The Pirate and the Pagan (34 page)

Summer spoke to a friend of his, Henry Jermyn, who was a particular friend of the royal family and was rumored to have been on the point of marrying the King’s sister Mary. “Will he be all right?” she murmured.

“Perfectly, Lady Helford. His back teeth are awash every night of his life. His man is used to pouring him into bed. Can’t play cards worth a damn unless he’s three sheets to the wind.”

“His man?” echoed Summer.

“Little chap, valet, driver … mothers him completely.”

“He needs smothering not mothering.” Summer laughed. She could afford to laugh; she’d just found her other mark!

Suddenly an authoritative voice behind her said, “I think you are flown with wine, madame. Perhaps you should seek your room, Lady Helford.” She turned, a sharp rejoinder on her lips, as she saw Charles and Ruark had come in together. She realized what she must look like standing laughing with the men, a wine decanter in her hand and Wild Harry’s hand hovering about her bottom. Being sent to her room suited her plan so well that instead of indignation, she put her hand to her head and said, “I am only a little dizzy.” She bowed with exaggerated dignity to the King and said owlishly, “With your permission, Sire.”

He smiled down at her, thanked her for her wondrous hospitality, and bade her goodbye.

S
he carefully locked her chamber door, stripped off her female garments, and replaced them with her male attire. She made sure her pistol was charged and that she had extra balls and powder, then she glanced in the mirror. Good heavens, she’d forgotten to take off her makeup! She carefully washed her face, affixed the black mustache, then took her saddlebags out on the balcony and dropped them into the garden below. She went back into the room, pulled on her gloves and wide-brimmed hat, blew out all the candles, and prepared to follow her saddlebags.

Halfway down the ivy, she froze against the wall as she heard laughter and male voices. She was weak with relief when she realized some of the men had come into the garden to relieve themselves. Coarseness comes naturally to men, she told herself, they’ll piss anywhere!

Deep in the secluded yew walk, she untethered Ebony and spoke to him softly as she strapped the bags on either side of her saddle. Each step was familiar tonight and she found that she was not trembling, nor were the palms of her hands wet. Her heartbeat was slightly accelerated, however, and she could hear it drumming in her ears. She decided to ride down the road toward Falmouth a
couple of miles. If she stayed on Helford property, the carriages might come too close together for comfort.

She went slowly, quietly, and all the while her eyes were adjusting to the light. In the yew walks it had seemed pitch black, but now that she was becoming accustomed, she was amazed at how well she could see everything. She heard a coach approaching and walked Ebony into a stand of trees until she identified it. As she had assumed, the first coach held the King and his escorts. Four servants rode outside the coach with the driver and by their loud gibes at each other she could tell they were well oiled. She should not have too long to wait for the Duchess of Buckingham and the Countess of Lauderdale. In about ten minutes she saw a black coach approaching at a fast clip.

Summer rode out from the trees onto the road and then she realized with horror it was Castlemaine’s carriage. Swiftly she galloped back into the trees, but not without startling the coachman so much he swerved the coach and pulled back on the reins. An angry tirade came from inside the carriage. “You stupid pricklouse, you almost tipped us over! What the hell is the matter with you, man?”

“Forgive me, my lady, I swear the horses were spooked by what looked like a headless horseman. I swear it must have been a ghost rider, my lady.”

“What piss and piffle!” shouted Barbara. “If you can’t stay sober when you drive me, I’ll replace you. Do you have your pistol ready in case your ghost turns out to be a highway robber?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the driver, cocking his pistol.

“Then proceed and don’t spare the horses! I knew I should have ridden with the King.”

Ebony stood motionless in the shadows as Summer stroked his neck and whispered so that his ears pricked at the familiar voice. It would have been such a tactical mistake to hold up Barbara, for like Summer she had a reckless nature and might on the spur of the moment challenge a highwayman. Either that or proposition him, chuckled Summer, then where would she be? Also Barbara was so shrewd, Summer didn’t feel confident enough to play the man in front of her. She was vastly relieved to see the back of Barbara Castlemaine this night.

In a very short time, perhaps only five minutes, another coach came ambling along. She knew it was the right coach this time, as she remembered the yellow carriage lamps. Boldly, without hesitation,
she rode into the middle of the road, leveled her pistol, and commanded, “Stand and deliver!”

The reins fell from the nerveless fingers of the driver and the coach horses stopped of their own volition.

“Facedown on the ground!” she ordered the hapless man, and without a murmur of protest he obeyed the menacing black figure.

Bess Maitland stuck her head out of the window and shouted, “What are ye aboot, mon?” Then she saw the highwayman and quickly withdrew her bright red head inside the carriage.

“Outside!” ordered Summer. “Your maid too!” she called, beginning to enjoy herself.

“Maid?” screeched the duchess, climbing out after Bess Maitland. “Sir, I am the Duchess of Buckingham. I demand that you let us go unharmed. I’ll have your head for this, sirrah!”

“Do you seriously think I’d believe the handsome duke would marry the pig-faced lady?” asked Summer in a deep voice. “You there!” She indicated Bess Maitland. “Is that pig-faced woman really the Duchess of Buckingham?”

“Aye, she is.” Bess nodded, making the duchess purple with fury.

“Well, madame, I’m the Black Cat and I’m noted for my reputation with the ladies, but in your case I beg to be excused.” Summer gave an elaborate bow and Bess Maitland burst out laughing.

“Ladies, you are free to go on your way when I have your gold.”

Bess Maitland wasted no time turning over her money, but when she tried to separate Lady Buckingham from her heavy purse, she cried, “I’ll see you hanged first!”

Summer aimed the pistol at her head. “Madame, deliver or die!”

Lady Buckingham swooned. Bess Maitland took her heavy purse, threw it into the road, then ignominiously stuffed the duchess into the carriage like she was a sack of potatoes. “Christ, how much do you weigh?” Bess puffed as she climbed in after her hapless companion.

The moths flitted about the yellow carriage lamps as Summer urged the prone coachman to arise and depart, then she jumped down to retrieve the heavy purses from the roadway and deposit them in her saddlebags.

Summer decided to cut back through the fields. In case the women decided to report the highwayman in Falmouth and set that damned swine Sergeant Oswald on her trail, she rode closer to Roseland and Helford Hall. She kept her eyes open for Harry
Killigrew’s little valet-coachman, but though two hours had elapsed and every guest who’d visited had departed in their carriages, still there was no sign of Wild Harry. She wavered between sticking it out and giving it up. She wasn’t really tired; the exhilaration of her daring escapade made her blood surge in her veins and, too, she was highly elated with the success of her attempts at being a hostess. She knew she’d done a superb job and that she would be talked of in London for weeks to come.

The King himself was smitten enough that if she was so inclined, she knew she could become his mistress. All in all it had been the most disastrous and the most successful few days of her life. She sighed deeply and was about to turn in the gates of Helford Hall when she heard the approaching carriage.

She turned Ebony about, galloped a couple of hundred yards off, and turned to face the coach. “Stand and deliver!” she barked.

The carriage came to a hurtling stop and Lord Killigrew, who had been in a drunken doze, yanked open the carriage door and promptly fell through it onto the road. His little coach driver had his pistol out, aimed at Summer’s head, and discharged it without hesitation. Fortunately for her, Harry had lunged at his valet, shouting, “’Sdeath, man, don’t shoot! Can’t ye shee it’s my frien’ Berkeley?”

“Berkeley’s got sandy hair, sir. This is a holdup!” cried his driver.

“No, no, itsh a joke, Sam—just a sham. Can’t ye shee he’s wearing a periwig!” Killigrew waved at Summer. “Games up, Charlie, I’d know ye anywhere.”

Summer shouted, “You’re too foxy for me, Harry! Trouble is, old man, if I turn up without your strongbox, I’ll be a bloody laughingstock.”

“No trouble, Charlie, take the box.”

When his valet vigorously protested, Wild Harry explained patiently, “It’s just a sam, Sham! ‘Sdeath, can’t go about shootin’ me frien’s—don’t have that many!”

Harry fumbled in the carriage for the strongbox while Summer leveled the pistol at the little coachman.

“Leave it on the road!” ordered Summer.

Wild Harry winked, tipped his hat, and climbed back inside. The coachman, angry but impotent, had no choice but to climb back up on the box and drive off.

Summer’s knees were butter and her hands shook visibly as she
tucked the pistol into her doublet. When she’d heard the pistol discharge and the ball go whizzing past her ear, she had almost fallen from Ebony. How she had ever kept her seat and carried on with the business, she’d never know. Did other highwaymen encounter a fiasco with every coach they stopped or was it just her? She dismounted on weak legs and discovered the strongbox too heavy to lift. She found the lid was securely locked and thought she would have to shoot it open. She was too close to the house to risk a shot, however, and first tried to break the lock with a jagged rock. The lock held firmly, but the hinges on the back of the lid caved in with her efforts and she transferred the money to her saddlebags. As well as the money, there appeared to be a small jewel case. She took that as well and when the strongbox was empty she found she could lift it.

She remounted Ebony and rode inland to the banks of the River Helford. There she hurled the strongbox far out into the raging water and made her way slowly back to Helford Hall. She tethered Ebony in the yew walk again, since it was fairly close to the south wing and her saddlebags were heavy. Wearily she glanced up at her balcony, thinking that after one last great effort of climbing the vine it would be all over and she would be home safe, when all at once she felt something like a sixth sense tell her that all was not right. She didn’t know if she first noticed the fragrance of tobacco or the faint glow from her bedroom window, but she was alerted that Ruark was waiting for her. The first thing she did was put her pistol in her saddlebags and hide the bags behind the shrubbery. After a few minutes’ deliberation she realized she had no option but to go up and face him. How she gained entry to her chamber mattered little at this stage of the game, so she hoisted herself up the thick ivy and swung her legs over the balcony. She removed her wide-brimmed hat and sailed it across her bedchamber into the darkness, thereby defiantly announcing her arrival.

She saw his dark shape stretched out full length upon their bed; the glow from his cheroot was bright red like a warning signal. “Good evening.” His voice was filled with such quiet menace, she licked lips gone suddenly dry. My God, she was still wearing the mustache! Quickly she peeled it from her top lip and thrust it into a pocket. “It was,” she said coldly, showing no surprise at his presence.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded.

“I’ve been out minding my own business,” she said with great impudence.

He was off the bed in a flash, gripping her shoulders in harsh hands. “Never use that tone of voice to me again, madame.” His voice was like a whiplash and a wisp of fear curled in her belly.

She put out her hands to ward him off and encountered his hard, naked chest. She drew in her breath sharply as if she had been burned. His hands left her shoulders and he lit the candles on the bedside table. His eyes swept down her body, taking note of the male attire. “Who were you with that you needed a disguise? It could only have been the King,” he answered his own question.

His eyes burned into her like green flames in a mixture of hatred, anger, and jealousy. Oh, God, and lust, she realized suddenly. He had the black doublet off her before she realized his intent. She fled across the room in her tight little busk and the slim black breeches and boots. She glanced at the bedchamber door and saw that the key was missing. He grinned wickedly as she realized she was trapped in with him. Almost leisurely he lit another dozen candles in a wall sconce so that he could enjoy the scene to the full.

“Ruark, I’ve not been with the King or any man. I was out riding. I went home to Roseland … I thought it best to go dressed as a boy,” she finished lamely.

“How odd that you should bother to protect my good name of Helford after your shameless behavior with the King these past two days.”