Petals on the River (38 page)

customers seemed too involved in their own adventures and endeavors to

care what happened beyond their narrow world.
 
While the patrons laid

out coin for food and libations, frazzled tavern maids in drab garb

rushed about with large platters of food or mugs balanced on trays.
 
One

serving wench passed near the door, and Andrew's eyes widened at the

heavily laden trenchers she maneuvered through the crowd.

"Perhaps we can find a quieter corner in back," Gage suggested, taking

Shemaine's hand in his and leading the way.

James Harper had quaffed a liberal amount of ale by the time he caught

sight of the tall, dark-haired man and recognized him as the colonial

who had bought Shemaine.
 
With a sudden snarl contorting his visage, the

bosun pushed through his companions in a concerted effort to block the

other man's passage.
 
Upon reaching Gage, he rose on his toes and leaned

forward to gaze intently into the colonial's face.
 
"I don't like you,

Mr.
 
Thornton," he sneered drunkenly as he sought to focus his gaze.
 
He

staggered back unsteadily, then caught himself. Assuming a more

dignified mien, he straightened his coat with a jerk and stumbled a step

closer.
 
"In truth, I think you're the most obstinate, conniving

scalawag ever born.
 
Tis certain that Shemaine O'Hearn is far too good

for the likes of you."

"I came in here to eat," Gage announced gruffly.
 
"If you want a fight,

I'll have to accommodate you another day.
 
I've got my son and Shemaine

with me now."

James Harper's brows arched to lofty heights as he searched beyond the

colonial for the young woman he had become enamored with.
 
He settled a

bleary-eyed gaze upon her and began to leer with avid appreciatiOn of

her refreshing beauty.
 
Spreading his arms, he plowed toward her as if

he would take her into his embrace, but he came up short when Gage

caught his lapel in one hand and yanked him around.

"Keep your distance, Mr.
 
Harper," Gage growled in low tones. Though he

held his son within the crook of his other arm, Gage stretched the

stocky fellow to the very tips of his toes and held him in a steely

vise.
 
"She's mine now, not yours, and I'll break your bloody hands if

you try touching her again.
 
Do you understand me?"I "You don't frighten

me," Harper mumbled above the whiteknuckled fist clasping his coat.

"You're only a cloddish colonial...."

Gage gave the bosun a rough, angry shake, causing Harper's eyes to roll

like loose marbles in their sockets.
 
"I may be a cloddish colonial, but

you're a fool if you don't think I can embarrass you in front of your

shipmates.
 
If you don't leave us alone, you'll be licking spittle from

the spittoon ere I'm finished with you.
 
Do you understand me now?"'

Lending emphasis to his threat, he lifted the man until his feet dangled

above the floor.

Some sanity returned when James Harper tried to draw a breath and found

that he couldn't.
 
The other's fist was wedged tightly against his

windpipe, preventing any passage of air to his lungs.
 
Suddenly doubtful

of his survival, Harper nodded briskly, and then, almost gently, he was

lowered to his feet.
 
The hard fist relaxed and dropped away.
 
In the

next brief moment the lean fingers were again clasping Shemaine's hand

and leading her through the spectators, who had halted what they were

doing to gape at them.

Testing the condition of his throat, James Harper swallowed several

times and gingerly stretched his neck to assure himself that nothing

vital had been damaged or broken.
 
Though he might have suffered some

shortage of breath for a few moments, he felt amazingly clearheaded for

a man who had partaken copiously of so much ale.
 
He lurched toward a

chair and slithered loosejointedly into the seat. Thankffil to be alive,

he heaved a wavering sigh of relief, expelling fumes that reeked of

strong ale.

A serving wench paused beside him and tilted her head aslant as she

considered first the bosun and then the couple who were presently making

their way toward the back of the tavern.
 
"By rights, gov'na, ye should

consider yerself fortunate," she informed the seaman.
 
"That Thornton

fella can be mighty mean when he wants ta be.
 
Once I saw him thrash a

man twice his size when the bloke tried ta accost his wife on the street

outside this here tavern.
 
O' course, Miz Thornton's dead now, an' some

maybe wonder if'n Mr.
 
Thornton didn't kill her himself, seein's as how

he's so ornery an' all, but ta me own way o' thinkin', that would be a

bloomin' shame cause he's so handsome an' all."

Harper had difficulty deciphering her words at precisely the time she

said them.
 
The dawning came with agonizing slowness several moments

later, prompting him to finally lift his gaze and stare aghast at the

dowdy woman.

The serving maid grew immediately worried at his stricken expression.

"Ye needn't fret so fearful like, lovey." She patted his shoulder in a

motherly fashion.
 
"Mr.
 
Thornton's forgotten ye by now.
 
Ye're safe."

Morrisa Hatcher elbowed her way through the crowd, shoving the serving

maid out of her path as she passed the bosun.
 
James Harper's eyes

wavered unsteadily as he observed the widely swinging, gyrating motion

of her hips, but the harlot gave him no heed as she followed in the wake

of her red-haired adversary.
 
Halting at the table Gage had selected

near the back, Morrisa struck a sensual pose and smoothed a hand over

her voluptuous curves as she awaited his notice.
 
Gage stood Andrew in a

chair between himself and Shemaine, and then pulled another chair out

for his bondslave.
 
Finally facing Morrisa, he acknowledged her presence

with a stiff twitch of his lips, the best greeting he could offer the

woman.

"Morrisa Hatcher, I believe."

"Right ye are, gov'na." The harlot flexed her arm in a sly movement that

sent the sleeve of her magenta gown falling over her shoulder, leaving

much of it bare.
 
"I been watchin' for ye ta come in here, but I didn't

knows ye'd be o' a mind ta bring yer son in with ye.

A right handsome li'l boy he is, too." She considered the child

thoughtfully for a moment before concluding, " Tain't hard ta see ye

done yer manly duty by his ma.
 
He's the spittin' image o' ye, alright."

"Did you want something?" Gage asked impatiently, hardly in the mood to

tolerate her mischief.

"Nothin' what could be called real important, gov'na." She shrugged,

managing to lower her neckline over her bosom.
 
"Just thought I'd invite

ye ta come back an' stay a spell when ye aren't got yer kid or Sh'maine

hangin' onta yer shirttails.
 
If'n ye be o' a mind, I can service yer

manly needs right good-like.
 
I knows more'n Sh'maine bout what kind o'

things can pleasure a bloke like yerself.
 
I might could even teach ye a

thing or two, if'n ye'd let me."

Shemaine' s face flamed scarlet at Morrisa' s bold solicitation.

Quickly directing her attention to Andrew, whose nose barely reached the

edge of the table now that he was sitting down, Shemaine jumped to her

feet again and made use of a small nearby cask, which she turned on end

and, as his father lifted up the boy, placed in the chair beneath

Andrew.

After Andrew was resettled on the keg, Gage faced the harlot again and

grew rather annoyed that she hadn't decided to leave of her own accord.

He sighed in exasperation.
 
"All I really want right now, Morrisa, is to

be left alone with my son and Shemaine.
 
I sincerely hope that's not too

much to ask of you or anyone else here."

His reply drew an angry sneer from Morrisa.
 
"Ye aren't a very friendly

bloke, are ye?"

"No, I'm not," Gage admitted.
 
"It seems everywhere I've gone today I've

met someone from the London Pride, and the encounters have always ended

in some kind of fMy, so I beg you leave us in peace before I really lose

my temper."

"Suit yerself, gov'na!" Morrisa snapped in a huff.
 
"I was only tryin'

ta offer me services .
 
.
 
.
 
seein's as how ye've got a li'l

knownothin' under yer roof." Morrisa started to turn away, but paused as

she glanced at Shemaine.
 
Gratification had turned rapidly to

frustration when the colonial had snatched the Irish twit from Potts's

grasp.
 
She yearned to deliver a death blow to her adversary even now,

but while there were witnesses to mark her actions, she had to limit her

efforts to a more acceptable form of torture.
 
"I hears Annie's papers

got bought up by that squeaky li'l mouse what came aboard the Pride

yesterday ta look us over, Sh'maine.
 
Him bein' single an' all, I spect

Annie won't be havin' any babies ta look after.
 
But as I figgers it,

she'll be needin' shelter from that sour ol' carp afore too long. A li'l

mouse like Samuel Myers can be meaner'n a big rat when ye gets right

down ta the truth o' the matter."

"Are you finished?" Gage asked curtly, seeing through the harlot's

vicious schemes.
 
The distressed frown that Shemaine now wore was a fair

indication of her deep concern for her friend.

"That's all, gov'na!
 
Sees ye round sometime .
 
.
 
.
 
maybe after ye

gets tired o' M'liedy Prig here." With that, Morrisa tossed her dark

mane over her shoulder and pranced off, exaggerating the sway of her

hips as she went.

Shemaine leaned forward to claim her master's attention.
 
"Mr. Thornton,

do you really think Annie is in danger of being abused by the man who

bought her?
 
That Mr.
 
Myers?"

Gage met his bondslave's troubled gaze.
 
"I don't know, Shemaine, but if