The Last Broken Promise (11 page)

“And if I agree to take you both to London.” He frowned at the old lady’s little happy sigh. “
If
I agree, will you keep your niece away from me and my crew?”

“Of course, Captain McLeod,” she agreed happily. “You won’t even know we’re aboard. And don’t worry. I believe you when you say Jess was completely safe with you last evening. No one will accuse you again of compromising her.”

“There was no compromise,” he said in a hard voice. “Nothing happened between us.”

“Of course, sir. You are obviously a man of honor and a gentleman.” She walked up to stand beside him. “Any woman would be safe with you.”

The first mate, Hellwise, was an unwitting witness to their whole conversation. He started to cackle at this last observation from the old woman.

“Shut up, Hellwise. Get us underway.”

“Where to, sir?”

“London.”

“London, you say?”

“I did,” Finn said. “Did you have the ship supplied?”

“Aye, sir.”

“The tide is fair. Have the anchor hoisted and get us underway.”

“Aye, sir.”

The first mate’s renewed rusty, evil laughter withered quickly under a hot glare from his captain. Let the old crow think what she wanted, Hellwise knew better himself. The day a woman was safe around McLeod was the day pigs would fly. The seaman watched as the captain, with the girl in his arms, and the old besom trailing behind, went below decks. Well, the first mate mused, it was going to be a long voyage. A very long voyage indeed. But perhaps there would be some redeeming aspects. Yes, there just might be some interesting opportunities to be exploited.

The first thing Jess became aware of, when she awoke, was the fact that the bed was rocking. The second thing was the bed itself. It was the biggest, widest bed, she’d ever seen. There were rich black and burgundy curtains around the whole outside. But the size was the most important feature. That and the fact that it was rocking. A rocking bed, fancy that, she wondered in amazement. She had a rocking chair and there was an old cradle that rocked in their attic in Richmond, but a rocking bed? She turned over. She admitted to herself that a moving bed was a wonderful invention. Someone was brilliant to have thought of such a thing. Every now and then the dark, brocade bed curtains would sway with the movement of the bed. It was altogether enchanting.

A woman would never have unfortunate nightmares in such a bed. She’d never imagine someone was hounding her. She’d never wake up trembling in fear or dripping in horrid clammy sweat.

Jess started to turn over. To let the steady, rhythmic lurching lull her back to sleep but two facts hit her at the same time. One, she was hungry. No, not just hungry, she was starving. And the other, she had no idea where she was, none at all. Then through the haze of her mind, a memory started to develop. She was surrounded by hot and angry men who were about to attack her. She was falling. Falling, falling ever so slowly, but she never hit the ground. Something happened before she’d crashed to the hard deck. Suddenly she was safe. Safe in a way she’d never been in her whole life. Safe in a nice though peculiar way. Safe with a heavy drumming slowly pounding in her ear. Thud, thud, thud.

“Jess love, are you awake, girlie?” The worried voice belonged to her aunt. The words were accompanied by a cool, wet cloth applied to her forehead. “Jess, wake up darlin’. We’re on our way to London.”

Then in a flood of recollection, her eyes opened wide. She remembered everything. Captain Blasted McLeod, the gaol, the cot.... ohh the cot. A crimson blush inched up her face.

“Sit up lass and let me see you.” Dorcas steadied her elbow and helped the girl lean back against the propped up pillows. “There now, isn’t that better?”

“What happened?” Jess grimaced. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. “How did I get here? Where are we?”

“That braw Captain McLeod carried you in here, pet. This is his cabin. But he’s loaned it to us for the passage.” She clucked as she drew the burgundy bedclothes up to Jess’s chin. “You had a wee fainting spell and he took care of you, love. It’s past dark now.”

An unladylike snort issued from the unbelieving girl. “I can hardly believe that, Aunt. I have never fainted in my life. Besides the man’s a barbarian.”

“Is he now?” Dorcas dismissed the disbelief in her niece’s voice. She walked to a table that held a variety of trays. Each was heaped with food. Fruits and pastries, meat pies and a roast bird. She prepared a plate for the girl and brought it to her. “His cabin looks to house a barbarian does it?”

Unwillingly, Jess scanned the cabin. It was beautifully and tastefully appointed. The furnishings were at once rich and masculine. The plate on the table was polished silver. Everything was tidy and thoroughly clean. A small brazier in one corner burned incense and filled the chamber with the sweet aroma of sandalwood and citrus.

Dorcas spread out a pristine linen napkin across the bedclothes. She carefully set the plate she had prepared upon it. “You’d better eat quickly, girlie. You never know when the barbarian will come back,” she teased and waggled her gray eyebrows at her niece.

Jess began to laugh. “All right Aunt, I know when to admit I’m wrong. He’s not a barbarian. He’s just a large gentleman who frequents gaols and kills people. And I will admit, he does have excellent taste.” A comic little moue twisted her lips. She dug her heavy silver fork into a delicious smelling mound of meat pie. “He’s a kind and meek man who should have been a vicar.” She took a sip of an excellent vintage wine from the Venetian etched wine glass her aunt handed her. “He is a champion of the oppressed. I’m sure he rescues climbing boys from the stews in his leisure time.”

“Jess,” Dorcas warned.

“No, no don’t stop me.” Her delicious giggles continued. “I haven’t finished. He gives advice to poor mad King George. He endows orphanages with his pocket change. In short, he is the very model of the modern gentleman.”

The raspy sound of a man clearing his throat caused the girl on the bed to jump in fright. It completely stopped all her silly conversation. He had a frown on his battered face. A trunk was precariously balanced on one shoulder.

“Ma’am?”

His voice sounded gruff and unsure to the women in the chamber. They recognized the trunk. It belonged to them. But they had no idea who the sailor night be. And the fact that he was able to open the chamber’s door and stand in its threshold without either of them hearing him wasn’t too comforting either.

“Ma’am?” He tried again. “I’ve got your baggage here. Your man delivered the trunks to the dock before we set sail. He didn’t wait around none either. He skittered out of town before I could stop him. I hope everything’s here.” The sailor set the trunk down in the doorway with a heavy thud. He looked at his clasped hands and waited. It seemed to Jess that he was prepared to wait forever. But why, she wondered?

“Ma’am?” he spoke again.

“Yes, me boyo?” Dorcas found her voice first. She was stunned by the rough man. He was almost as tall as his captain. But he lacked the polish and animal grace that was the hallmark of McLeod. And the red eye patch was rather startling.

“Ma’am? I don’t mean to say something to make you think I’m getting above myself. But I heard the young miss talking when I came in.” He swallowed hard and made himself raise his eyes to face the older lady.

“I’m sorry,” Jess began to apologize. She certainly didn’t want to upset this man or the rest of the crew by saying any more offensive things about their captain. “I never meant for anyone else to hear what I said, truly. It was a jest only, sir.” Her eyes were beseeching.

“It ain’t that, Miss St. John.” He was entranced by the little beauty lying in the Captain’s bed. “It’s just that I’d surely appreciate it if you wouldn’t go around talking about Finn’s orphans. He don’t like nobody to know about his orphans.” He finished. He looked immediately back down at his clasped fingers.

“His what?” Jess’s voice was a disbelieving squeak. “Did you say orphans?”

“Well, ma’am, you were the one who was talking about Finn’s orphans.” He still didn’t look up.

“You call him Finn?” Jess still couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

“It’s his name, ma’am.” A tide of red started to crawl up his pockmarked face. “I mean, most everybody calls him Finn. He don’t stand on ceremony. Once a deckhand called him Lord Maitland and Finn knocked him on his ars...” Realizing who he was talking to made the man redder still. “I’m sorry, Miss St. John. Finn knocked the deckhand on his backside, and right quick too.”

“Lord Maitland?” Dorcas’s interest was suddenly captured. Was their host really a peer, she wondered? She halfway remembered something the magistrate had said about his having a lord for a brother.

Jess’s reaction was just the opposite. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “He’s got a title then?” She really didn’t want to hear the answer she knew was coming.

“Of course, ma’am,” he said as if he was speaking to a backward child. “Finn’s brother is the Duke of Maitland.”

“His legitimate brother?” Jess knew she was grasping at straws.

“Jessamine!” Her aunt chastised. “What kind of question is that?”

“Yes, Sister St. John, what sort of coarse question is that?” It was a deep, drawling voice coming from the hallway outside the cabin. The sailor heard it too. He quickly stepped aside to let his captain come into the chamber.

Jess pulled the bedclothes up to her chin. She tried to burrow into the linens as far as she could. Drat the man. He had heard that slur upon his parentage. Curse him and her own reckless tongue.

Dorcas dipped a graceful curtsey to acknowledge him. “Thank you again, Captain McLeod. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help in getting us to London.”

He bowed gracefully in her direction. But his narrowed amber eyes never left the girl in his bed. “I am, as always, your obedient servant, Mrs. Moore.” He came into the center of the room. His presence seemed to dominate the space just as he’d planned. Let the little nun talk her way out of this, he told himself. “Did you want to know anything further about my family, Sister St. John?” he goaded.

“Will you stop calling me that?” Jess was frustrated. “I don’t like it.”

“I do,” he said coolly. “Sister St. John suits you perfectly. Prim, proper, and… bland.”

Bland, bland? He thought her bland? Robert Styles had said she set his soul on fire with longing. Millard O’Steen said her hair was like a shaft of sunlight on the water. Bland? She’d show him bland.

“Well, Captain McLeod, if anyone would know what a bland woman was like, I’d wager that would be you. I’m sure you’ve known more than your share of bland women. After all, you’re hardly a man to inspire passion in a woman.”

One of his ebony eyebrows shot up. So the kitten wanted to test her claws, he thought. He’d be glad to oblige her, especially if it scared her into keeping her distance from him. “You think not?” he answered softly.

“What? What did you say?” She couldn’t concentrate as he moved to stand closer. Too close.

Propping one hand on the headboard of the bed, Finn leaned seductively down towards her. He carefully brushed the rioting curls away from her forehead one by one.

“What... uh… what were you saying?” She could only manage a whisper.

A smile twisted his lips at her obvious confusion. “You said I don’t seem the kind of man to elicit passion in a woman,” he reminded her. Then he ran a hard finger slowly down her cheek.

Her eyes widened. Her breath came in short little desperate gasps. “I said that?” she murmured.

“Yes, you did, Sister St. John,” he assured her before he straightened and turned to face her aunt. “Mrs. Moore, since your niece seems to have no questions for me, is there anything
you’d
like to ask me about my parentage. I’ll be more than glad to oblige you, ma’am.”

An impish twinkle sprang up in the old lady’s eyes. “I
would
like to ask you just a few wee questions.”

Jess whimpered a bit, She pulled the sheet completely over her face. What was Aunt Dorcas going to ask, she wondered? If the wretch really turned out to be an aristocrat, Aunt Dorcas would kiss the ground in thanksgiving and never let the girl forget her faux pas
. Please Lord,
she shot up a quick prayer, let him be a plain, unremarkable mister.

“I would love to hear all about your family, Captain McLeod. Please have a seat and join us.” She indicated one of the wing chairs pulled up to the small Sheraton table.

Finn dismissed the sailor at the door. He waited until Dorcas sat. e seated himself bonelessly in the chair. Then he silently watched the lady in the companion chair.

“Ask me anything, Madam.” His golden eyes bore into hers.

Dorcas daintily smoothed her skirts. She cleared her throat before beginning. “Well, sir... about your family...,” She was stumped as to just how exactly to proceed. “That is... what I’d like to ask about your family is.... ahem... that is to say...”

“Yes?” his deep voice was mocking. He settled even more comfortably into the wing chair.

Jess had been quiet for a long while now. Almost five minutes, so he knew she’d be speaking soon. Five minutes of silence was a sore trial for the young woman, he was sure. Someone with that many opinions had to be choking on the impulse to explode by now. The old lady wasn’t looking too happy either. A satisfied smile settled on his lips. From the corner of his vision, he saw the sheet start to inch down until the girl’s face was revealed once more. Her hair was a glorious tangled golden mess. He choked down a snicker as she tried to blow it out of her eyes. He completely ignored her. He turned his attention and his lethal smile on her aunt.