When he came back into the sunlight of the deck, Maria was arguing with Francisco in Valentine’s stead.
“But we are in a terrible hurry,” she insisted. “My betrothed’s ship has already made port by now, certainly.”
“Yes, it seems we are no the only ones to benefit from the favorable winds,” Francisco allowed. “But you must understand, my crew has no taken a ship since we set sail, and while I have greatly enjoyed our journey together, I am working, Maria.” He shrugged and quirked his mouth, as if it was completely out of his control, while all around them on deck, the crew scrambled to grab the wind and intercept the target. Francisco gave Maria a short bow and then leaped onto a low rig to scramble up to the wheel, shouting orders in a crazy mix of languages.
Valentine wrapped an arm about her waist and pulled her to him, unable to resist kissing her mouth. He liked the sight of her windswept curls blowing over her shoulder.
“What are we to do?” Mary sighed, running her hands over his chest.
Valentine shrugged. “I suppose we will earn our passage.” He swept his hand up from his side, and Mary smiled when she saw the now battered feathered hat. He placed it on his head with a grin as above them the blue and black flag of The Azure Skull snapped in the wind. “Vamanos, Maria.”
They went to the railing and watched as Francisco’s ship bore down on the larger, slower vessel before them. It seemed as if they raced on wheels, and in moments, Valentine could see the scramble of crew and passengers on the deck and a white flag was run up the mast.
“Ropes!” Francisco shouted, having once more taken up his position standing on the railing with the rigging in his hand. Valentine was amused to see a blue silk scarf now fashioned into a skull cap beneath Francisco’s feathered hat, one side of the silk pulled down beneath an eyebrow. His cousin looked suddenly to Valentine and gestured to the coils lined up along the railing on the deck.
“Do you mind?” he said pointedly.
Valentine laughed and began hefting the heavy cord onto his shoulder, waiting for the lead ropes that had already been cast to pull the two ships closer.
“Are you actually going to participate in this?” Maria asked.
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Once Francisco and Teresa are married, I will take over The Skull. I must practice.” Valentine spoke to Maria from the side of his mouth while he watched a handful of sailors swing down onto the other ship from long ropes. It was a great distraction from her disappointed face. He flicked the brim of his hat. “The deadly bird, yes?”
“You can’t be serious,” she said. “Valentine, you are no pirate.”
“I could be a pirate,” he argued, and as if to demonstrate, he tossed his coil of rope to the waiting hands of the sailor on the other ship. “It is very profitable work.”
Maria continued to chastise from behind him. “What about your friends at Melk?”
“They do no need me,” he said, grasping a part of the rigging and pulling himself up to stand on the railing as Francisco did. “I need a scarf,” he muttered, then looked at Maria hopefully. “Maria, would you—?”
“No!” she replied.
They were both temporarily distracted as Francisco called out to the captain of the other ship.
“Ahoy, Captain Booley! A pleasure to meet you again!” Francisco swept his hat from his head and gave a low bow while maintaining his hold on the rigging. “Permission to come aboard?”
The request was mocking and incendiary, since ten of The Skull’s crew were already looting the cargo on deck, tossing smaller crates across the gap of sea separating the ships or securing dangling ropes to the larger items. One of the crew seemed to be petitioning the clustered and frightened passengers for any jewels or purses on their persons, like a street performer after a demonstration.
“You go to hell, Bird,” the white-haired captain spat crossly. “Be forewarned, I shall set the authorities upon your wake as soon as we reach Beckham Hall. The king’s own man awaits. They’ll have you this time.”
Francisco blew his tongue at the old man and rolled his eyes.
Valentine couldn’t help but chuckle and feel a bit of pride at his younger cousin’s comportment. He only just caught a large brocade bag flung from the other ship. It appeared to be a woman’s piece, and so he swung around on the rigging and tossed it to Maria.
“For you, mi amor.”
Mary caught the bag with a huff and strode close to the railing to raise it over her head. She heaved it toward the captured ship with a cry and then crossed her arms and looked up at Valentine with a defiant expression.
“You did no like the color?” he asked, ignoring the sting of his conscience.
“Mary? Mary!” A woman’s voice cried out from across the short span of waves.
Valentine swung back toward the Dane and saw a rotund old woman in fine dress, one gnarled hand clutched to her bosom and the other pointing toward Maria. A stooped, hopelessly skinny old man joined the lady, his arm going somewhat about her wide waist.
“Roscoe, look—it’s our Mary! She’s been kidnapped by pirates!”
“Damn.” Valentine jumped down from the railing and swept Maria behind his back.
“Oh, no. No, no, no,” Maria moaned.
Valentine tried to keep his voice calm. “Maria, is that—?”
“Lady Elmsbeth,” Maria confirmed dismally.
“How did she manage to match our pace from Prague?” Valentine wondered aloud.
“She is very rich,” was all Maria would say.
“Lady Mary,” the old man called out in a warbly voice. “Are you injured?”
Francisco, too, swung down from his perch and strode across the deck to them. “Old friends, cousin?”
“They are the nobility Maria was traveling with,” Valentine admitted. “We just escaped them in Prague.”
“This is no good,” Francisco muttered. “We are unlikely to be pursued taking only insured cargo and a handful of personal items. But if they think we are holding a lady prisoner, they will scour the sea for us. There will be no hope of going ashore, and we must have supplies and a safe place to drop anchor until the winds turn.”
Valentine looked at the other ship. The old nobles were conferring with their captain. All three were looking at the spot where Maria stood behind the two cousins.
“If I go with them,” Maria said suddenly, “will they leave you alone?”
Valentine turned to look down at her. “What? Maria, no.”
But Francisco acted as though Valentine had not spoken. “Hmm. I see what you are thinking. We could at least maneuver farther down the coast and send crew ashore there. Not Beckhamshire, though.”
“Oxley, then,” Maria suggested.
Francisco nodded, stroking his chin. “Yes. I agree. That would be a good place.”
The captain called from the other ship, drawing the trio’s attention just as the last of The Skull’s crew were reboarding their own ship.
“We will have the lady, Bird,” the captain warned, the elderly nobles hovering behind him, “or your neck will stretch, and well you know it. This is her home port. I’ll send up the signal, and every manned ship in the harbor will be obliged to assist.”
Francisco looked at Valentine with a shrug. “She has to go, cousin.”
“Francisco,” Valentine began in a chiding voice, “surely you can understand that—”
“He’s right,” Maria interrupted and pushed her way between the two men to stand at the railing. She raised a hand to the old woman but spoke over her shoulder. “If I don’t go with them now, none of us has any hope of reaching the shore for days, and that is if The Skull is not captured.”
She turned around to lean back on the railing and face Valentine. “If my betrothed has discovered my absence, I am caught either way. But the dowager will take me straight to Beckham Hall, where I hope I still have some authority. I shall also have an irrefutable excuse for my whereabouts. You can come ashore in Oxley unseen and make y
our way to me. It’s only a few hours, Valentine. I will be watching for you.” She paused, and glanced at Francisco self-consciously before asking, “It’s better this way, any matter, is it not?”
No, he wanted to say. It’s too soon. Valentine felt that even though he would see Maria again in only hours, this was good-bye. And it was too soon.
“Let me go,” she whispered. “Before I think better of it and break my promise.”
She was right. If Valentine thought about it much longer himself . . .
Valentine pulled his dagger from his boot, then rushed toward Maria with a growl, lifting her around the waist with one arm as he stepped onto the railing. Maria squealed and clutched at his shoulders while he loosened a rope from its knot. He twisted the thick rough line around his forearm and grabbed at a loop and then hooked the ankle of his boot through the bottom.
“What are you doing?” Maria whispered into his face.
“Do no look down.” He pulled her close and took her mouth as he kicked off the railing.
They twirled in the air as the rope lowered with a whirring of wooden pulleys, and Valentine kissed her deeply, Mary’s arms entwined about his neck, her skirts blowing in the breeze above her bare feet. Her soft, unbound curls blew past Valentine’s face, shielding them both from the world as they held to each other for only a moment, suspended above the sea, between the ships, beyond reality.
Valentine pulled back to look into her beautiful eyes one last private time as his boots thudded onto the Dane’s deck. “I love you, Maria.”
Then she was ripped from his hold by the fat dowager and swung away behind the old woman. Valentine just saw the pale shock on her face, the glistening wetness on her cheeks.
“Get away from her, you filthy parasite!” the old woman screeched.
It took all of Valentine’s strength of will not to reach out and snatch Maria back. To tell Francisco to sail in any direction save the one that led to Beckhamshire harbor.
Thankfully, he felt the rope drawing him back up. And so once again he mustered his gift for pretend and touched the brim of his hat with the tip of his dagger, smiling for Maria’s sake. She stood on the deck, her expressionless face turned up as he rose above her, her arms hanging limp at her sides while the old woman pawed over her.
“Safe travels, mi amor,” he called.
But Maria did not reply.
And Valentine let her go.
Chapter 22
Mary said not one word to Lady Elmsbeth, Lord Roscoe, or the captain of the passenger ship; she spoke to no one for the remainder of the journey into port. She was deposited straightaway into the captain’s berth, and plied with food and drink, but Mary accepted none of it. Indeed, she stared into nothing, her eyes dry but blank.
“Poor thing,” Lady Elmsbeth said to Roscoe in a not very quiet whisper. “She’s likely in shock. I can only imagine the trials those criminals put her through. A lone woman aboard a pirate ship full of bloodthirsty villains. She’s even without shoes.” She tsked and shook her head. “I clearly saw the one who delivered her—I vow he was at the tavern in Prague, dressed as a monk, no less. Little wonder Mary acted so strangely desperate. She must have known he was there the entire time.”
“We can say nothing to her betrothed, Beth,” Roscoe said quietly, gravely. “You know that, don’t you?”
“But Roscoe, justice must be done,” the dowager cried out. “Her betrothed will pursue those dastardly men to the ends of the earth to avenge his love.”
“He may, certainly,” Roscoe agreed. “But think you he would still accept for his bride a woman so dreadfully used in such a way? Is that fair to Mary? That, after all this, she be turned out?”
“Oh! You’re right, of course,” Lady Elmsbeth fretted. “You usually are. But how are we to explain her appearance on this ship? The other passengers are to disembark at Beckham, and they all witnessed the spectacle of her release. There will be talk in the village.”
Lord Roscoe was quiet for a moment. “I will speak to the captain. He will announce that Mary had been a passenger on our ship the entirety of the voyage, only away in an isolated berth, ill. She was only kidnapped at the start of the attack, but we saw her aboard before the brigands could escape with her.”
“Oh, Roscoe, you are brilliant.” Lady Elmsbeth sighed. “That is just the thing, yes.” Mary heard the scrape of footsteps as Lady Elmsbeth appeared at the side of the berth. “We are only going above for a moment, dear. Have no fear—no one shall disturb you. You rest a while.”
Mary continued to stare at the ceiling, so very much like the one she’d awoken beneath just that morning, after being loved by Valentine.
Lady Elmsbeth patted her arm. “Yes, then. All right.”
Then she was thankfully alone, the creaking of the ship and the hush of the water against the hull the only witnesses to her grief. She fell into a defensive slumber, her dreams frightening conglomerations of Glayer Felsteppe once more feasting on Beckham Hall’s curtain wall, with a burning Melk perched atop a distant hill.
Mary was drenched in her own sweat and came awake with a jolt to see Lady Elmsbeth spring back from the side of the berth, her gnarled hands clutched to her bosom.
“My goodness, you gave me a fright, Mary.”
Mary blinked and stared about the small dark room, lit by two lanterns now. She had been hoping that this too was part of her nightmares. That she would be wrapped in Valentine’s arms when she woke, ready to saddle the horses and set out on the road once more together, outrunning the dangers that pursued them.
But this terror was no simple bad dream—indeed, the unknown trouble that lay before her was all too real, and all too inescapable.
“I’m sorry,” Mary murmured, pushing her hair back from her face. “Are we landed?”
“Yes, dear. The other passengers disembarked some time ago. Lord Roscoe and I thought perhaps it would be best if you were not available for spectacle.”
Mary nodded. “Thank you.”
The dowager seemed uncomfortable. “Roscoe and I shall take you straightaway to Beckham Hall ourselves. Er . . . whenever you are ready, dear.”
Mary swung her legs over the side of the berth and looked down at her bare, dirty feet, the ragged hem of the servant’s costume, which was the only gown she had since escaping Hamburg on Francisco Alesander’s pirate ship. She had not even a ribbon to tie back her hair with. Even though she was returning to Beckham Hall a woman who had traveled the world in a grand and harrowing adventure, loved and lost a man, known many exciting and exotic places and people and would soon become a married woman, for the first time in her life, Mary deeply felt like the abandoned orphan she was.
And then she thought of Agnes. Her nurse who was only moments away from her right now. Oh, how she longed to embrace her!
Mary stood from the berth and took the dowager’s arm as if she was an invalid, all the strength and will she’d come to know in herself the past months completely vanished, and departed the cabin for the brisk night air of the deck.
The village looked so small after her journey, and the villagers she passed in the streets were strangers to her now. No one paid her any mind as she preceded the dowager and Lord Roscoe up the main thoroughfare toward the stone keep looming in the distance. She could have been a poor maidservant or a beggar. Even the few who might have recognized her face would never accept that this bedraggled woman was their lady. And Mary took advantage of this fact, walking relentlessly toward Beckham Hall, having no care for the filth she tracked through. She didn’t dwell upon what she would do if she encountered Lord Felsteppe; at the moment, she didn’t care at all what he would think.
She only wanted Agnes, and her own bed.
As Mary drew near the steps to the hall, she noticed even in her daze of sorrow the lack of bustle, the absence of sound of the ever-present soldiers. There were no men milling about, no carts coming to or from the rear of the keep, where the entrance to the stores lay. The stones were gritty beneat
h her feet as she climbed the steps and entered the little guard house.
No guard.
She pulled at the door, some part of her worried that it would be barred to her, but it opened easily with its familiar screech.
“Mary?” Lady Elmsbeth called out in her warbly voice. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t know,” Mary said. She held the door open behind her as the elderly nobles followed her into the soldier’s hall.
Empty. No fire in the hearth.
She crossed the bare stones—even the rushes were gone—to the little alcove where the stairs to her personal, upper floors were defended by the heavily reinforced door Mary had opened to Glayer Felsteppe what now seemed ages ago.
The door stood open.
A chill raced up from the floor to the crown of Mary’s head.
“Where is everyone?” Lady Elmsbeth whispered.
“Shh, Beth,” Roscoe advised, and Mary heard the papery sound of his hand on the dowagers arm.
Mary climbed the steps, her heart seeming to pound one hundred times with every tread she gained. Near the top, the golden glow of flames could be seen, and the warm scent of beeswax candles filled Mary’s nostrils with a familiar tingle. Agnes would be sitting before the hearth as she always was this time of night. Working at some mending or polishing, a small cup of warm milk at her side. Oh, how surprised she would be!
Mary’s eyes filled with tears when she gained the top of the stairs and saw the chair pointed away from her, toward the fire. The hem of long robes, wide sleeves, draped over the edges of the chair in dark silhouette.
“Agnes,” she called out, walking toward the chair, already raising her arms for the embrace she was sure would come. “Agnes, I’ve come home!”
The shadow jumped and then rose, turning swiftly before the fire to face her.
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