"We're kidding ourselves if we think there won't be a battle. Some sort of attack, that is. Here, at Becket Hall. Beales made the first strike, removed your father— which serves to divide both our forces and our attention, making it easier for him to attack us here. You understand that?"
"I'm not a simpleton, Court. Yes, I understand that. But we have no choice, do we, as long as Papa is in that gaol."
"Exactly. Which is why we're going to go get him
out
of that gaol. Tonight."
"But…but we aren't leaving until tomorrow night. Tuesday night, correct? We're taking everyone onboard the
Respite
and the
Isabella,
and we're leaving directly from— " She stopped, shook her head. "Why would Papa lie to me like that?"
Courtland finally smiled. "So that you'd agree to come back here, busy yourself packing up your belongings, and then board the
Isabella
without argument?"
"Because once I was aboard ship, then I couldn't do anything if I saw you riding off back to— How dare he! And how dare
you,
Court?"
"It was a moment of madness, I assure you," he told her, touching a hand to her cheek. "But we hoped, all of us, to have you and Lisette and Mariah, all of the women, all safely aboard the
Isabella
until we returned from Dymchurch on the
Respite.
Eleanor's confinement upset our timing some, but that was still the hopeful plan."
She put her hand on his and pushed it away from her face. "And, now that your plan has failed, what are Lisette and Mariah and I going to do, hmm? Sit here at Becket Hall, tending to our knitting or some such nonsense, while you all go hieing off to Dymchurch with Mr. George Gummer and his friends? To do
what?
"
"Not all of us. Our own people will remain here, to defend Becket Hall."
"Or to keep us pesky women confined and out of the way?"
He was beginning to look exasperated with her, not at all loverlike. Cassandra knew that for she'd seen that particular look on his face many times over the years, when she'd gone too far, said too much, pushed his laudable patience one step too many. But she stood her ground, her chin lifted, glaring at him. Waiting for him to speak. They were equals now, man and woman, not protector and child, and it was time he figured that out!
"And Mr. George Gummer and all his friends?" she asked when he kept his silence. "What, exactly, will they be doing in Dymchurch?"
"Look, Callie, as I keep saying, a divided army is a vulnerable army. That's always been the case. So, we're going to get Ainsley back. Yes, tonight, not tomorrow. Becket Hall is a deceptively clever fortress, we know that, and we need to be the ones who choose the field of battle. Ainsley has chosen Becket Hall, and that Channel out there. Dymchurch Gaol can't be allowed to figure into our confrontation with Edmund Beales."
"So we're getting Papa out of Dymchurch Gaol and bringing him back here.
How?
"
He took in a long breath, let it out slowly. "If I tell you, you'll promise to stay here, wait for us to bring Ainsley home?"
"No, of course not," she said, actually smiling at him. "Whatever you're planning, Court, I will be a part of it. Mariah and Lisette, too, if I tell them what's happening, and I will. How dare you think to exclude us? Mariah will have Spence's ears, and Lisette will rain French all over Rian, and you know it. Look at Elly, what she risked, trying to get to Papa. We can't do any less."
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.
"Court, think, please. I saw the people who have come here with Mr. Gummer. There are women with him— children. People who owe Papa so much, owe the Black Ghost so much, and are offering their loyalty to help him now that he needs help. More people are coming, and I can only assume there will be more women, more children among them. That day on the island, I was too young to know anything, but I've heard the stories. While you were carrying me deeper into the island to hide me, everyone else was running
toward
Edmund Beales and his men. Old men, injured men, women heavy with child. Children. With pistols and pitchforks or only their bare hands as weapons, they ran
toward
the fight, Court. They didn't hide from it. I won't hide from it. I won't, and neither will Mariah nor Lisette. We're Beckets. This fight belongs to all of us."
Now she held her breath, waiting for his answer, marshaling new arguments if he didn't see that she was right.
"You make a compelling argument, much as I hate to admit it. I knew my duty that day, but I wished I could have stayed, fought alongside the others. Beckets stand, they stand and fight. Very well, Callie," he said at last. "Gather the ladies and inform them that we'll be leaving in little more than an hour if they wish to accompany us, whenever Spence comes back with the wagons we'll need."
"And what do I tell them?"
"Tell them…" he said, at last smiling in a way that told her he forgave her, "tell them they're going to a hanging."
* * *
GEORGE GUMMER AND HIS companions numbered only thirty, but the Beckets were joined by another thirty, and then twice again that many as the wagons made their way toward Dymchurch. Each small village they passed through along the way, already alerted that the Black Ghost needed them, sent along some of their own, piling into the empty wagons. Men, women, children. Even a few dogs. By the time they neared Dymchurch, it was as if half of Romney Marsh was on the move.
Cassandra, Mariah and Lisette rode in the very first wagon, where two of the men who loved them could watch them, shake their heads over them and plan for ways to keep them safely in the wagons once they'd arrived in Dymchurch. None of their plans, offered to each other as they rode along together on their horses, would mean anything, but at least they occupied the hours.
A mile from Dymchurch, Spencer turned his horse, to ride back along the line of wagons, to speak to some of the men, thank them for their assistance, warn them to keep their weapons handy but uncocked.
Courtland sat his horse alongside the road, waiting for the wagon carrying the women to approach him, and then guided the horse alongside to speak to Cassandra.
She was sitting with her back to him, watching Billy fiddle with the stout rope he'd formed into an impressive noose, her eyes wide even though she knew the rope was simply for show, like some prop in a play performed at Covent Garden.
"Callie?"
She turned around, put her hands on the board side of the wagon, and lifted herself carefully to her feet. "I'm in my habit, let me ride with you," she asked him, already holding on to his arm and slinging one leg over the side of the wagon, aiming it toward Poseidon's hindquarters.
"For God's sake, be careful," he warned her, grabbing on to her as the wagon wheel hit a rut, and he had to quickly pull her sideways in front of him, hold her as he moved Poseidon away from the wagon. "What was that in aid of, may I ask?" he asked as he reined the horse to a halt as the rest of the wagons rolled past them.
Cassandra, her arms wrapped around him, laid her cheek against his chest. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to…be near you, I guess. You were looking so stern and solemn, and Billy keeps fiddling with that noose, and we're getting closer now and— Is this going to work, Court?"
He urged Poseidon forward once more. "It nearly worked for Beales when he tried it the other day," he pointed out. "And, frankly, it would have, if he'd really wanted Ainsley dead at that moment. But happily for us, it gave Ainsley an idea, reminded him of something he'd heard about— an incident not that many years ago, somewhere on the Marsh."
"Yes, Billy told us about it, but that was years and years ago, and that horrid Lieutenant Tapner doesn't seem the sort to turn and run," Cassandra said, tightening her hold on Courtland. "When…when can we…see each other again?"
"When can we be alone again, you mean," Courtland said, smiling. "That's a question I've been asking myself, knowing that it damns me to admit that I'm concentrating on the wrong thing at the wrong time. You're a corrupting influence, Callie, and I seem to be more than willing to be corrupted."
"I know," she answered, sighing. "I feel so selfish, and at the same time I want to just wish the world away so that you and I could be alone. Take a walk on the beach beneath the full moon tonight, ride out onto the Marsh one last time before we leave for Hampton Roads, sit in the dark and talk…"
He leaned in, kissed her cheek. "I do need to talk to you, that's true. This isn't the time or the place, but you need to know that I want to tell you something I should have told you before we ever— Damn, now what!"
Spencer came riding up to them, a huge grin on his face. "Interrupting something, am I?" he asked, and then sobered. "By my very cursory count, there are more than two hundred of us now, Court, damn near a full contingent of owlers and landsmen we've dealt with over the years, and all champing at the bit to help. We won't go to the gaol before full dark. How in bloody blazes are we going to feed all of these people?"
"A better question, Spence. How are we going to keep them from drinking the tavern dry before we move off? We need to be able to control our own mob, correct?"
Cassandra pressed her face against Courtland's chest, obviously the only one of the three of them to see any humor in that statement. But then she had an idea. "Put Mariah in charge of everything," she told Spencer. "If your wife can't make everyone behave, we're past all hope."
Spencer's highly strung horse danced in a full circle as he attempted to keep his gaze riveted to Cassandra. "Christ. I think you're right, Callie. My beloved wife just assumes everyone will obey her— and damned if they don't think so, too."
As he rode off, Cassandra whispered, "You're welcome," and smiled up at Courtland. "Oh, don't frown so. This is going to work, I'm sure of it. Feeding people is the least of our problems, in any case. Do you think Chance and Kinsey are in place yet?"
"We can only hope so," Courtland said, urging Poseidon off the roadway, into the trees. He didn't rein in the horse until they were a good hundred yards from the wagons that had all nearly passed them by at that point. "Now, how long has it been since I last kissed you?"
Cassandra made herself more comfortable as she sat sideways in front of him on the saddle, slipping her fingers into his hair as she brought her face up to him. "An eternity, I believe."
"That matches my own conclusion," he said just before he caught her mouth with his, sliding his arms around her as his tongue invaded her sweetness and she moaned low in her throat, feeling the now more familiar stirrings of passion deep inside her.
Poseidon danced in place a bit as Courtland held the reins loosely in one hand, moving his other to the flatness of Cassandra's stomach, and then skimmed over the jacket of her habit, to cup her breast. She smiled against his mouth as he began to open the covered buttons of her jacket, at last able to push the jacket off her shoulder, lower his face to between her breasts. She clung to him, holding on to his head in order to keep her precarious balance as he traced over her with his tongue, suckled at her through the thin lawn of her chemise.
Cassandra tipped back her head, looked up at the fading sunlight drifting down through the gnarled trees in the small copse, so dizzy with sensation that she nearly forgot to hold on to Courtland, and was in very real danger of falling from the horse.
But Courtland had her. He'd never let her fall. She'd always known she'd be safe with him. She hadn't realized that he could also fill her with a delight past all understanding.
He lifted his head, looked at her with an intensity that made her shiver, and she watched as he used his teeth to pull the leather glove from his hand, let it drop to the ground. She leaned her head against his shoulder, held on tight once more as he gripped her waist with one hand, lowering his uncovered hand to fist her divided skirt in his fingers, slowly inch it up, up, until he could slide his hand beneath the hem, touch her bare thigh.
"Stop me now, Callie," he whispered hoarsely against her hair, "because I believe I've just lost my mind."
To answer him, she moved on the saddle, shifting her weight so that she could wrap one leg around his muscled calf as he sat in the stirrups; anchoring herself, opening herself to his touch. His touch, that she wanted more than anything, needed more than anything she had ever needed in her life.
"Please. Touch me, Court…touch me the way you did before…
oh!
"
He'd slid his fingers between her legs, pushing aside the scrap of material that was all that kept him from finding her, spreading her, beginning to stroke her…stroke her faster…harder.
She bit at the side of his neck, why, she didn't know, as he slipped a finger inside her, using the sweet moisture he found there to work his magic on her, ignite a liquid fire inside her that grew, and grew, and, at last, consumed her.
Cassandra could feel herself convulsing around him as he pushed his hand against her, held her still so that they could both experience the intensity of her release.
