Rake Most Likely to Sin

by Bronwyn Scott

  Her eyes and ears drifted towards Konstantine’s fish stall. She wasn’t alone in her attentions. Most of the market’s customers were entertained by the display. Konstantine and Brennan were in the stall, shirtless, making an impressive pair as they tossed full-sized fish back and forth to each other, filling orders and keeping up a humorous patter with the crowd as they worked. An occasional ‘Omppah!’ broke out followed by applause over a difficult catch.

  ‘How many fish today, Kiria Pachis?’ Brennan called out to an older woman in the crowd, a wealthy widow Patra knew.

  ‘The biggest one you have! I want to watch those muscles work!’ she called back while the crowd cheered.

  Konstantine held one up for her inspection. ‘How is this?’ He hefted a large fish and threw it to Brennan, who made quite a show of catching it and quickly slicing it open. The crowd oohed and ahhed over the speed at which Brennan deboned the fish and wrapped it. He was mesmerising, an artist at work. She’d never watched him do that before.

  ‘Your handsome man is putting on quite a show.’ Konstantine’s wife, Lydia, came up and slipped a friendly arm through hers with a sly grin. ‘The fish throwing is something new they’ve started,’ Lydia whispered. ‘Brennan told Kon he thinks it will be good for sales if they make buying fish into a show.’ Patra didn’t know if it made that much difference. People were going to buy fish no matter what. But if it made the task more enjoyable, who was she to argue?

  Brennan deboned another fish, his long filleting knife flashing in quicksilver motions, and she was as entranced as the rest of the crowd. Lydia whispered to her, ‘Personally, I think your handsome man could sell salt to the sea.’

  Patra felt herself blush. ‘He’s not my handsome man.’ She tried to deny it out of reflex, but Lydia tossed her a knowing smile.

  ‘Are you sure? I can think of worse men to claim.’ Lydia tightened her grip on Patra’s arm, flashing her easy smile to everyone they passed, making it clear Patra was with her as always. Nothing had changed. Patra was grateful for the support. If Lydia was willing to accept the idea of her with Brennan, others might be more amenable to the idea, too.

  ‘I worried people might be upset about Brennan not declaring for Katerina,’ Patra confessed.

  Lydia shrugged. ‘Nothing official was declared and Brennan behaved honourably with her. I think the town is more interested in him staying instead of who he stays with or for. He’s been good for us. Everyone likes him.’ She squeezed Patra’s arm. ‘If it’s you, so much the better. You deserve to be happy.’ Lydia lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Don’t worry about Katerina. She’ll find a husband. Pretty girls like her always do.’

  Patra managed a smile, but guilt haunted her. Lydia was her friend, had been her friend since she’d first come to the village. They’d been new brides together. Konstantine and Dimitri had fished together on occasion. Then Dimitri had died and distance had sprung up between them. Patra had been absorbed into the village’s circle of widows, older women, while Lydia had a husband and children, part of a different set of the village’s social life. They saw each other only occasionally over the years, at gatherings like market day or church, or Konstantine’s birthday party. Their friendship might be different these days, but it sat sorely with Patra that Lydia was unwittingly supporting a ruse.

  Brennan spotted her in the crowd, his eyes holding hers, a wide grin spreading across his face, and she felt herself blush. It didn’t feel like a ruse when he looked at her like that. ‘Kon!’ Brennan called out, tossing a fish his friend’s direction. ‘You know what they say, “Teach a man to fish and he feeds himself for a lifetime”. But do you know what they say when you give a woman a fish?’

  ‘No, what do they say?’ Kon caught the slippery fish by the tail.

  ‘They say she’ll invite you to dinner!’ Brennan’s voice boomed out over the crowd, chuckling at them all. The crowd laughed with him.

  ‘Give me a fish and you can come to dinner all month!’ a woman called good-naturedly.

  Patra felt Brennan’s gaze fall on her, giving her a moment’s warning before he flashed the full power of his smile at the woman. ‘I’m sorry, dear lady, I’m already spoken for.’ It was neatly done. What better way to make their association public knowledge than to humorously announce it? Of course, there was some discretion. He didn’t outright name any names, which was best. Anyone who truly needed to know, would know it was her.

  There was an outburst of exaggerated sighs of disappointment and calls of advice, which Brennan accepted good-naturedly. Something stirred in her at the sight of him with Konstantine, with the villagers. He was one of them, they treated him as if he belonged and he acted as if he did. Was that pride she felt? Was it possession? Maybe it was a combination of both that made her throat tight. Or maybe yesterday on the beach had changed more than she thought.

  Lydia elbowed her in the ribs. ‘Not yours, hmm? I don’t think he shares that opinion.’ Lydia squeezed her arm in farewell. ‘I think he’s good for you. Don’t be afraid to let yourself be happy, Patra. You’ve mourned Dimitri long enough,’ she said before moving off into the crowd.

  Patra smiled to herself. She was happy. Being with Brennan made her happy, she realised, although that couldn’t last. It wasn’t meant to. But the other piece of her happiness could last, the piece that came from deciding to let go of the past, to not let it chain her. She’d given enough years of her life to fear.

  Patra stood to the side of the crowd and watched Brennan work, watched him flirt outrageously with the customers. Lydia was right—he was good for the village. He was so vibrant and alive, how could anyone not be drawn to him? Not want to be in his sphere? She wondered if he knew how magnetic he was, or how much he’d done for the village simply by being here? It was no surprise the village was eager to keep him.

  Perhaps if she hadn’t been so caught up in her daydreams, and newfound happiness, she might have felt the approach of evil before its long shadow fell over the path, before its voice spoke low and private at her ear, destroying in one damning sentence the happiness she’d so recently claimed. ‘The Filiki haven’t heard from you in a while, my dear.’

  Castor Apollonius. She would know that low, gravelled voice anywhere. All the heat, all the joy, went out of the bright day. She could feel him behind her now: tall, physically imposing, daunting. The rush of thoughts were the only things that kept the overwhelming terror he invoked in her at bay. She would not look at him. She would not satisfy him with even the smallest of glances. She kept her eyes fixed on Brennan instead, on bright copper hair, on laughing blue eyes and bulging muscles. Her mind reeled, searching for a strategy. ‘There has been nothing to report.’ She must remain aloof, must not let him see her fear.

  ‘Nothing but an Englishman who refuses to leave. I can’t imagine what sort of charms a tiny fishing village on the coast of nowhere holds for such a man,’ he replied. ‘Surely you know how interesting that bit of news would be to the brotherhood.’

  A cold finger of fear travelled down her spine in spite of the warm day. Castor was here for Brennan. All her protective instincts surged. Brennan was watching her, watching them. His patter had become less enthusiastic. His smile had faded. ‘The Englishman is nothing,’ Patra responded coolly. Perhaps Castor would leave if she could convince him Brennan was not a person of interest. How hard could it be especially when it was the truth? ‘Living here is a novelty for him as he takes a break from his Grand Tour. He fishes and he flirts, that is all.’

  Castor’s hand trailed down her arm in a caress. She fought the urge to flinch. How dare he touch her, how dare he attempt to lay any sort of public claim to her? ‘Does he flirt with you?’ It was not a businesslike question.

  A lie would only make the situation worse. Patra opted for a semblance of the truth. ‘He flirts with everyone.’ She jerked her head towards the fish stall. ‘All you have to do is
watch him and you know it’s true. Every woman between sixteen and sixty swoons with delight over him.’ Brennan chose that moment to outrageously tease old Granny Anastas long enough to slip an extra package of much-needed fish into her basket without her noticing—some of Konstantine’s crab legs, if Patra were to guess. No one needed the food more and no one would take charity less.

  Behind her, Castor was silent. She could feel him thinking, could hear him breathing. She could imagine his dark eyes narrowing in contemplation as he watched Brennan. ‘Perhaps he should flirt with you. You should encourage it,’ he said in silky tones. During the war, he’d charmed plenty of women with that voice. He lifted the long skein of her hair, letting it fall through his fingers. ‘You’re wearing it down again. I like it that way, it’s very becoming. You’re a beautiful woman, Patra, even when you try to hide it.’ He draped her hair over her shoulder, letting it fall against her breast.

  She wanted to scream, wanted to kick, to lash out. But to what end? He knew how much she loathed him, just as he knew precisely what he was doing to her with these possessive touches. She could not give him the satisfaction of an emotional outburst. ‘I am too old for him. The Englishman is young.’ She feigned nonchalance. Brennan did look young today, with his unruly hair falling in his face, his waves wild as he worked.

  ‘A man in his prime, I’d say. I wouldn’t think he’d be too picky. A man has needs,’ Castor cajoled, the back of his hand skimming her jaw. She did flinch then, the touch far too intimate.

  ‘Take your hands off me.’

  ‘Or what?’ Castor gave a low, cruel chuckle. ‘There’s no one here who will gainsay me. Who do you think will rescue you? I’m a good catch for you, Patra. I’m wealthy and handsome. There’s nothing I wouldn’t give you. I could take you away from this life of hard work and scrabbling for existence if you would give me a chance.’ He sighed, nostalgia lacing his voice. ‘You used to be my best source, Patra. The Filiki hope you will be again. It’s part of the reason why I’m here.’

  ‘And the other part? Why else are you here?’ She needed information. Was he passing through? Was he here on a mission? Had the Filiki decided to move against the king in Athens or was this visit personal?

  The back of his hand stroked her arm rhythmically. ‘There are so many reasons why I’m here. Business, pleasure, you. It’s time you and I renewed our acquaintance, I think. Four years is a long space. I have a parlour set aside at the tavern. Come with me and we will talk.’

  Patra said nothing, letting the silence communicate her disdain. She would not bargain privacy for information. She would never allow herself to be alone with him again.

  He pulled at her arm, trying to force her compliance. ‘You admired me once, Patra, don’t forget that.’ She had and it had been one of her grossest misjudgements. Her temper had reached its limit. Patra yanked at her arm, attempting to free it from his grip. She’d forgotten how strong he was, how big. He merely laughed. But in the next moment, there was a surge of movement, a blur of physical action. Brennan leapt the fish counter, knife in hand, the point coming up against Castor’s jaw.

  ‘Take your hands off the lady.’ Brennan’s voice was a fierce growl, his body tense and ready for battle. She’d not seen him like this. Gone was the carefree, boyish charmer. In his place was a warrior, armed and willing to fight. A primal satisfaction coursed through her at the thought. He wasn’t just any warrior. He was her warrior. Castor had not been planning on that. There would be hell to pay for it later, but for now she felt redeemed.

  Brennan’s free hand closed over her arm and drew her away from Castor, shoving her behind him to the edge of the crowd, to the edge of the booth. But Castor wasn’t quite subdued. ‘Easy, boy.’ He held out his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘The lady and I were just talking. We’re old friends. There is no need to draw weapons.’ He said the last with a touch of sarcasm as if to belittle the boning knife Brennan held to his jaw. The crowd gave a nervous half-hearted laugh, unwilling to desert Brennan and yet unwilling to go against Castor.

  Brennan pressed the blade hard enough to draw a bead of blood. ‘I’ll be the judge of that.’ Patra wanted to lunge forward, wanted to tug his hand and tell him to put the knife away, but it would only make it look as if she was pleading on Castor’s behalf, something she was unwilling to do.

  She was relieved to see Konstantine step forward, a hand on Brennan’s shoulder. ‘Captain, forgive him, he’s not from around here. This is Brennan Carr...’ Konstantine began, trying to smooth things over. ‘Brennan, this is Captain Castor Apollonius, one of the heroes of the late war.’

  Brennan’s knife came down, but the muscles in his back did not ease. Still, Patra breathed a little easier. The crisis was over, for now. She took one step back and then another and another until she was on the periphery of the agora. Then, she turned and ran, the fear that she’d held at bay in the market overwhelming her at last.

  She let her brain acknowledge the facts of the past quarter-hour. Castor was here! Her worst nightmare had come to life. She’d been wrong about everything. She wasn’t free at all and now her very actions put Brennan at risk. It was hard to breathe by the time she got home. Sobs mixed with great gasping gulps of exertion. Her hands shook as she knelt and reached under her bed and pulled out a long wooden box. Her only thought was that she had to load the guns.

  Oh, what a fool she’d been! Fate had played the cruellest of tricks on her. She’d allowed herself to be happy, allowed herself to dream just a little and then fate had yanked the rug out from under her. Her hands began to steady as they went through the old routine of priming, her breathing slowed as anger fought back against the fear. She cocked the trigger on one gun and then the other with a sense of finality. The past had come again, but this time, she’d be ready for it.

  Chapter Ten

  This was a new and most unwelcome development, Castor mused, pacing his makeshift office in the tavern parlour. Patra had a champion. He didn’t like that at all. Patra was his. She had been for twelve years, ever since Dimitri had died, and now this upstart Englishman threatened to steal her. The Englishman would have to learn what other men foolish enough to court Patra had already learned to their grave misfortune: if he couldn’t have Patra Tspiras, no one could.

  ‘I want to know everything about Brennan Carr,’ Castor barked to his secretary, a tall thin man with a penchant for cruelty that equalled Castor’s own. ‘We can do nothing until I know for certain what he is.’ If Carr was a British informant, he would have to deal more subtly with him than if he was only what Patra claimed—a man on holiday. Castor couldn’t very well kill off the man sent to help the Filiki. Although there had been no word out of Athens that the British were considering action against King Otto, it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

  ‘I can’t stay,’ Castor told his secretary, ‘but I will expect a full report when I return.’ Castor shoved clothing into a saddle bag. He had other villages to visit, other informants to check with. Was the Peloponnese ready to rise again? Ready for the next stage of independence?

  It was his mission to determine that level of readiness. As much as that mission appealed to him, he would rather have stayed in Kardamyli and tracked Brennan Carr himself. ‘I’ll be back within a week. Arrange a banquet for me when I return. We need to remind the citizens of the glory of the war, not the cost. Make sure the most influential citizens are invited and make sure Patra Tspiras and the Englishman are on the guest list.’

  Castor supposed it didn’t matter what the Englishman was in the long run. When he returned to Kardamyli, Patra would be leaving with him whether she liked it or not. He would give her the chance to come willingly, of course. But if not, the Filiki had ways of dealing with those who were not loyal to the order. Patra had not reported the Englishman’s presence. It wouldn’t take much to trump up charges against her. The threat of a Filiki trial would m
ake her eager for any assistance he could provide. Separated from her village and facing execution for treason, she would be alone except for him.

  Of course, the charges would never stick. Patra wasn’t a member, merely the widow of a member. But it would be enough to get her out of town and that was all that mattered. When she was free of the charges, thanks to his own efforts on her behalf, he’d remind her this was the second time he’d stood between her and disaster. She would learn to be grateful. Very grateful. Castor made a subtle adjustment to his tightening trousers, reminding himself that not yet, but soon, his desires would be fulfilled. Patra would yet come to see him as a friend, as a lover, not the enemy.

  * * *

  ‘It seems you may have made an enemy,’ Konstantine said grimly as Brennan looked about the now-quiet marketplace. There wouldn’t be any more customers today. Everyone was too unsettled to focus on shopping. Shoppers had slipped out of the marketplace as quickly as they could, heads down, conversation at a whisper. Everyone was eager to avoid Castor Apollonius.

  Brennan began to pack up the unsold fish. ‘I hope it’s just for today. I don’t want to have cost you your business.’ The adrenaline of the near fight was fading and the possible repercussions of what he’d done were starting to set in. Once again, he’d rushed in without thinking beyond the moment.

  Konstantine laughed his reassurance. ‘Business might be slow for a while, but people will come around. Everyone needs fish and Castor won’t stay for ever. We just have to wait him out.’ He winked at Brennan and wiped a knife on his long apron. ‘By “we” I mean you and me, and the village, too.’

  If one thing was clear after the altercation, it was that people feared Castor’s power. The fear was not Patra’s alone, although hers seemed to stem from a more personal level. Captain Castor Apollonius was an intimidating man who did not hesitate to use his status—it was there in the way he dressed, in the way he carried himself. He never simply spoke, he commanded.