“He had a sore throat, so I sent him to bed with licorice root tea.”
“Elunid will be missing him.”
He nodded.
“Everyone has been going on and on about how alike Elunid and I look.”
“No, Bethan. I would never mistake you for your sister.”
“How so?”
The path of his dark eyes sent a shaft of heat from her head to her toes.
“Girl, where’s my ale?” one of the sailors yelled.
Henry shot him a dirty look. “Disrespectful lout.”
“No harm done,” Bethan said.
“Aye, save your canoodling for after hours, ye lovesick cows,” Widow Jenkins hollered.
Bethan didn’t heed the uproarious laughter that followed. What would it feel like to kiss the spot above his temple where one black curl fell?
His dark eyes glowed on her skin, as if he’d stripped off all her clothes. “Widow Jenkins is right. Would you care to canoodle later?”
She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she’d be silly to deny herself the pleasure. Nevertheless she replied, “We’ll see.” She walked away and glanced over her shoulder, gratified to hear him groan.
Chapter Seventeen
Bethan had just sent Lena to rest in her private quarters when the door opened and a young man strode in. He was slightly built, but with a wiry strength about him, curly blond hair, and brown eyes. He glanced at the twins, eyes widening slightly. He settled himself in the corner table.
Widow Jenkins put her hand in front of her mouth. “Riding officer for customs. I haven’t seen his face before.”
“He looks bleary-eyed enough to have been up all night and all day too.”
He took off his hat, dust falling upon the table. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, then opened them just as quickly, eyes keen on the crowd.
Elunid sniffed. “I can smell his horse from here.”
“There are worse smells than horse,” Bethan said.
“Your shite monger? In the kitchen, fries fish, shovels shite. Versatile and quite right.”
Widow Jenkins laughed.
“That’s enough, Ellie.”
“Dearie me,” Elunid whispered to the widow. “She only calls me Ellie when she’s vexed.” She pointed one long index finger toward Henry, who’d come out of the kitchen to deposit a bowl of oyster stew in front of the chandler. One brow rose in provocation. “Quite right.”
Bethan shrugged. Nothing would spoil her mood tonight. She approached the table where the officer sat.
“You look like you could use a good meal and a glass of ale.”
“Right enough, miss.” He smiled and sat upright, rubbed his face with the palm of his hand.
“We’ve fresh chowder and bread right out of the oven.”
“Sounds like heaven. Yes, please.” He smiled, a dimple appearing in his chin.
The sounds of the crowd had lessened with the appearance of the riding officer, and an air of caution replaced the raucous mood. Instead of the usual friendly curiosity at sight of a stranger, several people kept darting glances at the young man.
It was a rare person in town who didn’t have some part in smuggling one way or another. It was the riding officer’s job to ride all night along the coast and prowl about town, recording bits of gossip, and apprehending anyone they discovered had been smuggling wool.
Hardly seemed fair to him, Bethan thought. He was only trying to get a good meal and a rest. And he was respectful and polite, which was more than she could say about some of the clientele tonight.
She promptly returned with the food. “Are you far from home?”
“Yes, miss. I come from a village outside of York.”
“Ah. I stopped there on my way here.”
“Where are you from?”
“Llandudno, Wales.”
His bleached eyebrows rose at the strange roof of the mouth clicking sound she made when pronouncing the double “L.”
The hours flew by as they served the good people of King’s Harbour. But it didn’t feel like work, not with Henry there. She kept her eye on Elunid, who still chatted with Widow Jenkins. She grinned. What an unlikely pair they were.
Henry passed by then and whispered in her ear. “It does my heart good to see you smile, Bethan.” His warm breath smelled of ale and apples.
She marveled anew at the smooth skin of his face. It made him seem stronger and emphasized the depths of his eyes, lit with promise and mystery.
The air cooled suddenly as the door opened, and Freddy walked in with a rough-looking sailor at his side.
“Ah, there’s our fierce Amazon.” Freddy rubbed his jaw, where a bruise bloomed.
Freddy’s companion sported the hat and breeches common to a sailor but wore a large cross on a long chain.
His gaze writhed up her body. “Aye, lad. I see what ye mean.”
As he loomed closer, the stench of rotten fish, sour sweat, and bitter tobacco rose from him in nauseating waves.
Without turning his head, he poked Freddy in the arm.
“Ow!”
“Where’s the twin?”
Freddy searched the room. “There she is, Parson.”
The man’s strange lizard eyes hovered over the two of them, back and forth. “I see what ye mean! Been at sea for half a year, and God has blessed me with this vision, this miracle of double pulchritude. Zounds, they’re mirror images!” He wheezed, spitting a glob of yellow mucus on the floor. “Good evening, my Godsends!”
“Surely and I’m not drunk yet.” He gave Freddy a shove. “Fetch me some ale.”
Bethan went over to where Elunid sat and put her arm around her. She’d grown stiff, and a subterranean growl rose from the back of her throat.
“God has brought me to you for a reason.” He took the mug Freddy gave him, gulped it down, and when he exhaled with pleasure, the odor of rotten teeth filled her nostrils.
Bethan fought the urge to retch and rose to her full height. Despite what Mother said, towering over most men had its advantages. “What do you want?” She had to shout above the din of a heated game of chance.
“I require nothing but to feast my eyes upon the two of you, Godsend.”
“You’ll stop calling me that.”
“And to have backbone as well? What have I done to deserve the blessings of the Almighty? Majestic breasts, legs I could climb all night…”
Widow Jenkins slammed her mug on the table and stood up. ‘Get thee away, ill wind!”
He backed away in mock alarm. Bits of fabric sloughed off his coat. “Ooh, it’s frightened I am of you, old nag.”
“Leave her alone,” Bethan said.
Widow Jenkins cackled. “You think he scares me, lass? I’ve coughed up worse than the likes of him.”
The parson continued his perusal of their bosoms and licked his lips. He grabbed Freddy’s coat. “Imagine how much…”
“What is it you want, piss breath?” Widow Jenkins yelled.
The crowd roared.
“Shut yer gob, ye wrinkled old doxy.”
Bethan restrained the old woman as she lunged forward, skinny arms flailing.
“Now see here. You’ll not address her so.”
When Elunid stood up to join Bethan in defense, the parson drew in his breath. “Cor. Imagine how much they’d fetch, the two of them. Praise the Almighty!”
Before Bethan could restrain her, Elunid poked him in the shoulder. Fibers of his coat came off in her hand. “Why are you called ‘parson’?”
“Now, there’s an inspiring story. I minister to the needs of mankind, wherever I might go, as God has asked me to do.”
Elunid sniffed. “You carry the stench of Satan.”
The crowd gasped.
He raised his hand, as if to slap her, then shook his head. Greasy strands of gray hair flopped in his eyes. “No, I can see you need saving.”
“Brimstone,” Elunid murmured in a strange monotone. “The sweat of suffering. Despair.�
��
Bethan put a hand on her shoulder. “Ellie, stop.”
She continued, “I’ll wager you’ve spoken to the Dark One yourself.”
He looked around, grinning. “Crazy, she is.” He grabbed his crotch. “I’ve got something to cure you.”
Elunid grew still. “Reminds me of…” She shook her head. “No.”
“Ellie. Come along with me.”
It was no use. When she grew stiff like this, she couldn’t be reached.
Elunid circled the man and sniffed, eyeing him like a piece of offal left steaming on the ground. “Filth like you are the devil’s breeding ground.”
“Here she goes again,” someone in the crowd whispered.
Elunid sniffed again. “I smell animal. Sheep.”
“I’m warning you, girl. Shut yer maw.” He squinted with malevolence.
Freddy pulled at his sleeve. “Let’s go, Parson.”
“Yes,” Bethan said. “Leave.”
“I’ll not be scared away by a woman.”
Elunid’s hair had fallen from her cap and hung over one eye. “Fetches a good price in Calais, yes? But that’s the least of your sins.”
From the corner of her eye, Bethan saw the riding officer slip out the door.
The parson grabbed Elunid and shook her, once. “See what you’ve done, you stupid bitch?”
“Get your filthy, whoring hands off her now.” Bethan grabbed him by the shoulders.
He let go of Elunid and broke Bethan’s grasp, grabbed her by the chin, thumbs, fingers digging into her skin, foul breath blistering her face.
Chapter Eighteen
Henry had been outside unloading goods from a wagon. He entered the crowded room to see a filthy sailor with his hands on Bethan.
He would have plowed through the gates of hell, let alone sailors, to get to her through the thick of the crowd. “Get out now, or you’ll find your guts in your mouth.” He grabbed the man by the shoulders, shook him hard.
“It’s not your affair,” he hissed, pulling out a knife.
“I warned you.” Henry pulled his arm back and hit the man with such force, he slammed against the wall and dropped to the ground.
The parson got back on his feet with Freddy’s help and spit out two rotten teeth and a mouthful of blood and saliva. He grinned, lips smeared with blood, eyes on the twins. “Oh aye. I’ll minister to you.”
“Not had enough?” Henry advanced, fists clenched. “Get out.”
He signaled for two burly local lads to follow them out, then turned to the women. “Did he hurt either one of you? I’m sorry. I was out back, unloading goods.”
Bethan had her arm around Elunid. “I need to get her to her room. She needs her…” She stared defiantly at the crowd gathered.
Henry turned on them. “What in the hell is the matter with you people? Could you not have come to the defense of one of your own, instead of staring like it was a show put on for your benefit? You should be ashamed of yourself.” His deep voice echoed across the silent room.
The chandler muttered, “It’s just that she’s so fierce, and watching the two of them, together, looking so alike, it was mesmerizing.”
“The Parson’s not one to trifle with,” one of the sailors said.
“You bloody cowards!”
He forced himself to breathe in and out, slow and steady.
“Sometimes the prospect of watching someone else’s troubles overpowers the impulse to stick up for one’s own,” Bethan whispered.
“You never answered me. Did the bastard hurt you?”
She met his gaze. “I’m fine. I wish Elunid was.”
He put a hand upon her cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I would do anything to ease your burden, Bethan.” What could he do to convince her?
She nodded, not arguing with him for once.
“Your knuckles are bleeding.” She took the handkerchief from her apron pocket and pressed it on the injury. His other hand rose of its own volition and covered hers.
“I smell him still. Smoke,” Elunid spoke woodenly and shivered.
Widow Jenkins, looking the worse for wear, took Elunid’s other arm. “He’s gone now, dearie, and we’re well rid of him.”
“She’s too far gone to hear you,” Bethan said as they helped Elunid to her bedroom.
Widow Jenkins continued. “Ye’ve made an enemy today, you and your sister both. The customs officer heard every word she said. They’re wool smugglers, ye see, and you can bet he’s on their trail now. They’ll blame you if they’re caught. Before they hang, that is.”
****
Henry waited outside the door for Bethan. He would have a word with her before they resumed working. He could hear her struggling with Elunid. Damn decency! She needed help. He had his hand on the door, when Lena bustled up the hallway.
“What’s happened?”
He quickly filled her in, and she rushed to help Bethan. He returned to the main room. The crowd had died down, and he busied himself by cleaning up.
His fierce Bethan. Yes, she was his. He relished the pain in his hand. Sinking his fist into the bastard’s face had been so satisfying. She would have endangered her own life for her sister, had in fact protected George a few months ago, towering over the sailors who’d made sport at his expense. Her fierceness had roused him then, and roused him now. What would it be like to call such a woman his? To be the recipient of her fierce love and protection of his heart?
Eventually he noticed the mood of the room had changed, and snatches of conversation brought his reverie up short.
“All we need around here is a customs officer nosing into our business. A man’s got a right to make a living, doesn’t he?”
“So a man needs to do a bit of business to keep his children fed. Shouldn’t be a crime.”
“Best keep your mouth shut. Ye never know who might be spying.”
Bethan emerged from the private quarters. The night had taken its toll on her. He fetched her a bit of brandy to put the color back in her cheeks. She took a sip and closed her eyes, then opened them again, pulled her shoulders back resolutely. Nodded. She set to work picking up dirty dishes, weaving gracefully around the crowd, smiling at one person, squeezing the shoulder of the next. A wisp of hair had come out of her cap to rest in the hollow between her breasts. How he would love to take his rest there after a day’s work.
He approached her. “How is your sister?”
She shook her head, and his heart clenched at the anguished look in her eyes. “She’s gone inside herself again, and will not stop shaking. I have…”
“What?”
“I’ve lost her again.”
He took the wisp of hair between his fingers with great care, tucked it behind her ear, laid his palm upon her flushed cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“When I get a glimpse of her as she used to be, and then lose her again, it’s as if she’s died.” She swiped a tear from her eyes, pulled her shoulders back, and stepped away from him. “It’s my life,” she said with a hint of defiance, as if to say, is that the life you want?
“I’d like nothing more than to share the joys and the sorrows of life with you, Bethan.”
She turned away from him. “Why would you want to saddle yourself with me? When you take me, you take my sister.”
She didn’t know the depths of his love for her yet.
Chapter Nineteen
The glum mood of the inn transformed when the Wandering Wastrels sallied in, their leader Reginald at the forefront. He wore a bright aqua waistcoat and underneath it a gold vest. On his head perched a tricorn hat dressed with a peacock feather. He’d like to dismiss the man and call him a dandy, but despite the fancy clothes, there lurked a pirate’s allure, which, as always, seemed to appeal to the ladies, young and old.
“Why the long faces, my friends?” The dandy took off his hat and bowed. “It’s a most beautiful night, the
moon out and glowing like the face of a woman I’ve loved well.”
The women, including Widow Jenkins, tittered and gawped at him, except for Bethan.
Reginald turned to Bethan. “Mistress Owen!”
Bethan stopped her work and smiled, her skin blooming like a ripe apricot and just as soft when he’d touched it.
Then the songstress Charlotte swept up beside Reginald. Some might find her fetching, with her face made up like a doxy’s, and her bosom displayed for all to see. She was beautiful, but with a brittle kind of beauty, much like a china doll would break if you hugged it too hard. She took Reggie’s arm, her eyes shooting daggers at Bethan, who’d resumed clearing tables, a small smile playing upon her face.
Mortimer the drummer skulked through the door, sporting a pumpkin-colored waistcoat and breeches, a snare drum tied with a rope around his neck, his suit pumpkin-colored. He held the drumsticks pointed like daggers.
Reginald stopped in front of Widow Jenkins, who was well into her cups by now.
“My beauty, why the scowl upon your lovely face?” He grabbed her hand and kissed it.
She giggled. “An ill wind blew in, but it’s gone now.” She pulled her hand away. “Get thee away from me, knave! I’m too old for your foolishness.”
Lena came out of the kitchen, plump cheeks red from cooking. She stopped shortly upon seeing Reggie, and a smile lit her face. Oh. He’d better keep an eye on that.
Just then, Bethan walked by, struggling under a heavy tray of dishes. He made his way over, but damn Reggie beat him to it.
“What’s this? Let me carry that for you, my queen.”
“I have it.”
“No, I insist.” He took it from her, holding it high above his head. “If you were my queen, you’d not have to lift a finger.”
“I’m nobody’s queen.” She scowled at him, but her eyes shone.
“You could be my queen.” Reggie winked.
Like hell she could!
“Ah, Lena. Tell me. Are you as tasty as your dishes?”
She giggled and slapped his chest. “Ach, Dummkopf!”
“You wound me, lady!”
Enough of this nonsense. He shoved by with his empty tray.
“Oh, good evening, Henry.”
“Yes, uh…well.”
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