Bring It Close (18 page)

Thirty Six

Daniel Lofts was nearing fifty-five years of age, had a renowned poor temper, no wife, a demanding widowed sister, unattractive nieces and to cap it all, arthritis in his knees. He was also a merchant sea captain who had finally had a belly-full of Governor Spotswood’s empty promises to make an end of piracy. Well, those promises were going to be fulfilled or he, Captain Daniel Lofts, would want to know why!

Listening to his sister’s agitated complaints his anger was growing, and when she pointed out the scoundrel who had offended her, Lofts’ enraged shout boiled across the ballroom. “That is him! By God, you rogue; you murdering, thieving, seadog! How dare you flaunt yourself here!” As he crossed the ballroom Lofts drew his sword; reaching Jesamiah, held its tip to his throat.

“I was informed this degenerate would be here, Governor – Gad, I almost ignored the letter as a prankster’s jest! He is a pirate – Blackbeard’s accomplice, no less. I demand you string him up. Here! Now!”

Keeping calm, Jesamiah attempted to push the blade gently aside, but Lofts flicked the weapon and drew a line of blood that dripped on to Jesamiah’s cravat. Sensibly, he remained very still, made no attempt to drop his hand to his own weapon. It would be useless anyway; a rapier was not meant for serious fighting, it would shatter at the first contact of blade against blade.

“I assure you, Sir, you are mistaken. I do not sail with Teach.” With supreme effort Jesamiah kept his temper, and his fingers from inching towards the blue ribbon restraining his black hair into a tethered queue beneath the wig.

Lofts flicked the blade again, another thin line of blood welled across Jesamiah’s cheek. “You lie. You attacked my vessel, the
Fortune of Virginia
, forty miles south of the Pamlico estuary. I clearly saw your face through m’bring it close.”

“I do not deny you saw me, but I was chasing Teach away. I never fired at you, never chased you, never attacked you.”

“Lies! My first mate will verify what I say, aye and m’crew. Every one of us saw you come up with Teach.”

“Then how do you account for Teach and his consort breaking off? For the fact that you were given an opportunity to run? Had I not distracted them you would be at the bottom of the sea, not standing here unjustly accusing me.”

“Fancy words and scuttled lies! You’ve been caught out and are wriggling at the end of a hook. Lies come glib to scum such as you! I know full well what I saw. Am I to be held responsible for a falling out between thieves? Is it my concern that you and Teach were squabbling between yourselves? Naturally I took advantage of it.”

Seeing he was getting nowhere with the imbecile, Jesamiah turned to Spotswood for support. “Governor, I do not deny I have been guilty of piracy in the past, but I have done nothing illegal since I signed Woodes Rogers’ amnesty. I came to Virginia to see to my estate. I repeat, I did not attack the
Fortune of Virginia
. I was attacking Teach.”

“And why would you be doing that?” Spotswood asked. “I can understand a captain coming to the aid of a fellow seaman, but taking Teach on single-handed? Even my brave naval captains would not be such simpletons.”

The glib answer that naval captains were simpletons anyway hovered on Jesamiah’s lips, but this was not the time for sarcasm. All he need say was that his intended wife had been aboard the
Fortune
– but what if Teach got to hear of it? He was not frightened for himself, he had stared death in the face too often to be scared of dying, it was only the manner of it that bothered him. A quick bullet was one thing, slow twenty-minute strangulation on the gallows, another. If Teach got to hear the truth it would be Tiola who suffered. And Jesamiah knew enough about Teach to know how he could make a woman suffer.

“I have my reasons for getting the better of Teach,” was all he said as he rubbed his shoulder. “An’ I ‘ave one more, now.”

“Angry with you for buggering up a Prize, was he?” Lofts sneered. “Get him to prove under God’s oath and at trial by judge and jury that he is not lying, Governor. Or are your promises to rid us of pirates nothing but piss and wind?”

The entertainment was more exciting than the dancing, or even the prospect of supper, and an audience was gathering, ranged in a semi-circle around the object of interest.

“Mrs Alicia Mereno can vouch for me,” Jesamiah heard the desperation rising in his voice. “She was aboard the
Sea Witch
. She will testify in my favour.”

Heads swivelled expecting to see her, the level of chatter rising higher as it became apparent that she was not in the ballroom. Robert Maynard suggested she be sought, his blushing face accompanying an attempt to convey that perhaps she was attending a call of necessity.

Five minutes passed. Ten. The search was widened. Another five minutes.

Governor Spotswood was more than a little taken aback by Captain Lofts’ revelation, for he had started to like this fellow Acorne and was appalled that he had made an error of judgement. He regarded the impatient faces, sensed the rising hostility. Had indeed promised to do all he could to rid the sea lanes of pirates – and here he was befriending one? He could not make a fool of himself in front of so many people, many of whom already doubted his integrity. He was King George’s representative here in the Colony of Virginia and he took his position of authority most seriously. But then, he was also a fair man who abided by the letter of the law and who would not condemn someone without a trial.

Governor Spotswood cleared his throat uneasily. “I remember well your past, Acorne, for I witnessed the way you stole a boat from beneath your own brother’s nose – do not frown at me, Sir, I was there, I heard and saw with my own ears and eyes your despicable behaviour. I am therefore aware of your nature.” Spotswood paused, glanced around the room. No sign of Mrs Mereno.

“Unfortunately the lady in question is temporarily absent. If you are indeed innocent of this charge then your name will be easily cleared, will it not? But piracy is a serious offence, one which we do most profoundly disapprove of in Virginia. With regret I must place you under arrest. You will have every opportunity to verify your story in Court. Surrender your sword, Sir, and any blade you may carry, if you please.”

Jesamiah stared at him, not believing he was hearing this. Arrested for something he had not done? For saving the lives of an entire merchant crew? Someone moved forward, intent on taking his rapier; he growled, a low animal sound and the man hurriedly backed away. Unbuckling its strap himself he handed the weapon to Robert Maynard, along with a folded pocketknife. Less humbling to hand over his possessions voluntarily.

Shackles were produced, someone had been quick off the mark to run to the gaol and fetch them. His sling was torn away – he cried out at the stab of pain down his arm – and the iron chains were fastened to his wrists and ankles. Almost before he knew what was happening, gruff-faced and rough-handed men had grasped his arms and shoulders, were bundling him from the house, dragging him across the cobbled stable yard and through the gateway; along the rutted lane. The restraints caused him to stumble and trip. He was too stunned to attempt to fight back.

The door to Urbanna’s small and primitive gaol was open and he was thrown into the confine of what was little more than a damp cellar. It stank of mould and rot, and once the door was closed and bolted it was without light. There was an iron-barred window in the door, but once the light was taken away everything was black. Jesamiah hated dark, enclosed spaces. He had lost a shoe, his breeches were torn and beneath his hands the floor was damp and disgusting. It was difficult to move with the shackles. His hand touched human hair and he stifled a cry, realised it was his own wig that had fallen from his head. Trembling, he crawled to the nearest corner, sat with his back against the cold brickwork and rested his forehead on his indrawn knees, the chains at his wrists rattling and heavy and already chafing his skin.

~
Tiola
? ~ He tried concentrating, putting all his thought and energy into picturing her face, filling his senses with her; imagining he could feel, smell, hear, her. ~
Tiola? Sweetheart? I wish you were here with me. God’s sweet love, I wish it
! ~

Thirty Seven

North Carolina

There was no moon and a low, sullen cloud covered the stars. Night did not usually concern Tiola, nor the cold. Often she would sleep with the windows open, listening to the variety of sounds that were so different during the night hours; comforted by the smells of scented flowers and damp earth. Not tonight. Tonight she had hurried to her room and bolted the door, had slammed the windows shut and pulled the curtains across the menace of leering darkness. And then she had lain face down on her bed and wept.

No animal deserved to die in pain, not through the stupidity of ignorant humans. The grooms, lazy and skimping their duty because the headman was away had left it too late and the animal had suffered. Tiola shed tears into the pillow, sobs shuddering through her defeated and weary body. Her fingers curled around the acorn charm on its chain.

Many horses contracted colic. Yards of intestines were folded up within the belly, a mass of gut crammed into a small space; a gut which so easily became blocked. Sometimes a bran mash worked, sometimes an enema or a linseed oil drench poured direct into the stomach. An energetic roll somewhere safe where the horse would not be injured or trap its legs – a paddock, well away from fencing – could do the trick. With the trapped wind passed and a chance to lie still and rest, the animal could be on its feet and contentedly grazing within the hour. If it was not merely blocked wind, they either got better, or died. That length of coiled intestine could rupture or twist, knotting like a dropped ball of twine. And nothing could be done except put a quick end to the suffering.

Nicholas himself had shot the mare with his pistol. Two imaginary lines from the base of the ear to above the temple; where the lines crossed he had placed the barrel, squeezed the trigger and fired. Tiola had sat there, the mare’s head in her lap, soothing her, not moving aside until that last moment when all the pain would be gone for good. The shot had been loud in the brick-built stable, the smell of gunpowder and scorched hair acrid in the air, but there had been little blood, and death, with the bullet passing straight into the brain, had been instant.

All the same, Tiola wept for a life she had been unable to save, and for her own inadequacies of failure, loneliness and despair. She wanted to feel Jesamiah’s strong, capable arms around her. Wanted his hands stroking her hair, her back. To rest her head on his chest and quietly cry, knowing he would wait, say nothing and expect no explanation until she was ready to tell him why she was weeping.

Wanted to tell him how filthy she felt from Teach’s foul touch and smell; how frightened she was of the Malevolence that had invaded him and dwelt within as a domineering parasite; knew the bastard would try again if he had the opportunity. Wanted to tell Jesamiah everything but could tell him nothing, for he would go after Teach. And she was so scared that if he did, Jesamiah would be killed.

After all these uncountable years of her soul’s reincarnations, why had she so totally fallen for Jesamiah? There had been relationships before – husbands and lovers, for the line of those who held the Craft had to continue, grandmother to granddaughter. Children had to be conceived and born, but in this incarnation, in this body, she had been virgin pure when Jesamiah had first made love to her, andnever before had she so completelyunited her soul with another. Had never felt this unconditional bonding with a human male. She more than loved Jesamiah, he was everything: life, love, light – a part of her.

She lay in the bed, staring at the darkness of the overhead canopy and at the partially closed drapes to the side. A faint light spread briefly under the door as someone walked by with a candle. She listened to the footsteps retreating down the hall. A female, light step. Perdita, she thought. Had she slipped outside for another secret assignation with Jonathan Gabriel? Poor children, what hope was there for them?

What hope was there for herself? Getting so stupidly jealous of a past lover! She knew perfectly well that Jesamiah had no affection for Alicia, his only interest was the heat of sex. What had she been thinking?

~
Tiola? Sweetheart
? ~

She sat up, scuffed the tears from her face. Jesamiah! He was unable to call her, the Craft did not work like that, but she must have been sending her own thoughts without realising. Relief flooded through her. Relief and joy and love, his spirit-presence filling all her senses, driving away that debilitating ache of fear and grief.

~
Oh Jesamiah, Jesamiah! I so miss you tonight
! ~

~
Is anything amiss? Your voice feels all wrong in my head
. ~

Hastily she shut out one reason for her misery. He must not learn that she was frightened, for he would insist on coming. Insist on facing Teach down. And that she did not want.

~
No, no. A horse died, I could not save her
. ~

~
It happens, sweetheart. Things have to die
. ~

~
Ais,
but it was because of lazy ignorance. It should not have been so
. ~ She felt the comfort of his presence. His understanding.

~
Both of us are cold and lonely, eh
? ~

~
Ais
. ~

~
As soon as that babe is born safe, everything will be shipshape
. ~

~
I do not want us to be parted again, luvver. I want us to be together.
~

~
This is the last time I make a stupid fool of myself, Sweet. I’m an idiot, I’m sorry. I’ll not give you another cause to run away from me
. ~

Tears were trickling down Tiola’s cheeks. She brushed them aside. ~
Is that a promise
? ~

~
It is
. ~

She had to laugh, an amused giggle. ~
Oh Jesamiah! You have not kept a promise in your entire life
! ~

In her head she heard his responding laugh, deep, warm and loving.
~ Well, I promise to keep this one
. ~ He chuckled, admitted, ~
For at least a week, anyway
. ~

Tiola burrowed beneath the bed covers, remembering the delicious lovemaking she and Jesamiah had shared in this bed.

~
Night, sweetheart. I love you.
~

~
I love you too, Jes. With my heart and my soul
. ~

And then she heard the giggle. Faint, distant, but unmistakably the malicious presence of the Dark.

~
Goodnight, Jes
. ~ She shut the link, slammed it as if she were forcibly closing a door.

She should have been aware of Teach’s presence out there beneath the trees. And she should have been aware that the Dark would be searching for her. She must take care! How foolish she had been! She must take care!

She relaxed her body, muscle by muscle, calming her breathing. This was not Craft but simple, everyday quietude. Safe, the seeping Malevolence excluded, she stilled her shivering and calmed the raggedy thump of her heartbeat. As she drifted towards sleep, a smile filtered on to her mouth. Jesamiah would never keep such a promise. He enjoyed the pleasures of the bedroom too much. What a pretty woman had to offer, especially in the bosom department, would always be too tempting a lure for him to resist. She snuggled deeper beneath the warm bed covers, did not mind. Truly did not mind. Those women were nothing more than a night of entertainment. He would not love any one of them, not as he loved her. So no, she would not deny him the passing pleasures of satisfying his natural lust.

As long he always came back to her. As long as he did not bed others when he could be bedding her. And as long as he continued to love her as much as she loved him.