Lady Vixen (6 page)

Two
shadowy figures seemed to detach themselves from the gloom of the darkened
room. A foul expletive broke from one of them as he bent over Peg's still form.
"It's the bloody barmaid! Where's the man?"

They
both whirled quickly and ran out into the hall just as Saber, knife in hand,
stepped out from his place of concealment. Startled, the two hesitated, then
rushed him, but he jumped agilely from their path, and with a well-placed kick
sent one man sprawling into the other, causing both men to tumble down the
narrow staircase. Then leaping down the steps he was on top of them before they
had time to recover. He restrained himself from killing them both only when he
realized that for him to be found near the courtyard of the inn with two still-warm
corpses would benefit Robert as greatly as his death or disappearance. He
bellowed for the innkeeper, and kept the two ruffians busy avoiding the
murderous aim of his highly polished boots.

It
was an hour before all was settled, and then not to Saber's satisfaction. Peg
was conscious—but with a throbbing head that would make her think twice about
entering a strange gentleman's room in the future. The two men cried loudly of
their innocence, claiming that they had mistaken the room and hadn't touched the
woman—she must have fallen and hit her head on the floor. Peg quite honestly
couldn't remember and Saber guessed there was little to be gained by pressing
it, so he coldly accepted their false apologies and allowed the innkeeper to
hustle them away. Apparently they were well-known local bullies and the
innkeeper wanted no trouble from them.

Glumly
Saber surveyed his evening. Dalliance with Peg was out. But more importantly he
knew he wouldn't sleep now, remaining in Beddington's Corner would only give Robert
Saxon another chance at him. He paid his shot and ordered his horse brought
round. Those men

had
not
mistaken the room and if, as he had planned originally, he'd drank
himself into a pleasant state of euphoria, they would have easily accomplished
their task—whether it was murder, as he strongly suspected, or merely seeing
him back in the British Navy. He doubted Robert would try that trick again and
felt confident that the plan had been to slit his throat then and there.
Tonight's disruption let him know there was little to be gained by staying, and
that there existed no likelihood he would have access to Simon Saxon—Robert
would see to that!

The
landlord was understandably unhappy at the outcome, and while Saber waited
impatiently for his horse to be saddled, he attempted to smooth the incident
away. Saber found no comfort from his words and strode away toward the stables,
intent upon finding out what was taking the hostler so confoundedly long. By
the light from one dim lantern he watched the clumsy movements of the sleepy
boy until exasperated, he snapped, "Let it be! Go back to bed, I'll do it
myself."

The
boy, perfectly agreeable, stumbled away back to his bed in the hay and with
quick, sure motions Saber finished the job. He was on the point of leading the
horse, a deep-chested bay gelding, from the stables when a gruff little voice
halted him.

"Please,
sir, are you the gentleman from London who is looking for seamen?"

Startled,
Saber turned on his heel and gazed with astonished amusement at the small
figure before him. In an ill-fitting set of clothes, the boy stared back, his
wide eyes fringed by a set of stubby lashes. From underneath a black, floppy
brimmed hat, short ragged ends of dark hair stuck out, adding to the boy's odd
appearance. He was young, not more than ten, Saber guessed, and smiling kindly
he said, "News travels fast—I did need seamen, but I'm afraid
circumstances are such that I find myself compelled to leave earlier than I had
planned. Were you interested in a life at sea?"

Her
heart pounding so hard she felt certain he could hear it, Nicole gasped,
"Yes, sir. Will you have me? I'm much stronger than I look and I would
work
very
hard!"

Shaking
his head slowly, Saber tried to soften the blow as he confronted the urchin's
pleading topaz eyes. "I'm positive you would, but you are a little . . .
too young. Perhaps next time?"

He
gave the boy a polite nod and turned to mount his horse. One foot was already
in the stirrup when a desperate hand clutched his arm and an impassioned voice
cried softly, "Oh, please, sir! Take me with you! I promise you'll never
be sorry. Please!"

Gazing
down into those wide, begging eyes, he hesitated, strangely touched by this
boy. Sensing he was weakening, Nicole pleaded, "Please give me a chance,
sir!"

Saber
might have ridden away, regretful at having turned the child down, if the
stableboy hadn't been aroused by their voices and chosen that moment to
interfere.

Though
only a country inn, the Bell and Candle was a very proper inn, one that didn't
put up with its guests being plagued by beggars and nasty riffraff. Bristling,
the stableboy approached and ordered Nicole away. Grasping her collar, he
attempted to throw her out of the stable and shouted, "Be gone with you,
you little tramp! Go beg somewhere else. Don't bother this gentleman."

All
her hopes disappearing, Nicole gave into a wave of undiluted anger and nearly
spitting with rage, she fought back, clawing and kicking like a wild little
animal, even going so far as to bite the unprepared stable-boy on the arm.
"Let me go! I shall go to sea. I shall! I
shall!"

The
stableboy was nearly twice Nicole's size and once his first surprise vanished
he flew at her, intending to give this little beggar the thrashing of his life.
But Nicole was fighting mad and she gave as good as she got, receiving a bloody
nose in the process. It was an unfair fight and had but one ending until Saber
took a hand. Plucking her bodily off the stableboy, as she pummeled him wildly,
he said laughing, "Very well, my little fox cub. You shall go with
me!"

Astonishment
held her motionless, and then ignoring the pain of her bloody nose and a
rapidly puffing eye, she grinned. And Saber, unable to understand his motives,
found himself grinning back.

Mounting
his horse, he reached down and swung her light weight up behind him, and then
riding out into the black night, they left Beddington's Corner behind them. Her
head pressed tightly to Saber's back, her skinny arms wrapped around him in a
death hold, Nicole could hardly keep from shouting out loud for joy. It had
worked! She was off to sea!

"Let
tomorrow take care of tomorrow—leave
things of the future to fate."

—Charles Swain,
"Imaginary Evils"

1813

The
lagoon was like glass and dreamily Nicole stared into the smooth turquoise
depths, her thoughts drifting in lazy rhythm with the waves. She was lying with
a companion on the warm white sands of one of the many small islands that
comprise the Bermuda Islands, having left the ship a short while ago for a few
hours of quiet and privacy. The islands had long been one of Captain Saber's
favorite stopping places, and the fact that a large portion of the British Navy
was stationed at the main island added a bit of spice and danger to his
continued use of it.

The
more than three hundred tiny islands, strung out like a hilly green necklace
across the Atlantic Ocean, were ideal hiding places for many of the American
privateers that preyed on the British, French, and Spanish shipping fleets. The
Bermudas were the last bit of land until the Azores, and the warm Gulf Stream
that carried the ships, loaded with spices, tobacco, and sugar from the West
Indies, toward the colder, greener waters of the north Atlantic flowed just
beyond their coral reefs.

There
were too many of the islands, most uninhabited, for the British Navy to patrol
effectively and American privateers were quick to take advantage of that
fact—besides
they
were not frightened of the greatest sea power on the
ocean. Impudently they outsailed and outmaneuvered the heavier, more cumbersome
warships of the British. The brash Americans were not beyond attacking and,
worse, occasionally capturing a British naval ship. The war declared in 1812 by
President Madison gave the privateers the added glory of performing a patriotic
duty with every ship they took. Their depredations upon the English fighting
fleet were not great, but it wasn't the British Navy that the Americans
menaced. It was loaded merchantmen on their way to Europe from the West Indies
that drew the privateers and outright pirates, like sharks after a bloodied corpse.
Captain Saber, like many others sailing with letters of marque from more than
one country, had grown rich off those fat carriers of the wealth of the
islands.

Of
late though, Nicole decided thoughtfully, the Captain seemed almost to play at
privateering. He acted much in the manner of a well-fed tiger, replete but
unable to resist the lure of the plump pigeons that paraded beneath his nose in
the guise of the trading ships of the British.
La Belle Garce,
his sleek
heavily armed schooner, had taken merely two prizes this past six months, and
Nicole suspected that Saber had captured the two—an English barkentine late of
Jamaica, and a Spanish merchantman, sailing for Cadiz—to quiet the rumblings of
the crew and simply because he was bored!

Frowning,
she stared blankly at the inviting waters of the small cove where she lay
wondering about a man who could name his ship
La Belle Garce,
The
Beautiful Bitch. Saber had been acting strange for months now, and she wondered
uneasily if he did indeed suspect her disguise. She moved restlessly on the
warm sand, not liking the path her thoughts were following.

Why
couldn't things stay as they were, she wondered pensively. She had thrived
during the past five years, for they had been filled with excitement and
danger. Sometimes she even forgot that she was a female and not the tall, slim
cabin boy from
La Belle Garce.
Her charade had been relatively simple
during the first year or so, for nature, as if abetting her masquerade, had
endowed her with a height that was somewhat above average in a girl and a deep
husky voice that would be unusual in a woman but would pass unnoticed in a
youth.

The
Captain, who didn't understand the queer whim that had possessed him, had carelessly
dumped her on the deck of his ship and promptly forgot her. Nicole spent
several weeks living in unspeakable misery and fear in the cramped hold of the
ship before he noticed her again. In the meantime she slaved such long hard
hours that at night she tumbled into her hammock, slung between the decks along
with the other crew members', almost completely exhausted. Every filthy job
came her way, from the emptying of the slop jars in the officers' quarters to
the hard sweaty work of scraping the hull of the ship. Being the lowliest
member of the crew, as well as the youngest and newest, she was at the beck and
call of every member of the ship, and it seemed to her in those first
frightening weeks that she spent more time running errands between decks than
anything else. Astonishingly she managed to endure it all. The thought of
having escaped from the Markhams lifted her flagging spirits and the cool,
clean salt-sweet breezes that blew over the ocean soothed her inner qualms
about the rash step she had taken. And there were other compensations too, for
she loved being ordered into the riggings, and like an agile monkey, she would
swiftly clamber up into the sails, unafraid of the danger and nearly
intoxicated by the dizzying height. And there was the power of the sea to drug
one, the many moods, from placid gentleness to the exhilaration of the thunder
and crash of
a
storm. And excitement-oh, yes, excitement . . .

Never,
she thought dreamily, would she ever forget her first sea battle . . . That day
when a Spanish merchantman had been sighted and
La Belle Garce
had
swooped down on its prey like a hawk. When the first warning shots were fired,
she had felt a quiver of youthful terror, but then the blood of other sea
fighters flowed in her veins and eagerly, her topaz-brown eyes sparkling with
adventure, she joined the fray, willing and almost impatient to do her share.
When the Captain had noticed her slight figure dashing about the smoke-filled
decks, he had harshly ordered her to one of the cabins and out of danger.
Fiercely she had demanded that she be returned to the deck, but he would not
allow it.

Moved
perhaps by the obvious youth of the boy, Saber then designated Nicole as his
personal servant. There were sneers and sly remarks about Captain Saber's "pretty
boy," but Nicole, too aware of the danger, for once wisely held her tongue
and pretended not to hear... or understand their meaning.

Once
she became the Captain's servant, much of the danger of discovery was
alleviated for he, with the same amount of indifferent concern he would bestow
upon a forward puppy, had ordered her to sleep in a corner of his cabin. And so
indignantly she had strung her hammock in the corner farthest away from the
now-not-so-worshipped Captain Saber and with little enthusiasm saw to the task
of keeping his cabin, as well as his gear, in excellent condition.

Her
disappointment in her new status was obvious, and the darkling looks she cast
his way, as she busied herself doing his commands, seemed to afford him a
certain amount of wicked amusement. And often he chided his erstwhile cabin boy
for lack of gratitude: "You know, young Nick, I could name a half dozen
boys below decks at this very moment who would be delighted to be in your
shoes—and do a better job to boot!"