Chance the Winds of Fortune (37 page)

“Come on, let's look over there,” he said. The voices faded as the men moved away. Rhea risked a glance over the top of the boat and saw the two of them stop a bandy-legged little man who'd been hurrying lickety-split along the dock.

“Ye seen a fair-haired little chit running this way? She killed our captain, and we be mighty anxious to find her. She's a runaway indentured servant, killed her master, she did. Can't have that, no, sir.” Lewis's voice drifted back to Rhea's hiding place.

“Ain't got no time to waste on huntin' down runaway females,” the little man replied irritably. “Enough of them around to fill an ocean anyway. A lot of trouble they are, if ye ask me,” he said, quickening his steps, his grouchy mutterings audible to Rhea when he passed her hiding place.

“Yeah! Well, no one was askin' ye, ye little bas—” hollered Lewis's companion after the fleeing figure. “There's some of the crew. Wonder if they've seen the wench,” he asked as they moved further along the dock, gradually increasing the distance between themselves and Rhea.

As Rhea watched, the groups of men searching for her disappeared around the side of one of the warehouses. Knowing it was now or never, for they were certain to come back, Rhea emerged from her hiding place. She was making her way through a stack of barrels that towered high over her head, when a dog came shooting through the narrow space, with another one just behind it. Rhea stepped aside, suddenly finding herself in the open, and at that instant there was a horrible ruckus on the other side of the barrels.

Without stopping to think, Rhea bolted up the gangway directly in front of her. Her steps carried her to the deck, where she dropped quickly out of sight.

And just in time too, for voices were raised in alarm, several of which she recognized.

“Damn, 'tis molasses, and all over me shoes!” someone cursed loudly.

“On mine too. Hell, we're never goin' to find her. She could be hiding anywhere. I gotta git this off me shoes, the sticky mess.”

“Come on, 'twas just a dog,” Lewis told his men. “We haven't looked over there where those boats are.”

“Yes we did, don't ye remember?” his friend corrected him. “We were just there.”

“Aye, that we were,” Lewis agreed sarcastically, “but did I see ye lookin' beneath them? Aye, 'twould be a good hiding place, I'm thinkin', and I'm beginnin' to think I'm the only one around here doin' any. Now, come on, all of ye,” he ordered.

“Be with ye shortly,” said one of the men who'd stepped in the spilled molasses. “Can't go nowhere with this on me shoes.”

As the others moved along the dock, Rhea risked a glance down the gangway, only to draw back in surprise when she saw the two men who'd been left behind sitting there quietly smoking their pipes.

Rhea sat back on her haunches, a sigh of tired desperation quivering on her lips. As the cold wind blew off the water, her shoulders began to shake. Overhead, gray clouds were beginning to group together with a promise of rain.

Glancing around, Rhea stared curiously at the apparently deserted ship. Perhaps she could go below and get out of this wind. The ship would certainly offer her a safe refuge until the gossiping men on the dock moved on, she thought. Her teeth were beginning to chatter.

She was still debating the idea when something rubbed against her thigh. Letting out a surprised scream, she tumbled over, glancing around to see what had sneaked up behind her.

“What was that?” called one of the men on the docks.

“A woman?”

“No, probably a rat that got caught by one of them dogs.”

Rhea looked down at the pale green eyes staring up at her, a tearful smile of relief crossing her face as she extended a hesitant hand for the big orange tabby to sniff. Then, as the cold nose butted against her hand, she laughed softly, and scratched the top of his head.

“You on guard duty, cat? Anyone else on board?” she asked him in a conspiratorial whisper. But his only reply was a loud, demanding meow.

“Hungry? Not as hungry as I am, I'll wager,” Rhea told him, glancing around the gangway to see the two men still sitting there, their pipe smoke rising slowly into the cold afternoon air.

“Well, I don't know about you, but I—” Rhea began, looking down to where her furry companion had been. But he had disappeared. With a sigh of disappointment, she settled herself down for a long wait, thinking that those men might sit down there for hours.

But the cat had not abandoned her, for a second later she heard the padding of his feet across the deck, then his low meow, this time slightly querulous as he moved up against her persuasively. Then he walked away from her again, halting at the head of the companionway. And there he stood with an expectant look on his face, his long tail twitching in irritation at her lack of understanding.

“So, you are as hungry as I am,” Rhea said, giving in to his wishes as she crawled toward him on all fours. The cape hindered her slow progress across the deck, but when she felt the first big raindrop, she hurried the final few feet, making her way, with the help of the cat's guiding meows, along the companionway. She found him standing in obvious annoyance before a closed door.

He meowed impatiently, scratching against the door as she stood there indecisively. But she heard no movement coming from within, and finally with a show of confidence she didn't really feel, she opened the door. The cat rushed past her into the cabin as if he owned it.

Rhea glanced around the shadowy cabin, noting the mahogany paneling and fine furnishings polished to a high gloss. Beyond the stern windows Rhea could see that the rain was falling in earnest now, and that the waters were growing choppy in response to the oncoming storm.

As Rhea stood there thinking about what she should do, she became aware of an incredible odor. Her nostrils flared as she glanced around, her eyes hypnotized by a blue-checkered cloth draped across something bulky on the table. Swallowing the saliva that was forming in her dry mouth, Rhea reached out a timid hand, then snatched the cover from the plates set on the table.

She stared in absorbed fascination at the turkey drumstick sitting squarely in the center of one of the china plates. She licked her lips; for a moment her sight was clouded by faintness. Then the persistent growling of her stomach swayed her toward an act of thievery, and with no further hesitation, she reached out and grabbed the drumstick with a shaking hand, her teeth tearing into the succulent meat. She could barely swallow fast enough to satisfy her appetite as she devoured the first decent morsel of food she'd had in what seemed an eternity.

A thick wedge of cheese beckoned to her from another plate, as well as several slices of ham, freshly baked bread and newly churned butter, and even a generous piece of apple pie. A feast, Rhea told herself with a grin as she claimed all of the food on the table as her own.

But she had been mistaken, for while she stood there satisfying her hunger, she felt the cat pressing up against her, his meows becoming worried as he saw his coveted dinner disappearing.

“Here, boy,” Rhea said. She pulled off a couple of pieces of meat and handed them down to the cat, who was weaving around her legs, his purring growing louder as he quickly dispatched his share of the booty.

Unable to eat more than a small portion of the feast, Rhea glanced around the cabin wondering if she might find something to drink, for the cheese and bread were sitting queasily high in her throat. Looking inside a small cupboard, she discovered only rolled-up charts and navigational equipment. A sea chest sat in one corner, but she didn't think there would be anything to drink in there, so she ignored it and wandered instead to another cabinet. A triumphant smile lit her face when she saw a dozen or so bottles lined up against the back, a metal bar holding them secure. With little deliberation, she selected the dustiest-looking bottle, thinking it would be the least likely to be missed.

Carrying it back to the table like a prized possession, she made herself comfortable in the captain's chair and began to pry loose the cork. It took most of her strength, but after she struggled with it for a minute, it popped free.

Holding the glass up to the bottle, she began to pour; then her eyes widened with dismay as sand filled the glass instead of wine. Peering inside the narrow neck of the bottle, Rhea noticed something there, and with a slender forefinger, she reached inside and coaxed out a piece of rolled-up parchment. Curiously, she unrolled it and stared down at an elegantly sketched map.

The legend was written in a foreign tongue, which she guessed was Spanish, as she traced with her fingertip the beautifully executed, flowery script. Delicately drawn tropical birds, seashells, and palms decorated the corners. One Gorgonesque face blew a gust of wind from a northeast direction, and another, which was equally ugly, blew from the southwest. A painted ship sailed the seas, which were filled with sea monsters lurking in the crested waves. An elaborately drawn
X
had been placed among some straggly-looking islands at the base of a larger land mass.

Rhea continued to stare with interest at the map; then, as she felt the continued dryness in her throat, she began to roll the map back into the bottle. But her hands were so stiff with cold that she couldn't seem to roll it tightly enough to fit inside the narrow mouth.

She paused, thinking she heard something on deck, but it was only the rain. Glaring at the unrolled parchment, she left it and went back for another bottle of the captain's wine, vowing she'd get that map back inside the bottle if it took her the rest of the afternoon. Selecting another bottle from the rack, she held it to the fading light to make sure that it did indeed have wine inside. Satisfied, she uncorked it and poured herself a liberal amount of dark red wine. She shuddered slightly as she swallowed half of it, her thirst making her greedy for its soothing wetness, but as a warming glow began to spread through her body, she began to sip it more slowly.

She walked over to the big, square stern windows and sank down on the narrow seat beneath them. From there, she stared out on the sullen waters of the bay, wiping at a tear clinging to her lashes and sniffing back any more that might have fallen. Needing comfort, she reached automatically for the locket hanging around her neck, the possession that was her only remaining link with her family. It had been a constant reminder during that long voyage that she was Rhea Claire Dominick, and that her home would always be Camareigh. She had kept the locket secret even from Alys. She knew she should have shared it with her, even though nothing could be seen in the darkness of the hold, but still, she had wanted to keep it to herself. For inside the locket were painted miniatures of the Duke and Duchess of Camareigh.

It was gone! Rhea's fingers felt about her neck, searching for the familiar feel of the gold metal, but it was not there. With a low moan, she realized that she must have lost it in the struggle with Daniel Lewis, or perhaps when she'd run along the docks.

With a sob of despair, Rhea curled up on the seat, her tears falling freely while she thought about all that she had lost, and wondered if she would ever return home to Camareigh. She wondered about Alys, the girl's cries for help still echoing in her ears. She had promised her she would take her back to Camareigh with her, but she had failed, just as Benjamin Haskell had failed to fulfill his promise. But in the end, Rhea thought as a numbness spread through her body, he had given his life for her, and that was something not many people would have done. But it had all gone for naught, for if Daniel Lewis were to be believed, then all of Charles Town would think that she had murdered the captain of the
London Lady
.

Crying silently, Rhea slumped over in defeat. She was so tired. All she wanted to do was go home. She was startled by something touching her thigh, and opening her eyes, she stared down into the pale green eyes of the big tabby. When she picked him up, he kneaded her lap with his paws and purred comfortingly, and Rhea buried her face in the warmth of his soft fur.

Rhea rested her cheek on her drawn-up knees, the cat cradled in between. The wine and the gentle rocking of the ship began to lull her into a fitful doze, her dreams taking her back to the gently sloping countryside surrounding Camareigh…

* * *

Dante Leighton was late returning home that night. After having finished the complimentary drink of Sir Morgan Lloyd's, he and Alastair left the White Horses Tavern and called in at several others, testing their skill at cards and dice as the hours disappeared with the rising of a full moon. By the time Alastair and Dante left the last tavern, the moon was riding high in the clear night sky, the thunderstorm having moved inland toward the high country.

The air was cold and crisp, almost as heady as the rum punch they'd been drinking, Alastair thought as they walked through the quiet town. Their hired carriage had been dismissed long ago, and Alastair was enjoying stretching his legs, when Dante suddenly flagged down an empty carriage that happened to be passing. Once inside, the door had barely swung shut before Dante ordered the driver to get his team moving.

“What the devil, Captain?” Alastair demanded as he was flung back against the seat, his hat flying onto the floor.

But Dante was not listening. As he stared out the window, he saw his ever-present shadow start into a run, having realized Dante's move too late. As Dante sat back against the leather cushions, his low laugh filled the coach.

“I don't suppose he's had such a long night on the town in years. I wonder if Bertie will reimburse him for his expenditures.”

Alastair frowned. “Who exactly are we speaking about, Captain?”

“One of Bertie's hirelings. They've had me under surveillance for two months now, so I thought I'd have a little fun with them tonight,” Dante explained.

“Lord, but it will be good to get out of Charles Town. This waiting is worse than foundering at sea any day. I'm glad your ribs are well healed, and the
Sea Dragon
refitted, for I don't think I could stand another week of these townspeople. I've never had so many friends, or casual acquaintances, offering to buy me drinks, not to mention other things,” Alastair said contemptuously, remembering the brazen woman of the day before who had openly propositioned him. And this woman was the wife of a well-known captain who had dined with them often. Alastair shook his head in bewilderment, thinking how some people would resort to any means to get what they wanted.