Jennifer Horseman (46 page)

Juliet quickly lowered her eyes. She and Elsbeth were of an age, she knew of course, for Garrett spoke so fondly and often of Elsbeth. "Young and pretty, rich and spoiled, she is at all times filled with life and laughter, the enthusiasm of a girl who has never known a hardship greater than a skinned knee. She is just your age, but—"

. . . Not at all like me, Juliet nervously pushed back loose tendrils of hair, conscious of how she must look. Waves of shame washed over her as she endured their confused scrutiny. She could only be an object of scorn and pity to such a shining creature, a leper who could not be touched. As if Elsbeth knew she was a bastard child of a prostitute, abandoned by this mother to an uncle, a cruel and sadistic man who hated and beat her and left her to die, only to then be raped and used, her love such a poor gift that like her mother, 'twas traded for a bag of money so she might be used more. She closed her eyes and clenched her scarred palm to a fist, curling the mangled finger to hide it,

Garrett, Garrett, how can you thrust me upon your family like this? Can't you imagine how it might feel? How they must feel to have a person like me in their midst?

Above the dull pounding of her heart, she heard Lady Evelyn say things: "Juliet, you look so tired and . . . please do come in ... prepare the blue room above mine, Lottie. . . ." and so on. Juliet kept her eyes on her feet as they moved toward the castle, the gravel scratching through her ripped slippers. Gayle's hand was on her arm and she felt his concern, then Leifs, as they stepped into the grand entrance hall of the castle house.

The entrance hall was wide and long. Two staircases mounted upward from the hall, while two wings opened to other rooms on either side. Freshly cut flowers blossomed in brightly colored vases everywhere she looked. , Tall open windows let the sun stream through to the | square-cut marble floor, this covered by two Persian carpets in rich shades of blue and green. Garrett selected the carpets, she knew, just as she knew he selected the magnificent tapestries hanging on the stone walls. Each mural depicted a mythological scene: Hero leading a chase through the green wood, Apollo lighting the sky in his chariot. Garrett, who loved myths and legends and magic.

Lady Evelyn watched the troubled look in Juliet's eyes as she confronted the interior of the house. The rich carpets and expensive tapestries were indeed Garrett's and she saw Juliet knew this instinctively. "Juliet, you look so troubled and tired. Elsbeth have Jack bring her things-"

"Her clothes won't arrive for another week," Leif said. "She doesn't have anything now."

"Doesn't have any—" Lady Evelyn stopped, casting an angry gaze at Leif. "Margaret?"

"My lady?"

"Bring supper up to the blue room and draw a bath. Elsbeth, show Juliet to her room and fetch some of your things for her—"

"No . . . no," Juliet whispered, as she shook her head. "I would not burden you—"

It was as far as she got, for Lady Evelyn was bora with absolute knowledge of what was best for people. She refused to hear another word of protest. Even if Juliet had had the strength to fight her, Lady Evelyn, far more like her son than she realized, always got her way.

After seeing Leif and Gayle off three hours later, Lady Evelyn climbed the staircase and turned down the darkened hall. The light of a lantern illuminated the portraits lining the great hallway. She was much altered by the story she heard today, and Leif had not been able to tell her everything. She came to stop in front of the blue room, pausing briefly before tapping softly on the door. A small voice finally beckoned from within and she pushed open the door.

She found Juliet sitting stiffly in a chair. The thick blue quilt was turned down on the canopy bed and a fire crackled in the hearth, the light reaching across the space to illuminate the young woman's face. Juliet did not look up, just as she had refused the bath and left the supper tray untouched at the table, exasperating at last even Elsbeth's inexhaustible reserves. "She won't say a word, Mama. She just shakes her head, looking so lost and sad, 'twas breaking my heart. What has happened to her?"

"Juliet," Lady Evelyn started, then stopped. What could she say to her? What words could possibly ease the sadness in those haunted eyes? How could she explain that even if Garrett had not fallen in love with her, even if he had not extended his protection—a convenient masculine atonement after hurting her so badly—she would have extended hers.

Evelyn closed her eyes, Leifs words foremost in her mind: "I cannot describe the horror she's lived through. I suppose you will see her scars eventually. As bad as they are, however, they are not as deep as the fear that was carved with every mark. Aye, but once my sight let me see a place of longing in her heart; it is a faraway place of her dreams, a place where she can be safe. . . . She will not let Garrett give this to her now, and he knew if this place is to be found, 'twill be here at Kourtain Castle, with you and young Elsbeth. . . ."

Understanding Lady Evelyn's silence, Juliet cleared her throat, unconsciously aware how dangerous it would be to meet the sympathy in her eyes now. "I am so sorry for this. I am so sorry for you . . . 'twas my uncle—"

"Yes, I know."

She knew ... her uncle had killed her son. "Garrett said Edric was your favorite?"

"Yes."

Juliet's sorrow echoed in a whisper, "I am so sorry. . . ."

Emotions crossed the distance to reach Lady Evelyn, and it shocked her to discover Juliet saw Edric's death as the worst of her ordeal. The sentiment said much, overwhelming her as she felt her own grief surfacing like a tide to greet Juliet's unnatural compassion. Garrett's compassion, just like Garrett. . . .

"This is not of my design," Juliet tried then to explain. "Garrett gave me no choice. I shouldn't wonder if you would throw me out ... I, I will leave myself . . . just as soon as I ... I can think where to go."

"Juliet, how badly he has hurt you!"

The pained cry brought Juliet's eyes up to meet the sympathy there. She tried to turn away, to deny or at least dismiss this, but there was no turning from the depth of emotion now in this room. The room blurred and Juliet didn't know she was nodding, that after eight years tears would fall at last. She didn't know anything really, beyond the fact that suddenly Evelyn held her in her arms. The comfort of a mother's arms became a miracle, transporting her across the distance to a far away place. . . .

The five men pushed through the open doors of the Jolly Fellow Inn, a working-class tavern on the edge of the town of Hampshire three miles south of Kourtain Castle. Noticeably out of place in the crowded room, the five men looked an uncommon lot, made of muscle and hard work, yet intelligence placed them in another class entirely. They were the type of man one might find as officers of the King's guard. The townsfolk had nothing but respect and admiration for Lord Van Ness's personal guard, men who were set at the castle to protect the lovely young lady now seen accompanying Lady Evelyn and Elsbeth at church.

Black boots crunched the bed of straw spread across the tavern floor as they made their way to their table at the back. A man stood up to ask the only thing on anyone's mind: " 'Ave ye got word yet?" Word of the battle would come to Kourtain Castle first, as always.

"Anytime now," Kyle replied, as he took his seat. The taverner took in the faces and knew their drinks. He poured out two rums and three ales, set them on the barmaid's tray, and before the five were seated, drinks were laid upon the table.

The heated conversation resumed at once, and Wendy, the barmaid, found herself ignored again. She turned away, hiding her disappointment and pretending indifference, this after she had exhausted the more common ploys of attracting a man's eye and had finally resorted to trimming two inches off the bodice of her work rag. Everyone else in town noticed, yet Kyle didn't even raise an interested brow.

"That's far enough, Wendy," Kyle's sudden attention said different. "Turn around, sweetheart. . . . That's it." The others stopped talking, turning to see what Kyle was about. "Have you done something to that pretty rag? Somthin's a bit different, isn't it?"

The crowd fell silent as a roomful of gazes turned to see what Wendy had done to solicit these men's interest. The question met with amused gazes that warmed Wendy's flushed cheeks.

"Why, I do believe the lass has unveiled a healthy abyss," Pax made the entire room laugh before suggesting, "Now you wouldn't be needin' a man's hand at fillin' it, would you?"

"Mayhap after a coin or two is tossed my way."

Kyle met the woman's brassy tongue with a warm chuckle. He dumped a money bag on the table. Picking up a shilling, he flicked his wrist. The coin touched the curve of her breast before slipping down the bodice.

"Oh hell, a ten spot says I can do better than that," Williams took up a coin as the others took up bets. The crowd roared with laughter as this game was played, and coin after coin dropped into the highly unconventional purse until finally Kyle's last coin hit a spot just above her cleavage, sending a sudden avalanche of coins down the bodice of her dress to the floor.

The crowd roared with laughter. Smiling, Kyle said, "The easiest two hundred pounds I ever made."

The thing that shocked Tomas above all else was how the bank notes were produced amidst still-hearty chuckles. Shocked, he finished his cup of rum and set it with a slam on the bar. Two hundred pounds on the toss of a coin, like the ten thousand for Juliet. Just how much did Black Garrett and his band of merry men have?

Or should he say Lord Garrett Ramon Van Ness?

Which led to the real question of money: Just how much would the British Navy pay for the information that put the two names together?

"Kourtain Castle?" the town's blacksmith had replied to his inquiry, "Why that be the Lord Garrett Ramon Van Ness, the Earl of Brackshire. His lordship's mother, the dowager Lady Evelyn Catherine Van Ness residing. The finest family in all of England, that's who. Not a soul in these parts that wouldn't put their lives down for them, what with over 'alf of them workin' for 'is lordship's properties, the mines and all. Best wages in five counties. Now who be makin' the inquiries?"

He hadn't been able to reply, for his mind stopped on the name Lord Garrett Ramon Van Ness. It had taken nearly a half hour for the full implication to sink through his dazed wits: a traitor hidden by one of the oldest and finest names in all of England. How it alarmed and frightened him. Even now, drowning in his cups, he could hardly grasp the magnitude of the intrigue, yet alone how it was managed all these years. Managed, that was, until now. For tomorrow he'd set off for London again, to the offices of His Majesty's Royal Navy, where he would provide the information to see Mister High and Mighty properly hung.

The bar keeper filled his cup, and Tomas brought it to his lips, swallowing it whole before he nervously shifted his gaze to the men at the table. Garrett's men, he knew. He had tried to get closer to the castle, only to come upon two men engaged in target practice. Pistols were fired at a feather pinned to a distant tree, and, thankfully, the smoke and noise kept their attention as he ran the other way.

Garrett put guards around her, men whose sole job was to see to her safety, to keep him from her or her from escaping. He'd have to wait to get to her. . . .

"We should have gotten word sometime ago, actually."

"Aye," Pax agreed. "God save King and country if our flag is struck down."

A round of aye, aye's greeted the somber remark. Drake leaned forward to state what they all knew: "If Nelson doesn't come back, we'll have to sail. No bloody choice then. Garrett owns the minds of at least one of the little man's generals, an admiral or two, and God knows how many captain's. If the war goes to land, and God help us then, the world will need Garrett more than ever."

"We will sail even if Nelson returns victoriously. A defeat might destroy us, but no victory can stop the dwarf."

The men discussed the hope of a joint Prussian-English offensive for some time before Kyle turned to Pax with a more personal comment. "I'm not supposed to say this out loud, but Garrett said he's put you in line for a captainship. You're bound to get it in the shuffle."

"Lost battles are always the quickest way to climb the naval ranks, but 'twould not be my way of choice, I can tell you that. Ah hell, though—"

Tomas' head spun as he desperately tried to assimilate bits and pieces of the conversation he overheard, not understanding at all the patriotism, wondering what kind of ploy could induce it. Suddenly the man Pax stopped. All heads turned to see the young British naval officer push quickly through the crowd to stop at the table. The chairs were pushed back as the five men rose, their collective gazes riveted to the excited young man. "Long live the King! The great admiral Horatio Nelson lost his life, but at least not in vain. The Union Jack flies victoriously!"

A deafening roar of cheers went up through the crowd as the men jumped to their feet. Tbmas slowly came to his feet too, though his knees shook and his anxious gaze darted to and fro, unable to settle on anything as he made his way outside. He stumbled around to the back of the tavern, where he fell to his knees near the rubbish pile, unable to support his weight beneath a violent wave of nausea.

He never had a mind for politics and battles and wars. French subjugation meant little to him, simply because he could never imagine such a turn of history. The British Empire was always victorious, that was all he cared about; the rest of British politics amounted to little more than a change of names every once in a while. Normally he would have greeted the news of the British fleet's victory with a token cheer or two and used the event to share a cup with friends, but nothing more than that.

Not so now. The scene he just witnessed was unfathomable. Why did Garrett's men talk of patriotism and Nelson and strategies for defeating Napoleon? Of climbing the ranks of the British Navy? Why, dear God why, did they get a personal messenger in uniform?

"Oh my God," he greeted the obvious answer. The jest was not just on him but on the French, the French who had made the pirate Black Garrett a hero. "You don't understand," Juliet had tried to tell him. He now saw what she meant.