Norfolk
Another line, this time words blending together with splotches of ink.
Dead end. Nothing but an empty building.
The sheet had wrinkles from being crumpled up at one point. Perhaps Mr. Thompson had meant to throw it away, but had changed his mind and returned it to the stack. Her key had something to do with all this—she could feel it in her bones, though what exactly, she had no clue. If she could find out more information, and prove she was more than just a burden, perhaps she could finally win the lieutenant’s favor. With a thundering heart, she took the piece of paper and folded it, tucking it into a pocket in her skirt.
Voices came from outside and she crossed to the open window. The lieutenant and Mr. Thompson walked down the dock, and she watched them until they melded with the night’s shadows. She sighed, imagining the very proper lieutenant strolling into a tavern and trying to get information. The men inside would see through him without hesitation.
People always assumed pirates were stupid. In some ways, yes, they were. But one thing was certain: a pirate would do anything to save their neck—in other words, expertise in identifying and avoiding the law practically ran through their blood.
Too bad she wasn’t going along.
Her gaze settled on the wardrobe and she opened the door. Inside, Samantha’s blouses hung next to a stack of haphazardly folded breeches. Stretching her hand out, she ran her fingers over the supple leather of the closest pair. A slow smile spread across her face and she pulled them free.
Chapter Thirteen
Damnation.
Isaac glared back at the tavern doors before setting off down the road. He hadn’t gotten a single bit of information from the men inside. In fact, he’d been rather rudely escorted to the door and told to leave.
Three men stood between him and the next tavern, arguing over something. As he got closer, he realized they had surrounded a woman. A wench from the tavern perhaps?
“Leave me alone.”
The words rang out over the boisterous heckling and Isaac stopped dead in his tracks.
Son of a bitch.
He knew that voice.
A sudden scuffle followed—boots scraping, a grunt, the thud of someone hitting the wall.
Then a yelp.
“Get your hands off me!” Miss Montclair’s voice rang fierce but strained.
“Come now,” one of the men jeered. “Join us in the alley. ’Twill only take a few moments of your time.”
Isaac surged forward as the man pulled her toward the dark shadows between buildings. Moonlight reflected off the man’s leering face. “She’s mine first, boys.”
The hell she was. Isaac flew toward him with his fist pulled back, barely coming to a stop before cracking it into the man’s jaw. Thesatisfaction of seeing the limp body hit the ground vibrated through him as he spun to face the remaining assailants.
“What in tarnation?” One of the fallen man’s friends leaped toward Isaac, shoving him violently toward the alley.
He threw his weight onto one foot and pivoted, grabbing the man’s shoulder as he came at him. With a grunt, he used his attacker’s momentum to propel him face-first into the brick wall of the building. He crumpled, limbs collapsing in a heap against the wall.
This was too easy.
The remaining man put his hands up. “We was just trying to have some fun. No harm.”
“No harm? You were accosting a lady.”
The man snorted. “She ain’t no lady.”
Isaac lunged toward him and the coward spun and took off running.
“Are you alright?” A hand settled on his shoulder and he spun to find Miss Montclair blinking up at him.
