A tavern wench sauntered up and gave the men a slow, sultry wink, her eyes moving from each with a half-lidded gaze. “What’ll ye be havin’ good fellows?”
The tall man with several fresh jagged scratches and cuts on his cheeks and chin gave her a lusty smile as he flipped her a coin, which he eyed as she slipped it down her bodice. “Bring stout and a trencher of fruits, meats, and cheese, fine lass.”
“And bread,” the short one added.
She nodded before she sashayed toward the bar, tossing a quick smile over her shoulder. He gave her a wink before turning his attention to Everett. “A man shouldn’t drink alone, even though the day’s still young.”
Everett nodded his understanding of the code words the man spoke. “You’ll be Gampo, then?”
“Keep yer voice down, man,” the short one growled.
Gampo’s smile did not reach his eyes. He touched his hat. “’Tis I. And ye’ll be the one requiring my services?”
“I am,” Everett responded with what he hoped was an authoritative tone.
Gampo gestured to the two men. “Crowe and Pike, my quarter-master and bo’sun.”
Everett nodded a greeting. “It’s my understanding that a merchant shipping company formerly run by Mr. Ahern has been a problem for you in the past.”
Gampo quirked an aristocratically shaped eyebrow. “Formerly run?”
“Apparently, Mr. Ahern was killed during your last engagement.” Everett watched the man closely.
Gampo sat back in his chair. “That’s the true word? More’s the pity.” He rubbed his chin for a moment before he continued, “Aye, they have caused considerable pain to the marrow on me and me crew over the past few years.” He leaned forward and brushed a strand of dark hair from his eyes. “What’s about it?”
Everett took a measured sip of his ale while the tavern server distributed three frothy mugs to Gampo and his two mates. She bent a little lower while she set Gampo’s before him, giving him a brief peek down her blouse, which from his grin he enjoyed tremendously.
She left and the men turned their attention back to him.
Everett leaned forward. “I, too, have a problem with the same company, more particularly Captain Hart. I believe we can be of equal service to each other.” He took another sip and placed his ale on the table then folded his hands.
Gampo pulled a gleaming dagger from his belt and pierced a dried peach slice. “What’s in yer head about it?” He pulled the peach from the knife with his teeth.
Everett shifted in his seat. “Well…er, I have knowledge of Hart’s plans. His ships are in dry dock for repairs, and he’ll be moving cargo to a warehouse in town for safe keeping.”
Gampo leaned back. “And what makes ye think I’ve a mind to care? My argument was with Ahern, not Hart.”
Everett glanced from Gampo to Crowe and Pike, who were eyeing him warily while eating. “I heard that they’ve done some damage to your vessel as well on several occasions. I’m thinking you’d like some compensation to use toward the costs of repairs.”
“By the devil’s twisted tail, are ye tossin’ the notion of stealin’ his ship’s holdings? Or mayhap his ship from dry dock?” Gampo raised his brows.
“No, well…yes.” Everett took a moment to gather his nerves by taking a sip of his ale. “I can’t help you with the ship in dry dock. But my proposal is to give you information as to the day, time, and trail of the goods as they are transported from the ship to the warehouse, giving your men an opportunity to lie in wait and relieve them of it. I know the precise place.”
He slid a map he’d drawn earlier to the far edge of his table and pointed to it.
“Here is a narrow alley they’ll use as a cut-through. There are three recessed doorways as well as an iron stair. You should have no trouble staying hidden in the darkness of the predawn hours. And I even have access to a nearby vacant building where the goods can be hidden for a time.” He paused, holding his breath. The impassive expressions on the faces of the three pirates had his stomach churning. He pulled a key from his jacket and placed it on the edge of the map.
The walls in Twin Pines were thin, and it had been easy to eavesdrop on the conversation between Jared Grey, Hart, and O'Brien regarding warehouse storage rental and transportation of the cargo. Jared Grey owned several warehouse properties in Charleston, a few almost vacant. There had been only the small matter of unlocking the drawer and borrowing a warehouse key from Grey’s desk.
Gampo rested his arm across the back of the vacant chair next to him. “And what see ye as to yer part in this plot?”
Everett hoped Gampo didn’t notice the tremor of his fingers as he pulled the map and key back near his half empty mug. “I’ve provided the base work, found the best location, created the map, and will provide the time of day that will make this plan successful. In return, I’ll split with you the money we get from the sale of the goods.”
Pike shoved a piece of meat in his mouth then followed it with a chunk of bread. “’Tis give and take with our lot, man. Share and share.” He glared hard at Everett as he chewed.
Gampo’s smile barely slit his face. “Share and share’s the law of the coast. Right mates?”
The two men nodded. Crowe took a long draught of his stout and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before he spoke. “The captain and quarter-master gets two shares, the bo’sun and gunner a share an’ a half, and officers one an’ a quarter. Rest of the crew gets one share.” He ripped a hunk of bread from the loaf. “That makes ye one of the rest, unless yer one of the other. Which yer not.”
Everett swallowed. This venture was not going to be as profitable as he’d anticipated. However, the main intent was to keep Captain Hart away from Twin Pines, thus away from Keelan. If the man was kept busy searching for stolen goods, then Everett could continue with his plan to marry the girl. The best part was that it would cost him nothing to have it done.
“Fine, then.” Everett pushed the paper and key back toward Gampo. “Share and share. Do we have an agreement?”
Gampo glanced at his men. Crowe gave a nod and Pike simply shrugged. “On my faith then, we have an accord but mark this.” His dagger impaled a sausage from the platter. He wiggled the steel tip free from the wooden trencher before raising the sausage to his mouth. He held it there, suspended while he looked Everett dead in the eye. “If we’re crossed or foul-advised, may I drink a bowl of fire and brimstone with the devil if I don’t have yer balls for breakfast the same day.”
For the next couple of days, Keelan awoke each morning more tense and worried than the morning before. Although there were times when her father could rise and move about with less discomfort, his health continued its slow decline. His stomach rebelled against almost everything but a thin broth, and sometimes even that didn’t stay with him. Concerned, Dr. Garrison had even traveled to Charleston to purchase a new medicine, hoping it would work better.
To keep herself busy, Keelan spent the late mornings in the kitchen house, learning Ruth’s recipes before sitting with the ledgers in her uncle's mill office. In addition to the plantation ledgers, Uncle Jared had recently asked her to keep his business’ books as well. Those activities consumed most of her day, but the distraction pleased her. The most precious time for Keelan, however, occurred in the minutes following the dawn each day.
In the small meadow, when she was surrounded by the vibrant scents of late spring, Keelan’s burdens fluttered away with the breeze. There, in the soft morning light of the Southern dawn, she moved through her exercises, thankful for the freedom of movement the boy’s garments provided. Only the hiss and swish of blades cut the tranquil silence surrounding the field hidden in the pines. She appreciated the escape, short as it was.
But in the evening after she slipped between the cool sheets of her bed, several nagging concerns blocked the path to slumber.
Had the assassin traced them to Charleston?
How can her father’s health be restored?
Captain Hart
. Would he continue to keep her secrets?
There had been no mention by her uncle of her early dawn training with Daniel. She could only assume the captain’s promise of silence had remained solid. But what of the payment? When would he demand it? What would it be?
She clenched her teeth, not accustomed to this wobbly sense of vulnerability. Hart’s absence should make her feel more secure. Instead, it caused her to glance over her shoulder several times a day.
Tonight, she opened the doors to the small balcony outside her bedchamber and listened to the cicadas while she unpinned her hair. Their song reminded her of a stick clattering along the slats of a wooden fence. Although it was dusk, moist air clung to her skin. A light film of sweat covered every inch of her body, though she wore only a chemise. Which would be worse…to close the doors against the insects and suffocate in the stagnant air of the chamber, or leave them open for the breeze then pray the veil-like sparver draping over her bed would protect her from tiny flying teeth?
She removed the last pin. Her hair fell past her shoulders and blanketed her back. Slaney always said trying to tame Keelan’s tresses was like “trying to still a flame.” She turned and walked to the small vanity and dropped the pins into the dish. Pulling the auburn mane to the side, she quickly braided it.
With a sigh, she slid into bed. Tree frogs joined the chorus of cicadas, creating a woodland cacophony of chirps and twitters, among the undercurrent of buzzing and clacking.
“What a bloody racket,” she muttered. “I’ll never understand how the other creatures sleep.” She closed the curtains around her bed then leaned over and extinguished the candle at the bedside.
Sleep did not come.
Her mind skipped from thought to thought like a bee buzzing from flower to flower. Too hot to breathe, Keelan slipped out of bed and pulled a dressing gown over her chemise. Perhaps Papa was still awake. She decided to sit with him a while, awake or not.
She crept in bare feet, careful to avoid the creaky boards. The bedroom doors were recessed in small alcoves along the hallway. Loud snores emanated from behind Cousin Doreen’s door, and Keelan suppressed a giggle as she slipped past. Outside her father’s room, she paused.
A low murmur of voices indicated that someone else was inside. Curious, she listened close to the keyhole to identify who conversed with her father.
“I would like to see Keelan properly cared for, before I die, Jared.”
“Don’t talk like that, George,” Uncle Jared responded. The doubt in her uncle's voice drifted under the door.
Her father gave an exasperated sigh. “We both know my health is not improving. If anything, I am worse.”
“George, as Keelan’s guardian, I assure you, I will take excellent care of her.” Uncle Jared paused. “She’s almost twenty. She should marry after harvest season. Pratt is a keen businessman and has tripled his family’s estates and coffers since he accepted control thirty some years ago. When he dies, Keelan would be one of the largest plantation owners in the state.”
Silence.
Keelan winced. The silence meant her father was contemplating Uncle Jared’s words and from the duration of the silence, nothing had yet come to mind that would create a valid argument against what Jared proposed.
Uncle Jared coughed. “Dr. Garrison is interested, but he has no experience running a plantation.”
“Yes,” Papa’s gravelly voice replied. “He talked to me this morning and asked for her hand in marriage.”
An involuntary gasp escaped her lips.
“And did you consent?”
“I told him I would consider it. I almost rather Keelan consider him, since I fear her preferences do not lie with Pratt or plantation life.”
Keelan leaned in closer toward the door.
“George,” her uncle retorted, “that daughter of yours has sent every young buck in three counties home with their tails twixt their legs. It’s a very small pool of fish from which she has to choose in these parts.” She heard Uncle Jared pacing the floor. “Her husband should be of the ilk who can handle Twin Pines in her best interest. Pratt would see it better done. I cannot continue to split my time between my Charleston business and Twin Pines for much longer. It’s only a matter of time before one of the two starts to show severe signs of neglect.”
Papa hesitated then spoke, “Well, it would be a tremendous comfort to me if she is married and cared for.”
“Of course it would,” Uncle Jared consoled.
She clenched her teeth and held her breath, waiting for Papa to respond.
Her father sighed. “You’re right, Pratt’s the better decision. However, I promised Keelan she had until after the ball to make her choice. I doubt a better solution will present itself, but I gave her my word. I would much rather she concur with the decision than object to it.”
Keelan leaned back in despair, then froze as the floorboards creaked.
Uncle Jared cleared his throat. “I will…” he paused. “Did you hear something?”
She clapped her hand over her mouth then whirled and flew down the hall. She heard the opening click of the latch to her father’s chamber and ducked into the alcove of Doreen’s bedchamber. Breathless, she pressed flat into the shadows as her father’s door opened. She dared not breathe, as the soft light of the bedroom fanned out into the hall. A shadow fell across the floorboards, remaining for several long seconds before it disappeared back into the room. The latch clicked. When her heartbeat slowed to a more normal pace, she peeked down the hall. Seeing it vacant, she crept to her chamber.
Keelan flopped down on the bed. The sound of her father’s feeble, saddened voice tugged at her heart. The past twelve months had been terrible. Her mother’s death was so sudden, then Papa’s health seemed to fail without warning as well. Someone had gone to great lengths to snuff out members of her father’s kin. Only Uncle Jared’s family had remained whole. So far.
She rolled to her side and curled up. Tears seeped onto her pillow. For so many years, she had prayed for her father to come home and stay, making more of his time available to her. Now that he was finally near, it seemed cruel that his tenure was to be so short. Father's death would leave her truly alone.
Keelan clenched her jaw and angrily swiped the tears from her cheeks. She would not let Uncle Jared destroy her life by demanding she wed a man she didn’t love. She wanted the opportunity to take care of herself and pick her own husband, should she care to marry. She had no desire to create a household mirroring the one in which she grew up. Her resolve locked, she rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling.
She would take the time to study the plantation ledgers first thing tomorrow morning. A willowy idea began to take root in the fertile loam of her mind. As she continued to think, a plan began to sprout and blossom. What if she could use Dr. Garrison’s interests to her advantage?
“Yes…if my father approves… I will marry you, Dr. Garrison.” Keelan fought to keep her voice bright. This plan seemed less crazy and frightening when she was going over it in her bed last night.
Keelan was betting if she agreed to marry Garrison, her father and Uncle Jared would need an alternative plan to finance the plantation. After reviewing the ledgers, she felt confident she could devise a business proposition that all would find agreeable.
She and Dr. Garrison were seated on the iron bench in Aunt Sarah’s garden, near the arbor draped in pale, lavender wisteria blossoms. Hidden from the house by a large magnolia tree, the bench would have been the perfect place for a tryst, or a marriage proposal from the man of her dreams.
“Please, Keelan, darling, call me Everett.” He reached for her hand. The vision of a chicken’s foot crept into her mind as his cold fingers grasped her own. He tugged her closer. “Your father and uncle can make the announcement at the ball two days hence. I should like to marry as soon as possible.”
Keelan fought the panic surging in her chest. Too soon! I have to delay!
What could she do to prevent his pus
h for an immediate wedding? Fake sickness? Require a special gown be made? That would only buy her a few weeks. She needed more time. “But what about your family? Surely you’ll want time to—”
Garrison interrupted. “Not an issue. I don’t have a family to accommodate.” The frigid flat tone of his voice made Keelan pause. “Not anymore,” he added.
Poor man. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” She waited for him to elaborate, but he kept strangely silent. Perhaps the topic was too unpleasant for him to openly discuss.
“I can see no reason to delay our wedding.” Everett smiled. “Can you?”
Clutching her throat in horror, she choked, “I fear people will talk if we rush into a marriage. They will think I have been compromised.” She pressed her palms dramatically to her cheeks, hoping her ruse fooled him. “I couldn’t bear the humiliation.”
His eyes widened. “Good Lord! That never occurred to me! I would never want to mar my reputation as an honorable gentleman.” He reached for her hand and added, “And of course, I would never want to put you through any such embarrassment either, my dear.”
“Let’s marry on Christmas Day.” That might give her enough time.
Everett smiled. “Perfect! Plenty of time to spread the word, plan the ceremony, and avoid the gossip mongers.” He grasped Keelan’s elbow and tugged again to pull her closer. “I truly hope your father grants our wish and gives us his blessing. You will be a most beautiful bride, Keelan, and I give you my word that I’ll take very good care of you.”
She swallowed hard. Good Lord, he was going to kiss her! She clenched her teeth and instinctively turned her head.
“Come, dear Keelan, no one can see us,” he whispered. “The bench is completely hidden from view. Grant me a drop of sweet honey from your lips, so I may know what treasures await me in our marriage bed.”
Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) Page 8