will not do anything to risk your damn neck. I will help you return to Finlarig Castle. I will heed your wish for me to sard off and leave you alone. But I will never let you jump rashly into danger. I cannot,” he said and shook his head. “Do you understand me?”

  She met his stare without answering. Confusion, anger, and something almost desperate flitted across her features.

  He glanced behind him, his height affording him a view over the crowd. “Blast,” he murmured as he saw the king’s guards spreading out along the waterfront, several of them lifting Jansen up to question him. They needed a hiding place or a ship ready to sail, a ship that wouldn’t doom the princess to servitude or worse. His gaze halted on an English ship with a mermaid figurehead jutting from the bowsprit, the maiden’s hair carved in undulating curls around her naked shoulders. Let it be Jack Bishop’s ship.

  “That way,” he said, and they hurried toward the vessel. Two men had come down the gangplank to unhitch it from the dock. “Ho,” Nathaniel called. “I have need to speak to your captain.”

  “We are pushing off, mate,” the one called.

  “Jack Bishop is your captain?”

  “Aye,” one of them said, his frown turning to take in Cat and the others of their group.

  “Tell him that Viscount Worthington is here,” he called upward. “Lieutenant Worthington.”

  “Well, I am fair puckled,” a man called down from the rail, half folded over it. “Is that Commander Worthington, by God. Hold up there,” he shouted at the men coiling the ropes as he hurried down the plank.

  A little tanner in the face, Jack Bishop charged past his men to leap the two-foot gap onto the dock with the ease of a man used to straddling land and water. “Lieutenant Nathaniel Worthington,” he said, smiling broadly to show several rotted teeth. “I have a quarrel to bring on your head.”

  “Oh?” Nathaniel said and felt Cat’s stare.

  “Aye,” Jack said, frowning with jovial ferocity. He looked to Cat and Ekua, glancing next at the children and horses. “This man saved me life on the battlefield. Was my commander on more than one charge.”

  He looked back to Nathaniel. “And because you continually saved my arse, I now have a family of three with one more on the way. Four wee mouths to feed along with a wife.” He shook his head. “Every one of them taxing to a one-time bachelor soldier.” He clasped Nathaniel’s arm. “Good to see ya, Lieutenant.” His gaze moved behind Nathaniel. “Those guards aren’t by chance looking for ya, are they?”

  “That they are, Jack,” Nathaniel said. “And I am hoping you won’t hold a grudge about the whole keeping you alive grievance.”

  “Bartholomew,” Jack called, his voice taking on the bark of authority. One of the men jumped off the suspended gangplank. “Watch their horses while we have a chat on board.” His eyes shifted left and right at the guards who wandered through the crowd. The ramp was lowered, and Nathaniel led the way up it with Ekua, Mouse, and the third girl between him and Cat.

  “This way,” Jack said, waving them to the starboard side in between some high crates that blocked the view from the docks. Nathaniel glanced behind them to see Gaspar and Stella being led toward the warehouse, though they were both giving the sailor a thrashing with their heads. The man was liable to suffer several bites while doing his captain’s bidding.

  Jack ushered them into his cabin, a small room behind the wheel, that was littered by charts and leather-bound books. He looked at Cat and nodded, and then to Ekua, doing the same.
He winked at Mouse and the tall girl.

  Throwing back his shoulders so that his stomach protruded like a pigeon, he gave a stern smile. “I have been meaning to repay the commander here,” he nodded toward Nathaniel. “Saved my life at the Battle of Bothwell Bridge. A Scot was swinging down at me, and Captain Worthington grabbed me up and took the strike, deflecting it.”

  Cat inhaled. “Did the Scot have red, curly hair?” She leaned closer to him to stare him right in the face. “Like me?”

  Jack’s eyes rounded at her obvious accent, and he glanced between her and Nathaniel, his lips pinching in a tight O. “Not that I recall, milady. ’Twas a dark-haired warrior, proud and strong.” His brows rose. “They all were. Not dark-haired, but proud and strong. Fighting with passion.” Respect tinged his words. He shook his head. “’Tis sad that men are ordered to kill one another when they could, under other circumstances, share a bowl together at a pub. ’Tis happy I am to have gotten out of the service.” He nodded to Nathaniel. “The commander, too, from what I hear.”

  Jack dodged his nailed-down furniture to peer out the window. He rubbed the side of his fist in a circle against the window pane. “What I thought.” He looked back at Nathaniel, his wide eyes glancing off the women. “The king’s men are demanding to board.”

  A look passed between Cat and Ekua, and then unsure green eyes turned to him. Nathaniel let his mouth relax, the corner going upward. “It is a good thing you know how to climb trees.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “The duchess had me don trousers under my gown,” Ekua said as Cat threw off the long cape and grabbed one of the captain’s white shirts that Nathaniel tossed to her. She handed it to the princess as she turned her to undo the buttons down her straight back.

  “And I already have my wool ones on,” Cat said. “Although a shirt would be helpful.”