The Jezebel (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Maisie Taskill was tempted to influence the captain by means of magic, even though she knew it would complicate matters further into their acquaintance. She would do it if she had to, but only if it was absolutely necessary. It was, however, essential that she depart from London that night. She was overdue at The King’s Theatre, where she was expected to watch a performance of an opera by Handel with her guardian, her master. Her absence would be noted soon enough, if it had not already raised suspicion. The thought of her master’s reaction chilled her. Icy fingers encircled her heart, clenching it in a grip so tight she could scarcely breathe.

Please take me with you, help me escape this treacherous web I am caught in.

The captain grumbled low in his chest as he assessed her. It was a strange sound, rough and manly. It made her want to press her hand to his chest to experience the occurrence through touch as well as sound. Maisie Taskill was always curious about such things.

She could not see him well, for his hat was low on his brow and his face was cast in shadow. Occasionally he lifted his head to look about, and when he did she caught sight of his eyes in the moonlight and saw reluctant interest there. Her offer of a carnal exchange had definitely secured his attention. Desire was there in his expression, but for a moment she still thought he was going to shake his head and turn away.

Instinctively, she clutched at his coat to stop him from doing so. Before she had even made contact his gaze sharpened, following the movement of her fingers, intent and watchful. When her hand rested close to his chest he gave another low grumble, but this time it sounded different to Maisie. Less disgruntled. Seductive, almost. His chest felt broad and strong beneath his coat and she almost pulled away, so unfamiliar was she with a man such as he—a burly man who worked with both brawn and brain. A sturdy, honest man.

At least that was what Maisie hoped Captain Cameron was. One could never tell, and men could turn on a woman—as she knew too well—but right at that moment she didn’t have any choice. She parted her lips, about to plead again.

In the distance a whistle sounded, cutting through the thickening mist with a warning of trouble.

The captain grabbed her hand in his. “You will have your passage to Dundee if your feet are fast enough to carry you to my ship.”

Before she had a chance to respond, he set off, drawing her along in his wake as he broke into a run through the gloomy dockyards of Billingsgate. It was dark and mist clung in patches. She could barely see, and yet the path he forged was not straight, which was apparently his intent. Maisie wondered how he knew this place so well, but she was glad he did. It was also a mercy that the whistle had made him take action. The sound had set his deliberations to short shrift. Could it be that she would truly be on her way to Dundee that night? Hope lit in her heart.

The captain’s stride was long and fast, and even though she lifted her skirts and hurried along behind him, still clinging tightly to his large, callused hand, her breath was soon labored. She rued the tightness of her corset. It had been appropriately laced for sitting in a theater box, but not for such a vigorous activity as this.

The captain made a sharp left turn, pausing briefly as he did so. The moonlight broke through the clouds and she saw the dark looming shape of a ship up ahead. He glanced down at her. “I’m sorry, but the haste is necessary.”

Maisie realized that he, too, was fleeing. “Why is it that
you
must run?”

The captain grabbed her bundle with his free hand and urged her forward again even while he answered her question. “There are those in London who will pay highly for the best French wine. My men have delivered several cases under cover of darkness and risked their neck in doing so. The excise men have been alerted. I was on my way back to my vessel when you called to me.”

Maisie silently corrected her previous assumption about his honesty. Not entirely honest in matters of commerce. With some trepidation she hoped that he was an honorable man, and not brutal by nature. Many traders sidestepped the excise man. Earlier that day she had ascertained that Captain Cameron was in charge of a free trade vessel, a merchant ship. She had no idea he might be hunted down for his dealings, but she would have had to approach him anyway, for his was the only ship bound for Scotland that night or in the days following, and she didn’t have much time to make her escape. It did make her feel a mite less uneasy about the fact she was tricking him into taking her, for in all likelihood she was every bit as dangerous to him as a bout of smuggling, if not more so.

Lurid laughter emerged from a shack to one side, and when she glanced in as they passed, she saw a woman ensconced with two men. One held a lantern aloft as she lifted her skirts for them. Shocked, Maisie stumbled on.

“Tread carefully,” her guide urged, and pulled her away from a tangle of net and rope.

They drew nearer to a ship and she thought their hasty dash was at an end, but he went beyond it, to another vessel. The closer they got, the more it seemed to loom above them.

Three figures perched on upturned crates close to the dockside were engaged in a huddled conversation. They lifted their heads as she and her guide approached. One, a scrawny lad, rose to his feet and saluted the gentleman at her side. “Captain.”

Just as she had expected, this was indeed Captain Roderick Cameron.

“On board at once, Adam,” he said in reply. “We are ready to set sail. Pass the order below deck.”

The young man picked up a flagon and looped one finger through the handle at its neck. Then he turned on his heel and launched himself at a large rope net that hung down from the side of the ship to the dock. Maisie watched in astonishment as he climbed it with one hand, the toes of his bare feet gripping the rope with easy agility, his other hand holding tight to his flagon as he went.

Surely she and the captain would not have to board the vessel that way? Maisie swallowed down a fresh wave of anxious emotion.

“You appear to have company, Roderick,” one of the other men said in a wary tone, and nodded at her.

“The lady has to get to Dundee.”

The man shook his head, grumbled to himself and turned away. He crossed to the ship on a wooden plank that had been placed from the quayside to the vessel. When he got to the top he vaulted over the ship’s railing. The third man, who was elderly, with a pronounced stoop, followed the first, clambering up the rope net like a bird flitting from branch to branch, despite his apparent age.

“Make haste,” the captain urged Maisie. He glanced over his shoulder once more, then waved up at a man perched near one end of the ship. The man on deck signaled back, and she heard shouting, as if he was rousing others. Sure enough, several sailors came to the rail and started hauling up ropes attached to bags of sand that sat upon the quay.

“You go ahead of me,” the captain said. “I’ll bring up the rear and then we must be off.” He nodded toward the plank and smacked her on the behind, urging her along.

Maisie gasped at the sudden contact. Swallowing, she reminded herself she was amongst workingmen now, who did not behave the way she was used to gentlemen acting. When Cameron slapped her rump a second time and pointed, she realized that he meant for her to board his ship by walking up the plank. She put her hand on the place where he had stimulated her flesh through her gown and petticoats, and stared at the wooden walkway in disbelief. It was perilously narrow, and didn’t seem to be well secured. Rubbing her hip, she took a few tentative steps, urged on by the captain. The wooden board sagged and shifted as she moved sideways along its length.

Beneath her, the flash of moonlight on the murky waters seemed an ominous warning. An unsavory stench rose from the dockside, invading her nostrils—the odors of rotting vegetables and excrement. Her stomach turned, and Maisie bit back the urge to shake her head and flee. Swaying unsteadily, she berated herself for being so weak, well aware this swooning attitude wouldn’t get her to Scotland. Why, the captain and his men surely tramped up and down this wooden plank all the time, and she was making a fool of herself. Suitably emboldened by that notion, she forced herself on. She couldn’t turn back. With a wry sense of her own unhappy situation, she silently admitted that she’d rather end up in the filthy waters below than have to go back where she’d come from.

With that grim thought as motivation, she made it to the boat. Clamping her hands over the rough wood rail, she wilted with relief and gasped for breath.

As she wondered how she was supposed to mount the railing, the board beneath her feet began to bounce heavily as the captain approached. Without further ado—and hoping that no one was in the vicinity to see her unladylike actions—she hauled up her skirts and flung herself over the barrier. Staggering, she clung to the railing again and stood upright on the deck. The smell of wood and tar was heavy in the air. Voices called out all around her—the shipmen in action.

“Well mounted, my lady,” the captain said with some amusement as he vaulted easily over the railing behind her. He tossed her bundle to her, then bent to pull the plank onto the ship.

Maisie attempted to get her bearings. Farther along the railing, the men had finished hauling the sandbags onto the deck. Beyond them a fearful rattling sounded as a sailor cranked a wheel. “Anchors aweigh, Captain,” he shouted over his shoulder.

Captain Cameron shoved Maisie on ahead when he noticed one of the men who had pulled up the sandbags peering over at her, a hand on his hip. She couldn’t see the sailor’s expression, but supposed her unexpected arrival made him curious.

“Stay here in the shadows,” the captain instructed, leading her to a sheltered spot beside a ladder up to another level. He jerked his head, nodding down to what looked like a doorway in the surface of the deck. “As soon as we’re on our way and out to sea, I’ll take you below deck to my quarters.”

With that, he was gone, climbing up the wooden ladder quickly and shouting instructions as he went.

Maisie pressed back against the boards behind her and held her precious bundle to her chest, for the ship’s movement on the water took her by surprise. She peered over at the odd hatch in the floor he had indicated, and wondered what he meant by ‘below deck.’ Was his cabin down there?

Reference to his cabin alerted her to the fact that he intended to accept the offer of her virginity. Perhaps there was nowhere else to house her, if they did not usually take passengers. Either way, her virginity was something she had to be rid of, and the sooner the better. If she were returned to her master, he would claim it, and then she would never be free of him. It had to be a man of her choosing—a man who knew nothing of her secret nature and could not gain from it, unless she deemed it possible. Nevertheless, the impending event made her nervous. She tried to control her emotions. It was important that the coupling was done the right way, that she be the one who gained from the undertaking and became empowered by it, for it would take her abilities into a higher realm. If she was to escape and to survive, she would need every ounce of her potential power to do so.

A bleating cry, like that of a child, made her jump and pulled her back from her thoughts. When she turned her head to seek out the source, she saw two young goats tethered nearby, their hooves planted widely on the boards for balance.

Startled, she watched as men emerged from another hatch at the far end of the ship, scrambling out and darting about the deck. She pressed farther back into the shadows. At first it seemed chaotic, but she soon realized they were all set upon a particular task. Three of the men ran toward the tall wooden poles that rose high above the ship, and began to clamber up them, their legs and arms wrapped around the masts as they inched rapidly upward. Maisie stared, fascinated, as they untied the sails. The great swathes of material unfurled, dropping down with almost majestic grace. The sound of the sailors’ shouts was all but lost in the flapping of the canvas.

She caught the captain’s voice from beyond. He was somewhere above and behind her, and she struggled to remember what little she knew of ships. The vessel’s wheel must be there. She strained to hear the content of the bellowed instructions.

“Make haste!” It was his voice.

“The tide is barely on the turn, Captain,” a man replied.

“There’s no wind,” another added. “It is not a good time to sail.”

“We must away,” the captain replied. “I was followed, I’m sure of it. I saw a man lurking and watching as we came aboard ship.”

Maisie’s right hand went to the silver clasp on her cloak and she clutched it for comfort.
Followed.
The captain thought it was him that was being followed, because of the goods he carried. But what if he was wrong and it was she who was being pursued? She pressed her eyes tightly shut and hoped that the captain was wrong and that no one had seen them depart.

Another shout from above made her look up. The men who had undone the sails were busy clambering down, but one of them signaled to the captain and then shook his head. The sails fell flat. They needed wind to fill them.

Maisie heard the captain grumbling. She felt a sense of danger as the vessel floated close to the dock, barely tipping in the turn of the tide. That had to change.

This would not do. She pulled her hood low over her face, concealing it in case anyone noticed as she whispered a spell to encourage the wind to fill the sails and aid them in their escape. An echo of her magic, when she drew on it, often shone in her eyes, the depth and color reflecting the emotional nature of her quest. However, in the gloom of this overcast night, she might not draw the attention of the men around her. It was worth the risk.

Inhaling deeply, Maisie readied herself. With one hand still clutching her bundle to her, she drew her free hand over her heart and then opened her fingers to the sky, whispering an enchantment. Breathing deeply, she pictured the clouds shifting faster, willed the air to swirl in around them and push them out to sea.