The English Lily (Tales of the Scrimshaw Doll) (6 page)

Desperate now, he darted for the companionway.

Joseph reached Kendra’s cabin and tried the door. Locked. “Kendra! Open the door.”

Nothing.

He kicked it in. Panic filled him when he didn’t see her, but then—relief.

Joseph slammed the door. He shoved her trunk before it to keep it from swinging open. She hovered in a corner, clutching that damned doll.

He rushed over. “Thank God,” he whispered. He crouched down next to her. “Thank God,” he said again, touching his forehead to hers.

“Joseph? Lord Lawrie?” Her voice cracked. Her white glove was no longer white. He wished he could have protected her from that.

Leaning back, he peeled the stained fabric away.

Her hand clenched. “My hands—”

He brushed his lips over the tiny scars. “Your hands are perfect,” he said. “We’ll have to marry, you know.”

“Married. I’ve dreamed of marrying,” she whispered, smiling. Her eyes were dry, but in them he read the shock and fear.

Something tight squeezed Joseph’s chest, and he found he could hardly breathe. Death hovered over them. While he might fail in creating bliss for Kendra’s last moments on this earth, he could offer her the whimsical fairytale.

Joseph dropped her hand and cupped her head with both hands. “Lady Kendra Frazier, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife,
mademoiselle, s’il vous plaît
?”

With a stately incline of her head, she replied with a trembling smile. “I shall be honored, Viscount Lawrie, Chevalier Joseph Pinetti Gray. Lord Hardwick’s Marriage Act was put in force in Scotland in fifty-four, so we’ve no need to post the banns.” A small hysterical laugh erupted. “Shall we escape to Gretna Green, my lord?”

Her spirit touched him as nothing else could. Even in the throes of shock and danger, she managed to recall his full proper name and title. He pulled her to him as heavy steps echoed on the wooden planks just beyond the door. But for a moment he could pretend they would live a long and fruitful life together. “
Oui,
Gretna Green suits my purposes, perfectly, love,” he whispered against her lips, before crushing them beneath his own.

Her trunk was shoved harshly aside as the door crashed open.

Chapter Six

She cowered in her cabin, but all was useless against the pirates smashing in the door. Her trunk slid across the room from the violence of their intrusion. Their stink, vile; their manners, coarse. Splintered wood flew in all directions, the door broken beyond repair. But when Joseph touched her lips in a tender kiss, he quashed her every fear. She couldn’t have dreamed such a romantic proposal. A tarnished knight shining through an agony of…

Kendra woke, startled, heart pounding.

Warm moist air stirred against her neck, and an unfamiliar weight rendered her legs immobile. Straw scratched her backside. She rubbed matted eyes with a bare fist before she mustered them open. Clutched in the other hand, absurdly gloved, was the gypsy doll. She’d thought it a dream, but its black hair tickled her nose.

Sunlight streamed through slatted wood, adding more confusion to her befuddled mind.
And why couldn’t she move?
Bits and pieces filtered through her fogged brain. ’Twas odd, but it seemed the ship had quit rocking. No water slapped port and starboard. No crude language reached her ears from the boatswain or the first mate. No waft of salty sea air tantalized her nostrils, just dust and the smell of horses.
Horses?

She tried again to dislodge her legs, jingling the doll’s bangles and jewels. At the sound of a deep masculine groan, she froze, throat constricted.

“My head feels as if an anchor is holding it under water.”

Joseph!

Had they been imprisoned? Still she couldn’t move her legs.

He nuzzled his nose in the crook of her neck and tugged her closer to his body. Every word came rushing back.
Marriage.
Kendra struggled to move and realized his arm braced her about the waist like an iron band. His breath teased her hair, his lips spreading unexpected desire to prickle her skin.

“Lord Lawrie? Joseph?”

“What is it?” He actually growled.

“I’m very frightened, sir. I don’t hear water,” she said softly. “I fear we’ve been captured and thrown in the hold. Where are the pirates, do you suppose?”

His lashes whispered across her skin as he seemed to digest her words. He shifted his body from hers, rose slowly, and squinted at the light. It left her curiously bereft. Kendra sat up.

“Pirates,” he repeated. “There
were
pirates.” He glanced about. “I don’t believe we’re in the hold. There wouldn’t be sunlight.”

She blew out a held breath. “Yes, yes,” she nodded quickly, relieved. Her eyes found the large dark stain on her skirt.
Mr. Thomas’s blood.
She glanced up to see his gaze locked on the same spot. Revulsion filled her, and she choked back a cry. “Mr. Thomas...”

He pulled her to her feet and against his chest. His heart pounded against her ear. “There was nothing you could do, my lady.” His voice rumbled through her.

“But he—”

He tightened his embrace. “Nothing,” he repeated. “Let us not speak of it again.”

Kendra nodded against him, unable to stem the tears. After a moment, he set her away from him and moved about.

Joseph Pinetti Gray was a very attractive man, even with his hair disheveled and bits of hay stuck throughout. She had the strangest urge to run her fingers through those dark locks and smooth them into some order.

“Mayhap we’ve moved into the afterlife.” She lifted a hand to push her hair back. The hideousness of seeing the scars in broad daylight had her shoving that hand into the folds of her skirt.

A horse whinnied.

“I-I don’t understand.”

He flashed a wolfish grin. It was lewd enough to flare heat in her cheeks. “I doubt you or these horses would land us at the gates of purgatory, my lady.” He shrugged. “If it were I alone, I’m certain there would be no question.”

“Most assuredly, horses do not belong.”

His expression turned serious, and his gaze moved to the doll on the ground beside her. “I have the oddest notion we’re no longer aboard ship.”

Her eyes followed his, but she saw nothing out of the ordinary. The doll seemed no worse for wear.

Joseph raked fingers through his hair. “I’ll scout about, find out where we are.”

“You’re leaving me?” A cold knot formed in her stomach. She’d felt…safe…protected, but if he deserted her…

Joseph pulled her to him once more. His heart beat strong and steady against hers. “I won’t go far.” His voice vibrated in waves over her, his breath stirring her hair. “We need to find out where we are, see what we are up against.” Firm lips pressed against her forehead before he stood back.

He was right, of course. But, left alone? What if something should happen to him? “We have no coin, just the clothes on our backs. Covered in…in Mr. Thomas’s b-blood.”

The grimace on his face indicated he’d already considered that, but then a small smile tipped his lips. “Ah, but we
do
have coin.” He reached for the doll and fingered the necklace she wore. “A couple of these should work.” With deft sure movements he dislodged two. “Twenty minutes,” he promised. “I’ll be back.”

****

Joseph stole through the door. The
barn
door. He was almost positive there’d been no barn aboard the ship. Something very strange was going on, and it had something to do with that doll. The note Kendra had stuffed in the doll’s pocket indicated something about protecting the owner.

Mon Dieu!
It was midday and hot. The scenery was nothing exceptional. The most pressing matter was discovering where they’d landed. He would worry on the “how” later. The unmistakable scent of heated metal indicated a blacksmith in one of the buildings clustered ahead. He straightened his clothes as best he could and brushed away the clinging hay. There was nothing to do for the wrinkled mess, but at least his garments didn’t sport blood. He’d have to procure something for Kendra in the event they encountered others.

He sauntered forward. ’Twas best to act as if he belonged—wherever
here
was. Twenty minutes, he reminded himself, and picked up his step. He rounded a corner and found a quaint if nondescript town. Several carriages lined the street. He leaned against a wall, observing. He noted a small general store, an inn, a bakery of sorts. His stomach protested its lack of sustenance.

A young couple alighted from their carriage, giggling. Joseph was horrified to see the girl appeared quite young, fifteen at most. Her man—older, but not by much—swept her down from the carriage, kissing her with a fervor that left Joseph discomfited. Across the small street, another couple slid from a single horse and marched into the inn.

Suspicion ebbed through him, and he straightened slowly from his post. “
Excusez-moi.”

The girl gasped, eyes wide. “Father didn’t send you, did he?” Her beau squeezed his hand into a fist. As if he couldn’t flatten the lad with one punch.

“
Non, mademoiselle
. You are to be married?”

“What about it, sir?” the boy demanded. Fierce pride marked his expression in a clenched jaw.

Joseph narrowed his eyes. “By the blacksmith?”

“That’s who performs the nuptials in Gretna.” The girl apparently had no problem gaining confidence when he no longer posed a threat.

“
Merci beaucoup
. Many happy returns.” Joseph darted across the street.

****

“Twenty minutes,” Kendra fumed. How was she supposed to know how long before twenty minutes had passed? She’d already determined they’d somehow ended up in a small stable of some sort. Which made no sense whatsoever.

She forced herself to remain still, to not pace. She didn’t want to miss someone’s untimely arrival. Locating an empty stall near the door, she prepared herself for whichever opportunity arose—escape or rescue—appropriate to her situation, and stood ready, wooden stake in hand.

The door creaked. Her heart thudded loudly. She prayed her assailant didn’t hear.

“Kendra?”

She sagged, relieved, then rushed forward and threw herself into Joseph’s arms. He held her tightly against him. “Did you find out where they’ve imprisoned us?” she demanded against his shirt.

Laughter rumbled through him. “I did, indeed. We’re in Gretna Green.”

Kendra pushed away from him. “That’s impossible. Isn’t it?” He allowed her feet to touch the ground but did not relinquish his hold. She eyed him skeptically. “Are…are we married, sir?”

His lips curved in a mysterious smile. “
Oui, madame
. All that’s left is to make it official.”

What was that supposed to mean?
“W-we didn’t—”

“
Non
. But we did spend the night in one another’s arms. You will marry me,” he said darkly.

Her eyes dropped to the large dark stain on her skirt. “I…my skirt.”

“Right. Here. I’ve brought you this.” He held out a light pelisse that lay over his arm. She hadn’t even noticed it. “If anything, you can carry it before you to hide the stain. I’ve secured a place for us to stay, as well. Let’s go.”

Things were moving so fast her head spun. He dropped the cloak about her shoulders, but, alas, it failed to cover the hideous soil. She would have to carry it.

“A moment,
s’il vous plaît,
” he said softly. “I’ve one other thing for you.” He presented a box bearing a new pair of very fine gloves.

The gesture caught Kendra so off guard unexpected tears filled her eyes. But what woman wouldn’t weep at such thoughtfulness? Suddenly, marrying him seemed the right thing to do. Kendra blinked back the moisture. Rattled, she fired questions at him, not daring to look at him lest he see what an emotional fool she was. “How did we get here? Did you see any of the villains? They obviously knocked us out somehow. Although that doesn’t make sense—we were on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic…” Her voice trailed off.

“Where’s the doll?”

“The doll? She’s—” Glad of the distraction, Kendra ran back to the stall and grabbed her up from where she’d placed her for safekeeping.

“Come.”

Chapter Seven

Fifteen minutes later, stunned, Kendra found herself a married woman. Joseph walked beside her in silence, loaded down with a host of packages. She studied the town, with its townspeople meandering in and out of the different shops, and thought of Mr. Thomas. He’d been a warm and generous soul.

What was it he’d said about words looking like pictures? Signs labeled the different shops. The baker’s shop, the general store, the blacksmith’s, even a cart with flowers on the corner hosted a sign. She stopped and considered the roughly sketched letters. Two groups, divided by a space, obviously, marking separate words in a roughly hand written scrawl. Both words began with an “f”.

That was encouraging, she decided. It took a moment, but it dawned on her the second word had to be “flowers.” The first word was a little more challenging. She meandered closer to an elderly woman sitting behind the cart. Scraggily clad, she flashed a toothless grin. “Would you be awantin’ some fresh flowers, deary?”