There was no choice, her conscience reminded her. This way was the only guarantee. As long as she was on this ship, it would take Giancarlo away from England and those she wanted to protect. Her best energies now were spent on looking to her own redemption. Perhaps there would be a chance to escape later. She would try, she would never stop trying as long as her efforts risked no one but herself. Andelmo arrived, presenting another obstacle she’d have to overcome. She tried to keep her fears in check. She focused on the activity around her. Crew scurried everywhere with last-minute preparations. Surely, there was some chivalry among them if she could make her plight known once they sailed.
She felt safe on deck, surrounded by others, but Giancarlo did not let her remain. He took her below to their cabin and shut the door firmly behind him, calling for Andelmo to join them. His ever-present blade was naked in his hand. ‘Il gioco es fini, mi cara.’ The game is finished. ‘And you lost. You know what that means. You led me on a merry chase and now you must be punished for it. Those are the rules of the game.’ He nodded towards his thug. ‘Andelmo, hold her.’ To Sofia he said, ‘Will you submit? It will go easier for you and we can be done with this.’
No! She was not going to submit. Not ever again, not when the memories of Conall’s love was still fresh. He would want her to fight. Her submission could protect no one, not even herself. Sofia got an elbow into Andelmo’s ribs, a foot down on his instep, causing enough sudden pain to wrench away from the big man. She struggled hard, pushing past Giancarlo to the door. She had the handle in her hand, she turned it, shoving it open. It opened, but not fast enough. Giancarlo tackled her from behind, she fell, half in, half out of the cabin. She screamed, hoping one of the sailors would hear her. She clawed her way forward, but Giancarlo had her ankles. She grabbed for purchase, clinging to an iron grip in the deck used for coiling rope, anything to prevent being hauled back into the darkness of the cabin. Her efforts only forestalled the inevitable. Giancarlo dragged her inside, but not before she let out a scream again.
The door shut ominously, Giancarlo breathing hard as he threw her on the bunk, his body heavy astride her, pinning her down. ‘We’ll be having no more of those antics, mi cara,’ he growled, malevolence in his dark eyes. ‘Light the lamp, Andelmo. Once this ship lifts anchor we’ll have need of some heat.’ The tip of his blade pressed against the fabric of her bodice, slicing the gown apart. ‘While we wait, let’s see what we have to work with. It’s been so long, mi cara...ah, your beautiful skin, such a lovely blank canvas to work with.’ He traced the outline of the brand. ‘Well, almost blank. Might be time for a mate.’
Sofia heard the rumble of the anchor lifting, stripping away any illusion that there might be a rescue if the ship stayed in port. There would be no help now. No one would even know she was in here, trapped with this mad man until it was too late. Not that it would matter when they did discover her. Giancarlo would have excuses; his wife’s poor health kept her to the cabin. She knew too well how this worked.
He ran a hand over her breast. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to find the blackness, some place where she would be safe, some place where her mind could hide. She tried to remember the old litany. She would live, he wouldn’t kill her, he wanted her alive, needed her alive. This would end and when it did, she would pick herself up and put herself back together. Again. She could feel the heat before it found her. R was for redeemed. She held on to that in her mind and screamed once more.
* * *
Conall heard the scream, a miracle really, given the noise of the wharf, but perhaps not considering the state of his mind, all of which was fixated on finding Sofia. He was fixated on her and the reality that time was slipping away. The high cry of a woman pierced through the masculine tones of the dock and he launched himself up the gangplank, not bothering to think about the consequences or about what he’d do when he got there. It only mattered that Sofia was in trouble. Instinctively, he knew the cry could have come from no other.
‘Sofia!’ he bellowed, pushing past guards at the wharf who protested the intrusion. If she could hear him, she would hold on, she would know help was coming.
‘Sir, you can’t go that way, the boat is leaving!’ one of them called after him.
‘Stop the ship! Stop the ship!’ Conall yelled, waving his arms frantically to attract attention, anyone’s attention, his legs pumping up the gangplank as the ship inched away from shore. The lip between the ship and the dock spread to become a gaping maw of a hole dropping into dark water. He wouldn’t think about that now. Consequences simply had no meaning at the moment. There was only action. Conall eyed his destination, the stern of the ship. A sailor saw him and tried to wave him off. But Conall kept coming. At least now if he fell, someone might pull him out, might pull him on board. Getting on that ship was all that mattered. Conall hit the end of the gangplank and leapt.
He missed the deck, hitting the railing instead. His hand reached out blindly, grabbing a rail as he fell. His arm wrenched painfully from the jolt and for a moment he dangled precariously from the ship. Then he gathered himself, swinging his body to get his second hand on the railing. The sailor who’d warned him off raced over, hauling him aboard.
‘I’m Viscount Taunton,’ Conall panted, hoping to establish credibility and authority. He’d need both to search the ship. ‘There’s a madman on board.’ Conall shouted abrupt explanations as he scrambled to his feet, not at all sure the sailor wasn’t thinking he was the madman. ‘He’s got a woman trapped in a cabin. She came on board probably veiled.’
Recognition flickered in the man’s eyes. He gestured below-deck and Conall sprinted past him. ‘Sofia! Sofia!’ Let Giancarlo hear him coming, let his voice distract the bastard from Sofia. His boots pounded down the narrow corridor. It would not be the best place to fight. This would be about fists and knives, close combat and closer quarters.
A door burst open, a pistol flashed, Conall veered left, hugging the corridor wall, the bullet missing him by fractions. There was little room for ducking. He charged Giancarlo, taking advantage of the empty gun. He caught the man in the midsection, charging like a bull. Conall took him down, pummelling relentlessly with his fists. His only thought was that the sooner Giancarlo was rendered senseless, the sooner he could get to Sofia.
He could hear sounds of a struggle in the cabin, bodies thrashing. Andelmo dragged Sofia out in pantalettes and the torn shreds of a chemise. She fought him for every inch, refusing to be used as bait. Andelmo hauled Sofia up against him, a knife to her throat, her neck extended and exposed. ‘I’ll cut her this time,’ he growled in low tones.
Conall rose slowly from Giancarlo’s prone body, hands in the air, his eyes steady on Andelmo, cautioning his temper to be careful at the sight of Sofia, her clothing torn. Giancarlo moaned behind him. With luck, the sailor would arrive with assistance and all this would be over. But before they arrived, Conall wanted Sofia away from Andelmo. ‘You wouldn’t want to hurt your master’s pretty wife. He wouldn’t like that,’ Conall cajoled the big man. If there was a time he needed his persuasive skills, it was now. If Andelmo felt threatened by the arrival of assistance, there was no telling what he might do.
‘There’s no need to harm anyone, I’ve surrendered.’ Conall put his hands in the air, sure to keep them at the level of his eyes. ‘You can put down your knife.’
‘Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve tangled with you before,’ Andelmo grunted. ‘If you want this knife, you come and take it.’
‘Let her go and we can have another round.’ Conall made a come-on gesture with his fists. He’d love nothing better than to land a few punches in revenge for Sofia. ‘But I don’t think there will be time.’ In answer, the knife jabbed Sofia’s neck and Conall launched himself at the henchman, forcing him to choose between defending himself and holding on to Sofia. Andelmo let go of her.
* * *
‘Sofia, run!’ Conall’s guttural cry reached
her as she fell against the wall. A blur on the periphery of her vision warned her Giancarlo was up, moving and unsteady on his feet. Conall couldn’t help her now. He was in a deadly wrestling match with Andelmo for control of the knife. She staggered to her feet. The motion of the ship made speed difficult. Giancarlo reached for her, had her, she pushed, kicked, broke free and stumbled down the corridor, Giancarlo behind her. If she could make it to the deck, there would be sailors, there would be help. She scrambled up the ladder to the deck, kicking Giancarlo in the jaw with her foot.
‘Bitch!’ She felt his hand swipe against her leg and miss.
She ran past stunned sailors and heard the cry go up behind her, ‘He’s got a gun!’ The second pistol. The second shot. He wouldn’t shoot her. He couldn’t. But he could shoot the sailors. It was enough to deter immediate action. The sailors froze. Giancarlo kept coming. She kept running, barefoot over the wet deck. She slipped, fell, got up and kept going, but she was running out of ship.
She reached the prow and clambered up on the barrels, one hand grasping the rigging for balance. The ship had not left the harbour entirely. Shore was still visible. Hard to know how far it was, though.
‘Get down, or I will shoot.’ Giancarlo raised the gun.
‘You won’t. You need me,’ she called his bluff. In the distance she saw Conall’s dark head emerge from the hold, saw him begin to run.
‘Do I? Being a widower isn’t a sin, only suspicious.’ The hammer went back on the pistol.
Conall was yards behind him. He wouldn’t make it in time. She would be dead before he reached her. There was only once chance. Sofia didn’t think. She jumped. She heard Giancarlo’s pistol fire as she fell towards the water. The bullet found her halfway down.
If bullets were fire, then the water of Bristol Harbour was ice. The ice numbed the pain. But it couldn’t make her arm operational. The water closed over her head again. She couldn’t stay afloat with one arm. Around her the water was pink. The wound was probably better than it looked. Water had a way of making injuries look worse than they really were. Not that it mattered. She couldn’t swim. Not like this, wounded and cold. Consciousness was starting to slip. This time she’d barely found the strength to kick to the surface and each time she went under she fell deeper into the ocean and had further to go to swim to the top. Conall was up there, though. If he could see her, if he could find her, she thought sleepily. If she could just hold on long enough to give him the chance...but she’d already been holding on for so long. She summoned her strength one more time, pushing to the surface one more time, but this time her strength didn’t come. The last thing she remembered were the arms of a merman wrapping around her.
* * *
She’d always thought dying was supposed to be pleasant, a peaceful passage into bliss. That was completely false. Dying was uncomfortable. Painful at the worst of times, hot at the best, and that was when she was conscious of feeling anything at all. There was darkness and sleep and nothingness. There was only floating on the rim of frustrated awareness where consciousness taunted her just out of reach. But the harder she tried to reach for it, the more she hurt. It was easier to stop trying. There was relief in that. She didn’t hurt when she stopped, she was only warm. But always she was lonely. Sometimes she could hear loud voices. Sometimes shouting, but she didn’t understand what was being said. She tried to talk to the voices, but that hurt, too. Her voice didn’t work. Her throat was raw and sore and hot like the rest of her.
Then came a day where there was only one voice. A soft, sibilant tenor that sounded like a spring creek running fast over agates. She liked the sound of that. Sofia sighed in her darkness. She knew this voice; she had memory of it. What did that memory belong to? The voice was telling her things...things they’d done: fishing, a campfire, wet clothes, a quilt, backgammon, moonlit walks, a picnic in a meadow. Artiodactyls. Conall. The word came again, stronger, more insistent in her consciousness now. Conall.
I love you, Sofia. You can say you’ve married me for convenience, but I have married you for love.
There was light now about her, the darkness greying, now glowing and the sibilant tenor persisted, calling her towards the light. ‘Just a little further, Sofia, you can do it, today is the day you wake up, you have to. The alpacas want to see you. I know you’re in there. I know you’re scared, you have every right to be after what you’ve been through, but you have to wake up. The doctors say...’ The beautiful voice cracked. ‘I don’t give a damn what they say, Sofia. Wake up. Our life is waiting and I can’t live it without you.’
Yes, she would wake up. She wanted to see the voice, wanted to see Conall. Wanted to see the alpacas, wanted to see love. Conall loved her. And then she remembered. She loved him, too. She loved him enough to give him up. She was running towards the light now, running to Conall. She was pushing against something, something that wanted to stop her, but she didn’t let it. She gave a mighty shove.
Her eyes flew open, the effort taking an inhuman amount of strength. ‘Conall.’ The word was a rasp, a faint whisper that made her throat ache. But there was a face that went with the name. That face had bloodshot eyes and dark circles from lack of sleep, it was pale and lean, but at the sight of her eyes, it broke into a smile that obliterated all else. She was home.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Conall was crying. ‘Sofia. You’ve come back. I hoped you would,’ he said softly, tears falling from his grey eyes as he pressed her hand to his lips—her good hand, she realised. Her other arm was heavily bandaged, immobile.
He gave her water and that helped her throat. He felt her forehead and gave a sigh of relief. ‘The fever’s broken at last. It’s been nearly a week, far too long.’ A week? A whole week? How could that be? She’d been in the water, she’d been shot. Oh, yes, she’d thought she was dead. That was where the week had gone: playing dead. Only she’d been alive the whole time.
‘What happened?’ She couldn’t remember any more than foggy images.
‘I jumped in after you, only it took me for ever to find you. The harbour doesn’t seem that big until you have to find one small person in it, then it seems endless. But I found you and you scared the life out of me. You were limp, unconscious. I didn’t really know for how long. Time had become meaningless. I thought I’d been underwater for ages, but the crew assured me it had been a matter of mere minutes. We hauled you aboard the ship. There was blood everywhere. I’ve never seen so much blood. I got a bandage on your wound and when the captain got the ship back to shore the ship’s doctor was able to get the bullet out. By then, you were so far gone, you’d lost so much blood, no one thought there was much of a chance. The great fear was that fever and shock would finish you off.’ Conall paused here, overcome by emotion. ‘It nearly did.’
She looked around, her eyes the only part of her fully capable of moving without hurt. ‘We’re not on the ship now.’
‘No. I brought you home to Everard Hall. There seemed no harm in it. Moving you couldn’t do worse than already had been done.’ She heard the unspoken words in that. She’d been that close to death, where it hadn’t mattered one way or the other what happened to her. ‘I carried you on the train. Everyone looked at me as though I was crazy. I held you all the way home. If you were going to get better, you needed happiness around you.’ He paused, perhaps remembering their last quarrel. ‘I fancied you’d been happy here. Cecilia, Freddie and my mother have all taken turns nursing you. You were never alone for a moment.’
‘Ah, the voices. I heard them.’ She smiled, a precarious act with cracked lips. She stifled a yawn. Conall stretched out beside her, his body a comfortable presence. She wanted to rest, she was feeling sleepy again, but there were more questions to answer. ‘What of Giancarlo? What happened to him?’
Conall stroked her hair. ‘You should sleep.’
‘After you tell me about Giancarlo,’ she insisted.
‘He can
not trouble you any more. He is on his way to Barbados, under cabin arrest, courtesy of our Captain. When he arrives, he will be informed he is not welcome in England again, or in any other British holding outside of the island. The King of Piedmont has been notified of the arrangement and what led to it, by the Queen’s special envoy to the Italian Kingdoms. What he might decide to do is anyone’s guess. But it’s hardly our concern.’
‘His very own Elba.’ Sofia sighed as Conall drew her gently against him. ‘An island prison.’
‘Where he will be watched closely. He won’t hurt anyone again,’ Conall assured her, but the better assurance was the warm presence of his body.
‘Then all has been taken care of,’ she murmured.
‘All but one question, Sofia, and only you can answer it. Where does that leave us?’ His voice was a raw husk, the scrape of his unshaven jaw rough against her cheek. She wanted her strength more than anything, strength enough to make love to him, to show him all she felt. ‘You already know where I stand.’
I love you. ‘Those words were spoken before you knew how much trouble I was, before Giancarlo stormed into your home. I would not hold you to them.’ But her heart was breaking to say them. Had she survived simply to leave him again? Was leaving the only right thing to do?
‘I want you to hold me to them,’ Conall whispered, kissing her. ‘I jumped into Bristol Bay for you, I faced down guns and knives for you. What makes you think I don’t want to be held to those words?’
A Marriage Deal with the Viscount--A Victorian Marriage of Convenience Story Page 20
