Read The Windflower for Free Online Page B

stepped in their path.
    "Go on back to yer chairs and sit down," he growled, jerking his head.
    "Please—my sister is feeling unwell," answered Sally. "I want to take her outside to lie in the wagon."
    "Later." The word was a soft growl.
    "Please let us go. She is not many weeks from her time and needs rest. A shock could make the baby come early." Sally gazed at him wide eyed, and in a voice that carried she added, "1 beg of you. I'm sure you had a mother once yourself."
    The pirate's hard, impassive face seemed to flicker, betraying an unfathomable emotion. He lifted the sword blade a bit, signaling to Morgan's long-haired companion, who looked hard at them across the room before nodding dismissively. Without another word the pirate moved aside and let them pass, his face an unreadable slab once more. The door closed softly behind them, a sound which occasioned tremendous relief for them, and they stood and inhaled the cool salty air. The moon, too bright almost to look at, was laying a burning silver trail on the surf crashing on the coast; they could see it far off over the black tree line. Sally and Merry glanced at each other and fled down the steps with such dispatch that Merry tumbled over the last two and landed hard on her knees, catching her petticoats in a tight bunch beneath her. The dozen dainty brass pins that held on her pillow were thrust hard into the soft flesh of her stomach, and giving a sharp cry of pain, she jumped to her feet, yanking her skirt away from her. Promptly she was answered by a series of tiny metallic pings that sounded like an honor guard of Lilliputian infantry firing a twenty-one-gun salute. With an audible flump the bundle of straw and feathers collapsed out of her dress, littering the damp, pebbled sand like dirty snow.
    In startled dismay Merry cried, "Sally! My pins have popped off their heads!"
    "Damn, damn, damn! If men can invent a steam engine that goes five miles an hour, why can't they think of a way to make pins in one piece so they can't snap apart!" Sally glared at the bundle at Merry's feet. "Stupid things! Thank the Lord it didn't happen indoors! Merry, you stay here, gather your stuffings as best you can, and I'll race to the wagon for more pinheads."
    "Sally, please! I want to come with you. It won't matter, will it?"
    "Yes, it matters. They may well have someone watching the wagons, and if they see you're not pregnant, we've lost our excuse for being outside the tavern. If they think we've come out to fetch the militia, we're as good as dead."
    "But. Sally—"
    "You'll be fine. Just stay here, and don't be afraid if it takes me a little while. I've got to move cautiously. The yard may be alive with Morgan's men, and I want to avoid as many of them as possible."
    "What if somebody comes?" whispered Merry.
    "Hide under the stairs." Sally's whisper was as hushed as the darkness into which she disappeared, and Merry was alone in the tavern's black shadow. Before her lay the night beach, echoing with the boom of the
midnight
surf, stinking with the tidal litter of dying seaweed and dead crabs. Massive boulders humped the shoreline, like the backs of enormous turtles. Had one of them moved? No, no, of course not. With a shiver that had nothing to do with the night breeze, Merry knelt on the gritty sand and began energetically to gather her shedded pile into her cotton bag. Her breath came tight and quick. Not a nuance of either the absurdity or the danger of the situation was lost on her.
    As abrupt as a thunderclap on a still morning came the squeal of corroded hinges as the tavern door behind her opened, catching her in the middle of its lengthening rhomboid of light. Merry's spine injected a paralyzing terror serum through her body that turned her muscles to damp paper. The cotton bundle slid from her fingers and opened as it hit the ground, showering her with a geyser of feathers and dust.
    The deor slammed shut, and there were footsteps on the porch and steps. Merry