Petals on the River (2 page)

without her servants and couturier," she rejoined in satirical

retrospect.
 
"The attendants I've dealt with of late have no true ken of

loyal service and cannot understand the simplest functions of a

pursuivant."

Though unable to determine where an insult may have been rooted in her

words, Potts was nevertheless distrustful.
 
Her genteel way of speaking

could make a bloke feel out of sorts with his own tongue, especially one

who had run away from home at an early age after his widowed mother had

tried to curtail his roaming with ruffians.

Closing a massive fist around the chain dangling between her shackled

wrists, Potts hauled Shemaine abruptly forward until her entire vision

was filled with the broad, bewhiskered face of her tormentor and a red,

cyclopean eye.
 
Even after enduring so many hardships and abuse, the

girl still refused to yield him that very thing he craved most, an

undeniable feeling of superiority.
 
"Ye mewlin' Irish bitch!" he

snarled, cruelly yanking her fetters.
 
"Ye think ye're better'n me,

don't ye?
 
Ye an' yer high-minded ways!
 
Well, ye're wrong, ye bog-Irish

dung.
 
Ye aren't good enuff ta lick spittle from me boots."

Shemaine gagged at the rank stench of the sailor's breath and could not

help wincing as the iron bracelets bit cruelly into her wrists.
 
Almost

from the first moment she laid eyes on Jacob Potts, she had felt a sharp

aversion to the man.
 
By mandate of the captain, the women's section had

been restricted to all but the most trusted members of the crew, but

Potts had ignored the edict and, with the pompous arrogance of a sultan

perusing his private harem, had paced outside their cell, tempting the

more comely ones with stolen food, fresh rainwater, and other

necessities until, in desperation, some had given in to his perverted

demands.
 
Their shame and humiliation had been agonizingly shared by

their cellmates, for no one could escape the realization of what the cad

was forcing his victims to do.
 
For those who had turned away in

disgust, Potts had proven very vocal in his lecherous demands, painting

an obscene image even in the minds of the most innocent among them.

A deep enmity had grown apace with the swabber's clandestine visits, and

except for Morrisa Hatcher, who had worked her wicked wiles upon him,

Potts had soon been shunned by all.
 
But the harlot had served her own

purposes, exceeding his expectations, ensnaring him in a guileful web

until suddenly it was Potts doing Morrisa's bidding and appeasing her

every whim.

Persecuting her most dedicated challenger, Shemaine mused with

hostility.
 
Throwing caution aside, she dared to needle the man.
 
"If

only Mrs.
 
Fitch knew what you've been getting as a reward for telling

your lies against me."

Potts's temper exploded.
 
The little twit would relish setting that hag

against him!
 
"Ye'll not be tellin' her, wench!
 
Or ye'll be gettin'

more o' this!"

Laying back a brawny arm, Potts let it fly, catching Shemaine's shoulder

just as she sought to duck and sending her reeling clumsily over her

chains.
 
His desire for revenge was hardly sated.
 
He wanted to see her

cringing before him in absolute terror.
 
Spitefully he swept a

canvas-shod toe outward to snare the links trailing from the leg irons,

yanking her off her feet.

An indignant yelp of pain escaped Shemaine's lips as she sprawled

backward against the deck's planking.
 
In actuality the moored ship

swayed only slightly against the quay, but for Shemaine, dazed and weak,

the creak of timbers seemed to increase apace with the strengthening

gusts and the heaving swells that passed beneath the hull until it

seemed as if the deck had come alive.
 
Casting a wary glance aloft to

where the masts and spars spun in a dizzying blur against the whimsical

countenance of a darkly brooding sky, she shuddered as her stomach

convulsed at the strangely conflicting motions.
 
Leery of heaving up

what little she had eaten, she rolled over and lowered a clammy brow in

the crook of her arm as she waited for her queasiness to eW.

The bosun had turned from his inspection of the male convicts in time to

witness the incident and, snatching up his cane, stalked forward

irately.
 
"Here now, Potts!" he barked.
 
"Leave that wench be!"

"But, Mistah Arper!" Potts protested.
 
"I was only tryin' ta protect

meself afore this here adder sank her fangs inta me hide."

James Harper blew out a loud snort of derision.
 
"Aye, Mr.
 
Potts!

And the sun sets in the east!"

"I gots witnesses, I do!" Seeking support for his fabrication, Potts

glanced around for Morrisa.

"I'll hear no more lies from you or your lickspittle mate!" Harper

retorted, raising the cane threateningly to lend emphasis to his words.

A symbol of his authority, the stick had been used on many occasions to

smarten dimwits and laggards.
 
"Now listen well, you worthless swabby!

I've had enough of your buffoonery!
 
If the captain can't sell that

prisoner for what she's worth, you'll be getting the best of this stick.

Now help her up, damn you, and be gentle about it or you'll have a

proper knot on your noggin."

Large hands slipped underneath Shemaine before she had fully regained

her reason, but reality came washing hotly over her as the greedy hands

cupped her soft breasts.
 
With an outraged shriek totally unbecoming a

lady, she rolled and kicked out sharply with a bare foot. Her haphazard

aim was momentarily calamitous for the heavily endowed Potts.
 
His

pained yowl coincided with his backward, splaying fall, and as Shemaine

scrambled to her feet, she had the satisfaction of seeing the fellow

writhing in agony on the deck.

Prudence dictated that she remove herself swiftly out of sight and reach

of the boot, and Shemaine saw a chance to accomplish that objective as

some of the women hurriedly beckoned to her.
 
Slipping quickly through

their midst, she settled on the hatch cover as they closed ranks around

her, concealing her from casual notice.
 
Drawing her legs to her chest

and pressing her face to her knees, she made herself as inconspicuous as

possible.

Potts staggered to his feet and glared about him, consumed by a vengeful

quest to vent his wrath upon the girl.
 
Like an injured bull preparing

to charge, he swung his straw-thatched head from side to side as his

eyes flicked about in search of her.
 
Through the drab, mundane hues of

the women's tattered garments, he caught sight of a long red tress

fluttering like a brightly hued pennant on a buffeting breeze.

Curling his lips back from gnashing black-stained teeth, he growled and

plowed toward Shemaine with evil intent.

"Potts!" James Harper bellowed sharply.
 
He stalked forward several

paces, for it seemed he would have to carry out his threat and beat the

hulking loggerhead into submission.
 
"yOu lay a hand on that wench and

I'll see you flogged until your back is stripped of its hide!

That much I promise you!"

The bosun's shout greeted Captain Fitch as the latter climbed to the

quarterdeck behind his wife.
 
Even as the call boy blew his whistle and

announced, "Captain on the bridge!" Everette Fitch paused beside the

rail to observe Potts's unfaltering advance on the main deck.
 
Then his

gaze swept outward, searching for the intended recipient of the sailor's

assault until he spied the young beauty who had once rebuked him for

what she and the other prisoners had regarded a deplorable injustice to

one of their number.
 
She had successfully claimed his notice with her

scolding that day, but she had also, in her fervor to argue for

another's rights as a human being, unwittingly kindled his lusts.
 
From

that moment on, Captain Fitch had found himself driven by a fierce

yearning to enjoy all the delights Shemaine O'Hearn could offer a man.

If not for Gertrude's stout stamina and iron-clad stomach resisting the

doses of laudanum he had surreptitiously mixed in her wine, the girl

would have surely paid the price demanded by his passion.
 
His failure

had only made him more desirous of having her, and Fitch had promised

himself that upon their arrival in port he would covertly claim the

wench for his own and ensconce her in a haven totally removed from his

domineering wife.
 
To disguise his infatuation, he had deemed it prudent

to modify the punishments heaped upon Shemaine by his wife only when it

became apparent that her life would be in jeopardy, but after Harper's

warnings, it seemed reasonable to add his own thundering threat as a

further deterrent.

"Cast that swabby in irons if he will not obey!" Fitch bellowed. Then he

lowered his voice to a caustic rumble.
 
"And should the blighter damage

the wench, stripe his back with a score of lashes for every bruise she

bears."

The stern warning finally penetrated the tar's thick skull, and Potts

stumbled to a halt.
 
Glowering at Shemaine, who had braced herself for

flight, he ground out a garbled oath.
 
"Mark me words well, bogtrotter.

Be it a fortnight or even a year from now, I'll make ye rue the day ye

laid me low, that ye will."

Shemaine kept her expression carefully passive, lest the slightest

twitch push the man beyond the brink of control.
 
She had escaped injury

this time, but once she left the ship, if her new master couldn't defend

her against this churlish lout, she would likely be found and severely

punished.

"Potts!" James Harper shouted, commanding the sailor's attention.

Potts faced his superior, making no attempt to present a guise of

respect.
 
"Aye, Mistah Arper?
 
What be ye wants now?"

The seaman's surly tone ignited Harper's temper, and he lashed out with