Merline Lovelace (9 page)

Sarah’s smile faded at the memory. For all his acerbic comments about idiotic females who didn’t have the sense God gave a seagull, Straithe had held her head while she retched endlessly into a bucket, then smoothed her damp hair from her face and tucked her into his bunk. It was, she reflected, the only time he’d touched her since they’d left Namoa Island.

Not that she’d wanted him to!

Those few, shattering moments in his arms had made plain to Sarah that her spirit was weak and her flesh only too willing where James Kerrick, Viscount Straithe, was concerned. Yet she couldn’t help feeling just a bit piqued that the roguish ship captain hadn’t even tried to overcome her resistance and have his way with her.

Not that she wanted him to!

Sighing at her own contrariness, Sarah summoned
another smile for the first mate. “I fear I haven’t yet recovered my good graces with the captain.”

“Aye, he’s been a bit out o’sorts of late,” Burke said easily.

Out of sorts? She supposed that was as good a term as any to describe Straithe’s distant manner. Had she not caught an occasional glinting look that set every nerve in her body atingle, she might have convinced herself that she’d imagined his heated kisses after the melee.

She glanced across the deck to where he stood at the rail. In billowing white shirt and close-knit pants that hugged his powerful thighs, he dwarfed the stocky Chinese pilot. His eyes intent on the distant shore, he listened as Second Harvest described its features with extravagant gestures.

Some moments later, the captain turned and crossed to where Sarah sat cross-legged under her awning.

“We’re coming up on Fukien province,” he told her shortly.

“Fukien!”

The mandarin who had lured her father from Macao resided somewhere in Fukien!

Her heart thumping, Sarah scrambled to her feet and stared across the water at the hazy shoreline. A broad river mouth cut the coast in two to form a wide, muddy delta. On either side of the river rose steep hills. Tier upon tier of flooded rice fields clung to their slopes. Above the fields, the hillsides grew steeper, the ridges sharper. Atop the highest peak sat a many-roofed pagoda, its red painted timbers and gilded dragons visible even from this distance.

It was a scene of indescribable beauty and serenity. Sarah felt its ancient timelessness, and could only hope
that she would find her father somewhere in that green, mist-shrouded land.

Over the next few days, Straithe made inquiries at each port the
Phoenix
put in to. He also paid big squeegee in bribes, John Hardesty informed Sarah, with no result.

Her illusive sense of being at one with the sky and the sea slipped away with each mile they beat up the coast. Old, familiar worries came back to press upon her spirits as she waited for word of her missing parent. Had China swallowed the Reverend Mr. Abernathy whole, as it had so many who’d ventured into its vast interior? If so, how would Sarah provide for her brothers and sister? Where would they live?

Early one morning, the
Phoenix
came within hailing distance of a Dutch brigantine engaged in similar illegal activities along the coast. The two captains heaved to and loitered in the lee of an island long enough to exchange news. Sarah’s heart leaped when Straithe came back aboard and informed her that the Dutchman had heard rumors of a foreign devil holed up in the village of Dong-Lo, about a half day’s sail north and some miles inland from the coast.

Sarah gripped her hands together. “Could this foreign devil be my father?”

“I’ve no doubt he is,” Straithe replied with a sardonic smile. “According to reports, the barbarian has managed to offend the entire village as well as the mandarin who invited him to Fukien at the risk of his own neck.”

“Dare I ask how?”

“Supposedly, the Outsider took exception to a statue of the goddess venerated by the residents of
Dong-Lo. He’s stirred a good deal of resentment by insisting that the villagers should not kowtow before such heathen idols.”

“Oh, dear,” Sarah murmured. “That does sound like Papa. I suspect we shall have a time getting him away.”

“No,
we
shall not.”

She looked up at him, startled by his forcefulness. Surely, surely, he wouldn’t back out of their agreement.

“But you promised!” she reminded him urgently.

His eyes turned icy. “Aye, and I’ll keep my promise.”

In her concern for her father, Sarah ignored this warning that she’d treaded on Straithe’s prickly sense of honor. “So how shall you do so?”

“I’ll take Second Harvest and some of the crew ashore to search for him. You’ll stay aboard the
Phoenix.
”

“But—”

“No buts, Sarah. If your father has stirred things up as much as it sounds, the villagers won’t welcome more foreign devils in their midst.”

“We’ve talked about this once before,” she said worriedly. “My father is sometimes difficult to reason with when he’s fired with zeal. He may not wish to come away with you.”

“He’ll come,” Straithe promised, his jaw squaring in a way that only added to Sarah’s mounting worries for her parent.

Late that afternoon they dropped anchor in a small, sheltered bay jammed with fishing junks. A village of thatched huts and many-roofed pagodas crowded the curve of the bay. The village elder refused to come
out to the
Phoenix,
so Second Harvest and the captain went to him. They came back aboard some time later, their faces grave.

“Is my father here?” she asked, her heart thumping.

“He’s here,” Straithe replied grimly. “Or more correctly, about two miles from here.” He took her arm and turned her to the rail. “Dong-Lo sits on that plateau. The mandarin who rules this province maintains his residence there.”

Sarah stared at the distant summit. She could barely make out the walls of the village. Above them rose the curved roofs of a grand residence.

“Have you word of him?” she asked anxiously, spinning back to face Straithe. “Is he all right?”

“At the moment.”

“Thank the Lord!”

Her relief was short-lived. The tight look on the captain’s face told her there was more.

“What has you so worried?”

“Your father’s situation is somewhat precarious.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “How so?”

“Apparently, he smashed a statue of the goddess sacred to the village.”

“Oh, no!”

“The mandarin who governs these parts has grown old and feeble in the head. The villagers blame him for allowing the Outsider to remain and thus bring bad joss down on them, and for the loss of their goddess. There are rumblings of a coup, led by the mandarin’s second son, and demands for the barbarian’s head.”

Sarah clutched her throat. “You must go at once!”

He frowned down at her, his thoughts plain on his face. He considered her an aggravation, and her father even more so.

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “I’ll go.”

She sagged against the rail, torn between worry and relief.

The captain instructed his second mate to assemble a landing party, then went to confer with Liam Burke, who would remain in command of the ship. The half-dozen men chosen to go ashore armed themselves to the teeth with pistols and muskets and broadswords. When they clambered down the ropes into the sampans that had come alongside, Sarah was sure she’d never seen a more piratical group. Her palms damp with nervousness, she watched them step ashore and forge a path through the milling fishermen. Moments later, they started up the narrow, winding trail to the mountain village.

Holy Lord above, what had her father embroiled himself in? Sarah paced the deck, praying fervently for his safe return. If a certain arrogant ship captain and his motley crew figured in her prayers as often as the reverend, she didn’t notice.

The hours passed with agonizing slowness. The sun sank in a blaze of red behind purple mountains. The sky faded into an inky blackness. Lights from the village atop the mountain seemed to hang in darkness.

Sarah worried and watched and prayed. After some time, Burke came to stand beside her at the rail. His face sharp, he stared into the night.

“I’m not likin’ the lie of this,” he said softly, more to himself than to her.

“Nor I, Mr. Burke.”

“The night’s too still, and the—”

Suddenly, he stiffened and uttered a curse that would have put Sarah to the blush if she’d taken the least heed of it.

“What is it? What do you…? Oh!” She peered intently at the tiny flashes that flickered like fireflies in the distance. “Are those fireworks?”

“I’m thinkin’ those are pistols firing,” Burke replied grimly.

“Pistols!”

Sarah’s nails dug into the wooden rail. She heard a shuffling behind her as the rest of the crew gathered to watch the faint flashes.

“Looks like there’s a bluidy battle takin’ place,” John Hardesty muttered, his one eye squinting hard. “The boys must ‘ave run into a whole friggin’ army, beggin’ your pardon, miss.”

Sarah’s stomach lurched. She turned a desperate face to the first mate. “You must go to their aid!”

“No, and that I cannot, lass.”

“Why ever not?”

Burke tore his gaze from the shore. His rugged features might have been carved from stone. “The captain gave strict orders. If he isn’t back by the time the tide turns, with or without your father, I’m to raise all sails and get you out of here.”

“You cannot leave him! Or my father!”

“Those were Jamie’s orders, lass.”

“I won’t leave without my father,” she vowed with a touch of desperation. “If I have to, I’ll go over the side and swim to shore.”

They both knew it was an empty threat. Burke would lock her in the captain’s cabin, or rope her to the mast if she tried anything so foolish. Yet Sarah saw a measure of her own worry in the mate’s eyes, and her apprehension knotted into fear.

T
he moment Jamie led his small band into the mountaintop village of Dong-Lo, he knew they’d be lucky to walk out with their heads still attached to their shoulders.

The residents of the mountain town were at their evening meals. Lanterns flickered in the small, mudbrick houses that crowded the streets of the village. The aroma of grilled goat and cooked rice drifted on the cool air. For all this seeming domesticity, there was none of the noisy, cheerful chatter Jamie had come to associate with the gregarious Chinese. He heard no singsong conversations between the pigtailed men. No scolding mothers, or laughing children in the streets. Not even a buzz of excited comment about the strangers who’d entered their town.

Instead, a sort of sullen air seemed to hang over the village. Muttering to each other in low voices, the residents came out of their houses and watched the landing party proceed to the square dominated by a many-roofed pagoda. The lower floor of the temple stood open on all four sides. Through its red-painted pillars, Jamie caught a glimpse of rice paper offerings left
before the altar…and the shattered pieces of what once must have been a giant-sized clay statue of Kuan Yin, the most widely worshipped goddess in all China.

The Reverend Mr. Abernathy’s handiwork, Jamie guessed with a bunching of his already tight nerves.

As the villagers followed the Outsiders past the destruction, their mutters rose to an ugly swell.

“Keep close, men,” Jamie murmured.

He cast a quick look over their ranks. They had their swords at the ready and their guns primed. The African brought up the rear of the small landing party. Hopefully, his huge size and elaborately scarred face would make the villagers think twice about launching an attack.

At last, they approached the mandarin’s palatial residence, set on a prominence at the north end of the plateau. Another wall separated its sprawl of buildings from the rest of the village. Through Second Harvest, Jamie informed the sergeant of the household guard that he wished to speak with the Outsider who had come to visit the lord of the area. Told curtly to wait at the gatehouse, Jamie rested one hand lightly on his sword hilt and chatted with his men. All the while he surveyed the residence with a trained eye, seeking an alternate escape route should one become necessary.

The residence was constructed in the usual Chinese manner. The walled compound included dozens of small buildings running along a main axis, all connected by covered walkways. The center of the complex would feature a garden courtyard, Jamie knew, with fountains and fish ponds and such flowering plants as would grow atop this mountain. The architecture followed the graceful, curving design of layered roofs and tall pillars. Bright paint covered every
wall. Clouds and flowers and mythical beasts of all sorts decorated columns, beams, and lintels. Even the bricks were stamped with a decorative motif.

The Reverend Mr. Abernathy, when he appeared with his host, stood out in stark relief against this beautiful, exotic background. Tall, gaunt, and fully whiskered, he was clad in a black frock coat and trousers that made him look like a graying raven next to his host.

Lord Hwang-Shi, a frail, elderly man, was adorned in colorful silk robes and the black skullcap with its red glass button that denoted his rank. But it was the mandarin’s sons who drew Jamie’s careful scrutiny during the ceremonial exchange of greetings. One appeared almost as old and as frail as his father. The other, much younger and wearing the well-worn leather armor of a seasoned warrior, stood a few paces apart, as if he wished to distance himself from all concourse with the Barbarians…and from his father.

The moment the polite greetings had concluded, the missionary voiced an anxious question.

“Did the sentry take your message arright, Straithe? Do you bring a message from my daughter Sarah?”

“I do.”

A frown worried his face. “What’s amiss? Has some calamity befallen her, or my other children?”

“No calamity, other than the fact that you’ve left them to fend for themselves while you put your living, not to mention your life, in jeopardy.”

Abernathy’s bushy gray brows snapped together at the caustic reply. Obviously, he didn’t like being taken to task over his parental responsibilities.

“My daughter is a most capable young woman. She
has cared for her sister and brothers many a time while I went about the Lord’s work.”

From the corner of one eye, Jamie caught a slight movement in the yard. More men had drifted in, all wearing the padded coats and leather armor of warriors. Like the second son and the villagers outside, they eyed the foreign devils with undisguised dislike.

The hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck rose. His instincts told him a fight was coming. It needed only a spark to set it off.

“Your daughter wishes you to come home,” he told the missionary, “and I’ve come to see that you do.”

“How is it that Sarah sent a man such as you to do her bidding?”

“She didn’t
send
me,” Jamie replied shortly. “Your troublesome offspring stowed away aboard the
Phoenix
and coerced me to come in search of you.”

Abernathy rocked back in surprise. To his credit, he dismissed immediately the notion that anyone could coerce the notorious Lord Straithe to do something he didn’t wish to do. A keen intelligence showed in the reverend’s black eyes as he measured the man who once threatened to toss him head first into the Bay of Macao if he didn’t get the hell off his ship.

“So Sarah is with you?”

“She is, and you put her life in danger as well as your own with every minute you delay your departure. Look around you, man. Half the people in this yard want our blood so badly they can taste it.”

For a moment, Jamie feared the missionary might not see the enmity that snaked through the courtyard like low, curling fingers of mist.

For all his other faults, Abernathy was no coward. He caught the younger son’s narrow-eyed stare and
drew himself up to his full height. Jamie bit back a groan as a gleam of fanaticism stole into the missionary’s dark eyes.

“I don’t fear heathen idolaters. Lord Hwang-Shi has taken the True Word as his gospel, and shall prevail upon his sons and wives and concubines to do the same.”

From the look of the frail, stooped Lord Hwang-Shi, Jamie didn’t think he’d live long enough to prevail upon anyone, much less his fierce younger son. Thankfully, he didn’t have to point out that fact to the missionary.

“My work here is done,” Abernathy concluded grandly. “I shall return to the ship with you.”

When this decision was translated to his host, a look of relief passed over his wrinkled face. The news spread rapidly throughout the courtyard.

The reverend went to collect the few belongings he’d brought with him amid a flurry of whispered comments. During his absence, tension hung in the yard like a thick, smothering fog. Even so, the Outsiders might have departed unscathed if Abernathy hadn’t seized a last opportunity to sermonize. In a mixture of English, Mandarin, and Pidgin that gained in volume with each rolling phrase, he reminded Lord Hwang-Shi of the horrific evils that befell those who forsook their faith.

Cursing viciously under his breath, Jamie moved to grab Abernathy’s arm and hustle him away. He reached the missionary a half second too late. Pointing a bony finger at Lord Hwang-Shi, the reverend thundered that the mandarin would be damned forever if he allowed false images of the goddess Kuan-Yin to reappear in the village.

The unfortunate reference to their lost goddess was the spark that ignited the flames of hatred among the listeners…that, and the fact that the old lord blanched at the dire threat, took a stumbling step backwards, and fell. His fragile leg bones snapped like matchsticks.

A collective gasp went up from his retainers.

The elder son rushed to his father’s side.

The second son chose that moment to seize power.

Within moments, a pitched battle had broken out between household factions. The outsiders were caught squarely in the middle. In the turmoil, Jamie grabbed the missionary and dragged him through a side gate he’d spotted during his earlier reconnaissance. His men followed, swords and pistols at the ready as they faced the angry villagers outside. Uncertainty about what had happened inside the compound won the barbarians a few precious moments.

“This way!” Jamie shouted.

With the main avenue to the mountain path blocked, he led his small band around the wall surrounding the mandarin’s residence. The wall ended at the very edge of the plateau. Below them dropped tier after tier of flooded rice paddies. Moonlight shimmered on the surface of the water, lighting the steep steps to the valley below.

With muttered curses, the landing party plunged downward. They slogged several yards through ankledeep mud, then jumped over the dike to the next lower level. In this manner they made it a good way down the mountainside before a victorious band of household guards burst from the residence. Shouts and the rattle of swords sounded from above. Jamie didn’t need Second Harvest’s breathless translation to know
that the Chinese screamed for their blood as well as The Reverend Mr. Abernathy’s.

Suddenly, muskets roared. Small water spouts flew up all around them. The landing party spun around and returned fire. The night lit up with blinding flashes.

The running battle continued until the Outsiders splashed out of the paddies and plunged into a thicket of bamboo. Tall, close-growing stalks shut out the moonlight and provided cover, but made for heavy going. Jamie slashed at the stalks with his sword, hacking a path for himself and the reverend who panted along at his heels.

“We can’t be more than a half mile from the coast,” he told the struggling, swearing crew. “Keep at it.”

All too soon they heard thrashing and stomping behind them. Their pursuers had left the paddies and now crashed through the thicket. The sounds of pursuit drew closer with each moment.

“Perhaps I…should go…back,” the reverend gasped. “It’s me they want, and my conscience troubles me…greatly at leaving Lord Hwang-Shi…in such circum…stances.”

“You’d best worry more about your head than your conscience,” Jamie snapped. “You’ll be lucky to make it to the ship with either one left intact.”

“Aye, and so will we all,” one of the crew put in, adding a pungent comment about landlubbers in general and addlepated missionaries who needed their arses hauled out o’ the stewpot in particular.

“See here,” Abernathy protested testily. “I didn’t request…your intervention.”

“No,” Jamie replied with a vicious swing of his sword. “Your daughter did.”

“I do not…understand why Sarah…”

The sharp crack of a musket cut the missionary off in mid-huff. Grunting, he dropped to the ground. The crew followed suit, throwing themselves down as a second shot ripped through the bamboo, then another.

The landing party couldn’t return the fire. They’d expended all their shot while splashing down the rice paddies carved into the slopes. They had only their swords to defend themselves against the angry mob. Jamie waited until the murderous volley died, then pushed himself up.

“Come on, lads,” he ordered with a cheerfulness he was far from feeling. “If we don’t want our heads nailed to garden posts to scare away crows, we’d better hop to it.”

He’d taken only a few strides before he realized The Reverend Mr. Abernathy no longer stumbled along at his side. Cursing, he swung around and searched the darkness. If the damned fool had decided to go back, the devil take him! Jamie wasn’t risking his neck or his men’s on another foolhardy rescue attempt.

Despite his fierce avowal, he retraced his steps for a yard or two. The man might have taken a hit in that last volley. Jamie couldn’t leave him lying wounded.

Sure enough, he spotted a dark figure sprawled on the ground. A low moan told him the reverend had indeed been hit. Swiftly, Jamie went down on one knee and hauled him over his shoulder. He didn’t have time to worry about the extent of his injuries.

The missionary was thin, but tall and well-boned. Grunting under his weight, Jamie ran to catch up with his men. They broke out of the bamboo a short time
later and raced for the jumble of huts and fish racks that hugged the shore.

Jamie’s gut twisted when he saw the crowd gathered at the water’s edge. They carried torches…and vicious, long-poled fish hooks. They must have heard the exchange of fire, he realized grimly, and armed themselves to join in the kill. Hitching Abernathy’s limp body higher on his shoulder, he tightened his grip on his sword and prepared to fight his way through another hostile crowd.

Faced with the fierce-looking boarding party, the villagers wavered and fell back. The hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck prickled as he pushed through their muttering ranks to the longboat pulled up on the muddy shore.

The two men left to guard the boat greeted the landing party with profound relief. “Glad to see you, mates. Things was getting a mite discomfortable here.”

“Aye, and they’re going to get more discomfortable very soon,” Jamie growled. “Get aboard!”

He dumped the missionary in the bottom of the longboat and faced the villagers, sword at the ready, while the landing party clambered over the sides. The moment the last man had tumbled into the boat, he turned and put his shoulder to the prow. With a powerful shove, he pushed it free of the sucking mud. The men rowed for all they were worth. Their oars cut into the water with a frantic but sure beat.

They’d barely cleared the shallows when the first of the Dong-Lo pursuers came running through the fishing village. Seeing their quarry escaping, the Chinese raked the boat with a vicious volley. An oar splintered.
One of the rowers jerked, then slumped against the man seated next to him.

Before the Chinese could reload, the longboat pulled out of range. Shouting and cursing, the pursuers piled into fishing sampans. A small flotilla set out from shore.

“Those little egg boats be lighter and faster than ours,” one of the men observed tightly. “The buggers will catch us afore we make the ship.”