by Susan Ward
She was pulled from the cart in a harsh jerk. It was Rensdale. She could smell that cloying scent he wore. Not a whisper of wintergreen, but a heavy mask overly sweet. She was set on the ground without care, her bound arms held in punishing fingers.
Coins jiggled and moved through the air near her. “You had better not have been followed, or I will hunt you down and kill you myself,” Rensdale snarled.
“We wouldn’t be let’n the hangman know of this task, took an extra turn and road afore we got here. Were no easy fete to get the wench. Hey! This payment is short.”
“You’re late!” Rensdale snapped back. “I expected the girl before morning.”
There was a short curse and then the carriage groaned as her kidnapper must have retreated there. Cart wheels again. Morning. Merry latched onto the word. She was less than a day’s journey from Bramble Hill. It wouldn’t be long before someone noted her disappearance and rescued her.
Close to her ear, a revolting whisper. “I have a present for you, my dear. A little payback of my own for your foolishness in Bermuda. Didn’t think I’d get my hands on you again, did you? I’ve been one step behind you since Grave’s End.” She fought to hit him, but couldn’t raise her arms. Rensdale laughed. “Oh yes, I’ve known all along who took you from Grave’s End, and thanks to that stupid act of lunacy of yours, I know Varian is Morgan.”
She struggled harder and he laughed more, then he jerked her forward into a space that was cold and eerily silent. The only sound was their footsteps and then she realized they were on stairs, moving downward, surrounded by close icy walls. She felt spikes of coolness cutting into her flesh.
A door closed loudly behind her and a heavy bolt, it seemed from the exterior, dropped into place. She had been locked in somewhere and she wondered if Rensdale was still with her. Then she felt his hand on her arm, the chill of a knife slashing at the ties of her wrists, her gag removed and at last the blindfold from her eyes.
Rensdale held her as she was with a ruthless hand clutching her arm and her eyes anxiously floated about the dimly lit space surrounding her. It looked like a cell of some kind, a heavy stone prison without windows, the floors dirty from neglect, cobwebs from the heavy beams of the ceiling to the walls…an abandoned jail?
“Perhaps you will rethink your resistance to returning to me what’s mine,” Rensdale sneered. “Having your wife at this party should make more interesting our negotiations.”
It was then her frantic gaze saw Varian. He lay on a cot, bloody and beaten, one leg in a shackle chained to the leg of the bed. Nerve-jolting relief shot through her veins when Varian opened his eyes and fixed them on her.
He’s alive. Thank you, God. He’s alive, Merry thought as Rensdale tried to keep hold of her, but she became a twisting and contorting, struggling collection of fighting limbs. The chain was long enough for Varian to stand and the second he did, Merry broke free of Rensdale and ran to her husband.
She buried herself against him, firmly clutching him to her. “Did they hurt you? Are you well?” she inquired numbly.
“All is well, Little One,” he quietly breathed, before he said over her, “If you think you can harm one hair on her head and Lucien Merrick will permit you to live, you are not as clever as I thought you were. A strategic error, Rensdale. Lucien will hunt you down and finish what I started.”
Rensdale’s brow skipped upward, richly amused. “Who said I was going to kill her? You are right, her death would not serve, and a definite waste it would be. Such a beauty she is.” His amber eyes sharpened ruthlessly. “How long do you think you can listen to her scream while I take my pleasure of her while you watch, before you sign that order for your men to release to me my gold which you stole from the Heritage?”
Hysteria was now running through Merry’s veins rapidly. To be touched by Rensdale would be worse than death, and it rose in her mind that awful night in Bermuda, when he had mauled her and kissed her and nearly gotten her to his bed.
Merry whirled, putting herself between Rensdale and her husband, and much to Varian’s dismay, stepped just beyond the reach permitted by the chain on his leg.
“I will kill you if you touch me,” Merry hissed.
“Brave words of a devoted wife. How do you mean to stop me?” Rensdale jeered. “You have no weapon and your husband’s leg is in shackles in case you have not noticed. It will make it so much more pleasurable to rape you while he watches and struggles.”
Whatever Varian’s thoughts, his surface was relaxed and composed. Nothing changed on his face, not even when Rensdale started to make his move towards her. Merry frantically rushed back to Varian.
Good girl, Varian thought. The panic that had claimed him since she’d stepped from his reach fled his limbs in rapid spurts. He locked his eyes on Rensdale, and silently Varian sent a quick, frantic prayer to Heaven that Merry would understand without explanation what he was about to do, respond wisely, and not be knocked off of her feet by it…
“A most well thought-out plan,” he said in an oddly civil way. Then, a low mocking voice. “But I have a better idea.”
Merry stilled. Her eyes rounded. The fear that Varian’s hatred toward Rensdale might lead him to act rashly disappeared, even as her hair was jerked back painfully, and a knife from his boot pressed against her throat, the sharp coolness of the blade flooding her senses.
“Let’s see if you can put a bullet in me before I slit her throat. I would rather slit her throat than let any man touch what’s mine.” He gave her hair another hard jerk. Merry cried out in pain. “I kill her, Michael, we are all dead. You kill me. And Lucien kills you. A neat perfect circle. Complete. Or you can run now like the coward you are before Lucien Merrick gets here.”
“Oh no, I do not think you will harm her,” Rensdale said, but he had started to perspire. “How long do you think you can stay like that, with the knife to her neck? It’s only a matter of time until I win.”
Varian’s eyes darkened. “It’s only a matter of time until Lucien reaches us. I suggest you run. Quickly. The men you sent to grab Merry are being tracked by a Shawnee Indian while you tarry with me. Pitt is most capable. Do not doubt, he will not fail his mistress. I won’t need much time. Lucien is a grim fate, but I assure you the last thing you want is for Pitt to get hold of you.”
The two men locked eyes likes snarling beasts.
Whether Varian was merely engaging in a ploy or not, or if he had known in that all omniscient way he had that Lucien would find them with the aid of Mr. Pitt, Merry would never know and would never ask. Everything changed all at once. In a stream of motion, a fast moving blur, she saw the door open. Her father and his men flooded chamber. And then it all started to move even faster, so fast that Merry’s mind barely kept up. She saw the gun pointed at Varian.
“NOOOO….” The words went out of her mouth as the bullet went into him. The sound of his knife hitting the ground had a hard, final clank to it. The firm hold of his powerful muscles vanished from her, then his body to the ground as well. Lucien’s men hadn’t understood Varian was saving their lives, and then her panic kicked up another notch as the bullets began to sound. She was yanked to the ground by Varian, and buried beneath his body.
She would never know how long it took from the first bullet until her father understood what had happened here. She would recall no detail in her life ever clearly. Not Rensdale being shot and killed. Her father and Uncle coming to her. Everything else would be lost to her beneath the terror she had felt, lying under her motionless husband as his blood made a bed for them on the floor.
They were pulled apart. Uncle Andrew had his coat in hand and was trying to stem the flow of blood from Varian’s chest. Her father was talking to her, but she could not catch the words. There was yelling, footsteps, and men all around. She tried to break free of her father to go to Varian, but Lucien suddenly wrapped her in his arms and pulled her back to his chest.
Her limbs wanted to break free of her father’s hold and somehow t
hey wouldn’t manage it. She had no idea how unsteady she looked as she said, “Get him home to Bramble Hill now, Papa. I want him safe...” and before her father could answer her, Merry fainted.
~~~
It took a moment for Varian to realize where he was and the cause of the red hot pain shooting down his left side. There was the soft glow of a waning fire behind the grate, and his dark gaze floated the room, seeing everything and settling nowhere. The last thing he remembered was the shot and Merry’s sweet face slipping into darkness in front of him. He fought to clear his head and orient his senses. Clarity came with agonizing slowness. It was then that he felt her, Merry at his side laid curled in sleep, her head resting on his unbound shoulder, baby Kat tucked into the cushion of her breasts. He felt the tension uncoil from his body. He was back at Bramble Hill. Merry was safe. Was it possible…?
“Your son is well.” The gruff voice pulled his gaze from the pleasant picture of his wife and warned that the relief he felt was perhaps ill-timed. Lucien Merrick was sitting in a chair beside the bed. “He is down the hall with Kate and that stupid Irishman who brought him here. He asked to sit with you, but I told him I wished to speak with you first. Do you understand the position you have put me in? You went to war with the British Government from my home.”
“I did not go to war with the British Government. I went to war with evil men who destroy with reckless disregard the lives of the innocent to profit from this war that good men stand idly by and allow to continue.”
“And marrying my daughter? What was that? Protection against your treason?” Lucien shook his head and looked away. He knew Varian would not answer that question. He also knew the accusation was untrue. He refocused his thoughts and said, “I know you will not tell me, but I cannot help to wonder if this is how you planned it to end.”
In the older voice there was tension and tightly leashed ribbons of displeasure, frustration and fury. Quietly so as not to stir his wife, Varian said on a glib voice, “More or less. Though perhaps not executed quite as well as I had hoped. One would think that years of careful planning would have worked out with a better result than this.” Black eyes locked with blue. “The less certainly being not with my ship lying in rubble at the bottom of Falmouth harbor or my son nearly killed or a bullet in my shoulder. And never with Merry put in the middle of all this.” That made Lucien stiffen. He was still Lucien Merrick. Varian was at times still Morgan. An arched brow. A low laugh. “A strategic error. I did not anticipate that Rensdale would be able to get Merry from you.”
Lucien was quiet for a moment. It was then Varian noticed Andrew Merrick hovering in the corner of the room.
“I suppose I owe you thanks for saving my life,” Varian said. “How did you find us?”
Andrew stepped out of the shadows. “Your man. Pitt. Shawnee Indian. Honor bound to you. Correct? It made him a force to reckon with when we set him the task to find Merry. ”
“Yes. I brought him with me from my home in Virginia to watch over Merry. A fierce warrior and a tracker. We had chance to cross paths in the Caribbean. I saved his life. To pay his debt of honor Pitt insisted on serving me until the debt was returned. I made Merry his task to settle his debt to me.”
Lucien made an approving nod, even while his lips held a slight puckering of his internally contained fury over Varian’s reckless endangering of Merry. “A wise act. Shawnee are a brave and skilled people. He’s an excellent tracker. We could use a man like him in the Foreign Office. However, I told him he would be released from his debt to you if he found my daughter. May I assume that is agreeable to you?”
Varian nodded weakly.
“Good,” Lucien said. Then, “We’ve come up with a plan. We thought we should present it to you if you have an inclination to remain in England.”
“I would call it far-fetched,” Andrew put in cautiously. “Not clever at all.”
Lucien smiled stiffly. “However, not clever is often times more successful in capable hands than the best made plots in clever hands. We have every reason to believe it should put the matter of Morgan behind us all forever.”
Ignoring the jab, Varian said, “You do realize that to assist me now would be treason?”
Lucien sat back in his chair, rigid and out of temper. “Treason? How dare you insinuate I would contemplate treason. And you are far from your best reasoning if you think we would assist you in that endeavor. It is not treason to root out criminals in our Government. Andrew has penned a correspondence to Whitehall outlining how he discovered the corruption in our government offices, his want to take charge of the investigation and see the process to a thorough and complete conclusion. You can be assured he will not end his investigation until he has rooted out and brought to justice every corrupt hand betraying the crown. As for Morgan, we merely wish for Lord Andrew to accept the credit he is due for his service to the Foreign office having rid the world of a notorious pirate. Should not the public know that Morgan is dead?”
Amused and intrigued, Varian said, “Ah,” and then let the pause develop artfully, before he added, “How unlike the Merricks to take credit for their service. I should have known better than to worry you would engage in treason.”
Lucien replied. “Exactly. A simple plan. Far-fetched. I think it will serve us all the better.”
Then Andrew put in, “Leave the matter to us, Varian. This time it will be resolved forever.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Varian stepped through the doorway and there in the center of his bed, fully dressed in traveling attire, huddled on her knees, and all but concealed by a wild cloud of black hair was Merry quietly retching into a washbowl. Kat lay close at her side, one of her mother’s long curls laced through her pudgy fingers, gently pulling and swatting it.
Frequency and youth. He had to kill the impulse to laugh. Merry would kill him if he laughed. She would be fast to temper, as miserable as she surely felt. The girl was fast in every shift of mood. It was part of her charm.
Kat’s sweet cherub face with wide doe eyes of almost total black turned to him. He couldn’t kill the impulse to smile at his daughter. He lifted Kat into his arms, then cupped Merry’s chin and tilted her face until bluebell eyes peeked from within her arcade of un-brushed locks.
Softly and gently, he said, “I will have Netta bring you something small to eat and tell Tanner we won’t be traveling to Falmouth today.” He watched the emotions flash across Merry’s face. They ran the full gamut before she settled on a single emotion. Love. Then, he added, “When were you planning to tell me, or does honesty only apply to me? You know after the difficulties you had with Kat I wouldn’t have wanted you sailing to America carrying my child in you.”
Merry jerked apart her curls and in a blink her face was angry and decidedly not pretty. Maternal Volatility. A storm driving a storm.
“Why do you think I didn’t tell you, you insufferable man. You are too protective of me. I am not made of glass. You would do well to remember that occasionally outside of bed, as you have finally learned to do while we’re in it. At least you don’t treat me like glass in your passion. An absurd contradiction you should explore. If I had told you about the babe you would never have gone to London, though you needed to. I am perfectly capable of a journey by sea, you insufferable man, least you forget I sailed with your child in me once before. You were not bothered by it then. If you think I am going to let you free of your promise to take me....”
Another attack of nausea. Her words and face were lost to the washbowl. He noted she was particularly sharp of temper this time. The love he felt for her expanded his heart into something wonderously painful. He watched her until it was over and then dropped a kiss on her dark curls. Stubbornness, always stubbornness. God help them both.
“I am going to London tomorrow to meet with my man of business. It’s past time we set up house somewhere, Little One. I own lots of houses. Where would you like to live?”
Struggling against another wave of sickness and
struggling for air, a short, harsh, “Virginia,” was all that came from her lips.
“We will go to America next year after the birth,” Varian promised her. “But I won’t tolerate you sailing while you’re pregnant.”
Merry blushed and clamped her mouth shut. She hated that word. Pregnant. Battle won. Varian smiled, enchanted by her youthful absurdity and took note that she’d better get more comfortable with that word.
“Where would you like to live, Merry? In London? On a country estate? A farm? A shack? If you want something I don’t already own, I can buy whatever it is you want for us. I will be content with four walls that don’t rock without your relatives. I am not staying in your father’s house a day longer than necessary.”
Merry gave a tired shrug, shook her head and threw up. When she collapsed back against the pillows, Varian set the bowl on the table and pulled a quilt over her exhausted form. He kissed her lightly on the cheek. It was a good sign the nausea was passing that she didn’t swat at him.
“America will be there next year, Little One. There is no reason for us to argue over this. We have a lifetime, Merry. I gave you my word we will go. As soon as you can safely travel we will go. I am a man of my word.”
Merry nodded limply and her eyes drifted closed. She was a touch pale, but so beautiful, kitten soft cheek pressed into linen, tiny white fingers tucked beneath chin, and curled into a small ball hugging his pillow. Varian watched her until Kat’s fretting prompted him to leave so Merry could rest.
Merry was asleep by the time he left the bedroom. As he walked toward the stairs, talking softly to Kat as she playfully slapped at his face with fleshy hands and struggled with an utterance that sounded like ‘Mama,’ Varian was swept by the certainty that at long last back on English soil he would never leave it again.
A decade he had spent at sea. A decade roaming the world. The decade before Merry. It was nothing more than a grim memory, those days before Merry, almost as though they were only shadows and unreal. Better forgotten.