Page 3 of To Love A Spy
After all, it was simply good to be alive.
Her fingers touched the storm-worn stone of the outcropping and she lingered for a moment, watching the first rays of sunlight wash over the horizon.Red sky at morning, sailors take warning.The pink glow was deepening to a dark mauve. A storm was brewing somewhere out in the Atlantic—a bad one by the look of it. A prudent ship captain would heed the signs and seek safe harbor for the next few days. The gales at this time of year could be brutal, especially here among the treacherous shoals of the Channels Islands.
Valencia turned and started back to shore. Foul weather was always good for business at her dockside tavern. She had best get into work early and see that Jemmy Welch brought up an extra keg or two of ale. If left to his own devices, the bar man would likely be napping in the back room after enjoying a wee nip of brandy for breakfast.
However, beggars could not be choosy. The town of Maseline was small and an able-bodied man could make more money fishing or farming than working the odd hours for her. Besides, other than a weakness for spirits, Jemmy was an excellent employee. He was trustworthy and always jovial, which balanced her own tendency for introspective brooding. And he didn’t mind taking orders from a female.
Most men were loath to admit that a woman might be their equal, either intellectually or physically. It had been rough going for the first few years of business, but the locals no longer questioned her entrepreneurial savvy or her ability to pitch a drunkard out on his ear if he tried to make trouble. Though she was not all that she used to be, she still could hold her own.
For the most part, however, the isle of Sark offered peace and quiet. A haven of tranquility, where the taciturn locals did notask prying questions. If at times it wastootranquil, that was a small price to pay for distancing herself from her former life.
She had once been a Merlin, a highflying member of an elite group of women warriors. As students at Mrs. Merlin’s Academy for Extraordinary Young Ladies, she and her comrades-in-arms had engaged in a rigorous program of training, learning the art of spying, swordplay and seduction. Only the very best earned their wings as full-fledged agents.
But for those who won the right to sport a small tattoo of a merlin hawk above their left breast, no assignment was too daunting or too dangerous. Indeed, they were England’s ultimate secret weapon, called upon to counter the most diabolical threats to the Crown.
There were times when she missed the training fields, the hell-for-leather riding, the camaraderie of her fellow warriors . . .
A last few hard strokes brought back to the rocky beach. Stepping out of the surf, Valencia hurried to towel the salt water from her skin, her gaze as usual avoiding the jagged scar that cut across her thigh. It was not quite so easy to ignore the limp that hobbled her stride. Though a regimen of grueling exercises had made it less pronounced, she was still painfully aware of her own limitations. In the past . . .
“To hell with the past,” she muttered.
Tugging on her shift, Valencia reached for her woolen gown. Regrets and recriminations were crippling. The trick was to stay one step ahead of such maudlin moods.
She was just tying off the top laces when the crunch of stones underfoot caused her to turn.
“Well, well, wot’s we got here?” Two men were closing in on her. The leader—a barrel-chested brute with a mane of matted red hair—dropped his armful of firewood and drew a knife.
“Looks like a tasty tart, Flame.” The other man smacked his lips as he tossed away his sticks. “And we ain’t had our breakfast yet.”
Finian O’Hanlon, known as ‘The Flame’ for his explosive temper and burning dislike for the British authorities, was an Irish smuggler who had recently begun to muscle in on the Cornish and Channel Island trade. Neither the local men nor the revenue officials were happy about his presence. The Flame and his crew were said to be ruthless in their pursuit of profit, and rumor had it that the sinking of Will Starling’s fishing boat was no accident.
Valencia made no move to flee. The chances of escape were virtually nil, given her bad leg. But a surrender to Fate was not what kept her from running. Sark was her home, its people her neighbors. Will had been a good customer. And a good friend.
“Aye, Seagull, she’ll make a nice treat fer us and the laddies back on board.” O’Hanlon lunged and caught her arm.
Valencia didn’t flinch as his knife kissed up against her throat.
“Looks to be meek as a mouse, don’t she? Reckon she’s too terrified to twitch a muscle.” Seagull laughed. “I hope she’s shows a bit more life when I’m swiving her. I like a bit o’ fight in my doxies.”
“Don’t worry, I know plenty ‘o ways of warming up a woman.” O’Hanlon shoved her roughly toward the narrow footpath that cut through the thickets of gorse and brambles. “Move, missy. And don’t be getting any ideas from Seagull. Ye try to kick or scream and I’ll slit that lovely neck o’ yours.”
Valencia allowed herself to be marched to the crest of the rocks. The craggy coastline of the island was dotted with countless hidden inlets and coves, making it nigh on impossible for the revenue patrols to catch a smuggler who knew the ins andouts of the local waters. Flame and his crew were no doubt well aware of the area’s advantages.
Sure enough, rounding a jut of windcarved granite, she saw that a dark-hulled ketch was anchored in the narrow spit of water just below, its raked masts hidden from view of the open seas.
“Watch yer step.” O’Hanlon tightened his hold on her arm as she stumbled over the uneven scree. “Wouldn’t us want te end up wiv damaged goods, now would ye, missie?”
“Heh, heh, heh,” grunted Seagull. “She’s gonna be a lot worse for wear when we finish taking our pleasure wid her.”
“How many of you are there?” asked Valencia.
“Wot’s it matter?” retorted Seagull.
“Just curious as to how many arses I have to kick in order to take over the ship,” she replied evenly.
Seagull answered with an obscenity.
“Ye got spunk, I’ll grant ye that.” O’Hanlon’s mouth stretched wide to reveal a flash of teeth.
