by Martha Keyes
If the men were to free her, would she stay silent to save herself and the reputation of the Croftes? Were those such awful ends?
Her father’s face swam before her. Not the smiling, humor-filled face of her childhood but the pulled and pale face he wore at the end of his life. She pictured returning to Wyndcross and her uncertain future. She had no reason to go back with Clara and every reason to see things through. Perhaps she would have some opportunity to stand against the men.
“No, Clara,” said Kate in a calm but clear voice. “Please just go.”
The shorter man let out a cackle, and Kate heard him slapping his thigh in amusement.
“Bless ye! Didn’t think we’d really let ye go, did ye, Miss?” He cackled again, thoroughly enjoying himself for a moment. He became eerily silent, though, before saying in a voice devoid of any humor, “Yer a liability. And I ain’t lettin’ me hands off ye til all’s square and tight and I got my share of them pretty yaller coins in these pockets.”
There was a slight pause. “Come to think,” he said, “I got a mind to help meself to some other spoils here.” The sound of his footsteps moving toward Clara made Kate tense up.
“That one isn’t to be touched,” Roberts said in an authoritative voice.
The other man let out a huff and wrapped an arm around Kate’s waist, pulling her towards him.
Her neck tightened and her skin crawled. “As ye wish. One wench is as good as another, I always say.” He gave Kate’s waist a squeeze, and she used her shoulders to push off him in disgust.
He swore profusely, and everything went dark.
* * *
“Aye. Found it in her pocket.”
The words sounded muffled, and Kate’s head felt heavy, full of pressure. The way her body bobbed up and down brought her aching head to the forefront of her foggy awareness. Noting a throbbing point on her head, she realized that she must have been struck unconscious. She tried to bring a hand to the spot, but her hands were tied. She groaned softly, blood continuing to rush to her head.
“Ah, finally awake,” said Roberts whose shoulder she was draped over. “You may walk on your own two feet, then.”
He slipped her off his shoulder.
Unprepared and effectively blind, Kate tumbled onto the grass.
The men laughed, and one of them lifted her by the arm to make her stand. The pinpricks of light shining through the sack were much dimmer than before. The day must have advanced quite far.
“Where is Clara?” The words slurred as they came out of her mouth.
“The yaller headed one?” grunted one of the men.
Kate nodded, her forehead creased in pain.
“Gone. Back home by now. Snug and safe. That’ll teach ye to go nosing about where ye don’t belong.”
He tugged the sack off her head, and she winced at the sudden change in lighting, blinking as her eyes adjusted. Not two hundred yards away was the coast. The sun was on the horizon, nearly hidden behind long clouds, painting the sky and water hues of orange and red, just as it had the night before.
What would Clara do when she arrived back at Wyndcross? Would her guilt gnaw at her to the point of seeking help?
It mattered little. Even if Clara did go for help, how would anyone know where to find Kate?
Kate was on her own.
With her hands tied, her options were limited. She briefly examined the two men escorting her. Both were solid, the one shorter and burlier than Roberts. But the thought of attempting an escape on foot from two sturdy men, with her hands tied behind her back would have been laughable if the situation weren’t so desperate. If she couldn’t find a way to free her hands, there was little hope.
And if she didn’t escape? She shuddered as she thought of her captor’s earlier, menacing words. She was unlikely to survive with her reputation intact.
The thought that her undoing would be at the hands of free-traders brought an ironic half-smile to her face. There was something morbidly fitting in the knowledge that she should meet her end—figurative or literal—the way her father had, at the hands of smugglers. The smile faded as she realized that her own end held much less honor than her father’s. Her father had been actively opposing wrong, standing for what was right. What had Kate managed to do? Nothing at all.
28
Kate’s stomach growled, the rope burns on her wrists stung, and the spot on her head throbbed. From the way her hair pulled near her temple, she could only assume there was a large lump there, caked with dried blood.
The sun had finally dipped below the horizon, and the dusky sky was turning a deeper shade of blue. It meant a landscape bathed in shadow, but it also meant that the visibility of her captors would be crippled. If an escape was possible, the dark would be at once her greatest ally and greatest obstacle.
But without freeing her hands, her lack of balance would undermine any escape attempt. As if to taunt her, her recovering ankle twinged. Her body was making known its vulnerabilities, and while she couldn’t resist a sardonic smile at its timing, it was better that she form a plan with her eyes wide open to the many points working against her.
As the dark crept slowly around her, she said a silent prayer of thanks for the rhythmic sounds of the ocean which would at least orient her. She mentally blessed Lady Anne for the ride they had taken together, since Kate faintly recognized the area her captors had brought her to.
A small cove lay just to their east; the path she and Lady Anne had ridden lay to their west.
Kate might have guessed that the cove would prove useful to smugglers. Between its well-concealed location and the night’s near-alarming lack of moonlight, they would have little trouble moving their goods undetected.
“‘Ere come the others, Roberts,” barked Briggs, pointing to a spot in the direction they had just come from.
In the distance, two small spots of light appeared, gradually getting larger.
“Better be sure,” said Roberts, his eyes squinting as he cupped his hands around his mouth, and the sound of a bird call erupted.
Both men stood still with an ear cocked toward the approaching lanterns.
The same call, faint but unmistakable, sailed back to them.
Within two minutes, the lantern lights were close enough that Kate was able to see a group of four men, all attired in dark coats and hats, their faces blackened so that the whites of their eyes stood out ominously. Two of the men wore coverings over their noses and mouths.
The exchange of words that took place upon their arrival was almost unintelligible to Kate who had little experience with the language of thieves. The tones told her, though, that tension was high among the group. One man seemed to have taken exception to a new face amidst them.
“He said no new blood. An’ I ain’t keen on rufflin’ his feathers!” The man’s eyes widened in a significant look as if anticipating that the others would easily take his meaning. And sure enough, two of the others chimed in their agreement.
But Roberts shushed them. “He’s been vouched for. Yates knows these parts better than any of us. He’s coming along.”
It became clear that his comrades wouldn’t take his word for it. They seemed to fear whoever had banned “new blood” more than they feared Roberts.
He talked over their objections. “You’re on dangerous ground, Jenkins. Don’t think I didn’t notice that you never showed your face at the last shipment.”
“Me wife an’ kids was sick,” Jenkins exclaimed, visibly offended by Roberts's implication. A moment later, though, his brow cleared, and he added in a jeering tone, “And from what I heard, ye nearly bungled it.”
“Yes,” Roberts said, his voice dangerously quiet, “and if we’d had more help from you, we wouldn’t have. But it wasn’t Yates’ fault, if that’s what you’re implying. It was Randall’s fault, and Emmerson took care of him.”
Kate stiffened, and her jaw clenched.
Jenkins grumbled a bit, but the others remained silent.
Roberts looked over the group with a slow and threatening gaze. “If any of you have a problem with Yates, take it up with Emmerson. You can tell him yourself. He’s coming to ensure everything goes to plan. This is no regular shipment, and we’re all done for if it’s mismanaged. Emmerson will make sure of that himself, I can promise you. And I’ll be right there to help him.” He scanned the men one by one
A collective shudder traveled through them.
Kate closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Her jaw clenched even harder in frustration with herself. There seemed to be little doubt that the Emmerson referred to by Roberts was responsible for her father’s death. If so, she had thrown away the opportunity to bring her father’s own murderer to justice. And for what? A deceptively charming gentleman, if he merited the title.
“What do we do with the lady?” said a gruff voice, muffled by a handkerchief. It was asked by the only man who hadn’t joined in the debates about the newcomer. Presumably Yates.
Roberts considered Kate for a moment. “We can’t risk an escape, and, by the looks of her—” he glanced at her contemptuous expression “—she’d like to do us all a harm. Jenkins, you’ll watch her.”
Jenkins snorted. “And teach her to knit and speak them foreign languages, I s’pose?” He spat on the ground. “I ain’t no governess, Roberts. I’m ‘ere to send off that there gold, and I won’t be fobbed off into guarding no miss.” He paused and looked with a sneer at Yates. “Yates can guard her.”
“She may look like a lamb,” said the short, stocky man who had helped capture her, “but she’s got plenty sauce in ‘er. Ye saw it yerself, Roberts.”
“Fine, Briggs,” said Roberts. “Yates, don’t let her out of your sight.”
Kate met eyes with Yates across the group. The flickering of the lantern light and the man’s covered face and head made it difficult to distinguish anything, but his eyes were wide and alert.
Kate’s eyes held Yates’s. This was the man who would have her life in his hands. She hoped that she could turn his inexperience to her benefit.
One of the men holding a lantern handed his to Yates. “Ye’ll need this.”
Yates’s eyes dwelled a moment on Kate as he put a hand out to accept the lantern. He walked over to Kate, taking a possessive hold of her arm.
Roberts turned away, peering out over the fields as if looking for something or someone.
“Roberts,” said Briggs. “What about after?”
“After what?” Roberts barked impatiently.
“After the goods is gone. What’ll ye do with the lady? S’ppose she informs on us! What then?”
Roberts seemed to consider Briggs’ comment. “You’re right. Emmerson doesn’t like loose ends. He’s very particular.” He looked toward the cove and then scanned the coastline. “Yates, take her to the hole and tie her up there.”
Yates’s hold on Kate’s arm tightened. “But the tide’s comin’ in,” he croaked before clearing his throat. “She’ll drown.”
Jenkins leered at him and Kate. “‘E doesn’t want her drowned. ‘E wants ‘er for ‘imself. Yer too late, Yates. Briggs ‘ere told me ‘e’s already staked ‘is claim on ‘er.” He clapped Briggs on the back and winked. “Though ‘e can be a sharing chap when ‘e chooses.”
Yates’s body went rigid, and his grasp tightened so much that Kate exclaimed. She pulled back, looking at him beside her. Only his eyes were visible, but he was staring at Jenkins with unadulterated wrath in his eyes.
Kate blinked rapidly as she scanned his face, noting the blacking. In such proximity to him and the lamplight, she had no trouble recognizing him.
Lord Ashworth’s eyes met hers. In them she saw apology and something akin to fear. The fear, she supposed, was due to the danger he stood in if she were to betray his identity. It made her lip curl in disdain.
It might be satisfying to betray him, just as he had betrayed her. She saw in his expression the weakness and duplicity of a man who had portrayed himself as something completely opposite of what he truly was and could not face the consequences of being discovered. It brought her anger to the surface.
She pulled back, trying to loosen her arm from his grasp in disgust. Her stomach knotted, and she suddenly felt as if she might be sick. Taking in a deep, shaky breath, she struggled to calm the overpowering array of emotions swarming inside her. She felt a need to say something but was not vengeful enough to put Lord Ashworth in the danger he would face if she made his identity known.
Kate spat at him, and he reared back, blinking quickly. His jaw tensed, and he wiped the spit from his cheek as a cacophony of voices broke out.
They were swiftly silenced by Roberts.
The group, confused at the sudden display of emotion from their heretofore mute charge, began inquiring of Yates what had happened when they were all silenced by Roberts.
He strained an ear. “It’s Emmerson.”
Kate’s emotions were at their apex, and instead of feeling the fear and enmity she had anticipated she would experience on Emmerson’s arrival, the surge of betrayal and anger she had been feeling gave way to a sudden numbness and weariness. She desired nothing so much as to distance herself from Lord Ashworth, thinking for a moment that she would prefer proximity to Emmerson himself over this man.
Emmerson at least did not pretend to be something he was not.
But Lord Ashworth’s hand still gripped her arm, perfunctory now rather than the urgent hold he had taken before. It, too, seemed to apologize to her with its weak hold.
But Kate wasn’t fooled. She had felt the strength in the hand, and she knew that it could revert at a second’s notice if she tried to capitalize on the more superficial hold he now had.
The group waited in uneasy silence as Emmerson approached with two more men. Kate’s arm hung limp in Lord Ashworth’s relaxed grip. Everyone else’s eyes were on the approaching trio, but Kate stared blankly ahead, lost in unpleasant thoughts. Only when the three men drew near did Kate look up with a near-apathetic gaze.
Her first impressions of him left her surprised. She had expected Emmerson to be the most menacing figure of the entire group, eclipsing Roberts's intimidating manner. She was at a loss to understand what the men found to frighten them out of their wits in the diminutive form that stood before them.
But when Emmerson spoke, she understood better. His voice held authority, laced throughout his speech. It was subtle, as if it were a given that his every word would be fulfilled. Where Roberts used his stature, tone, and volume to intimidate, Emmerson exuded confidence in spite of his smaller stature.
Caught up taking in Emmerson’s person, a few minutes passed before Kate realized that one of his wingmen had been stealing furtive glances at her. His face, though, was uncovered, and even with the blacking smeared around, she recognized Henry Crofte.
As their eyes met and recognition dawned on her, he seemed to almost wince—an apologetic posture even more pathetic than Lord Ashworth’s pleading eyes.
Kate’s anger, though, was unkindled. She had prepared herself for the involvement of the Crofte family, so even though the vision of Henry standing beside her father’s killer made her feel a wave of nausea, she felt little surprise.
Emmerson began instructing the men on their roles and assignments. His instructions were precise, and each man, once his duty had been specified, walked briskly away from the group to begin immediately. Most were sent to fetch the containers for shipment while Henry was charged with preparing the boats which would be loaded up to meet the ships before crossing the Channel to France.
It was clear that Henry had gained the trust and respect of the other men.
Within a matter of minutes, the only ones who remained were Briggs, Lord Ashworth, and Kate. Emmerson turned to look at Kate, considering her apathetically for a moment. “So, this is the explorer who found us out.”
He began pacing around, coming to stand directly in front of her where he raised his chin to look her in the eyes. At such a small distanc
e, she realized that he was even shorter than he had appeared before. “What shall we do with you?”
29
Kate felt Lord Ashworth’s grip tighten once again, and she took a strange and morbid satisfaction in knowing that, whatever happened to her, Lord Ashworth would have to live with it on his conscience forever, if conscience he had.
“Sir,” came the tentative voice of Briggs, “Roberts was worried she might make trouble after all’s said and done tonight. We found this in ‘er pocket.”
Kate’s eyes widened in horror as she watched Briggs pass her crumpled note to Emmerson.
Emmerson considered Kate before looking down at the note. He read without any emotion and then looked up at her, his head tilted slightly.
Kate debated for a moment whether it would serve her ends to appear a cowering, frightened girl. As she met his eyes, though, any fear she felt was eclipsed by cold anger, and she knew that he saw it in her eyes.
“I think you’re right, Briggs.” A small smile pulled at his mouth as he continued to look her in the eye, evidence of the slight humor he found in her reaction to him.
“Aye, sir,” Briggs said, his chest puffing up in pride at the validation. “Roberts ‘ad just told Yates ‘ere to take ‘er down to the hole before you arrived.”
Emmerson looked at Kate with a touch of amusement on his face. “What have I done to deserve the daggers in those eyes of yours? And what might your name be?” Emmerson looked her over before letting his eyes return to her face.
The disdain and anger on her face were only magnified by his surveyal of her.
His brows raised as he noted her expression.
Kate had wondered about the man standing before her since her childhood. She had imagined what she would say were she to come across him, never believing she actually would. In her vision of such an encounter, she had towered over the cowering figure in righteous rage.
