Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) (3 page)

But it was Daniel who taught her to defend herself. She chewed at her lip. And now she had endangered his well-being and employment.

“This squawking and honking is enough ter wake the dead,” Slaney muttered. She scattered another handful of grain over the dirt yard, and shrieked when a bold rooster pecked at a wayward kernel which had landed on the top of her shoe.

“These are the only shoes I have, ye wicked cock! Be off with ye!”

With an insulted squawk, the rooster flapped away in an effort to dodge Slaney’s swinging foot. The sea of fowl parted briefly with his departure but soon clucked its way back into a mass of scratching and pecking birds.
 

“Good morning, Slaney.”

“A fair morning to ye, Mistress,” the maid replied. Slaney clucked her tongue with disapproval, sounding much like one of the chickens still pecking at her feet. “Yer a sight! The whole house will soon be awake. Should Himself see ye, there will be hell to pay, for sure. Best ye go inside and clean up, lass.”

“Is Uncle Jared about yet then?” Keelan asked, ignoring the maid’s mild tirade. “There are two merchant ship captains here to see him and Father.”

“I’ll tell him. ‘Tis already almost seven o’clock, and ye know breakfast is served at half past eight.”
 

“I’ll be on time, Slaney, don’t worry,” Keelan said. A movement caught her eye, and she glanced up to see Daniel and the two visitors leading horses down the lane toward the stable.

 “Well, don’t get distracted this morn. Your father will want to speak to ye, and I’ll not have him see ye lookin’ like a common stable boy,” Slaney said, with an unconvincing scowl.
 

“How is Papa?” Keelan asked, hoping his color and appetite had returned with a good night’s rest.

Slaney’s expression softened. “Weary. He’s up and sittin’ in the chair by his window. Perhaps if you sit with him, he’ll eat something.”

Keelan nodded. “I will.” She reached down, withdrew a handful of grain from Slaney’s bucket, and tossed it across the ground. "Why are you feeding the chickens? Isn't little Joseph supposed to do this?”

“You needn’t worry about such matters. But if you must know, he’s tending the smokehouse because they just put up a hog.” Slaney flung the remaining grain with the breeze and waded through the chickens toward the kitchen house. “I’ll heat some water for yer bath. Don’t tarry long.”

Keelan shook her head. Although she tried to hide it, Slaney had a soft spot for chickens. Keelan stared at the pecking birds and recalled the conversation she had yesterday with Papa about marrying Mr. Pratt to merge the two plantations. She didn’t want to get married.
 

Not yet.
 
And to Pratt, not
ever
.

She didn’t want to live on a plantation, either. She was a shopkeeper’s daughter and needed to be a part of the bustling life of a city, buying and selling wares from exotic places, not buying and selling slaves to work on a plantation.
 

“Marriage.” The word tasted bitter, like rancid oil.

After seeing how the bonds of marriage affected her parents, she was not in a hurry to wed. When her father had been a commodore in His Majesty's Navy, he was gone for months at a time, leaving her mother alone and unhappy. During the short time he spent at home, her mother demanded most of it, even becoming jealous of the small intervals he gifted to Keelan.
 

Shaking away the dark musings of marriage and her ill father, she turned and trotted to the rear of the main house, enjoying the refreshing coolness of the dew-laced grass on her bare feet. If she sneaked in the back door the servants used, then she could avoid any encounters with members of her extended family. While she was grateful her Uncle Jared agreed to run the plantation until her father’s good health returned, it meant she also had to interact with her spoiled cousin, Doreen. Thankfully, the girl usually slept until midday. She paused. Would it be better to wait by the barn and hope to catch Captain Hart before he went into the house, or should she quickly change first?
 

What if Uncle Jared caught her? She decided to change.

 She grabbed the latch and sucked in her breath at the sting that shot across her injured thumb. Fresh blood streamed along her palm and dripped off the heel of her hand. It wouldn’t do to track blood to her bedroom. Remembering the marigold tincture Slaney used for cuts and bruises, she dashed for the kitchen house to find the maid’s herb box.

The kitchen was empty. A teakettle hung from an iron arm beside the hearth, steam still puffing from the spout. In front of the hearth, keeping warm, a plate of rice scones perched in the middle of a bench. Corn mush fried and popped in a large iron skillet, the aroma infusing the air. Her stomach growled, pushing all other immediate issues from her mind.
 

An hour and a half was a long time to wait for breakfast.
 

Sneaking a furtive glance around the room, she liberated a warm, soft scone from the plate. Too hungry to bother with butter or jam, she took a bite and closed her eyes as it melted in her mouth.
 

 “Well, is ‘bout time ya come see me, Miss Keelan,” Ruth said, as she emerged from the pantry.

Keelan jumped and the scone flew from her grasp. It bobbled in between her hands until she regained possession of it. “Ruth, you gave me a start!” She smiled at the short, plump cook and gestured guiltily at the pastry, now pressed against her chest. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m famished.”
 

The slave gave her an odd look, but recovered quickly. “Goodness gracious, dis here’s your home. You can git a bite anytime.”
 

The kitchen door flew open and Slaney whisked inside. Kicking the door shut behind her, she placed a garden basket on the table. “Wouldn’t hurt ter put some meat on her bones. The lass will flutter away like a milkweed thistle in the wind one day and we’ll never see her again.” The herbs from her basket wafted through the room.
 

“All she need is a few more months of my cookin’ and she’ll plump right out,” Ruth said with a chuckle.
 

“What she
needs
to
do
is get herself up to the main house and dress for breakfast,” Slaney chided, pulling a handful of herbs from her basket.

“Oh, Miss Keelan,” Ruth said, glancing at the cut. “How did you do dat?”

Keelan and Slaney exchanged glances. She suspected the house slaves gossiped as much as any other servants would. It wasn’t as if she could hide the fact she was wearing boy’s clothing.

“I cut it on a dagger. Daniel is teaching me how to protect myself in case those who have murdered most of my father’s family in England decide to follow us here.”

“I was sorry to hear ‘bout dat, Miss Keelan. But dey didn’t kill ‘em all did dey?”

 
“No, so far my father’s elder brother has eluded them, although they’ve tried several times.”

Slaney inspected Keelan’s hand. The woman tsked as she examined the cut then went to the cupboard and pulled out a wooden box. She selected a small bottle, a clove of garlic, and grabbed a marigold from the herb basket.
 

“Let me see, lass.” She held out a hand expectantly. Keelan eyed the bottle for a moment before she did as she was told. Slaney poured a few drops on the wound.
 

Keelan sucked in her breath at the sting. “Ouch! What is that?” She snatched her hand away and shook it. “It burns like the devil!”

Slaney grabbed Keelan’s hand and held it firmly. “Such language from a gentle lady. Yer mum, God rest her soul, would be horrified to hear ye go on. Now sit ye still. ‘Tis vinegar. That or whiskey must be used to cleanse a wound properly.”

Duly chastised, Keelan sat and quietly bit into the stolen scone while Slaney splashed more vinegar on the cut. The sting made her eyes water.

Next, the maid reached for the garlic, pulled off a clove, sliced it in half, and rubbed it over the wound, eliciting another wince from Keelan. “Garlic will prevent infection,” Slaney said. Last, she crushed the marigold petals, pressed them over the cut, and wrapped her hand in a small damp linen cloth.

“Keep it wrapped,” she said. “’Twill keep out the pus.”
 

Keelan turned to the cook and gestured to the last bite of scone. “Ruth, I would love to learn how you make these.” She popped it into her mouth and munched happily. It was something her mother might have sold in her shop, partnered with jellies and jams.

The cook’s soft, brown face broke into a pleased smile. “Come in the mornin’ ‘fore sunrise, an’ I’ll show ya in no time.” Ruth turned and pulled a plate from the shelf. “Now sit yo’ self down, child. I can’t stand to see ya starve to death right here in the kitchen house.”

To Keelan’s dismay, Ruth served her a plate of fried corn mush doused in cane syrup, a cup of tea, and another scone slathered with fresh butter and sweet, amber honey.
 

I have to get to the barn and intercept Hart and O'Brien!

Mentally calculating the time it would take Daniel and the two ship captains to reach the barn and turn over the horses to a stable boy, Keelan estimated that she had a couple of precious minutes before she had to leave. There would be no time for her to first change into a gown, however. She shoveled a large bite of corn mush into her mouth, trying to choose the right words she would use to convince the two sea captains to keep her clandestine activities to themselves.

Slaney glanced out the kitchen house window. “I see Daniel and our visitors are near. I’d best get along and tell Mr. Grey his guests are here. And you, mistress, best get along before you’re caught in those clothes.”

Keelan’s fork clattered on her plate and she virtually flew out of the door, praying she would be able to speak with Captain Hart then sneak up to her room.

Hurry. Slaney’s warning echoed in her head. Keelan took a shortcut through the garden. The entire household was probably awake.

She ducked beneath an arbor laden with lazy, purple wisteria blossoms. Aunt Sarah’s garden created a buffet for the senses. Eight neatly trimmed squares of lavender, rosemary, and thyme hedges could barely accommodate the bright bursts of colorful flowers flaming up toward the blue South Carolina sky. The neat checkerboard of raised square beds flowed down over several tiers and stopped near the glassy surface of a small pond.
 

The sound of Daniel’s voice jolted her into motion as it filtered through the hedges.
 

“Twin Pines is a 300-acre plantation. The main house sits at the end of the long lane you started down earlier. We’ve only been here a few months. The commodore’s younger brother, Mr. Grey, has extensive business knowledge of milling lumber and is an extremely effective overseer. He splits his time between his business in Charleston and the mill.”

“So, Mr. Grey owns warehouses at the docks and also works here? That seems a heavy burden,” Mr. O'Brien responded.
 

“Are you interested in the mill or the warehouses?” Daniel asked. “If it’s the mill, Mr. Grey might want to take you on a tour later. I’ll need to let the grooms in the barn know so they have his gelding ready.”

Mr. O'Brien brought out a handkerchief and wiped his brow. “Actually, we are more interested in speaking with the commodore about my Uncle Fynn’s request. Seems Fynn was eager to meet with him about something. We found some letters from Commodore Grey among Fynn’s things confirming a meeting today.”

Keelan sucked in a breath. A meeting with her father? Was it regarding the scandal that had turned her world upside down a couple years ago? Their lives changed on that stormy day when her father gave a tragic order to sink the wrong vessel. Believing it was a French privateer trying to pass as an American passenger ship, her father attacked, sinking it. All souls were lost, her father was court marshaled, and their family disgraced.

Thankfully, Papa’s closest friend had been influential enough to keep her father from prison. But the scandal did much damage to her mother’s business, made worse by the speculation that now someone was killing off the commodore’s family in England.
 

Papa had an older brother in Chatham and a younger one, Jared, in America. After his older brother’s son was found dead in a stable and his wife and Keelan’s mother were killed in separate but equally suspicious carriage accidents, it became obvious someone was eliminating members of the family one by one.
 

The murders prompted a long time family friend to smuggle Keelan and her father out of the country to protect them. He’d also financed the purchase of the plantation and bribed a captain to quietly take her and her father out of the country to the southern colonies. Had the assassin tracked them here?

She crawled behind an iron bench. Daniel, Captain Hart, and Conal O'Brien walked along the outside of the hedge. Curious, she crept closer to peek through the branches. Would Daniel ask the men to remain quiet about the scene they had witnessed in the meadow? If he did, it would prevent her from having to plead her case to Captain Hart, a task she dreaded doing on her own. Had they already discussed it? The garden was very private; it would be a good place to speak to them in confidence.
 

She couldn’t assume the topic had already been discussed. She considered stepping out from her hiding place and intercepting them as they passed the arbor at the entrance. That plan would only work if the men continued walking along the hedge and turned left to pass the arbor, rather than turn right toward the front door of the main house. If she could get Daniel’s attention, she could indicate she wanted them to enter the garden, and meet them by the arbor.

Daniel continued, “Behind the Grey’s house sits a kitchen house, a chicken coop, smokehouse, and a few outbuildings. In addition to crops and timber, Twin Pines also produces turpentine.”

She squeezed between two bushy shrubs near a cherry tree and cautiously peered through the foliage. Daniel pointed west, his back to her. Landon stood next to him. Where was the other man? Conal O'Brien?