The Raider (7 page)

“She stands in front of me wearing wet clothes that stick to her heavenly little body, then lies down on the ground and crawls around so that her backside—sorry,” he said to the horse when he brushed too hard. “What does she think I'm made of?”

“About two hundred and fifty pounds of fat.”

“Fat doesn't make me less of a
man,”
Alex said. He was wearing only breeches that clung to his big, muscular thighs. The sun was warming and browning the skin of his broad back.

“Then maybe it's the wig,” Nick said, his eyes smiling. “Or maybe the satin. Or perhaps it's the lazy way you walk or the fact that you do nothing all day except read and eat. Or it could be the slightly whining tone in your voice.”

Alex opened his mouth to speak but closed it again as he brushed the horse even harder. “I'm not
that
good of an actor. She should see that I…that I…”

“That you lust after her?”

“Jessica Taggert? Not on your life! Why should I expect anything from any of the Taggerts? There isn't a brain in any of them except Eleanor.”

“But it wasn't Jessica's brain you were lusting after, was it?”

“I only brought this up to show you the stupidity of the woman. She said she'd recognize the Raider, that he had a cruel-looking mouth, but there I was right in front of her. Let's not talk about her. Did you see that little Abigail Wentworth when I kissed her? Now
she's
a woman a man could spend some time with.”

“If a man wanted to be bored to death two years after the marriage,” Nick said, yawning. “You'd have to create entertainments for her. What would you do when she got bored with the Raider? Dress as a devil for two years? Then what?”

“Abigail recognized what the Raider was doing. He was risking his life to save someone else. Jessica didn't see that at all.”

“Perhaps she had too much dirty water in her eyes to see much.”

Alex winced. “I apologized to her for that. At least I did the best I could. I certainly wouldn't have sought out a brainless, aggressive woman like Jessica if I hadn't had a reason.”

“Makes perfect sense to me. Check his right foreleg,” Nick said, lazily giving Alex orders in the way only a Russian grand duke could. “Maybe Alex should seek out Mistress Wentworth and leave Mistress Taggert alone.”

“Good idea,” Alex said, returning to his brushing.

S
WEAT
was trickling down the back of Alexander's neck, mixing with the thick powder of the wig and making an itchy paste. He longed to pull the thing off and scratch, but he kept his languid position of sprawling across the hard sofa in Abigail Wentworth's parlor.

“And he's tall and very handsome,” Abby was saying as she sat dreamily looking out the window, her big brown eyes almost turning to liquid.

“I thought he wore a mask.” Alex was playing with the plume from his hat. Yesterday morning he'd taken the opportunity, while Pitman was at breakfast, to search the man's office. He'd found a letter from an admiral of His Majesty's navy thanking Pitman for confiscating the
Mermaid,
Josiah Greene's ship, and saying that Pitman's share of the profits from the sale would be arriving on the
Golden Hind.
This morning Alex had heard that the
Golden Hind
had been sighted and would be in Warbrooke tonight.

“Well, of course he wore a mask,” Abigail was saying. “But a woman knows these things. He was extraordinarily handsome.”

“Not like anyone in Warbrooke?” Alex asked, looking at her over the feather. All he had to do was figure out how to hide on the ship, take the money away from the king's representative and escape without shedding any blood—particularly his own.

“Of course there's no one in Warbrooke like the Raider. I've lived here all my life and there's no one as graceful as the Raider, no one as tall, no one as brave. He's the most—”

Alex didn't listen to the rest. In the week since the raid, Abigail had set herself up as the authority on the Raider—and her big mouth was making it more difficult for Alex to appear as the Raider again. Pitman didn't like that he had lost a battle to a cocky masked man and no one in town dared remind him of his loss—except Abigail that is. It seemed all she was capable of talking about. For two days after the raid she was the town's center of attention, since everyone wanted to hear her impressions of this man. But by the fourth day, people were thinking once again about putting food on the table and clothes on their backs. Everyone except Abigail, that is. She still talked of nothing except the Raider.

Alex had decided to take Nick's advice and spend some time with pretty little Abigail, but as far as he could tell, Abby hadn't yet noticed him. The only man she thought of was the Raider.

“Believe me, I know what he looks like.”

“Jessica Taggert said he had a cruel-looking mouth.”

Abigail stood, her plump bosom heaving in anger. “What does the likes of a Taggert know? You saw what the Raider thought of her, didn't you? I've always thought she needed a bath.”

Alex opened his mouth to say that maybe the Raider had been angered because he'd wanted so much to kiss Jessica and she'd refused him. But he wasn't really interested in Abigail's answer enough to bother to comment. What he most wanted to do was go to Ghost Island, shed his hot clothes and dive into the cold saltwater of the sea. And he needed to plan how he was going to relieve Pitman of his ill-gotten money.

Politely, he excused himself from Mistress Abigail and went outside to the busy main street of Warbrooke. He felt drawn to the cool breezes from the ocean and started walking that way. A couple of strangers in town stopped to gawk at him. Today he was wearing his royal blue satin outfit, the waistcoat embroidered with green and yellow silk flowers. Nick had sent his entourage of servants to New Sussex to bring back more of his fat cousin's clothes, so now Alex had several gaudily-colored garments as well as four enormous, and hated, wigs from which to choose.

The first thing he saw was Jessica's old tub, the
Mary Catherine,
tied at the wharf. Warbrooke had the deepest harbor on the American coast and even large ships could sail in quite close.

“Ahoy, Alex!” Jessica called down to him. She was in the rigging of the boat's tallest sail, trying her best to patch rotten and broken ropes. “Been courting?”

A couple of sailors behind him laughed as they looked Alex up and down.

“And who have you been courting?” Alex called back, referring to her male garments. He was pleased to hear the sailors laugh even harder before they moved on.

Jessica grinned and clambered down the rigging. “Come on board,” she called, “but mind your pretty clothes, there's tar and nails about.”

The boat Jess owned was even more derelict when seen at close view than from afar. It was a tiny thing with only two sails, but even at that, he wondered how she sailed it alone. The anchor must weigh two hundred pounds at least.

Below, down the narrow stairs and corridor and into the single cabin, he smelled every fish the boat had ever taken on. For the first time, he used his scented handkerchief for real.

“Too much for you?” Jessica asked, grinning.

He tested one of the two chairs for sturdiness, then sat in it. “How do you stand this tub?”

Some of the light went out of her eyes. “I'm a Taggert, remember?”

“True, and no doubt that means you can't smell anything.”

Jessica laughed. “Maybe it is a little difficult to take. I have some rum. Would you like a tot?”

“After an afternoon with Mistress Abigail, I need a hogshead.”

“The town's prettiest girl? The love of the Raider's life?”

Alex groaned. “Don't mention that man to me. After all Abby had to say, I hope I never hear of him again.”

Jessica poured two wooden mugs half full of rum. “Don't tell Eleanor,” she said, smiling.

Alex took a drink and then grimaced. “I see why the smell doesn't bother you. A few swigs of this and your nose falls off.”

Jess sat down, one foot in the chair, the other propped on the knob of a cabinet door. It was a masculine stance, but Jessica's body made it very unmasculine. Her breasts were outlined by the full shirt, and the pants wrapped themselves about her thighs—just exactly what Alex imagined his hands doing. He leaned back in his chair.

“So what is Pitman up to?” Jess asked, cradling her mug of rum, letting the liquid seep into her bones. A moment of rest like this and someone to share her precious rum with was pure pleasure. None of the women would have anything to do with her, and the men either treated her like a disease or they thought she lacked virtue and attacked her. Sitting with Alex who had no physical interest in her was a rare treat, rather like having a special friend.

“Jess, how would you get in touch with this Raider?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I have some information he might be interested in.” He proceeded to tell her of the money arriving for Pitman. If the Raider appeared with this knowledge that could only have been obtained by searching Pitman's private papers, Alex was afraid Jessica might guess who had found that information.

“I guess you could always tell Abigail,” Jessica said, smiling maliciously. “I'm sure the Raider slips into her bedchamber at night.”

“Are you jealous?” Alex raised one eyebrow.

“Of a sneak thief? The Raider is no better than a highwayman. If he had any courage, he'd stand up and denounce Pitman.”

And hang for it, Alex thought. “So you have no idea how the Raider heard of Ben Sampson's smuggling tea in?”

“Everyone in town knew about Ben and the tea. Even Abigail had heard of it.” She put her mug down and leaned forward. Her eyes were bright and the color in her cheeks heightened.

Alex began to sweat again.

“What if we start passing this information around? What if we tell a few people that the
Golden Hind
is delivering money to Pitman from the sale of Josiah's ship? If the rumor starts at the wharf, maybe Pitman will think it came from a sailor of His Majesty's ship.”

Alex sipped his rum and thought that maybe there was more than one Taggert who had some brains.

*   *   *

Jessica stayed on deck even when the sailors from the
Golden Hind
made lewd remarks to her. They'd been out to sea for months and the sight of so pretty a woman on the little relic docked next to them was more than their imaginations could handle. Usually, Jess took precautions and stayed away from newly arrived ships, but last evening she had made every effort to put her little ship next to the big one. It loomed over her like some fat old lady, the leering eyes of the sailors like rats at her beltline. Jess did her best to ignore them.

After Alex's visit yesterday morning, they'd separated and started casually spreading their rumors about Pitman's money arriving on the
Hind.
It hadn't taken many tellings to irritate the people. The money was from the sale of a ship belonging to one of their own and they directed their anger at the newly arrived English sailors. Already, four fights had started and three men were in the stocks in the town square.

After starting the rumors, Jessica had sailed out of the harbor and gone shrimping. She'd trawled close to the northeastern shore where she could see the arrival of the
Golden Hind,
and all afternoon she'd cast and recast her net—and waited. She wasn't sure what she planned to do, but if the Raider appeared and he needed help, she planned to help him.

A couple of times her mind rebelled at the idea of helping the man who'd so publicly humiliated her, but her desire to repay Pitman made her forget her own personal anger. If the American people didn't start protesting the English treatment, there wouldn't be any end to their tyranny.

The hold was half-full of squiggling shrimp before the
Golden Hind
had arrived and Jessica had tried her best to act nonchalant as she pushed her way into the harbor and tied up next to the big ship. She'd no more than dropped her sails before Nathaniel was there to catch her rope and tie her ship next to the square-rigger.

Nate scurried up the rope Jess tossed over the side. “You're out late. Eleanor made me wait for you.”

Jess didn't answer him but started watching the activity on the English ship as best she could considering her much lower position.

“Gor…” Nate said, looking at the amount of shrimp in the hold.

“Get the other kids and bag it, then take it around and sell it,” Jess snapped.

Nathaniel gave her a shrewd look. The boy saw much too much for someone of his few years.

“Don't give me any trouble, just do it!” Jess was annoyed because she couldn't see what was happening on the
Golden Hind.

She stayed on board her stinking ship all night. When Eleanor came to the dock, Jessica barely answered her questions about why she wasn't coming home. She slept very little, not allowing herself to go downstairs to the relative luxury of her berth, instead staying on deck, leaning against the side of the ship, a bailing pin nearby in case one of the sailors decided to do what all of them threatened.

At dawn she rose, stiff, a kink in her back, and heard the soft whinny of a horse nearby. Hanging over the side of her ship, she looked below to see a saddled horse ready and waiting.

She came fully awake. The horse had streaks of gray on its coat, but nothing could hide the sleek lines and the nervous prancing of the animal. It was the Raider's horse.

A head appeared on the other side of the
Mary Catherine.
It was George Greene, Josiah's oldest son, an angry young man of twenty-six who'd been cheated of his inheritance.

Jessica turned to him.

“You saw it, too,” George said softly, then louder, “I hear you have shrimp to sell, Mistress Jessica.” His eyes told her that they were being watched.

“Aye, George, that I do. Let me get you a bag.” Jess tore down the steps below and pulled out a burlap bag, stuffed a length of frayed rope inside and ran back up the stairs. “Will that be enough?” She stepped close to George. “Do you know anything?”

“Nothing. Father is afraid to hope. He wants Pitman dead.”

“I'd like to sail under her,” came a voice from above them.

“You'd better go,” Jess whispered. “I wish you enjoyment of the shrimp,” she said for the sailor's benefit.

“I'll stay with his horse. He may need me.”

Jess nodded and turned away.

Suddenly, above them came a shout and then the sounds of unfamiliar ruckus.

“It's him!” George said and the hope in his voice was what would usually be reserved for the second coming.

“Go to his horse,” Jess commanded. “He may need help.” She ran up the short ladder to the upper deck, put her foot in the rigging as if to climb but never got the chance.

From the high ship rail of the
Golden Hind,
the Raider swung down on a rope tied to the top of the mainmast. The sunlight flashing off this man, a bound chest under his left arm, effectively stopped all movement in the vicinity.