"Two days," Jillian repeated, looking the pirate directly in the eyes.
"Two days," he whispered. Then he leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers.
The moment their lips met, Jillian knew she couldn't marry him.
Duncan woke to the disturbing clang of metal against metal.
"Get your lazy arses up and out," shouted the one-eyed foreman as he went down the row of slave cells, rattling the bars with the metal staff he always carried. "Ye've slept half the day away already!"
Duncan blinked in the feeble light that filtered through the crack in the roof overhead. It was barely dawn, and he was certain he hadn't come in from the fields last night until almost midnight. He didn't know how long he could physically hold up under this stress. It had been two months of working past exhaustion only to be fed a crust of bread, given a few hours rest, and returned to the fields again. Two months since he had last seen his Jillian. Duncan wiped his filthy, sweaty brow.
And what had become of her? He tried not to think about it. She was safe, of course. She had done what she had to to save herself. He tried not to think about that either. All that mattered was that she was still alive, that she would stay alive until he could come for her. That was what he lived for now. Jillian's memory was what kept him strong.
The foreman passed Duncan's cell again, beating on the bars. "Up, up, you lazy bastards. We got work to do. The master wants the south field cut afore it rains."
Duncan jabbed his friend in the stomach, playfully. "Jake, wake up. Mother calls."
Jake came awake slowly. He looked terrible. In the last few weeks, Duncan had seen his friend's face begin to sag gauntly, dark circles appearing under his eyes. His skin hung on his bones. He was starving to death. Duncan could only guess the toll taken on his own body by watching the changes in Jake's. Most men survived six months to a year. Jake had already been here nine months. Duncan couldn't help but wonder how much longer Jake had.
The iron door on Duncan's cell swung open, and the slaves began to file out. One man started to crawl toward the door, and another helped him to his feet. Duncan guessed that there would be one fewer man to feed in the cell tonight, one extra heel of moldy, bug-infested bread to fight over.
"Let's go," Duncan told Jake, giving him his hand as he got to his feet. "Time to get a little fresh air, lover."
Jake chuckled, accepting Duncan's assistance.
"You're a good man, Duncan Roderick, even if you are a scurvy earl."
The two men had just reached the door, the last out of the cell, when the foreman came back down the filthy corridor between the cells. "Need a couple extra cane-cutters today."
Duncan's gaze immediately met Jake's, a smile twitching on his lips.
"It'll mean an extra piece a' bread and a hunk a' cheese," the foreman called as he slunk by.
"We'll go," Duncan offered, hooking a thumb in Jake's direction. "We'll cut cane."
The foreman turned around, wrinkling his brow. "No. You two ain't to be trusted. Ye got too much life left in yer eyes." He started to move on to the next cell.
"So we ain't starved yet," Duncan said, knowing intuitively that this might be his only chance at escape. "That means we can cut more cane, my friend and I."
The foreman turned around and spat a stream of tobacco into the straw at Duncan's bare feet. "And why ye so anxious to cut cane, Tattoo Man? You and your niggard friend lookin' for trouble?"
Duncan touched the scabbed wounds across one shoulder. "No. We ain't stupid. We're just lookin' for a change."
The foreman studied Duncan, following him with his beady rat eyes.
"But it'll take two extra pieces of bread," Duncan put in for good measure. "Me and my friend, we don't work for free."
One of the slaves passing the cell cackled. The foreman struck him on the back of the calf with his metal staff as he went by. "Shut up, afore I shut you up for good!"
The foreman looked back at Duncan.
Duncan prayed as hard as he had ever prayed in his life.
The foreman spun his staff. "What the bloody hell. Follow me, boys; but I warn ye, ye so much as look cross-eyed, and I'll order the guards to shoot your balls off."
Duncan fell into step behind the foreman, glancing over his shoulder at Jake.
The black man winked, his dark eyes twinkling. Home, he mouthed.
Twenty-six
"You can't."
"You coming or not?"
"Jillian, think about what you're saying. What you're doing," Beatrice pleaded. She stood near the open window in her night robe, the darkness of the jungle oppressive. "You can't think just of yourself. You have to think about the baby."
"I am thinking about the baby." Jillian fastened the emerald-and-diamond necklace Duncan had given her around her neck. "And for the baby I have to try."
Beatrice followed Jillian as she moved about the room, gathering the few belongings she had come to Jamaica with. "This is insane. Even if you could make it into town, even if you could find someone to help you, you'd never make it out of the Port Royal harbor alive. Indigo owns half the ships in these waters, and half the men. He won't let you go."
"I have to try. I should have tried weeks ago. Now, are you coming with me, or not?"
Beatrice set her jaw. "If something happened to you or the baby, it would be partly my fault."
Jillian shrugged. "So, stay here if you're frightened. I'll send back help as soon as I can."
Beatrice grabbed her sister's hand as she went by. "Please, don't do this," she begged, near tears. "Just marry him. He'll provide for you. He'll let no harm come to you or the child."
"I can't do that."
"You were willing to do it in England." Beatrice crossed her arms over her breasts. "When Father signed that betrothal agreement, you were going to marry a suitor you didn't know as well as you know Indigo. The Earl of Cleaves could have been a cruel man, a brutal one."
"But he wasn't." Jillian held up one finger, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb anyone else in the household. "He wasn't cruel or brutal. I came to love him and he me."
"So now you expect that in another marriage?" She laughed at the ridiculous thought. "You expect what no woman has ever expected?"
Jillian looked at her sister, lifting her chin a notch. It was the memory of Duncan that made her strong. "I suppose I do."
Beatrice walked away, her bare feet padding on the cool tile floor. "You're making a mistake."
Jillian stuffed her few coins into a small cotton bag she dropped over her neck. "I'm not going to argue with you anymore. I'm leaving. I'm going to escape."
"You're going to get past the guards?"
"I have to. Now, you make your decision and make it quickly. I won't blame you if you stay."
Beatrice frowned. "This is madness."
"You'll go?"
"I'll have to change. I refuse to traipse about the jungle in my sleeping gown."
Jillian smiled, watching her sister head for the door. "Hurry. In another hour, everyone will begin to rise; in two, they'll realize we're missing. I want to get a good head start on them."
Beatrice closed the door behind her quietly.
Jillian had just walked to her bedstand to retrieve the silver hairbrush Duncan had given her when she heard a noise on her balcony. She froze, listening. For a long moment, there was silence. She heard the sound of the wind blowing in the treetops, the swish of the curtain in the open windows.
Then she heard the sound again. A single footstep . . . barefoot.
Had Indigo sent someone to spy on her? Had he suspected she would flee rather than agree to marry him? Her two-day pardon was up. Today, Indigo expected an answer, and he expected a yes.
Jillian glanced at the fruit bowl on a table near the door. A shiny paring knife used to peel the sweet fruit lay beside it. Noiselessly, she walked to the table and picked up the knife. The blade was short, but razor-sharp. The weight of it in her palm gave her confidence.
&nb
sp; Slowly she crept toward the swaying, transparent curtains that hung in the open windows and doorway. Before she reached the door that led to the balcony, she spotted a silhouette through the drapes. A man . . .
Jillian gripped the knife tightly in her hand, gritting her teeth. This man wasn't going to stop her. No one was going to keep her from getting away. For too many months she'd sat paralyzed by her grief and done nothing. But this morning was her time for action. She'd not allow others to control her fate another moment longer.
"Who's there?" Jillian demanded.
The movement came so quickly that she barely had time to react. He came at her through the thin drapes, his identity masked by the filmy white material.
Jillian lashed out with the knife, stifling her urge to scream.
The man grunted with pain as her knife sunk into his arm. He struggled to grab her, tangled in the curtains.
Jillian drew back the knife, stained by her attacker's blood, to strike again.
"Jillian . . . Christ . . . stop. . . . It's me . . ."
She froze. Holy God . . . he had come back from the dead.
Or was this someone playing a cruel trick on her? Had her ears deceived her?
"D—Duncan?" She couldn't move.
"Hell, yes, it's me." He struggled in the curtains, ripping a sheet down, trying to untangle himself. He looked like an apparition.
"You're dead. Buried in the sand." Her voice trembled. "Drowned by the tide. I heard them say they'd buried you."
"Apparently not well enough. Sweet Christ, will you help get me out of this mess?"
Jillian nearly laughed out loud. It had to be Duncan. No one else had the sense of humor he possessed. She grabbed at the thin drapes, frantically tearing them away. "Duncan, Duncan," she sobbed, nearly hysterical.
"Jilly . . ." He put his arms around her, a portion of the curtain falling over her shoulder.
She yanked a bit of material from his face. It was him! Sweet heaven above, it was her husband!
Jillian threw her arms around his neck, heaving her body against his. "Duncan . . . Duncan . . ." She ran her hands over his bare shoulders, his tattooed chest, trying to convince herself he was no ghost.
"Jilly, I knew you were safe. I knew it," he murmured in her ear. He covered her face with kisses, catching her tears on the tip of his tongue.
She rested her head against his broad chest, running her fingertips over the multi-colored tattoos. "I . . . thought you were dead."
"I thought I was too, for a while."
"How . . . why . . ." She couldn't catch her breath. "I don't understand. Chuma said you were dead."
He grinned. "Lucky for you and me, our friend Chuma had his own agenda. He didn't leave me to drown, buried on the beach."
Jillian peered up at Duncan. He was freshly shaven, the bear claw tattoo evident on his gaunt cheek. "What happened?"
"He sold me to a sugarcane plantation on the far side of the island." He kissed her lips once, then a second time. "Slave labor."
She kissed him back. "So, how did you get—"
"Enough talk, woman. Once we're safe, far from here, I'll tell you the story, start to finish; but right now, I just want to get the hell out of here. Where's Beatrice? Is she all right?"
Jillian smiled, her heart still pounding in her chest as if it would burst. "She's fine."
Duncan let his hand slide from where it rested on her full breast to her swelling abdomen. "The baby?"
She covered his hand with her own. "He's very strong." She laughed with a joy she hadn't felt in months. "He keeps me awake at night."
Duncan lifted an eyebrow. His dark hair was pulled back in a neat queue, but Jillian could see signs of gray he hadn't had before they'd left England. "He?"
" 'Twould be my bet if I were a betting woman."
Duncan's green eyes twinkled. "Let's get your sister and get the hell out of here, Jilly, so we can get on with our lives."
She dropped her hand on her hip, still holding on to him with her other hand. She was trying to think with her head instead of her emotions. "Bea's in her room, but she should be back any minute."
"You were expecting her at midnight?"
She touched the emerald necklace and the cotton bag she wore on her neck. "We were just on our way out."
He stared at her with a look of bemusement. "Oh, you were, were you?"
"It was that or become a bride again."
Duncan's face darkened suddenly. "I'll have that bastard Indigo on the tip of my sword before we sail."
"No." Jillian touched his thick, muscled forearm near the place where she had stabbed him with the paring knife. "I don't want him harmed if we can help it."
"Jillian, the man tried to kill me. He kidnapped you." Duncan looked away.
"That's all true, but he could have killed Beatrice and me. He could have sold us into slavery, too. But he didn't." She looked into his eyes. "Let's just go home," she said softly.
Just then the door swung open. Beatrice gave an involuntary squeak at the sight of Duncan.
"Look what the lizards dragged in," Jillian said, grinning ear to ear.
Beatrice stared wide-eyed. "A miracle," she whispered.
"Indeed that," Duncan retorted. "Now, let's hope the good Lord isn't out of them today, because it's going to take another one to get us out of here."
Jillian turned to him, suddenly filled with fear. She remembered all too well what had happened the last time they had tried to escape from this room. She also knew that, if they were caught, Indigo would make certain Duncan was dead this time. "Which way?" Jillian whispered.
"We're going to try the window. The corridor didn't work for us last time."
Jillian couldn't help but smile. How Duncan could keep his sense of humor at a time like this, she didn't know. It was odd, but she didn't remember his having a humorous side when they'd first met. It was something that seemed to have developed along with their relationship.
Duncan walked toward the balcony to stare out between the twisted drapes. Jillian stood beside him. "Where are the guards?" she whispered.
"Two are asleep. One's dead."
Jillian looked at him.
Duncan shrugged. "Natural causes."
She frowned. "I understand defending ourselves, but I just want to get out of here, Duncan. I want no blood path."
"I agree, sweet. I've seen enough suffering and death to last two lifetimes. Now here's the plan . . ."
A few minutes later, Jillian, Beatrice, and Duncan slipped out onto the balcony. In the darkness, she prayed they would be able to escape. She and Duncan were going home, home to Maryland, home to their newfound love. In her heart she knew everything was going to be all right.
The two women followed Duncan to the edge of the balcony. Duncan went over the side first, followed by Beatrice. When Bea was safely on the ground, Duncan waved to Jillian. "Hang over the side, and I'll catch you before you touch the ground." He held out his arms. "It won't be far then."
Gingerly, Jillian climbed over the railing. She'd done this two months ago, but without the encumbrance of an extended abdomen. Now, suddenly, she was afraid.
"Come on, sweet. We haven't much time."
The words had barely left his mouth when a voice came from the path in the distance. "Ship off the beach!" the voice cried.
A bell clanged, sounding the alarm. A guard appeared around the corner of the house.
"Jillian!" Duncan urged. "Now!" Then he spun around to meet the pirate guard, saber to saber.
A musket shot rang out in the still, humid air, and Jillian heard the sound of the lead ball as it whirred by her head. Giving an involuntary cry, she let go of the railing and fell.
She hit the ground hard, a sharp pain streaking up her shin. For a second she lay still in the grass, cradling her abdomen, waiting for the pain to pass.
"Jilly?" Beatrice went down on her knees beside her sister. "Jilly, are you all right?"
"Yes," she panted. "Just . . . just help
me up."
But when Jillian took her sister's arm and tried to stand, she found she couldn't put any pressure on her leg.
Jillian paled, her heart fluttering. The fear was worse than the pain. She fought back her tears. "I—I don't know if I can walk."
"Go! Go!" Duncan was shouting as he sidestepped the pirate's parry. "Run for the jungle. There are men there who will help you to the ship."
"I'm not going without you!" Jillian cried fiercely. Hanging onto her sister, she twisted around to see Duncan slice the pirate's sword arm.
The pirate yelped in pain, blood gushing from the wound as the sword fell to the grass.
Duncan gave the bleeding pirate a hard kick in the stomach, and the pirate went down on all fours.
Half a dozen dangerous-looking men brandishing machetes appeared out of the darkness. "Let's go!" Duncan cried. "This is our escort."
A volley of musket-shots sounded. Someone fired off Jillian's balcony into the men pouring out of the jungle.
"She's hurt!" Bea hollered. "Jilly can't walk."
Duncan came running.
"The shots, they scared me," Jillian apologized, fighting her tears. "I fell."
"Sweet Mary!" came a familiar voice.
Jillian looked to see Indigo coming around the corner of the house from the front, a pistol in his hand. He was only half-dressed, in riding breeches and slippers. His black hair fell loose to his shoulders in disarray. Bare-chested as he was, it was evident that, though slender, Indigo was a strong man.
"Does this man not die?" Indigo demanded incredulously. "You kill him and he doesn't die? Chuma! Chuma, where the hell are you?" He swung his pistol in fury. "I'll have your ass in a sling for this one."
More shots rang out. Duncan's men that had come from the jungle met Indigo's pirates head on. The clash of sabers rang through the jungle.
Duncan swung Jillian into his arms.
"Put her down and back away!" Indigo shouted.
Jillian hung onto Duncan's neck. "Let me go, Indigo," she pleaded. "You know this won't work. It will never work."
"No!" he shouted stubbornly. "You're mine. I'll have you or no one will."
My Savage Lord (Hidden Identity) Page 28
