Falcon's Angel Read online

  A knock came at the door. "Who is it?" Angel asked.

  "'Tis me. Brought you a mess of greens and hoecake hot from the griddle."

  Angel lifted the bar, and the loud woman from the beach shouldered her way in, handed Angel a basket, and glared suspiciously at him.

  "Thanks, Bett," Angel said. "I've a smidgen of beach plum preserves left from last summer. T'will make fine eatin' with your bread."

  Bett gestured toward him with her chin. "That one givin' you trouble? I thought I heard ye cry out."

  "No trouble. We're suited, I think."

  Bett sniffed in obvious disbelief. She was tall and wide-hipped without being sloppily fat. Will would miss his guess if she was not near fifteen stone in weight. Huge bosoms jiggled and spilled over the neckline of her checked bodice, and her carroty-gray hair was barely contained by a beribboned mobcap that had seen better days. Her hands were as large and gnarled as a bosun's and looked capable of both rowing a longboat and throttling a hapless sailor.

  "I still say this be a mistake, Angel. Since you're bound to make it, I'll hold me tongue and let ye reap the harvest."

  She looked familiar, this brassy shrew. Will had seen Betts in a hundred dockside taverns from Boston to Port Royal, some willing to warm your cockles or slit your throat for whatever coin you had in your purse.

  As if she were reading his mind, Bett studied him with shrewd eyes. "Don't loosen his manacles."

  Angel nodded. "I will not."

  "And if nature calls, good woman, what then?" he asked.

  Bett shrugged. "Do he need to piss, give him a bucket." She whispered something to Angel, then hurried out.

  "Quite the lady," he said.

  "Hold your blather. Bett is a brave woman with a heart as big as an island. I'll not have you say a word against her." She shook her head in disgust. "A babe in leading strings would know Bett for the lady she is."

  He coughed. "A little rough around the edges is your Bett."

  "Mayhap, but you'll treat my mother with respect or soon rue it."

  "That's your mother?" His tone echoed his shock that such a jade could give birth to the beauty beside him.

  "She is," Angel replied sharply. "And what of it?"

  "Truce, woman. I beg pardon if I've given offense. I didn't know she was..." He swallowed and shook his head. "I'd not fight with you, nor offer insult. Just give me some of that soup and let me sleep."

  "Gladly. But you will give Bett her due. And remember that my name is Angel. You will please to call me that... or..." She flashed a bright smile. "Or you may call me wife. I do not fancy woman. It sounds much like tree or dog."

  "You're an odd one."

  "You're not the first to say so." She dipped a mug of the chowder and carried it to him. "Careful, 'tis hot. But it will put strength in your loins."

  "We're back to my loins, again, are we?"

  "Hmmp." Her forehead furrowed in a frown. "You be as touchy as—"

  "You are," he corrected.

  She stopped, puzzled. "Nay, 'twas you I—"

  "You are, not you be, touchy."

  "...As a crab in a steam pot." She filled a wooden bowl with the soup and took it to the table. Seating herself in the chair, she began to eat and didn't speak again until she had finished. Then she took a clean pewter plate, spread two pieces of pone with preserves, and took one to him.

  "Bett brought greens, but they won't be fit to eat. She cannot tell one kind from another. Tomorrow, I'll pick some that are decent and cook up a mess for our nooning. If you go too long on a diet of bread, fish, and meat, your teeth will fall out. And yours are too fine to lose."

  When he looked down at his mug, he found that he'd finished the chowder. "It was good," he said. "Thank you." Angel had twisted her hair up on her head, and the bright, red-gold strands caught the firelight like a halo. She was very clean, and her skin, although tanned, was as smooth and flawless as porcelain.

  With looks like hers, he mused, Angel had no need of living barefoot on a nameless key. She could make her fortune in Charleston or Savannah or any town on the shores of the Atlantic. Men would shower her with gifts for a single night, while he, he thought with wry humor, wanted nothing more than to be shed of her.

  "What you said... before." She returned to the table, sat, and steepled her fingers thoughtfully. "You do not like the way I talk. You think 'tis backward."

  "Old-fashioned, at least. And difficult to understand."

  "For ye." She corrected herself. "For you. Not for the Brethren. 'Tis the only speech I have ever heard. I be nay stupid." She laughed. "Am nay stupid."

  "Not."

  "Good. We agree on something. It makes me gaysome that you find me canny."

  He held up a hand, palm up. "I surrender, madam. I know when I'm defeated." He smiled at her with all the charm he could muster. "And now, you must grant me a boon. I'm in need of a private place to... pass water."

  "You wish to go out."

  "I'll be damned before I piss in a bucket."

  She laughed. "You may well be damned, Will Falcon, gentleman of Charleston. But I can see that you are a prideful man, and I fear that I suffer from the same vanity." She rose and went to the door. "You will be blindfolded."

  "Why the hell should I be? I've already seen all of your faces."

  "Not all," she said. "And you have not seen our camp. Cap'n is a cautious man." She flashed him a smile. "Bide here, and I will see if I can find someone to guard you whilst ye do what needs be done."

  "I'll wait right here."

  "Patience is a virtue."

  "Another I have never possessed."

  "Luckily, I do, husband. Maybe ye will learn some from me."

  * * *

  Later, after he'd been blindfolded, and a lad with a musket had escorted him to a secluded spot, Will walked back toward Angel's hut. Although he couldn't see, there was nothing wrong with his other senses. He could feel the salt breeze on his face, smell roasting pork, and hear the chatter of people around them.

  There was a myriad of other sounds that told him that this was a substantial settlement. Dogs barked, and a goat bleated. Chickens squawked and clucked. And he was certain he heard the flutter and cooing of a flock of pigeons.

  It was impossible to guess how many pirates there were. Women's laughter and the wail of a babe told him there were more females here, perhaps even children. Seagulls shrieked overhead, their cries rising and falling as they dove toward land or water. He guessed the beach was close, but whether he was on an island or the mainland, he couldn't tell.

  The youth with the gun had dared him to make a break, but Will had known he was too weak to try to escape. If he were given a few days to recover his strength, things would be different. He decided to pretend to go along with Angel's marriage until an opportunity presented itself.

  Where was his ship? Damned if he wouldn't have the hide off someone's back for leaving him here. Even if they'd been unable to turn the Katherine in the storm, Aaron should have returned in daylight to continue the search. They couldn't have given up and returned to Charleston without him. If they had...

  Will bit back an oath. If the Katherine’s crew had abandoned him for dead, he'd have to find his own way home. Then it would be "Devil take the hindmost." He'd come back with enough armed men to scour these islands clean of vermin.

  Moving had brought back both his headache and the pain from his back and chest injuries. But the dizziness had left him, and his thoughts were clearer.

  It was hard to believe that ten days ago he'd been dancing with sweet Julia Hamilton in the finest mansion on Church Street. Or that he'd promised both her and her father that he'd take a crew up the coast and clean out this nest of wreckers in two weeks' time.

  "Life is full of surprises," his neighbor Lady Graymoor was wont to remark. He wondered what the old girl would think of this fine kettle of fish.

  "Stop where'yar."

  The muzzle of a musket poked Will hard in the back, and he winced.


  "Angel. Here's yer salvage."

  Will heard the creak of hinges.

  "I'll take him from here," Angel said.

  "Cain't. Cap'n says I gotta chain'm up like I found'm."

  "Do it, then, but go easy. If ye set them wounds t'bleedin' again, I'll put the droch shuil on ye."

  "Ye would, too, ye giddy quean."

  "You'll do what to the lad?" Will asked when he was back on the pallet, and they were alone. "What was it you said?"

  "The droch shuil, the evil eye. Surely, even in Charleston, you've heard of—"

  "You said you were no witch."

  "I'm not." She laughed and removed his blindfold. "But they don't know that."

  He eased himself down on the mattress and stifled a groan. "I don't suppose you'll tell me where I am."

  She smiled and shook her head. "In time. But I've gone to a muckle of trouble for you, and ye must pay me back by telling me of outlanders and their ways."

  "You've never been away from here?"

  "No, not to my rememberin'. But my poppet years are but mist."

  "You were born here?"

  "Mayhap." She shrugged. "I should be asking you the questions."

  "You're not like these others. Why haven't you left this place to see what's out there yourself?"

  "I am a child of the sea and sand. I would not flourish on stone streets or amid the babble of crowds of strangers. But I am curious, and I ask that ye buy your freedom with answers to my questions."

  "Fair enough."

  She brought him more of the foul-tasting tea, and he drank it without protest. "It will help the hurt," Angel said. "Or at least will do you no harm."

  She waited until the potion's magic settled over him before drawing the stool close to his bed and sitting on it. "Tomorrow I will take you into the sea. The salt will sting, but it will heal you. You'll be pert as a cricket in no time at all."

  Will closed his eyes and took a deep breath as the scent of fresh pine boughs drifted up from beneath him. "You said you had questions. Ask away."

  "I will. I will ask until ye bid me be still."

  Sleep teased at his consciousness, and he licked his lips. "Could I have water?"

  "Aye. As much as you like. You have fever, and water will drown it."

  "Better that than me." He drank the contents of her clipper. The water was cool and sweet, and it soothed his raw throat. He nodded his thanks.

  "I know you have a grudge against me. But I did what I had to do. The Brethren follow their law, and 'twas the only way I could think of to save you."

  "Gentlefolk that your Brethren are."

  "Dyce and his like are changin' our ways. And Cap'n is no longer strong enough to stand against them." She brushed a lock of hair off his forehead, and the touch of her hand was soothing.

  "You know I can't stay here, Angel."

  She nodded. "Aye, but whilst you do, you belong to me." She nibbled at her lower lip and sighed. "Does your heart yearn for someone? A woman?"

  "In Charleston, you mean?"

  "You said you were not married. But have you a love, someone you wanted to ask to wed you?"

  "Maybe."

  "What is her name?"

  "Julia. Julia Hamilton."

  "A fine lady with fine manners?"

  "The finest."

  "With a good heart?"

  "Yes."

  "Then she will understand, Will Falcon. And she would approve of our handfasting."

  "Julia?"

  "Aye. For if she is full of caring, she would rather see you wed to me than floating facedown on the tide."

  Chapter 6

  Sunlight filtered in through the partially opened door. Will blinked, squinted, and closed his eyes as yesterday came flooding back. Without moving, he tried to take stock of his condition. His back and chest were so stiff and sore that he felt the knitting wounds with each breath. But his thought processes were clear, and he felt strength returning to his muscles.

  He'd slept most of the night, his light drowsing interrupted with frequent, often disturbing dreams. He remembered, or thought he remembered, seeing Angel undressing, the curves of her sensual body illuminated by the glowing coals in the firepit. Had the vision been real or drug induced? It didn't matter. Her image was burned into his brain; just thinking about her brought a tightening in his loins that had nothing to do with healing flesh.

  Will's eyes snapped open, and he looked around the shadowy room. He was alone. The fire was banked, the window still shuttered.

  He could smell the sea and the damp, fresh scent of early morning.

  A dull ache in his gut told him that he had to piss, but his rigid cod would make that release as difficult as breaking free from the leg manacle. He needed to go outside and find privacy.

  Ignoring his injuries, he sat up and tested the chain and iron. Rusty or not, they held firm. He considered his options.

  The minutes passed. He could hear gulls, the faint crash of breakers, and the rustle of tree branches. Wherever the Brethren had taken him, he was still on the beach. And where there was water, there would be boats. Give him a craft, any craft, and a sail or a pair of oars, and he would escape. They'd made a mistake when they hadn't killed him. Today, or tomorrow, or the day after that he'd get away. And he'd come back to finish the job he'd started out to do.

  As for Angel, she'd risked her life to save his. He'd spare her if he could. But sympathy for her wouldn't stop him from wiping these scoundrels off the face of the map. Too many good men had died to worry about one shapely pirate lass.

  A lump rose in his throat, and he swallowed. Shapely? Hell, yes. Angel was more than that. She was perfection, Eve, every man's concept of the ideal woman. But likely she was as ruthless a killer as any other in this nest of rascals.

  "Will Falcon."

  Angel's greeting jerked him from his reverie.

  She came through the open doorway dripping wet, carrying a sea trout on the point of a spear. And for all the decency her linen shift offered, she might as well have been wearing nothing at all.

  Will's mouth went dry.

  Angel's breasts were high and full, her prominent nipples pressing against the thin cloth. And lower, beneath her curving waist and flat belly, he could just make out the dark shadow of her nether curls.

  He barely suppressed a groan as his palms itched to cup her rosy, tight little ass.

  "God's grace to ye, Will," she said. "Are you hungry?"

  Her face glowed with sunshine and morning dew, but he couldn't tear his gaze away from her breasts. Round and firm as ripe apples, they thrust forward, tipped with hard little nipples that a man would trade his soul to taste.

  She laughed merrily. "Did you lose the power of speech in the night?" she teased. "I've brought us a fine fish to break our fast. Have you nothin' at all to say?"

  Heat flashed beneath his skin, flooding to settle in his groin, making him rock hard. "God's teeth, woman! Do you make it a habit of walking about stark naked?"

  "Naked?" She laughed again. "I'm covered from mound to mound. 'Tis your eyes, sir." And before he could think of a reply, she stripped off the wet shift and dropped a calf-length skirt over her head. "Are all outlanders so—"

  "Damn you, woman! Have you no modesty at all?" He felt foolish, lying chained to a post, his cock's blood pulsing for this teasing flame-haired doxy who...

  "I am as the Lord made me," she answered, clearly puzzled by his question. "Should I be ashamed of what I cannot change?"

  He blinked again, confused. He'd had his share of trollops who had little qualms about showing off the merchandise, but Angel's demeanor was different. She seemed not to know what effect her nakedness had on him.

  "Customs here must be different," he said, glad for the rough coverlet that hid his full arousal. "In Charleston, no lady would—"

  "Wives and husbands keep themselves covered?"

  "Not all the time. But there is a time and place for..." He broke off, feeling tongue-tied. Lord
knew he was no saint. Under different circumstances, he'd have jumped at the chance to sample her wares.

  She sniffed, an amused sound that spoke more eloquently than words. "I was fishing. What fool would wear good cloth in salt water?"

  "Fishing."

  "Aye, spear fishing." She wiggled her prize. "Are you feverish?" She came close and laid a cool palm on his forehead. "Nay, you—"

  He brushed her hand away. "You didn't consider yourself my wife when you pulled me out of the ocean yesterday morning."

  Angel shrugged. "Should we both have drowned because I wished to swim in storm seas in skirts?" She removed the fish from the fire-blackened point of the spear. "I'll clean this and—"

  A man's form blocked the doorway. "How fares your man?" the captain asked. "Do his wounds fester?"

  "Come in and see for yourself," Angel said. "I have fresh fish. Will ye break your—"

  Cap'n shook his head. "Some mutter against your stranger." He glanced down. "Have ye strength to walk?"

  "I do," Will said. "If you'll loose this leg iron."

  The older man's eyes narrowed. "I've a mind to send ye both to Huskanaw for a moon's passing to let the others get used to the idea of him bein' one of us. Be ye willin'?"

  "Aye," Angel agreed. "'Tis best."

  "What—" Will began, but she silenced him with a finger to her lips.

  "Trust me," she said. "T'will be better for us both on Huskanaw Isle."

  * * *

  By moon's rise Angel carried ashore the last bundle of necessities she had brought from the main settlement and turned to wave at Bett and the others as the sloop pulled anchor. Canvas, fishing gear, salt, and two baskets of personal belongings were heaped just above the tidemark. Her husband, still blindfolded and with bound wrists and ankles, lay on the sand just beyond. He had not uttered a word since they'd boarded the boat.

  "Be well," Bett called to her.

  "And you!" Angel watched as Nehemiah caught the wind and the sail billowed. The familiar figures grew smaller. Hugging herself, she walked back to where Will lay, and knelt beside him.

  A half hour passed before Will spoke.

  "What the hell is going on?"

  A shiver rippled through her, but she smiled in spite of it. This outlander terrified her, but whatever came of knowing him, she guessed she would learn much of the world beyond her horizon.