“Damn me, woman, but you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he murmured. “I’ve not seen anything as pretty as you since Panama City.”
“Charm me later. We’ve no time for such talk,” she answered. “Are we going up or nay?”
He made a stirrup with his hands and she thrust a dirty bare foot into it. He heaved her up and she lay on her stomach on the roof while he shinnied up the swaying end post. When he reached the roof, he crawled on hands and knees to the window. She climbed in first and he followed.
The single room was as filthy as the room below. One corner gaped open where the staircase had fallen away. There was no window in the front of the house. James looked around him and sat down. “We’ll bide here until dark,” he said.
“Aye, so I thought ye’d say,” she retorted. She settled herself as far from him as was possible with the chain between them.
“You’ve no need to fear me,” he said. “I’ll not harm you.”
“So the spider said to the fly.” She pulled her feet up under her petticoat and hugged her knees. “If my memory serves me right, ye threatened to wring my neck back at the gallows.”
He shrugged. “We were two steps ahead of the soldiers. I had no time to argue with a hysterical woman.”
She raised her chin and looked him straight in the eye. “Hist, ye niding swashbuckler! You’ll see the devil in heaven the day I’m hysterical. Ye were a heartbeat away from hanging until I saved your sorry arse. So don’t be clamoring to me about having no time.”
The sexy rasp of her low voice made him remember how long he’d been without a woman.
“I’m no happier about being linked to you than ye be to me,” she continued. “At least I don’t stink like a whale carcass.”
James threw up his hands in mock surrender. “Peace, darlin’, I meant you no insult. I was only trying to assure you that I wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I’m not your darlin’. The name is Lacy Bennett. Call me Lacy, or call me not at all. I’ve no taste for your honeyed words.”
“You’re a hard case, certain,” he teased, laying a hand on her knee.
She knocked it away. “Keep your hands to yourself.”
“Sassy, aren’t you?”
Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “Touch me again without my say-so, and you’ll see how dangerous I can be. I’ll scream loud enough to wake the dead, and bring the soldiers down on you.”
“And you.”
“Aye, there’s truth, but I’ll do it just the same. I swear I will. I’ll not be manhandled by a bully with lice in his beard.”
James flushed and touched the black mat at his chin. “No fault of my own. I couldn’t persuade the warder to loan me a soap and a razor.”
She sniffed. “Or water. Pirates usually hang before they smell as sweet as you do.”
He was fast losing his patience with this brassy wench. “You would hardly be received at Whitehall in your present condition.” He stared at her with disdain. “You seem to have lost your jeweled slippers somewhere, m’lady.”
“I traded my gown for a better cell.” She glanced down at her dirty bare toes peeking out from beneath her single tattered petticoat. “A trustee stole my shoes when they gave me this.” She raised the heavy lock of hair that hung over her left eye, revealing the W branded into her fair skin. The wound was somewhat larger than a brass farthing and not completely healed; the edges were red and raised.
“Well?” Her full lips firmed to a thin line. “Ugly, isn’t it?” Her voice was light, but her eyes dared him to tell the truth.
“I’ve seen worse.”
She let the lock of hair fall back into place. “One of the women in the general cell had consumption, and I’d no wish to cough my lifeblood away.” She shrugged. “Gowns are easy to come by, and shoes too, for that matter. My neck, on the other hand ...” She flashed a faint smile. “My neck is the only one I have.”
“I’m partial to the one I own too. Where is this boat you spoke of? I hope those brothers of yours are better at sailing than they are at staging a riot. If it wasn’t for me, you’d have been trampled by the mob.”
“If it wasn’t for you, I’d not have this necklace.” She tapped her iron collar with a fingernail. “I’d have gone to Tyburn unencumbered. When the shouting started, I’d have slipped in amongst the crowd and gotten clean away.”
“So say you.”
She looked smug. “So say I. ’Twas you caused all the trouble, corsair.”
“My name is James, James Black.”
“’Tis what ye call yourself, mayhap, but not the name ye were christened with, I’ll wager.”
He stiffened. “Are you naming me a liar?”
“Call yourself Robin Hood for all I care. But you’ve the look of a lord’s son, under all that dirt and hair.”
James clenched his teeth. Fair-faced or not, the wench had the disposition of a harpy. “My past or my future is none of your affair,” he snapped.
“Nay?” She sniffed. “Just keep your hands to yourself and do as I say until we’re free of these cursed collars.”
“Do as you say? Not likely.” He liked spirit in a woman as much as any man, but this one went too far. His temper flared. “Enough of your sass, woman.”
She reached behind her and picked up a two-foot length of window molding. “Keep a decent tongue in your head,” she threatened softly, “or I’ll add a few more bumps to your thick skull.”
He swore a sailor’s oath.
She topped it.
“By God, I’ll—”
“Shhh,” she hissed.
The door to the alley banged open and they heard heavy footsteps below. James froze, and then motioned Lacy down as one set of footfalls went out the back. A coarse voice drifted up from the yard. “Nothing back here. If they went over that wall with those chains on, I’ll buy tonight’s ale.”
“Keep looking. Try the next house,” an authoritative voice ordered from the room below.
“They can’t be far. The old woman said . . .” The rest was lost as the soldier rejoined his companion.
James sighed with relief. “I think we’re safe enough for now,” he whispered. “When it gets dark, we’ll try to find those brothers of yours. Heaven help you if you’re lying.”
“They’ll be there,” she whispered back. “I’ve no need to lie. I’m too smart to get myself in a fix like this without planning a way out.”
The afternoon faded into twilight. James and Lacy heard horses in the alley and occasionally the tramp of what they thought must be soldiers, but no one else came into the house. Then, after a long stretch of quiet, they heard snatches of a tune.
“ . . . O captain, what will you give to me
If I sink the ship they call the Turkish Revelry,
If I sink them in the lowlands, lowlands low,
If I sink them in the lowlands low? ...”
The voice was male, loud, and very off-key. Immediately, Lacy cupped her hands over her mouth and gave an imitation of a cat meowing.
“What the hell—” James demanded.
“Shhh, I think it’s Ben.” She meowed again.
“... Sink them in the lowlands, lowlands ...” There was a thud, as though a heavy weight had fallen against the front wall of the house. “Just a pint, sir ... all’s I had was a pint or two.”
A different male voice rose in disgust. James couldn’t make out what the newcomer in the street was saying, but he was obviously arguing with the songster.
“Drunken sot.” The last word was faint, as though the speaker was walking away.
The door to the house opened and James heard hiccupping, then loud gagging. The choking stopped and footsteps echoed through the main room below. James tensed.
Lacy bent close to the floor. “Ben?”
“Aye, ‘tis me. Listen up. The streets are thick wi’ soldiers. A hue and cry is raised for two condemned prisoners. As soon as ’tis dark, come down and go out the back.”
“There’s a wall,
” she said.
“Get over or under. I care not. Turn right, go to the first alley, and turn right again. Alfred and I will be waiting there with an undertaker’s wagon. We can’t get any closer. The futterin’ streets are too narrow.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Is the pirate still with ye?”
“I’m here,” James answered.
“How in hell did ye think I’d get loose of him?” Lacy asked.
“No matter. You’ll have to squeeze in together.”
“What?” Lacy asked.
“Be there.” He crossed the room and went out into the alley, once again playing the sot. “... Sink ’m in the lowlands, low ... Sink ’m in the lowlands ... looo.”
James rose up and peered suspiciously at Lacy through the gathering gloom. “Can we trust him?”
“He’s my half-brother.”
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“Ben’s a Bennett. Whatever he is, he’s loyal to his kin. If Ben says they’ll be there with a wagon, they’ll be there.”
Lacy swore under her breath and curled up, trying to minimize physical contact with James. Since they were both on their backs sharing a coffin and she was on top of him, there wasn’t far she could go.
He squirmed so that her bottom slid into the hollow of his groin. Lacy felt her face grow hot. “You’re enjoying this,” she hissed.
“I’ve made some escapes before,” he murmured, “but never any quite this interesting.”
Vexed, she drove her elbow into his chest. “Lie still,” she snapped. “Keep your hands to yourself.” His deep chuckle made her insides seethe.
When Ben had promised to meet them with a undertaker’s rig, she’d not expected that she’d have to hide in a coffin. Her first instinct was to refuse, but Alfred had given her little time to argue.
“Don’t be so damned finicky,” her older brother had said. “Lucky for you the coffin was empty when Toby stole it for us. Now, get in, before we all end up in Newgate.”
Alfred had wedged one corner of the coffin open with his pipe so they could breathe, but being in so confined a space still made goosebumps rise on Lacy’s skin.
“Actually, I didn’t expect a box at all,” James rumbled. “I thought they’d dump us in a hole and scatter quicklime over us.”
“Will you stop wiggling!” Lacy had prided herself on never being a coward, but she had to admit that being jammed in here with this big pirate was as terrifying as being caught in a riptide. She’d never been a woman to hanker after men, but Godamighty! His arms and shoulders were masses of coiled muscle and his thighs were rock-hard. She swallowed a lump in her throat and tried to keep from thinking of her bottom pressed so intimately against his loins. Her chest felt tight and she struggled to breathe. Damn Alfred and Ben for this madcap scheme! Why couldn’t they have stolen a hay cart?
She was increasingly aware that her single petticoat and her thin linen shift and stays were small insulation against his growing interest in their situation. Her chemise and petticoat had ridden up to mid-thigh, and her legs were completely bare. Despite the dampness of the September evening, she was overly warm. “Can’t you control that?” she demanded. “No gentleman would take advantage—”
“I can’t help it,” he answered in a strangled voice. It was obvious to Lacy that he was not only enjoying her embarrassment, but also laughing at her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to a woman.”
Lacy’s mouth was dry. She could feel his huge staff stiffening beneath her buttocks. “Think of something repulsive,” she suggested. Actually, her own inclinations seemed to be following his; her thoughts were beginning to be deliciously impure.
“Having your brothers discover us in a compromising position?” he suggested.
“Worse than that.” Her head was lying in the crook of his neck, and one of his muscular arms was twined over hers. “Think of rotten eels.”
James nuzzled her hair, and unfamiliar sensations of heat began to churn in the pit of her stomach. “Your mane’s so red,” he continued, “it’s a wonder it doesn’t light up our chamber.” He raised a hand, took a lock of her hair, and rubbed it between his fingers. “It’s clean too.” He inhaled deeply. “How the hell do you have clean hair?”
She tried to ignore his fingertips moving in slow lazy circles on the inside of her right elbow. He was touching her so lightly it could have been her imagination ... but she knew it wasn’t. “Don’t do that,” she said, slapping his hand away.
“You smell of soap,” he murmured huskily.
“I traded my other petticoats for clean water.”
“Soap,” he repeated. “Where did you find soap in Newgate Prison?”
“The warder’s daughter favored my ribboned barrel pad.”
“A little longer stay and you’d have walked out the gate as naked as you were born.”
She smacked his other hand. “If I’d been hanged and dumped in that quicklime pit, I’d have needed no clothes, would I? Hell is hot, they say. No need for three petticoats in the devil’s kitchen.”
Suddenly, the wagon stopped. Fear raised the hair on the back of Lacy’s neck and she nearly forgot James was beneath her as she lay motionless, scarcely daring to breathe. A man with a heavy Yorkshire accent was questioning her brothers. Lacy knew there was more than one horseman because she could hear the animals’ iron-shod hooves against the cobblestones.
“Chained together, ye say,” Alfred mumbled meekly. “Ain’t seen none like that. Bad business, pirates. Do I catch sight of any, I’ll call the watch, I will.”
“Spread the word,” the Yorkshire man said. “There’s a reward for the pair, dead or alive.”
Lacy heard a shout and the rattle of steel, then the horses clattered away down the street. Ben clucked to his own team and slapped the reins over their backs. He began to sing softly.
“Oh, I’ll give you gold, and I will give you free,
And my youngest daughter your wedded wife be,
If you sink ‘em in the lowlands, lowlands low,
If you sink ’em in the lowlands low . . .”
Lacy sighed with relief. “God help us,” she whispered to James. “That was close. They were soldiers from the prison, certain. I’ve heard that Yorkshire man before.”
“Mmm,” James agreed. “Too close. I’ve no wish to be skewered like a roast duck on a pike.” He shifted his weight under her. “Could you do something for me, I wonder?”
“What?”
“You’re so heavy, I’m suffering cramps. Could you turn over, do you think?”
For an answer, she gave him another sharp jab in the ribs.
Sometime later the wagon stopped again. Alfred and Ben jumped down, opened the double side doors, and pushed back the lid of the coffin. “Out of there,” Alfred ordered. “Quick now.”
The moon was a dim crescent, the sky a bowl of swirling clouds hanging close to the earth. Lacy smelled the river, inky-black beyond dark muddy banks, and heard the sounds of the swift-running water. The Thames was an open sewer, but still the churning current smelled sweet to her nostrils. Rivers ran to the ocean, and the ocean meant freedom.
She gripped her arms and shivered with joy in the damp night air. Then she chuckled softly as she remembered the old saying. A Cornwall girl has salt water in her veins instead of blood. “S’truth, I reckon,” she whispered.
“Shhh,” Alfred warned. “What are ye babbling on about?”
A shadowy figure whistled from the water’s edge. James moved close to Lacy and put an arm around her protectively.
“There’s Toby with the boat,” Ben said as Lacy opened her mouth to protest James’s action.
Alfred glanced at James. “We’ve no way to get that collar off Lacy or we’d leave ye here, pirate,” he said roughly. “As it is ...” He shrugged. “We’re bound downriver and hence to Cornwall. Are ye wi’ us?”
James made a sound of derision and rattled the chain that linked him to Lacy. “
Have I any choice?”
“What of the wagon?” Lacy brushed James’s arm away.
“Toby will take it out of the city and leave it somewhere,” Ben explained. “No need to show the watch how we got ye free.”
Without wasting time, the four made their way down to the boat. Toby threw a line to Alfred, then wished them luck and headed up to the wagon. James caught Lacy firmly by the waist and swung her into the boat, then vaulted in behind her. Ben took the tiller; Alfred pushed the two-masted pink clear of the dock and leaped on deck.
“Hie yerselfs forward,” Alfred said, as the current swept the small boat out into the river. “Conceal yerselfs in the cabin, and take care not t’ damage the goods.”
“Is she seaworthy?” James asked Lacy as they moved toward the low deckhouse.
“The Silkie?” Lacy sniffed. “I’ve crossed the channel in her in a storm that would turn your stomach inside out. She doesn’t leak, and she leaps over the waves like a dolphin. Hellfire and damnation, man. A good sailor could take the Silkie to the China Sea and back.”
“What goods are they shipping?”
“Best not to ask.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “We pay no tax on it, I can tell ye that much.” She led the way through the hatch and down two steps to a cramped cabin, too low for James to stand upright.
“Ouch,” he protested.
“Watch your head,” she said. “Come this way, will ye.” She tugged at the chain and felt her way along the cuddy wall until she found a stack of blankets. “I dare not strike a light,” she explained. “We’ll have to make do in the dark.” She didn’t need to see; she knew every inch of the Silkie. And because she was familiar with the cabin, she knew she needn’t fear being alone with the pirate. If he made a wrong move, she could put her hand on a filleting knife wedged between a crock of dried fish and a tin of salt.
James crouched down and felt the contours of a small cask, then another and another. The casks were covered by sailcloth, but the canvas didn’t hide the odor. He sniffed. “It’s brandywine,” he said. “French brandywine, or I miss my guess.” He began to chuckle. “You’re a pack of smugglers.”
Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress Page 3