The Merman and the Barbarian Pirate (14 page)

When the priest bid her lord give over the wedding band, Henry Haverford leaned toward her. His clammy forehead touched Cara's, and he slid a ring bearing the most magnificent ruby onto her hand. Her heart clenched with a mingling of pain and affection.

Earlier that day, before the valets had carried Henry from his bed to his secret nuptials, he had told her that he should have given her this ring long ago. That she should have been wed in a cathedral, garlanded with lace and flowers. Though he'd had many mistresses, it was only she he'd ever loved.

But Henry Haverford was a self-avowed coward. He'd told her he'd not possessed the courage to tell his family, nor face his other women to let them know the truth—that he adored a girl of unknown birth, lower than a fisherman's daughter. But now death snapped at his heels like a hound at a fox's tail, he would do right by Cara. When the darkness claimed him, his estate, his fortune, and his fleet of East Indies trading vessels, would all pass to her.

And to the unborn child in her belly.

All Cara wanted was for Henry to live, for him to embrace her and make her feel safe like he used to. She wanted the man she fell in love with back, the virile, young fellow who'd enchanted her the first morning they'd met on the beach. He who'd wooed her with gifts and kisses. She understood his fears, why he'd been loath to tell the cruel and judgemental folks in society about her. In her eyes, he'd borne this illness that had aged him before his time with fortitude. Despite his claims, she'd
never
think him a coward. He deserved to live, to be well, and to hold the baby she'd recently learned that she carried.

As she felt the cold band nuzzle her finger, her love's rasping breaths told her this would never be. She kissed his chapped lips, sweet and chaste, defying the frigid pool of dread in her breast. She hugged her lord gently, feeling his spine beneath his cloak, his once-broad shoulders reduced to knots and bone. He was a weak man, in spirit and in body, but she loved him still. She'd love him always. But they must finish the ceremony lest he expire on the spot.

"I'm sorry," mumbled Henry as he signed his name in the parish registry book with a chicken-scratch hand. "I'm not the man you deserve."

"Ssssh, my love." Carefully, she scribed her name besides. "All is perfect, and if your God is willing, we will know many happy years tog—"

Behind them, the door burst open. Rain and leaves swirled in, and with them came a woman in black. Her face was covered with a sodden veil, and a pair of large men flanked her. Their hat feathers were soaked and drooping, and they clasped the pommels of their swords.

"Good evening, Henry," said the woman, her shrill tones distinctive. She was Edith Parchington, the most formidable of Henry's other mistresses and also rumored to be with child by him. Those two burly fellows were her brothers, both jack-o-dandies, but talented swordsmen.

"Lord deliver us!" Henry's already-pale face turned a ghostly hue. He seized up the parish registry book and pressed it on Cara, along with a piece of paper drawn from the folds of his cloak. "You have all you need. Go, now."

"But—"

Henry touched her lips, as Edith's brothers strode up the short aisle. "Obey your husband this once, my dear," he said. "We'll meet again in h—" He broke off, his words hitching on a cough. He shoved Cara toward the tiny door into the vestry, then snatched for his handkerchief.

"Go," he pleaded, and he collapsed to his knees, choking violently into the cloth. One of Edith's brothers stooped to grab him. The other turned toward Cara and the cowering priest and drew a sword.

In a daze of disbelief, Cara turned and fled. Tucking the book beneath her cape, she barreled through the vestry and out into the pelting rain, stumbling between gravestones and the long grasses, her mind racing as she worked everything out.

These men would do anything to stop her marriage and make their sister Edith the rich widow in her place. They'd strike her dead on the spot so that Edith could have everything. So that Edith's child could have everything her child should. Glancing back confirmed that one of Edith's brothers made chase, so she forged on, upping her pace. Beneath the clamor of the storm, she detected her pursuer's panted breaths, like some fire-puffing monster drawing closer.

Even with her pregnancy still in its early weeks, she'd never outrun him. Her legs were not strong enough, her stamina failing. She'd have to shake him off some other way than speed and distance, if she could. A crack of lightning split the sky, echoed by a shout of thunder, and she snatched the moment to orientate herself. She was blundering inland, back from the prow of the headland, and that would be no good. Swiping the dripping hair from her eyes, she made for another track, passing through some thick gorse. She was not sure if Edith's brother saw her, but suspected he did.

She traced a muddy path that wound along the cliff top. Several times, she tripped on her petticoats, wheeling her free arm to regain her balance, lest she tumble to the rocks below. The sea had been her salvation many times, but it was no good to her tonight. When the waves hit the cliffs, the spray leaped so high it lashed her along with the rain.

Soon the path started to wind down the side of an inlet. Another flash of lightning offered a glimpse of a rocky crevice, a few yards above the crumbling path. Trembling and soaked, ready to drop, she clambered up the short slope and squeezed inside the cave. She hugged the book, and finally allowed tears born of horror to flow. Had Edith's brother seen her come this way? Was she safe? And had the documents that bequeathed Haverford's fortune to her and the baby been ruined by the rain?

"Were they ruined?" asked Raef, nearly as breathless as Cara must have been. He'd been so absorbed he'd clenched his fist motionless about the cork for a good few minutes.

"Wait a moment, this bit's tricky," mumbled Kemp, and Raef endured a long wait, his ears tortured by a low, grating sound. "Ah, there we are. Nearly there… Now, where were we? Oh, yes, so had Cara—plus the evidence that she was the old Lord Haverford's true wife—made it to safety? Well…" The lock emitted a delicate
tick
. Raef half wanted to throttle Kemp for leaving him in suspense. "Yes, she was safe. All was well for her that night."

Raef hadn't released how tightly wound he'd become 'til his shoulders sagged. In a new bid to gain entry to the wine bottle, he bit the cork between his teeth.

"Though Edith and her brothers murdered the priest and all witnesses to the wedding, then burned down the chapel to boot."

Pop.
With only a slight twist, Raef jerked the cork free, and wine slopped down his chin. "What? That's terrible."

"It was," continued Kemp. "They blamed the incident on pirates, and three good men hanged for it. Well, three good pirates. The Parchingtons produced a charred parish register, a forgery, which they claimed showed Henry Haverford wed Edith that night. Haverford couldn't deny it, for he disappeared to his chamber and then died a week later, apparently from his illness. Though with the Parchingtons behind everything, who knows? And while Cara survived, she was too scared to make her claim. She concealed the real register in another cave—an even safer and more secret one than that she escaped to. And you must've worked out who Cara's child is."

"Yes, that's obvious." Raef licked the smooth and smoky wine from his lips. "Cara was Cecilia's mother, and the wicked Edith must be the mother of the current Lord Haverford. Henry Haverford was the father of both. You need to find the map, because it tells you the location of the cave where the documents are hidden. They prove everything that is Lord Haverford's was bequeathed by Henry to Cecilia. It's really hers."

"Quite right. And… ah, here we are." Another click was followed by the groan of hinges, and a luminous strip appeared at the edge of the door. "We're out. Let's toast our success."

Raef passed the bottle to Kemp, who drank, and then Raef did, downing a great glug. The story was as exhilarating as it was shocking, and he liked the idea of helping good to overcome evil.  Kemp's motive in finding the map seemed pure and heroic, though Raef couldn't help pondering if there was more to it than Kemp let on. If Cecilia became Lady Haverford, she would be a rich lady. Her husband, should she take one, would be a wealthy gent. Maybe this was just another treasure hunt for Kemp, and he'd set his sights on Cecilia herself as part of his prize. She could already be privy to the plan.

Kemp married. Raef didn't want to think about that. He slapped his lips and thrust the wine back to Kemp without a word. Maybe he was growing accustomed to alcohol, because the kick set his veins on fire, and not in a bad way. But he wouldn't let himself grow accustomed to it. He mustn't get too used to Kemp's company and ways, however much he liked them. After this venture was over, mayhap he'd still best swim away.

 "How do we know what this map looks like?" he asked. Kemp finished drinking and checked all was clear in the lobby outside the wine cellar.

"We don't," murmured Kemp. They sidled out. "Apart from that it's dedicated,
To Cecilia.
You see, poor Cara's story didn't have a happy ending. Edith's brothers hunted her down shortly after Cecilia's birth, and stole back her wedding ring and the map, which she'd drawn for her daughter to use one day. Cara vanished, and baby Cecilia only survived because a friend, a poor fisherwoman, smuggled her away and raised her as her own. But there's one good bit of news."

"What's that?" Raef felt sad for Cecilia, losing both her parents so young. He well knew how hard that was.

"The map must be in code or something, or Haverford would've found and destroyed the documents by now, and I don't believe he has. After all, why does he still send a squad of masked men round the local villages each summer, to murder women of around his age? He fears his rival is out there, ready to snatch away everything—his house, his estates, his ships. And while the parish register recording Cara's wedding exists, the threat remains."

Raef's jaw dropped. Part of him still wanted to believe Haverford couldn't be so base, but recalling the red mark on Simpson's face, everything made sense. Haverford had sent out his yeomanry cavalry to do work that would be beneath even pirates. "I-I think Simpson attacked Cecilia," murmured Raef. "His face is scarred."

"I wouldn't be surprised," replied Kemp. "That devil got away as we ran to help her."

"So Cecilia knew they were really after her?"

"Yes, but fortunately they don't know her face. So far, she's slipped through their net, but she grieves bitterly that so many others have paid. Now, we better be quiet. Come on."

Raef staggered at the depths of Haverford's depravity. Kemp stretched behind to take his hand. Shaking himself, he declined it and followed. Kemp offered help because they must keep close for protection. Because—despite being a pirate—Kemp was good. But it wouldn't do to savor the touch of the man who could be Cecilia's future husband as much as Raef would, so he'd rather not 'til he knew for sure either way.

The staircase wound past the door the servant had entered through, and carried on up one of the castle's turrets. They paused at the second story, and through a slit window, Raef glimpsed the ocean. A strong gale had turned the waters white, and clouds tinted like bruises churned and jostled in the sky. Kemp pressed his ear to a door, pushed it forward half an inch, then stopped dead. A housemaid scurried past, carrying a towering pile of linen.

When she'd gone, they stole into a corridor. The walls were painted with fluttering birds, and the door they'd emerged from blended nigh seamlessly into the decor. Several grand exits lined the corridor, each topped with a portico. Kemp made a beeline for the stateliest of all, a double door at the far end, crowned with a crest. Following, Raef tiptoed past a row of marble statues, males and females, all naked and as unashamed of it as Raef used to be.

A horn blasted outside the castle, and Kemp shot to the window. He peeped over the shoulder of a goddess. "Haverford's back and he's brought every swab in the yeomanry cavalry with him." Before Raef could fret too much, Kemp grabbed him, and they were both on the other side of the double doors, which Kemp closed behind them. The chamber was vast, the crowning glory a four-poster bed adorned with striped fabrics and gold brocade. Large windows opened onto a gracious balcony.

Haverford's boudoir. Raef had dreamed of this place many nights, but could scarce absorb its luxuries through fear they were about to be discovered. He tried to be calm. "What do we do?"

"We carry on with our plan. We search for the map." Kemp yanked the covers from the bed with a powerful flourish. He turned to Raef and raked his ebony hair. "Now the lion's back in his den, it'll be more fun than ever."

Nine

Kemp was experienced in the business of turning a room upside down as quietly as possible. In the time Raef took to peep from behind the curtains at Haverford and his party—a dozen yeomen with swords and those high, black hats—Kemp had removed numerous little drawers from a writing desk. He tipped the papers onto a deerskin rug, to which the wretched deer's head was still attached. Seconds later, he was rifling through a walnut cabinet beside the bed. He even examined the chamber pot for hidden compartments, just in case.