Authors: Connie Mason
Walking swiftly toward a group of dockhands, Harley watched in silent scrutiny as they loaded stores and ammunition aboard the
Avenger.
Having seen enough to raise his suspicion, he approached one of the dockhands. “Looks like the
Avenger
is preparing for a long trip.”
The man barely glanced at Harley. “I get paid to load ships, not answer questions.”
“Do you know where the
Avenger
is going and when she will sail?”
“I told ya, mate, I get paid to…”
“I know, load ships not answer questions,” Harley echoed. “What if I make it worth your while? You can use some extra blunt can’t you?”
That finally got the dockhand’s attention. “What bloke can’t? How much ya offerin’?”
Harley pulled a handful of shillings from his pocket and shoved them under the man’s nose. “Will this do?”
The man licked his lips greedily. “What do ya want to know?”
“When is the
Avenger
sailing?”
“No one has actually said, but the scuttle is she sails on tonight’s tide. All stores are to be loaded and stowed by dusk.”
“Interesting,” Harley murmured. “One more thing. What’s the
Avenger’s
destination?”
The deckhand scratched his balding head. “Don’t know, the captain never said.”
Harley’s attention sharpened. “Captain? You dealt with the captain directly?”
“I never actually spoke with the captain, we dealt with the first mate. But I understand his orders came directly from El Diablo. I seen the captain around all week, though, comin’ and goin’ at odd times of the day and night.”
“All week? You’re sure?”
“Aye, as sure as I can be. Ya think he’s goin ’ after Spaniards again? I doubt mere’s any of ‘em left after our fleet scattered the bastards from here to eternity.”
Harley smiled smugly. “He’s going after Spaniards, all right One Spaniard in particular, unless I miss my guess. Thank you, my friend.” He tossed the coins at the dockhand’s feet and returned to the coach.
“I hope you’re satisfied,” Bainter yawned as Harley settled into the seat beside him. “Can we go back now? I promised Lady Camille a dance at tonight’s celebration and I need a nap to fortify myself for the ordeal. She’s a clumsy bitch, but entertaining enough beneath the sheets. The queen is hosting the celebration to honor the marriage of Sir Scott and Lady Jane, you know.”
“I know, and I’m going to make damn certain the reluctant bridegroom is brought to heel. Back to Whitehall it is,” Harley said, grinning hugely. “I wouldn’t miss the celebration tonight for all the gold in the queen’s coffers.”
Morgan returned to Whitehall at dusk, after he’d seen to the loading and storing of cargo. He wanted nothing to go wrong. His entire future was at stake, and he didn’t intend to spend it legshackled to Lady Jane. He already had a wife, one he loved, and no one, not even the queen of England, was going to take her from him.
Morgan was surprised to see Jane waiting for him inside his chamber. She threw herself into his arms. “Morgan, darling, you’re back! I’ve been frantic with worry.”
“You shouldn’t be here, Jane. Shouldn’t you be dressing for tonight’s festivities?”
“Yes, of course, but I wanted to be here to greet you when you returned.” She sent him a searing look. “After what transpired in my bed the other night I thought you’d be glad to see me. Was naught amiss at Scott Hall?”
“Everything is fine, Jane, but it grows late. You’d better hurry. Wear something fetching for me.”
“Oh, I will, Morgan, I will!” Blowing him a kiss, she ducked out of his chamber.
Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. But it was short-lived, for almost immediately a summons came from the queen. She requested his presence in her Privy Chamber, at once. Morgan had a pretty good idea what Bess wanted and had hoped to avoid it. He reached the Privy Chamber and a warning chill slithered down his spine when he saw Lord Harley engaged in earnest conversation with the queen. Elizabeth turned at Morgan’s entrance, her eyes glittering with anger.
“You summoned me. Your Majesty?” Morgan asked blandly.
“We are glad you returned from West Sussex in time to celebrate the occasion of your wedding. But alas, you neglected to sign the annulment document prepared by my bishop. It is our wish that you sign it now so there can be no question of legality tomorrow.”
The queen’s secretary approached Morgan and presented him with the document.
“You will find quill and ink on the writing table,” Elizabeth directed.
Morgan grasped the document, strolled casually to the writing table, and carefully unrolled it. Stretching it out on the smooth surface of the table, he dipped the quill in the ink and signed it with a flourish. Then he carefully rolled it up and handed it back to the secretary, who bowed to the queen and left the chamber.
“Well done. Sir Scott,” Harley sneered. “Now perhaps you can explain why you lied about your visit to West Sussex? I have it on good authority that you were staying aboard the
Avenger
this past week. You weren’t in West Sussex at all, were you?”
Morgan gave Harley a look of intense dislike. “You may check if you like, but you will find that I was indeed in West Sussex to confer with my steward. I returned a day early and stayed aboard the
Avenger
to make sure all the work I ordered was completed to my satisfaction.”
“Stores are being loaded aboard the
Avenger,”
Harley charged. “You were seen aboard the ship when you were supposed to be visiting your estate.”
“My first mate and I are often mistaken for one another. We have the same look about us. Mr. Crawford is taking command of the
Avenger
in my absence. Do you have a problem with that? What am I being accused of?”
“Lord Harley seems to mink you intend to leave your bride at the altar,” the queen accused. “We would be most unhappy if you attempted anything so foolish.”
“Nothing is further from the truth, Your Majesty,” Morgan lied. “May I go now?”
Elizabeth searched Morgan’s face, apparently satisfied that he meant what he said. After a tense silence, she dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “We will see you anon, Sir Scott. This most upsetting that you appear to be a reluctant bridegroom when you have so much to lose if you do not go through with the wedding.”
Elizabeth’s thinly veiled threat made Morgan’s hackles rise. He had no idea how Harley had learned about the
Avenger’s
sailing plans but leaving England was going to be more difficult than Morgan had anticipated. Somehow he had to sneak away from his own party before high tide tonight, reach the
Avenger,
and raise anchor without anyone being the wiser.
The festivities that night were a test to Morgan’s control. Jane dung to him tenaciously, and Queen Bess watched him with hawklike intensity. Through it all he acted his usual self, talking, flirting, and paying courteous attention to Jane. When the hour approached for Morgan to duck out of the festivities, he waited for precisely the right moment. It came when Lord Harley asked Jane for a dance.
“I’ll be at the card tables,” Morgan said as Harley led Jane away. When the couple strolled onto the dance floor, Morgan ambled into the card room. But he didn’t stop there. He exited through another door into the anteroom and slipped cautiously into the corridor.
A few minutes later he was exiting through a side entrance, where he’d had the foresight to order a hackney to stand in readiness for his departure. The alert driver pulled the hackney to the entrance, and Morgan leaped inside, directing die driver to Billingsgate. They reached the docks without mishap despite the dark night and rain-slick streets, and Morgan leaped out. The hackney rattled away, Morgan having paid the driver in advance.
Morgan sprinted toward the quay, where the
Avenger
was moored. He took but a few short steps before halting abruptly in his tracks. He was more than a little shocked to see that the
Avenger
had slipped her moorings and rode at anchor a short distance out into the Thames. But even more astounding was the company of palace guards patrolling the area.
“Damn Bess and her distrustful nature,” Morgan muttered beneath his breath as he hid behind some barrels piled in front of a warehouse. She’d obviously suspected that he’d try to duck out of his commitment. He could only guess at Stan Crawford’s reason for moving the
Avenger
into the Thames, but he would be willing to bet it had something to do with the patrolling guards. Morgan’s mind worked furiously. Crawford was an astute man. He probably figured it would be easier to escape the patrol if the ship rode at anchor in the Thames, where it would be more difficult for the queen’s men to board. It was also out of range of musket fire. The drawback was that Morgan had to find a way to reach the ship before the tide went against them.
Suddenly Morgan’s attention was diverted as a rider clattered down the cobbled street and hailed the captain of the guard. They spoke at length, and when tie left, the captain called his men together for new instructions. Morgan knew without being told that his presence had been missed at Whitehall and that Bess had correctly guessed that he’d head for Billingsgate and his ship. Suddenly the patrol scattered and began searching in earnest along the quay. Morgan cursed violently. If he didn’t do something fast, he’d be caught like a rat in a trap.
He had no choice but to make a break for it and trust his luck, unless he wanted to spend ate rest of his days locked in the Tower. Morgan waited until a cloud drifted across the moon, then crept from behind the barrels. He ran as if the Devil was nipping at his heels. The sound of his bootheels striking the cobblestones echoed loudly in the darkness, and he waited in dread for an alarm to be raised. He had nearly reached the end of the quay when he was spotted.
“There he is, get him!”
Footsteps thundered after him, and bullets whizzed over his head and all around him. He shed his coat before he reached the end of the quay and dove into the foul, refuse-strewn water. Bullets flew furiously as he hit the water, where he dove deep. But not deep enough. A bullet found its mark in the back of his thigh. He heard a sickening crack, and then pain shuddered through him. The icy water kept him from blacking out as he gritted his teeth against the agony and struck out for the ship. Fortunately he was now out of musket range. But when he glanced over his shoulder he saw the patrol searching the bank for a boat Trying to ignore the burning agony of his wound and the dead weight of his useless right leg, Morgan stretched his arms and swam for his life. On one of his upstrokes he saw lights blinking on the
Avenger
and guessed that the crew had heard the commotion on shore. Then he heard the splash of oars behind him and realized his pursuers had found a boat and pushed off after him. He swam harder. Lanterns appeared at the rail of the
Avenger.
“Morgan, where are you?” Crawford bellowed toward me dark water below.
Morgan called out a reply, surprised that his voice sounded so weak. But Crawford must have heard, for he cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled. “The anchor chain, Morgan Hold onto the anchor chain and we’ll pull you aboard!”
His strength nearly depleted, Morgan reached the ship and found the anchor chain He clung desperately to the cold metal, aware that mere was no time for his crew to lower a boat with the queen’s patrol hard on his heels. The pursuers were so close now that he could hear their voices. He expected them to start shooting again and braced himself for the brutal impact of another bullet Slowly but surely the anchor began to rise, hoisting Morgan out of the polluted water. Then hands were lifting him over the rail while crewmen scurried about to secure the anchor and unfurl the sails. A welcome puff of wind filled the canvas, and high tide carried the
Avenger
down the Thames and into the Channel. From the distant shore, the queen’s guards shook their fists and sent curses flying after their prey. The queen would not be pleased.
“That… was… close,” Morgan said, shaking from pain and weariness.
“Are you all right? We moved out into the Thames when we saw the palace guards patrolling along the quay. I figured they were looking for you and hoped you’d find a way to reach us. It seemed our only chance of escaping. I worried that the patrol would come aboard and prevent us from leaving.”
“I knew… I could count on you,” Morgan grunted as he tried to rise. He screamed in agony and crumbled to the deck. Crawford rushed forward to help him. “I think… my leg… is broken” Those were his last words before he blacked out.
Cadiz, Spain
July, 1588
Luca played nervously with the lace adorning her dress as her father paced back and form across the elegant room. Father Pedro stood by the door, his hands folded piously inside the long sleeves of his robe. Luca had arrived home just yesterday and had immediately taken to her bed, exhausted from the weather-plagued trip from England. Her father had seemed delighted to see her but expressed shock when she told him she’d come from England, not Havana. All these months he had assumed that Luca was wed to Diego, and that El Diablo had been sent to meet his maker.
“You say that the Englishman kidnapped you from Diego’s palace?” Don Eduardo repeated in disbelief. “I can’t believe he had the audacity to attempt such a thing. A most amazing man, he allowed grudgingly.