The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(29)
The man was on his hands and knees next to the entrance. “There’s someone up and about, sir. Thought to warn you.”
“Obliged, Jarvis.” Walsingham stepped down the rungs of the ladder and waved at his crewman to follow. “Come with me.”
Jarvis blinked at him. “What? Down . . . there?”
Walsingham reached the bottom and glanced up, impatiently. “I know you don’t like being underground, but I’ve encountered a problem.”
“It’s a mine, sir.” Jarvis frowned. “I c-can’t do it.”
“It’s not a mine. It’s merely a cellar with a tunnel that leads to the sea.” He narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t imperative.”
Jarvis nodded. “What about you, sir?” As he began to slowly climb down, he caught sight of their guest. “Christ, is that Fergus Argall?”
“Shh.” He handed Jarvis the lantern. “The bastard tried to kill me.”
“And you let him live?” Jarvis’s eyes widened. “You’re not going soft, are you?”
Walsingham worried about that himself but ignored the comment. “Get him out of here and clean up the mess. I’ll distract whoever is up and about. Take him out through the tunnels to the beachhead, and have McHugh help you transport Fergus to the ship. You can interrogate him there.”
Jarvis smiled wickedly. “With pleasure.”
Walsingham worked his way up the ladder. At the top, he called down. “And Jarvis?”
“Aye, sir?”
His scalp prickled. “Don’t get caught.”
“Not on your life, sir.” Jarvis glanced down at Fergus. “Tried to kill my cap’n, eh?”
Walsingham closed and locked the trapdoor. Hearing gentle footsteps on the second floor above the kitchen, he sauntered off to the tavern, prepared to convince whomever was awake that he’d been drinking all night.
Eight
VILLAINOUS activity ABOUNDS! Pirates in league with France PLY the CHANNEL! Lady U informed Lady O that CAUTION must be put into practice. CAPTAIN W died PROTECTING these shores when CAPTAIN CARNAGE wrecked the MOHEGAN. What better way to DESTROY one’s enemy than to ENSURE the BLACK REGENT is blamed?
~ Trewman’s Exeter Flying Post, 29 September 1809
A ship materialized out of the fog, its canvas dark as pitch and beating in the wind. Heart reveling at the sight, Oriana gazed out of her bedchamber window and watched expectantly as the ship’s anchor dropped to the seabed and men scrambled into boats, then rowed ashore. One man stood apart from the others, his black-garbed figure a stark contrast to the rest of the men.
The Black Regent! He’d finally returned!
Filled with triumphant glee, Oriana jumped up from the window seat and raced down the stairs, determined to prepare the inn for the hero’s arrival. But before she reached the first floor, a door slammed, making her gasp and nearly tumble to the ground.
Had one of her guests risen early? Had the Regent already arrived somehow?
The floor beneath the staircase heaved, distorting her sense of time and place. Her heartbeat set off at a canter in response, and she fought back the bit of nausea that was threatening to overwhelm her.
Once she was free from the pull anchoring her feet to the stairs, she moved quickly into the kitchen only to find it stretch ever longer before her. She hastened toward the end of the hall, her efforts exhausted as she reached the tavern’s interior. There, with her breath coming in short gasps, she caught her first glimpse of her noisy guest.
But it wasn’t the Regent.
It was Charles.
A wail caught in her throat. The devil’s own had come for her soul.
Mind reeling and bones quivering, she turned to flee. But with nowhere to run she was caught, ensnared by a ghostly hand with long, sharp talons that forcefully grasped her and made her look into the eyes of pure evil.
Oriana bolted upright, sweat beading all over her body. Desperate to catch her breath, she sucked in as much air as she could and took in her surroundings. She was still in her bedchamber, and thankfully, she was alone.
Her breath whooshed out of her in relief. Nothing she’d seen had been real. What she’d experienced had been an inescapable dream foretelling a not-so-distant future.
No. I pray to God this isn’t a premonition.
In fact, she was determined that it wouldn’t be so. She rarely dreamed, but when she did, the things she saw in her visions had a habit of coming to pass. It was an odd “talent” that her mother had said Oriana had inherited from a long line of seers in their family.
Whatever the case, no good would come of Charles’s unwelcome return. His thirst for vengeance would not be quenched.
Unable to quash her growing concerns, she threw back the covers and slipped her legs over the side of the bed. There was only one thing that helped calm her nerves when she couldn’t sleep—a cup of warm milk. Her mother had instilled that practice in her when she was a very young child, and to this day, warm milk somehow eased her burdens and allowed her to rest.
Oriana placed her feet firmly on the floor and shivered as a draft of cold air nipped at her skin. She padded over to the tapestry covering the window and raised the edge. No shipboard lanterns had punched holes in the darkness, warning of a ship’s impending approach. She reached for her robe, shrugged her arms through the sleeves, and tied the laces as she walked across the room in the darkness. Grabbing hold of the door’s iron latch, she let herself out into the hallway.