He uncoiled from the wagon and slowly crossed to them. "Give me your hand."
As Merry watched, Sally obeyed him warily. From his own right hand Devon slid a heavy diamond signet and dropped the ring into Sally's palm, curling her fingers around it with his own.
"Give this to the man you'll find at the stables, watching the horses. Tell him to hitch your team."
In stunned thanksgiving Merry's eyelids drooped closed, and she heard Sally's awed whisper.
"You're letting us go?"
Devon 's hand fell on the back of Merry's head, slid caressingly under her curls, and stroked slowly over the line of skin behind her ear.
"One has a certain reluctance to maim anything so lovely," he said. "I've a feeling, my brave Sally, that you wouldn't recover any better than she would. I wouldn't be so nice a second time. You know that, don't you? And if it had been another man ..."
"Yes," said Sally quietly. "I know."
"If you value her so much, you won't risk her again next time." His fingers traced the satiny skin on Merry's neck.
"Go to the stables," he said, turning. "I'll send out your men."
Like Lot 's wife Merry watched in rigid silence as he moved toward the tavern, the faint light touching the smooth, sensual roll of his hips, the graceful shoulders, the moon-kissed hair. He entered the tavern and pulled the door closed behind him, leaving them safe among the sand and the surf and the stars.
Sally's legs slowly buckled, and she sank to sit on the wet grit, ducking her head down to her knees, and with bent wrists laid her palms on the back of her head. She laughed for a long time, half-hysterically, and when finally she stopped laughing, she said, "Dear God, what a man." She looked at Merry, her cheeks wet with the tears of her laughter, and said, in a calmer voice, "We're lucky to be alive, the way we botched that one. He kissed you, didn't he? I guessed it. You look that upset, no more."
In a voice that shook, Merry said, "If you had heard me, Sally ... I was a whimpering ninny. I should have fought him."
Sally chuckled tensely. "Fought? Him? What would you want to do a thing like that for? Merry, when a man like that kisses you . . . Never mind, don't blame yourself."
Merry lowered herself to the sand and put an arm around her cousin's back. "Why do you think he let us go? Doesn't he suspect who we are?"
"I have no idea what he suspects, honey. But I think that he was afraid he would have to kill us if he found out. Who in the world could that man be?"
"I heard one of the pirates call him . . . Devon ."
" Devon ? Devon . . . Are you sure that's what it was? Devon ! Heavenly days! You don't suppose—"
"What?"
Sally smiled. "Oh, never mind. It's impossible. A ridiculous thought. Come with me, and let's hurry before he changes his mind."
CHAPTER FOUR
August passed like a dancer, graceful and sweating. Frog song thrilled from the reed grass, raccoons hunted among the ripened cornstalks, and turtles slumbered away the afternoons on gray rocks comforted by the sun.
At Merry's home the cook boiled the rutabagas Merry had drawn, and served them in a lamb pie on the fourth Tuesday of the month. An owl with long downy ears took up residence in an old squirrel's nest inside the walnut tree that overlooked the garden, and Aunt April was pleased because it would keep the mole population down. Henry Cork went to the Quaker meeting house and preached violently and at length about the Holy Virgin and the Catholic saints until the Quakers were driven from their own building.
And the unicorn came often. Merry could feel itwhen she came to her room at night, waiting in the twilight behind the dark folds of the curtains.
The pictures from the tavern were to be the last that she would draw for Carl, who had said not so jokingly that it would be better to let a few British spies wreak havoc with the war effort than expose Merry to that much danger again. Merry was ashamed of the new secret woman inside her who questioned
As Merry watched, Sally obeyed him warily. From his own right hand Devon slid a heavy diamond signet and dropped the ring into Sally's palm, curling her fingers around it with his own.
"Give this to the man you'll find at the stables, watching the horses. Tell him to hitch your team."
In stunned thanksgiving Merry's eyelids drooped closed, and she heard Sally's awed whisper.
"You're letting us go?"
Devon 's hand fell on the back of Merry's head, slid caressingly under her curls, and stroked slowly over the line of skin behind her ear.
"One has a certain reluctance to maim anything so lovely," he said. "I've a feeling, my brave Sally, that you wouldn't recover any better than she would. I wouldn't be so nice a second time. You know that, don't you? And if it had been another man ..."
"Yes," said Sally quietly. "I know."
"If you value her so much, you won't risk her again next time." His fingers traced the satiny skin on Merry's neck.
"Go to the stables," he said, turning. "I'll send out your men."
Like Lot 's wife Merry watched in rigid silence as he moved toward the tavern, the faint light touching the smooth, sensual roll of his hips, the graceful shoulders, the moon-kissed hair. He entered the tavern and pulled the door closed behind him, leaving them safe among the sand and the surf and the stars.
Sally's legs slowly buckled, and she sank to sit on the wet grit, ducking her head down to her knees, and with bent wrists laid her palms on the back of her head. She laughed for a long time, half-hysterically, and when finally she stopped laughing, she said, "Dear God, what a man." She looked at Merry, her cheeks wet with the tears of her laughter, and said, in a calmer voice, "We're lucky to be alive, the way we botched that one. He kissed you, didn't he? I guessed it. You look that upset, no more."
In a voice that shook, Merry said, "If you had heard me, Sally ... I was a whimpering ninny. I should have fought him."
Sally chuckled tensely. "Fought? Him? What would you want to do a thing like that for? Merry, when a man like that kisses you . . . Never mind, don't blame yourself."
Merry lowered herself to the sand and put an arm around her cousin's back. "Why do you think he let us go? Doesn't he suspect who we are?"
"I have no idea what he suspects, honey. But I think that he was afraid he would have to kill us if he found out. Who in the world could that man be?"
"I heard one of the pirates call him . . . Devon ."
" Devon ? Devon . . . Are you sure that's what it was? Devon ! Heavenly days! You don't suppose—"
"What?"
Sally smiled. "Oh, never mind. It's impossible. A ridiculous thought. Come with me, and let's hurry before he changes his mind."
CHAPTER FOUR
August passed like a dancer, graceful and sweating. Frog song thrilled from the reed grass, raccoons hunted among the ripened cornstalks, and turtles slumbered away the afternoons on gray rocks comforted by the sun.
At Merry's home the cook boiled the rutabagas Merry had drawn, and served them in a lamb pie on the fourth Tuesday of the month. An owl with long downy ears took up residence in an old squirrel's nest inside the walnut tree that overlooked the garden, and Aunt April was pleased because it would keep the mole population down. Henry Cork went to the Quaker meeting house and preached violently and at length about the Holy Virgin and the Catholic saints until the Quakers were driven from their own building.
And the unicorn came often. Merry could feel itwhen she came to her room at night, waiting in the twilight behind the dark folds of the curtains.
The pictures from the tavern were to be the last that she would draw for Carl, who had said not so jokingly that it would be better to let a few British spies wreak havoc with the war effort than expose Merry to that much danger again. Merry was ashamed of the new secret woman inside her who questioned
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