The Jezebel (23 page)

His eyes twinkled.

Roderick grasped his clothing and pulled it back, tearing off the makeshift bandage that had been applied to him in the rowboat. There was not a mark upon him. And yes, now that he thought on it his shoulder had not even bothered him while he climbed the nets onto the ship the night before. She’d healed him, just as earlier she’d healed Adam, and from a distance, too. It shocked Roderick to the marrow. He’d seen her magic that night in the hold of the ship, but this made his heartbeat falter. “Witchcraft.”

“Aye, but it is not so frightening when the witch is fighting in your corner.”

Roderick peered at the old man. Clyde might talk in riddles, yet quite frequently he talked sense, too. Could it really be true, that she had taken the gun in order to save him, knowing that she could heal him?

His mood shifted, a weight lifting from him. He couldn’t assume it was true, but he must seek her out with the information he had for her, and get to the truth of it. It was his way.

“Go and fetch her back. It was you she wanted to be with. I caught her looking at you all the while when she was above deck, and you the same, like two young sweethearts.”

Roderick stared at Clyde in dismay. He’d always known the old man was a watchful, canny sort, but hadn’t realized that he himself had been scrutinized alongside Maisie.

“Captain, she went quietly only because I told her your life would be spared if she did.”

Roderick was startled anew. If that was true, and he had no reason to doubt Clyde, ever, it changed everything. “How can I go fetch her,” he declared, feeling even more frustrated than he had been before, “when I do not know where she is?”

“She and the man they called her guardian were taken to the naval garrison.”

Her guardian was with her. That blackened Roderick’s mood. He was even more astonished that Clyde knew so much. “How do you know that?”

“I forced it out of my quarry last night, before I lumped him on the head.” He gave a wide grin. “I pulled off his hat and wig, put my dirk behind his ear and told him I’d spare his ears if he told me what I wanted to know.”

“Why did you do that and put yourself at risk?”

“Because I knew the question was in your head and would remain stuck there. It was my duty to ask it.”

“I’m grateful.”

“So now you have no excuse.”

“I can find her and assure myself she is safe, but there is no hope in this mistaken notion you have of sweethearts.... And she is fully able to defend herself if she pleases, we all know that.” Roderick paced up and down, frustrated. The fact that he could go to her only addled his head more. “She’s destined for the Highlands and I’m a seafaring man.”

Clyde lifted his shoulders, eyes twinkling.

Roderick stared at him, and then something in him gave way. He nodded. “Go to the ship, ready the men for departure. I will find her.”

“And you’ll bring her back with you?”

Again he felt thwarted. “If I did, the crew would have her walk the plank.”

“Leave the men to me. It is me who muddled their thoughts, and can put them straight.” Clyde gripped Roderick’s arm. “Bring her back with you. She is meant to be with you aboard the
Libertas.
”

He shook his head. “She seeks her kin in the Highlands, but if she needs me, and the men are agreeable to it, we will take her there before we head for Holland.”

Clyde nodded. “I’ll go to the ship. Leave the men to me. They were already coming round. Brady is the only one fixed in his mind. You fetch your Jezebel, and be quick about it.”

I must be mad,
Roderick reflected as he shook hands with Clyde and then hurried through the streets to the garrison.

When he got there, he knew with certainty that he was mad. It was a fortress, with soldiers standing all around. Lowering his head, Roderick passed them by, boldly daring them to call him out. There was a whispered discussion going on amongst them, news of a disappearing ship in the night making them uneasy, no doubt.

As he skirted the building he could find no entrance that was unguarded, but luck was on his side when he came upon a delivery cart where three men were unloading barrels.

He observed the action from a ways off, and as the third lifted a barrel onto his shoulder and headed into the garrison, Roderick strode to the cart and lifted a barrel in turn. Shielding his face from view with his arm, he fell in line behind the three men and entered the building.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Controlling Cyrus turned out to be much easier than Maisie had hoped. He was responsive to her whispered enchantments; he had an open mind to witchcraft, which made it easier for her to sway him and guide his thoughts. It was a relief to see the wickedness in him subdued. After the years where he had kept her grateful and needy, and had so often caused her to feel uncomfortable in his presence, Maisie felt there was justice in controlling him for just these few hours, before she escaped his special noose of companionship.

If she did not focus on him entirely, however, Cyrus became disagreeable. It was as if he sensed he wasn’t in control, but couldn’t understand why. His mood at those times wasn’t pleasant. That was the situation now, while they sat over breakfast, and her thoughts had been whisked away to Roderick Cameron once again.

They were provided lodgings overnight in the naval garrison in Dundee. Mercifully, the chamber Maisie was given had a bolt on the door. She slept only fitfully and out of pure exhaustion, then awoke at dawn to troubled thoughts and with an aching heart.

That morning, a servant brought her a clean gown gifted to her by the wife of one of the officers. It was a simple design, but fitted her well. There were also clean undergarments and stockings. Warm water was provided for bathing, and when Maisie studied herself in the looking glass, she decided that, all things considered, her appearance was not too disgraceful. Shadows under her eyes were the only outward signs that she’d been split from the man who had so quickly come to hold a high place in her heart. Now that her allegiance was with Roderick—whom she might never see again—she found it harder with each passing moment to even look at Cyrus.

As if he knew that was the case, Cyrus had stationed her opposite him at the table, where warm mead, bread and cheese had been served. Maisie glanced at her surroundings, a room of some grandeur with a long oak table for feasting. A window high up at the end of the room caught the light and poured it over the table. Weapons and shields were mounted here and there on the walls. Their breakfast had been served on a smaller, less ostentatious table to one side, and Maisie attempted to get some of the food down while she assessed Cyrus’s state of mind. It wasn’t good. Once her attention drifted and she did not sway him to her way of thinking, he became uneasy.

“I still cannot believe you were so reckless,” he stated.

Maisie noticed then how bitter and arrogant his tone was. Despite his romantic overtures toward her, it indicated he still viewed her as a wayward witch-child who needed to be watched over, a child who had no mind of her own and would be grateful for his protection.

That had been the case, previously, but Maisie Taskill had matured greatly over the past days, and she’d been shown that even a powerful man, a leader of other men, could speak to her with respect—and adore her as a woman. How she ached for him, her seafaring lover. And the more Cyrus repeated the naval captain’s question and asked her if she had been defiled, the more it led her dangerously close to declaring she had been defiled in all manner of ways and enjoyed every one of them.

The need to speak her mind was growing acute.

“You should have talked to me about your desire to return to Scotland,” Cyrus continued. “It is a dangerous undertaking. Your heritage could so easily bring you to justice without me there to guard you....” His pause was deliberate, to make her afraid and keep her that way. “But I would have conceded, if it kept you content.”

She was valuable to him. The lengths he had gone to in order to recapture her had proved that. During the hours since she had been reunited with her master, she’d forced herself to believe that he was humoring her, allowing her to spend time in Scotland before returning to London with her in tow. Nevertheless, Maisie could barely stomach the thought of spending a full day with him while they talked about hunting for her kin, kin that he had lied to her about. She’d acted repentant in order to be sure Roderick and his men had the best chance of escape, but she knew in her heart she couldn’t maintain that for much longer. All she wanted to do was vanish before his eyes. Soon, she would do just that. Steal away and find her way north.

The cautious approach would have been to apologize and sweeten him. Maisie didn’t feel like being cautious. She pushed the food away. “I have often mentioned it.”

“You didn’t, however, mention your intention to pursue it alone, to put yourself at risk in the hands of lawless men.”

What could she say? Cyrus would never be able to think of her in the same way again, and yet he seemed fixed on keeping her. When she looked deep into his eyes, she knew that he still wanted her, still pretended to love her. The dark bitterness she saw there chilled her. He meant to make her suffer for her transgression. Punishment would be ongoing.

She would turn her magic on him and pacify him. She would have to when she tried to leave him again. But right then she had a need for the truth to be unveiled. There was nothing else for it; she would have to voice her feelings on the matter. “Cyrus, I am grateful to you, but as a guardian. I cannot be your lover.”

The tension in the room thickened, sapping the space of air.

The look in his eyes turned darker still, his temper growing.

“You will warm to the idea, given time.” He attempted to smile at her. Given his black mood, it only made him look more sinister.

Maisie knotted her fingers together in her lap, determined to press on. She shook her head. “Cyrus, it can never be. Even if the nature of my affection for you altered, I cannot forget the things you’ve done. You have molded me and used me to further your own cause, and that has become more apparent to me over the years.” She dared not mention him poisoning Mama Beth.

“I have protected you and nurtured your craft!” His eyes were bright with fury.

Maisie felt it, and wondered if he’d blinded himself to the dark nature of his deeds, believing his actions to be just and deserved. She couldn’t let him think that, had to show him the error of his ways or he would never change. “What about Gilbert Ridley and the courtesan who ruined his life? It was the very same woman I enamored him with. It was the love spell you encouraged me to do when I was still a child, wasn’t it?”

Cyrus looked astonished.

Did he think she would forget? “Don’t be surprised. You’ve educated me well and you tamed my fey ways. I’ve grown into a more observant woman than I might otherwise have been. How could I not notice things about you, the man closest to me, my master and my keeper? Did you really think I wouldn’t question your motives, once I was old enough to address them?”

Cyrus had paled, as if his fury had been dampened by the truth. “Gilbert Ridley had wronged me in the past. He deserved what he got.”

“But you cannot play with people’s lives that way, Cyrus. Just because someone has wronged us doesn’t give us the right to destroy them.”

He frowned heavily. His movements were erratic, his eyes flashing as he tried to address her comments. “You don’t know the extent of it. He humiliated me amongst my peers.”

“But you knew that my magic, my heritage, was to be used for good. You twisted me into something I shouldn’t be. I would never have done those things if you hadn’t duped me.”

“You were eager to explore your magic.” His voice had grown quiet, and his desperate tone revealed that his argument was crumbling.

“And you took advantage of that. I could never stay with a man who did such things.”

He buckled visibly, his elbows on the table, his head in his hands. “Margaret, please. We can discuss these matters together, when you are my wife.”

Maisie was incredulous. The burning question that remained in her mind was something she would have to know or forever be haunted by it. “Cyrus, did you poison Beth?”

His head shot up and he looked at her with astonishment. His eyes shifted left and right, and she wondered whether she would even be able to tell if he was giving her the truth. She wouldn’t rest until she knew.

“Who told you that?”

“Did you poison her or not?”

“Pray tell me what made you think such a thing?”

Still he avoided her question. “You were observed putting something in her broth.”

Lips pressed together determinedly, he glared at her. When he eventually did speak, it was through gritted teeth. “It was a tincture of mandrake root to aid her rest even while she was in pain.”

“Mandrake?” Maisie was aghast. Mandrake was exceedingly dangerous in large doses. Nor was he a true healer, one such as she, who had come from a long line of gifted Highlanders.

Cyrus struck his fist on the table, rattling the dishes. “You are not the only one who learned about healing herbs and potions when we studied together. The physician told me her organs were weak and she might suffer at the end.”

He knew enough to cover his tracks. A large and fatal dose could be hidden by his good intention to ease her pain.

“You seem overly concerned with your wife’s quick end.” Maisie fired the accusation at him.

“Beth lingered too long.” His voice was oily as he tried to justify murdering his wife. “It wasn’t good for her. It wasn’t good for any of us.” His mouth twisted. He couldn’t hide it, his true intentions, his wicked nature.

It was all the confirmation Maisie needed. “You could have asked me to do that, if your real purpose was to make her more comfortable. I begged you to let me help her, and you wouldn’t allow it.”

“Don’t be foolish. I didn’t want us to be at her bedside together! You are the future, my future. She is gone from us now and I am glad of it.”

There it was. He’d been driven by his desire for Maisie, his obsession with what could be. Even now, since she had pulled away, he was still struggling to maintain his hold on her, talking of their future together.

How sad it was that Beth had gone to her grave knowing the worst of her husband. She knew he desired his ward instead, and she no longer trusted him. Maisie felt intense sorrow and guilt, knowing it was her arrival in their lives that had brought such a terrible situation to pass.

Before she had a chance to say another word the door burst open.

A serving girl tottered into the room. The look on her face was fearful and her cheeks were flushed as if with fever. Maisie quickly surmised something was badly amiss.

A low command was issued from beyond her, and the girl entered the room fully. She was all atremble, and it was little wonder, for there was a man at her back directing her, a cutlass raised in his hand and pointed between her shoulder blades.

Roderick.

Maisie shot to her feet, one hand covering her mouth to stifle the cry of disbelief that rose to her lips. It was really him. His hair was wild and his coat stained dark where she had wounded him, but she was grateful to see he was fully healed, moving easily, as if he had not been wounded at all. Her chest swelled with longing, with joy and pride.

Cyrus turned in his seat, but not quickly enough to gain the measure of the situation.

Urging the servant on, Roderick slammed the door behind them and then pushed her to one side, warning her with a glance to stay there and be quiet. In the blink of an eye he was at Cyrus’s back instead.

Cyrus had been rising to his feet, but Roderick pushed him back down onto his seat. With one hand he gripped him by the hair, pulling his head back, then rested his cutlass across the base of his throat.

Light from the window glinted on the polished blade.

The arrival of an assailant seemed to bring Cyrus to his senses, and he gripped the arms of his chair and narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the man who held a sharp blade to his gullet.

“Make no move, and I might let you live,” Roderick instructed.

Cyrus gave a twisted smile, staring directly up at him. “If you knew the power that could be unleashed in this room, you would turn on your heel and flee this place.”

“Oh, I know the power, for I have witnessed it in her myself.” Roderick looked across at her meaningfully.

Their eyes locked. Maisie wondered if he had come for retribution, but the deep affection she saw in his eyes assured her that wasn’t the case. Emotion welled in her. The way he looked at her, as adoring and possessive as ever—despite the trouble she had brought upon him and his men—made her feel as if her knees might give way. She’d thought him forever lost to her, feared she would surely never see him again, yet here he was. Then he smiled at her, and she felt as if she was alight with joy.

“Then you should be more wary,” Cyrus responded angrily, but clearly unsure what was going on.

“Silence,” Roderick ordered, leaning over Cyrus to enforce his command. “I have come because I have something to tell the lady. You would be wise to let me deliver the message before you irritate me further. I am not in the best of humor.” He lifted his head and looked at her again, maintaining his death grip on Cyrus.

He had something to say to her? Maisie waited with bated breath.

“I know where your sister, Jessie, is. I will happily escort you to her.”

It was not what she’d expected or hoped he would say, but his words nevertheless astonished and delighted her. “How do you know?”

“She is with Gregor Ramsay, the man I told you about.” He gave Cyrus a glance, and Maisie saw that he didn’t want to state their whereabouts, not while Cyrus listened. “I received word from Gregor this very morning.”

Her mind raced back over what he’d said to her about his partner, and she felt suddenly enlightened. “That’s why I sensed my sister, the connection, aboard the ship. Now I understand it.”

“Margaret,” Cyrus barked, addressing her with a stern stare. “Take action and get rid of this lawless heathen. He is trying to dupe you. Your sister might not even be alive. He is luring you with promises he cannot keep.”

“The lady knows that I do not offer her promises that I will not do everything in my power to keep.”

It was true. Even when his men turned against him, he’d planned a way to deliver her safely onto Scottish soil. Maisie felt light-headed, thrilled by his comment and the way he looked at her as he delivered it in that gruff, determined way of his. He did not hate her for what she had brought upon them. Never had she been more thankful for anything. It gave her strength.