The Last Broken Promise (14 page)

“Teach us, good Lord to serve you as you deserve, to give and not count the cost; to fight and not to heed the wounds; to toil and not seek for rest.”

She stopped and sought a quick glance up at McLeod to see if he looked to be haring off any time soon. What she saw was a hard-faced man staring out at the sea over her head. Jess went on solemnly,

“To labor and not to ask for any reward; except that of knowing that we do your will; through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.”

Jess waited for several long seconds. Nothing happened. He stood there watching the ocean like one of those blasted Greek statues he resembled so closely.

“You aren’t going to leave are you?” she asked bleakly, when she finally forced herself to look fully up at him.

Her weary little sigh caused him to realize that what he’d known intuitively the night in the goal was true. Even though all this day he’d tried to convince himself that it wasn’t, it was. Jessamine St. John was just what she’d so adamantly denied being. She was innocent. She may be brave as could stare, and old enough to be a confirmed spinster, but she
was
an innocent. And on this long sea voyage, he had to see she stayed that way. His powerful swordsman’s hand tenderly tucked an errant gold-shot curl back behind her ear, as he answered, “I’m not going anywhere, Sister St. John. And the prayers of Ignatius of Loyola won’t make me flee.”

“How did you know it was his prayer?”

McLeod had managed to surprise her again. The man neither answered nor tried to make polite conversation. He just watched her and waited. Somehow that was comforting. He obviously wasn’t the type to play games. Perhaps Aunt Dorcas was wrong about him toying with women for his own pleasure. Maybe Jess could use his help in London. Yes, she convinced herself. After all, the poor man couldn’t help being handsome, could he? Some things were ordained by a higher power, weren’t they? Jess swallowed and decided to take a different tack. After all, things couldn’t possibly get any worse, could they?

“Please Captain McLeod.” Her eyes weren’t stormy. Now they were a defeated jade. “Please don’t call me Sister St. John. I’ve no right to be called ‘Sister’ anything. If I was a better person, more controlled, Mother Marguerite Marie would have allowed me to enter holy orders long past. Instead, she’s sent me...” Here the girl stopped as if realizing she was about to violate a trust of secrecy.

Finn’s eyes narrowed at her discomfort. “She sent you to...?” he probed gently.

Jess swallowed. She looked away from those piercing eyes that seemed to drill down to the very depths of her soul. “Sent me to London,” she answered evasively. “Could you please not call me Sister St. John?” she was asking in earnest now.

Finn felt the back of his neck tighten and twist the way it did when he entered into a battle. It was a defense mechanism he’d come to recognize over the years. It meant his body was preparing to face danger. This is ridiculous, he assured himself, as one hand went up to knead the tightness out of his neck. This little chit cannot possibly pose me any danger.

If anyone was at risk, it was the girl herself. He knew he could protect her until they got to London. After that let her brother, the Duke of MacAllister, look to his sister’s safety. The men on his ship were a rough and rowdy bunch. They always wanted a woman to tumble. But he could control them. He always had. He could do so now.

Yet something else was hanging there at the back of his mind, teasing him. Mocking him with a resilience that set his bloody teeth on edge. Then the thought crystallized. He despised it. It lingered there until he finally acknowledged the cursed thing. It mocked him until he admitted it to himself. He knew he’d kill anyone who tried to touch Jessamine St. John. And that bothered him. No, it didn’t just bother him. It gnawed at something so deep inside that he couldn’t identify what it truly was. He began to swear under his breath. It was the same overwhelming protectiveness he’d felt towards her in the gaol. He hated the feeling.

Finn McLeod had no need to be possessive of a woman. A title, yes. Land and money, certainly. But a woman? The whole concept was ludicrous. Female companionship was too easily come by for him to be possessive. He’d never felt enough to care who’d had a woman before or after him, or what happened to her. Sex was merely a physical release. Any man who believed there to be more to it than that was a prosing idiot. He’d never been protective and possessive of a woman. He refused to let this little woebegone harridan make him that way now. Even with his vehement denials, the mere thought of any other man touching her, frightening her, ate away at Finn. Anger and restrained violence coursed through his body.

His sudden fury was a fearsome thing. It made Jess slide away from him until her back struck the railing behind her. From there she watched him like a silent cornered animal. A rational McLeod, she could handle. But this man before her was far from rational. Real fear showed in her anxious face.

And that fear tore through his chest like a sword thrust. “Don’t be frightened of me.” The quiet, somber words were at odds with the fierce expression on his face. “Don’t ever be frightened of me.” He ran a distracted hand through his tousled hair. “And forget Ignatius’s idealistic prayer. You must always count the cost of battle and the wounds that come with it. Do you understand me, Jess? If you are to live and be safe in this world, you must always count the cost. But while you’re under my protection, you will be safe. I promise you that much. I’ll always keep you safe.”

“Sister St. John will be fine, Captain McLeod. Just call me Sister St. John,” she chattered nervously, uncomfortable with his unconscious intimate form of address. If a simple request concerning her name caused the man to look like bloody murder and mayhem, he could call her anything he liked. “I need to become accustomed to the address of holy orders, in any event.” She further tried to calm the beast raging inside the man. “When a woman takes up her life vocation, she has to learn to be accommodating in all things to all people,” she nattered on nervously.

At the mention of her becoming a nun, the big man swore fluently under his breath before speaking in tightly-reined accents, “I will call you Miss St. John. And I will get you to bloody London. I will even pose as your fiancé. And after that, your benighted brother can marry you to the church or to the first unlucky man who sniffs at your skirts. I care not which. But stay out of my way, Miss St. John. It will take us a month or more to make London. In that time, I want you to stay out of my way. I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear you. And I certainly don’t want to be your friend. Confine yourself to the cabin,”

She cut him off rudely, “I’ve got to stay in that stuffy cabin?” The spark was back in her eyes. She was ready to challenge him at every turn again. “Not bloody likely.” She sniffed and threw her mane of tumbled curls over one shoulder. “You don’t seem to understand who is calling the tune here, Lord Maitland,” Jess spat out.

Hard hands closed over her shoulders. The strength there made her gasp. “No, Miss St. John,” he spat out harshly. “
You
don’t seem to understand. You will remember that in the gaol you volunteered to stay hidden. Jess…”

Her heart dropped at the sound of her name on his lips.

“I’m the only one standing between you and a ship full of men who don’t give a rat’s hind end that your brother is a duke. They don’t care that you think one day you’ll play at being a nun. All they know, or care about, is that you’ve got a face like an angel come down to earth and a body like a Parisian courtesan. After we’ve been at sea a few days, your face won’t interest them anymore. But your body sorely will. My men aren’t like the tame puppies you’re used to. They won’t be looking to steal just a few innocuous kisses, Miss St. John.”

He bent low to taunt her, she felt the warmth of his breath upon her face. And silly though it seemed to her later, she remembered smelling the fragrance of cloves. Though she could not imagine where it came from. Her senses were swirling as if caught up in some mad tempest. The heat from his body invaded her own. Her eyes closed anticipating the kiss she knew must be coming as he leaned closer and closer to her. It must be coming because she wanted that kiss, his kiss. Other men had tried to kiss her before. She’d shunned their every effort. But she could not shun this man. Never this man, who both infuriated her and made her feel things she’d never felt all at the same time. Her lips ached to feel the hard pressure of his mouth. A spiral of flame curled through her body. Her hands, of their own volition, seemed to seek out his hard, broad shoulders. She rose up onto her toes to receive the kiss, the magical transforming kiss, that she knew would change her life forever.

But it never came. Instead, her ears were flooded with the most creative obscenities she’d ever heard. Hard hands on her shoulders gave her another small shake. They pushed her firmly away.

“Perhaps you weren’t listening to me earlier, Miss St. John. I don’t play with maidens. So stay in the cabin with your aunt. And, if you can manage to do that, perhaps I can safeguard that precious virginity for you. At least until we get to London,” he said caustically as he turned to stride away, leaving her to ponder her humiliation in painful silence.

Jess spent three long, boring days in the cabin she shared with Dorcas. It’d taken her that long to get over her initial shame. She admitted to herself that she had almost thrown herself at the man’s head. Not almost, she’d actually expected him to see her closed eyes and pursed lips and lose his heart to her immediately. The humiliation of reliving that moment on the deck crawled over her again. How could she have been so naive? It truly wasn’t her fault she told herself calmly. Those ninnies courting her in Virginia hadn’t needed any encouragement to try and steal kisses. They’d found her irresistible. Apparently they’d been wrong.

Now in penance, she’d decided to be as obedient as possible to the stern unrelenting man who ran this ship. Ever since he’d warned her so brutally on the deck, she’d made it her business to stay away from him. Just as he’d demanded. In fact, Jess had seen no one but her aunt and the kindhearted Saul who brought them their meals. But enough was enough. Jess had been sure McLeod would come to his senses and apologize after one day, two at the most. Or at least show himself, so she could apologize. And, somehow, she would have screwed up enough courage to apologize because she ought to. Jess tried very hard to do the things she ought. But here it was three days hence and she was still a virtual prisoner in the cabin.

To be sure, it was luxurious beyond anything she’d seen on a St. John ship. Even Griffin’s cabin, on his ship, was no match for it in terms of style and richness. The furniture was mahogany, in the new style of Sheridan. There was a beautiful, large oval mirror mounted on the wall over the English commode that held the toiletry items. Thick towels and perfumed French-milled soap were provided whenever she or her aunt requested bathing water. Saul even hauled in a huge hip bath for them every evening. And that was a luxury indeed. For she knew fresh water was at a premium aboard ships.

The meals were served on fine porcelain plates balanced on the beautiful silver tray McLeod had said was the property of the cook. Yes, she fumed inwardly. Everything was perfect, too perfect. After all, one can play only so much piquet or chess before the walls start to crowd in on one. After dinner on the third day, she got up purposely. She began rummaging through the enormous chiffonier nailed against one wall of the cabin.

“Whatever are you up to Jessamine St. John?” asked her aunt in a querulous voice. If the truth be told, Dorcas was as tired of the lovely cabin as her niece.

“I’m looking for my cloak.” It was a muffled answer from the depths of the clothes wardrobe.

“Why, dearie? It’s not cold in here.” Dorcas was getting cranky and it showed.

“I’m not staying in here, Aunt.” Jess made a small sound of triumph as she retrieved the black cloak. She settled it around her shoulders. “I’m going up on deck. You’re welcome to come along.” In truth, she hoped the older woman would accompany her. McLeod would be easier to face, if there were the two of them.

Dorcas began to sputter a protest. “Jess, you may not go out there. You know very well how Captain McLeod feels about you wandering abroad. Besides, the sun is setting set. It’s dark. How many times have I told you that a lady never goes walking without an escort, especially after dark? Something untoward might happen,” she warned ominously.

“Something untoward
is
going to happen,” grouched the girl as she walked toward the cabin’s door. She pushed it open. “I’m going to breathe some fresh air and look at the sky. Then I’ll be back. Lord Maitland won’t know I’ve stepped foot out of his blasted cabin. Besides, he’s probably below with the rest of the drunken crew singing and fighting. For two nights I’ve listened to them wail, ‘Don’t Forget Me Kathleen’, and pummel each other. If I hear that cursed song one more time, I’ll start wailing and pounding on something myself.” The door shut with a sharp snap. She was gone.

Dorcas decided to give the child ten minutes. Then she’d go looking for her. What could happen in that length of time, she reassured herself? Why nothing, of course. Dorcas settled back at the table. She began to finish her portion of the delicious trifle the cook had sent with their meal. There must be hens and a goat somewhere on board. For the trifle was the best combination of custard, sponge cake, and fruit preserves she’d ever tasted.

Jess cautiously looked around the narrow passageway in every direction. She planned to avoid McLeod and his crew at all costs. The night watch might even miss her too, if she was cunning enough. Connor had taught her how to avoid being seen by the watch aboard ship, when she was ten. Although reflecting upon that fact now, she wondered why he’d wanted her to possess such a skill. As her half boots crept along the dark passageway, she decided it must have been the summer he himself was sneaking off Dylan’s ship almost every night to go ashore. She always tried to follow and ask where he was going so late at night. Her big brother would never tell. But he’d always reeked of cheap scent when he returned. The next morning Jess knew exactly when he’d returned, because she sat up all night on deck waiting for him. Yes, now it was all coming back to her. He’d taught her to fool the watch and hide because he couldn’t keep the little girl from waiting up for him. Dylan would have had both their heads, if he’d had the slightest notion of what they were up to. She smiled at the memory of that particular summer. Every summer on the ships was a lark. But that one in Barbados, stood out from the rest.

She silently shook herself out of her memories. If she didn’t move carefully now, she’d be caught right and tight. Standing in the shadows of the passageway, she could make out the watch in the light of a pale, round moon. A smile curved her lips. The boy on watch looked to be no more than twelve and drowsy at that. He’d be an easy one to sneak by. She watched and waited. Soon his head fell down upon his chest with the ship’s bobbing rhythm. When his head dipped, she silently moved around him. She went to the opposite side of the ship. Making sure the rigging hid her from the boy. She stood and gazed out upon the endless ocean.

In the darkness, it was almost impossible to tell the difference between the black night and the equally dark sea. An occasional white-capped wave was the only indication the ship was not riding upon the starry sky itself. She could almost believe she was sailing to the moon. It hung low on the horizon tempting her to reach out and touch its cold dappled surface.

Jess loved this part of sailing. There was a wild freedom to it that appealed to her soul. The beauty made tears well in her eyes and made her throat tighten. Surely, seeing this, even the most hardened heart must acknowledge God in all His power and majesty. Who else could make the sea and set the stars in the night sky?

She knew this was why her brothers never stayed long on land. Even now, she wondered why Dylan had given up his own ship to run the shipping business out of their new Savannah office. What could have made him leave the water and stay in Georgia, a place he despised for its hypocrisy, slavery, and old-money aristocracy? Something far beyond riches and position, she’d wager, for none of that seemed to matter to her urbane oldest brother. Even now, as the Duke of MacAllister, he cared little for wealth and status. His had been a restless roaming existence. He’d never seemed at peace. Until he’d met his sweet wife, Rory.

Dylan was nothing like Connor. Connor was the laughing, reckless one who was forever falling into scrapes and then extricating himself by any means, fair or foul. He was like a cat that always landed on its feet. But it was Griffin who truly had her heart. They were close in age and had both been raised by Aunt Dorcas and Uncle Josiah.

Connor and Dylan were raised as fine gentlemen by their exalted uncle in England. They had only come back to Virginia once their schooling was completed. But the former Duke of MacAllister, nasty old man, hadn’t wanted the two younger children at all. So she and Griffin were forced to stay in Virginia. Griffin, she fondly thought of him as she drew the heavy cloak closer to her throat. He would appreciate this night, so clear and cold and tremendously lovely. No one knew why he’d taken those letters of marque the President’s Secretary of War had offered him. Now, her wonderful tormented brother was a pirate. Griffin was a legal one, it’s true. But he was a pirate all the same. She’d not seen or heard from him in more than two years. Perhaps that was a blessing, she pondered as she trailed a falling star through its course across the black sky. Though she loved them all fiercely, he was the only one of her brothers who could have kept her from the convent and its monastic life.

The seductive sway of the ship and the lullaby of its creaking sails quieted her spirit. The air was heavy and salty. It seemed to purify everything around it with its scent. In the solitary serenity of this place, she knew she could fulfill the task Mother Marguerite Marie had set before her. Somehow, some way, God would help her do this thing. This frightening thing. She had to keep her word or people all over the American frontier would die. People who had no interest in politics. Who only wanted to make a decent life for their families. Innocent people who didn’t know or care that foreign powers were striving for possession of territories in their adolescent land. Because of them, she would find Arthur Bassett. She would give him all the information that had been entrusted to her. Because of them, she’d left her own dreams behind in Virginia. She’d decided to hold fast to the Mother Superior’s letter for Finn. What he didn’t know, he’d not be held liable for.

She felt, rather than heard, the slow steps coming up behind her. Preparing herself to flee, she turned. It was like her awful nightmare. A man was stalking her. He wore a cloak with the hood covering his face. And she could tell by his small stature, he wasn’t McLeod. At this point, she wished it was the captain. He, at least, wouldn’t hurt her. She knew this without a shadow of a doubt. McLeod would never hurt her. He might infuriate her. But he’d never physically hurt her. All those dire warnings he’d given her about the sailors. And what they might do to her, if they got the chance, came flooding back to her mind. So, she anticipated that this man might attack her. He might just be her seeking solitude. But he might harm her because he wasn’t McLeod.

The man edged his way along the railing was also not a true sailor. He was hard pressed to keep his balance on the rolling deck. He moved cautiously, but with no call of welcome. Perhaps he was afraid to speak. So Jess spoke first.

“Good evening, sir,” she offered in a quiet polite voice.

The man didn’t answer. He just kept moving ominously forward. Jess felt a skitter of fear. This sailor was not out to stroll and take the air. “Excuse me, sir,” she murmured as she hurried to pass by him.

A punishing hand shot out. It grabbed her arm as she got near him. Jess was frightened. But she didn’t lose her head. First, she would try all the tricks her brothers had taught her. She tried to slam the heel of her free hand into his nose. The man just laughed at her efforts and captured her fingers. Now he had both of her hands trapped.

Jess’s mind wanted to spin out of control, but she took a deep breath and fought to stay calm. She knew she was lost if she didn’t stay calm. She twisted her body to prepare to jam her knee up between his legs. The man somehow knew what she was planning. He threw his weight violently to one side. She was thrown down to the deck.

A searing pain shot through her arm as she tumbled to the rough boards. Jess was trembling and thinking, furiously thinking, of what to do next. What could she do to save her life? And why was this madman trying to kill her? Then she remembered some advice Griffin had given her two years ago. He’d said, sometimes all you could do was scream. So she tried to scream with all her might.

But the man sensed her intent. He gripped her throat with both hands. He was going to choke her to death. The only sounds she could produce were wheezings and pitiful whimpers. And the worst part was, she couldn’t see his face. It was hidden by the hood of his cloak. Some madman was killing her and she didn’t know why or who he was. Jess tried struggling and kicking. After a few seconds with no breath, she couldn’t seem to fight anymore.

And then it didn’t seem to matter. She was dying. Nothing seemed to matter. Jess felt as if she was watching her own murder from a long distance away. She felt detached, almost peaceful. And as her lungs stopped burning and her vision turned completely dark, she realized she only had a few regrets about leaving this world. One of them was that she’d never kissed Finn McLeod. But oddly enough, she didn’t regret not becoming a nun. No, she didn’t regret that at all. Then she knew nothingness. Beautiful, peaceful nothingness.

“Jess!” Dorcas called.

He was about to finish the girl, when he heard the old woman shouting. His hands loosened their hold in reaction. The girl gasped involuntarily. The attacker had to make a decision and quickly. Should he stay and kill her or should he run before the old hag raised the entire ship? His employer liked jobs done well. No witnesses, no one to tell tales. But even though the man feared the one who paid him, he was also a pragmatist. There would be other chances to kill the girl. She’d proven herself to be an easy target. Better to wait. He grinned in anticipation. Perhaps next time he’d have the opportunity to play with her. He did love to see the terror in a victim’s face right before he finished them off.

The chit was gulping air and seemed to be rousing. As her eyes fluttered open, he decided to give her something to worry about. He leaned close and hissed in her ear.

“Maitland sends his regards,” He shoved her roughly under a mended sail that had been left on deck. Then he was gone.