The Jezebel (18 page)

She moaned and writhed. “Is it possible?”

“It is, but if you don’t want it, you must say.”

“I want to know,” she cried out, “I want to know it all, and I want you to show me.” With those words, she pressed back to him, and Roderick arched over her, shifting position so that when he lay against her, his cock was there. Scooping up her copious juices, he lathered them on his cock so that it would slide home easier. Maisie spread herself wider still and pushed up her bottom. He eased the swollen head of his cock into her tight opening.

“Oh, yes,” she cried, “make me yours, Roderick, there, too.”

Grappling for her, he pushed his hand beneath her in order to clutch her mound in his hand, to bring her off.

“You are mine,” he managed to respond, before he drove deeper and sent them both into a spiral of intense and visceral ecstasy.

* * *

Later, as he held her body in the crook of his arm and she slumbered against his chest, Roderick found himself dreaming of keeping her, of setting up a home somewhere as Brady had done with his woman, so that he might keep and visit her. It even crossed his mind to set down roots on land, in order to be with her all the time. But when he looked at her, he saw an educated lady, one whose hardships might always remain a mystery, too. Could he ever hope to win a woman like that?

“I’m glad you were my first lover, Captain Roderick Cameron,” she’d said while he washed them both down, readying them for sleep.

Roderick couldn’t reply, because what he wanted to say was that he should be her one and only lover, forever. Instead, he’d dried her off and taken her back to bed and held her tight to him.

As the night deepened, however, his thoughts grew more troubled. His crew’s earlier comments about her haunted him. Most of all he wondered if it was true, if he was blinded from the truth by her. He had been distracted, there was no denying that. He should never have brought a woman aboard in the first place. The men had made their feelings known as soon as they saw her, but since then they had quieted, some even seeming to enjoy her presence. Especially when she sang for them. If Brady and others amongst the crew were unhappy, so be it. To blacken her name with the suspicion of witchcraft, however, was intolerable.

Roderick frowned, tried to force the thoughts back, while clutching her warm body to his. The troubled images wouldn’t leave. They had a rule aboard the
Libertas.
No women. So why had he been swayed that night on Billingsgate docks, when she’d stepped out of the darkness and begged for safe passage? Was it witchcraft? Or was it just that he wanted her? God knows he wanted her now. Passion arose between them even though the doubts were there, even though it had come to this—arguments and surly behavior amongst the men.

Still, he could not keep away from her. Tonight had showed that clearly enough. He wanted her more than any other woman. That, above all, served as a warning to him. He was a seafaring man, and had no right to be thinking the way he was. He had obligations, to his crew and to Gregor Ramsay. He couldn’t let a woman beguile him, lead him off course.

Then she shifted in her sleep, waking slightly, holding tight to him still, before drifting off again, and Roderick could only be glad of this moment.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Cyrus’s frustration had reached its boiling point. The excruciatingly slow journey was made worse by the tedium of being at sea. Whilst the navy shipmen seemed happy and busy at their tasks, he was left to fester in his narrow quarters, where the roll of the ship made him reach for the piss pot to vomit in. The only alternative was to pace the deck, gripping the rail and staring ahead at the blustery clouds and the horizon, as if he could bring it closer faster, could wish it by magic. If only he could! But alas, his precious source of magic had been whisked away from him.

Tormented with questions and possibilities about Margaret’s whereabouts and her safety, and sickened by the sea travel, he could not sleep or eat. Most of all it was her intentions that plagued him. Surely she could not mean to leave him? Bile gathered in his gut when he considered it. No, she’d been swayed, or she’d been mistaken in going aboard the vessel. There had to be a reason. Seething silently over her departure, he found his anger growing with each passing moment. Even if she’d been influenced she should have known better. Margaret was an intelligent young woman. He’d spent enough on her education. Maybe too much. Perhaps he should have kept her ignorant and grateful, the way she had been at first. There were no acceptable grounds for this scheme of hers. He was wasting his time and energy fetching her back. Once he had her under his command again she would have to learn to accept her servitude to him more gratefully.

Cyrus was also exceedingly frustrated by Captain Giles Plimpton. The man’s attitude gave him no confidence. Cyrus had the feeling it was merely an urge to impress that motivated the captain, and not a true dedication to the mission. This was especially noticeable once the captain discovered that Cyrus was a notable orator. Captain Plimpton subsequently detailed his own personal history and expertise at length, and stated that he hoped Cyrus would report favorably on His Majesty’s navy, now that he was experiencing it firsthand.

Cyrus had to force a suitable acknowledgment. He would be much more likely to speak well of him if the captain showed any sense of urgency. Captain Plimpton commanded many men aboard three ships, for two smaller vessels followed their own, and yet it seemed as if they would never catch up with this ship called the
Libertas.
Now, for a second time in their two days at sea, they had dropped anchor and were waiting on a rowboat that had gone ashore for some reason unknown to Cyrus.

Cyrus watched the boat disappear off toward the harbor and then eventually make its return. The day before, when he’d asked the purpose of this diversion, he was told they collected navy papers from Harwich, where there was a large naval establishment. This time, however, the two men that had been dispatched brought back no extra goods or supplies, which irritated Cyrus immensely. Another waste of time.

He was just about to turn and head below deck to the pitiful quarters he had been allocated, when he heard the captain call his name.

“Master Lafayette. It seems the
Libertas
stopped at Lowestoft overnight. It was noted by several of our informers.” Captain Plimpton smiled broadly.

Cyrus’s attention sharpened. “How long ago?”

“A day since they set sail. We are gaining on them.” Captain Plimpton looked rather smug. “They are bound for Dundee. We’ll have them before they reach the Tay estuary, maybe even by Berwick.”

“I’m most impressed, Captain.”

“You will be. We’ll find your ward even if we have to take the
Libertas
apart board by board.”

“Margaret must not be harmed,” Cyrus retorted.

“Leave that to me. We will secure your ward before any subsequent action is taken.”

“Excellent. I will speak highly of your talents in my record of this endeavor.”

Plimpton beamed. “Rest assured there are no ships faster than the British navy vessels.”

No ships faster,
Cyrus thought to himself,
except perhaps the ship with a powerful young witch aboard.

They were gaining, however. Soon enough he would have his prize back. Cyrus thought on their reunion. She would be grateful and subdued once again, ready to take on her role as his wife. It was her place, because there he could best control and exploit her. It would be soon, and then he would bed her. Maybe he wouldn’t even wait until they were married. Too long it was already that he’d savored the anticipation of the event. He’d watched her grow into womanhood, her pale skin enticing him, the swell of her breasts a constant torment while he imagined her virginal body beneath his as he claimed her for his own. Yes, that would be a pleasure indeed.

Then he could reap the rewards of her empowered magic, and she would acknowledge that he was the only man in the world who knew how to protect her, how to make her feel safe and flourish.

* * *

Roderick sighed, inwardly fuming at the turn of events.

After his restless night he awoke to rough seas, and he’d come above deck to find a grim day overhead, with no break in the clouds and the ship pitching and tossing as if it were trapped on a knife edge between winds from the east and the west.

As soon as he appeared on deck, one of the men went below and shortly afterward a crowd of them emerged. Even as they came toward him they were mumbling amongst themselves about what they’d seen of Adam and his injury. Roderick found that the men’s thoughts and opinions about their passenger had grown only more dark and determined overnight. He knew what had brought it about—too much discussion fueled by too much rum. When they had a good subject to argue about, his men could spend the whole night doing so. But he would not have any of it. Maisie was not the black-hearted Jezebel they were currently describing.

“Rest assured that I, as captain of this ship, have quizzed our passenger,” he told them. “The young lady has a way with nursing the afflicted. I discovered no proof of malefaction.” If that did not quell them, he had a secondary plan that would.

They were not content to let it lie. Brady led them once again, detailing the latest discovery, while others added their own commentary.

“It was not nursing. Healed he was, Captain, his fingers perfectly straightened again!”

“It was as if there had been no injury at all,” someone else added.

“The injury cannot have been as bad as it first seemed,” Roderick stated firmly.

“It was,” Brady argued, “you saw it yourself. His hand was all twisted up and the skin broken and his knuckles raw.”

“I saw it, too, and the lad was crying out in pain,” another man added.

“Not damaged at all now. Wrong is what it is.” Brady shook his head. “She wrapped his hand in some strange potions, and there were whispered chants, words that have no known meaning to good God-fearing folk. What does that tell you?”

“It tells me nothing, because no one has been harmed. No one has been thwarted in their duties and our ship is safe.” Roderick kept his voice level, maintaining command and reassuring his men, even though his loyalties were divided.

Brady was the ringleader, and that was not good. “I took it upon myself to unbind his hand, to reveal what she had done,” he said.

He should be Roderick’s closest man, and yet he stood with the rest of the crew instead. The atmosphere was mutinous. Roderick saw the irony of the situation, for Brady was a man who kept a woman himself. Surely he knew the female sex was different to men, and that was not necessarily a bad thing? Apparently not.

“There were strange potions indeed,” Brady continued, “ancient leaves with a putrid aroma. But that was nothing compared to the evil doings she created with this potion. There was nary a mark on him. No grazing, no swelling. It was as if it had never happened. The devil has her enslaved, and she spins magic to bring him more souls.”

Roderick scowled at them. “I have seen several of you men here beg for a healer when you were sick or injured, and yet you accuse this woman of evil when she has done nowt to deserve it.”

“We have never had one aboard our ship, one who could turn on us and destroy our vessel, our livelihood.”

“She has blinded you to her true nature, Captain Cameron, blinded you with her magic and her feminine wiles.” It was Brady who made that assertion, and it sent Roderick dangerously close to reaching for his cutlass. Amidst the stream of objections the men had raised, Brady insinuated that she had ensorcelled him into bringing her aboard.

“Do you think the same of your Yvonne?”

Brady smiled, slow and sure, and Roderick saw the trap he had fallen into.

“No,” the man responded, “but then my Yvonne is no witch.”

“Witch!” someone repeated.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been found out, and that is why she was so eager to leave London,” Brady added.

Could it be true?

“See her off the
Libertas
and spare us from the devil’s woman, please, Captain,” another added.

Several of them had a murderous look in their eyes, and Roderick knew that was not easily going to be changed. He’d tried to straighten their thoughts the night before. That hadn’t worked. If he didn’t take charge of the situation soon, they would turn on him, as well. Several of them were looking at him suspiciously, as if he’d lost his mind, as if he’d lost his soul because the Jezebel pleasured him in bed.

What angered him most of all was that they put questions in his own mind. Some of what they claimed fitted. He struggled to recall what it was that she’d said when she’d begged for safe passage.
Her liberty was at stake,
that was it. Why so? Were there witch hunters after her? Roderick scrubbed his jaw in his hand while he shooed those treacherous thoughts away.

Now there was only one thing he could do, and that was to take charge of the situation and lock her up for her own safety. It would be damnably hard, but he would also have to be canny and put on a good show for the men in order for them to rest easy.

* * *

For the first time, Maisie didn’t want to go above deck that morning. Instead, she sat on the bunk and tried to focus on the path ahead, how she would travel from Dundee to the Highlands once they made land. But she couldn’t think upon it, because trouble was afoot. Above deck the mood had turned dark amongst the men, she sensed. That darkness sank down through the aged beams and boards, permeating the captain’s cabin and reaching out to drag her spirit down.

They were saying things about her and making Roderick doubt her. How much had they said? She’d made a mistake helping Adam, had been incautious and aroused their suspicions. Uncertainty twisted in her gut, and that familiar feeling taunted her—fear for her life, for her kin, for those she cared for. Even though she’d been protected for so long, Cyrus had kept that fear alive in her mind and heart, reminding her how well he watched over her. And when she felt the crew gathering against her, whispering their doubts and concerns to each other, it took her right back to the moment her mother had been tugged away, leaving her and her siblings to watch as she was tortured and persecuted.

Maisie sensed the men approaching the captain’s quarters before she heard them, and she knew they were coming for her. Rebellion and anger built in response. She sat on the edge of the bed she’d shared with Roderick, clutching her arms around herself while she attempted to push the dark emotions away. They would only make her hotheaded and careless, and she couldn’t afford to say or do the wrong thing.

There was a loud banging on the door.

It sprang open before she had a chance to answer.

She rose to her feet.

Brady, the first officer, and two other men stepped into the captain’s quarters, crowding the space with their bodies and their obvious animosity toward her.

“You will come with us.” It was not a request.

They all lowered their eyelids in her presence, avoiding her gaze.

Maisie’s blood quickened. “What is it? Why have you come for me?”

“Mistress, if you please, the captain and the crew are gathered and we need you to come above deck.”

Being led out this way was not good, but she rose to her feet, and when they stepped back to clear the path to the door, she went through it.

Up on the deck, the entire crew had gathered. A tense conversation was ongoing. Roderick was at the center of the group. When he caught sight of her, he fell silent.

The look in his eyes affected her more than she imagined it could. He had listened to the men, yet what she saw in his expression was reassurance. He cared most of all what she thought.
Roderick.
How she ached for him. How she ached to undo the trouble she’d brought to his ship.

“Seize her, Captain.” The man’s voice jolted through her.

Another shouted, “Aye.” The look in their eyes was horribly familiar, taking her back to the moment her mother had been accused.

Maisie clutched at the railing by her side and fought for breath. The pitch and toss of the ship barely reached her, and though her senses registered the whip of the wind and the salt in the air, signaling rough seas, she could not address it or counter it as she had done on the previous day. It was as if her feet had been nailed to the boards. Unwilling to move, she stared across at Roderick.

His gaze flitted from her to the men and back again. “I’m informed that you may have been performing some form of—” he paused, his scowl deepening “—witchcraft, while you have been aboard the
Libertas.
”

“There is no might about it,” a man shouted above the whistle of the wind. “I saw her with my own eyes. She cured the lad by some strange power, using words that the witches use. When Clyde questioned her about it, she tried to sweeten us, but we know what we saw. She has powers. You cannot trust her, Captain. She will bring bad fortune, mark my words.”

Roderick did not take his eyes from her while he listened to his men, each adding their own comments. It sent turmoil through her, yet he looked calm and in control. “Is it true? Did you save the lad by means of magic?”

Why did he ask her that? Desperate for his understanding, and frustrated by the scowls and jeers surrounding her, she fisted her hands and struggled against the hold the men had on her.