Devil's Mistress (15 page)

He would be glad when this day was over.

* * *

When they had docked, Sloan left Paddy with only a skeleton crew aboard ship. Port Quinby was a friendly town. Trade with the Continent and sailing men of many nations had given her a worldliness lacking in many a larger city. Her streets were full of markets, taverns, and brothels.

His men, Sloan decided wryly, were well in need of an afternoon in the company of women. Some good strong ale would be in order, and a little revelry to ease the tempers that were too quickly rising.

Those left behind were to have liberty as soon as their tasks were completed. Sloan expected no trouble in Port Quinby, but he had ordered the men to choose between two neighboring taverns for their sport. He had learned in his travels it was always wisest to band near—and to keep one’s cutlass always at one’s side.

George followed him about with an expense ledger as Sloan first paid a visit to a number of merchants, ordering shipments of fowl and dried beef, vegetables, and several crates of provisions. At last all purchases were complete, their delivery in progress. Sloan glanced up at the sky. It was cloudless. The beauty of it somewhat eased the darkness of his soul.

“What now, Cap’n?” George queried. If he had felt any rancor toward Sloan for his night in the brig, he gave no sign.

Sloan shrugged. “Enjoy yourself, George. The Wild Boar Tavern offers good stiff drink—and round, cheerful maids!”

George shuffled his feet. “And what of you, Cap’n?”

“I should see the lord mayor—”

“And if I may suggest, Captain Treveryan,” George interrupted a little nervously, “you should drink a pint with the men.” George blushed as Sloan stared at him, startled by this familiarity. “It’s been rough sailing, lately, Cap’n,” George continued, trying not to stutter. “I just meant to suggest—I mean, you’ve a loyal crew, Cap’n, but they enjoy the sight of you, the feeling that you are one of us.”

Sloan burst out laughing and clapped George affectionately upon the shoulder. “George, my boy, if you ever get over that stuttering, you’re going to make one hell of a sailor! Come along, and we’ll definitely down a pint or two!”

Or three or four,
Sloan added silently to himself. He would love to get roaring drunk. Maybe he could clear his head that way and convince himself that there was nothing special about the lass who had so captivated his heart. She was a woman like any other; arms, legs, breasts, hips. In the darkness it was all the same.

But it wasn’t. No other woman had eyes so beautifully blue; no other had skin as soft as Oriental silk. Limbs so wickedly long to move against him, breasts so full yet so firm to tease his fingers and chest. A voice that touched his soul with a whisper.

He scowled as he walked beside George, thinking that bedding wenches was a seaman’s sport—each offered the same, and each offered something new. Joan had been his mistress, yet he had never owed her loyalty, and every port offered a comely lass willing to ease a captain’s needs. Brianna she was just a woman.

He sighed softly as they reached the boisterous tavern, unaware that George was watching him and guessing curiously at his thoughts. What was it about her that tied him in knots of longing and guilt? He had stripped her of her purity, but that had truthfully not been his fault. He could not have left her in Scotland, she would surely have died. And now … now he could not bear the thought of her with another man, without feeling a blinding rage.

“Captain Treveryan!”

He smiled as he was greeted warmly by his men within the tavern. Tankards were raised high to him and one was pressed into his hands. Toasts rose in his welcome. “To the finest rogue ever to sail the seas—be he a lord at that!”

Laughter filled the room. Sloan raised his tankard in return. “To the scurviest lot of rowdies e’er to crew a ship!” he returned. “And—the finest!”

He turned to the innkeeper—a man who had entertained his crew often. “Master Lawton, the drinks are on me. Just see that they all manage to stumble back to the ship by nightfall! And”—he pulled George around by the neck of the shirt—“see that my friend here, young Percy, has the finest time the place can offer!”

Loud guffaws and cheers followed the announcement. George blushed furiously but didn’t object when a pretty and very buxom wench took up the cue and slid her arms around him.

“Master Percy!” she murmured, “L’il Annie will promise to see that you have the finest time available …”

Sloan chuckled as Annie led a wide-eyed George up the stairs. He took his tankard to a table and stretched out his legs, continuing to banter with the men about the education George was sure to receive. The ale he drank finally began to relax him and lighten his mood. He would, he promised, drink until he could forget her.

“Please! I must see Lord Treveryan!”

Sloan glanced up as a young girl rushed awkwardly into the tavern. It was obvious from her simple dress and that she did not frequent such places, and yet she was anxious to see him.

Sloan stood, frowning. As he appraised the nervous young girl with the flaxen hair, he dimly remembered having seen her before. Then he recalled where. She was a servant within the lord mayor’s household.

“Here I am, girl. What would you have of me?”

The tavern fell silent as she wound her way through men and tables toward him, nervously wringing her hands. “Lord Treveryan, you are in grave danger.” She fell silent, staring about her.

“Speak freely, girl. These are all my men,” Sloan said.

She began to speak again, fumbling for her words. “A man has come with king’s troops. His name is Matthews and he awaits you at the lord mayor’s house. He is in black, and his eyes burn. He—he—intends to put you in shackles and—and hang you!”

“Matthews?” Sloan repeated incredulously. How the devil had the man moved overland so quickly? He moved forward and gripped the girl’s shoulder gently. “Tell me, how many men has he?”

“I—I don’t know. Perhaps fifty. Perhaps a hundred. They are split. Some await you at the lord mayor’s house. Matthews himself has gone to your ship. He wants a girl.” Sloan’s face whitened.

“To the ship!” a man roared.

“Nay!” Sloan thundered, raising a hand. “We are outnumbered, my lads, and therefore we must outwit Matthews. Robin!” he called to the sailor who had harassed him. “Come with me to the grain merchant. We will don wigs and capes and go to the
Sea Hawk
as delivery boys. We will find out if they have boarded her. Geoff—you take command here until I return. Be prepared for my word when I know what we must do.”

He smiled at the gentle young girl who had risked her life to bring the warning to them.

He kissed her lightly on the cheek. “And see that our young lady is rewarded well.”

The bawdy drunkenness and laughter of the men had ceased. Each crew member placed his hand upon his sword hilt and awaited with sharp attention what would come as Sloan and Robin left the tavern.

Sloan was puzzled when he and Robin at last reached the
Sea Hawk
with their heavy loads of grain. Paddy challenged them when they would board, and then laughed heartily at their disguises.

“What ye be up to now, Sloan?” he demanded.

“Paddy—has no one come to accost or question you. Have you seen no troops, or king’s men?”

Paddy scratched his chin. “Come to think of it, I did see some men in uniform idling about the waterfront shops.”

Sloan threw off his cape. “Give me the glass, Paddy. I’m going up the crow’s nest.”

Sloan quickly shimmied up the mainmast to the lookout point. Carefully he scanned the dock and the waterfront shops. Aye, the uniformed men were scattered throughout.

Why, he wondered fleetingly, hadn’t Matthews stormed the ship? Probably because he didn’t want a battle with the crew. Sloan’s men were known as fierce fighters.

No, all Matthews wanted was Brianna—and himself. But how else could he get Brianna unless he came aboard ship?

A cold terror suddenly gripped his gut so that he shook, and sweat broke out in furious beads across his brow. He clutched the mast with the muscles of his thighs and shimmied back to the deck. “They are still about,” he told his confused first mate quickly. “Paddy—when did you last check on Brianna?”

“Oh, not more than an hour ago, Sloan. I’d never leave the lass longer than that with you not aboard.”

Sloan tore across the deck to the bow and down the short flight of steps to the hallway that led to his cabin. He crashed the door in with his shoulder, and the terror that had gripped him found full substance.

She was gone.

Brianna had listened throughout the early morning hours to the shouts and movements of the crew as they brought the
Sea Hawk
into dock. She had not cried, but sat numbly, waiting. And then, when the scurry of footsteps overhead had grown silent, she had stood and carefully inspected the lock upon the door.

Sloan’s desk provided her with a scrap of parchment, which she carefully wadded in her hand—and held until Paddy came to deliver her breakfast tray. She chatted as he set the tray upon the desk, meanwhile backing silently to the door, and stuffed the tiny wad into the keyhole, praying that it would keep the bolt from sliding again.

She managed it, folding her hands behind her back just as Paddy turned to offer her his kind smile. “I’ve work to do, Brianna, but I’ll not leave ye all day! I’ll be back fer yer tray—and to take ye topside in the afternoon to see the dock. Ye’ll be okay till then?”

“Oh, aye, Paddy. I’ll be just fine!” Brianna promised softly. “I’ve been reading a book. I’ll finish it this morning.”

Paddy nodded, pleased and relieved by her apparent complacency. “I’ll be about me business, then, and should ye need me, give a loud shout.”

“I’ll do that, Paddy.”

She held her breath as she heard him twist the lock, and then forced herself to wait until the sound of his footsteps had faded down the hallway. She heard him shout an order, and slowly released her breath. She approached the door and twisted the knob.

A shaky weakness swept through her when it gave way, and she had to hold to the paneling of the door to stand.

This was it—the time to escape him! The opportunity she had prayed for. She had nothing but her faith in herself, and yet with that she was determined to leave. She would work her way across the country until she could find the Powells. She now believed that Sloan sincerely thought she would only be safe away from the British Isles. But he just didn’t understand the Powells, or the ways of their Puritan society. They knew she was not a witch and they would fight with her against the world, if need be. But who would ever find her in a small, seldom-visited village?

It was what she wanted, for she could not be his brief passion. Not according to the morals imbued in her for a lifetime, and not when she loved him with such intensity. She had longed to be free of him but now that it was time to leave, she was sadly realizing that all along he had been her knight in shining armor. He had rescued her, and swept her away, far from danger.

“Because I love you,” she whispered out loud, tears sliding silently down her cheeks, as she looked about the cabin for the last time. His desk, where they had shared so many meals in both hostility and peace; his bed, where she had slept beside him, and learned that she desired and loved him.

Brianna swallowed and approached his desk, where a gold coin and several silver pieces had been cast. She bit her lip, knowing she would be a fool to leave without the coins. Hurriedly she made her decision and pocketed the money within her dress—bitterly remembering that she had “earned” his coins. Sloan would not care about the money—that she knew. She picked up his quill and scratched out a quick note upon his blotter—asking him not to search for her, if he cared for her at all.

Then she left the cabin, closing the door quietly but firmly behind her.

Brianna hesitated as soon as she reached the deck. She would never manage to walk smoothly off the plank to the dock. Paddy was guarding the
Sea Hawk
—no one would come or go by that avenue without his challenge.

She nervously ducked partway down the steps and watched the few crew members still aboard as they mended sails or attended to other tasks. She noticed that a hemp ladder had been rigged portside for the men to work upon the
Sea Hawk’s
hull. If she could just cross the deck …

She waited, barely breathing. Finally the deck cleared except for Paddy, who lounged against the mainmast, arms crossed as he relaxed in the warmth of the sun. She took a deep breath and sprinted the width of the ship on her toes and, taking a firm grasp upon the ladder, vaulted over the side in one fluid movement.

She paused and took several deep breaths then, trying to still the erratic beating of her heart. Looking down, she saw that the water was well below her—even falling from the end of the ladder was going to be quite a distance. In her dress and petticoats, she would sink deeply into the sea.

But she had learned to swim well in the chilly lochs of Scotland, and she wouldn’t have far to go once she surfaced. She would emerge wet and cold, but that would be a problem to deal with once she reached the bustling docks.

She scrambled down to the end of the ladder and convinced her unwilling fingers that she must let go. The fall was not as bad as she had expected. The icy clutch of the water embraced her immediately and she plunged downward … downward … until she feared that her lungs would burst. The saltwater stung her eyes, but she forced them open, knowing that if she saw light, she would make it. The water seemed to release its hold, and she jackknifed her legs strongly, reaching upward for the light. Seconds later she breached the surface, gasping for air. Her skirts weighted her down terribly and so she did not hesitate, but began clean strokes eastward of the
Sea Hawk
where the small boats found dockage. There she could climb an area of jutting rocks to reach the dock and then the street.