Kelt swore under his breath. "May God rot his greedy bowels! I thought I heard a shot. I was hunting for another stand of white oak that Joshua said was over this way. Are ye certain someone was shooting at you?"
"As certain as I can be and not have a hole in my head to prove my story." Quickly Ashley explained about her investigation of the dead cattle. "I thought you were miles from here, with the lumber crew," she continued. "As jumpy as I am, you're lucky I didn't shoot you when you came out of the woods."
"'Twas well thought out, this murder scheme." His features hardened. "I've wronged ye by not finding the culprit before this." His gaze rested on her face for a moment. "About last night, lass," he began softly. "I wouldna have ye think—"
"I asked you to come to my room." Her eyes met his without wavering. "Let's not play games with each other, Kelt. If you believe it's what I expect, you don't know me very well." A smile played over her lips. "Thank you for the sketch of the house. It's beautiful. I'll hang it in the hall. You're very talented."
"Ashley, I..."
She shook her head. "No, not now, Kelt." She looked back over her shoulder toward the forest. "This shooting has to be settled first. I've got to know who's trying to kill me... and why."
"Aye, 'tis fair enough," he agreed. "But ye must face our involvement sooner or later."
She nodded solemnly. "I know."
Chapter 12
Chestertown, Maryland January 11, 1744
"You have my assurance, Mistress Morgan, that I will use every means at my disposal to bring the perpetrators to justice." The high sheriff laid down his quill pen and regarded Ashley frankly. "Although I must admit that my chances of solving this crime are about as likely as my being appointed to the House of Lords." He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "There are literally thousands of square miles of wilderness to the west of us, swarming with savages, runaway bond servants, thieves, murderers—the refuse of England's prisons, not to mention the French fur traders and army deserters."
Ashley rose and offered him her hand. "You need not tell me, sir," she replied softly. "No one could be more diligent in his duty than you have been. We merely wished to make an official report of the matter so that—"
"So that when we catch and hang him," Kelt said, "there will be no trouble with the law."
The sheriff walked with them to the door. "Would you like me to ride out that way? I have official business that will keep me in Chestertown until next week, but after that I—"
Ashley shook her head. "I'm afraid it would be a waste of your time, sir. As we said, our men have combed the area thoroughly. Our scout found the place where the man fired from, as well as the tracks of his horse, but lost them in the forest."
"We can always hope it was some madman. With luck, he's vanished back into the wilderness."
"Or gone south to Virginia," Ashley added.
The sheriff laughed. "Same thing." He nodded to Kelt. "I'm glad to see Mistress Morgan has found such a responsible man to manage her plantation. I knew Master Ash Morgan well for many years and I have been concerned about Mistress Morgan's welfare."
"Thank you for seeing us on such short notice, sir," Ashley said. "Please give my best to your wife and family."
With a final round of pleasantries, Ashley and Kelt left the sheriff's elegant brick town house and stepped out into the muddy street.
"That was a royal waste of time," Ashley said tartly. "I knew it 'would be."
"Aye, but I want no charges of murder when I string the rascal up from the nearest tree. I've had as much of His Majesty's justice as I need for one lifetime, thank you."
"What the high sheriff says is true. There's no chance of him catching the man."
"Or men. We have no way of knowing if there be more than one involved."
Ashley held up the skirt of her riding habit and picked her way carefully through the puddles of water, circling around a pig that wallowed beside the road. "You and your plots. Likely 'tis some madman, as the sheriff suggested, or"—she grinned—"a disgruntled suitor."
"Aye, that I can believe. You must have turned away dozens."
"And you think I haven't?" She sniffed. "If I wished to marry, I could have my choice of a score. Morgan's Fancy more than makes up for my lack of ladylike virtues."
"You'll have to choose a husband someday." He caught her arm to keep her from slipping, then released it when he caught a haughty stare from a passing gentleman in a sedan chair. "You've given running the plantation alone a good try, lass, but ye do need a mon to manage your affairs."
She stopped short and turned hard eyes on him. "You, for instance?"
"I wasna talking of us," he said patiently. "I was speaking of your future. A woman needs a husband."
"This one doesn't." Her shoulders stiffened as she continued toward the inn. "Not now, not ever."
"Are ye so unwomanly that ye would forgo the chance of children? Or is it that you want the children withoot a husband?"
"You bastard," she whispered. It was the one question for which she had no answer. "You've no need to—" Ashley's angry tirade was interrupted by the sight of Joshua hurrying toward them down the street.
"Mistress! You must come to the dock at once. There's a ship's captain there, Captain Fraser. He carries a message for you from your lady mother. He says it's urgent!"
"From my mother?" Ashley's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you certain?" Cicely never wrote. Her beautiful script was reserved for invitations and for signing the documents Nicholas put before her. "Why would my mother write to me?"
"I know Philip Fraser," Kelt said. "He's an old friend and not likely to make such a mistake. I suggest we go down to the Merry Kate and find out what this is all about."
* * *
A hill sloped gently downward from the town to the harbor. On the docks, Kelt was able to find a willing fisherman to row them out to where the Merry Kate was anchored.
"Captain Fraser's ship seems heavily armed for an honest merchant vessel," Ashley observed as they neared the sloop. "Your friend wouldn't be doing a bit of smuggling on the side, would he?"
"Philip Fraser? God forbid," Kelt exclaimed piously.
The red-haired fisherman grinned at Kelt and threw his weight into the oars.
Ashley pursed her lips and made a sound of disbelief. "She's at least eighty ton and carrying enough cannon to fight off a Spanish armada. "
"Ninety ton, miss," the redhead said. "And there's plenty in Chestertown who's glad to see her anchored in the Chester River. Might be she'll keep the Frenchies away." He spat over the side. "Seein' as how good King George 'as forgot there's God-fearin' Englishmen on this side of the Atlantic." He dipped an oar and brought the small boat close to the side of the Merry Kate. "Ahoy, there!" he shouted. "Gentlefolk to come aboard!" The man glanced at Kelt. "Shall I wait fer ye, sir?"
Kelt shook his head and reached for the pouch at his waist. "No. Philip will see us safe ashore. Let me pay ye for your—"
"Naw!" The fisherman caught a line thrown from a seaman and made it fast. "I don't want no coin from a friend o' Philip Fraser. Glad t' help ye out."
"Thank you," Ashley said graciously.
Kelt added his thanks as he caught the end of a rope ladder and helped Ashley get a firm hold on it. "Careful, mistress," he warned. "I'd nae wish to pull ye out o' the drink."
"Or me you," she replied tartly.
Captain Fraser came across the deck toward them. "Ashley." He smiled broadly and took her in his arms, planting a kiss on her cheek. "I'm glad to see this Scootsman hasna got the best of ye."
"So! You two know each other," Kelt said. "I might have guessed." He offered his hand to Philip and they shook vigorously. "Damn your lying eyes, ye knew when ye carried me here from Virginia that old Ash was dead."
Captain Fraser led the way toward his cabin. "I've known Ashley for years. Her grandfather was a good friend."
"And I'm not? Ye might have warned me what I was getting meself into," Kelt
grumbled good-naturedly.
"And cost the lass the best overseer in Virginia? Nae likely." He ushered them into his cabin and turned to Ashley, his features suddenly showing strain. "'Tis evil news I bear ye, child, from your brother Robert."
"Robert?" Ashley sank into a straight-backed chair. "But I was told my mother—"
"Mother, brother, 'tis all the same," Fraser interrupted. "Mistress Randall lies on her deathbed wi' the fever. She calls for ye, lassie, and that... gentleman who proclaims himself her hoosband willna let her write to ye."
Ashley shook her head in disbelief. "But Robert—Robert hates me. He wouldn't—"
"Ye be of the same blood," Fraser said. "And he no doubt loves yer mother. I dinna know if 'tis too late, lass, but I would go t' her at once."
"Of course." Ashley's face whitened. "Of course, I'll go." She tried to gather her wits. Cicely dying? She was too young to die, wasn't she? "Are you sailing back to the James, Philip?"
"Nay. I wish I could take ye, but I must wait for a special cargo. I've signed a contract." He motioned to the left. "The Snow Princess sails on the next tide. Captain Webb is an able master and he'll carry ye safely. I can arrange passage if ye like."
"For two," Kelt said. "I'm going with her."
"No." Ashley shook her head. "I need you on Morgan's Fancy. I can go alone."
"Two," Kelt repeated. "Ye have no choice in the matter, Mistress Morgan. With people taking shots at ye from every thornbush, I have no intention of letting ye oot o' my sight."
Captain Fraser took a decanter of brandy from a chest and poured a small amount into a pewter noggin for Ashley. "There's other news which may go down a bit easier, lass. I met a brigantine out of Land's End at the mouth of the Chesapeake. He passed your tobacco fleet on his way out, not ten days from Bristol."
"They're safe? They made it through?" Ashley cried. If her tobacco crop was safe...
"Four pirate vessels attacked them off the Delaware coast. The tobacco fleet suffered grievous losses. Three ships lost and another had to turn back to New Jersey, but Dayton's Isobel came off without a scratch." Fraser poured a second cup of brandy for Kelt. "Even more miraculous, one of the pirate ships closed on her to board, then veered aside, almost as though they were letting the Isobel go. They turned on the Lady Anne and attacked her instead. God knows what happened to the crew. St John is ruined and I dinna doubt that more than one plantation will be lost for that ill day's work."
"But the Isobel is safe?"
"Aye, lass. There's no missin' her figurehead. The brigantine's master spoke with Captain Dayton himself. If the French or the Spanish didn't catch them on the way in, yer crop is safe in London warehooses by now."
Ashley tried to keep her voice natural and fixed her gaze on the toe of Captain Fraser's boot. "How—how did you know my tobacco was on the Isobel?"
"I didna, until I docked here and talked wi' the gentleman I'm carrying cargo for. He knew the ships by heart." Fraser frowned. "Nay, no devil's work here. My client be an honest planter. His tobacco crop went to the bottom, every cask of it. 'Five years work is lost,' he said. With the price of tobacco in London, ye'll make a fortune on the auction block. Ye have the luck o' the angels, lassie."
"The Morgan luck," she said softly, feeling numb. Kelt and Captain Fraser's voices seemed to come from a long way off. I should feel happy, she thought. I should be laughing with joy. My tobacco got through! Why then did her chest feel so tight, her breathing strained? Why did she feel so damned guilty?
* * *
The Snow Princess was larger than Captain Fraser's Merry Kate and carried only a fraction of her bristling arsenal. She was heavily laden with cargo as she fought her way against wind and waves whipping across the open bay, carrying sleet and driving rain.
"A southwest wind," Kelt observed. "You'd be better off below deck." He motioned toward the aft doors. "Captain Webb has offered the use of his cabin."
Ashley pulled her cloak tighter. "I hate it below deck," she shouted above the wind. No need to tell him that a choppy sea turned her stomach upside down. On deck with the cold wind in her face she was fine, but down in that dark cabin... She shivered just thinking about it. She couldn't bear to be shut in.
Kelt was still talking, insisting that she go below. Scots were supposed to be dour and brooding, but Kelt was as bad as Mari for fussing over her. Ashley braced against the mast and closed her eyes, shutting him out.
It was hard to imagine Cicely deathly ill. She had been radiant the last time Ashley had seen her in Williamsburg. They had spent the better part of an hour together while Nicholas had been occupied elsewhere, their conversation strained as always. That had been... Ashley sighed. It had been in April. She had not seen her mother in nearly a year.
At Christmas, she had sent gifts for her mother and half brothers and had received a token from Cicely in return. The corners of Ashley's mouth turned up in amusement. Cicely had sent a pair of dainty primrose gloves woven of silk so fine that Ashley's work-rough hands would have snagged the threads and ruined them at first wearing. The gloves lay in the bottom of her chest with Cicely's other presents.
They had never understood each other—could never be in the same room for more than an hour without arguing. Flickers of regret passed through Ashley's mind. If Cicely died, they would never have time to mend the breach. Perhaps there was nothing to mend.
She tried to push away the bitterness, the memories of nights when she had lain awake weeping, wondering why her mother hadn't wanted her. Mari had soothed the hurt, laughing at the ugly word bastard when Ashley had gotten up the nerve to utter it.
"It is more of the English foolishness," Mari had assured her. "Every child is a gift of Wishemenetoo, the Great, Good Spirit, the creator of all things. A man and woman come together and if Wishemenetoo wishes, there will be a child. How can there be shame in a child? To shame the child is to shame the creator. If there is blame, let it be shouldered by the man and woman, never the child."
Mari's words had stopped the tears, but they could never take away the doubt. What kind of woman would deny her own daughter?
Kelt tugged at Ashley's arm. "You're getting soaked," he insisted.
Ashley opened her mouth to protest when suddenly her ears were deafened by the boom of a cannon, followed by the crash of snapping wood and a man's scream. Kelt shoved her down and threw himself across her, shielding her with his body. A second cannonball followed the first, splintering the rail on the starboard side.
Shouts and the sounds of men running echoed along the deck as the crew scrambled to defend the ship. "We've been attacked!" Kelt shouted. "Get below."
The high-pitched keening of the wounded man sent a shiver down Ashley's spine as she made her way down the ladder and along the passageway to the compartment where her belongings had been stowed. A sailor ducked past her clutching a cutlass in one hand and a pistol in the other.
The roar of cannon was louder below. Numb with fear, Ashley pushed open the door and fumbled in the darkness for her saddlebags. A booming directly overhead told her that the Snow Princess was firing back. After gathering up both pistols and the bags of powder and shot, she ran back toward the ladder.
The deck was a welter of twisted canvas and broken wood. Fire smoldered near the bow, and a dead man lay blocking the doorway. Ashley stepped over the body and stared speechless at the pirate schooner bearing down on them. The other ship was so close she could make out the leering face of a bearded buccaneer hanging from a shroud and brandishing a boarding ax.
"For God's sake, lass, have ye no sense?" Kelt grabbed her arm and pushed her back toward the doorway. "I told ye—" His words were lost in the roar of another cannonball. It struck the side of the Snow Princess with such force that it knocked Ashley to her knees. Dumbly she handed him a pistol. "This is no place for you!" he shouted. "Get below and lock yourself in the captain's cabin!"
"No! I'll load for you." She held up the powder horn. "I'll not be trapped down there like a ra
t. What if she sinks?"
Cursing, he opened the door and shoved her inside. "Keep your head down," he ordered, thrusting the pistol into his belt.
A burning torch landed on the deck, and Kelt ran to kick it over the side. For the first time, Ashley saw that he was carrying a musket and a cutlass. Where had he gotten them? He turned and dropped to one knee, taking aim at the man on the shroud. Clouds of black smoke enveloped the deck, making it almost impossible to see. The musket cracked and the pirate fell backward, sliding down the rope like a lifeless doll.
Kelt ran back to the door and thrust the musket at her. "If you're going to load, do it quick!"
Musket balls were flying like hailstones. A deep voice from the stern was singing a hymn amid the curses and cries of pain. Captain Webb ran toward the bow, a smoking pistol in each hand. Ashley winced as wood splintered over her head and something nicked her forehead.
She shoved the loaded musket back at Kelt and brushed at her forehead with the back of her hand. To her surprise, her hand came away streaked with blood.
"Keep your head down!" Kelt shouted.
A man without a face staggered past, then fell backward over the rail into the bay. Ashley struggled to keep from being sick.
A tremendous shock rocked the deck as the pirate vessel collided with the Snow Princess. Ashley caught sight of the schooner's bowsprit looming over the edge of the deck. For a minute or two there was near silence as the cannon ceased firing, then a wave of human voices overwhelmed them as the pirates swarmed aboard the merchant sloop.
Kelt fired the musket into the smoke, then pulled the pistol and fired that also. Before Ashley could get her hands on the musket to reload, a blackamoor leaped across the fallen canvas and slashed at Kelt with a cutlass. Steel clashed against steel as Kelt met the arching blade with his own. Another pirate dashed toward Kelt and Ashley leveled the musket and fired, piercing the man's chest with the ramrod.
The blackamoor delivered a hacking blow at Kelt's hip and the Scot spun away, giving Ashley a clear path. Without a second's hesitation, she fired point-blank, blowing a hole in the man's throat. Spots of black and red whirled in her brain and she fought to retain consciousness, biting the inside of her cheek. The pain brought back sanity and she began to reload the pistol.
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