The Sea Witch

  "It all fits, Majesty." When they reached the king's private chambers, Riordan was too restless to sit. And so he paced while the king settled himself in a comfortable chair and watched as a liveried servant poured two goblets of ale.

  When the servant departed, Riordan turned. "I felt certain that no one else could have alerted the pirates about our cargo. But now I have the proof."

  "You went to Cairn?"

  "Nay. I couldn't show my face there." He smiled. "Not after the way Ambrosia decimated the town."

  "Miss Lambert?"

  "Aye." His smile grew. "Before taking her leave, she retrieved the cask of gold and burned down the tavern. And that in turn caused nearly half the town to burn as well."

  Charles shook his head. "Who would have thought it of that gentle lady?"

  "Gentle?" Riordan burst into laughter. "There is nothing gentle about Ambrosia. She can sail a ship better than any seaman I've ever seen. She can best most men in a swordfight. And woe to the man who tries to win an argument with her."

  "I take it you've tried?"

  "Aye. And lost miserably."

  The two men chuckled.

  "You've lost something else, I'd wager."

  Riordan picked up his tumbler and looked at him.

  "Your heart, my friend."

  There was a moment's silence before Riordan nodded. "Completely."

  Charles laughed. Then his laughter faded. "You're not thinking of something ...permanent? Like marriage?"

  "I am indeed," Riordan admitted. "God help me. Ever since I've met Ambrosia Lambert, I've been bewitched and befuddled."

  Charles shook his head. "And to think I told the lass that you weren't the type to put down roots."

  "You told her that?" Riordan's own smile faded. "Why?"

  "Because the friend I've known for a lifetime would have never considered giving up his wandering ways for the sake of a woman. Any woman."

  "Ambrosia isn't any woman. She's..." He shook his head in turn, lost for words. "She's simply the most amazing woman I've ever met."

  "And you intend to marry her."

  "Aye. If she'll have me."

  Charles studied him with a look of astonishment. Then he set down his tankard. "Now about this other matter."

  "Aye. I've looked into Silas Fenwick's financial affairs. The business he inherited is failing miserably. But more important than that is the fact that he has aligned himself with your cousin, Earl Humphrey Buckingham."

  "Buckingham? Who covets the throne?"

  "The same."

  "You have proof?"

  "Aye. I paid a call on your cousin." Riordan smiled.

  "I had only to draw my sword, and he was eager to tell me anything I wanted to know."

  "The sniveling little coward."

  "Aye. He admitted plotting against the throne. He said that both he and Lord Fenwick were in need of a fresh infusion of gold, and quickly. What better way to acquire it than to steal it from the king, and then use it against him? It was Silas who murdered your representative in Land's End, in order to learn the name of the ship carrying the casks of gold."

  Charles leaned forward. "And what better way to steal all the gold bound for England than to be the one in charge of assigning the cargo and the ships that will carry it."

  "What are you saying?"

  "Lord Fenwick very nearly persuaded me to appoint him lord admiral. He's a clever fellow. More clever than I'd given him credit for."

  The two men fell silent.

  Charles sighed. "I'll have him brought before the council on charges."

  Riordan nodded. "You may want to move quickly. Once he hears that your cousin has admitted his guilt, he'll be eager to escape. My thought is that he'll seek refuge in France, since they have so little love for England's king."

  Charles stood and clasped Riordan's hand. "Once again you've been a good and faithful friend. I cannot count the number of times you've saved my royal hide. Not to mention the throne. Do you know how grateful I am, Riordan?"

  "Grateful enough that you're going to buy me a very expensive present for my wedding."

  Charles threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  "You'll have it. I'll give you something so extravagant that all of Cornwall will talk of nothing else for years to come." He sighed. "Go now. And kiss that lovely lady who has stolen your heart."

  It was all the invitation Riordan needed. He drained his tankard and set it on the table. With a quick grin, he was gone.

  Ambrosia lay in her bed, listening as the sounds of activity in the town house slowly settled into silence. She was relieved to finally be alone in her bedroom. The excitement of

  Hampton Court

  had remained with their family for hours, keeping them talking and laughing long after they'd returned. For simple country people this had been an extraordinary day. One they would never forget.

  Now, finally, their energy was beginning to drain away, leaving them eager to sleep. All except Ambrosia.

  She was too keyed up to think about sleep. The sight of Riordan had stirred her heart as nothing else possibly could, not even dinner with the king.

  Riordan would come to her, she knew. Whenever he finished his important discussion with the king, he would come. And she would be here waiting. No matter how late the hour. She closed her eyes. Not to sleep, she promised herself. Just to rest a few moments.

  It was her last conscious thought before she drifted on a lovely cloud of contentment.

  Ambrosia was dreaming. Riordan was coming for her. She could hear the faint crunch of carriage wheels on the path. Heard the sound of the door open and close, and the muted footfall on the stair.

  She was smiling when the hand covered her mouth.

  Dazed, confused, she struggled to sit up, but something sharp was pressed to her tender throat. She couldn't swallow. Couldn't breathe.

  Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring up into the cruel eyes of Silas Fenwick. She clawed at the hand he held to her mouth, but it wouldn't budge.

  "Not a word," he whispered. "Or I'll slit your pretty throat. Do you understand?"

  Eyes wide with fear, she nodded.

  Very carefully he removed his hand.

  "What—" She started to speak, but he moved with lightning speed, pressing the knife to her throat until it drew blood.

  She hissed in a breath.

  "I told you not a word. You don't speak. You listen. And obey. Do you understand?" She nodded. "Get up out of bed."

  She complied, feeling sullied by the way he studied her in her nightshift.

  "Take this." He tossed a shawl at her.

  She reacted instinctively. Instead of merely catching it, she tossed it into his face. Caught off guard, he wasn't prepared when she snatched up her pillow and heaved it at him, nearly knocking him over. As he regained his footing, she was already at the window, trying to climb out. He dragged her back, but she held on to the curtain, tearing it off the sash.

  His hand swung out in a wide arc and he slapped her so hard her head snapped to one side. For a moment she saw stars. Then she bent and picked up one of her boots and caught him in the temple.

  Enraged, he came at her. She reached for the gown and petticoats on a nearby chair and tossed them, covering his head. In his surprise he dropped the knife, and she fell to the floor, hoping to retrieve it. The two scrambled and he gave a hiss of pain when she caught him in his eye with an elbow. But before she could grasp the knife, he wrapped an arm around her throat and began choking her.

  She rolled around the floor, dragging him with her. Desperate now, she struggled to breathe, but could feel herself fading. Spots danced in front of her eyes, and she remembered the feel of Sledge's whip, wrapped around her throat, squeezing the life from her. She stopped fighting.

  In one smooth movement Silas released her and snatched up the knife, while she lay panting, every breath a fresh stab of pain.

  "Now." He got to his feet. "You'll do as I tell you. Or you
'll die here, where your lover can find you." He stood over her, his voice triumphant. "Get up. Without a word."

  Ambrosia struggled to her knees, then got slowly to her feet.

  "After that little scene, there'll be no shawl to ward off the night's chill." He caught her by the arm and dropped a scroll in the middle of the bed.

  "A note for your lover," he said with a laugh as he hauled her toward the door.

  There were no servants around to see them. No family members to hear them as they left. There was only the silence of the house. And the rush of cool night air as they made their way to his waiting carriage.

  The town house was dark. That fact had Riordan smiling as he let himself in. He wouldn't have to bother with polite talk, or Ambrosia's family, or dealing with servants. He could go directly to Ambrosia's room.

  He unbuttoned his coat as he took the stairs two at a time. The thought of what awaited him had him nearly groaning with frustration.

  He paused outside her door, then decided to dispense with knocking. She was probably asleep. He'd wake her gently. And they would make slow, delicious love all night long.

  He opened the door and stepped into her room, closing it firmly behind him. The room was in darkness. The fire on the grate had burned to embers.

  As he started across the room he stepped on something that nearly tripped him. Swearing softly, he peered through the darkness. It looked to be a boot. He stopped and touched it. Aye. A fine kid boot. One of Ambrosia's.

  He glanced toward the bed. The bedcovers had been stripped away. The pillows were scattered, one at the foot of the bed, the other on the floor nearby.

  Alarmed, he held a taper to the hot coals, then held it aloft and stared around the room. Clothes were scattered everywhere. The window curtain had been torn from the sash and lay in tatters on the floor.

  He walked to the bed and lifted the taper. In the middle of the bed was a scrolled missive. He read the words and felt his blood freeze.

  I have your woman. You can exchange your life for hers. Come alone. S.F.

  In a rage, Riordan crumpled the scroll in his fist and tossed it against the wall. Then, as he turned, he saw something that made his heart stop.

  Blood. Drops of blood on the bedcovers.

  Sweet heaven. Ambrosia was hurt. And in the clutches of a madman.

  Ambrosia was trembling violently. But she couldn't tell if it was from the night air or the fear of what was to come. Silas Fenwick whipped the team of horses and the carriage raced through the darkened streets of London.

  Suddenly they veered from the street onto a curving ribbon of road that led to a magnificent estate. When they halted at the main entrance, Silas turned the team over to a sleepy-eyed stable lad and hauled Ambrosia roughly toward the door.

  It was opened by an elderly butler who showed absolutely no emotion at the sight of his master holding tightly to the arm of a young lady clad in night clothes.

  "You must help me," she shouted to the old man.

  "Powell, you may go to bed now. I have no further need of your services this night."

  "Aye, my lord." The old man refused to look at Ambrosia as he hastily turned away and shuffled up the stairs.

  Silas had hold of her arm with such force it had gone numb. Now he dragged her toward a room down the hall, where he flung her, sending her sprawling. While she struggled to her feet, he closed and latched the door, then leaned against it and stood facing her.

  "Why have you brought me here, Silas? What is this about?"

  "It's about power, my dear Miss Lambert. And about revenge."

  "I ...don't understand."

  "You and your family thought you were so clever, using your little scheme to transport the king's gold. Did you really think I wouldn't see through your simple ruse?"

  "You?" She thought back to that moment before Riordan had lost consciousness. He'd been trying to warn her about something. "It was you who sent the pirate, Eli Sledge, after us?" She'd been so intent upon the battle, she'd overlooked the obvious.

  Silas clenched his teeth. "The fool Sledge deserved to die if he couldn't even contain a party of old men and helpless women." His eyes narrowed. "And Captain Riordan Spencer."

  Hearing the venom in his tone, she asked, "Why do you hate Riordan so?"

  "Why? Because he represents everything I would have had, if my plan had succeeded."

  "Your plan?"

  "Aye. To replace Charles with his cousin, the earl of Buckingham. Then I would have been to the new king as Spencer is to Charles."

  "As Riordan is to the king?" Ambrosia's eyes widened. "Are you saying that Riordan is not just a privateer?"

  Fenwick threw back his head and laughed. "Is that what you think? That Riordan Spencer is a mere ship's captain? He is, by all accounts, one of the most powerful

  men in England. Without him, Charles would have never achieved his dream of becoming king." His voice lowered. "And Charles is extremely generous in his gratitude. I've heard it said that he's offered his friend vast estates throughout the kingdom, which Spencer has steadfastly refused. If he chooses, he could be one of the richest men in the realm."

  "And you covet what he refuses."

  "Aye. That and more. Riordan Spencer, with his meddling, has ruined all my carefully laid plans. The coward Buckingham has admitted his guilt, and even now is in the Tower. By morning the king's soldiers will be coming for me as well. But I'll be far from England by then."

  Ambrosia lifted her head. "Where do I fit into your plans, Silas? Why have you brought me here?"

  "Because I have discovered the fearless Captain Spencer's only weakness. You, my dear Miss Lambert. Where you go, Spencer will follow. And it's Spencer I want. I won't rest until he's as dead as the pirate, Sledge."

  "You know he won't be foolish enough to do as you bid, Silas."

  "Ah, but he will. Love turns men into fools. The noble Riordan Spencer will be unable to resist this last chance to impress the woman he loves."

  He unsheathed his sword and started toward her. "Now, Miss Lambert, you can sit in that chair and allow me to bind your wrists and ankles, or you can try to tight me again. In which case I'll be happy to slice off your hands or your feet, or whatever it takes to subdue you. And when your lover arrives, he can have what's left of you."

  She braced herself for a fight. But when she looked into his eyes, she saw a determination born of madness.

  And as he advanced, sword at the ready, she could sense his desperation.

  Desperation and madness. A deadly combination. And though it went against every fiber of her being, she knew she had no choice but to yield. For the moment.

  Riordan led a horse from the stall and, without bothering to saddle it, leapt onto its back and headed into the darkness.

  He knew of Silas Fenwick's estate. It stood in a remote, parklike setting on several acres, far from its nearest neighbor. As he raced toward his destination, he couldn't tear himself from the dark thoughts that had set in. It had been the sight of that blood. A man like Fenwick was capable of any cruelty. Hadn't he sent the pirates after their ship, knowing there were five females and two old men aboard who would pay the price for his greed? A man driven by greed with no conscience was doubly dangerous.

  As he entered the gates of Fenwick's estate and stared at the darkened manor house looming before him, Riordan vowed to himself that if Silas Fenwick had harmed Ambrosia in any way, he would fight him to the death.

  His own life meant nothing. He no longer cared if he lived or died. The only thing that mattered was Ambrosia. He would do whatever necessary to save the woman he loved.

  Winifred Mellon awoke from a sound sleep and gazed at the figure of Mistress Coffey, snoring peacefully in the next bed. She sat up, staring through a gap in the draperies at the stars winking in the night sky. A slow smile spread across her face at the thought of all they'd experienced since leaving Land's End.

  Who would have believed it possible? They had been captured by pirates, e
scaped with the king's gold, arrived safely in London and been singled out by the king himself for praise.

  These had been the most truly memorable days of her entire seventy-eight years upon this earth. And all because of the irrepressible Lambert sisters. These three feisty women had been a handful when their mother had died so young. Winnie used to say that she'd have rather raised a score of boys than these three little girls, who broke every rule ever set.

  She sighed, thinking of the way they looked aboard ship, climbing the rigging, swabbing the deck, handling the wheel. Perhaps she should have broken a few rules of her own along the way. Certainly she'd felt younger and more alive these past few days than she had since she was a girl in ringlets.

  She slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the floor, intending to go belowstairs and quench her thirst with a sip of water.

  As she passed Ambrosia's room, she was surprised to see the door open, a candle burning on a night table. In consternation she paused in the doorway and glanced around the room, noting the torn curtain, the spill of clothing and bedcovers across the floor. Almost as if, she thought, there had been a scuffle.

  Stepping farther into the room, she saw the blood on the sheets, and the crumpled missive lying on the floor. Smoothing the scroll, she read the words, then with a cry flew out of the room and raced along the hall until she came to Geoffrey Lambert's room.

  Without regard for propriety she threw open the door and shouted, "Captain Lambert. You must wake at once."

  The old man sat up, peering at the figure in the doorway. "What is it, Miss Mellon?"

  "It's Ambrosia. She's in grave danger. You must dress at once, Captain, while I wake the others."

  Silas touched a hand to his eye, which Ambrosia had battered during their scuffle in her room. It was swollen now and tender to the touch.

  He glanced in the mirror and was offended by what he saw. A vain man, he hated anything that would mar his handsome, perfect features.

  "You'll have to pay for this," he muttered at her reflection.

  "You mean this isn't payment enough for you?" Her wrists and ankles were bound so tightly to the chair, she could feel the cord cutting through her flesh.