The Last Broken Promise (7 page)

“Horace, we ain’t never gone catch that woman on these here marsh-tackys,” whined the fat one. “Let’s us stop. This nag’s bony back is about to kill me.”

“Shut up, you idjit and keep ridin. We’s gonna git that sweet little gal, if you jest come on.”

Horace urged his horse to the lead. Port Wentworth was only a short distance ahead now. They had to catch her before she got to town. If the wench made it into the harbor village, Asa Butler would catch them for sure. He was the night watch. He didn’t tolerate loud rowdiness after midnight. And Horace had a feeling the woman would kick up a big fuss. He didn’t need that. He’d just gotten out of the gaol last week. He surely didn’t want to go back in there.

“Horace pull up, pull up.” The fat man panted behind him. “We ain’t never gone make it. Pull up.” When his friend didn’t respond, he jerked his nag up and yelled after him, “I ain’t comin with you. You’re gone end up in the gaol again. I ain’t gone go too.”

Horace never even looked back. He kept his eyes on the back of the girl galloping her horse down the road in front of him.

Jess’s heart pounded with so much force she could feel the heavy thuds in the back of her throat. Hoof beats behind her echoed the thunderous beating in her chest. The poor mare, she was riding, was worn down. But it gamely kept up its steady lope toward the flickering lights where the country road ended. All the girl wanted to do was make it into the village before the man following her, so doggedly, caught up. In Port Wentworth, she could scream and somebody would hear and come to her rescue.
Lord, please let somebody come to help me,
she prayed frantically. One part of her mind was fully occupied in planning how she would raise the dead with her screeches, if she must. The other part was thoroughly disgusted. The one time in her life she’d managed to slip away from her constant guards, she’d landed herself into the briars with a vengeance. Her brothers must never find out, she frowned in concentration. If they did, she’d be put away in a convent for good, whether she wanted to be there or not.

The mare’s sides were heaving with her valiant efforts as they wheeled into the little village. The thief’s horse trailed in behind her in a cloud of dust. As Jess opened her mouth to call for help, the man stumbled off his nag and began to yell at the top of his lungs.

“Help! Doxy! Thief!” He stopped. He wiped his grimy brow with the back of one paw. An evil grin settled on his lips as he began to bellow again, “Help me, Oh Lord God, help me! I been set upon by a cut purse!”

“Liar!” Jess cried, incensed at his audacity. “You’re a horrid liar! How dare you accuse me of stealing?”

It seemed as if every shutter in Port Wentworth slammed open at one time. Men and women in nightclothes of all descriptions hung out of every window to see what was going on. Deep, angry shouts filled the darkness along with high-pitched squeaks and whines. The citizens were in an uproar, talking all at once, while the girl and her accuser stood toe to toe furiously arguing.

“You are a horrid liar, sir!”

“Shut up, missy!”

“Asa!”

“What’s going on out there?”

“Can’t a man get a decent night’s rest?”

“Asa!”

“Where’s the watch when you need him?”

“Who’s been murdered?”

“Asa!”

“Is it the gals from the sporting house again?”

A portly old man dressed in a flowing nightshirt marched up to the couple in the middle of the road. He shot an ancient pistol off into the black night sky, and effectively ended the hubbub.

“Get back to bed,” he ordered sternly down the length of the one street that made up the sleepy little town.

“That you, Asa?” one curious voice called out.

“Course it’s me.” He sighed. The man tucked the heavy pistol up under his arm. Then he stifled a yawn. “Who else is stupid enough to want this tom-fool job? I got to stay up all night and wait for somebody to do some darn-fool thing like this.” He glared at the speechless girl before continuing. “Now, you all go on back to sleep.”

Reluctantly, each shutter closed. Candles that had been frantically lit were blown out. Folks could be heard muttering and complaining about thievery and loose women.

“Come on you two.” The old man nudged Jess’s shoulder to get her started. “You can sleep it off in the gaol.”

The girl threw back her head. She planted her feet in the dusty street. “You don’t understand, sir. This man tried to rob me. He intended to take advantage of me too.” Her words were angry and indignant.

“Aw, Asa,” the other man wheedled in defense. “You know I wouldn’t do a thing like that. This here tart was trying to steal my purse.”

The officer snorted. He said sourly, “Horace, a starving moth wouldn’t try to steal your purse for the wool. If you had money tonight, which you didn’t, you’d have drunk it up by now.”

“Sir, I’m telling the truth,” Jess implored. “He would have violated me if I hadn’t reached the town in time.”

The old man scowled. “Miss, Horace Jackson is a good-for-nothing, lying, cheating dog. But he’s too lazy to accost an unwilling woman.”

“I told you,” the other man crowed triumphantly.

“Shut up, Horace,” ordered Asa. The cut purse’s cackle was cut abruptly off. The lawman continued, “It’s way after midnight and I’m tired. You’re both going to the gaol. I’ll sort this fool thing out in the morning.”

“That’s not fair!” the angry girl shouted. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”

The night watchman chuckled without mirth. “Missy, if I had a penny for every time I’ve heard that, I’d be a very rich man. Come on you two.” This time he poked her shoulder with the barrel of the gun.

That was all the incentive Jess needed. It was the middle of the night. She was exhausted and dirty. Somehow the thought of going to sleep in a real bed, even if it was in a gaol, didn’t seem so bad. After all, she had to go to the gaol anyway to pick up Mother Superior’s murderer. No, that didn’t sound right, she shook her muddled head. Mother Marie Marguerite’s
sea captain.
He probably wasn’t a murderer at all, the girl hoped fervently. Surely the man could explain how he’d come to be held in the gaol
and
what part he’d played in the death at the tavern. But that could all wait until the morrow. At the moment, nothing seemed right except sleep. Her eyes blurred as she plodded toward a small, rough building at the end of the street. The young woman was weary and confused right now, but in the morning things would fall into place nicely. Jess was sure everything was going to work out just fine. After all, God was still in charge wasn’t He? Of course He was. Jess covered a huge yawn behind one hand. She kept on trudging behind the watch.

Asa wrestled a big skeleton key from the front of his nightshirt. It hung from a thick, knotted string around his neck. He slipped the key and its string over his grey head. He shoved it into the lock on the rough-planked door. Its hinges squealed in protest as the old man pushed the door wide open.

With sleepy eyes, Jess could barely make out the building’s interior. There was no light inside. No candle stood sentinel against the darkness, no fire either, because the night was mild. There was just darkness, unrelieved, unrepentant darkness. Jess balked at the door.

“Well, come on in, gal,” Asa barked. He was clearly irritated with her delay. He wanted his warm snug bed and he wanted it ten minutes ago. “Get on inside.”

Jess swallowed hard. She placed a tentative hand against the wall by the door frame. Her intention was to feel her way carefully into the room. But Asa was too impatient for that. With a hard hand he gave her a shove that sent her tumbling into the chamber.

The thief, Horace, was summarily treated the same way. He fell heavily beside her onto the packed-dirt floor. Jess pulled as far away from the odious man as she could, wanting no physical contact with him whatsoever. Her hands felt gritty now. Her wimple was turned permanently askew. The only thing worse than this filthy place, was the fact that she couldn’t see what might be crawling near her. She fastidiously tucked her feet up under the hem of her habit. She slid her hands into the deep, practical pockets of the skirt. Horace, laying prostrate across the little chamber, groaned.

“I’ll see you both in the morning.” With those curt parting words, the night watchman slammed the door shut. He twisted the key into the lock.

What Jess initially perceived to be the blackest night suddenly became ten times more bleak. There were no windows in the small building, no other doors, no way for light to enter.

Suddenly she panicked. “Sir! Sir! Please don’t leave me in here by myself with this man. I swear I wasn’t lying when I told you he would force me. I swear it. Don’t leave me. Please.” Her only answer was the muffled sound of booted feet pounding off down the street.

A disgusting, wheezing cackle from the opposite side of the room grabbed her attention. “Won’t do you no good to beg. Asa don’t care nuthin’ bout you. He don’t care bout nothin’ but money.”

She could sense him moving nearer in the darkness. In reaction, she edged back closer to the wall. She bumped up against something solid and warm. It was parallel to the outer wall. The odd shape was comforting, in a way she didn’t understand.

“Why don’t you beg me not to hurt you?” Horace’s voice was oily and evil in its intent. “That might do you some good. Seein’ as how we’re by ourself and I’m a whole lot bigger than you are. No tellin’ what might happen to a little scrap like you. In here, all night alone with a fine strappin’ man, like me. I bet I could plant a rite fine youngun’ in your belly. I always did want me a youngun’.” There was a scrabbling sound as he inched closer to the girl.

Not willing to go down without a struggle, Jess responded with typical St. John stubbornness. “If you so much as lay a finger on me, I’ll make sure you’ll never father anything.”

“Brava, my dear, brava.” The rich, deep voice directly above her ear made Jess jump in fright. It reminded her of thunder rumbling in the distance. “That was a speech worthy of Convent Gardens. But I do have to ask myself, if the woman who displays such reckless bravado is capable of following through on such a threat.”

“Gawd!” Horace said in stunned awe. “That you Cap’n McLeod?”

Jess suddenly identified what she’d been leaning against. The tall man shifted his weight. What now, she wondered? Would she be fighting off two men instead of one?

“Cap’n I’d thought you’d a been outta here by now,” Horace said in a cautious voice. It was obvious to the girl he feared the other man. There was a definite subservient tone to the criminal’s whine.

“I’m still here.” There was steel in the voice that answered. It sent a frisson of fear up the girl’s back. “Now go to sleep. And stay away from the woman.”

“Aw Cap’n,” Horace wheedled. “She’s just a doxy. We can share. She’s a looker, even covered up in that ugly black hat and dress. I got an eye for a shapely lass. I can tell she’s a looker.”

“It’s not a hat, it’s a wimple,” Jess corrected, finding her tongue for the first time since the man with the delicious sounding rumble had spoken. She could drown in the low darkness of that voice. It made her wonder if he was as handsome and virile as the seductive timbre of his educated speech, and that was a first. She’d spent the last several years running from the traps and snares of men. Now, here she was intrigued by the mere sound of one. Her curiosity was cut short by a slow deep laugh.

“Horace you’re a brave man. You would lay with a nun and risk hellfire and damnation? I’m impressed.”

“Nun?” The thief was confused. “Who’s talkin about a bleedin nun?”

“You’ve got yourself a nun, or I miss my guess.” She felt him shift as he turned. “They’re the only ones I know of who wear wimples.”

“That ugly black thing on her head is a nun hat?” Horace was stunned.

“Yes, it is,” Jess said forcefully, grateful for the diversion. “God will strike you dead, if you harm me.” She felt much better now and leaned back against the tall, hard frame of the man behind her. It was like cozying up to a hearth. Everything was going to be all right. She’d known all along God would never let her down.

“Shut up, tart.” The dirty man across the room cursed her. He took a step closer. “I’ll do whutever I please with you. God ain’t here and He ain’t gonna do nuthin’ to me.”

Jess cowered back farther against the body of her erstwhile savior. She reached to grab hold of his hand. Why she did this, she had no idea. He could have been just as lustful and murderous as the slug across the room, but she reached for him all the same.

Finn McLeod felt the desperate little hand clutch at his sleeve. A slow rage inched through his mind in response to her fear. “God may be sleeping, but I am not, Horace. And you know well, I’ll kill you, if you touch the lady.” The words were a menacing growl. “Now get your stinking carcass to the other side of the chamber. Your odor offends me.”

Jess found her cold, trembling fingers enfolded in a strong yet gentle grip. An instant peace flooded through her body.

“Come, sister,” that caramel voice coaxed. “Take the bed. I’m used to sleeping on the floor.” He began to push her down onto a cot mounted in the wall behind them.

“No, sir,” she protested. “I can’t take your bed.” But even as she was speaking the denial, she found herself being carefully lifted and tucked into the warm, narrow bed. “I mustn’t...”