The Renegade (The Renegade, Rebel and Rogue)

by Christine Dorsey

Zoe in the meantime didn’t move. She just continued to stare at her legs, mumbling something about smallpox.

  “Ye’d think ye weren’t pleased that yer not goin’ t’ die. Are ye that anxious to be rid of my company?”

  She glanced up and her lips thinned. “Of course I’m anxious to be free of you... you lout. And don’t laugh. You are a lout and much worse. But I do not wish to die,” she added quickly. “It’s just that I thought... well, you know what I thought.”

  “Aye.” Despite her warning there was laughter in his voice. “Ye thought ye had smallpox.”

  “Well, I’ve never slept with fleas before.”

  “I have.” The laughter was gone. “Ye get used t’ it.”

  “I don’t wish to.” Zoe scratched at her leg. “They itch.” When that complaint brought no response, Zoe wrapped the blanket about herself and rose. Her clothes, looking sadly the worse for wear, were draped over the stall divider. Keeping a wary eye on the Scot who seemed engrossed with feeding the horse, Zoe pulled her shift over her head. It tangled with her hair. The corset was next. It was a complicated garment, one she’d never managed alone and she almost asked her captor for assistance. But somehow she managed. By the time she was fastening the bodice, hunger was hurrying her fingers.

  The bread was coarse, probably wouldn’t settle well on her delicate stomach, but Zoe ate it anyway. She actually nearly finished it and the ale before she thought to question the Scot. “Is this to be shared?”

  “Nay, I’ve eaten already. Have yer fill.” Keegan was busy fashioning a halter of sorts out of pieces of leather he found in the tack room. When he finished he led the horse outside, threw the blankets over her back and offered Zoe a leg up. As soon as her legs spread to wrap around the horse, her muscles screamed in pain. Still embarrassed by the smallpox fiasco, Zoe kept her counsel. Instead she asked, “Where are we going now?”

  “T’ Harmouth on the coast. I’ve a man t’ see about passage north t’ Scotland.” Keegan mounted the horse behind her, his arms circling her, grasping the makeshift reins. When Keegan clicked the mare into motion she slid back, nestling in the wedge of his thighs. His groan had her twisting about.

  “ ’Tis painful, isn’t it? But I’m not complaining as you can see.”

  Perhaps she wasn’t, but Keegan felt like it. It was bad enough having Lady Zoe Morgan as his captive. But he didn’t like the idea of being captivated by her charms, however limited. His mind was made up. First chance he had, he was leaving Lady Zoe behind. He’d find another way to avenge his father.

  Six

  They reached Harmouth by midafternoon the next day, after what Zoe considered a grueling ride. She imagined the Scot felt the same, for he was quite uncommunicative. When he did speak, it was to bark a one word response, accompanied by a few grumbling remarks about her penchant for complaining. The savage. Certainly Zoe had no desire to carry on a conversation with the barbarian, but he didn’t seem to understand how truly uncomfortable she was.

  Her bottom was sore, her legs rubbery, and her flea bites itched. Only the memory of her captor’s face when he told her she didn’t have smallpox stopped her from letting him know how she felt. So she kept quiet, even when she was so tired she felt her next breath would be her last.

  But somehow or another she continued to breathe, and her heart kept beating and she was still alive when the Scot reached up to help her from the horse.

  The village itself was small, clinging to a stormswept perch of granite. Crooked narrow streets wound through the whitewashed stone buildings that huddled, nearly on top of one another as if protecting themselves from the salt wind. Like the land surrounding it, the village was sparse and uninviting.

  And of the lot, the Hungry Rook seemed the most uninviting of its buildings. The broken-hinged shingle—depicting a fierce and incredibly ugly bird, its beak open—slapped and creaked with each fresh gust of wind off the channel.

  The door slammed open and a grizzled old man, as hunched and bent as the dense furze dotting the slopes, teetered onto the street. One eye was covered by a dirty black patch. The other, a washed-out blue, studied Keegan and Zoe,

  “I’m lookin’ for one Padraic Rafferty,” Keegan began. “I’ve heard he favors these parts.”

  “Have ye now?”

  “Aye, and I’d be appreciatin’ it if ye’d tell me if he’s here.”

  “Was,” the old man said before spitting. He backhanded his mouth, then aimed his good eye toward Zoe. “Who’s this fair bit o’ female?”

  Zoe found herself being hauled behind the Scot as he answered. “ ’Tis none of yer concern, old man. If ye won’t be answerin’ me about Captain Rafferty, I’ll be findin’ someone who will.”

  The one-eyed man simply shrugged his narrow shoulders and started off down the hill. Keegan watched him go, then twisted about, catching Zoe’s gaze.

  “Do I need to be tellin’ ye to keep yer comments to yerself inside. These men aren’t known for their gentlemanly manners. ’Twould be best if ye just stay at my side and keep your mouth shut.”

  “Better for whom?”

  Keegan’s eyes narrowed “Now what ye be meanin’ by that?”

  “Well, I assume it’s your own skin you’re watching out for, not mine. You are after all, an outlaw. Surely these men, rough as they seem, would—”

  Zoe’s words were interrupted by a bark of laughter as Keegan threw back his head. “So ye think they would do the right thing, do ye? Save yer pretty neck, I imagine yer hopin’.” He shook his head when her expression showed that was exactly what she was thinking. “These men are as much afoul of the law as me... maybe more so. Ye’re in the midst of a village of smugglers and pirates Lady Zoe.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Keegan wasn’t sure she believed him, but he hoped for her sake she did. He’d just as soon not have her with him but at the moment there wasn’t much he could do about it. So with a last warning look, Keegan led the way into the tavern.

  Inside, the air was thick with smoke and the acrid smell of sweat. The noise, quite loud when they entered, soon dissipated to a muffled whisper as all eyes turned on Keegan and Zoe.

  “Mind yerself,” is all Keegan said as he motioned for her to seat herself on a bench against the dingy wall. Acting more confident than he felt, Keegan settled down on the chair beside her leaning it onto its back two legs. It wasn’t long before a barmaid approached. She smiled, showing teeth the color of tobacco, and offered Keegan a view of her pendulous breasts.

  “What can I get for ya, goven’r?”

  “Rum.”

  The doxy’s marble eyes darted toward Zoe, who stared at her with unabashed curiosity. “And for the lady?”

  “She’ll have the same.” Keegan’s hand snatched the barmaid’s arm before she could turn away.

  Her smile turned knowing. “And be there something else I can do for ya? A big bruiser like yerself must get pretty tired of sticking it in that poor excuse for a woman.”

  “Now lass, she’s not that bad. A bit on the thin side perhaps but nothing a good sea voyage wouldn’t cure.”

  “Is that what you’re planning to do? Take her on a trip?”

  “It might be. That is, if can find a certain captain by the name of Rafferty. Might ye know the lad?”

  “Oh, I know Paddy all right.” The barmaid leaned her hip against the table. “He’s got a real strong ache for me, if ya get my meaning.”

  “I think I do.” Keegan leaned forward, the chair legs slamming to the floor. He let his hand drape the generous curve of her rump. “So where might I find yer friend Paddy?”

  Twisting about, the doxy stretched across the scarred table toward Keegan. “I think ya should spend a bit of time with me first then I’ll tell—”

  The loud slap of a hand across her buttocks had the woman squealing and slithering off the table. Entranced by her brazen ways, Zoe too, was caught off guard. She let out a startled squeal, then looked up at the man who’d interrupted the barmaid’s shameless flir
tation with the Scot.

  He pulled the woman to her feet, then gave her a shove in the direction of the bar. “These gentle folk aren’t interested in the likes of you, Limmy. Now be off with you.”

  “Ya don’t scare me none, Keefer Holt,” the girl said defiantly, yet Zoe noted that she scrambled away, all the time gingerly rubbing her bottom.

  “You’ll have to excuse Limmy,” the man said, with a formal bow toward Zoe. “She hasn’t the manners of a sow.” This brought a disgruntled noise from Limmy, very similar to the sound a sow might make. But the man ignored it as he lifted Zoe’s hand to his lips. “A lady as fair as you shouldn’t have to be exposed to such as she.”

  “Well, I...” Zoe swallowed, stumbling over her words. She’d never had her hand kissed before. And the man doing it now was clearly proficient at it. He stared into her eyes, his being a brown, so deep as to be nearly black. His lips were firm, and slightly moist, and though not nearly as well-defined and attractive as the Scot’s, Zoe felt heat rise to softly color her cheeks. That is, until the Scot snatched her hand away. Then her face turned a darker shade of red.

  “I apologize, sir,” the man said to Keegan. “I didn’t mean any offense. I only wished to pay my deepest respects to your wife.” His gaze shifted toward Zoe as she opened her mouth to correct his misconception, but a grunt from the Scot made her close it again.

  “ ’Tis nothing,” Keegan said with a slight nod.

  “I am Captain Keefer Holt, of the good schooner Sea Maiden. Perhaps you saw her in the harbor?”

  “Nay.” Keegan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back. “ ’Tis Padraic Rafferty whom I seek.”

  “Alas, you must seek him in heaven... or perhaps hell.”

  “He’s dead?”

  “I fear so. Though it could hardly come as a shock if you knew Padraic.” Keefer paused to shine a brilliant smile toward Zoe.

  “Which I didn’t,” Keegan said, managing to regain the man’s attention,

  “In that case I assume you wished to make his acquaintance for one of several reasons. Either you were in need of some contraband...” He paused again to study Zoe. “And I doubt that’s the case. Or you wish to take a sea voyage.” When Keegan said nothing, Keefer continued. “My own vessel, Sea Maiden is at your disposal.”

  “Thank ye, but I’m not lookin’ to take a trip.”

  “Really?”

  Zoe watched Keefer lean back in his chair, his pose mimicking the Scot’s. The men seemed to study each other.

  “That surprises me,” Keefer said “For with that Scottish burr broadening your speech I would have thought you might feel an escape to the Continent should be in the offing.”

  He knew.

  Zoe’s heart pounded and she tried to send the sea captain a subconscious message. Anything to let him know that she was held hostage and who the Scot was. But before she could gain the captain’s gaze, she glanced around and found herself caught in Keegan’s. He looked down to where his hand cradled his pistol. It was beneath the table, obscured from all but her view, and aimed toward Zoe. She felt her breath catch and decided against any more foolish actions.

  At least for the moment.

  She even nodded her agreement when Keegan gave some inane explanation of why they were seeking Padraic Rafferty. He held her close to his side as they exited the tavern.

  Outside, the air’s bite was tangy with salt, refreshing after the confines of the tavern. Keegan took a deep breath and pulled Zoe away from the entrance before letting loose his frustration.

  “Damnation,” he growled. “What in the hell am I t’ do now?”

  The question was obviously rhetorical, for he didn’t look to Zoe for an answer but she gave one anyway.

  “You could give yourself up. Return to London and—”

  “Let them hang me? ’Tis that yer suggestion?”

  He stared at her dumbfounded and Zoe had to admit he had a point. “I could speak out for you. Assure the authorities that no harm came to me by your hand.”

  “That’s a comfort t’ be sure. But the truth of the matter is that I’d be hanged with or without ye.”

  “Then why not take Captain Holt’s offer? It seems to me that he is as good as that other man to take you where you wish to go.” Probably not something she should suggest, seeing that he planned to take her with him, but it was out of Zoe’s mouth before she could stop it. And it hardly was more unreasonable than his response.

  “I did not like the man.”

  “That’s ridiculous. He seemed nice enough to me.”

  “And why shouldn’t he with all his hand-kissing and long soulful glances.”

  “What?”

  “But mark me words lass, he’s not a man t’ be trusted.”

  “Ah.” Zoe raised her chin. “And I should take the word of the man who kidnapped me, and threatened to kill me for that?”

  “Hush with ye.” Keegan grabbed hold of her arm, yanking her along down the steep slope that led to a small protected harbor. “I’ve said ye won’t be hurt.”

  “Which is a bit difficult for me to believe when you’ve a pistol pointed at me. I’ve known since I can remember that I’m bound to die young, but I never thought it would be at the hand of a brigand such as you. I should have been in my bed, with Miss Phelps at my side, and the doctor.”

  Keegan just rolled his eyes heavenward as he hurried them both toward the cove. He wasn’t interested in hearing again a catalogue of her ailments, real or imagined. And he was beginning to think they were mostly imagined.

  Glancing at her now, scurrying along beside him she seemed healthy enough. Her skin had picked up a bit of color, either from the autumn sun, or from the exertion of keeping up with him. Whichever, the shade was most becoming. He could almost believe that Captain Holt had been taken enough with her to risk a husband’s wrath. Except that he knew the bastard’s type—had run into his share at the gaming tables.

  But it was no longer the loss of a few pounds that rested on his ability to read people. His life depended upon it. And in an odd way, Zoe’s life. Which he shouldn’t take the time to worry about, but which he did all the same.

  All the more reason to abandon his original plan and get rid of her as soon as he could. But one look at Harmouth was enough to make him realize this wasn’t the place to leave her. She may have been flattered by Holt’s attentions but men like that would eat her alive.

  Unbidden and unwelcome came another thought. Men like himself would too.

  An afternoon spent conversing, or trying to, with the locals offered no more information than he already had. Most everyone seemed to agree that Padraic Rafferty was dead, the victim of a shipwreck. No one seemed willing to take a trip north to Scotland, at least not for the money Keegan had to offer.

  As dark settled over the small hamlet Keegan rented a room in Harmouth’s most respectable and only inn. Somehow or another, perhaps because she was tired, Zoe managed to keep from making any comments that could jeopardize his well-being.

  The room was cramped, the sloped ceilings made for a man much shorter than himself, but at least it was decently clean. Not that Zoe seemed to mind.

  She took one look at the room, walked to the bed, and fell across it, almost instantly asleep.

  He’d told her tonight she would be tied up in case she had any ideas of escaping. But she looked so sweet, so innocent, Keegan hadn’t the heart to do it. Besides, she wasn’t likely to awaken. He’d probably have his hands full in the morning getting her out of bed. Especially when he told her they were going to start north across land toward Scotland.

  So Keegan positioned his pistol beneath the thin pillow, his broadsword at his side, and lay down beside her. Tired as he was, sleep did not come quickly. Especially when he started wondering whether, for her own comfort, of course, he should loosen Zoe’s gown. He finally decided he was a damn rake for even thinking on it.

  But the image from the morning in the barn was hard to escape.

&nbs
p; ~ ~ ~

  She dreamed she was strong and healthy, her hair streaming down her back as a magnificent horse galloped across the fields. She could smell the wildflowers, hear the birds singing, and feel the wondrous sun on her face. It was a lovely dream, made all the more so by the man who rode by her side. He made her happy, made her heart sing. And when she looked over at him Zoe saw it was the Scot.

  Her startled gasp woke Zoe up.

  For a moment she lay still, waiting for the remnants of the dream to fade, letting her eyes adjust to the darkness. She was lying on a bed that she barely remembered seeing before, beside the man from her dream. No. The man who kidnapped her.

  Slowly, barely able to believe her good fortune, Zoe lifted her arms. He hadn’t tied them as he’d threatened to do. She could just barely make out his silhouette in the darkness, but his low snores were proof enough that he was asleep.

  He was asleep and she was free. Well, not quite yet, but soon.

  With as much stealth as she could muster, Zoe inched across the mattress. Thin and decidedly not down-filled, the ticking gave little as she moved. For which she was profoundly grateful.

  Unfortunately the flooring was as thin as the bedding, making a loud creak as she lowered one foot to the boards. Her breathing stopped, as did his. Heartbeats passed, and Zoe expected to feel his hand clasp about her arm at any moment. But it didn’t. When the snores resumed, Zoe sucked in a welcome gulp of air.

  She slid. She slithered. She managed somehow to go from prone to standing without waking him. Now to get out of the room. Pausing, Zoe glanced back at the Scot’s sleeping form. At the broadsword beside him. It would be so easy.

  In disgust she turned toward the door. She couldn’t kill him. Not even with his threats against Fox ringing in her ears. She would save Fox by warning him. And the first step in that was finding him.

  On tiptoes Zoe approached the door. A quarter moon provided the light she needed to find the latch. But not enough to find the key.

  “Blast it,” Zoe mumbled as she squinted her eyes, trying to pick out a glimmer of brass in the room. Nothing. The barbarian probably had it beneath his pillow.