Virgin Star (10 page)

Seanessy allowed her the reaction, waiting patiently behind her. A backward step put her against the iron wall that was his length and he felt the tension in the small lithe body as she pressed against him. His arms came around her front in what in another circumstance might have been an intimate embrace, but given the girl's terror, it was more like the indomitable bars of a closing gate.

The surprise was his as his body greeted the relatively chaste alignment with a sharp jolt of heat. Again! He didn't understand, especially after the tumble or two with Molly, and it incited a small sense of wonder, then perplexity, both of which disappeared in irritation. "Listen, child," he said, drawing in her scent with his next breath, the faintest trace of a perfume put to a hair soap by Tilly. "Granted my men look like hell, but they generally refrain from devouring innocents like you. They will not hurt you, child." Terror stayed in her eyes and he sighed. "Look, get it through that pretty head, I am the only man here who is likely to abuse you. And the worst of my abuse will be little more than a hard swift box to the ears."

She found no comfort in his words. All she knew was the danger surrounding her, penetrating and dominating each and every sense. Someone was after her. And if she had to imagine a face to go with the phantom who chased her, it might have been any one of these men.

With her heart pounding and filled with dread, she prepared to run for her life. Ignoring the obvious fear and tension stealing into her delicate form, Seanessy greeted his men from his ship the Wind Muse. Fear shimmered in her eyes as he exchanged words in a whispered conference with an enormous bald-headed man in the seat near the head of the table.

He still held her thin upper arm, and tightly too, as

she braced for the moment of their recognition. One by one the men looked over to see her. "Well, I'll be a son of—be this the poor beaten lass we found on the doorstep last night?" Butcher marveled at the startling dark eyes. "She's a sight prettier than Venus on the rise!"

"If men looked that good in their trousers, I'd be wearin' skirts and wavin' a weak wrist."

The comments grew more ribald, but she hardly heard them, except that apparently she reminded them of someone, which caught Seanessy's attention and seemed to amuse him as nodded to Kyler. Then he came to stand behind her and held up a hand to his men to silence them, that was all.

"Gentlemen." Sean smiled, and said by way of explanation, "The girl has just taken her first terrifying look at your less than charming appearances. Give her a moment to muster her herculean strength to overcome any maid's natural terror. Now," he added in a businesslike tone, "did Cherry Joe come through with the dynamite?"

"He came all right, but not with the dynamite."

"We had to literally pound on the bedroom door—"

"That man's as randy a tomcat before shipping

out." :

"And how he does it with that wife of his— shrewish, ugly as all sin, a figure like a mountain, wide end down, and there he is going at her like it's Judgment Day."

"Ah! I am beginning to grasp the inexplicable power of this thing we call chemistry," Seanessy said as he gently pressed down on the girl's shoulders, forcing her into the seat next to the head of the table. With that, she lost their interest, a relief of sorts.

The butler approached Seanessy with the post. Butcher and Kyler discussed how Wilson was likely to pass legislation that would allow a Catholic to take a parliamentary seat. They mentioned the Lady Barrington, whose Christian name, she gathered, was Joy. The girl watched a colorful blue and yellow parrot land on Butcher's shoulder as he held up an open palm of bread crumbs. There was something about this man. Long dark hair and a thick beard surrounded his red ruddy cheeks and bright blue eyes. "Cannot take a chance with that lady's precious life. Maybe we should just shoot the man," he said thoughtfully. "No kin blood lost and then we have an easier time blowin' up his island."

Unobserved, she kept glancing toward Seanessy's billfold, hidden in his trouser pocket, then up to the huge bald-headed man directly across the table from her. When he caught her stare, he winked. She looked shyly away, certain the man, like Seanessy himself, could kill ten dukes with his bare hands.

She glanced over to the next man, a tall, dark-skinned mulatto, a startling sight as he not only sat at the table as an equal, but had folded a newspaper in front of him. As if he had finished reading it. As if he could read. A white servant stood at his side, pouring him tea.

A white person served a Negro. Her mind repeated the fact three times before she absorbed the wonder of it.

"Hamilton?" Seanessy questioned. "What say you?"

A smile displayed the Negro's white teeth, bright against his dark skin. "For Lady Barrington?" he asked with a deep British accent, an accent like Seanessy's: no dropped consonants or rolling slurs but rather the rare flawless English enunciation, and it startled her. "The man might very well be innocent, Captain, but God Himself would not want us to take the chance with that lady's precious life. The only question for me is whether the bullet should go to the head or his heart."

Startled eyes darted from one face to the next, her head reeling as the sentiment was heartily ayed around the room. White men listened with respect to a Negro!

Next to Hamilton sat a handsome younger man named Richards who wore the fashionable dress of a dandy, foppish down to the long lace ruffles demurely poking from a blue velvet jacket. He looked like a gay Adonis: startlingly incongruent with the rest of the men here. Especially the man he sat next to.

She stared at the largest man she had ever seen. He looked as mean as a bulldog and as big as a bull. Short dark hair covered Slops's huge head like a tight-fitting cloth, small dark eyes were set in the round face. An unwavering look of pained discontent sat on his face as he ate what appeared to be a whole side of ham, this gargantuan breakfast smothered in maple syrup.

The Wind Muse's galley chef, Slops was not known for his emotional verbosity, much less a sympathetic nature, but when he caught the girl's stare, he tried to force a smile. It came out as a halfhearted sneer.

She almost screamed. She looked quickly away and swallowed. She had to get out of here.

"Speaking of the day's murders ..." Seanessy felt up to it now as he finished a plate of soft eggs/pork, and cottage pie with jellied toast. "Let's have a look at those men who brought me my trouble here. I want to meet them."

"Do not get excited, Sean," Kyler cautioned. "Believe me when I say it was hardly worth the effort." Kyler looked over to one of the servants. "Gordon, go fetch those two foul-smellin' shirkers from the basement oven room and bring them out." He withdrew a pistol and handed this to the much smaller man, "Here, you might need this."

As if it were no more than a dust rag, the young man took the weapon and left.

She watched with alarm, startled when the man named Butcher suddenly addressed her, brushing the two birds from his shoulder. "How are ye, lass? Did Toothless patch you up?"

She looked at Seanessy as if uncertain whether she should speak.

Noticing her empty plate, Seanessy motioned to a servant to serve the girl, either forgetting or not caring that she had already eaten. "Only too well," he answered for her, and with an amused grin, he offered the brief explanation: "This morning I woke to find the brat straddled on top of me—"

"They all end up there," Butcher interrupted with shocking disinterest, and a wrong assumption. "As long as I live I'll never understand how you do it. Me, I have to pay a lady five quid for the same pleasure."

Her lashes lowered in pain and her cheeks colored sharply. As if she was not enduring enough humiliation, Seanessy chuckled and added, "Well, this one did not come with an invitation. She might be a pretty thing but certain telling exclamations left an unmistakable idea that she's quite unused to the saddle. And no sooner had I awoken than I felt the sharp point of a dagger—my dagger!—at my throat and heard the child's melodic voice tell me ..." He turned to her. "What was it, child? 'Do not move. I will happily slit your throat.' "

The last caught everyone's attention before they roared with laughter. Even Kyler appeared amused, though his gaze found her to measure her reaction. If looks could kill, Sean would be quite dead. Butcher had almost lost a sip of tea and spent several seconds clearing his throat before finally saying, "Surely you jest?"

"No, but here's the best part: when I grabbed her hand with the dagger, one twist and she's free. Then I felt a good swift punch at my throat—you know, one of those Oriental moves, and then the impudent chit tells me, 'As you can see, I do not need a dagger to kill you.'" Seanessy laughed at his men's surprised faces. 'The girl, if you can believe it, is trained to the Oriental art."

"What?" Butcher cried, and after a good three minutes of expressed disbelief, most of it accompanied by curses, even Seanessy's apparent sincerity could not convince any of the men it was true. Which Seanessy had anticipated, and he knew she'd have to give them a demonstration. "Well, where the devil did ye learn it, lass?"

This could not be borne! Speaking of her as if she did not now sit here, and in such crass terms! She could not answer if her life depended on it.

I'm going to kill him ...

"She doesn't know," Seanessy answered for her again, his hand already reaching for a knife. "The blow to her head—she can't remember a thing."

"Nothing?"

"She doesn't even remember her name. And she has the idea someone's chasing her." A number of the men looked to Sean's eyes as if to ascertain the truth of this; the idea that she was probably mad exchanged without words.

"Now, lass." Kyler tried to ease the tension. "You'll find half the masculine race willing to chase you to the end of the earth."

"Me for one; darling," Butcher smiled, and seeing her extreme discomfort, added, "You know you're as safe as the crown jewels here, lass, don't you?"

She made no answer of course, and Seanessy added, "In my kindness I've provided her with the perfect name. Would you like to hear it—"

That was it. She never thought; she only acted. With her heart pounding furiously, she leaped away from the table and to her feet, swinging around to flee. And for a girl she was quick. She reached the other end of the table when Sean winked at his men and called her name, "Shalyn!"

She swung back around in the same moment Sean raised his arm and sent the knife spinning through the air. Any other female in the world would have a stinging slice of the blade through her right arm but Shalyn's fist shot out. The dagger spun to the floor with a clamor.

The incident did more than impress Sean's men. The drama pressed the name Shalyn into their collective consciousness as they applauded. Butcher smiled, remembering his wife, Kenzie, as she told the shepherd's tale to little Brenna and young Kenyon by the firelight one winter night. "The beautiful Irish wind fairies and the lady a shepherd loved ..."

Seanessy chuckled at her fine show. "Remarkable, isn't it? Now let's entertain guesses at why anyone would train a girl to the fighting art. And, Shalyn darling, sit down, will you?"

The girl was apparently as unused to taking orders, as she was to being teased. A murderous rage filled her and had no vent but the wind of a sudden flight. Seanessy swore under his breath as he rose to give chase. "I've spent half the morning chasing her."

"You might be askin' yourself why, Seanessy," Butcher said, and the men all laughed. Yet Seanessy had already shot after the girl, catching her just at the door. The strong arms came around her, only to find she melted like water, sliding right under. A clever trick, and before he could rectify it, with a sudden jerk she twisted free and turned to face him.

"Shalyn," he warned, "if you make me lay hands on you again, so help me God I'll make it cost."

She replied with all her strength put to a punishing blow to the beast. Sean laughed as his arm, even quicker, deflected the blow with a circular motion that threw her back. She used the motion like a skilled warrior and bounced back, putting all her lithe body into a swift kick to his groin, but too late. His arm shot the kick up and back to land her finally on her bottom.

The fall jarred her from her head down her spine; it took a full minute to recover. The men chuckled with amusement from the table, and nearly everyone watched as Sean bent over and whispered something in her ear. Flushed from the exertion, she went suddenly pale. Seanessy took her arm and pulled her back up to her bare feet, a movement that allowed her a sweet revenge of brushing against his side.

"Ah." Kyler pointed. "Here they come, Sean."

Holding her arm, he turned to see the two misfits, and at the same moment, he felt the sudden fear and tension steal into her form again. She just stared at the two men who had brought her there, waiting for recognition. Without realizing it, she was suddenly leaning against Seanessy's strength.