The Pirate's Duty (Regent's Revenge #3)(44)
“I ken your meanin’,” Pye said as Jarvis joined them. “Have ye written Lady Chloe yet?”
“No,” Walsingham said, a bitter cynicism chilling his tone.
“Best consider yer sister as she commands the attentions of Blackmoor and Underwood. Should she not hear from ye soon, she’ll come after ye just like she did Underwood.”
“She wouldn’t dare.” A sinking feeling weighted his chest. It was all he could do to keep Oriana safe. Christ, he couldn’t split himself in two. But nothing had ever stopped Chloe from doing what she wanted. “I’m confident Underwood will not allow her out of his sight until he has received evidence that Carnage is dead.”
“She’ll come, even if it’s just to prove ye are still alive.” Pye cut a glance to Jarvis and shook his head. “Aye, no good can come of it.”
Walsingham’s determination faltered. Vanity and emotion had cost him a ship and over half his men. Gazing out to sea, he could see the wreckage of the Windraker in his mind’s eye.
You failed us! a faint voice taunted on the wind.
Walsingham braced himself against the rail, and moisture beaded over his brow as the shrieking cries of the dead clamored from every direction.
You could have saved us! cried the men he and Underwood had tried to save.
He closed his eyes. Forgive me . . .
He’d catch the sorry bastard whose very existence threatened Chloe’s life, and who was intent on ruining his in a deadly masquerade that led to a hangman’s noose at Tilbury Point.
The brutal weight of command pressed in. Failure was not an option. “Has James filled you in on the details?” he asked Pye.
“Aye,” the man said, swiping his forehead with his sleeve. “’E’s below. And if I may say so, sir, ’e’ll be an excellent choice to take yer place.”
Hours later, shadows dotted the terrain as the sun rose in the sky. Walsingham left the Fury and raced a beautiful bay horse out of Abbydon Cove and along Talland Bay’s sandy beach. He needed to get back to the Marauder’s Roost before Oriana made her way to Talland Church because he intended to go with her and meet the Seatons there.
A salty tang charged the air. Sheep and free-roaming horses with their wind-tossed manes whipping in the breeze climbed inhospitable rocks that hugged the cliffs above. Luggers trawled for shoals, their ships’ sails luffing in the wind. Gulls scattered, squawked, and swooped over clawing rocks before diving straight into the frothy surf to catch their daily nourishment.
Undaunted, Walsingham continued his breakneck pace over the four miles separating him from the inn, yearning to be at sea as the brisk autumn wind pelted his face. He’d always been an outdoorsman and appreciated nature’s splendor. It reminded him that this primal landscape would not be altered by events to come, not the way his life would. These tilted stones, hills, and valleys would lure tinners, slate breakers, clay workers, and inventive souls for hundreds of years to come.
But where did that leave Oriana? Didn’t she deserve her freedom just as much as the seagulls, horses, and sheep? Of course she did, and he was her best chance of attaining the independence she craved. After all, he was the Black Regent. And if the Regent couldn’t help her, who could?
He swallowed thickly. By God, he’d never known a stronger, more resourceful female, especially one who perplexed him at every turn. Her savvy business sense and readiness to defend herself proved that she didn’t need a man, though he felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. No small feat, winning his admiration. In fact, Oriana had almost single-handedly restored the inn, earning Girard’s and O’Malley’s hard-won respect.
Diplomatically speaking, he would bet that Oriana wouldn’t jeopardize the legitimacy of her business by following in her family’s footsteps. The Thorpes had seen enough inspectors on their property to last a lifetime, and she’d been taught a terrible lesson about free trade: it led to an early grave. Her father and two brothers were prime examples.
He kicked his heels against the bay’s sides, hurdling a stone hedge covered in brambles and sweet Williams to gallop across a grassy plain before bounding over another obstacle in his path. Thunderous hoofbeats pounded against the ground as his horse landed, kicking up the earth.
A rider on a black horse appeared in the distance, his coattails flapping like wings about his shoulders, his elbows bent, and his tricorn pulled low over his head.
Walsingham slowed his horse to a trot, allowing the man time to catch up. The closer he came, the more familiar he seemed. Before long, Walsingham realized it was Girard who had come to meet him.
He glanced up at the sun, speculating that it was about nine o’clock in the morning. Mrs. Pickering’s tea with Oriana was scheduled for one, which allowed him ample time to arrive at his destination. The pace at which Girard traveled, however, filled him with dread. Though the man had been raised on a farm and knew horses well, he preferred traveling by sea to a landlubber’s ways. Which meant something had happened at the inn to inspire Girard’s ride. But what?
Filled with anxiety, Walsingham swallowed hard as he walked his mount and waited for Girard to join him.
Girard didn’t break his speed until he reined to a stop alongside Walsingham’s horse. He turned the nickering stallion in circles, arching his head to look Walsingham in the eye. “Cap’n, I came to warn ye.”