Authors: Kerry Newcomb

Paxton and the Gypsy Blade (48 page)

BOOK: Paxton and the Gypsy Blade

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Forward, a ladder snaked down through the air. Elton caught it, made it fast to his lighter. A minute later, after hurried instructions to send his trunks ashore at the earliest possible moment, Jason was scrambling down the ladder and into the embrace of the man who had taught him more about ships and the sea than his own father had.

“Damn me, but you're looking good, lad,” Elton said moments later as the lighter made its way toward shore. “Filled out. Put on a little weight,” he added, poking Jason in the midriff.

“Which will be shed soon enough, I warrant,” Jason said with a grin. “A week or two under father's tutelage, and I'll be fit as a fiddle again.” He gazed fondly at the older man facing him, remembered the hours they'd spent together as he'd learned how to tie knots and handle a small boat. “You haven't changed by so much as a wrinkle. Still the scourge of Brandborough?”

Elton winked. “The lassies like to think so. It's by God still as hard as my peg when I wake up in the morning.”

“Good for you. But where is everybody?” he asked, searching the dock for familiar faces.

“Where else on a beautiful Saturday in May? At the fair, lad. A fine day you've picked to come home.”

Moments later, Jason stepped onto the dock and, as Elton returned to the
Shropshire
, stood alone, his mind churning with a thousand thoughts. His ear was alive with sounds, old and familiar, new and wonderfulâwavelets slapping rhythmically against pilings; a blind piper tooting a jocular ditty as he sat on a keg of rum; the deep, rich voices of slaves singing melodiously as they hauled and carried great weights of cargo. The sounds of the music of his home, long lost but never forgottenâbirds singing merrily, mothers calling after children in decidedly American accentsâswelled his heart and filled his head with wonder. And questions, he realized, sobering quickly. The British flag flying in Brandborough! What did that portend? And how, after the bitter letters he'd received, would his father greet him? And what of the strange, haunting song? What of Colleen? How had she changed in the four years he'd been gone? Would she â¦

Her eyes told him that it was she. Amber and piercing, those remarkably radiant eyes glowed with warmth and life. She stood only yards away, poised and regal, more beautiful than he could have possibly imagined. She had filled out and matured: she had blossomed into a desirable woman. And suddenly, he realized that all his other reasons for coming homeânoble, well-intentioned reasonsâpaled in comparison to the sweetness of her face.

Massively sculpted in dark-hewn woods, its masts, booms, and rigging jutting high above the water, the
Shropshire
had been a distraction, and its imposing presence gave proof to the power of the mighty British empire. And yet, once she saw him and moved toward him, all the world's weapons of war seemed weak beside the wave of passion that washed over her. Her breath catching in her throat, she stopped, only yards away, and waited for his eyes to meet hers. He was so beautiful! His face was softer than she remembered, gentler, wiser than when he had left. He had put on weight, but his body was still lean and elegant with the grace of a tiger. His charcoal gray cape was dashing, and the marvelous curls that covered his head glistened in the sunlight. His sleepy, half-closed eyes appeared more romantic than ever. And finally, when his head turned and his eyes found hers, the song returned and swelled to majestic proportions.

Her heart hammered, his chest heaved. He felt his pulse quicken. She struggled for control, but it was no use. Suddenly losing her last link with self-restraint, she found herself running to him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him, tasting his lips, igniting memories and music â¦

“Colleen.”

His first word was her name. He remembered! He actually remembered!

“You're more beautiful than I remembered. More beautiful by far.”

“Oh, Jase,” Colleen whispered with a sigh.

“So this is the package you were expecting from London,” Buckley said, bulling his way through the crowd to their sides. The kiss had infuriated him, but he covered his fury with sarcasm. “I didn't realize you and Paxton were such good friends. Welcome home, Jase. Everyone will be most glad to see you've returned. We've been needing a reliable piano tuner around here. A most vital job in these troubled times. In fact, you've arrived just in time to play at our wedding.”

“Oh?” Jason asked, taken aback momentarily until he caught the slight shake of Colleen's head and read the look of denial in her eyes. A wry smile twisted his lips. Buckley was up to his old tricks, barging ahead as if he were royalty, making a fool of himself. “It appears I arrived in the nick of time, eh?” he said, extending his hand.

Buckley's fingers touched the dramatic break in his nose as his hand moved to accept Jason's. The automatic, nervous gesture provoked both men to memories of a dark, narrow alleyway in Charleston, where, ten years earlier and beneath a wrought-iron balcony twisted into the shape of twin peacocks, Buckley had slurred Jason's name by calling the Paxtons a pack of half-breeds and bastards spawned by renegades and whores. He had been shocked by Jason's sudden response. Never for a moment had he guessed that the farmer turned musician was a fighterâand a ferocious one at that. The two men had fought viciouslyâfought with bloody fists, fought until their knuckles were red with blood, fought until one final blow found its target, until Buckley felt the savage pain in his shattered, ruined nose, and fell to his knees before Jason, the surprising victor. A decade had passed, but the ill will hadn't.

“Well, then,” Jason said heartily, looking over his old antagonist, “I see you're prospering.”

“Better than even I had hoped,” Buckley said, his chest swelling. Impressed with himself, he put one arm around Colleen, whose eyes spoke only to Jason. “My fortune is on the rise. And yours?” he asked with a sarcastic bark of a laugh.

“That depends, I suppose,” Jason said, deflating Buckley's puffery, “on how many weddings I'm asked to play at. Ah, Peter!” he said, noticing his friend, who'd appeared at his side and was debating in light of their earlier tiff, whether to interrupt. “May I present Miss Colleen McClagan and Mr. Buckley Somerset. This is my good friend and companion, Peter Tregoning.”

Relieved that all was apparently forgiven, Peter smiled and clapped Jason on the shoulder. “So this is the âyoung girl' you spoke of. My great honor,” he said, kissing Colleen's hand. “Mr. Somerset. My pleasure.”

“And mine, too, sir,” Buckley said, shaking his hand. “And a double pleasure to see such a strong display of our sovereign's commitment to his grateful colony. I suppose you've heard already that Charles Town is safely under the Crown's control?”

Peter nodded. “A felicitous piece of news, sir. Given to me but moments after our arrival.”

“Charleston?” Jason asked, his heart sinking. “Taken by the British?”

“Much to the chagrin of the so-called Patriots, of course,” Buckley said, enjoying Jason's discomfiture. “You'll be undoubtedly pleased to learn that Brandborough is just as securely under the Crown's control. And your presence here can only reassure those whose long loyalty has been so bountifully rewarded.”

“We are duty-bound,” Peter said simply.

“And we're bound for a splendid picnic,” Colleen broke in. “Did you know, Jase, that today is the Brandborough Spring Fair?”

Charleston taken! My God, is it possible? And Brandborough? The whole colony, too?
“Eh?” Jason asked aloud. “Oh, yes. I was told.” He manufactured a smile. “What a happy coincidence.”

“Your arrival couldn't have come at a more appropriate time,” Colleen went on. “I'm certain Mr. Somerset would be honored to have you and Captain Tregoning join us in his carriage. Your family will all be there. Do say you'll accompany us.”

Jason looked at Colleen with wonder. She was almost enough to make him forget the bad news about Charleston. There was a vibrancy to her voice, a vivaciousness he found irresistible. Her transformation from child to woman was nothing less than astounding. “You'll meet Joy,” Jason told Peter. “That is, if Buckley doesn't mind our intruding upon him and his fiancÃ©e â¦”

“I'm not his fiancÃ©e â¦” Colleen began to explain before Buckley cut in.

“Mind? Why, it would be an honor to introduce the captain to our distinguished citizenry.”

“I've only to place my lieutenant in charge of the men,” Peter said, intrigued by the idea of an American picnic.

A few moments later, after Jason made arrangements for his trunks, the quartet climbed into the carriage. Buckley faced Peter and began to expound on the current local military situation. Jason faced Colleen, and though they spoke not a word, their eyes embraced as their souls sang the same sweet song of longing.

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About the Authors

Kerry Newcomb was born in Milford, Connecticut, but had the good fortune to be raised in Texas. He has served in the Jesuit Volunteer Corps and taught at the St. Labre Mission School on the Northern Cheyenne Reservation in Montana, and holds a master's of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University. Newcomb has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and liturgical dramas, and is the author of over thirty novels. He lives with his family in Fort Worth, Texas.

Frank Schaefer was reared in upstate New York but has lived in Texas for many years. He was a hospital corpsman in the navy and served in the Peace Corps in Costa Rica. He holds a master of fine arts degree in theater from Trinity University in San Antonio, Texas. Schaefer has written plays, film scripts, commercials, and some twenty novels. He lives in Austin, Texas.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Jason Gabbert

ISBN: 978-1-4976-9186-5

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

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New York, NY 10014

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