Chapter 6 #2
Liverpool! Wonderful, Brianna thought. It was a busy, bustling port where a woman could quickly disappear, and close enough to the southwest counties so that she could reach the Powells.
“But then again …” Sloan’s voice drifted away. Brianna stared at him sharply once again.
“Then again what?” she snapped impatiently.
He shrugged. “We might dock farther south. Who can say?” he replied with a pleasant shrug.
“Umm. Who can say,” she returned, trying not to allow her voice to ring with sarcasm or anger.
A silence followed her words, one that made her uneasy.
She didn’t want him knowing anything that went on in her mind.
More for something to say than to really strike a blow at him, she glared at him accusingly again.
“You are tampering a great deal with the law. James is the proper heir to the English throne.”
He laughed briefly, a dry sound that cut the air with no humor. “So thought Charles, and yet I doubt that he believed his brother would ever murder his son.”
“Jemmy Scott?” Brianna frowned, curious despite herself at the tone of Sloan’s voice. “The Duke of Monmouth?”
“Aye, the same,” Sloan said, “Beheaded at James’s command,” he added harshly. For a second he fell silent; then he was staring at her again. “You owe little loyalty to James, my little Scottish witch. It is beneath his rule that you almost burned.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” Brianna demanded coolly, “that all persecution shall cease beneath William and Mary?”
Sloan wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and, tossing it upon his unfinished plate, stood and stalked the room. Brianna noted that he wore the same clothing of the morning, the fine silk shirt, the fawn breeches that fitted so finely to his form, hugging sinewed thighs and muscled calves.
“I tell you,” he said heatedly, “that Charles, libertine as he was often labeled, was still a just and tolerant king. He knew his people and he knew when to give. James has proven himself to be an ineffectual king with a talent for turning even his friends into enemies. Will persecution cease with William and Mary? No, not completely, for people still believe in the power of witchcraft. And,” he reminded her pointedly, “there are people who do practice witchcraft. I’m not so sure yet that you’re not a witch!
But both the Prince and Princess of Orange believe passionately in tolerance, and in Parliament.
And I might add that they are the choice of the people. ”
She set her plate upon his desk. “You’ll forgive me, Lord Treveryan, if I know little of the English court or its royalty. Or of the intrigue of politics. I have spent my life in the ‘wilds’ of Scotland. A country ‘witch,’ if you will, my lord.”
None of it made any difference, Brianna knew. Whatever British port he chose for his repairs, she would find her escape there. But she spoke with biting sarcasm—and curiosity—continuing caustically, “And what, pray tell, do you intend to do with me in Holland?”
He appeared somewhat startled by the question, as if she should know the answer. And then his anger faded with amusement. “I intend to leave you with Mary,” he replied simply, smiling at her.
Brianna successfully hid her surprise at his casual reply.
Fine! Let him believe that he could safely leave her in the charge of the princess he so admired.
She would never have to face Mary—as Lord Treveryan’s courtesan or anything else.
She would be a memory to Sloan Treveryan before he ever reached the Dutch shore.
Sloan came to her and lifted her chin. “Are you dismayed?” he asked her, his voice suspiciously solicitous. “Don’t be. Mary is a kind woman, you will be safe in her keeping.”
She pulled her chin from his grasp and met his eyes with a bitter smile. “How do you plan to introduce me to our chaste princess, Treveryan?”
He sighed with impatience. “Have you no comprehension whatever, girl? It makes no difference! I could not, in all conscience, set you ashore! Until Matthews is stopped, you will not be safe anywhere in England or Scotland—or even Wales.”
“That’s not true! If I went to my family—”
“They could do nothing if Matthews found you!” Sloan interrupted savagely. Then he emitted a groan and turned from her. “Mary grew up in her uncle’s court. James kept as many mistresses as Charles. She will hardly be shocked.”
The argument made no difference. Brianna was certain that he was wrong, and that she could hide for as long as was necessary with the Powells.
But she could not help arguing with him and mocking him for his negligent assumptions.
“No,” she told Sloan with saccharine sweetness, “Mary will merely assume that I am your current entertainment.”
“Entertainment?” Sloan queried, spinning to face her once again, his hands tensing over his hips as his anger rose.
“Lass, you have been anything but entertaining. You have been a complete nuisance to me. If it will stop your shrewish tongue, I will assure you that I will tell Mary of your predicament—and that I seek to give you asylum only.”
She lowered her head quickly, trying to remember that she must keep her thoughts hidden from him, and that to do so, she should learn to control her temper—and her tongue. She spoke quietly to him.
“It will stop my shrewish tongue if you will assure me that you truly wish to give me asylum and ask nothing in return.” With the words out she faced him again.
For long seconds they glared at one another.
Brianna could almost feel the heat of his anger; it seemed to crackle about him.
She quailed within, yet would not allow her eyes to fall from his, nor relinquish her stand.
She could not bear the tension that riddled the air, so she spoke, trying desperately to keep entirely calm.
There were things she wanted from him—things she wanted back!
“I know you must think me ungrateful. I am not. I do thank you, again, for saving my life. But if you did so, it was, I believe, your own choice. I don’t owe you anything, and yet you continue to take from me. I—”
“I continue to take from you?” He interrupted softly—his voice a rasp of silk. “To what are we referring? Your clothing? I did assure you it would be returned, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did,” she agreed quietly. “But when will I have it?”
He walked closer to her, smiling as he brought a hand to her cheek. She shuddered slightly at that touch; no matter how infuriated she became, she could not deny the startling heat of his caress and its unnerving effect upon her.
“Oh … soon, I would think,” he assured her.
Rather than meet his eyes she allowed her lashes to fall. “Thank you,” she murmured demurely.
“Brianna?”
“Yes?” She raised her eyes to his.
He smiled, and for a brief moment she was allowed to feel a little thrill in her art of craft and seduction. But then that victory was dashed as he said simply, “You won’t get the money back.”
Her smile faded; open hostility filled her eyes and she stepped back from him furiously.
“Why not? It’s mine—I earned it!” she snapped, bitterly mocking herself.
Sloan laughed, walking toward the cabin door, then turning back to her and grinning as he leaned idly against the paneling.
“I’m not so sure that you did earn it. A man hires a …
lady of the streets for her to pleasure him.
I don’t remember your going terribly out of your way to be the obliging one. ”
The taunt touched her soul like blazing iron. Without thought or reason she swept across the small cabin, determined to fell him with her furious blows.
She did, at least, force his grin to fade quickly. But that was all. Her wrists were quickly secured behind her back and she found herself pressed hard against his chest, her breasts heaving with exertion.
“When will you learn!” he exploded harshly. “I care for you, little fool, and I will not see you dead by your own folly!”
“My life is my own!” Brianna cried out in protest. “I am not related to fools! I can find shelter. I can remain hidden.”
He shook his head, sadly, his anger fading.
“I am not a man known for his patience,” he told her quietly. “Don’t keep testing it.”
She lowered her head. “Let me go,” she told him dully.
He released her, stepping back. None of the tension left his strong and resolute features, but when he spoke, it was with a measure of patience once more.
“Brianna, what has happened cannot be erased. I cannot give back what I have taken. I haven’t forced anything from you, nor will I.
You must stay in this cabin, for you are not safe abovedecks without me—and I am far too busy to worry about your effect upon the men.
You must sleep in that bed, for there is nowhere else where you may safely sleep.
Whether it is a palatable situation to both of us or neither of us, you have become my responsibility—and must remain so, for the time being. ”
“You are a liar, Treveryan!” she charged hotly. “What of the woman whose clothing I wear? She had her own quarters—and, I would assume, the run of the ship!”
There was a furious tick of a pulse against his throat, yet he remained in a deathly calm control. “I had a smaller crew when she was aboard. Sleeping arrangements have changed.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“And I don’t give a damn what you do and do not believe! This is my ship, I am the captain, and so help me God, you will follow my orders. Do you understand?”
“Oh, I think I understand too well,” she replied bitterly.
“Just so that you do,” he warned in a chilling whisper.
She lifted her chin and spoke softly. “How long will we be at sea, Lord Treveryan?”
He shrugged. “Three to four weeks, depending upon the weather.”
“And you suggest that I not leave this cabin all that time?”