Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  "You know better."

  She swore softly under her breath. "They're going back, Kelt. And you're going to straighten it all out with Martin."

  "On a cold day in hell." His voice was a soft burr, the Scots lilt so heavy she could hardly make out the words. He reached for the thick slice of brown bread and butter on her plate. "If you're going to let this go to waste—"

  "Not a chance!" she said, giving the plate a vicious shove across the table.

  Kelt caught the edge of the plate, narrowly avoiding having her meal dumped into his lap. "Ashley."

  She heard the threat, but was too caught up in her own anger to heed it. "Bastard." Deliberately she picked up her pewter goblet. His hand closed over her wrist and squeezed until she thought her bones would crack.

  "No scenes, Mistress Morgan. Put it down."

  She flexed her fingers, but her wrist might have been caught in solid rock. "Let me go," she whispered. She could feel curious eyes on her back and she blinked back tears of rage. "I'll kill you."

  "The wine, m'lady."

  Defeated, she set the wine goblet back on the table. He released her wrist immediately. "If I was a man—"

  "If you were a mon, we'd nae ha' this problem, would we?"

  A maidservant came toward them with a platter of food. Ashley stood up. "Enjoy your goose, sir," she said coldly, "and tend to the matter we spoke of as soon as you are finished." She threw a coin on the table. "I'll pay for Master Saxon's meal. He works for me—at least for the time being."

  Kelt's parting sarcastic chuckle burned in her ears as she made her way down the hill to the dock. Damn his arrogant disregard for her feelings! She called for a boatman to row her out to the sloop. Kelt could find his own way home or he could go to hell!

  Every time she thought about the slaves she got angry all over again. Martin knew she would never agree to such a thing. They both knew. An inner voice reminded her that this was what could be expected of letting a man take control of her life.

  "No more." Ashley stepped into the rowboat as it touched the dock.

  "What did ye say, mistress?" the boatman asked.

  "Nothing... nothing at all." Ashley stared into the swirling water. Her confusion over her feelings for Kelt these past months had made her as indecisive as men accused women of being. No more. She would return to the plantation and do what she should have done yesterday. She'd confront Quincy and demand that he remove himself and his crew from Morgan's Fancy once and for all. Once Quincy was gone, she would find the strength to deal with Kelt. She needed no men to complicate her life—not now... and not ever.

  * * *

  It was dark when Ashley stepped into the captain's cabin aboard the Scarlet Witch. Her father was seated at the table with Gavin; Quincy rose to greet her.

  "Ashley, what a pleasant surprise! Although I must say you took your own good time about it. We were expecting you two days ago." He crossed the room to embrace her. "Sit down. Will you join us in a glass of wine? I have a marvelous Bordeaux..."

  She stiffened and stepped back, taking a deep breath. "Why are you here?"

  Gavin laughed, slamming shut the small iron-bound box on the table. "Same questions, Quince. She's consistent, you've got to give her that." He leaned back in his chair and stared insolently at her. "Did you think we could make repairs in the port of Chestertown?"

  "They're searching for you everywhere," Ashley said. "It's only a matter of time before you're found here. Don't you care anything about me? About what would happen if the authorities—"

  A smile played at the corner of Gentleman Jim's finely drawn lips. "Ah, the recriminations. Is this daughterly concern? Surely you've heard of our narrow escape by now? Would you rather we'd lowered our colors and placed ourselves at the mercy of King George?" McCade chuckled, extending a slim hand toward an empty place at the table. He was dressed, as usual, in spotless satins and velvet. His coat was dove gray, the breeches a shade lighter. The silk stockings were stitched with a pattern of silver hummingbirds and the square-toed shoes bore jeweled buckles. McCade's sparkling white periwig was as tidy and sweet smelling as his cabin.

  "Damn you, Quincy," she cried. "You can't do this to me! I've put my life into this plantation."

  "Do you think I'd endanger you if it wasn't necessary? Tut tut, girl." He pulled out the chair for her. "Sit down and have a little wine. Tell me about your mother. I have a little gift for her... something I picked up in the islands. She'll love it."

  Ashley tightened her hands into fists. It was always the same. She had known he would be like this. Charm. He thought he could talk her out of her anger with charm. "No! I mean it, Quincy! I want you and your scum off Morgan's Fancy on the next tide."

  Firm hands pushed her into the chair. Beneath the satin, Quincy was all muscle. Although he wasn't more than medium height, Ashley had seen him pick up a huge, surly crewman and throw him over the rail of the ship.

  "We'll go when it's safe—and when we've finished our repairs." His eyes met hers and for an instant she saw a flicker of distress. "We lost the sloop in that fracas off the coast. Twenty men went to the bottom with her."

  Ashley smiled coldly at Gavin. "I guess that demotes you to mate again, doesn't it?" Gavin had captained the sloop. It was immensely useful for sailing into shallow water; the Scarlet Witch and the Cazadora made a deadly team, even if the sloop carried fewer men and fewer cannon. "Isn't the captain supposed to go down with the ship, Gavin? How did you avoid the fate of your brave men?"

  "Fortuna."

  Ashley shivered under his malignant stare. Gavin frightened her. He always had and her fear had made her determined never to give him an opening to hurt her. She knew why her father kept him by his side—kept him despite the underlying current of insidious malevolence. Gavin was the dark side of Quincy. He could carry out the distasteful requirements of their trade without blinking an eye. Gavin was a man without conscience, an ambitious man—the perfect foil for Gentleman Jim, the courtly buccaneer.

  She had asked her father once about his handsome lieutenant. Ashley had been fourteen and Gavin still young enough that they referred to him as "the boy.""Why do you keep him with you?" she demanded, angry that Gavin had watched her with the heavy-lidded glare of a viper. "You can't trust him. He'll betray you one day, Quincy. I can see it in his face."

  Quincy had laughed. "On the last day of his life he'll betray me."

  "He's not like the others," she protested. Ashley hated Cato the dwarf, but she wasn't afraid of him. There was an odor of evil about Gavin, despite the fair, even features and the laughing manner. Gavin had the look of a killer.

  "Has he insulted you? Laid a hand on you?"

  "No, but—"

  "He won't. He's smart, Ashley. That's what you see. He has a Machiavellian mind. I couldn't pick a better second in command." Quincy had smiled coldly. "We use each other, child."

  "Where is your trusty Scot?" Quincy said, snapping Ashley back to the present. "Your... overseer?" He poured wine into a priceless Venetian goblet and offered it to her. "He's not hiding in the forest spying on us, is he?"

  "Not likely. If Kelt knew you were here, he'd send for the high sheriff. He knows I'm not a part of your foul dealings."

  "You came alone, then?"

  "Don't I always?"

  Gavin swore softly under his breath. "Listen to her, would you? As pure as an angel." He leaned toward her and Ashley caught the odor of stale rum. "Are you a fool, woman?"

  "That's enough!" Quincy snapped.

  "No! Not enough!" Gavin's fingers tightened cruelly over hers. "If we hang, she hangs with us."

  She struggled to pull her hand free. "What's he talking about?" she demanded. "I didn't ask you here. I'm no part of it!"

  Quincy shrugged. "Not quite, my dear. Did you really think your tobacco shipments were getting through by sheer chance? I've been protecting your grandfather's tobacco for years. And then when you gained control of the plantation..." He arched an eyebrow cynically and s
ighed. "You have to grow up sometime, Ashley. The reality is that you're an accomplice. You always were."

  "No!" She rose to her feet. "No. I don't believe it!" She looked from her father's smooth face to the smirking one of his lieutenant. "You couldn't have—"

  "Of course we could have." Quincy's eyes narrowed. "I let your ship go. Hell, I rescued it. What did you make on that shipment alone? Considering how many vessels we've taken this year, the price of tobacco in London should be astronomical."

  The room seemed to spin as Ashley fought for control. All these years... all these years and she'd never guessed. She bit her lip, welcoming the pain. She'd sworn to Kelt that she wasn't a part of it. The Morgan luck. The Morgan luck had been no more than a pirate's fancy. "Why?" she whispered. "Why did you do it?"

  Quincy blinked. "You're my daughter. Why shouldn't I improve your fortunes?"

  "I never asked for it."

  "Do you think it will save you from the gallows?" Gavin asked. "You're a part of it—you've always been."

  "You never told," her father reminded her. "You never told the old man."

  She shook her head. Her mouth was dry. "I... I couldn't," she murmured. "If I—"

  "Enough of this womanly protest," Gavin said. "You've profited from our venture, with damned little risk, I say. Now you can repay our efforts. We need supplies and powder. Musket and cannonball if you can get them. Powder and bandages."

  "Do you really believe I'd help you?" Anger rose within her. "Do you think I'd bring powder and shot to aid in the murder of my friends and neighbors?"

  "You'll do as I bid you." Quincy's voice was hard. "You've been cosseted and protected long enough. You owe me, daughter... and I'm calling in my debts."

  Chapter 19

  Ashley was halfway to the door when Gavin seized her by the shoulders and spun her around. She tried to twist free, but his fingers pinched into her flesh.

  "You're going nowhere!" he snapped.

  With a cry Ashley lashed out at him with her boot, clipping him in the ankle as she threw up an arm to block the blow she knew was coming. Gavin's fist halted in midair and he stepped back. Light from the gently swaying ship's lantern shone on his white face.

  Ashley's gaze dropped to the shining blade that rested against the base of Gavin's spine. Quincy flicked his wrist and the repair sliced through the big man's shirt to draw blood. She froze.

  "You're a fool, Quincy," Gavin said. He winced as the rapier tip pierced his skin again. Fear filled his eyes. "She'll betray us."

  Quincy glanced at his daughter and then the doorway. "As long as I'm captain of the Scarlet Witch, I'll give the commands, Gavin. If you'd like to try and alter that..."

  Ashley backed slowly toward the doorway, keeping her eyes on Gavin. "I can't do what you ask," she protested. "I can't." Her ears caught the faint scrape of leather against the deck and she whirled to face the leering dwarf, Cato. Choking back a cry of alarm, she stood her ground, trying to ignore the cutlass in his hand.

  "Ye need sump'in, cap'n?" he asked. His eyes were like round bits of glass that seemed to mock her.

  "Show Mistress Morgan off the ship," Quincy ordered. "Have someone row her across the creek." He turned his cool gaze on Ashley again. "I presume you've left your mount somewhere nearby?"

  She nodded.

  "You have two days to acquire the things I asked for," he said. "Don't make me come looking for you." He stepped back and sliced a three-inch scratch across Gavin's right cheek with the point of his rapier. Blood welled up in the cut and dripped down the front of his ruffled shirt. Cursing, the pirate lieutenant slumped into a chair, cupping his wounded face.

  Ashley fled from the cabin, scrambling up the ladder and out onto the moonlit deck. An ominous form moved to block her escape, but a word from Cato the dwarf, cleared the way. His nasty laugh followed her as she descended the ladder to the rowboat.

  What am I going to do? Her mind was numb with disbelief. She barely noticed when the boat nudged the bank. Cato mumbled something obscene.

  "Go to hell," she flung back, running into the darkness. She must find Baron, mount up, and ride. But ride where? A strangled cry rose in her throat. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't. She had to think of something... some way out of this.

  Ashley stumbled over something and fell headlong into the dirt. A branch scratched her face and she bit her lip. "Damn." Breathing in ragged gasps, she got up and dusted herself off as best she could. She felt sick. "What am I going to do?"

  The bay stallion's answering whinny was reassuring. Quickly she made her way to where he was tied and swung up on his back. The familiar smell of the big horse and the feel of his body moving under her brought a return to reason. "I'll go to Mari," she whispered. "She'll help me."

  Far off a wolf howled and the lonely cry sent a shiver up Ashley's spine. She hated the dark. Pushing back her fears, she turned Baron's head toward the Indian woman's cabin. If anyone could make sense of this mess, it would be Mari.

  * * *

  Mari's cabin stood in a small clearing beside a creek. Ashley dismounted and led her horse the last hundred feet toward the house, pausing to tie him to the hitching post. A warm glow of light shone through the window of the main room. Ashley paused and called Mari's name. She was certain the woman knew she was there; she'd never been able to approach Mari's cabin without the woman being aware of it.

  "Mari! It's me."

  A doleful wail filled the air. "Du-wit-doo-wooo." Ashley started as a ghostly shape dislodged itself from the trees and floated toward the house. The mournful trill gave way to a muffled flap of wings and the click of sharp claws as an owl landed on the carved perch an arm's length in front of her.

  "Anequo!" Ashley lunged for Baron's reins as her childish fright gave way to a nervous chuckle and her heart slowed to a near-normal beat. "Whoa... whoa," she soothed the stallion. "It's only a little screech owl. Easy boy."

  The door opened and a woman's form was outlined in the firelight. Mari chuckled softly and beckoned. "Must you ride that beast? You know he's terrified of Anequo." The dark form hopped to her shoulder and pointed ear tufts became visible above the round head. She led the way inside and pushed the door shut behind them.

  The main room was almost square and dominated by a huge brick fireplace with a wide hearth. Baskets, tools, and various objects hung from the beams; the walls were covered with animal skins. A scarred wooden table and two chairs filled one corner.

  The heart-pine floor was swept spotlessly clean, and the cabin smelled of herbs and evergreens. A deerskin curtain divided the main room of the cabin from the sleeping annex. Niches between the wall beams held bowls, birchbark boxes, and jars. Ashley smiled wordlessly, turning around once, then twice. Mari's home was always the same—a combination Indian-white world of magic and mystery. She sighed contentedly, letting Mari's peace calm the whirling turmoil in her brain.

  A cold nose pressed into her hand and she reached down absently to pet the yearling fawn. "She's growing."

  Mari nodded. "I'd hoped to set her loose this spring, but the leg will never be strong enough to keep her from danger. She must be content to be a lodge deer."

  Ashley scratched the soft chin and the deer rolled her big eyes and moaned happily. "Is she still at war with Ethepate?" Hearing his name, the raccoon uncurled from his spot before the fire and strolled lazily over to sit on the visitor's boot. "You want to be petted, too? No biting," she warned, "or I'll make you into raccoon mittens."

  Mari clapped her hands. "Leave her be now," she scolded in Algonquin. "Behave." Kneeling on a deerskin before the fire, she motioned Ashley to join her. "You are troubled," she murmured. The firelight danced on the side of Mari's face as she worked the little owl's claws loose from her shirt and tossed him into the air. The owl squeaked and fluttered across the room to land on the edge of the table.

  Ashley lowered herself to the rug beside the Indian woman. "Quincy's back, Mari. The Scarlet Witch is anchored in the far creek."

&
nbsp; The older woman sighed and reached to stroke Ashley's hair. "I know. I have watched them."

  "I went to see him tonight." Quickly, without emotion, Ashley related what had transpired between them. "I can't do what he wants," she said finally. "Half of me wants to run away and hide, and the other half says I should ride to Chestertown and tell the authorities where he is."

  A stick snapped in the flames, sending sparks spinning against the back of the hearth like falling stars. Slowly Ashley unknotted her clenched fists, letting them fall loosely in her lap. The fierce pounding in her head began to recede and her breathing slowed. Hopefully, she raised her eyes to meet 'Mari's.

  For long minutes the two women regarded each other without speaking. Mari broke the silence at last. "What he does now is a greater wrong than he has done before," she said in precise, lyrical English. "It may be that his spirit trail has led him to a life of bloodshed and raiding. But to force you to become like him is a great evil. He must be driven by unseen demons." Sighing, she took Ashley's hand in hers and began to rock imperceptibly. "This is a heavy burden to lay on your shoulders, child of my heart. No matter which path you choose, you may forfeit all that you hold dear."

  "He is a pirate, a murderer, no matter how he tries to hide it behind his powdered wigs and satin coats. Men die because he desires their belongings." Ashley swallowed, trying to rid herself of the lump in her throat. "I know it wasn't like that in the beginning, but year by year he gets worse. He's becoming more like Gavin and the others."

  "But he is your father."

  "He's my father."

  "And the tie of blood between you cannot be lightly disregarded."

  Ashley shook her head, picking idly at the deerskin rug. Ethepate wiggled under her elbow and turned round and round in her lap, settling himself comfortably. "If he were dead, I'd weep for him, but—"

  "Accepting what must be is not the same as causing it."

  Ashley's face twisted in pain. "What shall I do?"

  "Will you bring him what he wants—powder, shot, cannonballs?"

  "No."