Page 21 of Devil's Mistress
“There’s room in the wardrobe for those things,” he told her casually. “But perhaps you would care to eat first.”
Brianna, wondering how to make sure she got the coins back with her clothing, was startled from her reverie by this very polite side to the devil she had come to know.
“Ah, yes,” she murmured, “thank you.” She quickly lowered her eyes from his. It appeared he intended to remain polite. She would challenge him, but be polite and distant herself. She would prefer to demand that he give her what was rightfully hers, but she was afraid that any insistence would only make him laugh and keep the coins, knowing she intended to use them for escape.
“Sit,” he told her pleasantly enough, “and I’ll prepare you a plate.”
Brianna sat nervously upon the edge of the bed. Sloan didn’t glance her way as he heaped a plate full with biscuits and steaming beef swimming in gravy. He handed her the plate with decorum and no mockery—his gaze telling her nothing when their eyes did meet. Sloan set a cup of tea before her within easy reach before preparing himself a plate. He then sat down upon the captain’s chair.
He ate without talking and for several moments Brianna followed suit. But then she decided that he would also be suspicious of her if she did not challenge him. To plan an escape, she had to know where they were heading, and what difficulties she might encounter.
“Where are we going?” she demanded, staring at him pointedly.
His eyes swept from his food to sear into hers. “Holland,” he replied briefly.
Brianna was so surprised she almost lost the plate of food that was balanced precariously upon her knees.
“Holland!” she gasped with dismayed amazement. How would she ever escape him in a land so very foreign to her? And though she didn’t know much about politics, she did know that there was severe tension between James II and his son-in-law and nephew, William of Orange; a friction that hinted of a coming war. “But—but,” she stuttered, “then you are a traitor, Lord Treveryan!”
Perhaps if she hadn’t been taken so much off guard, she wouldn’t have blurted out the accusation so foolishly. As it was, there was no recourse when she saw his lips compress angrily within the strong contours of his jaw and his eyes sizzle as they narrowed.
“I am no traitor, mistress. I am a Protestant, and a friend to the Parliament James has seen fit to dissolve. I am also a friend to Princess Mary of Orange, and therefore to her husband, William.”
Brianna stared blankly at her plate, stiffening beneath his words. “William of Orange—and Mary,” she murmured, struggling to maintain her composure while her mind whirled. Holland! How would she ever manage to get back to her family? She wouldn’t even be able to hire passage aboard a ship if she didn’t get the money back.
Sloan leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes had narrowed upon her, and it seemed that a hint of amusement played about his mouth.
“Of course,” he told her, “we won’t be heading straight for the Dutch court. We’ll have to dock for supplies and repairs.”
“Oh?” Brianna nonchalantly picked at a bit of food. “And where will that be?” Her heart thundered with new hope.
“Liverpool.”
Liverpool! Wonderful, Brianna thought. It was a busy, bustling port where a woman could quickly disappear, and close enough to the southwest counties so that she could reach the Powells.
“But then again…” Sloan’s voice drifted away. Brianna stared at him sharply once again.
“Then again what?” she snapped impatiently.
He shrugged. “We might dock farther south. Who can say?” he replied with a pleasant shrug.
“Umm. Who can say,” she returned, trying not to allow her voice to ring with sarcasm or anger. A silence followed her words, one that made her uneasy. She didn’t want him knowing anything that went on in her mind. More for something to say than to really strike a blow at him, she glared at him accusingly again.
“You are tampering a great deal with the law. James is the proper heir to the English throne.”
He laughed briefly, a dry sound that cut the air with no humor. “So thought Charles, and yet I doubt that he believed his brother would ever murder his son.”
“Jemmy Scott?” Brianna frowned, curious despite herself at the tone of Sloan’s voice. “The Duke of Monmouth?”
“Aye, the same,” Sloan said, “Beheaded at James’s command,” he added harshly. For a second he fell silent; then he was staring at her again. “You owe little loyalty to James, my little Scottish witch. It is beneath his rule that you almost burned.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” Brianna demanded coolly, “that all persecution shall cease beneath William and Mary?”
Sloan wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and, tossing it upon his unfinished plate, stood and stalked the room. Brianna noted that he wore the same clothing of the morning, the fine silk shirt, the fawn breeches that fitted so finely to his form, hugging sinewed thighs and muscled calves.
“I tell you,” he said heatedly, “that Charles, libertine as he was often labeled, was still a just and tolerant king. He knew his people and he knew when to give. James has proven himself to be an ineffectual king with a talent for turning even his friends into enemies. Will persecution cease with William and Mary? No, not completely, for people still believe in the power of witchcraft. And,” he reminded her pointedly, “there are people who do practice witchcraft. I’m not so sure yet that you’re not a witch! But both the Prince and Princess of Orange believe passionately in tolerance, and in Parliament. And I might add that they are the choice of the people.”
She set her plate upon his desk. “You’ll forgive me, Lord Treveryan, if I know little of the English court or its royalty. Or of the intrigue of politics. I have spent my life in the ‘wilds’ of Scotland. A country ‘witch,’ if you will, my lord.”
