Captain Rose's Redemption (Harlequin Historical) Read online

  The driver handed them out of the coach and they hurried up the stone steps and into the narrow main hall. Moonlight streamed in through the windows, as Cassandra crept up the stairs to her room, Jane following behind her. She stopped at her door and pulled Jane close. ‘Go to Dinah and stay with her tonight. Tell everyone I’m not feeling well and I’ve gone to bed and that I’m not to be disturbed for any reason. I’ll see what the man wants and return as soon as I can.’

  ‘But what if the man waiting for you means you harm?’

  Jane was right. Cassandra had no idea who she was really going to meet. She wanted to believe it was someone sent by Richard, but it might be a ruse from his crew. Perhaps they’d followed the weasel’s advice and overthrown Richard and now wished to extort money from her. After all, threatening a woman was safer than taking a ship. They could ask for all they wanted. She didn’t have a spare farthing to give them.

  ‘I’ll take the pistol with me, but be sure to tell no one where I’ve gone.’ If something happened to Cassandra, it might be hours before anyone went searching for her. She was as alone and vulnerable tonight as she’d been in London. ‘If I’m not back by morning, then send someone to find me.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Jane dipped a curtsy, then made for Dinah’s room, leaving Cassandra to fetch the papers hidden in the fireplace. She didn’t change, wanting this business to be over with quickly and not intending to be gone for long. With the folded documents tucked into her bodice, she cracked the bedroom door and listened for any sign of activity in the upstairs hall. Jane’s soft voice talking to Mrs Sween in Dinah’s room drifted through the quiet, and Cassandra slipped out of her room and silently down the stairs.

  She hurried into the dining room and opened the pistol box and loaded her pistol with one shot. It wouldn’t do much if there were a gang of men waiting for her, but it was the best she had. She slipped the weapon and the handkerchief into the shallow pocket of her dress and made for the door set in the wood panelling next to the dining room.

  The musty scent of damp earth mingling with garlic, lavender and other herbs drifted up from the darkness of the cellar. A passage led from there to the kitchen outbuilding in the garden. She crept down the stairs, closing the door behind her and fighting back her fears over what she might encounter. Rats were nothing to worry about compared to pirates. Running her fingers along the wall, she traced her way across the short passage, losing the comforting guide when it opened up into the post-supported cellar. Feeling for each rough wood beam, she stumbled forward from one to the next in a straight line until she was across the room. Searching along the dank walls with her hands, she found the door and pulled it open, freezing when it squeaked. She waited to see if anyone had heard the noise, but no footsteps sounded on the floorboards above her.

  The passage was cold and lined in brick and she moved fast down it towards a faint glimmering at the far end. Following the stairs up, she entered the white kitchen, relieved to be free of the tunnel. She hurried over the stone floor, past the large wood table in the centre and the wide hearth where the embers glowed warm, reflecting in the copper pot hanging over them.

  She flung open the door on the far side, making sure to close it behind her before she bolted across the kitchen garden to the line of trees along the perimeter of the lawn. The dry grass crunched beneath her slippers as she followed the cedars and pine trees down the curve of the land leading to the river. She kept close to the shadows of the trees instead of making herself visible in the moonlight on the main lawn. If anyone happened to look out from the house, she didn’t want them to notice her. Thankfully, no boats were tied to the wharf and no one was about.

  The lapping of the James River against the piers grew louder and she paused, searching for any sign of the man waiting for her. Then the snap of twigs sounded from somewhere in the trees up ahead and she froze. She watched as a lone figure emerged from the dark foliage and made his way towards her. She took out the pistol and pointed it at him, her breath catching while she waited to see if he was alone or if a group of ruffians would rush to finish what Mr Barlow had been denied on the Winter Gale. The man moved quietly and steadily up the short rise, then passed through a shaft of moonlight that revealed his weathered features and the Monmouth cap.

  ‘Lady Shepherd, it’s a pleasure to see ya again.’ Mr Rush stopped before her and slid the cap from his head in deference, clasping it tight between his gnarled hands. ‘I see you received my message.’

  ‘I did and now you can send one back to your Captain.’ She tugged the documents out of her bodice and tossed them at Mr Rush. They hit his chest hard, and he stepped back, clutching them against his stained shirt. ‘There’s the evidence you’ve been sending to my uncle. I kept it safe, as Richard asked. Since I have the pistol back, and you have the papers, our bargain is over.’

  ‘You won’t help us?’

  ‘I won’t continue to place my daughter and my household in danger because of him and you can go back to Richard and tell him that.’

  ‘You must help him.’ Mr Rush threw out his hands in desperation. ‘He needs you. He’s been shot.’

  Cassandra slowly lowered the pistol, her throat constricting. Uncle Walter’s voice as he’d sat beside her in the sitting room of his Williamsburg house five years ago, his hand covering hers while he’d told her of Richard’s passing, whispered in the rustle of the leaves overhead.

  ‘Is he—?’ She couldn’t say the word.

  ‘No, milady, but he’s badly wounded. No telling how he’ll be come morning.’ Mr Rush stepped closer, concern and worry softening the deep lines of his face. ‘You hold all the cards, milady, like he did once. Will you show him the same kindness he showed you and help him?’

  Cassandra touched the garnets at her neck, her determination to shove Richard away for good wavering. Richard was in grave trouble and, of all the people he could have turned to for aid, he’d chosen her. It shouldn’t matter, but it did. What he needed of her might cost her everything, but he wasn’t asking for papers or illicit information to aid in his revenge, simply for her comfort and concern. He was the only man she’d ever loved and who’d loved her in return. Perhaps a small part of him still cared for her, and through it she might convince him to accept the King’s Grace and help him escape the awful life foisted on him as she’d longed for someone in London to help her escape hers. It wasn’t her place to reform a rogue or to take him in, but she couldn’t turn him away, not when there was a chance she could save him. For all the danger he’d put her through, for all the misery she’d invited upon herself by coming here, she wanted the chance to know him again as the man she’d once loved and not a pirate. ‘Yes, I’ll help.’

  ‘Thank you, milady.’ He set the Monmouth cap over his hair, relief easing his shoulders. ‘He’s down by the shore. Come along. We can’t be lingering here waiting for someone to see us.’

  He set off into the trees, and she followed him, returning the pistol to her pocket. The breeze coming off the river carried the musty odour of wet vegetation and mud. Leaves crunched beneath their feet, and the croak of toads added to the night sounds as they picked their way through the forest.

  Cassandra held up her skirt, but the thick, damp leaves mired her satin slippers while sharp branches pulled at her heavy skirt, making each step difficult. It wasn’t the difficulty of the journey making her thoughts race, but what she might find when they reached Richard and what she would do. She wasn’t a surgeon and it was too dangerous to call Dr Abney. She’d have to see to him herself and hope her ministrations were enough.

  ‘Not much further, milady,’ Mr Rush reassured her, reaching out once again to steady her after she’d stumbled over a fallen log.

  ‘I’ll go as far as needed.’ Faster if she could, but the dress wouldn’t allow it.

  Soon the trees began to thin and Cassandra could see the river a short distance away, rippl
ing with the moonlight. She could only just make out the quick current moving the islands of reeds out in the water. Ahead of her, Mr Rush stopped and cocked his head to one side to listen.

  ‘What is it?’ Cassandra asked, coming up beside him, straining to see the water and if someone in a passing wherry had spied them.

  From somewhere up ahead an owl hooted and, to Cassandra’s shock, Mr Rush hooted in reply.

  At the first mate’s signal, men stepped out of the shadows, one of them carrying a lantern with the wick trimmed so low, it emitted the faintest of amber glows. In its dim light, Cassandra met the men’s hard, suspicious eyes, searching for Richard’s familiar blue ones and his strong, wide build, but he wasn’t among them. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her dress and pressed her thumb to the pistol hammer, but didn’t cock it, wishing she hadn’t come here alone. It could still be a trick and, if she screamed, no one in the house would hear her.

  ‘Hell.’ A deep voice slipped out of the dark shadow at the base of a tree, the sound of it raising the hairs on the back of Cassandra’s neck. Richard pulled himself up into the faint glow of the lantern, swaying when he rose. His heavy, ragged breathing and unsteady stance surprised her more than the arrival of the pistol. ‘Is this your idea of help? I need a surgeon, not a woman.’

  Her eagerness to see him faded beneath his terse words, but some of her worry eased. If he was well enough to snap at her and his men, then maybe his wound wasn’t so bad.

  ‘I can leave if you like.’ She gathered up her skirts to go.

  ‘Please, milady, he needs your help.’ Mr Rush grabbed the lantern, held it up beside Richard and pulled back his frock coat. The light revealed what the shadows and wool hid. Cassandra gasped at the dark blood saturating the white shirt of his left shoulder.

  ‘Douse that damn light before you give us away.’ Richard shoved the lantern aside. The effort taxed what remained of his strength, and he sagged against the tree. Two men helped him down on to the moss and propped him up against the rough bark. Cassandra wanted to rush to him, but she didn’t move. She refused to reveal her feelings or fears to Richard or weaken him in the eyes of his men by simpering over him like some nursemaid.

  Instead, Cassandra knelt beside Richard with the same self-possession she’d exhibited during teas with Lady Spotswood, hiding her alarm at his weakness. ‘Bring the lantern closer, Mr Rush.’

  The first mate obeyed, kneeling on Richard’s other side and holding up the light. She reached out to move Richard’s coat and better see the wound when Richard grabbed her wrist.

  ‘Don’t touch it. I wouldn’t want a lady to stain her dress.’

  Her heart skipped at the press of his fingers against the inside of her wrist. She ignored it and his curt remark, more concerned about his hot skin than his harsh words. She hoped it was the exertion of trying to stand and not fever heating him. ‘Has the ship’s surgeon seen you?’

  ‘The surgeon is dead. Shot in the mêlée with the Casa de Oro. Another one of my good men, lost.’ He let go of her hand and the air, despite the humidity, seemed cold without his flesh against hers.

  ‘Two men aboard the Devil’s Rose are sick with the fever,’ Mr Rush explained. ‘It’s no place for a man weak with a wound to recover. It’s why we came to you. We need you to care for him until he’s well enough to return.’

  ‘I’m well enough now,’ Richard barked.

  ‘So, I see,’ Cassandra murmured. There was no missing the sweat drenching his brow and glistening in the lamplight. They were asking her to take Richard in and nurse him until he recovered, or—she didn’t want to think of the alternative. Housing a pirate was infinitely more dangerous than handing him supplies or secret papers and sending him off, but if she didn’t find a way to care for him, he would surely die. He might still, but she would do all she could to make sure he lived.

  A brisk breeze rattled the leaves above her while she racked her mind to think of some plan, some place she could take him to care for him. Discretion and secrecy were absolutely essential, but with labourers and their families and other workers occupying the houses and outbuildings of Belle View, it might be difficult to find. And then it came to her. ‘I can’t take you to the main house, but the overseer is gone and his cabin is empty. It’s set some way away from the other buildings and rarely visited by anyone. You can hide there until you’re well enough to return to your ship.’

  ‘I don’t need your help,’ Richard growled.

  She leaned in so close their faces were inches apart. Sweat and the acrid scent of gunpowder filled the air between them, reminding her of the way he’d smelled when he’d pressed his lips to hers on the Devil’s Rose. It was his hard eyes fixed on her that stopped her from leaning forward and tasting him again. ‘You have two choices. You may refuse my help and I’ll leave and consider my part of the bargain fulfilled. Then you can lie here and bleed to death or wait for putrefaction to set in. I suspect there’s little you can do for your crew as a stubborn ghost.’

  The anger in his eyes softened to resignation tinged with the strain of pain. He leaned his head back against the tree and closed his eyes with a sigh. ‘And the second option?’

  ‘Accept my help and perhaps survive and return to your crew and a life above ground.’

  He opened his eyes and took in his men standing around them. Then he fixed on her. A little of the humour he’d employed with her aboard the Devil’s Rose drew up one corner of the grimace tightening his lips. ‘You’re a strong-willed woman. I like strong-willed women.’

  ‘And I like men who are alive.’

  He frowned and shifted his shoulders, grimacing with the pain. She waited, wondering if he’d agree to the terms of her bargain. She would not beg him to stay for he was not hers to command.

  At last, he nodded. ‘I accept your help.’

  ‘Good.’ She stood and shook the mud and leaves off her skirt. ‘Mr Rush, help him up. The rest of you stay behind. I can’t chance you all being seen.’

  ‘Never thought there’d come a day when I needed help walking,’ Richard complained while Mr Rush and Mr O’Malley helped him to his feet, bracing him between them.

  ‘As a pirate, I’m sure you’ve been carried out of several taverns.’ Cassandra grinned, trying to lighten the mood, but his challenging gaze caught hers.

  ‘At one time you thought of me as more than a pirate.’

  ‘I might again if we can get you to the cabin and you live. Now come along, before someone spies us here.’

  ‘The rest of you, return to the ship,’ Richard ordered, leaning hard on Mr Rush and Mr O’Malley.

  No one objected to the order and the sailors faded into the shadows of the trees as they started off towards the river. The loyalty he inspired in his gruff crew impressed her. From what she’d heard of pirates they normally turned on one another in a moment’s notice. Yet these men were willing to risk danger to see to Richard’s safety. It spoke to the good still in him, although she wondered how safe he truly was. ‘Hurry, we must go before someone sees us.’

  Assuming they haven’t already.

  Cassandra started off in the direction of the overseer’s cabin, and Richard and his men followed behind her. Once or twice she paused, struggling to remember the way or because she thought she’d heard a branch snap and feared someone was walking through the trees up ahead. Each time she paused, the men behind her went silent, listening like her to the woods around them for any sign they’d been discovered. They saw no one about, and she was eager to reach the privacy of the cabin, but they moved at a turtle’s pace. The thick underbrush hampered their progress as did Richard’s wounds. Each time Richard groaned in pain after being jostled, Cassandra fought the desire to rush back to him, take his face in her hands and reassure herself he was fine. She shouldn’t care if he survived or not. He hadn’t cared enough to tell her he was still alive, or to find a way for them
to be together. He’d chosen this wound and the possibility of death over a life with her, but it was impossible for her not to care.

  They reached a clearing in the trees where the overseer’s cabin stood dark and lonely, the moon glinting off the dirty windows. This place was a good distance from the main house and away from the path the farmers usually travelled to get to the fields from their homes near the river. A thick copse of trees surrounded it, offering privacy the buildings closer to the fields lacked.

  ‘No one should disturb you here,’ Cassandra whispered, then led them across the grass. At least I hope not. It was a touch closer to the carpenter’s house and barn than she cared for, but neither the driver, her groom nor the carpenter were men accustomed to taking walks through the woods, or cutting through here to reach the main road into Williamsburg and the Raleigh Tavern. Work at Belle View kept them too busy to allow such idle occupation. She prayed they did not decide to change their regular habits. There was enough risk in housing a pirate without someone happening on Richard and informing the authorities. She’d be arrested and Dinah taken from her. If they were separated, there were no relatives to look after her daughter, no one to see to her future the way Uncle Walter had tried to see to hers.

  Panic made her stop and turn to tell the men to go back, to leave her and take Richard with them, but the words died on her lips. Richard hung between Mr Rush and Mr O’Malley, his breath rattling in his lungs. He’d come to her at his most vulnerable, just as she’d faced him on the Winter Gale, asking for a mercy neither he nor his crew had any reason to extend to her or anyone else on board. If she sent him away, he might die and this time it would be her fault.

  She led the men up on to the rickety porch, holding her breath when she turned the latch, then letting it out when the door opened with ease. Stale, musty air wafted out of the cabin, and moonlight cut through the windows, illuminating the narrow bed against the wall, the cold hearth and the simple wood chairs and rough table.