The Woodcarver's Secret (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) (10 page)

Chapter
4

Ships
Sail

Frigid rainwater poured from the
edge of a parapet, striking Rodrigo del Fuentes on his head, trailing down the
back of his neck and the inside of his shirt.

Damn this country
, he thought, ducking away from the deluge.
Curses upon the rain and the wet and the mud
.
A picture of his faraway homeland, with sunny dry hills and olive trees and
clean white buildings flashed through his mind. None of this dull gray stone,
the local rock which made up the structures and the roads and the roofs and the
shoreline. Brightened only by endless green fields, in the rare moments when
the sun came out, Rodrigo could see no reason why his king could possibly be so
eager to conquer this soggy place. Spain was, by far, more warm and hospitable.
He pressed his back against the rough stones of the city wall, edging along,
his only wish to be warm and dry once more but knowing that was a faraway
dream—at least until he accomplished his mission.

He’d been in Ireland a mere four
days, dropped along the shoreline at the quarter moon by an unnamed sailor who
rowed their small dinghy through the glassy sea with the silence of a sleek
porpoise. They skirted Galway Bay at low tide and spoke not a word as the
sailor indicated the point at which he expected Rodrigo to leap out and slog
his way through the remaining few feet of water to the rocky point where he
could make landfall without being seen from the nearby watchtowers along the
city wall.

“I shall return at the half
moon,” the sailor had told Rodrigo earlier as they launched from the
Santa Teresa,
which lurked behind a
ragged outcrop several miles down the coast. “You will be there, waiting. If
not, we sail without you.”

“
El Admiral
needs the information I will procure,” Rodrigo said.

“He
wants
that information. But he
needs
for the mission to take place at the right time so that we join the armada in
time for the invasion. If you fail, we simply go forward without it. Without
you.”

Rodrigo held his tongue as the
dinghy bobbed gently on the waves. What the admiral wanted were maps and diagrams,
something only a man who spent time ashore could obtain. Plans for the English
fortress and schedules that would inform the Spanish Armada of the opportune
time for their planned invasion in the autumn. Privately, he thought it the
height of arrogance that the admiral would even consider moving forward with
the invasion without the priceless information Rodrigo could deliver. But
el admiral
was precisely such a man,
conceited to the point of— He stifled the thought. He knew better than to voice
his opinion, especially on that particular night in that particular small boat.
The sailor was a man who did no more than follow orders: drop this unknown man
on the shore, pick him up six nights later. No questions, no opinions.

Now, after scurrying about the
walled city for days, poking into corners, stealthily listening to
conversations, Rodrigo had a plan. Admittedly, it was a loosely formed plan. He
had ascertained the location of the English captain’s office, a moderately
sized room in one of the main halls of the government building. He’d heard two
men discussing maneuvers that would send all but a small contingent of Irish
troops away from the fort tomorrow. It would likely be his only chance to get
inside; the dinghy was due to come for him on the following night.

He watched the steady splatter of
rain on the ground at his feet. The boat’s arrival was far from a certainty.
There had been no clear night, no smooth sea since his arrival. It would
require an act of God to change this weather pattern and no man alive could
predict whether that would happen. He tamped down the thought and stared once
again at the imposing stone building with its steeply pitched roof.

“Right ugly old thing, ain’t it?”
The female voice behind Rodrigo startled him.

He whipped around to find a short
young woman with vivid blue eyes standing in the rain. Her rough peasant cloak
was beaded with moisture and unruly strands of wavy yellow hair poked from
beneath her heavy woolen hood. She might have been as young as twelve years, but
the work-roughened hand that gripped the edges of her cloak suggested that she
was nearer to twenty.

“You got anything to eat on you?”
she queried. “A bit of bread?”

His mouth opened in surprise but
he closed it and shook his head. He understood enough English to know what
she’d asked, but any verbal response would give him away.

“Huh,” the girl said. “I’d wager
that them inside that fortress ain’t
goin
’ hungry.”

He gave a sympathetic shrug and
moved a few steps away.

She followed. “I’d wager that
it’s warm and dry in there, too. I’d be
willin
’ to
grant a favor or two to the gentleman who could get me a bit of supper and a
dry indoor corner for the night.” She pulled aside the top of her cloak and
revealed a triangle of white flesh above the neckline of her brown homespun
dress.

The temptation lasted no more
than a moment. Rodrigo had greater concerns, although he had to admit that he
was hungry as well, having last risked walking into a public house for a bowl
of stew two days ago. But the last thing he needed was this young woman with
the garrulous mouth trailing him through the township. He turned his back and
walked away from the building.

“All right, then,” the woman
said, trotting along to match his strides. “Let’s take ourselves somewhere
else. I know an old woman what raises chickens. They got nests in a little
coop. We could wait by until her lamp goes out and grab up a couple of eggs.
Not so tasty as when they’re cooked but they’ll fill your belly.”

He walked faster. She apparently
took it as a sign that he was eager to go along with her plan. She was
practically chasing him now and the speed of their movements would surely
attract attention. He stopped and spun toward her.

“
¡
Vete
! No me
molestes
!
”

She stared at him, speechless at
last. Rodrigo realized his critical error. Perhaps a fatal error. He faltered a
moment to come up with the English words.

“Sorry. Sorry. We … we can eat.”

He reached into a pocket and drew
out the small pouch that still contained a few of the local coins. He held them
out, hoping she would snatch them from his hand and disappear like a street
urchin.

Her gaze slid up the street and
back. No one else was in sight. She gave him a knowing look.

“What’s your name?” she asked.
“I’m Meggie.”

He thrust the coins toward her
again.

“C’mon, I’m not likely to turn
you in now, am I? I saw you out here earlier. Yesterday too. If I wanted
trouble for you, I’d of told them already. I’m
thinkin
’
you need my help as much as I need yours.” She studied his face, figuring out
that he’d understood only a fraction of what she said.

Rodrigo’s eyes flicked toward the
fortress, for a mere moment.

“All right, then,” said Meggie,
pressing his hand closed around the coins and threading her arm through his.
“We’ll have a meal and talk about this.”

To anyone who might have
witnessed the exchange it seemed obvious what was going on: a man offered
money, a woman took his arm and walked away with him. Rodrigo thought
frantically for a way out of the situation but came up with no answers. For
now, let the townspeople and the soldiers in that fort think what they may.

They walked around a corner, past
a row of solid stone buildings, through an alley, until they were well away
from the fortress. Meggie pointed out a wooden door and as they approached,
Rodrigo caught the scent of richly stewed meat. His mouth watered.

Meggie handled the conversation,
placing an order for two bowls of stew and two pints of stout. The tavern
mistress brought their food to the dark corner table they’d located. Meggie had
acted as if he were her brother or her friend, and now she picked up her spoon
and dug into the food as though she had not eaten in a fortnight. Rodrigo felt
himself relax as the stout coursed through him.

Her bowl was empty before Meggie set
down her spoon. “So, as I see it, you want something inside that fort and you
could use some help.”

Her blue eyes were so direct that
he couldn’t look at them. He stared at his stew.

She reached toward him, touching
his hand lightly, speaking so softly he barely heard. “You need something. I
can help.”

He shrugged, pretending he didn’t
know what she was talking about.

The direct blue gaze would not go
away. Finally, he spoke.

“Why? Why you do this?”

The pub had grown noisy with the
midday crowd and Meggie raised her voice slightly, without risk of being
overheard.

“My father was shot down by the
English.” She gestured the firing of a gun. “My brother too. I’ve no love for
them. You come from another country—I don’t know where. I don’t care. But
you’re here to take something from the English—am I right?”

He worked to follow her words but
caught only the gist of it. He nodded.

Meggie looked down at his empty
bowl. “C’mon. We’ll figure it out.”

She stood and he followed her out
of the pub. As they walked he whispered of his goal, to get inside the fort and
find the room where the generals planned their strategy. He needed to know
where the English sailing fleet was.

“I know which one he is,” Meggie
said. “The general in charge of the fort.”

Her expression hardened and
Rodrigo understood. This was the man responsible for killing her father and
brother.

*
* *

The sky had cleared slightly by
the time darkness fell. As the bell in the church tower struck eleven, a watery
half moon began to peer through the clouds. Meggie led Rodrigo from the small,
abandoned stone cottage where they had stayed away from the prying eyes of the
populace and of the soldiers. Anyone seeing them come and go from the place
might think it a lengthy tryst, but she did not care. In reality they had spent
the afternoon scratching out diagrams with a stick on the dirt floor. The
fortress, he told her, consisted of a rectangular stone building, with
entrances on each side, guardhouses only on the two longer sides. After
midnight, one of those was locked. All ingress and egress had to take place
through the one guardhouse facing the main road. Now, they had a plan.

Two lanes away from the fortress
they split up, Rodrigo planning to work his way to one of the side doors where,
with luck, Meggie would come to let him in. First, however, she had a
less-pleasant task ahead of her.

She peered around the corner of a
woolen shop and studied the front gate of the fortress. As they’d hoped, two
guards provided the extent of the contingent. According to Rodrigo’s
information the rest of the men, along with most of their leaders, were away on
a series of military maneuvers near Dublin. She waited patiently until one of
the guards said something to the other and walked away.

She lowered her cloak and let one
side of her dress slip off her shoulder. With a sway to her gait she crossed
the road and began singing quite loudly, a bawdy pub tune. The middle-aged,
paunchy guard’s attention became riveted on the young blonde woman who was
obviously intoxicated. When she stumbled into him, neither was particularly
surprised.

“Hello—where did you come from?”
she said with a wink and a slur. She dipped to pick up the end of her fallen
shawl, making sure that her breasts were easily visible to him.

He reached to assist with the
shawl and she ran a finger down the length of his arm.

“Ooh, a right strong one you
are,” she said, prodding at his bicep.

He subtly flexed the muscle and
sent a stupid grin her way. Men were so easy.

“Say, maybe we could find a
little privacy?” she whispered when he leaned in close, ostensibly to drape the
shawl over her shoulders.

The guard glanced both
directions, but Meggie had already seen to it that the road was clear. There
was still no sign of the second guard. The man squeezed her shoulder as he let
go of the shawl.

“Sure, luv.” He pulled her into
the small enclosure that served as a guardhouse.

“Not here,” she breathed
urgently. “Your friend will come back.”

The randy man seemed to at least have
enough decorum to want the lady to himself. He lifted the latch on a door at
the back of the enclosure and pushed a heavy door inward, into the fortress
itself.

“Wait there,” he said, pointing
to another door across the corridor. “When the other bloke comes back I’ll take
my break. Ten minutes, no more, I promise.”

He gave a final, longing gaze at
her almost-exposed breast as he watched her walk into the second room. She
backed across the space then blew a kiss across the corridor and smiled to
herself as he tugged at his trousers.

The room in which she found
herself was apparently the bunk room for the troops who were away. Rows of beds
lined the walls. By the sliver of light from the corridor she rummaged through
a couple of knapsacks, coming up with only a roughly bound soldier’s diary and
a few coins in addition to the articles of worn clothing she expected to find.
She pocketed the coins, with the fleeting thought that she could run now and
avoid more contact with the pudgy guard who had practically slobbered at the
prospect of fondling her.

However, if he came back and she
was gone he would have no choice but to go looking for her and raise the alarm
about a stranger inside the fortress. That would not do. Before she could come
up with an alternate plan she heard voices, the guard telling his comrade that
he would take a turn at patrolling the corridor. She stepped outside the
bunkroom the moment she heard the heavy wood door to the guardhouse close.