Maisie covered her mouth with her hand and rose to her feet. Men swarmed to his aid, two climbing the rigging to assist from above, while others eased him down to the deck. Adam cried out in pain on occasion, and Maisie could see the hand that held him tight to the rope was twisted and bloodied.
“Take the wheel,” Roderick shouted to Brady, then darted over to the scene to examine the lad. “Take him below and tend him,” he instructed two of the men.
The sailors moved quickly, lifting the lad. One of them shifted his injured arm, laying it across his chest so it would not dangle as they carried him, and Maisie saw the extent of his injury. Blood ran down his forearm from scraped knuckles, but that was not all. Two of his fingers were badly misshapen, in all likelihood dislocated.
Turning on her heel, Maisie made her way quickly below deck to the captain’s quarters, where she retrieved her bundle from under the bed. Checking through it quickly, she reassured herself that she had dried agrimony leaves, a vulnerary herb that she could bind around his fingers in a dressing to aid healing.
When she returned to the deck, the men who had been tending Adam had disappeared, taking him with them. The hatch at the far end of the deck, where the men emerged when they came up for their watches, stood open. Without a second thought, she hurried over and clambered down the ladder, clutching her bundle as she went.
The ladder was longer than the one that led to the captain’s quarters, taking her deeper into the ship. She found herself in a dark and crowded place, where the air was stifling and wooden bunks were stacked one upon the other on the walls. It took her a moment to become accustomed to the gloom, and when she did she saw that the slots acted as beds for the men.
Beyond them, she saw hammocks lined up at the far end of the space, as well. There were only a couple of lanterns here and there to light the way, and she stepped carefully around piles of clothing, goods and boots littering the floor.
As she passed, a man stuck out his head from one of the slots and she jumped.
He gave her a grin and settled to watch her, apparently amused by her appearance in their quarters. She was just about to ask the man where to find Adam when she heard a frightful scream from beyond. Whatever they were doing to him, it was not good. She hurried on.
Half a dozen men surrounded the spot where they had Adam stretched out on the floorboards. His head was propped up on one man’s knee while another poured rum down his throat. The liquid spilled everywhere, staining Adam’s shirt and making him cough.
Maisie grumbled to herself when she saw that his hand appeared to be in worse condition than the last time she’d seen it. Marching over, she quickly instructed the men to leave him alone. “I will see to him. Leave the task to me.”
A couple seemed dubious, but one of them was agreeable and he took charge. “His hand needs to be strapped tight.” He gestured at a pile of tattered fabric beside Adam’s body. “His fingers must be made straight now, or they never will be again.”
Maisie nodded. “Have you a small splint I can use?”
The men mumbled amongst themselves and one walked off and returned a few moments later with some spliced pieces of wood to offer her.
“Thank you.” She stared at them, waiting for them to leave.
“If he gives you any trouble,” the man in charge added, “call out for us and we will feed him more rum.”
Rum was their answer to everything, or so it seemed. Maisie Taskill had more than that to help his recovery, though, but it was important they did not observe her. She jerked her head, indicating they could go.
When the men left Adam’s side, she peered around the gloomy corners of the place and saw that there were other men about. Some were resting, some were watching her. Sighing inwardly, she realized she’d gone down there without even thinking about her own safety, but there was nothing else to do now but proceed. And even if she’d thought about it beforehand she would still have come to his aid. Cautiously.
Kneeling at Adam’s side, she took a moment to calm him, stroking his forehead. He blinked and looked at her with unseeing eyes a moment, then offered a weak smile when he recognized her. “It is Maisie from Scotland,” he whispered.
“It is me, yes, and I will tend you.” She cupped the elbow of his injured arm in her palm, allowing him to get used to her touch before she began her task. “That is the first time you have called me by my name.”
“It’s what the captain called you, when he asked me if I would look after you.”
Maisie from Scotland. It touched her deeply to think that Roderick called her that to the men, when he had been so doubtful of her origins on first hearing her voice.
“You looked after me well, Adam. And now I must look after you.”
She saw a troubled, pleading expression in his young eyes. “It is going to hurt a lot, isn’t it?”
“I will be as gentle as I can, I promise.” He was sure to hear her enchantment, and she knew many pairs of eyes were observing from the dark shadows all around, so she had to find a reason for it. “I will sing you an old Scottish song to soothe you while I see to it. Rest back now.”
She began to hum a tune about the lochs and the mountains in springtime as she examined his hand, and after a few moments she whispered a soothing enchantment amidst the song. It worked instantly, and with a much greater effect than she was expecting. The lad visibly slumped on the floor, and looked as if he was asleep.
Startled, Maisie realized it must be due to her enhanced ability. It pleased her, but she also knew she would have to be more cautious than ever, and especially so if she made magic in fear or anger, for the results would be far more than she had previously been able to achieve. It was difficult for her to gauge how forceful it was without some time alone to explore her newfound levels of ability.
“That rum surely is potent stuff,” she commented as if to herself, but loud enough for the benefit of the onlookers, and shook her head.
There was a bunched garment beneath Adam’s head, so she made a show of plumping it up to make him comfortable. Then she continued with her song.
The flesh around the dislocated joints was already swollen, and the fingers badly distorted. In the state the lad was in, barely conscious as he was, he would not feel much pain. Realigning bones in a person was not something she had experience of, but she wasn’t afraid. Under Cyrus’s guidance and encouragement she’d healed sick and injured birds and animals in order to test her magic. Moreover, there were many healers in her family line, and it was a particular skill of her mother’s. Maisie had always wanted to heal, and working on small animals had given her the deepest satisfaction.
Inhaling slowly, she tentatively felt her way around the first dislocation. When she had the measure of it, she quickly shifted the bones back into place, and used one of the straightest bits of wood they had given her to support the finger, then aligned the second finger against the splint. When the second joint cracked into place, Adam rolled his head and murmured, roused from his sleep, and she was glad of that much for her audience. Hurriedly, she crouched over her patient to obscure the view any of the men might have of her, and pulled the dried agrimony from her bundle. She laid several precious leaves within the bandages that had been left for her to use, covering the grazed knuckles and swollen joints with them. The plant had healing properties and would also protect the torn skin from infection.
Resting back a moment, she studied her patient. “Poor lad, I think he has passed out with the pain.”
She stroked his head and shuffled the makeshift pillow beneath his head again. Then she arranged his arm across his chest, so that the hand was supported there.
It was when she was rising to her feet that she heard whispers that unsettled her. Sharpening her hearing, she distinguished their hushed words from the creaks and groans of the ship and the other distant voices and sounds. Two of the men had seen her retrieving something from her bundle, and were speculating about the contents therein. One of them called it the devi
l’s work, and questioned the fact Adam had fallen silent, despite his earlier bellowing.
A leaden weight settled in her belly. Some of Roderick’s men suspected her actions and her motives.
Maisie’s first reaction was to counter it by magic. That would be even more dangerous, for she was not sure which of them or how many had seen her.
Tying her bundle tightly, she gripped it in one hand, and lifted her skirts in the other as she made her way through the crowded quarters. She lowered her head so that she did not draw attention or meet anyone’s gaze.
The risks were there, but she had done her best to cleverly conceal her magic. If they ousted her now she might never complete her journey to the Highlands. Still, she did not regret it. It was unfortunate, but she couldn’t have left Adam that way.
Whatever they did to her, she would endure it. It was better than being Cyrus Lafayette’s instrument of power. Once she’d learned his true nature, and what he was really capable of, she knew there could be no worse fate.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The day that Maisie Taskill traded her virginity for passage aboard the Libertas would forever be etched in her memory. It had begun badly, and grew more frightening and regret-filled as every moment passed.
Cyrus had entered her bedchamber that morning while the maid was still dressing her hair. He had done so several times since Mama Beth’s illness kept her confined to her bed, and he did not even knock or have his visit announced. “Good morning, Margaret, my precious beauty.”
Suspicion and fear roared in on her, filling her senses. He was circling ever closer, like a bird of prey getting ready to swoop.
“Cyrus.” She inclined her head. She had already begun to think of herself as Maisie Taskill again and not Margaret Lafayette, and that helped her, giving her something to cling to that was nothing of his.
He stood behind her, admiring her refection in the looking glass. “Put on your best gown tonight. The one with the gemmed bodice that becomes you so well. We’ll be attending the opera. I wish to show you off.”
He wove his fingers into her hair and drew some of it to his face, breathing it in.
Maisie glanced over in order to see the maid’s reaction. The girl looked startled. Even she saw it. Master Cyrus was no longer treating Miss Margaret as a daughter, but as a potential consort. Even while his wife lay ill in her bed and close to death he was ready to begin a new life with Margaret as his companion.
Maisie forced herself to keep still, when what she really wanted to do was turn on him and push him away. It was important, however, that his suspicions were not aroused while she decided what to do. “Shouldn’t I stay at home tonight, with Mama Beth so unwell? The physician informed me she is very ill indeed.”
His mouth twitched. “She would not want you to miss this opportunity. Lord Armitage himself has invited us to join him in his private theater box.”
Maisie inclined her head, but all she felt was a sense of foreboding, one that was so strong she knew she would have to act upon it and do her utmost to discover the truth.
“Cyrus,” she said, and met his gaze. “What will become of me if Mama Beth passes on?”
It was a weighted question, for she had begged him to allow her to use healing magic on his wife, and he’d refused. His mouth lifted at one corner. He beckoned for the maid to leave, and then leaned over her, whispering, “You will be everything that we have dreamed of, and more. Your mightiest powers will unfold and we will wield them together, for pleasure and benefit.”
Her heartbeat faltered. It was all true. The suspicions that had grown over the past months were warranted. He’d stated his intentions quite clearly, and there was no denying it now.
“I will make you my own,” he continued. “Forever. My queen and my wife.”
Maisie’s heart turned to stone. Wife? She’d already gleaned his nefarious aims and his lust for her, but had never once thought he meant to marry her. What of Beth?
He bent and kissed her bare neck, as if he couldn’t resist doing so now that the subject had been so thoroughly broached. His mouth on her skin repelled her. It seemed like such a betrayal.
Dare she use her magic against him? Would it even work, given his role in her life? Maisie couldn’t be sure. She didn’t feel powerful enough to thwart him that way, because he knew so much about witchcraft. What she did feel was his lust, pent up and dark, both fiercely carnal and greedy for power, and her need to run from him grew desperate. Soon. If she made him suspicious he would have her more closely guarded. She was already aware that he had her every move watched and noted. Averting suspicion was paramount. Instead of flinching, she clung to the edge of the dresser with her fingertips and forced a smile.
“I will be with Lord Armitage until the opera begins. I’ll have a carriage readied to bring you directly to The King’s Theatre, where you will be escorted to our box when you give your name.”
“Thank you, Cyrus.”
He seemed content with that and left.
Maisie didn’t move from that spot until she heard the sound of movement outside the building. The familiar shout the coachman used to urge the horses on indicated Cyrus had left in his carriage. Then she rose and went directly to Mama Beth’s chambers.
Requesting some private time with Mistress Beth, she assured the two servants and the nurse who currently cared for the mistress of the house that she would call for them if they were needed. Once they departed, Maisie entered the bedchamber and walked quickly to the bedside. She’d spent many hours there in recent weeks, but she’d kept a bright mood and hopeful spirit, relating the household events and other such chatter in order to help Mama Beth feel content, and enable her to fight the illness. This time she had to be bold and ask questions, questions that might otherwise never be answered. It felt selfish and harsh, but at the same time Maisie knew she must. If Mama Beth was distressed by the discussion, Maisie would wipe the memory away with magic.
She was so pale, drawn and frail in her bed that it was hard to bear witness. Maisie loved this woman who had been so generous and kind to her. Guilt weighed heavily on her, too, guilt for Cyrus’s shift in affections over the years.
“Margaret, is it you?” she said, her eyelids fluttering.
“It is.” Mustering a smile, Maisie bent to kiss her forehead. “Do you feel any better, Mama Beth?”
She roused a weak smile, but did not answer directly. “How fares the household today?”
“All is well there.”
She squinted at Margaret. “You appear thoughtful. You have something else on your mind, child?”
Could she even broach the subject? I have to.
Maisie nodded. “I’m afraid I must burden you with my personal concerns, and I must ask you some questions that might be difficult for us both.”
Beth studied her face for some time, then looked at her with sympathy and with love. “I knew you would come to me when you were ready to ask.”
Her response, so simply stated, so knowing, buckled Maisie’s legs. Tears quickly dampened her cheeks. “I’m so sorry for what I must say. I feel that I’ve been foolish and blind.”
“Hush, child. You are no fool, and Cyrus is clever at concealing his true plans.”
Maisie wiped away the tears. How much did Beth know? “How long have you guessed his plans for me?”
“I don’t think he intended to become quite so obsessed with you, not when you first came to us. That came later.”
Maisie nodded, relieved. “You must believe me, I never thought of him...in that way.”
“I know that.” Beth lifted her hand from the bedcovers, seeking Maisie’s.
“Oh, Mama Beth, I’m so grateful for your understanding.” Maisie grasped her hand and bent to kiss it. These past few weeks witnessing her declining health had been difficult enough, without the need to broach this painful subject.
“I always knew that he honored your intelligence, your...special abilities.”
Maisie lifted her head
. Cyrus had always told her not to reveal her craft in front of anyone but him, stating that not even his wife knew.
Beth smiled weakly. “You thought I didn’t know?”
“Cyrus told me you didn’t.”
“Cyrus tells us all what suits him. I knew. When I wanted a child he told me of the poor orphans, the ones left behind after their parents were put to death. He said it would be easier to find a child I might keep under such circumstances.” Beth had a faraway look in her eyes. “I was later told we could have adopted a child here in London, and soon enough I realized that he was nurturing that magical side of you. Perhaps I should have intervened, but I could see how you flourished under his guidance.”
“I have, and I am grateful for that, but I cannot be what he wants.”
“No, I see that now.”
Maisie was startled, for the comment revealed Beth hadn’t been sure, that she perhaps wouldn’t have said anything if Maisie hadn’t broached the subject. That twisted the knife a little bit more.
“I hesitate to say it,” Beth continued, “but I think perhaps Cyrus is afraid he will lose you, and by making you his bride he might keep hold of you.”
Maisie’s thoughts raced. She recalled that when she had turned fifteen he’d talked about how her magic would transcend all that had gone before when she was made a woman, by a man. She shut her eyes, because she saw it now—saw his face again as he’d said those words to her. She also saw how he’d protected her until this time, how he’d turned away potential suitors and discouraged her from spending time with people her own age. It was because he was the one who intended to introduce her to her full potential. Cyrus wanted to be her only lover.
Beth’s eyes had misted, and Maisie knew that in her heart this woman was every bit as betrayed as she, if not more so. “Tell me, Mama Beth. I sense your troubled thoughts.”
“It is not how I thought things would end,” she whispered. “But you must know something else. It would not be fair of me to conceal from you the wickedness in his soul.”
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