Nobody's Saint Read Online Free Page B

side.
    “May you fall and never rise, you whoreson coward!” she screamed through the oaken barrier. “You loathsome, disgusting, filthy”— she couldn’t think of anything bad enough; finally, she had to settle for “—bastard!” Hardly satisfying.
    Sir Calder’s victorious cackle sounded faintly beyond the door. Mary Kate drummed her fists until she had to stop for the pain. On the morrow, purple bruises would mark the outer heels of her hands.
    Pausing to catch her breath, she made a sudden decision to change tactics. Sir Calder was doubtless well off the ship by now. She would have to seek an ally, and quickly.
    “Captain!” she cried out. “Where is the captain of this vessel? I am being detained illegally, and I demand to see the captain!” She paused again, panting, her cheeks bright red. She reached up and wiped at the sweat that dotted her brow. “Damn it! Fetch the captain at once, ere you make the grave mistake of abducting an innocent woman against her will!”
    At last, a voice answered. It was deep and despicably English. Too much to hope this was an Irish ship.
    “Settle down in there, miss. I’ve instructions not to let you out until we’re well away from the dock.”
    “Are you the captain?” she called out, trying to make her voice sound weak and distressed and yet loud enough to carry. “Please, I need help. There’s been a terrible mistake.”
    “Aye, I am, and whatever your family dispute may be, it is none of my business,” the voice replied.
    “It most certainly is!” she snapped, helpless maiden ruse forgotten. “This is your ship, and I shall hold you personally responsible for anything that befalls me. I was told that I was journeying to Londonderry, and that is just where I intend to go! Now, if you cannot take me there, then find me safe passage and wash your hands of this dark business! D’you hear me?”
    Silence.
    “Oooh!” Mary Kate screamed. She threw herself to the floor and pounded her heels, her skirt of emerald velvet riding up to her thighs and her fur-lined cloak in an uncomfortable wad under her back. Her string of curses sounded oddly musical in her lilting accent. For pure satisfaction, she repeated every one of them in the Irish tongue.
    In time, she spent her ire and lay in a heaving heap on the cabin floor. Damn! This sort of thing only worked when there was an audience. With no one to appreciate her efforts, she hauled herself back up to standing, removed her cloak and smoothed her skirts. Half of her black hair had escaped its neat coiffure, so she pulled all of the pins out and let it tumble in a rumpled mess to her waist. She would have cried, but it was an affront to her dignity. Temper was a sign of strength and passion. Tears were a sign of weakness. Still, now that she was outside of her grandfather’s household, it occurred to her that she should drop her recently acquired propensity for kicking and screaming on the floor.
    What had begun as a mild rocking motion when she’d boarded the ship was steadily becoming a proper roll. For lack of anything else to do, she ran a brush through her hair and tried to think of some way to convince the captain to alter his course and drop her in Ireland. Anywhere in Ireland would be fine; she’d make her own way home.
    But it was not to be. She was finally allowed back on the deck, and after a brief query to determine which man was the captain, she strode over to him and leaned on the deck rail next to where he stood. It took considerable effort to ignore the cold mist that remained from the drizzle on shore, but she smiled at him, as though she were as comfortable as could be.
    “Captain,” she said sweetly, “‘tis sorry I am to have put up such a fuss earlier. I’m downright ashamed of myself. But surely you’ll understand if you’ll only hear my dilemma. Y’see, my grandfather told me that I was headed for Londonderry. I’ve family outside the city, a sister who’s young and far too brash,