The Pirate and the Pagan (62 page)

Sidney looked at her with contempt. “You’ll never survive if you put others before yourself. They didn’t teach you much at Whitehall.”

Cat gave her a sad half smile. “Believe me, the rules there are precisely the same as here.” Cat could bear the hunger, what she could not bear was being unclean. “Won’t they let us wash?” she asked.

“A few layers of dirt’ll keep you warm.” Lardy laughed. “A few layers of fat, ye mean,” said Sidney.

Cat realized sadly that the women’s gibes, oaths, and shameless talk offered them the only means of defense against a savage, pitiless world that cared nothing whether they lived or died. Cat gathered up the empty bowls and spoons and shoved them through the small hole in the wall through which they’d been served. She kept one of the wooden spoons, and when the other women were busy putting on their damp gray smocks, she showed Sidney. “If we could wedge this against the stones in that small opening they push the food through, it might split in half.”

Sidney eyed her with approval. “It might make us a couple of pig stickers at that, but don’t expect help from me if you have any half-assed ideas of escaping.”

Cat alternated sitting and standing all day long. Her mind escaped to her beautiful Cornwall where her baby was. Her thoughts were pleasant as she pictured how he must be growing. Her mind’s eye saw Mrs. Bishop bathing him and feeding him and she laughed out loud when she thought of Mrs. Bishop’s will coming up against Mr. Burke’s. She rode Ebony along the sands and pictured Ruark riding down to meet her, because he could not bear to have her out of his sight too long. She sighed and dozed a little. It was easier for her to sleep in the daylight.

Supper was watered-down cabbage soup and this time Cat forced herself to swallow the vile stuff. She knew as soon as it began to grow dark that Oswald would come for her.

He threw open the cell door and looked at the women one by one. Cat stepped toward him and said, “Nellie is near her labor time … she shouldn’t be here like this.”

“She shouldn’t have got knocked up, should she? Don’t waste your pity on her, Lady Bitch, save it for yourself. Come with me.”

Sidney threw him a threatening glance, and he challenged, “Do you have something to say, maggot face?”

She curled her lip and said, “Suck my duck till it quacks!”

He smashed her across the bridge of her nose and they all heard the bone crack. Though she fell to her knees, she didn’t let out so much as a whimper. He took Cat’s arm viciously and shoved her out the cell door. He took her up two flights of steps and through a part of the prison which housed men. She never even heard the whistles and bawdy compliments thrown her way, for Oswald filled her head. He opened a door to a room with a fire where Bludwart had just brought a trayful of hot food. “Will ye need any help with ’er?” Bludwart leered.

“None at all, thank you. Women only need be treated like horses.”

“Ye mean ye ride em?” he said, licking his lips.

“No, Bludwart, I mean no such thing. You break them. You let them know who’s master, then they will obey any command at the slightest touch of the whip.”

Fear ate at her belly as she heard his words and the threat in the tone of voice. Cat probably had as much spirit as any woman alive. Oh, how she had enjoyed defying Ruark. Even with that flaring, uncontrolled temper of his, she had goaded him to madness and she had dared do that she realized suddenly because he loved her. It was a game; the game of love. Without love a woman had no rights. She tried to keep her lips from trembling as Bludwart closed the door and left her alone with her enemy.

“There’s no need to fear me, if you obey me. I follow the letter of the law. I can do nothing to you except what is laid down in prison regulations.” Her eyes were liquid with apprehension.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered. She closed her eyes, wondering how she would get through such an ordeal. She opened them quickly as he took hold of her breast.

“I have found nothing gets obedience so quickly as a good tit twist,” he said, viciously twisting her soft, pliant breast.

She gasped and moaned softly as he let go of her.

“From now on when I give you an order you say ‘Yes, Sergeant-Major,’ do you understand?” he repeated.

“Yes, Sergeant-Major.” She seethed inwardly, awaiting an opportunity to defy him.

“Very good. It’s in the prison regulations that I may conduct a strip search. Take off your clothes.”

“Go to hell!”

Both hands reached for her breasts this time and she whispered, “Yes, Sergeant-Major.” She removed her boots, then slowly took off her black shirt and pants. Her left breast was marred by blue finger bruises. Her lids lowered over hate-filled eyes as she watched his face. He was power mad.

He smiled. “I’m going to enjoy our visits. I’m stationed at Southampton, so I’ll be able to come every week. Next week you’ll know the routine. If you forget, I’ll have to touch you up with the whip. Now you may serve me my dinner while you are still naked and then you may get dressed.”

She wanted to spit on him and spit on his food. She had grown
used to standing up to men and fighting back. But real fear of this man made her cautious. She must think before she acted … must swallow her insults before she uttered them, at least until she was no longer naked.

She felt such a sweeping sense of relief when she had her clothes back on it almost made her giddy. Her chin went up in defiance. “Are you finished with me, Sergeant-Major?” She made his rank sound pitiful.

“Not quite.” Then his words sent a chill up her back and into her very brain. “This highway robbery isn’t your first offense. A thief always gets burned on the thumb, branded, so that if you return a second time, it’s automatically a hanging matter. Show me your thumb,” he ordered. When she hesitated, he grabbed her hand.

“Just as I feared, We have neglected you shamefully, Lady Bitch.” He got up, selected a long metal rod from a holder, and inserted it into the fire.

“No!” she cried.

He had no mercy for her whatsoever. He grabbed her by the hair on her head and forced her down before the fire. He straddled her and let her bear his full weight. Then he pressed the glowing iron brand into the soft flesh of her thumb. Cat screamed and fainted. He picked her up and carried her back down to the cellar. He opened the cell door and threw her in a heap among the other women.

They saw and smelled her burned flesh, then each woman dropped her eyes to her thumb to examine her own brand. Mercifully Cat stayed unconscious for almost two hours, but by morning she was crying and fevered.

L
ord Ruark Helford was a happy man. He had just watched Mrs. Bishop give Ryan his morning bath, then he had enjoyed a substantial breakfast served by Mr. Burke. He was filled with anticipation. It excited him, excited his blood. Soon, he told himself, soon. After breakfast he climbed up on Helford Hall’s widow’s walk among the chimneys and sailboat weathervanes. As he looked out to sea a crease formed between his brows. Why hadn’t she arrived yet? What was the delay? He couldn’t wait for his beauteous wife to come sweeping in like a tropical storm demanding their son. This time he would keep her. What an idiotic fool he’d been to ever let her get further away than kissing distance. A smile curved his mouth. He should lock her in their bedchamber and keep her abed for a month. His manhood stirred and began to fill and he called into the sea wind like a lovesick youth, “Summer … hurry!”

As the day wore on the warm expectant feeling grew into one of anxiety. What the hell would he do if she didn’t arrive by tomorrow? He was neglecting his duty shamefully, a thing that rankled a man as hidebound as Helford. He’d promised to fight the Dutch in this last all-out offensive, and though his ships were privately owned and not part of the navy, he was committed to Charles, his monarch and his friend.

Two days back when he arrived home, he had found the
Golden Goddess
sitting at anchor, newly arrived back from Madagascar. When its valuable cargo had been unloaded, he’d sent it straight off into the Channel to look for Dutchmen, promising to sail the
Pagan Goddess
in its wake. Summer wouldn’t recognize Spencer. He had filled out and was bronzed by the fierce sun. Ruark had shown him his nephew Ryan and told him Summer was on her way from London. He omitted to tell him that he had stolen his son. A pang of guilt touched his conscience. Perhaps he shouldn’t have sent him off to war. Perhaps he should have insisted Spencer stay in Cornwall until Summer had had a chance to see that he had grown into a man, but upon reflection he knew he would have had to lock him up to keep him from sailing with the
Golden Goddess.

That night Ruark Helford’s bed was cold and lonely. Doubt assailed him on all sides. It was a thing with which he’d rarely grappled. Why was she dallying in London? If she was playing house with George Digby, he’d throttle her. He knew Digby meant nothing to her, but he wasn’t sure about the title of countess. Most women would sell their souls to become an earl’s wife. No, he knew her better than that. She was Ruark Helford’s woman and she knew it. They only had to be in the same room for the sparks to fly and ignite into a firestorm. He wouldn’t put it past her, however, to let him cool his heels here in Cornwall while he ate his heart out wondering how many kisses she’d allowed the King to steal. No, dammit, she may be heartless enough to keep herself from her husband, but not from her baby; he was her whole life.

Sleep eluded him until just before dawn. He fell into the arms of Morpheus, wishing fervently he’d reacted differently to her cry for help that morning when they were fresh back from their honeymoon at Stowe. The bed curtains still cloaked them in intimate darkness. Summer sat up to push them back and let in the early-morning sun. Ruark reached up to pull her back to their warm cocoon and she lay in the curve of his arm, knowing he could never love her more than he did at this moment. The waterfall diamond necklace was in a cabinet beside the bed and he wanted to give it to her now. He dipped his head to steal a kiss, but she stopped him. “First, I have something to tell you, darling.” She hesitated, her heart beating rapidly now that the moment was here. “I have some secrets that I have to confess to you,” she said softly.

His look bathed her with love and tolerant amusement for her great confession.

She knelt before him with bent head and lowered lashes. “My brother Spencer was arrested on suspicion of smuggling with some other men …”

His voice like a whiplash cut off her words. “When?” he demanded.

“He … I … the night before we were married,” she answered truthfully. “He’s in Falmouth prison and I told him … I hoped … you would be able to release him.” No one could have guessed at the panic that was rising within her. Ruark flung from the bed and reached for his breeches. The silence in the room was terrible. She felt under so much stress that the only thing she wanted to do was confess all and receive her absolution. “Ruark, we had to dabble in smuggling, we were starving! My father gambled away everything we had. He sold the horses, the paintings, the furnishings. Roseland hasn’t had servants in years, the stables are falling down, the grounds are overgrown, and the house is in total disrepair. When I met you in London, I’d just learned that it was mortgaged for eighteen thousand pounds. That debt has now grown to twenty thousand and it’s due next week or the London moneylender Solomon Storm will sell it.” She took a great trembling breath.

He came back to the bed and enfolded her in his arms. “My little love, why didn’t you tell me all this before? Didn’t you think I’d help you when you were in trouble? Darling, how long have you carried this burden? Hush, it doesn’t matter, love,” he said, kissing her eyelids. “If Roseland is precious to you, we’ll restore it to its original condition. Will that make you happy? God’s flesh, sweetheart, I can’t bear to think of you going hungry.” His arms tightened about her protectively.

“What about Spencer?” she whispered.

He cupped her face with his strong hands and looked down at her delicate beauty with reverence. “I’ll have him out before lunch-time,” he promised.

Tears of gratitude welled in her eyes and he quickly kissed them away. “Precious love, don’t weep. I never want you to weep again. See here, see what I have for you.” He reached into the little cabinet and drew out the waterfall of diamonds. They only made her cry harder.

“Oh, Ru, you are so good to me.” She smiled through her tears. “I don’t want you to give me diamonds.”

“What do you want, beloved?” he murmured.

Her arms slipped up about his neck. “I want you to fill me with your babe.”

Ruark jerked awake, saw the empty place in the bed, then reality washed over him. What a cruel bastard he’d been to take her baby away from her. He threw back the covers. To hell with the Dutch, he was returning to London for his wife.

    It took a whole week before the unbearable pain of the burn began to dull. Summer suffered alternate chills and fever, gave most of her gruel to Nellie, and managed to steal one more wooden spoon. Ironically, the first day she began to feel better physically, she was almost distraught, for she knew Oswald’s promised return visit was upon her. When he entered the cell, the other five women shrank back from him, each fearing he might choose her, but when he took Summer again, even the hardened Sidney wished she could have done something to help the girl.