Blaggard's Moon (28 page)

“We do. If there's nothing else, then thank you for stopping by.” She said it with finality.

A shadow crossed his face. “Ah, yer a hard one since yer marriage, then. I remember ye a bit more lively.”

“And I remember you to be more of a gentleman than you showed last time we met.”

“Jenta!” But Shayla could say no more than that, nor did she have the desire to say more, for her daughter was quite correct.

Conch's look grew hard, but it was not without interest. “If it's a gentleman yer wantin', then what's that lyin' at yer doorstep?”

“It is a gentleman, upon which I insist. Anyone else shall be locked out of my house and my heart, and may well die on my doorstep. That includes you, Captain.”

The silence was highly charged.

“Perhaps we should all take some tea,” Shayla said brightly, “before the conversation grows altogether honest.”

They both looked at her. Conch's hard look softened. He chuckled.

“Tea?” Shayla offered again.

Conch looked like a man who suddenly remembered why he had come. “Thank ye, Mrs. Stillmithers. It's right kind a' ye to take pity on a poor pirate without much manners. I won't be takin' tea wif ye today, but I do have somefin' to ask yer daughter.”

“Yes, and what is that?” Jenta answered, her voice again melodious.

“I made a wager wif yer…” he swung a thumb in Wentworth's direction, “…laughable wedded husband. On yer weddin' night. And I'm wonderin' if he's seen fit to mention it to ye.”

“There were many wagers made that night, I'm sure.”

“Oh you'd a' remembered this one. It had somewhat to do wif you.”

She looked at him blankly. “What kind of wager?”

“Hmm. Thought he might a' mentioned it. Thing is, it was done wif so many witnesses.”

“What kind of wager?”

“Not fer me to say, if he's not seen fit to tell it. I jus' come by to ask, is all. And so I'll say my good days. Miss.” He touched his forehead. He turned to Shayla. “Ma'am.” He bowed. And he walked out the door, stepping over Wentworth, avoiding the cat now seated at the snoring man's shoulder.

“Captain Imbry!” Jenta called. She stepped over Wentworth as well, looking down to manage her skirts. But Conch turned back suddenly, and when she looked up she stopped short, but not short enough. She was standing too close to him.

“Miss?” he said softly.

“You are no gentleman,” she said. But there was too much breath in her voice now, and she knew it. She took a step back, careful not to step on Wentworth's feet.

“How disappointin' fer me. I would not like to be locked out here wif the likes a' him.” Then Conch fished in his vest pocket. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He pulled out a delicate wedding band. “I thought you might like to have this. It's yers. Won it off yer droolin' gentleman.”

Her eyes went wide. Wentworth had said he was holding the bands until their public wedding day.

“Take it. Got the writin' on the inside and all. Go ahead, take a look.” He held it out on his palm.

She reached for it carefully.

Wentworth groaned.

She turned back with a start, facing Wentworth. “No,” she said simply.

But Wentworth sat up.

Jenta looked past Wentworth at her mother, who met her eyes. “Come inside, Jenta. Come inside.”

Conch took Jenta's hand from behind, put the ring into it, and closed it. She let him. She looked up at him, now standing to her left. He smiled down at her.

She thought he was going to kiss her. But he tapped his forehead again in a casual salute, and walked away. She swallowed hard, watching him. Her heart raced.

It took Wentworth a few seconds for it all to register, to remember where he was, what he was doing, what it meant to see Conch Imbry
standing beside his wife, holding her hand. And then what her look meant, the shocked look, the warning, as though she didn't want him to wake up, as though she didn't want him to see.

“Conch Imbry!” he shouted, and staggered to his feet. He lurched forward. “Conch Imbry! I challenge you! I challenge your honor, though you have none! A duel! A duel!”

Jenta slapped him hard across the face. “He's done nothing!”

Wentworth tottered for a moment, then collapsed, falling down onto his hindquarters with a thud.

Conch looked back and laughed.

Jenta ran into the house, where her mother slammed and locked the door behind her.

“I want a duel!” Wentworth screamed at the departing figure.

“You'll have what you want, sonny!” he called cheerily with the wave of a hand. “And after ye don't want it no more, it's mine!” He turned again, and kept walking.

The gray tomcat escaped up a nearby tree.

Wentworth sobered up, eventually. He came around again the next day, meek and apologetic, asking for entry. Shayla invited him around to the back porch for lemonade with shaved ice.

“Might I see Jenta?” he asked, glancing through the back window. He looked pale. His hands shook. He eyed the cold drink in his hand, then set it on the glass tabletop beside him.

“Of course. But I thought you and I might have a little talk first.”

“Look, I know I made a fool of myself again. But ma'am, that was Conch Imbry I saw leaving your home. He held my wife's hand. I didn't dream that.” He looked unsure, however.

“No. You didn't. You also challenged him to a duel.”

“I do recall that, yes.”

“My advice is, you should retract the challenge as soon as it is practical.”

“And I will, if Jenta can satisfy me that his intentions here were good.”

“What sort of proof would you need?” Her tone was cold.

“Not proof, I didn't mean it that way.” He was very nervous now. “I'm curious what he wanted. What he may have…said.”

“I see.” She studied him. “How is your lemonade?”

“Excellent, thank you.” He wiped a water bead from the glass with his thumb. But he still didn't drink.

“I cannot vouch for his intentions, though if he has any that are…poor…he did not make them known to us. But he did leave us with a question.”

He didn't look her in the eye, but watched the water trickle down the outside of his glass. “And what sort of question was it?”

“He mentioned an unusual wager.”

Wentworth nodded. He picked up the glass now and drank it down. He closed his eyes, struggling, as though he feared it might come back up. Then he looked at her. “What sort of bargain?”

“I believe I said ‘wager.' Was there a bargain, too, Mr. Ryland?”

He shook his head. “No. No bargain. I misspoke.”

“But there was a wager. One that involved my daughter.”

“I am uncomfortable speaking to you about it, if you'll forgive me. It's between the Captain and me.”

“And Jenta, it would seem.”

“Yes. It does have something to do with her.”

“The Captain's words, almost exactly. Was this bargain known to all the men at that table?”

“Yes. It was a bet, and it was coerced. I felt in danger of my life.”

“Quite understandable. My advice to you, Wentworth, is this. Come clean with Jenta. Hold nothing back. Don't expect it to go well. But come clean anyway. More lemonade?”

“No. Thank you.”

“I'll go get Jenta.” She stood.

Suddenly, Wentworth was no longer anxious to see her.

“Why don't the Conch just go fer the mother, that's what I'm wonderin',” a sailor offered. “She's beautiful and strong and more closer to his age.” It was Lemmer Harps, who still had both of his hands at this time in his life. One was behind his head at the moment, the other gestured thoughtfully, palm open to the ceiling.

Delaney, usually silent during these stories, this time piped up. “She's married, Lemmer.”

“No she ain't!”

“I mean they think she is. She's from a good family in Mann, remember?”

“No, she ain't!”

“I don't
mean
she is! I mean she
wants
it that way. To be thunk that.” Delaney wished he hadn't said anything.

“The Conch don't care what anyone thinks. He takes what he wants.”

“Well, then, I guess he wants the girl and not the mother,” Sleeve answered. “Let's get on with the story.”

“I think he should like the mother, is all,” Lemmer said by way of defense. “That'd clear it all up easy.”

“I think it's
you
likes the mother,” Sleeve scoffed. “Now shut up.”

“There's no call fer sayin' that!” Lemmer retorted. “What I want's got nothin' to say about it.”

“Well, I'll be. Ye really are sweet on her!” Sleeve's delight was cruel. “Next time we're in Skaelington, why don't ye get yerself all fussied up and pay her a visit? Maybe she'll like ye back.”

The other men crowed, and Lemmer threw his hat at Sleeve. “You shut it now, Spinner! All of ye's, just shut it right up!”

“You brought it on, fawnin' over her. ‘She's beautiful! She's strong!' ”

Lemmer rolled out of his hammock, pushed his way toward Sleeve. “I'll take yer old bones apart fer ye, say one more word!” The other men, lying in their closely arranged hammocks about belt-high to Lemmer, smacked him on the head and the shoulders and pushed him as he bulled through, their hammocks rocking crazily. “I ain't fawnin', ye blowhard old coot!”

“All right, I'm shuttin' up,” Sleeve offered, hands up, as Lemmer approached. “I know better than to get between a man and his one true love.”

Lemmer came at Sleeve now, fists flying. Sleeve just laughed as the other men grabbed, shoved, and pushed Lemmer so that he fell to the floor before he got there. The men hooted and clapped like it was midnight at a barn dance.

“Well, that's all for tonight!” Ham shouted above the din. Then he added quickly, “More tomorrow if I've a mind and you've the time!”

“Men get real antsy about their women,” Delaney told the fish. He'd seen it too many times not to notice. It didn't matter if they were good wives or bad mothers or even bad women. If there was a fight among the men, most likely there was some woman at the root of it. Or if it wasn't a woman, it was a gold coin. Often it was both combined.

“Aye,” he instructed. “Women and money. That's pretty much the full range of topics that'll cause a fight between grown men.”

“Tell me what you bet,” Jenta demanded.

Wentworth's eyes were all over the back porch and the backyard, from the hibiscus to the ferns, the stone birdbath to the lattice and climbing ivy. Then they went down to his hands. “I'd been drinking. And he had a threatening way.”

“Wentworth. Look at me.”

He did. She did not seem angry.

“Don't hide,” she told him. “You always hide.”

“What do you mean? I don't hide.” But he looked down. He couldn't help it.

“You're doing it now. You hide from me. You hide from yourself. If you want my help, you will need to quit hiding.”

He forced himself to look her in the eye. “Your help?” The idea that she could help, that she would want to help, had never occurred to him. “Why…would you want to help me?”

She gave him a puzzled look. “We're married. You're in trouble. Why wouldn't I want to help?”

He could think of a thousand reasons. He was the man—he was supposed to be the strong one. But he wasn't strong. He was pathetic. He'd blackmailed her, he and his father. She married him against her will. He'd bet her in a card game with a pirate. He'd hidden that from her. She'd found out about it from the same pirate. What had he ever done to earn her help? Nothing. But she offered it anyway.

And suddenly, he was overcome by a great rush of strong affection, devotion toward her. “I will duel Conch Imbry,” he declared. “I will prove my love to you.”

She sighed. “You're hiding again.”

He was crushed. “What? I'm doing nothing of the sort. I'm…taking my obligations seriously.”

She just shook her head. “Tell me the wager.”

This deflated him further. He looked at his hands. “I'm ashamed of it.”

“Well, that's a start.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You weren't hiding when you said that.” She marveled. “Have you never been schooled in anything that matters? Every child in Mann knows that confessing and admitting the source of your shame is far more honorable than taking some sort of revenge because of it. It takes courage to face your own weakness. Any idiot with a pistol can die charging into a den of pirates vowing vengeance.”