A Pirate's Wife for Me (37 page)

As Sir Davies began to replace the cigar on the desk's bare wood, she could contain herself no longer. Snatching up the ashtray, she thrust it at him.

He glared at her. He ground the cigar out on a piece of untouched wood. "Bring your husband here."

She was proud of herself. She did
not
call Sir Davies a swine. Instead, she placed the ashtray by the cigar, returned to Taran’s side, and said, "Come, dearest, Sir Maddox Davies wishes to meet you."

Taran groped for his stick, knocked it over, waited while she retrieved it and hung the crook on his elbow. He stood, put his hand on her arm, and together they walked to the desk.

To Cate's surprise, Sir Davies was pleasant and faintly smiling."Mr. Tamson, how good to make your acquaintance." He rose to meet them. "You appear to be a youthful man. How did you come to such ill-fortune?"

Taran stopped and bowed. "Sir, I was a soldier in Her Majesty's army."

Sir Davies extended his hand.

Taran continued, "I was stationed in India where one of the rajahs gained access to our munitions and —"

With a startling and vicious intent, Sir Davies seized the sword from Taran’s side.

"What are you doing?" Taran's hands reached out. "That's mine!"

Sir Davies pointed the point at Taran’s throat. "What does a blind man need with a sword?" Tearing the blindfold off Taran's face, he flung it aside.

Cate cried out in fear and shock.

Taran staggered forward.

She caught his arm, and for one shocking moment, she saw his eyes, sealed shut as if by a searing explosion, his nose, crooked and covered with scars, his hair, burned back from his forehead. She didn't know how he had done it, but he had created a disturbing, misshapen countenance.

A convincing countenance, for Sir Davies stepped back in revulsion. "I had to see what was under that wrap. A man of my position and wealth cannot be too careful."

My God. The man was a monster.

And Taran was an incredible actor. He clutched his forehead. He sank to his knees, whimpering.

She didn't have to stage a performance. She was truly appalled by Sir Davies's actions. "Sir, that was reprehensible!" Kneeling beside Taran, she caught up the blindfold and tied it back over his eyes.

None too soon, for Sir Davies's heartless unmasking had shoved some of the clay off Taran’s temple, and if she didn't cover him soon, his disguise would fail.

As she helped Taran pull himself together, she told Sir Davies, "You could have hurt him badly. Hurt him more. Shame on you!" Sir Davies was as vile as Taran claimed. More important, Sir Davies stole Taran’s sword and used it as extension of his arm. She extended her hand. "Return the sword to him at once!"

Sir Davies examined the hilt. The blade whistled as he slashed the air. "It is a good sword. What is he doing with it?"

Taran’s voice quavered. "After the explosion, it was given to me by my colonel in honor of my sacrifice."

"He cannot have this sword," Sir Davies said. "He might hurt himself with it."

Cate put her hand under Taran’s arm and helped him to his feet. "Sir Davies, you are talking about my husband as if he is invisible. Not only is he here, but you are attempting to steal from him. From him!" She indicated Taran, who was doing a credible job of trembling and drooping. "Now, give me that sword!"

Sir Davies clearly wavered.

"Very well." She crossed her arms over her chest. "We are leaving."

"I suppose it doesn't matter. He is helpless. I will give in to your demand." With a smooth motion, Sir Davies slid the sword into the scabbard at Taran’s side.

She cast a glance at his chair. His belt hung on the back of his chair; his sword hung in the belt, the hilt was both beautiful and worn by much practice, and she could clearly see the man was an expert.

"Such a fuss," Sir Davies said. "I didn't hurt him, and even if I did, he's used to pain and unpleasant to view."

Taran whimpered again.

Sir Davies continued, "Get him out of my sight, then fetch me something to eat. I'm hungry from my journey."

Fixing Sir Davies with a stern eye, she said, "Sir Davies, I am the housekeeper, not the cook or the chambermaid. If you wish for a meal, I will pass the message onto Signor Marino, our cook, and he will tend to the matter. But let us make one thing clear — it is my intention to return Giraud to the proper appearance for a royal palace. I hope you appreciate my intention to restore this room, and all the rooms, to their former elegance."

Sir Davies considered her, and for the first time, she spied the sharp intelligence that had brought him from prince's tutor to the position of Cenorina's governor. "I admire your frankness, Mrs. Tamson. Please do keep busy. Observing you will be my greatest pleasure."

That sounded like a threat, to her employment, or to herself.

She looked longingly at the sideboard behind the desk. It would appear her investigations there would have to wait.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

Ten days passed in stately progression.

The first week, Cate hired more staff, ordered more of Giraud's main floor and major rooms cleaned, and surreptitiously searched for the crown jewels.

The first week, Taran stayed close to Cate, night and day.

The first week, Sir Davies spent hours closed in the king's study or closeted in his room on the third floor fondling his money — so Taran claimed — and filled his evenings with drinking and brooding. While he proved his indifference to all the servants by treating them as if they were invisible, Cate frequently felt the skin on the back of her neck crawl, and when she looked around, she would discover him avidly observing her.

He had said he would watch her; he meant it. But for what purpose? Was he one of the lechers who preyed on his female employees? Or did he suspect her of working for Throckmorton?

Both options put her teeth on edge, for she never, ever got the chance to investigate the king's study with an eye to finding the crown jewels.

On day eight, Cate grew tired. She was tired of working to the point of exhaustion — and she was more and more easily exhausted. She was tired of Sir Davies and his less-than-stealthy scrutiny. Most of all, she was tired of Taran trailing after her like a lost puppy all day, and lecturing her on how to safely handle Sir Davies all night. Listening to him harp on Sir Davies's evil nature was
not
how she wanted to spend her few remaining private hours with Taran.

If she had to describe her mood, she would call it irritated.

But justly irritated, damn it.

She snapped at the staff, asked Sir Davies who he had watched when she was not present, and in full view of every maid who adored him — and that was all of them — she told Taran to go away, to leave her alone, to set sail to distant shores.

The staff looked at her reproachfully.

Her outburst seemed to satisfy Sir Davies in some perverse way. He became less avid in his observations and more relaxed in his approach. In fact, he seemed interested in a different way, a way that made her want to knock that knowing smirk off his face. Did he dare imagine that because she was married to a man who suffered from blindness and infirmity, that she would willingly cuckold that husband? Even if Taran was truly so disabled, his attitude insulted
her
.

Taran … ah, Taran. He seemed as alert as ever, yet he did allow her time to herself.

In the daylight, he remained close, spending hours in the kitchen being coddled by the scullery maids or sitting out in the sun as Cate supervised the cleaning of the carpets and the airing of the linens.

After midnight, when she was secure in their room, he rode out and was gone for hours. His behavior had the effect of making Cate even more irritated. Didn't he understand she needed him to hold her through the dark hours when imagination flared, when she remembered how her brother had been murdered and she feared for Taran’s life in the upcoming battle? A battle that would, if all went on schedule, be delivered by pirates to Cenorina within the week?

No. Of course he didn't. Men were fools, all.

CHAPTER FIFTY

On the morning of day ten,
Taran waited at the harbor overlook. Hanna moved impatiently beneath him. Not far away, he knew his pirates waited for his signal to come sailing in and launch the fight that would free Cenorina. He hoped Blowfish could handle any problems that the young sailors might present; inactivity wore on them, and the crew would be restless.

Restless … hell, he was restless, on edge, anticipating the battle ahead. His newly commissioned Cenorinian soldiers were as ready as they could be in such a short time. His sailors would do their duty. Yet Davies's mercenaries could not be discounted. They were well-trained, well-armed, and held the high ground. From here, he could see the black eyes that marked the barrels of the cannons. One heavy iron ball shot accurately could knock down the town, or sink a ship.

Yet more than anything, Taran feared Maddox Davies himself. In their previous conflict, he had proved himself a brilliant, ruthless tactician — and devious. So devious. As more and more people found out Taran had returned, his chances of surprise diminished.

In the days ahead, timing was everything.

Then he heard the sound he had been anticipating — the bell that announced the ferry. It was the sound of hope for all Cenorina.

His heartbeat sped up. Surely today he would at last take into his possession the letters that would give him control over all of Davies's fortune. There it could be used to bring Cenorina back from the brink. He watched as the ship made its slow progress through the channel and into dock. One of Taran’s new recruits met Captain John Dunbar and spoke with him. A leather bag and a tall, narrow Italian alabaster vase were delivered into Leon's hands, then Leon strode away, up the road toward Giraud.

Taran rode to the grove near the crest of the hill.

Leon arrived and presented the goods.

Taran searched the bag, an excellent piece of Italian workmanship, and found nothing but two sealed letters.

He opened one. It was a demand from the Italian merchant for payment for the vase. Taran snorted. "Good luck with collecting, my man."

The other letter was addressed in a child's painful handwriting and sealed with nothing but a few splattered blobs of wax. He opened that, too, and scanned the first lurching lines:
To Maddox Davies, greetings from one who would know you better. I know things you would like. You would like what I know. I can sell you these things you would like…

Not from a child, then, or at least he hoped not. From a woman, an almost illiterate prostitute who knew of Davies's licentious proclivities and sought to sell him her services.

These letters were not the ones Taran sought. He wanted correspondence from foreign sources of wealth and power, and he did not believe Davies had lingered at Giraud for a bag, a bill, a proposition, and an alabaster work of art. The letters Taran sought had to be here somewhere. They had to.

"Maybe in the vase, sir," Leo said.

"Yes." Taran took the vase into the sun and peered into the interior. He could see a shape inside. But he couldn't shake it out, nor could he slide his broad hand into the narrow neck. Damn. Perhaps Cate could retrieve them.

So he handed the merchandise back to Leon with instructions to give it to the new housekeeper.

Then, in broad daylight, he rode back to Giraud. He was taking a chance, yet he had to return. Cate had said nothing about Davies's attention to her, and because of Taran’s blindfold, he had not witnessed any misconduct. But he had heard the tone in Davies's voice when he said, "Observing you will help pass the time." Taran knew the challenge his tall, self-assured wife must present to Davies, and he knew, too, the fact she had a husband was no deterrent to the man.

Who better to know Davies's propensities than Taran? Taran supposed he should be grateful that Davies had seized power, kidnapped him and shipped him away on a pirate ship. He
should
be, but he wasn't. Who could be grateful for years of anguish and pain? Yet he knew that if Davies had kept him close, he would have become a dissolute brute, a man who reveled in brandy, in opium, in the dissipations of the flesh…

He resolved that on the day he revealed himself to Davies, Taran would thank him for his malice. Sarcastically, of course. But he would thank him.

Taran pulled his hat low over his eyes, pulled his collar up around his chin, and boldly rode into the stable, sure a confident mien would play better than skulking. Wahkan greeted him and when Taran had dismounted, led Hanna to her stall. She greeted five new horses along the way. Young horses, with good bloodlines.

"I have culled them from the king's herd and am breaking them to my hand," Wahkan told him. "When you take your place as ruler of Cenorina, you will need more than two aging horses."

"One of which I cannot ride." Taran got a carrot and offered it to Narragansett.