“A woman doesn’t gain wisdom by spreading her legs,” she retorted. “Indeed, one could argue that in some cases, she becomes a fool if she gives her heart, as well. I can guess what your crew is likely thinking because my father was one of the greediest, most clever schemers in England. He planned for years to get what he wanted, and he couldn’t gain his ends alone. He needed men like you and your crew, mercenaries who care only for the number of coins in their purse. I was brought up listening to his talk of plans and deceptions— what one man would want to help him and what would satisfy another, who he would discard easily and why, and who he must keep close. I sat like a dutiful daughter and learned duplicity at his knee.”
Pierre’s suspicious gaze searched her face. She saw his doubts and uncertainty, and a little flame of triumph flickered into life. “And there is something else you’ve obviously failed to consider. If you sell me as you plan, the man who buys me will be rich, and rich men have power. I’m a beautiful woman, and beautiful women have been getting men to do what they want for centuries. I’ll find a way to make that man turn against you. I’ll make the man who owns me your enemy.”
“I will be in Marseilles,” Pierre scoffed. “What harm could he do to me there?”
“Rich men can’t hire assassins? Rest assured, Pierre, I’ll make you sound like evil incarnate. I’ll tell my master a pitiful tale of the indignities you forced upon me and the things you made me do.”
She spoke with firm conviction, as if these things would surely come to pass, and gave free rein to her imagination. “Do you doubt that if I tried, I could charm a man into doing whatever I wanted? That in his bed I could pour such a tale of sorrow and mistreatment, and make you sound so terrible, that he would feel he was doing mankind a favor by killing you?
“Nor would I stop there. I’ll tell him you’re not just a smuggler, you’re a spy, one being paid to overthrow his country’s rulers. What might happen to my rich master if that happens? He would foresee disaster and do everything to stop you.”
“I’m a smuggler, not a spy! I have never worked for kings or noblemen!” Pierre struggled to regain his self-control. “Besides, I would be far away.”
“But who can say what schemes you set in motion before you sailed? I’ll tell him you’re a spider sitting in a web of intrigue in Marseilles, the center of a vast conspiracy against his country. I’ll tell him things I heard you say aboard your ship—of the money you were going to get, how you laughed at his people and made sport of his religion.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t I? What would I have to lose? I’ll tell my master I’ve fallen in love with him, that his prowess in bed has won my heart, and I’m trying to save him from your schemes. Rich men are often vain, and what man wouldn’t believe his skill between the sheets has made a woman love him?”
Staring at her incredulously, Pierre backed toward the door. “You’re…you’re mad!”
Bea walked toward him, the prey having become the predator. “I’m a woman you’re going to sell to a rich man. I’m a woman who’ll do everything in her power to bring you to your death.”
“Stop talking or I’ll kill you!” Pierre roared, raising his dagger as if he would truly strike her down.
“What then would you tell your crew? Where would their profit be? And do you think my death would stop Sir Ranulf, Sir Henry and Lord Merrick from seeking you out and bringing you to justice?”
“Aye!” Wenna said suddenly from her place on the floor. “The folk of Penterwell will be after you, too. They’ve guessed it’s youbeen doing all those terrible things. They know your name, your ship, your men. They’ll tell Sir Ranulf everything if you kill her—by God, they’ve probably told him everything already. You took their lady, you stupid oaf, and they’ll want you dead just as much as he will!”
His face full of fear, Pierre reached around and fumbled for the latch of the door.
“You’re already a dead man, Pierre!” Bea cried as he slammed the door shut behind him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
RANULF STAYED IN HIS SADDLEby willpower alone as Titan walked along the coast in the dim light of dawn. He would have preferred to be on foot, as were the men in his patrol who checked the ground carefully, but he dared not dismount. He feared he’d faint; otherwise, he’d be on his hands and knees if necessary, examining every rock, every pebble, every patch of mud and blade of grass, for any evidence that Bea, Wenna or Myghal had passed that way.
“Ranulf!”
He turned to see Kiernan riding toward him at a breakneck pace from farther up the coastal path. “We found her other shoe!” he shouted.
“Where?” Ranulf demanded when Kiernan reached him and pulled his horse to a snorting halt.
“Three miles from here on some rocks near the shore. Your men tell me that no one uses that place to bring in a boat because it’s too rocky for a landing, but it could be done. And one of the farmers who had his flock near the shore saw the French barque last evening. It’s probably heading back to France, judging by the direction it was sailing.”
“My lord!” Gareth called out, waving to get his attention. “There’s something down here on the rocks! It looks like a body, my lord.”
Dear God, don’t let it be Bea!Ranulf fervently prayed as he called for one of his men to help him dismount. He didn’t careif asking for help made him look weak, as long as it wasn’t Bea lying drowned and battered on those rocks.
As he drew near, Gareth and three of his soldiers gingerly made their way out onto the water-soaked rocks. “It’s Myghal, my lord!” Gareth called out. He bent closer to examine him. “And by all the saints and angels, he’s alive!”
“Bring him here!” Ranulf ordered, although they would hardly leave him lying on the rocks. The four men lifted Myghal up, two holding his shoulders, the others his legs, and they carefully made their way back to Ranulf with their sodden burden.
When they laid Myghal at Ranulf’s feet, he went down carefully on one knee, taking in the unconscious man’s pale face and dripping hair and clothes. How long he’d been in the water, Ranulf couldn’t begin to guess.
“Myghal!” he shouted, slapping the face of the former sheriff to bring him to. “Myghal!”
The man’s eyelids fluttered open.
