Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress Page 2

  The cart rattled as the wheels began to roll. The oxen grunted and plodded on. No one moved to throw anything more at them, and Lacy sensed the immediate danger was past. She felt as light-headed as if she’d just come out of the ocean after a deep dive.

  What was there about this pirate that affected her so strangely? One part of her mind acknowledged the logic of what she had done in asking him to kiss her. She’d put on an act for the crowd to save their skins. But one kiss was enough. There was no need for more.

  Daring possessed her and she strained up on tiptoe, offering her lips for another delicious taste, but ready to nip his tongue with her teeth if he took intimacies she’d not offered. God, but this freebooter was no stranger to kissing! His mouth scorched hers with laughing desire that made her wish they were anywhere but in this condemned cart in full view of half of London. Shivers raced down her spine and turned her knees to pudding.

  Breathlessly, she pulled free, her mouth all puffy and aching with wanting him to do it all over again. Wide-eyed, she stared up at him.

  “Thanks, darlin’,” he said. “I’m not sure why you—”

  Shouts of encouragement from the passersby nearly drowned out his words.

  “Hist!” She cut him short as reason surfaced in her mind and she remembered where she was and why. “Hist and listen well,” she whispered urgently. “‘Tis not your touch I yearn for. I’ve no intention of hangin’ this day, and if ye heed me, mayhap I can free ye as well.”

  “Sing on,” he replied. “Your lips are like honey, but I like this song better with every note.”

  “Be ready,” she said. “My brothers have a boat waiting on the Thames. Once we’re loose, we’ll have to run for our lives.”

  James looked at the heavy chain that bound them together. “I’ll be right behind you, lass.”

  “Lacy is my name.”

  “Lacy, then. Are you certain they’ll not forsake you?”

  “Certain?” she scoffed. “What’s certain in this life? I’m sure as hell not certain of you, but it’s run together or hang together this day, and I’ve no wish for the taste of rope.”

  “Nor I. Lead on, woman. I’ll follow you, right willingly, though you see us to the gates of hell.”

  They rode on without speaking for some time. The houses along Holborn were no longer so tightly packed, and Lacy began to notice open patches of garden and meadow. A few larger homes of brick were scattered among the more modest dwellings, and they passed more farm wagons loaded with produce and livestock heading east into London Town.

  The crowds, however, had not thinned. Nearly a hundred spectators trailed after the three felon carts. Gangs of ragged children ran in and out of the congestion. Some snatched rotten vegetables or handfuls of mud from the side of the road and hurled them gleefully at the prisoners.

  Suddenly, Annie the Acorn let out a howl as a rotten egg struck her in the head. She was still wailing when a window opened in the second story of a farmhouse and a serving girl dumped a bucket of slops. “Wash ye clean, deary!” the maid cried.

  Foul water streamed over Annie’s hair and ran down her back, splashing on Lacy’s shift. “Come down here, slut,” Lacy yelled. “Come down and let us give ye a taste of our good will!”

  The laughing throng surged close to the cart, and a dog yipped in pain as a wheel rolled over the animal’s foot. A group of students were chanting a bawdy ditty, and Lacy caught sight of a cutpurse plying his trade. The mounted guards were hard-pressed to keep beside the condemned cart as more and more people spilled out of the alleys and choked the narrow road.

  “Tyburn Hill,” the deputy-keeper called out as they turned a corner. The place of execution stood on a slight rise in the middle of open fields. Several hundred people were already gathered there, all eager and waiting for the free show.

  Lacy strained her neck to see the gallows looming against the bright blue sky. She swallowed hard as the severity of her situation hit home. Her stomach churned with queasiness.

  Cuds bobs! If Alfred and Ben didn’t think smart, she’d soon be dangling from that ghoulish tree with crows picking at her eyes and stray dogs chewing her toes. Bloody rotten! She’d no wish to meet her maker that way

  A light breeze was blowing and not a cloud marred the sky. The sun was warm on her face; she caught the scent of fresh-baked gingerbread amid the smells of unwashed wool and stale beer. On the far edge of the press, two lovers kissed and laughed, then kissed again. Lacy clenched her eyes shut and swallowed the lump in her throat. Not today, she cried silently. I’m not ready to die on such a beautiful day.

  She sighed and opened her eyes. Alfred had promised they’d come for her. Losing her nerve now would cost her the game. It would mean not only her life, but also that of the man beside her.

  Soldiers stood around the base of the gallows. With threats and brandished weapons, they cleared a path for the deputy-keeper and the condemned cart. Lacy felt beads of sweat break out on her forehead, and the salt stung the brand still hidden by her hair. She fixed a wooden smile on her face and scanned the mob for sight of her brothers.

  James leaned close to her. “Well?” he demanded. “Where are your friends? Late won’t cut it. We’re deep in shit, woman.”

  The cart wheels squealed as the road grew steeper. The prisoners in front of Lacy were sobbing, and above the clamor of the crowd she could hear someone praying behind her. Off to Lacy’s left, a woman was selling hot meat pies, and beyond her, a man on stilts was hawking miniature gallows complete with dangling nooses. One enterprising farmer had brought a cow to Tyburn and was selling cups of fresh milk straight from the teat. Fathers held their children high to see the condemned, while mothers nursed babes and gossiped with strangers. A single black crow circled the gallows tree, then settled squawking on the topmost crossbeam.

  Lacy stiffened her spine and tried to look as though she were at a country fair and not her own execution.

  The oxen stopped and a guard dropped the back gate. “Out!” he ordered. One by one, the prisoners behind her climbed out of the cart and were shoved roughly toward the platform.

  A black-frocked cleric opened a Bible and began to preach. “Repent!” he cried. “Eternal damnation awaits the unrepentant sinner. You will suffer the fires of everlasting hell if you die without forgiveness.”

  “Black,” the deputy-keeper read from his list. “James Black.” James climbed down out of the cart with Lacy close behind and a soldier unfastened his wrist and ankle manacles. “Bennett. Lacy Bennett.”

  Lacy suppressed a groan of relief when her own heavy restraints were removed. All that remained was the iron collar and the chain that bound her to James’s neck collar.

  The nearest mounted guard used his staff to prod James in the direction of the gallows. Soldiers beat back the crowd. The man on the horse stayed right beside them, so close that Lacy had to avoid the animal’s hooves.

  “Abbott, Alice Abbott. Acorn, Annie Acorn.” The deputy-keeper’s voice was nearly drowned out by the din of the onlookers. Annie wailed and clung to the cart, but the guards dragged her down and carried her to the steps of the gallows. “A’s first,” the keeper reminded the guards. “Abbott and Acorn.”

  The black-hooded executioner waited motionless on the top step.

  “Repent!” urged the minister. “Repent and seek the mercy of God.”

  Alice Abbott spat at his feet and climbed the stairs with all the nerve of a fighting cock. The throng cheered as the executioner tied her hands behind her back and settled the first rope around her neck.

  The next woman, Annie, dropped to the ground at the cleric’s feet and begged for her life. Lacy swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and forced herself to keep her eyes open as they carried Annie up the steps, secured her arms, and put the noose over her head. Both women were hooded, and a military drummer played a tattoo.

  The deputy-keeper tried to read something from his warrant, but no one could hear him above the roar of hundreds of throa
ts. James caught Lacy’s hand and squeezed it as the executioner released the traps and the two women dropped. Annie screamed and thrashed for a few seconds before going limp, but hardly anyone noticed. All attention was on Alice Abbott.

  Alice had hit the end of her rope, jerked, and fallen free to the ground. She rolled around choking and gasping for air. Above her, the frayed ends of hemp swayed in the breeze. The crowd went wild.

  “It’s God’s judgment!” someone shouted.

  “Free her!” another cried.

  “She’s innocent!”

  For an instant, Lacy caught sight of her half-brother Ben standing on top of an undertaker’s wagon. “For God and England!” he yelled. “Free God’s chosen innocents!”

  Howling like a single-brained demon, the mob charged the gallows. The soldiers’ line wavered and broke. Guards, soldiers, cleric, and prisoners scrambled for their lives.

  “My brother!” Lacy shouted to James and pointed. “Over there!” But the black funeral wagon and plumed horses were ten yards away beyond several score of stampeding men and women. Lacy realized the distance might as well have been ten leagues for all the chance they had of reaching Ben without being trampled to death.

  A wheel-lock musket fired and a horse reared up. “To me! To me!” the deputy-keeper cried.

  A dozen men and women seized hold of the condemned cart and toppled it. “Free the prisoners!” a slattern shouted, climbing on the upturned cart. “Free God’s chosen!”

  A man lunged between Lacy and James and struck the chain. Lacy’s head snapped back just as a woman shoved past her. Lacy went down on one knee as James backhanded the man and caught her shoulder, pulling her to her feet. The guard on the horse loomed above them. He raised his musket and Lacy screamed.

  James threw his shoulder against the horse’s neck, and his right fist closed around the animal’s bridle. As Lacy watched in disbelief, the pirate gave a heave and a twist, and the gelding went down on its front knees, tossing the guard over its head. Before she could utter a sound, James grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder, and leaped into the saddle.

  “Hellfire, woman,” he gasped as he pulled her down in front of him. “What do you weigh?”

  Her reply was lost in the horse’s snort as James gathered the reins in one hand and drove both heels into the beast’s sides. Another musket fired, and Lacy was certain she heard the lead whistle past her ear.

  The soldiers formed a line in front of them, and James yanked the gelding up hard and wheeled it around and whipped it back down the road toward the city.

  Lacy caught sight of the minister high on the platform clinging to one of the posts as the crowd tore at the wooden supports. The entire gallows swayed back and forth, threatening a terrified Alice Abbott who crouched beneath it, forgotten by the mob. Annie’s body no longer hung from the gallows, but who had cut her down or what they had done with her body, Lacy didn’t know.

  “The pirate’s getting away!” the minister screamed. “Shoot him! Shoot the pirate!”

  Lacy knotted her fingers in the horse’s mane and crouched down, trying to make herself as small a target as possible. James seized a rake from a farmer and whirled it around his head, all the while howling like an enraged bear.

  A man in Lincoln-green blocked their path with a longbow, but James gave him a look of such naked malevolence that the bowman paled, dropped his weapon, and ducked back into the throng.

  People were running and screaming. Suddenly, a mounted guard broke through the multitude and fired at them. James lashed the gelding’s rump with the ends of the leather reins. Lacy screamed again as the gelding shuddered and blood began to stream from a hole in its neck.

  “Hellfire and damnation, woman,” James said as the horse stumbled and began to fold under them. “Are you nothing but bad luck?”

  “Please ...” she whispered to the horse. “Please.” She clamped her eyes shut. Please! Whether it was a prayer or a threat she didn’t know, but to her surprise the animal regained its stride and began to run flat out. She opened her eyes again and gasped.

  Ahead of them was a flock of sheep. Two shepherds and a dog were doing their best to separate the sheep from a flock of geese. A second dog was chasing a large white gander while the goosegirl attempted to drive the dog off with her crook.

  Another musket volley passed over James’s head as he slowed the gelding to a trot and zigzagged through the flock. Another short gallop brought them to the city proper. James reined the gelding onto Drury Lane, oblivious of the stares and cries of passersby.

  “See,” Lacy said, glancing behind them. “We’ve lost them. I’m not bad luck at all. I—”

  Without warning a mounted soldier appeared from a side street, leveled his pistol, and fired. The gelding groaned and went down.

  Lacy pitched headfirst off the dying animal and hit the ground with enough force to stun her. A heartbeat later James was yanking her to her feet again.

  “Run!” he ordered. “Run, or by God I’ll break your neck before they catch us.”

  Chapter 2

  James kept a tight grip on the red-haired wench’s hand as they ran. Her firm jutting breasts, narrow waist, and womanly hips were deceiving; under that luscious exterior, she was all muscle. With her free hand, she’d hiked her petticoat up above her knees and fled like a startled deer. He was setting their pace, true enough, but damned if she wasn’t keeping the pressure on him not to slow down.

  They dashed into the first alley they came to, then took another. Angry shouts and the sound of musket fire assured him that the soldiers were still in hot pursuit. The trick was to get far enough ahead of the prison guards to hide somewhere until night—no easy thing when a man was yoked to a woman by four feet of iron chain. They couldn’t just blend into the populace; anyone who saw them would know they were escaping felons.

  A rough-looking fellow on horseback reined in just ahead of them. For an instant, James thought of trying to pull the man out of the saddle and stealing the horse as he had before, but when the man drew a sword, James ducked wide around him and turned down a narrow back street.

  “Do you know this part of London?” he demanded of Lacy as they tore down the dirt path.

  She shook her head. “Nay, I’m Cornwall born and bred, but we can’t be too far from the Thames. I can smell the mud banks from here.”

  An old crone opened her door a crack, saw the chain and neck collars, and slammed the door tight. James heard her muttered curses and the sound of a wooden bar falling in place as they hurried past. The walls on either side of the passage grew closer together, and houses leaned toward each other overhead until they nearly blocked out the sun.

  “Damn ye for a clod-headed fool,” Lacy exclaimed. “After I go and free ye from the gallows, you lead us down a dead end.”

  “Not yet, I haven’t,” he shouted back. Cheeky jade, he thought. When she’d kissed him in the cart, a hank of her red-gold hair had fallen back from her face and he’d noticed a raw brand high up on the left side of her forehead. The glimpse had been too quick for him to see what she’d been marked with. T most likely, T for thief. It had struck him as unnaturally cruel, that even the crown would demand that such a beautiful woman be disfigured before she was hanged.

  No such nonsense for a common pirate.

  “... shall be taken henceforth to Execution Dock at Wapping and there hanged by the neck until you are dead,” the stern-faced judge had pronounced. “And may God have mercy on your black soul.”

  But it hadn’t been henceforth. Riley had died, and Long Will. Styles and Ned and Smitty had gone to the gallows, been cut down, and been dumped in a common grave. All those bold English sailors food for worms while he’d lain in Condemned Hold for weeks and then months until he’d thought the king’s justice had forgotten him.

  And when they did remember, they’d taken him not to Wapping, but to Tyburn. He hadn’t the faintest notion why his sentence had been changed. A clerk’s mistake? It didn’t matter. Tybur
n had given him another chance at escape, one he hoped would be more successful than his earlier tries.

  “There!” Lacy gasped. “In there.”

  A door on the right hung open. James slowed to a stop and peered inside. The crumbling brick house looked deserted. Not a stick of furniture remained.

  “Let’s ... let’s go ... in,” Lacy said. She was breathing hard. “I can’t run much farther without ... without resting.”

  James led the way inside and shut the door behind her. The hinge was broken, so he twisted off a piece of rotten floorboard and wedged it in the doorjamb. Then he braced one arm against the crumbling wall and took deep, ragged breaths.

  He glanced around the room. In one corner the remains of a stairway hung crazily from a corner beam. Nothing without wings could have gotten up the steps to the second floor. A fireplace took up one wall, but the bricks had fallen in and mice had built a nest on the hearth. Fire had swept through the house several years ago, during the big fire, or perhaps an earlier one. Wooden London had always been in danger of burning.

  “We can’t stay here,” he said. “There’s no place to hide. Come on.” He brushed away spiderwebs and ducked through a low doorway into a lean-to room. The back door was missing entirely. Through the opening was an tiny enclosed yard overgrown with weeds.

  James tested the strength of a supporting wall. The bricks were fire-charred but sound. He moved outside, dragging the woman behind him, and looked up at the main structure. There was an open window above on the second floor. “If we can get up there, we’ll be safe until dark,” he said. “Even if the soldiers search every house on the street, they won’t suspect that we’re upstairs.” He looked at her. “Do you want to go first, or shall I?”

  “How far in front of ye can I go?” she asked. She stood with one hand on her hip, her bare right foot tapping the ground. That glorious mane of auburn hair gleamed like Spanish gold in the bright sunlight and her cinnamon-brown eyes snapped at him impatiently. “Surely ye don’t expect me to boost you up?”