Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (5 page)

He didn’t say the rest. Didn’t have to.

For messing with a white woman.

Chapter Seven

Fisting her skirt, Dell ran as fast as she could to join the group assembled in the dark street, while her uncle followed her. The rain pelted down on their wide-brimmed hats, and a farm boy held a lantern under the roof of the nearest building.

They were too late. The men formed a tight circle around Jeremiah. He lay in the mud, supine and beaten with his hands held before his face.

Seeing him, she felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. “Leave him alone!” she yelled.

“That’s what you get!” Ephraim, standing over Jeremiah with his sleeves rolled up, kicked his worker hard in the side. Wheezing with pain, he curled in on himself. “Look what you made me do.”

“Stop it, you bastard!” Dell cried again.

“Philadelphia!”

Her uncle’s growl fell on deaf ears. She slammed into Ephraim with both fists. He lifted his hands to defend himself, but her Uncle Reuben grabbed her waist, pulling her back.

“Let me at that bitch too!” The gold miner roared, coming at her with a raised fist.

Reuben thrust her behind him and blocked Ephraim’s swing. “You best save your strength for your slave and what he’s got coming to him.”

“I told you we should’ve gone to get my Brunswick!” Dell pushed against her uncle’s restraining arm. She’d kill the man. Kill any one of them. Jeremiah had done nothing to deserve the treatment. She railed at the gold miner, “You just took Mrs. Sharpe’s word for it, didn’t even ask me what happened. I could’ve told you he was innocent! I was helping him read labels for you, Ephraim!”

Dell wiped the rainwater out of her eyes. Her hair now banded her head in a damp cowl, but she was past caring. Devil take them all.

“He’s guilty, all right. I saw the way the slave looked at the fortune teller when she wasn’t looking.” One of the men spoke up.

Jeremiah rocked back and forth on the ground in a fetal position. A farmer tossed a length of rope beside him. Nausea rose in Dell’s chest. The rope meant they were far from done.

Ephraim squatted beside Jeremiah to address him. “Biggest waste of my money is what you are to me! I should’ve bought a second mule. Now look at you.” He pulled the rope across Jeremiah’s twisted body.

Dell scanned the crowd for a weapon, something, anything to change their minds.

“My friends,” a voice hailed them from down the street, “perhaps you’d prefer to continue your congress inside, under our roof?”

Captain Campbell, wearing a black hat to thwart the rain, stood with three men—perhaps crew members—behind him. He came closer. “The ladies inside are eager for dance partners, and some whiskey will surely warm you while your clothes dry.”

“He’s right. Tie him up, Ephraim. You and I’ll deal with him later.” Reuben put a hand on the gold miner’s shoulder.

Her uncle’s response came as no surprise to Dell. Of course he was concerned about the money he would be losing if he had to take home the unused whiskey.

Looking between the men and Rory, the words to free Jeremiah were on the tip of her tongue. If the others wouldn’t believe their innocence, she could tell them the one thing that would likely save him from all wrongdoing.

The truth about her.

Life as she knew it would be over, but she’d rather endure a lifetime without freedom than allow an innocent man to pay for her silence. She cleared her throat.

Rory caught her eye and gave her a subtle shake of his head. His lips formed one word.

No.

Against her protests, Dell’s uncle brought her and the rest of the family home from the dance, leaving Jeremiah to be trussed and thrown into the Sharpe’s shed. Dell shot straight into her bedroom and slammed the door so hard the walls shook, barring Sarah, with whom she shared a bed, from the room. Then she flung herself on the worn quilt. Beating the mattress with her fists, she sobbed, ignoring the mess her clothes made of her bed, releasing all her anguish while no one could see. Oh God, Jeremiah. What could she do for him?

On the way home, her Aunt Ida had railed her for her behavior, ranting about how she’d brought them ridicule and censure, how she’d lost her best chance at a prosperous husband, and how if she chose to expose her color, she’d find herself without a roof. The Samuels wouldn’t claim her as kin. “Think of the children—your poor cousins!” After which Sarah chimed in with her own whining pleas, begging Dell not to make her a pariah.

She could buy Jeremiah if she had the money. He could work for her uncle, if Reuben would consider it after the shame he’d supposedly caused them, but none of them had that kind of money anyway. Ephraim would want what he’d paid for the man, especially after the humiliation he’d suffered that night.

No one in town had that much wealth except Ephraim.

Dell sat up with a jolt. She knew where he kept the rest of what he’d made from gold mining. Jeremiah had told her where he’d buried it. But even if she did dig up Ephraim’s own fortune and used it to buy Jeremiah, the bastard would find out quickly enough. Then he’d take Jeremiah back. It wouldn’t work.

There was one other soul in town with money. Rory Campbell.

His sense of honor was questionable at best, but steamboats always needed roustabouts and crewmen. Maybe he could use a pair of hands on one of Quintus’s ships. Perhaps he could buy Jeremiah for his boss and take him far from Posey Hollow.

Hope spread its wings in her chest. Waiting until the house fell asleep, she finally stood and began peeling off her wet garments. She dried, dressed and stuffed her mop of hair into a bonnet before climbing over Sarah sleeping outside their door. Then leaving her quiet house, she walked to town.

Fortune seemed to be smiling on her for once that day, since the rain had finally stopped. The lumber mill barn stood quiet in the early hours of morning. The last mule wagon pulled away from the entrance as she approached, taking its lantern and the only source of light with it. Alone in the darkness, her knees shook as she stepped up on the damp threshold of the barn where she’d been hours earlier, feeling much more confident then than now. It wasn’t every day she asked a pirate captain for a favor.

She rapped on the side door, her heart in her throat. After some muffled voices from behind the door, it opened. The freedman from
The Dark Enchantress
appeared and lifted an eyebrow. “The dance is over now. No lightskirts allowed.”

“A lightskirt?” Dell bristled. She’d heard fur-traders speak of harlots working in the larger towns where they traded, but the idea seemed ludicrous for a tiny settlement such as hers to maintain whores when they had regular church assemblies and with most men married.

When the door started to close, she shoved her boot inside, blocking him. “I’m not here to dance, and I’m not a lightskirt. I’ve come to see the captain.”

The freedman pushed the door against her boot. When she refused to budge, he looked her up and down. “If you’re not a lightskirt, then the captain won’t want to see you anyhow. Least not at this hour.”

Dell braced her hands on the door, applying all her weight against the man. “Tell him—”

“Sir?” The freedman spoke to someone behind the door, “A woman.” His expression smoothed slightly as he faced her again. “Wait outside.”

She withdrew her boot and the door slammed, narrowly missing the bill of her bonnet. Decorum wasn’t part of her upbringing, at least not since coming to their dead-end river town, but even moonshiners exhibited more respect for strangers than Rory’s crewman. She backed away from the door and waited. A few minutes passed before the door opened again, and Rory came out, closing the door behind him. He hung a lantern on a nail and came to greet her.

Dell’s face heated at the sight of him. Perhaps she
was
too late for visiting. Dressed in the same buff britches he’d worn earlier, his shirttail hung loose. The neckline gaped open where he’d removed his cravat. His hair hung in waves around his collar from his brief time in the rain earlier. However, his eyes were clear and alert—no trace of drunkenness. She sighed, relieved.

He rubbed his forehead. “I apologize for Frederick, but at this hour the man—especially a man from New Orleans—assumes a woman knocking on the door to the crew’s quarters is only there for one reason.” A line appeared between his brows. “I would invite you inside, but the men…”

His awkward apology only sent more heat into her cheeks. The handsome captain would no doubt have plenty of experience with women of ill-repute—for money or not. At that thought, her gaze was drawn to the golden triangle of skin exposed beneath his throat and the fine gold hair peeking out.
No. Remember why you’re here!

“It’s me who should apologize for coming here unannounced. And for my uncle and the others for ruinin’ your night. I guess you saw what they were doing?”

He gave a somber nod. His eyes traveled over her face. “Who is that man to you, Philadelphia?”

“An acquaintance. A friend.” Yes, a friend. She lifted her chin. “I’ve come to ask a favor of you on his behalf.”

“From me? I don’t see how I could help in a matter between a man and his slave. Arkansas’s laws favor the slaveowner’s rights.” His eyes regarded her warily. “I half-expected you’d be at the outbuilding where they’re keeping him, wielding your gun. You’ve defended this man twice this week already. Just why are you in such a dander to help him?”

New tears pricked her eyes. “Because I owe Jeremiah. He fell into bondage to Ephraim after one of my fortunes went awry.”

His cheek pinched. He took a step closer, reaching a hand out between them. His knuckle traced her cheekbone. “I’d help if I could, but the laws, Dell. Aiding an escaped slave is a serious crime.”

His touch was sincere and so natural she couldn’t break contact. “So don’t break the law. All I’m askin’ is for you to pay Ephraim for him. Take him with you on
The Enchantress.
If you don’t, they’ll beat him worse than they already have or even kill him.”

His hand rested lightly her shoulder, and his eyes narrowed. “What was his offense?”

“He didn’t do anything. But they think I’m white.”

“Ah.” He looked at the ground, thinking. “As much as I’m sure Moreaux would appreciate more help, I’ve long believed his greatest virtue is his disregard for slavery. He doesn’t own any. He won’t.”

“Oh, even better!” His words lifted some of the heaviness from her heart. “You could set Jeremiah free once he’s worked off his debt.”

His gaze flicked back to her, and then his hand caressed the slope of her shoulder. She shivered beneath the calming touch of his hand. “How would we be able to pay? A slave is no small investment, and I’m sure your gold miner spent a pretty penny on such a strong-looking man. Contrary to my attire,” he plucked at his shirt with his other hand, “I’m penniless until we return to Memphis.”

She frowned. The captain wouldn’t know the meaning of being penniless, unlike her, but if he was lying, he gave none of the usual indications. Dell smirked. “I know where to get enough money. I can get it tonight.”

Rory laughed softly and untied the bow of her bonnet string with a finger. “There’s Eleanor’s daughter! You’d make her proud. Or Moreaux.” He smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. She sensed bitterness behind his words, but he gave her no time to question him. “Tell me, how much skill did your mother pass to you? Like everyone else, I believed her gift for prophecy-making was real, you know, until the day the both of you ran.”

Dell burned with envy. He probably remembered her mother much more clearly than she did. “I know a few of her tricks. I learned most on my own.” Her pulse set into a wild frenzy beneath his touch, feeling his hand moving across her throat. She should move away. Surely this wasn’t proper. But he moved closer so that his side pressed against her body.

“I’ll help you, Dell.”

Relief and delight poured into her. She smiled and flattened her hands against his chest affectionately. His eyes darkened in response. She took a step back to correct herself, but his arm dropped, barring the small of her back, keeping her close.

He plucked the hat off her head and tossed it aside. “That’s better.” He gazed into her eyes with intensity. “Of course I’ll help you. It would be my pleasure to help an old friend with such an altruistic mission. But perhaps you’ll grant me one favor in return.”

Hellfire. Dell’s heart jumped in her throat. Just how far was she willing to go to right her wrongs against Jeremiah?

He moistened his lips. Dell braced for whatever he had in mind as those mysterious green eyes peered into hers. She felt his hand moving in small circles on her back, and a spiral of pleasure formed in her stomach. “What can I do for you?”

His teeth flashed in a wicked smile. “I’m sure I’d love to find out.” Then his face went serious, and she could see the determination in the set of his brow. “All I ask is that you return with us. Go back to stay with your stepfather—at least for a while.”

Surely she’d misheard him; standing in his loose embrace had rattled her head. “I’m sorry, I thought you said you wished me to go back with you.”

“I do. And if my mates’ impropriety gives you any doubts, let me assure you they’ll not touch a hair on your pretty head. We frequently have female passengers on board. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. If it means anything, you have my word no one will harm you on board any Moreaux vessel.”

His voice was as steady as his stare. His confidence compelled her to believe he was telling the truth—or at least he believed it himself.

But how could she go back to the Mississippi—the very place her mother gave her life to escape? Dell had promised her she’d make a better life for herself. A respectable life as far from the steamboats as she could get.

She gave a negative shake of her head and pulled free of his arms. “Please don’t ask me that. I understand you feel I should reunite with your mentor, but I can’t go back. If there was anything else I could offer—”

“No. That’s the price. After all these years spent apart from you, it’s what I know Moreaux would ask.”

“I can’t. It was my mother’s wish I shouldn’t return.”

He folded his arms, and his thumb drummed impatiently. Voice gone cooler, he said, “Stay with your pigs and goats then, finding lost trinkets for farmer’s wives, and keep hiding that lovely skin of yours.” His eyes hardened to cold emerald stone glittering down with icy contempt. “It’ll take a while getting over the guilt of your friend’s death, but once you’ve married some rustic and borne his offspring, then you’ll have your respectability.” His last word came out with a sneer.