Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series) Page 2

  “And Sarah can now lay claim to half the land that should have belonged to Samuel alone.” Ann Tate straightened her bony shoulders. “If what you say is true, Elizabeth Wittfield, then your husband’s sister is indeed a witch. And I must admit that I am not surprised. Sarah is entirely too pretty for her own good. She admits to spending time with an accused witch, and she challenges both the doctor and the good reverend. I think she must commune with the devil.”

  Elizabeth swayed on her feet. “Samuel does not deserve this. He is a good man. How will he stand the humiliation of having a stepsister who is a witch”?

  “Well, if you ask me . . .” Ann paused at the gate to her yard, “I would beg Samuel to speak with the good reverend as soon as possible. If Sarah can make the cows go dry and keep you from having babies, then who knows what else she is capable of doing.” With her declaration hanging on the bitter wind, Ann turned and snapped the gate on her friend.

  Sarah shivered under the covers. Nights were the hardest. Every evening when she pulled in the latch string and raked the fire, a melancholy would fall like a damp cloak about her shoulders, chilling her bones and surrounding her with fear. The wind rattled the shutters, the boards creaked, and her heart pounded. For two weeks after her parents had died she had not slept at all. The sudden silence of the night had become more than she could bear.

  Tonight, even though the hour was well past midnight, she law awake in her bed. Moonlight streamed through her window but brought no comfort, for the corners of the room were filled with shadows that played with her mind. The wind howled and cold shivers ran down her spine. I’m such a coward, she thought, rolling over to bury her face in the pillow. Mayhap I should just accept George Porter and put an end to this. But even as the thought surged forth, Sarah knew it was not the answer. Flopping onto her back, she straightened the covers and clasped her hands as if in prayer. I want a husband, she whispered to the ceiling. But I want someone who wants me, not the land I carry. Warming to the thought, her fantasy bloomed. I want a man to look at me with the love in his eyes that Papa showed Prudence. He should be kind, and gentle, and caring. She ticked the list off on her fingers. And I would not find it amiss if he had a pleasant face. And babies. She sighed. He would give me lots and lots of babies.

  A smile touched her lips as she hugged the thought to herself. The face of George Porter surged into her dream and she jerked herself back to reality. You have no care for me, George Porter, she thought with sudden clarity, and I’ll not betray my brother. She thought of the hurt she witnessed on Samuel’s face each time he looked at her. You were wrong, Prudence, to place me equal to Samuel. I know in your heart you meant well, but your death has bequeathed your only son with bitterness. The wind howled, and Sarah frowned. In the night’s stillness she heard horses. Shaking her head, she chided her imagination that would place a body out at midnight. I could gift Samuel with the land, she thought suddenly. Then George Porter would no longer desire me and Samuel would smile again. But even as she whispered the words to the ceiling, she knew her prospects of marriage would dwindle to naught if she carried no dowry. ‘Tis not right to think of myself first, she decided. The land belongs to Samuel and I shall learn to be content.

  Reluctantly, she sat up and rubbed her hands over her eyes. He body ached for sleep but her mind raced on. Perhaps if she read some verses . . . But she dismissed the notion knowing full well it was only a ruse to light the taper. And once lit, she would never be able to extinguish it this night.

  Taking a deep breath to strengthen her resolve, Sarah flopped back against her pillows and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

  “I am sleepy,” she chanted softly. “My eyes are closed and I will sleep.” But over and over she thought of the distressing events of the afternoon as Ann Tate’s disagreeable words echoed in her mind. She had not meant to speak ill of Dr. Gribbs. He was a kindly old man and she often enjoyed conversing with him. But why, she wondered, did he spout such nonsense as witchcraft? He knew his book did not contain all the secrets. Why, her mother’s special salve and herb teas weren’t in that volume and he knew it. Had he forgotten all the hours he had spent with Prudence discussing the merits of this potion or that? It simply made no sense.

  She rolled over on her side and pulled the covers higher about her. And dear Rebecca, Sarah shivered. If she was cold when safe within her bed, how did Rebecca fare in Salem jail? I shall go and see for myself tomorrow, she vowed, mentally listing what blankets and other essentials she might spare. Sarah shifted her pillow. Those children needed a few well chosen words, she thought, and then they’d stop that nonsense soon enough. She turned onto her back and straightened the covers. I shall speak to their parents myself.Mayhap they are too distressed to know what to do.Mayhap . . .

  Sarah’s heart froze in her chest and, despite her fear, she jerked upright. The creak stopped as suddenly as it had started, but it was one she knew well. It sounded every time she opened the front door. Her hands, trembling with terror, reached for the candle and flint. But when her fingers touched the waxed taper, her haste knocked it to the floor.

  Sarah scrambled out of the bed as if it were aflame and frantically felt along the frozen boards for the slender taper. Her heart pounded so loudly in her ears that thinking became impossible. She found the candle under the bed and fought back the desire to simply crawl under and hide there until morning came.

  The beating of her heart slowed only a fraction as the candle sprang to life. The warm light touched the room, but left too many shadowy corners for comfort.

  Her feet felt like blocks of ice as she inched her way to the open doorway of her room. “Is anyone there?” Her voice trembled, and hearing the question aloud only added to her terror. Cautiously, she inched down the hallway and stepped into the main room. The outside door was shut and the coals in the fire still glowed with warmth. Feeling utterly foolish, Sarah took a deep breath and relaxed. I am a goose, she thought, giddy with relief. At ten and nine I should not be afraid of the dark. But as she stepped further into the room, a shadow from the corner moved toward her.

  Sarah’s cry of terror was short-lived. She was caught from behind as a sack was roughly pulled over her head and down her shoulders. She could feel two sets of hands as her arms were pressed to her body and tied. She lunged, trying to escape her nightmare but only succeeded in falling to the floor. Her head struck hard and pain filled her being. Her ankles were bound; then she was pulled to her feet again and propped against the table.

  Refusing to admit defeat, Sarah sucked in her breath and began to scream. There was a moment of searing pain along her jaw, the, mercifully, darkness consumed her.

  Chapter Two

  Middle Plantation, Virginia

  Lightning streaked across the midnight sky, its deathly glow illuminating a path for the bellowing rolls of thunder that crashed on its wake. Fierce winds shrieked with demonic glee and raced about in search of sport. Trees bent in protest and houses shivered as the turbulence grew. Unable to stand the assault, the sky rent open releasing torrents of rain to mix with the wind in its fury. Shutters were ripped from their moorings and glass windows rattled with ominous sounds. But even as the storm reached its zenith, it found its rival in Nicholas Beaumont’s foul mood.

  Like a caged cat, Nick paced the length of his study. Frustration marred his classic features, turning his dark-sapphire eyes cold. Waiting was not one of his virtues and he made a practice to do it as seldom as possible. But tonight fate had left him no choice. He reached for his gold timepiece to find the hour only a quarter past the last time he had checked. Why tonight? He thought with irritation. For a fortnight he had awaited word that his ship, the Lady May, had been sighted. But when the message finally arrived, it came on the heels of one of the worst storms of the season. Nick paused in his pacing to peer out the window. He had dined with the governor and as the minutes had ticked slowly by, he’s concluded his business, forced polite conversation, and chaffed at not being down on the docks
himself. Now, as the hour grew late, his patience was completely at its end.

  He shrugged out of his jacket and then out of habit, folded it neatly over the chair. A wry smile touched his lips as the memories rushed forth. He had been with Gran for less than a week when she had found his discarded jacket and breeches tossed carelessly on the floor of his room. It mattered not to her that he had yet to reach his sixth year, or that the tongue lashing she delivered had lasted even longer than the sting of her switch. His fingers smoothed the lapel of his jacket and he shook his head with the thought. She was a tough old bird even then and he had taken his meals standing for two days. Nick moved to the side table, poured himself a generous brandy, and forced himself to sit before the fire as he reviewed the events of the evening.

  The governor had been most receptive to his ideas, and the promise of government contracts would do much to maintain Beaumont Shipping’s status as the leader in the colonies. Nick took a healthy drink and leaned back in his chair. His business was thriving, so why then was he not content? Lightning flashed and he scowled at the window. Only a fool would wish to be down on the docks on a night such as this, he thought, rising to pace again. But as he thought of Captain Riggins, his hand tightened on his glass. Be calm, man, he chided himself. Beckett is the best agent on the pay ledgers of Beaumont Shipping. And if what you suspect of Captain Riggins is true, Beckett will find the proof.

  Nick stopped at the window to watch the fury of the storm. Lightning crackled, casting the grounds in an eerie blue-white light, and his eyes narrowed as he spied the open carriage slowly make its way up the lane. He waited by the window until the carriage stopped and he saw the driver descend. Stemming his desire to rush forth, Nick turned and moved to perch on the corner of his desk as the clock in the hallway struck the hour past midnight. Before the solitary chime had ceased, the door to his study edged open.

  “Excuse me, sir, Master Beckett is here. Shall I show him in?” Nick nodded. Wadsworth swung the door wide, gave a slight bow, and formally announced the rain-soaked agent. Peter Beckett stepped inside the doorway and hastily pulled his knit cap from his balding head.

  “Sorry I be so late, sir, but the rain . . .” Lightning flashed and the thunder roared, drowning out the agent’s words.

  Nick motioned the man to the fire. “Were you successful?”

  Beckett’s boots squished on the Persian carpet as he gratefully accepted the invitation. “Aye, sir.” He took only a moment to warm his hands before turning back to face his employer. “I rowed out as soon as the Lady May dropped anchor and searched her good just like ye said. And Captain Riggins be as crooked as a corkscrew.” Heedless of the puddle that had begun to grow on the floor before him, Beckett continued to nervously twist his cap.

  “What did you find?”

  Beckett reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a wadded manifest from its depths. His anxiety grew as he realized the paper was soaked through, and his hand trembled from more than cold as he handed the limp document to Nick.

  Nick spread the sodden paper across his desk and scanned the faded contents. His eyes widened first with surprise then disbelief. “The man would risk his reputation and his employment for a few extra barrels of fish?”

  Beckett nodded anxiously. “But I checked everything good, just like ye said, and those barrels hold more than just fish. Riggins had himself quite a stash. Brandy, rum, brocade . . .”

  Nick’s eyes hardened as he rose from the desk and began to stalk. “If Riggins thinks to deceive me with his wit, he had better be ready to pay the price. The man is either a fool or a scoundrel, and I’ve room on my pay ledger for neither. Why didn’t the harbormaster notice the irregularities in the manifest?”

  Beckett nervously shifted from foot to foot. “There be two manifests, sir. That one,” he gestured toward the desk, “matched the cargo Riggins truly carried, so the harbormaster had no cause for alarm. But I found a second manifest that matched the cargo that ye had commissioned him for. That would have been the one Riggins would have presented if ye had not found him out.”

  “I see.”Nick fought to keep his anger from exploding. “Mark this day, Beckett, for it is the last that sees Riggins as the captain of one of my ships.”

  Beckett shuddered at the quiet tone of his employer’s voice. He had worked for Beaumont Shipping for years and knew firsthand that the tales of Nick’s foul temper carried more truth than most realized. The man might dress like a gentleman with his fine white breeches and costly silk jackets, but none on the docks dared to challenge him. And those who were foolish enough to miss the steely determination in his eyes never had the opportunity to repeat the mistake. Eager to be gone lest he feel the backlash of Nick’s anger, Beckett edged toward the door.

  “Will ye be wishing any more of me tonight, sir?”

  Nick reached for a small leather pouch that rested on his desk and gave it a toss. The agent caught it with a practiced ease, but his eyes grew round as his palm expertly calculate its value.

  “You will find there is more than the usual amount. Despite the elements, you stayed with the task at hand. You’ve done well, Peter.”

  “Thank ye, sir,” Beckett’s head bobbed up and down as he stammered with pleasure. The master had never called him by his given name before. He backed toward the door, only to bump into it as Wadsworth pushed it open.

  The butler stood stiffly in the doorway, his pale face wrinkled with confusion. “I beg pardon for the intrusion, sir,” he looked to Nick, “but am I to do something with Master Beckett’s sack? It’s already stained the floor and now it is starting to move about.”

  Beckett slapped his palm to his forehead and his eyes rolled upward. “Lord have mercy, sir, I completely forgot. What do ye want me to do with the girl?”

  “Girl?”

  At the tone of Nick’s voice both men took a hasty step backward. “Wait, I’ll fetch her.” Beckett scrambled past the butler and into the foyer. He returned a moment later, carrying a heap of drenched sackcloth. Uncertain what to do, he dumped the bundle in the center of the floor and pulled back the cloth to reveal an unconscious girl.

  Nick looked from Beckett to the girl, then back to his agent again. “Why bring her here? Does she belong to you?” His brow arched down in a curious scowl.

  “Lordy no, sir,” Beckett stammered, fearful he had fallen out of favor. “I found her in the cargo hold. Captain Riggins claims she’s indentured to him.” Beckett scratched his ear. “But then the man also claims he’s innocent of any wrongful deeds. I didn’t think ye would jest want me to leave her, so I brought her with me.” He watched Nick’s eyes darken. “Did I do wrong, sir?” he asked, his anxiety mounting.

  Fascinated, Nick watched the girl struggle into consciousness. Her dark hair was soaked and matted, and beneath the sackcloth carelessly wrapped around her, she wore a thin tattered gown that curiously reminded him of his grandmother’s nightdresses. Her hands were bound before her with rags and her feet were bare. She was too thin for his taste, and filthy as a guttersnipe, but he found he couldn’t take his eyes from her. “Does Riggins have papers for her?”

  Beckett nodded and twisted his cap in trepidation. “He said he put them away for safekeeping but couldn’t remember where.” The agent halted and looked nervously down at his feet.

  “And?” Nick prompted in a harsh clip.

  Beckett took a deep breath and gathered his courage. “Then Captain Riggins offered to sell her to me, sir.”

  “Damn the bloody bastard.” Nick’s temper exploded. “I’ll see the man rot for this. Why is she bound?”

  Beckett shrugged helplessly. “Riggins said she tried to attack him.”

  Nick snorted in disgust. “She can’t even hold her head up.” He took a step toward the girl only to watch her frantically try to scoot from his path. But with her hands bound and the tattered gown twisted about her legs, her movements were futile as she shook from the cold.

  Irritated with both her fear and his own f
ascination, Nick struggled to keep his voice calm. “Easy now, I’ll not hurt you.” His tone was gentle, but when she flinched from his outstretched hand, he paused and pulled the lap robe from the corner chair. Placing it around her trembling shoulders, Nick continued his silent study of the girl, then he tipped her chin up with his forefinger and felt the breath leave his body. She had the most haunting violet eyes he had ever seen. You’ve become too jaded, Beaumont, he thought to himself. Tonight you turned down the finest ladies the great colony of Virginia has to offer and now look at you, lusting after a guttersnipe who’s wearing more dirt than the bottom of your boots.

  Lightning flashed, thunder exploded, and the house trembled in the aftermath. He caught a fleeting glimpse of terror as the girl’s violet eyes grew wide with fear before her face was buried against her arms. “Tis just the storm,” he said softly, not understanding why it was suddenly so important to stem her fear. “If I take the bindings off, will you behave?” He watched the emotions play across her face before she slowly nodded her head.As gently as he could, he removed the rough rag bindings. Her hands felt frozen within his own and, once free, her arms immediately wrapped about herself.

  Beckett edged a step closer. “I’d be careful, sir, if I was you,” he stammered. “Captain Riggins may be a thief, but he carries her claw marks down his cheek as proof of his story.”

  Sarah blinked rapidly, trying to keep her fear at bay. She knew she was no longer in the belly of the ship, yet she found the man before her more terrifying. “Where am I?” Her voice came as a husky whisper.

  Nick frowned as the sound of her words sent a curious jolt deep within. “For the moment, you’re safe,” he stated quietly. “My name is Nicholas Beaumont and you are in my home.”