Lady Pirate (12 page)

“I am not alone,” she told him grimly. “My aunt and uncle are in the shop I just left, and my men…servants…manservants…are right there.” She glanced toward their carriage as she gestured to it, then paused, for while Skully still sat upon the driver's seat, One-Eye was no longer on the footman's stand.

A movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to the man standing a step or two behind Lord Thurborne. It was One-Eye, and he had a solemn expression on his face as he attempted to look the part of a footman. Impossible, of course, despite the pink livery he wore. The pink merely seemed to emphasize his long, shaggy black hair, his eye patch, and the fact that he was armed to the teeth. Two flintlock pistols stuck out of his pants, his cutlass hung sharp and wicked at his side, and a leather strap he had fashioned years ago had been slung over his head and hung from one shoulder blade to his waist on the opposite side. It was packed full of blades, all in varying sizes and shapes. He looked like what he was: a pirate who was deadly with knives. But that didn't alarm Valoree nearly as much as the fact that he had come down off of his perch on the carriage to follow her. As if she needed protecting like any other lady!

Fear rippled through her at the damage that was being done to her image as a strong and capable captain. None of the men would have considered her in need of protecting prior to this nonsense. None of them but Henry had even known she was a woman before they'd arrived in London! Until then they had all still sup
posed her to be Jeremy's younger brother, about to claim his estates and the title of lord.

“My lady?”

Valoree glanced at Thurborne briefly, her breath coming out on a small sigh. “I am sorry, my lord. Wait here a moment, please,” she ordered. Then stepping past him, she caught One-Eye by the arm and jerked him around to lead him back to the carriage.

“What do you think ye're doing? I don't need protecting, One-Eye, I may be wearin' a dress, but that don't mean I'm suddenly helpless. I—”

“I know that.”

His sharp words silenced her as she paused by the carriage, and she faced him questioningly.

“Well,” he explained, “I seen a lot of ladies out and about since we got here, and none of 'em seems to go anywhere without an older lady or a servant following her about like a pup. So when ye came out o' the shop without Meg or Henry, I thought I'd best follow ye…For appearance' sake.”

“I see.” She sighed, relief and gratitude overwhelming her briefly so that she had to turn her head away in alarm to hide the moisture that suddenly dampened her eyes. What the devil was going on here? she wondered with dismay. She hadn't cried since Jeremy's death, yet here she was getting all watery just because One-Eye
didn't
see her as helpless.
Brilliant!
If this was a side effect of wearing a damn dress, she'd never put one on again once she finished this business.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Valoree blinked her eyes rapidly until most of the moisture was dispersed, assuring herself that there was nothing to get upset about here. One-Eye was following her around for appearance' sake, not because he suddenly saw her as a weak woman. Her title as captain was still safe. She hesitated to examine why that should relieve her so, except that her ship and crew were all she really had
in the world right now, and maybe all she ever would have, unless she found a husband and had a child to claim her home again.

Clearing her throat, she turned back to One-Eye. “Well, now I have Lord Thurborne to escort me. You should remain here. But take off those damn weapons.”

“Take 'em off?” he cried.

“Aye. This is London, not the high seas. You just make yourself look like a silly pink pirate with them. Take 'em off and stick them under the driver's seat or something.”

“All of 'em?”

Valoree was about to say “aye, all of them,” when she caught the panic in his eyes. The expression made her think for the first time that she might not be the only one feeling like a fish out of water, suffering the insecurity of new roles and such. No doubt going from a swaggering swashbuckler to a pink-clad footman was a difficult transition to make. Sighing, she shook her head.

“One pistol and two of the smaller blades you can keep, but stick 'em in the top of your breeches and close your coat over them.” She gestured to the pink livery jacket he had left undone, and pushed back the sides to reveal the white top and weapons beneath. “Just put the others somewhere out of sight, but close at hand.”

“Aye, Captain,” he said, apparently relieved.

“Good…And tie your hair back,” she instructed.

One-Eye's hand went to his long black locks in alarm. Valoree sighed. “Only when you are out and about as a footman. Of course, you may wear it as you like the rest of the time.”

Sighing, he nodded reluctantly, and Valoree grimaced sympathetically, then glanced toward the man now stepping down from the carriage to join them. Her
eyebrows rose. His name was No-Nose, which came from the fact that he had no nose, of course. Well, not really much of a nose anyway. It had been shot off long ago while he was a merchant seaman. The ship he had ridden with had been under attack by Spanish pirates at the time. Once he had healed, he had returned to his ship, but its captain had told him he wasn't needed anymore. He'd been replaced; no one wanted to look on his ugly mug.

He was one of the men Valoree and Henry had hired on to replace the crew members who had died with her brother. Neither of them had cared that he was horribly disfigured. All they had cared about was that he knew his business and did it well. Yet she wished he hadn't been the one driving today. She hadn't really paid attention to who was driving, simply assuming it was Skully. Now she wished he were Skully. She didn't care about the man's nose so much, but she did care that he had long hair. It was a limp, greasy brown, and he too was armed to the teeth—his rotten, half-missing teeth. His presence brought a scowl to her face. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were still on the ship.”

No-Nose shook his head and propped his hands on his hips. He leaned to the side slightly and spat on the road. “Nope. Came back with the others last night to help at the town house. Volunteered. Didn't know I'd be 'spected to wear this here fancy-pants outfit, though.”

“Hmmm.” Ignoring his sneer of disgust at the pink livery her men were all being forced to wear, Valoree raised an eyebrow. “And where is Skully? Why isn't he driving today?”

No-Nose shrugged. “Went back to the ship for something. Henry sent him.”

“Hmmm,” she said again, then sighed. “Well, what I just told One-Eye goes for you, too. Get rid of all
your weapons but one pistol and two short blades. Stick 'em in the top of your pants and close your coat. Wear it proper. And find something to tie your hair back with. You both look like a couple of pirates.”

No-Nose straightened slightly at that. “Well, and so we should. That's what we are.”

“Not right now, you're not,” she said as if they were idiots. “You're playing the parts of servants at the moment.” They both stiffened, their chests puffing out slightly in offense, but Valoree smiled at them sweetly. “You all voted on this,” she reminded them, then her smile disappeared. “And if I have to run around in these damn dresses acting all ladylike, you two can play your parts, too. I expect my orders to be carried out. If they aren't…” She let the sentence fade away, a mean look on her face. There was no need to finish the threat. All her crew knew what would happen if they should disobey an order…Something bad.

Chin lifting, Valoree whirled away, actually enjoying the way her skirts flew out around her, imagining that it must look impressive as she strode grimly back to where Lord Thurborne patiently waited.

“Come on, I need a drink,” she said with a grunt, catching his arm and dragging him along the road a ways before trying to pull him into a tavern. She got him to the door before he balked.

“Just a moment.”

Turning at his hesitation, she eyed him impatiently. “What?”

“Well…” He glanced up at the sign over the door unhappily. “This is a rather rough establishment for a lady. I do not think—”

“Can you not protect me?” she asked with feigned surprise. He stiffened.

“Aye, of course I can, but—”

“Good.” Whirling away, she hurried inside, leaving him to follow or not as he wished.

The noise from the tavern washed over her like thunder as she opened the door, but was a very brief thunder. Her entrance seemed to be noted by everyone rather quickly, and an ominous silence abruptly fell. Ignoring their mute stares, Valoree wove her way calmly through the sea of sailors, ne'er-do-wells, and doxies, to the bar. Pausing there, she waited patiently as the barkeep hesitated, then made his way to her.

He eyed her uncertainly. “Is there something I can help ye with, m'lady?” he asked doubtfully.

“You can poor me a whiskey,” she answered calmly, sighing when the bartender's eyebrows rose. He glanced over her head at someone behind her. Undoubtedly that someone was Thurborne. Forcing what she hoped was a sweet smile to her lips, she turned and flashed it at the man, then murmured, “Whiskey settles my stomach, and I am feeling a touch nauseous just now.”

Both the nobleman and the bartender continued to stare at her rather blankly, and Valoree's frayed patience was stretched a little further. Eyes narrowing, she turned back to the barkeep.

“I said, it settles my stomach. Ye wouldn't want me to be pukin' on yer lovely bar now, would ye?”

That got a better response. A look of horror overtaking his face, the man snatched a mug from under the counter, slammed it on top, and produced a bottle from seemingly nowhere. He poured out some golden liquid into it.

“Thank you,” she said with amusement, lifting the glass to her lips as Daniel gave his own order—ale, of course. Probably for the best, she decided. They didn't serve stuff like she was drinking in the places he likely went. This whiskey was the kind Petey could soak his pots in and never have to scour to get them clean. One could even drink the used whiskey afterward, and it
wouldn't taste any different. Yes, sir, this was the good stuff.

Swallowing the rest of the liquid down, she slammed her mug onto the counter, a message to the keeper that she was ready for more. The minute he had refilled it, she moved to the nearest table with an open spot and settled herself on the end of the bench. She needed to drink and try to relax. Daniel followed and settled across from her almost at once, glancing around warily as the other patrons slowly began to speak again—about her, no doubt. They didn't like what they thought was a lady invading their territory. Didn't like it at all. That became rather obvious in a hurry.

“Mayhap we should find another place to—”

“Nay, it's fine here. Just ignore them,” she advised, but the approach of one of the sailors made ignoring impossible. He was a big gawky Scot. The man was as big as Bull, with hair as red as Valoree's and a wicked grin that almost distracted her from the fact that he was missing one ear and had a scar in its place that ran down to his chin.

“Hello, lovey,” was his opening line, and Valoree arched an eyebrow at him.

“Is there something I can help you with?” she asked, suddenly aware of the way Daniel was tensing across from her.

“Actually, lovey, I was about to ask ye the very same thing.” He grinned suggestively. “Mayhap a little male companionship.”

“She already has an escort,” Lord Thurborne said sharply, bristling all over.

“Does she now?” The big Scot glanced at him with amusement. “Well, it wasn't escorting I was thinking of offering.”

Much to Valoree's surprise, Daniel was on his feet before the man could finish turning back to face her. Grabbing him by the shoulder, Daniel wheeled the big
lug back around, and coldly glared at him. “I said she has an es—”

That was as far as he got, of course. This wasn't the type of place where men “discussed” their differences. The Scot was on him at once, slamming a fist into his jaw midword, sending him stumbling backward. Valoree sighed, thinking she would have to give up her relaxing drink and intervene on Daniel's behalf. It seemed she would find no peace today…anywhere.

But before she could move, he had regained himself and come back at the man, fists flying. Valoree was impressed. The Scot wasn't much taller than Thurborne, but he carried twice his bulk, and had arms as big around as her thighs and fists like pots. But Daniel was the better fighter, apparently—and a dirty one, too, she realized with a grin a moment later as he suddenly kicked the other man.

The Scot howled a note in soprano, his hands suddenly glued to his groin. He tumbled sideways to moan and writhe on the ground.

Straightening his cuffs, Daniel eyed the Scot for a moment, then turned a hard-eyed look on Valoree. “If you have finished your
refreshment
, mayhap we could get out of this
establishment
.”

“Well, now,” she said with amusement. “As it happens, I am not quite finished. Besides, it appears you've made some friends.”

“Friends?” He gave her an angry look.

“Aye. And it appears they'd like ye to stay and play.”

Understanding dawning in his eyes, Daniel whirled just in time to see the fist that came flying at him. He tried to avoid it, and while he didn't succeed entirely, he did manage to avoid the worst of the blows. It seemed the Scot had friends—three of them—and they were moving in on him. Sighing, Daniel spread his feet slightly and prepared to do battle.

Gulping down the last of her whiskey, Valoree stood and moved around the fighters to reach the bar again. Setting the mug down for the barkeep to refill, she kept her gaze fixed on Daniel and his new friends as the real fighting began. She wasn't really worried about him, despite the odds. If he could handle the Scot, he could handle those three…four…five…Now, six was getting a bit unfair, she decided irritably.