Margaret was pleased.
“We have read about love spells, and how you might influence on behalf of a lonely heart.”
She nodded. It was something that fascinated her immensely.
“There is a man with whom I share many fascinating discussions about politics. His name is Gilbert Ridley. He is a widower and he is shy and doesn’t seek company. However, I know a young woman who would dearly love to befriend him. I have arranged for her to pass by him when he is taking his morning walk along the river. When I pause to introduce you to Master Ridley, she will be nearby.”
“And I will draw his attention to her,” Margaret replied, delighted at the game.
The enchantment was woven, and of course it was a great success. Margaret thrilled at the notion that she had played matchmaker for two lonely hearts. The memory remained vivid, for it was a special moment in her life.
It was, however, the first of many times that Master Cyrus urged her to influence his acquaintances from the corridors of power. These requests were always couched in pleasantries, and the spells themselves related to seemingly inconsequential matters. She didn’t begin to suspect his intentions until years later, when she discovered that Gilbert Ridley was ruined, his heart broken and his fortune stolen by a wily courtesan and her accomplice.
As the years went on Maisie discovered other such occurrences that made her doubt her magic was the powerful natural healer that her mother had taught her it was. Instead, she increasingly heard the terrible things that were spoken against witches, and her inner struggle against what she was capable of overwhelmed her at times.
Master Cyrus, however, always set her to rights. He was determined to show her it was what she was destined for.
In time, she gained confidence about her craft, whilst becoming an educated young lady. Outings were a rare treat at first, and she was never allowed to go anywhere without his supervision. Mama Beth was under strict instructions to chaperone dressmakers’ visits, and Mistress Hinchcliffe never roamed from the subject matter of their lessons, lessons that the master of the house prescribed on a weekly basis.
The changes in her relationship with Cyrus Lafayette began around the time Margaret began to blossom into young womanhood. Mama Beth commented on it, and subsequently, requests given to the dressmaker for her gowns and other accoutrements became more lavish. Margaret accepted this as any young woman might, with pleasure and humble gratitude. Master Cyrus seemed to relish her transformation, and for some reason she felt painfully self-aware under his gaze.
“You are ready to discover more of the world, I warrant,” he said as he watched her from his winged armchair while she was busy with her sewing,
Mama Beth encouraged her, too. “You are a proper young lady now. I’m so proud.”
Margaret was not sure what discovering more of the world meant. Fear and caution were instinctive reactions. Not only because of her experiences, but because of the way Master Cyrus kept her informed of the terrible demise often wrought on those who practiced the craft. Education was always tempered with warning.
“More of the world?” she asked cautiously.
“Master Cyrus is taking us both to the theater,” Mama Beth informed her, cheeks aglow with pleasure. “It will be delightful to show you off at last.”
The theater. Margaret had studied Shakespeare’s plays with her teacher, but never imagined she might see them performed. These outings were a pleasure and joy to Margaret, but she also began to become suspicious, because they often encountered Master Cyrus’s associates, government ministers, financiers, merchants and tradesmen of the highest order. Some were gracious to his wife and ward, others seemed lascivious and offered barbed compliments that she couldn’t fail to notice. Master Cyrus, it seemed, had several enemies.
It then became apparent that when he encouraged her to use the craft, it was often in order to help him reach some personal goal. Margaret was made uncomfortable by that knowledge and began to query the full circumstances of the situation when he requested her assistance. She did not resent helping him, for he had given her opportunities in life that she would never otherwise have had. However, as time went by, the situation became more transparent, and Master Cyrus more obvious about his exploitation of her power. Alongside this, the nature of his relationship with her began to change.
At first it was small things. He told her that he wanted her to call him Cyrus, not Master. That felt odd. Mama Beth no longer accompanied them to the theater. Reasons were given, but it coincided with a change in his attitude toward Margaret. The admiration he showed her was no longer tempered, and it was no longer delivered as a guardian to a ward, but as a man with altogether different intentions.
Then one night Cyrus took her to a reception where they mingled with the actors they had seen onstage, together with personages of note, peers and lords. Margaret felt quite overwhelmed, and when she saw a young man smiling across the room at her, she returned the smile, for it seemed to bear some understanding of her predicament. Later, when the man approached, Cyrus greeted him dismissively.
“Charles Hanson,” he muttered, by way of introduction.
“I was hoping to make your acquaintance,” the young man had said to her.
“Thank you.” Margaret dropped a curtsy.
Charles bent and drew her fingertips to his lips.
A shiver of arousal ran through her and her eyes locked with his.
The young man was about to say more, when Cyrus announced they had to leave. He called for Margaret’s cloak and ushered her away, giving her no chance to say goodbye to Charles. Inside their carriage, Cyrus thumped the roof with this cane and glowered into the gloom.
“It was a remarkable performance,” she commented in an attempt to alleviate the oppressive atmosphere.
“Yes, it was a perfect evening.” Without looking her way, he reached out and clasped her hand where it rested on her lap.
She thought he might squeeze her hand and then return to his thoughts, but he kept hold of it, possessive and insinuating. Her skin crept with discomfort, but she knew better than to pull away. His mood was foreboding and she sensed it would be the wrong thing to do.
“Yes,” he added, “a perfect evening, spoiled only by that audacious upstart, Charles Hanson. How dare he think he might court you?”
She was surprised, for she hadn’t even thought that was the young man’s intention. Cautiously, she measured her response. “I’m sure he was only being friendly.”
Cyrus turned to face her, his hand tightening on hers. “I know what drives a man like that. He is not worthy of you.”
Why did it feel so awkward? “It matters not, Cyrus, for I am sure you are mistaken about his intentions. But I am quite certain that he is far above me in this world.”
“You are wrong.” He shifted then and turned to cup her face in his hands. “Very wrong. You are the most precious thing in this world.” His eyes glittered in the darkness, and his face was uncomfortably near to hers, his breath hot on her skin.
“Cyrus, you are embarrassing me.”
“And how it becomes you,” he responded, his tone low, his manner quite different to everything she had known before. He moved one hand to caress her waist. “You are not for the likes of him, my precious. Oh, no, I have much bigger plans for you.”
“You have plans for me?” She blurted the question, unable to hold it back.
Immediately, she wanted to retract it, but before she could say anything else, Cyrus answered by pressing his lips to hers.
Thoroughly shocked, she froze, and then pulled away. “Cyrus!”
“There is no need to be afraid,” he said swiftly, “not while you are with me. Haven’t I always told you that?”
She was far too shocked to answer.
The way he sank back in his seat and eyed her made her discomfort increase. He did not ask her forgiveness for his actions, nor did he apologize. And he kept his hand over hers, as if claiming her.
In that moment
she realized it had been his intention all along to keep her as his own. Not as he had done to begin with, but as something else. Something that made her blood run cold.
From that evening on, Margaret’s senses were ever on high alert. Watchful and cautious, she didn’t draw away from her master, her keeper. Instead she allowed him the briefest intimacy in order to learn the exact extent of his so-called plans. His true intentions toward her hadn’t been honorable at all. Nor was the way he dismissed Mama Beth from their lives.
Like a butterfly from the chrysalis, Maisie’s transformation into a young woman was a fragile flight into a world fraught with dangers. But deep down she was still a Taskill, and she was strong. Which was just as well, because when she discovered the true depth of her keeper’s wickedness, she knew she had to break with Cyrus and forge her own path, no matter what new dangers it might bring.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Maisie, you managed to make your way across in Billingsgate.” Roderick nodded down at the plank. It had been set down as soon as they docked at Lowestoft earlier that afternoon, and had been well used between then and now.
The furrow in Maisie’s brow deepened as she considered it.
Roderick found he didn’t like to see her fretting. In fact, it made him quite restless and uneasy. He walked back across the plank to her side to show her how sturdy it was.
“It was dark in Billingsgate,” she grumbled. “And now I can see exactly how treacherous it is.”
She nodded down at the waters beneath. She was perched shipside, clinging to the railing at her back, looking down at the plank as if she wouldn’t be able to manage it. He noticed how lovely she looked, poised like a figurehead for the Libertas. A little too nervous for that role, perhaps. Nevertheless, it made him smile.
Had she really been this afraid in Billingsgate? Things had happened so quickly that first night it hadn’t occurred to him she would find it difficult. How determined she must have been to leave London. Why? It was his intention to dig to the bottom of it, but he had to get her on shore first so they might dine and talk in comfort and privacy.
“I will lead the way. Follow my steps exactly.” He made a point of taking it slowly so that the board did not bounce as much as it usually would.
When he reached the dock, he gestured at her to follow. “Trust me. What can go wrong? If you fall in, I’ll fetch you out.”
She gave him a horrified look that made him chuckle.
That seemed to urge her on. Grumbling to herself, she edged her way along the plank. When she got close to the dockside, she gained speed, and when she stepped onto solid boards there, she visibly slumped with relief.
“You will master the plank by the time we reach Dundee, and you can step off in Scotland with grace.”
“Perhaps.” She didn’t seem convinced. She had barely straightened up when Brady came bounding down behind her. Hearing him, she darted to Roderick’s side and held tight to him.
Taking advantage of the situation, he wrapped his arm around her waist.
“Oh,” she said, when she caught sight of Brady, “how foolish of me.”
“Brady is away in a rush after his Yvonne.”
A woman’s voice called out beyond them.
They both turned to watch as the sailor and his woman greeted one another. Brady grabbed her in his arms and embraced her. Two small children stood by, watching. When encouraged by their mother, they stepped forward with offerings for their father.
Roderick glanced down at his companion. She appeared to be intrigued. “How did she know he was coming?”
“He sent word from Billingsgate. He pays highly to have someone ride ahead to deliver a note. As soon as we dock in England he sends word. Then she has the port master inform her when he catches sight of our masts.”
“Like two spinning stars closing on one another,” Maisie whispered. “It’s quite lovely to witness their reunion.”
Roderick had never thought so, for this reunion meant he might lose one of his best men. But he could see that a woman might be smitten with such a touching scene. “It is not without problems. Brady is a man of the sea. No sailor should be tethered to the shore by a woman, for it tears him apart inside.”
Maisie frowned. “You cannot believe that. He clearly loves her.”
“He does love her. That is exactly the problem.”
Maisie frowned at him, then watched as the couple hurried off, each with a child by the hand.
Offering his temporary companion his arm, Roderick adjusted the neckerchief he had put on for the occasion. He was not used to such finery, and he’d had to hunt high and low amongst the men and their belongings to find something suitable to borrow for the event.
They stepped out together, promenading through the small town. Roderick was proud to be seen with her. He had gone ashore before she was even aware they’d set down anchor, and sought out the best inn he could find to make arrangements.
“I have organized a room where we can dine in comfort,” he said, as they mounted the cobbled lane that meandered from the harbor into the heart of the town.
“Why, Captain Cameron, you are being most charming. That wasn’t part of our bargain, surely.”
“Oh, I shall hold you to the bargain, never fear.”
She smiled and glanced at him most seductively.
“However, I want us to talk, to know each other a little better. I am most curious about my lovely passenger.”
Her smile vanished. Roderick felt her withdraw. Even her grip on his arm loosened. That was not good. Perplexed, he gestured at the inn ahead.
Maisie nodded. She didn’t say anything, but looked rather pensive.
Once inside, he caught the innkeeper’s eye, and the man took them to a private room. It was small but well presented, with a dining table, two chairs and a stoked fire. Candles stood in a row on the mantel, as well as in wall sconces, and there was a thick woven mat before the fire that gave it an air of comfort.
“It’s lovely,” Maisie commented, and smiled.
He was relieved to see the pensive look had gone.
She went to remove her cloak, but Roderick stopped her, stepping behind her and placing his hands over hers on the silver clasp at her collarbone.
She glanced back over her shoulder. “Thank you.”
The look in her eyes heated him to the marrow.
Aboard ship she appeared ladylike, moving elegantly all the while. Even when the ship tossed, or she was half-stripped, or was undertaking menial tasks alongside Adam. Here in the relative comfort of the private room in the inn, where candles abounded and the log fire crackled and hummed, she seemed even more elegant, sparkling like a rare jewel before his eyes.
He held out a chair for her.
She had pinned up her hair, and the pale skin of her nape was revealed to him as she took her seat. Roderick stared down at her, and before he moved away, rested his hand on her shoulder a moment, needing to touch her.
Taking the seat opposite her, he was glad the room was so well lit. It meant he could admire her. The way her throat curved into her collarbone made him want to kiss her there. The swell of her breast at the edge of her bodice had the same effect.
The innkeeper brought mugs of ale and assured them they would enjoy a good meal. When he departed, he left the door to the room ajar. The cheer of the crowd in the inn beyond—whilst amiable and infectious—made Roderick want to have her completely to himself again, much as he did in his quarters aboard the Libertas. Later, though, he would have that and more, and the thought kept his lust well stoked.
“Tell me,” she said, “how did Brady come to have a woman here?”
Roderick thought back on when it was. “We set down anchor here around five years back, in order to careen the hull.”
When her eyebrows drew together, he explained. “The outside of the ship gathers unwelcome baggage, barnacles and weeds and all manner of strange creatures. When they make their home on the boards they slow us down. They can al
so make the ship more vulnerable to taking on water. We dropped anchor in Lowestoft in order to take dry dock, to hove down, do repairs and tar the boards.”
“I didn’t know there was so much involved in your way of life.”
“It never ends, that is the truth of it, but it’s a wild old life and we welcome it. Careening is just one of many tasks that have to be undertaken to keep the ship seaworthy. On this occasion we’d been in warmer seas off the coast of North Africa, and the task took longer than expected, and while we were here Brady met his Yvonne. After we left he was so miserable that we started to call on the port whenever we were nearby. After a year he married her and secured her a cottage. Now there are two bairns to feed, but he is happiest when we sail closer to this part of the world.”
Maisie considered Roderick with a half smile. “You are a generous captain.”
“It was not just me that made the decision. I sail with a partner. He has been on land these past six months on family business. Together we talked Brady around to this arrangement. He loves the woman, but he also loves the sea. He is a good first mate. We did not want to lose him entirely.”
“A woman can do that, draw a seafaring man back to land?”
“Oh, yes,” Roderick replied, with irony. “Losing crew to women is a hazard we have often encountered. Many a seafaring man will suddenly find his land legs if lust is involved. Worse still, if his mind is addled by romantic notions.”
Roderick had never understood it, but when he stared across at his companion he began to see how it could happen. Maisie Taskill could easily lure a man to land if she set her mind to it. Which was exactly why he should be keeping his distance, not spending every possible moment with her, and endeavoring to find out her history. Yet he couldn’t help himself. Natural curiosity, he told himself. That’s all it was.
“You thought he would stay with the Libertas if you did this to help him?”
“Gregor thought it would be the case, but I think we may lose Brady yet. He gets melancholy when we are away too long. It is better for a seafaring man not to grow attached to one woman.”
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