The Pirate and the Pagan (66 page)

“Mmm. Man does not live by bread alone,” agreed Cornwallis, remembering many of his own irregular pleasures.

“Give me the necessary letter of authority and I’ll be off to Portsmouth. Which vessel will transport the women I select?” he pressed.

“Goddammit, Helford, you’re in a tearing hurry. Don’t you realize the wheels of justice grind slowly?”

“Well, now that the war’s over, I see no reason for the navy to sit about on their backsides eating their heads off,” he said, borrowing a phrase from the King.

“You’re right of course,” said Cornwallis, still smarting at navy men like Sandwich and Albermarle who had kept him in the background during the late nasty business with Holland. “I suppose I have full authority to pick and choose any vessels from the fleet I might need.”

“I don’t think there’s any question of it,” replied Helford smoothly. “How about the
Neptune?
I believe it’s riding at anchor in Portsmouth this very day, doing nothing more than gathering barnacles.” He picked the slow, cumbersome
Neptune
for its dearth of cannon.

“The
Neptune
you say?” asked Cornwallis, beginning to see the humorous side to Helford’s choice. “God’s flesh, that’s the ship they gave William Penn to command after he lost the
Royal Charles.
I don’t think our rigidly religious Penn will appreciate transporting a shipload of drabs.”

“On the contrary,” said Helford, “I don’t think we could put our women in safer hands.”

Lord Helford arrived at Portsmouth Prison with half a dozen young militiamen under his command. When he dismounted in the prison yard, he realized that for the first time in his life he knew real fear. His guts threatened to turn to jelly and he almost contemplated bolting. When he entered the building, he had to clench his jaw to keep his gorge from rising at the stench of humanity which oozed from the very stones. One glance at Bludwart made him assert total authority immediately. He flashed his legal letters
signed
by Cornwallis and sealed by the Crown and decided then and there he would give no further explanation of his actions.

Earlier in the day he had ordered the
Neptune
readied for its voyage to America and had curtly dismissed William Penn’s objections to transporting prisoners. He took over Bludwart’s office, throwing the man and his furnishings out until the room stood bare. He ordered his militiamen to scrub it down as if it had been
the deck of his ship and bade them burn brimstone and saltpeter to disinfect the air.

One table was placed in the room to hold the great ledger of records. One immaculately uniformed militiaman presided over those records. When all was ready, he had all the women who were incarcerated brought before him. They numbered between fifty and sixty. As they filed in they were told to stand against the wall.

Lord Helford’s keen eyes searched each and every face as it entered the room. He had hardened himself to the fact that she would be changed. Try as he might, however, he could not accept that any one of these poor wretches was his wife. His man read out each name, and as the woman stepped forward the catalog of her crimes was read aloud.

Ruark Helford was well known for his hardness, his discipline, his strong belief in right and wrong, crime and punishment, but this day he felt nothing so much as pity for these women who had spent months in shame and degradation, suffering slow starvation in filth because of their sinful misbehavior. He felt shame, too, that the reason he experienced compassion now was because his beloved was one of them.

He felt panic rise within him. She was not here. Please God she had not died before he could save her. His distraught fingers went through his hair over and over in frustrated alarm. He took the ledger and scanned it distractedly. “Are there any names unaccounted for?” he demanded grimly.

The efficient militiaman had put a neat tick beside each woman’s name who had come forward. He had also ticked off the names of the deceased, who had a black line through their names. His finger went down the columns rapidly and he pointed out four names which were unaccounted for. The name St. Catherine jumped off the page. “Bludwart!” Ruark thundered, striding from the room. “There are four women I have not yet seen.”

The warden wrung his hands, opened his mouth, and closed it again.

“Well? Is this a dumbshow?” he demanded.

“Your lordship, they are vicious killers,” he babbled. “I’ve kept them confined, but they have even murdered one another. Originally there were six and a child, now there are but four.”

Ruark closed his eyes and prayed. “Please God, not this close only to find you have taken her.” When he opened his eyes, they bored into Bludwart’s. “Fetch them,” he croaked hoarsely.

He was again standing in the roomful of women when the four wraiths slipped through the door. His heart stopped beating and he momentarily died when he saw that Summer was not one of the women. Then suddenly his hard mask almost crumbled with the force of his rage as he recognized the exquisitely delicate cheekbones. Then the knife twisted in his heart as he saw that she would rather die than have him recognize her.

He cleared his throat to gain some measure of control over his voice and his emotions, then in a matter-of-face tone explained to the women the reason for his being there. When he mentioned America, when he spoke of freedom, he saw hope rekindle in their eyes where there had been no hope. His eyes slid over Summer and on to the next face with no slightest hint of recognition. “I hereby reduce every sentence in this room to transportation to America. The phantom of death has stalked you long enough. I charge all of you to henceforth abide strictly by the letter of the law. I charge you to become useful members of society. I charge you to watch out for the
Phantom.”
He turned his back upon the women, no longer able to look at her without breaking. He instructed his men to see that the women were fed a decent meal and bedded down with sufficient blankets. With his back still turned, he raised his voice over the whispered murmurs of the women. “Tomorrow you will all be bathed and disinfected and issued clean clothing before you board the
Neptune.”

When she saw his ramrod back quit the room, Summer felt only relief. Thank God his eyes had not even flickered as they passed over her. She would never have been able to bear being humbled and humiliated by his revulsion. It was then that she realized her damnable pride was still intact. Prison hadn’t been able to destroy it, even though she had felt numb for the last months, thinking her pride had been destroyed forever. In her great relief at the prospect of escaping this horrific prison, her spirit and pride were restored.

The thought of going to America, however, filled her with such anguish, she didn’t know how she would bear it. It would prevent her from seeing Ryan again, but she must endure it because he was probably better off without her.

Something drove Ruark to see for himself the dungeon where she had endured half a year. He took a lantern and went below to the cellars. The stench down here was worse by a thousandfold. In one corner was a heap of something unspeakable which at one time must have been straw before it became fouled with blood and excrement.
He recoiled instinctively from the open drain and the slop bucket, but more horrific to him than the putrescence was the mean size of the room in which she’d been caged. Lord Ruark Helford slid down in a corner against the slimed stones, and the rats gathered curiously at the sound of his sobbing.

C
aptain William Penn had almost a hundred women aboard the
Neptune.
They took up over half of the hold space, which had been fitted with narrow, tiered bunks. Food and water supplies for the monthlong voyage took up the rest of the space. The women were not shackled, but they were only allowed up on deck during daylight hours, then locked below-decks at dusk.

Most of them had never been to sea and it frightened them enough to keep them huddled below, fighting off the misery of mal de mer. But if they had been given a choice between staying in England and sailing to America, there wasn’t one who would have chosen to remain behind.

Summer spent every moment that she could up on deck. She sat quietly in a corner, speaking to no one. It was like paradise simply to breathe in the clean fresh air of the wind and the sea. The iodine smell of tidewrack, the taste of salt on her lips, the sound of creaking timbers and the chain rattling through the hawse hole were music to her ears. She had not yet begun to speak or even think, but she had begun to feel.

When the
Neptune
sailed past the Isles of Scilly, she caught the fragrance of its flowers upon the sea breeze and realized with amazement that it was spring. Two days past the Scillies a murmur
rippled through the ship that another vessel had been sighted. It flew a Union Jack, so Sir William Penn was not disturbed when it veered toward the
Neptune,
drawing close enough to exchange greetings. He was more than disturbed, however, when the sleek, well-armed vessel put a ball across his bow and ordered him to heave to.

“Clear the decks for action! Gun crew to stations!” bellowed Penn, but he knew it was too late. The colors she’d been flying had completely lured him into complacency, and as the
Phantom
came alongside and he saw the swarthy, grinning faces and noted with alarm the carronade guns capable of smashing through a three-foot-thick hull, he realized they were pirates.

“Prepare to repel boarders!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, then he was stunned to hear himself hailed from the deck of the
Phantom.

“Captain Penn,” came the booming voice of the pirate, “I wish the
Neptune
no harm and will allow you to sail on in peace.”

“What do you want?” demanded Penn in a skeptical voice.

“I want a woman,” called the pirate.

“These women are being transported to America. They are under my protection.”

“One woman only, Captain Penn. I’ll even buy her from you … name your price.”

Penn eyed the guns trained on his decks and was almost tempted. “You godless swine, women cannot be sold!”

Black Jack Flash swung across the ship’s rail and landed, sword in hand, lithe as a panther on the deck of the
Neptune.
Black, calfskin boots reached to his thighs. A ruffled shirt opened to the navel was tucked into black, skintight breeches. His unshaven face contrasted sharply with the silver streak of hair which zigzagged above his temple. He bowed low to William Penn. “Never trust a religious man, he hides behind his God; an atheist, however, stands before you naked.” When he received no rejoinder to his sally, he explained himself further. “My woman is aboard your ship. I am here to collect her.”

“What is this woman’s name?” asked Penn.

Rory glanced about the decks for Cat. “She knows who she is, Captain.”

When no woman came forward, Penn became almost defiant. “Apparently she does not wish to go with you.” Rory flashed his wolf’s grin. “Unfortunately, Captain, she has
no choice in the matter.” He strode unerringly toward a dark, thin female and held out his hand. “Cat,” he said simply.

She felt as if she were awakening from a nightmare. Lord Helford had recognized her after all. His last words came back to her clearly. “Watch out for the
Phantom”
Ruark and Rory, together, had planned her escape. The dark vivid face and green eyes had the look of a wild hawk. He was so shamelessly arrogant that all other men suffered by comparison. Her fingers reached tentatively toward his outstretched hand and his warm fingers closed over hers and drew her to her feet. Then everything blurred together. They ran lightly across the deck, his strong arms holding her securely as they swung across to the deck of the
Phantom
and the space between the two vessels widened quickly as the
Phantom
’s top gallants filled with wind to carry the graceful marauder out of sight within minutes.

His arm still steadied her as she gazed up at him in disbelief, then she whispered the first words that had passed her lips in months. “You should have let me go.”

Sea green eyes looked deeply into hers and then they smiled at her. “I will never let you go,” he said simply. “As captain of this ship I order you below to bed. You will do nothing but eat and sleep for a week.” Then he added a phrase to give her peace of mind. “None will disturb you.”

Without a backward glance she gratefully went below to the well-remembered cabin. Gone were the silken red panels which used to float about like smoke. In their place were pristine white bed curtains, and the linen spread upon the wide bed was clean and white as driven snow.

She slept heavily for three days and nights. On the fourth day she began to eat between long naps and on the fifth day she added another delicious pleasure to her regimen. She bathed.

The sixth day she Ventured up on deck and realized they lay at anchor in a sun-bathed cove of the Scilly Isles. Rory wisely kept his distance and allowed her to approach him. “The sunshine and sea air will help to heal you. Already your cheeks have roses in them.”