The Golden Cross (34 page)

“I don’t want any trouble.” The dealer thrust his arms behind his back, ostensibly to portray himself as a peaceful man, but Aidan knew he was furiously trying to untie the string that held his cheat cards within his sleeve. Without a word, she slipped beneath the table and crawled over the filthy floor, emerging at the dealer’s side. Recalling her lessons from Sofie, the Batavian wharf’s most accomplished pickpocket, she slid her fingers into the small opening of the man’s sleeves and pulled out three high cards.

“Hallo!” She waved the cards over the edge of the table. “Look what I found in his sleeve!”

From his quiet table in the corner of the tavern, Sterling heard the commotion and looked away from his vaguely charming female companion. Aidan knelt on the floor behind a dealer, victoriously waving a handful of cards before a group of enraged players. It didn’t require much thought to understand the scene’s significance. One of the players was swinging wide with his fist, and if the fellow hadn’t been dangerously drunk he would have already inflicted major trauma to the unlucky card dealer.

“Excuse me.” Sterling practically pushed the barmaid out of his way. She had been plying him with free drinks all night, but Sterling had steadily poured them out when the girl wasn’t looking, probably amazing her with his sturdy English constitution and capacity for liquor.

A full-fledged bar brawl had broken out by the time he reached the table. The tavern owner and the other card dealers fought to defend the hapless one who’d been exposed, and the enraged seamen used their fists and feet to demand justice. Tiy, Sterling noticed, lay flat upon the table, his arms encircling a mountain of stuivers as if he’d discovered the proverbial pot of
gold, but Aidan stood behind the dealer, pinned between the brawlers and a solid wall.

“Alstublieft
, please stop!” In an effort to free Aidan, Sterling tried to pull the heaviest of the combatants off the dealer, but the mammoth sailor only turned and swung a drunken punch in Sterling’s direction. He sidestepped the blow, then shrugged as the fellow landed face down on the floor, effectively knocking himself out. In the midst of the surging chaos, one of the barmaids rushed forward—not to help, but to rifle through the unconscious sailor’s pockets. Sterling shook his head, then turned again to Aidan.

Now the fight raged without reason. The odor of sweat and fury filled the air as men mindlessly pounded each other, trying to prove themselves. Torchlit shadows silhouetted the fight on the cracked plaster walls. The sounds of breaking dishes, smashing chairs, and splintering tables only added to the confusion, and blood ran freely. Someone cracked Sterling from behind with a chair. Though the blow nearly knocked him from his feet, when he whirled around he could not pick his assailant out of the confused sea of fighters.

Groaning, he leaned forward, his hands on his knees, trying to bring the room into focus. He had to get Aidan out of here. Once he did that, he could fall in the gutter, it wouldn’t matter. But a woman had no business being in a place like this. Schuyler Van Dyck might have given her a few lessons in self-defense, but the young lady had undoubtedly never encountered mayhem like this.

“Aidan!” He lifted his hand to his mouth and called again. “Aidan! Where are you?”

He saw her then—still standing in the corner, still pinned between the wall and the dealer, who looked rather the worse for wear. Sweat and blood soaked the man’s moustache and stained his torn shirt.

Sterling lowered his head and prepared to charge.

Ducking and weaving with each blow the card dealer dealt or received, Aidan felt a great exultation fill her chest to bursting. She’d seen a thousand bar fights in her life, but she’d certainly never caused one, and the thrill was nearly too much to bear. As soon as the dealer moved or went down, she planned to wade out into the fight, testing the lessons she’d learned from Heer Van Dyck.

She heard the crack of bone upon bone, saw the dealer’s tall form collapse at the knees and twist slightly as he crumpled in a heap on the floor. Aidan moved forward two steps and thrust her fists up, keeping one close to her face, punching the other in the direction of a tall man coming directly toward her—

“Come, Aidan. We’ve got to get you out of here.”

Aidan lowered her fists and focused upon her advancing opponent. This was no enemy. This was Sterling Thorne, and he was coming toward her with a no-nonsense look in his eye.

“I can take care of myself,” she protested, bringing her fists up again. “Move out of the way, and I’ll show you.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, because I am taking you out of here. It is time all ketelbinkies were in bed.” He moved closer, his hand thrust forward, and Aidan’s nerves tensed as she read the determination in his eye.

“I’ll not go,” she repeated, glaring up at him. She lifted her fists menacingly. “I’m not afraid to hit anyone who touches me.”

“Hit me then,” he said, coming closer, “because we are leaving now.”

Real fear gripped her then; her heart began to beat so heavily she could feel each separate thump like a blow to her chest. He
would
take her out. She would be humiliated, and the men would wonder why he insisted upon treating her like a—

Like a woman
.

Crimson with resentment and humiliation, she dodged his hand. She’d show him she could be a man. She’d grown up on the
streets of the wharf district, and she could fight and scrap and survive with the strongest of them.

“I’m warning you, Doctor,” she growled. He stopped before her, spreading his arms so she could not flee.
The fool. He has just opened himself like a target
. “I can fight, and I
will
fight—”

“Fight then,” he said, his eyes bright and bemused. She lifted her fist and plunged it forward, but before she could land a blow upon that chiseled chin, his arms wrapped around her and lifted her from the floor. Slinging her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, he headed for the door. Though she howled and pounded upon his back, he didn’t seem to feel the blows. He turned and calmly carried her through the melee until they reached the velvet humidity of the night outside.

“If you don’t be quiet—” He yelled to make himself heard over her storm of protest. “—you will only draw attention to yourself. And you don’t want to make a scene, do you? If you are quiet, those drunken fools from our ship will not remember anything about tonight, not even the fact that a ketelbinkie started a fight and squealed like a woman as
she
was carried from the tavern.”

Aidan clamped her hand over her mouth. How had he known? How long had he known? And who did he intend to tell?

Panic swept through her as she hung there in obedient silence. Passersby cast her curious looks, but she lowered her eyes and tried to think.

“I am going to take a room at this inn,” the doctor said, speaking more quietly now, “and you will not run away. You will cooperate with whatever I tell you to do. If you do not make trouble, I promise that all will be well and you can return to the ship with me on the morrow.” His head twisted toward her. “That is what you want, right? To return to the ship?”

She nodded soberly. “Yes.”

“Good.” Slowly, he bent and lowered her to the ground, then grasped her arm tightly. They stood outside a small inn, a far more presentable place than the flophouses where most of the seamen
would sleep tonight, if they slept at all. “I’ve already met the innkeeper and his wife,” Dr. Thorne said simply, opening the door and pulling Aidan behind him. One golden brow arched mischievously as he looked at her. “Be on your best behavior, please, and
do
try not to start a fight while we are here.”

The innkeeper and his wife were sitting by the fire, and their lined faces lifted in surprise as the doctor pulled Aidan into the large keeping room.
“Goedenavond,”
he told them, bowing slightly. “Forgive the intrusion. I hope you won’t mind that I have brought a boy from the ship to share my room. He will be no trouble, I assure you, but he shouldn’t be allowed near the others.”

“Is he sick?” The mistress’s spidery hand flew to the lace at her throat.
“Doctor
, I do not think—”

“He is not contagious; he can’t hurt you,” the doctor interrupted, smiling at them. “He is sick—” He tapped the side of his head. “—in here.”

“Goejehelp!”
The mistress looked even more distressed at this news, and Aidan lowered her head to hide her smile. The poor woman probably thought the doctor had brought in a raving lunatic to murder them in their beds and burn down the house.

“He is quite harmless.” The doctor gave them an engaging smile. “And he will sleep with his feet tethered to the bed, so you need not fear him wandering in the night. And now I give you a
goede nacht.”

He turned toward the staircase, pulling Aidan firmly behind him. She followed meekly, but could not resist looking back at the frightened couple. She gave the man a wide smile, then stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.

“
Sakerloot!
May the angels preserve us!” the woman cried, clutching the crucifix that hung around her crepey neck.

The sight of the cross deflated Aidan’s defiant mood. As her eyes filled with tears, she lowered her head and followed the doctor up the narrow twisting staircase. The memory of another cross
filled her mind—a golden cross. Even now she could see the face of the girl who had worn it … and who had died alone and unloved.

Aidan leaned against the wall in the hallway as the doctor brought a candle from the hall sconce to light the one in their room. By the flickering light she could see that the chamber had been sparsely furnished with two beds, a trunk, and a single rug upon the wooden floor. The doctor returned the candle to the sconce, then closed the door behind him. With a careful smile and an uplifted brow, he gestured toward the bed in the corner of the room.

“You might as well take that one,” he said. “If they hadn’t rented the room to me and my ‘patient,’ they’d have let that bed go to anyone else who wandered in off the street. Take it and be comfortable.” Aidan moved toward the corner, still uncertain of his intentions, but she relaxed slightly when the doctor sat on the edge of the other bed and pulled off one boot. Aidan crinkled her nose at the smell of sweaty stockings.

“Let us understand one another,” he said, struggling with his other boot as she silently made her way toward the vacant bed. “I know you are a woman; I’ve known for some time. And I don’t plan on tethering you to the bed, unless you plan on inciting another riot tonight.”

“I didn’t start the trouble at the tavern; the crooked dealer did,” she answered, primly lowering herself to the edge of the blanket. She fumbled at her belt and pulled out the short rod dagger that she carried hidden at her back, then flashed the blade toward him. “I sleep with this under my pillow, sir.” She glared at him over the tip of the weapon. “If you should touch me in the night, do not be surprised to find this blade between your ribs.”

He threw up his hands in mock horror. “I would not think of touching you, milady.” A trace of laughter lined his voice. “Upon my word of honor, you shall sleep undisturbed.”