The overseer’s mouth gaped open in surprise. His blue pig-eyes bulged from his blotched face. Suddenly recovering, he lunged toward the star woman, but she moved with the speed of a plunging hawk. She dodged his charge and slashed the blade across his arm. Blood flew and the German howled with pain.
“Come with me,” she said. “Quickly.”
A tall black man ran toward them from the back of the sugar mill. Kutii spun and caught him by the arm. Kutii’s body remembered the years of wrestling training that every noble Incan boy must endure. Almost without effort, he threw the young slave head over heels and, whirling around, followed the star woman out into the courtyard.
Dieterich was hot on their heels, bellowing like a wounded bull. “Stop them! Stop them!” he shouted. “I’ll have your hides if you let them get away.”
Two burly slaves rushed at them. “Give me the knife,” Kutii ordered. She turned back and tossed it to him without hesitation.
The blacks halted their attack. It was obvious to Kutii from the expressions on their faces that they feared the German, but his threats were only threats. An eight-inch knife in the hands of an Incan warrior was more than they cared to challenge.
The star woman ran to a horse and threw herself up on the animal’s back. “Haaa!” With a shout, she dug her heels into the mare’s sides, and the beast leaped forward. The star woman held out her hand to him. “Come!” she urged. “Behind me!”
“Kill them!” Dieterich cried.
Kutii eyed the horse with distaste. The animal’s eyes were white-rimmed and terrible, its bared teeth long and yellow. He had always hated the devil-creatures brought to his land by the Spanish, and he’d never sat upon the back of one.
“Get up here!” the star woman repeated impatiently.
Kutii took a deep breath and vaulted onto the animal’s haunches. The horse’s front feet left the ground, and it rose in the air. Instinctively, he tightened his legs around the beast’s belly and whispered a prayer in the Incan language. The star woman yanked on the leathers and kicked the horse again, and suddenly they were out of the courtyard and flying over the ground faster than a man could run.
Behind them, the German’s howls of rage had risen to a shriek. Another white man came running from the stables carrying a musket. A slave woman screamed, and the fire-stick roared. Men carrying machetes spilled from the outbuildings. There was another gunshot and then the thunder of the horse’s hooves drowned out the angry voices. The road twisted to the left, and the sugar mill vanished in the trees.
“Hold on tight,” the star woman urged.
If he had not heard the thump of the animal’s feet against the dirt, he would not have believed that its hooves were hitting the ground. Trees sped by, and an occasional branch scraped across his head and back.
“My name is Lacy,” the star woman said. “Who are you, and what the hell were you doing in my head?”
After he stormed out of their room at the inn, James intended to find another tavern and have a stiff drink. But he didn’t; instead, he walked until his head cleared and he could think more rationally.
Yes, Lacy had falsely accused him of being with another woman—a foul and erroneous conclusion. But now that his temper had cooled he had to admit that if the tables had been turned, and she’d stayed away so long and come back drunk, he’d not have believed anything she said.
It was Christmas Day, after all, and any woman could be forgiven for throwing a tantrum when she thought she’d been forgotten. He had handled her badly, he decided, and he’d probably deserved the pitcher of water in his face.
When he was cold sober, he bought an armful of orchids from a street vendor and carried them back to the inn to give to Lacy. To his shock, he found the door locked from the inside and the room empty.
The kitchen boy went around the outside of the tavern, climbed in the open window, and let him in. “Missy ain’t here,” the lad declared when James entered the room. “Done gone. Jubie seen yo’ lady walk down dey road. One hour, maybe two. Jubie say she no come back.”
James let the flowers drop from his hands onto the floor. “What road? Which way did she go?”
The boy grinned and held out a grimy palm. James dropped a silver penny into his hand, and the boy nodded his thanks. “Jungle road, massa. Only one road go out of Port Royal. Down dey road, her go, and her no come back.”
It took James only minutes to locate a stable. Mounted on a hired horse, and armed with sword and pistols, he galloped out of town cursing Lacy with all the skill of a deep-water sailor. He was no longer angry with her; now he was furious. But whatever fool notions she’d gotten in her head, he knew that she was in real danger and he had to find her.
Port Royal had been called the wickedest town in the New World, and mischief didn’t cease at the jungle’s edge. If he didn’t find her before dark, she could well be swallowed up by Jamaica’s warm embrace. More than one white woman had vanished here without a trace, and Lacy Bennett was beautiful enough for men to kill each other over.
With each mile he covered, James’s concern for Lacy’s safety grew. Two-legged beasts were not the only animals she had to fear. Although there were no poisonous snakes on the island, there were vicious wild pigs and rogue cattle that would run down and gore a man or woman on foot out of pure meanness.
If she’d left the road to pick fruit or flowers, she could have become lost in minutes. And searching for her in the jungle would require an army.
About an hour from town he met an old black man leading a mule. “Yes, suh, Ah seed yo’ missus,” the elderly native replied to James’s question. “Dey missy, her hire dey horse. Go dat way.” He pointed down the track away from Port Royal. “Banana Jeem, he say let horse go come sundown.”
James exhaled softly through clenched teeth. He’d been certain he could catch up with her because she was on foot and he was mounted. God only knew how far ahead of him she was on horseback.
“Come dark, missy let horse go. No ride dat horse in dey dark. Dat horse crazy come dark. ‘Fraid dem ghosties.”
James set his heels into his own horse’s side, and as he rode off, he heard Banana Jeem laugh and call after him.
“Sundown, massa. Sundown, dat horse be crazy.”
If I don’t find her by sundown, James thought, I’ll be crazy. He urged his gelding into a canter. Damn Lacy Bennett for a worrisome jade! Her thorny tongue was enough to give a man gray hair, but he didn’t want to think of waking up some morning without her beside him.
His throat tightened. If any man had laid a hand on her, he’d die for it. It didn’t matter what Lacy was or where she’d come from. She belonged to him, and he’d never let her go.
His plan to take a noblewoman to wife didn’t mean that he thought any less of Lacy. No sensible man looked for love in marriage. He wanted to take care of Lacy, to give her whatever she needed. She’d have everything but his name, and he’d have enough wealth to ensure her protection as long as he lived and after. It was more than a girl born in Lacy’s situation could hope for.
“I do love her,” he murmured only half-aloud. “And God help the creature who’s done her harm.”
As the afternoon sun grew hotter, James was forced to slow the frothing horse to a trot. He’d not passed another soul on the road, and he’d not seen anyplace where Lacy could have turned off.
He’d reined in so that the animal could drink from a stream when he heard the faint echo of gunshots in the distance. Instantly, he swung up into the saddle and spurred the gelding down the dirt track toward the sound. Minutes later, James heard a horse coming hard. Without slackening his pace, he drew a pistol and cocked it.
There were more gunshots, closer now, and the thud of hoofbeats came loud in the still tropical afternoon. A parrot shrieked and flew over the road, and then a horse carrying double appeared around a bend. James yanked hard on his mount’s reins and the gelding slid to a halt. The two riders galloped onward, and as they drew nearer, James saw that one
of them was Lacy.
“James!” she shouted. “Run!”
As she thundered past, he realized that the man riding behind her was an Indian. “Keep going!” James yelled back, guiding his horse to the center of the path. As he watched, Lacy’s horse stumbled, barely regaining its balance in time to keep from falling. The Indian released his hold, leaped down, and vanished into the trees.
Lacy shouted after the Indian, then twisted in the saddle and yelled. “James! Come on!”
He motioned to her to keep riding. When she reined the mare back toward him, he stood in the stirrup and shook his fist at her. “Do as I say, woman! Get the hell out of here!”
Reluctantly, she spun the tired animal around and urged it down the road until a twist in the trail hid her from James’s sight. Seconds later, four angry white men on horseback came from the opposite direction in hot pursuit.
“Hold!” James shouted, blocking the way. “What’s amiss?” When the oncoming party showed no sign of slowing their horses, he drew both pistols and leveled them at the best-dressed man in the group riding a showy bay stud.
The man swore foully in German and jerked up his mount. “Out of the road!” he ordered, “or we’ll blow you to hell.” He raised his own pistol and aimed it at James’s head as the bay stallion stamped the dirt and blew foam from its open mouth. “Are you mad?” he demanded. “We’re chasing an escaped slave and a criminal. If you cause us to lose them, you’ll face the full penalty of the law!”
Two of the hard-faced men carried muskets, and the last man, unshaven and wearing a coarse black wig, carried an ancient Spanish blunderbuss across his lap. Black wig tried to maneuver his roan around the edge of the road, but James shook his head. “Best you hold unless you’d care to see your master’s brains splattered over you,” he warned. “Now, let’s start over again, mein Herr.” James’s dark eyes narrowed. “And show some respect. I’m not accustomed to being accosted by ruffians on the highway. You have the honor to be addressing Sir Martin Thrustbury, first cousin to the royal governor.”
“I don’t care if you are cousin to the King,” the German replied, “get out of our way or suffer the consequences.”
James noticed that the German had a blood-soaked cloth wound around his arm. “You’ve been hurt,” he said. “For that reason, I will forgive your impertinence. I came down this road just minutes ago, and I saw no escaped slaves, only a red-haired wench.”
“That’s them,” the German spat. “The bitch stabbed me and ran off with my Indian slave.”
James tried to look astonished. “Stabbed you, you say?” he repeated in his most precise English. “That woman? She actually attacked you? Upon my word! That’s outrageous!”
The German’s face took on a purple hue. “What have I been trying to tell you? Now, get the hell out of our way!”
“There’s no need to be surly, my good fellow,” James said, lowering his pistols. “I don’t believe I’ve caught your name.”
“Sodomite,” Dieterich flung at James as he urged his bay stallion on past him. “If we don’t catch them, I’ll bring charges against you.” The other three men followed close behind.
“I hope you catch your Indian,” James called after them. “Sorry to have caused any inconvenience for you.” As soon as they were out of sight, he started off in the same direction at a steady canter.
He hoped that Lacy had had the good sense to keep going while he provided a diversion. Her mare had looked worn out. Hell and damnation! Keeping Lacy out of trouble was proving more trouble than taking gold from the Spaniards.
James hadn’t gone more than a quarter of a mile when Lacy stepped out of the trees into the road ahead of him so abruptly that he nearly ran her down. He pulled hard on the reins, and his gelding reared. Lacy ducked free of the thrashing forefeet, dashed around to the side, and offered James her hand. He seized her and helped her up behind his saddle.
His heart leaped in his chest when she put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Her warm body against his was the best thing he’d ever felt.
“It took ye long enough to get here,” she chided. “They almost had us.”
“What have you done?” He covered his relief with a brusque tone. “What’s this about an escaped Indian slave?”
Lacy laid her cheek against his back and squeezed him again. “It’s hard to explain,” she murmured, “but you don’t have to worry. I let the mare loose. She’s on her way home, and I think she’s far enough ahead of them so they won’t know that I’m not still in the saddle.”
James caught sight of a faint movement in the trees, but before he could reach for his pistol, the Indian stepped out of the jungle.
“This is Kutii,” Lacy explained. “He’s a friend.”
The Incan folded his arms across his bare chest and stood still. James stared at him and realized that the Indian looked familiar.
“Jamesblack,” Kutii said. It sounded to James as though he was saying Yamsbek.
James shook his head in disbelief. “Kutii? Is that you?”
“You two know each other?” Lacy asked. She looked from James to Kutii. “How could ye—”
“He saved my life,” Kutii said. “He cut me free of the chains when the English ship sank.” The Incan’s gaze met Lacy’s. “He is your friend, this Englishman?”
She nodded.
“I hope to hell I’m more than a friend,” James snapped. “She’s my woman, Kutii. I brought her here to the islands from her home far away.”
Kutii glanced up at the blue sky overhead and then back at Lacy. “What name has this place? Your home?”
“Cornwall,” she answered. “I come from Cornwall.”
“So.” The Indian nodded. “You must show me in the night sky where your star hangs.”
“Cornwall is—” she began.
“Kutii is an Inca,” James interrupted. “We took him from the Spaniards when we took the gold. He was some sort of palace guard, from what I can understand. They had him chained to the treasure chest. When the Miranda started to go under, I couldn’t stand to see him drowned like a rat, so I cut him loose.” He smiled. “I’m glad to see you survived, Kutii.”
Kutii’s sloe eyes shone with understanding. “You are her guardian?” he murmured in his oddly accented English. “You protect the star woman as you protected me?”
“He keeps calling me Czarmin or Carmine,” Lacy explained. “I told him my name was Lacy.”
“He’s an Indian,” James replied. “You can’t expect logic.” He offered his hand to Kutii, and the Incan came forward and shook it solemnly. “But a braver man I’ve never known. He may be a pagan savage, but I’d not pick a better one to have at my back in a fight.” He twisted in the saddle and frowned at Lacy. “So how exactly did you come to find Kutii and help him—”
“I saw him in my visions,” Lacy said quickly in a low voice.
“You what?” James demanded.
“He was in my visions. I didn’t know who he was or why I had to find him. I ... I just did.” “Let me understand this,” James said. “You suddenly got the urge to climb out the window of our inn, hire a horse, ride for hours into the interior of an island you’d never set foot on in your life, and inflict damage on a man you didn’t know—all in order to steal his slave?”
“Something like that,” Lacy admitted. “I told you I was a witch. You never believe me when I try to tell you about my seeings.”
“Jamesblack is not from the stars?” Kutii asked.
“He’s from Kent,” Lacy said. “And he has too much blue blood in his veins to know a witch when he sees one.”
“You are not a witch,” the Incan stated firmly.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” James said. “As long as I’ve known her, she’s not cast a single spell.”
Kutii’s gaze met James’s. “But you have seen her swim with the dolphins.”
“The wench has many unusual abilities, but witchcraft isn’t one of them.”
“So.” Kutii nodded. “She is the one I have waited for. We must go quick before Dieterich comes back. He is a very bad man. If he comes, I must kill him.”
“And where would you suggest we go?” James asked. “There are three of us, and we have one horse. And, unless things have changed radically since I was last on Jamaica, this is the only road into Port Royal.”
“No.” The Indian shook his head. “There is another trail. Slaves use it to go to the town when they do not want their masters to know. It lies that way.” He pointed northeast into the jungle. “Soon it will be dark. The horse will be of no use to you, Jamesblack. Set him free. Where we go, a horse cannot walk.”
“You want me to turn my horse loose and follow you into that?” James pointed at the thick growth beside the road.
“Once, I trusted you, Jamesblack,” Kutii said. “Now you must trust me.” He held up his arms to Lacy. “I will never leave her. I will never let harm come to her. She is the hope of my dead.”
“I’m what?” Lacy asked. She let the Indian help her down from the horse, and oddly enough, his touch was comforting.
All her life, Lacy had been wary of men putting their hands on her, but this Indian’s hands on her waist seemed the most natural thing in the world.
Kutii’s English was atrocious. His words were lilting, and his accents were in all the wrong places. Still, she had no trouble following his speech. It was as though she was reading his thoughts rather than actually hearing what he was saying.
Her feet touched the ground and she nodded her thanks. Time enough to sort out this bronze stranger in her mind when the three of them were safe on the boat. “Well, James,” she said impatiently, “ye heard him. There’s another path. We can take that and get back to the harbor without passing the German and his men. Are ye coming? Or are ye going to sit there on that horse like a great clod of mud?”
James swore softly under his breath as he swung down out of the saddle. Mad as March hares, the two of them, but he had no better solution. “I’ll go,” he muttered, “but if we end up gored by a wild bull, it will be your fault, woman. All your fault.” He slipped the bridle off the gelding and slapped the animal on the rump. The horse leaped away and started down the road at a gallop.
Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress Page 19