Honour's Debt
Page 26
When Maddie shifted her weight, the surface beneath her gave way. She guessed it to be sand. The salty air and the sounds about her corroborated this. They were near or at waterside. They meant to take her to France. Alarmed, she clutched the belief that Quentin would come for her in time.
Listening intently Maddie began to distinguish more than the lap of waves. There was the clop of hooves, laboured grunts, splashing steps, and at times, the dull thud of wood against something.
So intent did she listen that it took a second before she realized someone had taken hold of her arm. She pulled back.
“Shhh,” someone whispered.
Fingers fumbled with the ropes about her wrists.
“The laudanum dose—it was correct. You are awake.”
Petit, she thought, and tamped down her fear.
The dwarf chafed her freed wrists. “Pretend you are still bound, mademoiselle. I will loosen the cord holding the sack about your neck. Do not remove it until you hear a sharp whistle. Then throw it aside and go to your right. Vous comprennez?”
Maddie nodded. The ropes about her ankles loosened.
An unctuous voice purred behind and above the dwarf. “What is this, Petit? You are sorry for mademoiselle?” The tone curled hard on the last word. “Say your farewell.
“Take the gig that is about to go out to the corvette. You will attend to the proper storing of our collection.
“Vite!” Donatien cracked the word like a whip.
There was a shuffle of feet and then Maddie heard the slither of satin as someone crouched beside her. The rope re-tightened around her ankles. She pulled her hands to her chest, trying to think.
“How foolish mon Petit becomes,” Donatien mocked.
Maddie tried to kick out at him but found her legs refused to cooperate. A mocking chuckle greeted her effort. The ropes dug into her ankles as they were tightened even more. She cocked her head to better place where the man was. “Are you always such a brave man?” she taunted.
Donatien snaked out a hand. He tightened it about Maddie’s throat but the burlap hampered his purchase.
Gasping for air, Maddie moved her balled hands forward and to the side. They brushed her captor’s knee.
Swearing in French, Donatien released her and fumbled to re-tie the cloth holding the hood in place.
As soon as she was free of his restraining hold, Maddie clasped her hands and fisted them. She swung them first down and out and then up as hard as she could.
Caught in the crotch, Donatien gasped, fell back.
Jerking the sack from her head, Maddie scuttled away from him on her knees. She had only gone a short distance when something caught her hair and jerked hard. Dragged onto her back, she gasped when a booted foot came down hard on her stomach. Maddie grabbed hold the ankle above it and tried to push it off.
“You dare too much,” Donatien snarled. “No one touches me without le grand regret.”
His cold assured tone, the biting pressure of his boot on her stomach sent cold fear curling up Maddie’s spine. But fear had been too long with her during the long months since her father’s death to flinch at now. “Harming children and women—is that all you dare?” she threw back.
Donatien tore one of her hands from his leg and wrapped a rope around it. When she struggled, he quickly sank down replacing his boot with his knee and leant his whole weight on her abdomen. Getting a hold of her other hand, he tied them together.
“You do not know what it is to dare,” he accused rising. “Your puny scheme, pah. What fools that they did not see through it as I did.” He threw her bound wrists away from him and stepped back too aware of how close he had come to losing control. He must never do that again.
Il ne faut pas m’inquitere, Donatien told himself and willed calm. He knew too well that an abundance of emotion was very dangerous.
He straightened his peruke and brushed sand from his satin breeches. “I always answer foul play in kind. I was going to have you thrown overboard when we neared France. But now I will use you and then throw you to the Parisian canaille.” Laughing malevolently, he crouched beside her and trailed a sharpened nail down her cheek.
“I know of a drug that will make you wild to please me. After it has left you, it will be my pleasure to describe everything you did before I turn you over to my men for their enjoyment.”
Maddie tried to turn her face away but he held her chin firm.
A scream of pain seared the air at some distance. Then quarrelling broke out among those beside the mules bearing the ingots towards the landing.
Donatien dragged Maddie to her feet. He pulled her along for a bit then, cursing in French, flung her down. He stalked toward the arguing men, calling for Letu.
Letu, who had been supervising the transfer of the gold, was already headed toward the knot of men some forty feet from the gig at the landing. He threw a wave at Donatien in a motion toward the boat.
Glancing back at Maddie, Donatien snapped his fingers. In French he called to the line of men and mules heading back toward the incline. When one stopped and looked his way he motioned. “Venez ici. Come here.”
A slender figure clad in the rough garb of the men from La Mademoiselle Rouge scurried forward.
“Oui, monseigneur?”
Donatien pointed. “Watch that woman until the next gig. Your life, if she is not put in it.”
“Oui, monseigneur.”
Donatien headed towards the gig and saw Petit standing in it. He looked back and halted at Letu’s approach. When his man joined him, Donatien snapped, “What was the disturbance about?”
Letu shrugged. “One of the Anglais said someone stabbed him. Everyone denied it. There was some blood but he may have done it to himself so he could stop work. Lazy bastards that they are.”
“How much remains to be transferred?”
“This lot will make half of it on board La Mademoiselle.”
“Hurry them up. I want very little left for Topken. The woman will go with this lot.”
* * *
Maddie drew in slow, deep, calming breaths. She tried to edge away when the guard stepped close and was relieved when he turned his back to her. She worked until she was on her knees and could observe what took place on the beach. Dark hulking shadows moved like ants to and from a cluster about a gig. Men with muskets moved up and down the line hurrying the others.
The ropes that bit into her wrists were resistant to all Maddie’s efforts to loosen them. So hard was she concentrating on freeing herself that a gasp escaped of its own volition when a hand grabbed Maddie’s elbow. Her heart lurched to her throat. She threw her weight away from the hold.
“Stop it,” de la Croix commanded. “Major Broyal has organized your rescue.”
Maddie went limp with relief. “Thank God,” she whispered.
“Remain calm,” André said. “Broyal will be here any moment.”
Maddie saw the flash of a blade. It was cold against her skin as he pushed it between the ropes and her wrists. He jerked the knife, freed her, and then moved to the ropes binding her legs. “I do not think I can stand,” she told him.
“Crawl until you can walk,” he urged her. “Broyal is not far from here. Just down beach to the west. Go,” he commanded with an elegant flourish and then gave her a gentle push.
After faltering efforts that took her only a short distance, Maddie glanced back over her shoulder. She saw the baron take something from his jacket. He turned toward the cliff and angled it in the moonlight. In his other hand she saw a pistol.
“What are you doing?” barked one of the men who had been urging the others to hurry their steps.
Donatien glanced to where he had left Maddie. Not finding her at once his gaze raked the area. He saw her crawling away.
“Letu, he is not one of our men. Gano,” he waved toward the men around the gig. “Capture him. Take care not to kill him.”
Letu, Gano, and several sailors scrambled towards the baron.
From
his place against the cove’s cliff wall, Quentin watched André pocket his pistol and pull a dagger. With it in hand, the baron flew into the approaching men, slashing left and right. He saw him strike the first blow but knew André could not beat the odds.
“Jenks, guide Lundin forward along the wall and get behind them. You know what to do.” Quentin moved away as they followed his orders. His heart sank when he saw two men take hold of Maddie.
A shout drew his gaze back to André. Two men bearing oars closed in on the baron.
Broyal fell to his knees and crabbed forward. He halted to take stock as two large French sailors dragged the baron towards an elegantly clad gentleman who stood halfway between the gig and the cliff wall. Quentin looked toward the path rising to the top of Limes Point. “Where in the hell are Medworth and his men?”
When the two prisoners were before him, Donatien bent and stroked Maddie’s cheek. “’Tis bad manners to leave a soiree too early, my dear. Perhaps you know the identity of this one who has joined us?” He forced up her chin, then motioned for the baron to be dragged closer.
“I do not,” Maddie swore.
The Frenchman slapped her hard across the face.
An involuntary cry of pain escaped Maddie.
Quentin raised his head. Unable to gain a clear view he strained to hear what was said.
“Letu, continue the loading. Warn the others to keep a sharper watch,” Donatien ordered. “Everyone, to work. Vite!”
“Get her feet tied,” he continued to the ones holding Maddie. He snapped his fingers and de la Croix’s arms were twisted behind his back.
“Perhaps you would like to tell me who you are and why you are here?”
Donatien snapped his fingers again and ignored André’s groan at the increased pressure on his arms. “The lady is not yours. Is her husband among my men?” When his prisoner gasped but kept silent, the Frenchman said, “Gano, convince the gentleman to talk.”
* * *
Above on the cliff behind a cluster of boulders, Medworth’s sergeant saw the man who had signalled taken captive. The sound of boots scrabbling over the loose dirt and rock turned him, his rifle poised to fire.
“’Tis me. Medworth,” announced the captain who joined him.
The sergeant motioned at the group of figures between the gig and cliff wall.
“Who is getting the beating?” asked Medworth.
“The French émigré who went down. He signalled.”
“It was given?!”
“Aye, one flash.”
“Then for God’s sake why haven’t you fired?”
“Behind the men, to the side—see the woman,” the sergeant pointed.
Medworth took the spyglass and peered through the uneven moonlight. “Damme. Come,” he ordered.
When they reached the men waiting with Peters, he went to Margonaut. “I am sorry, my lord, the baron and Mrs. Broyal have been taken but I didn’t see the major. He may still be able to act. Stay close to Peters as we go down, my lord, or your son will have my hide.”
* * *
Down the beach, Quentin froze at the sound of Maddie’s scream. Rolling onto his back, he pulled out the dagger secured in one boot and wrenched the pistol from his waistband. When the moon went behind a cloud, he slowly turned back over and pushed up on his elbows. Please God, make them stay intent upon their work, he prayed and moved forward.
Donatien, despising crude violence for its sake alone, looked past the men working by the gig. He tried to catch sight of the corvette which stayed as close to the shore as its depth permitted. He listened with one ear to the sound of Gano’s fists thudding into the intruder’s body until he caught sight of the approaching empty gig.
“A moment.” He was pleasantly surprised to note the absence of blood in spite of the man’s obvious pain. Gano was improving. “Shall Gano give his compliments to madame?” Donatien asked his captive. When André strained to get at him against the hands that held him, Donatien chuckled.
Quentin bit hard on the blade of the dagger between his teeth at these words. He hugged the sand as the men shifted. The unexpected reverberations of the blast of a fired musket warmed his heart like it had never done before.
Only fifteen feet from Maddie his view was blocked. The sudden clamour that arose along with the sporadic bark of musket fire told him Medworth had moved at last. He took the dagger in hand, tightened his grip on his pistol, and sprang up.
The man holding Maddie knew only shock when the dagger plunged into his left side. He sagged to the ground.
Quentin lunged and pressed the point of his pistol into Donatien’s side. He prodded his captive towards Maddie. “Untie her feet,” he commanded.
Donatien snapped his fingers. Gano dropped down on his knees and began untying the ropes.
“Mon ami, what will this get you?” Donatien asked as he studied Quentin with a casual air. “My men are too numerous for you to succeed.”
Quentin pushed his pistol’s barrel into the Frenchman’s back as Gano rose. “Maddie, head down the beach. Go as far and as fast as you can. I’ll follow.
“Now,” he again prodded the Frenchman with the pistol. “Tell everyone to step back.”
Donatien shrugged, his lids heavy as he watched Maddie stand. “As you wish, monsieur. Gano. Everyone. Move away.”
Their eyes wide in disbelief, the men looked from the dagger protruding from the dying sailor to their master.
Moving his pistol so they could see it, Quentin commanded in French, “Do as he says.”
The sailors released the baron.
André fell to his knees. “Get your wife out of here, you fool,” he choked out.
Maddie pressed her hand against Quentin’s back. “I will not leave him. Nor go without you.”
Quentin pulled a second gun from his coat as the baron laboured to his feet.
André shook his head to clear it. “Toss it.” He fumbled the catch but had it quickly in hand. “Off with you two. I’ll take care of this carrion.”
“Too late,” Quentin told him. He motioned toward men racing toward them. Taking a hold of Donatien’s arm, he shouted at them in French. “Stay back or I will kill him.”
They did not falter for even a second.
“Now what do you recommend?” de la Croix asked with a fierce chortle.
Quentin motioned to the stream of mules followed by the Preventives who were pouring down the incline into the cove.
Pandemonium reined; shots rang out on all sides. The men and mules with the ingots milled in confusion. Men tripped, fell over each other, or trampled others in their desperation to escape.
During the seconds the two men looked away, Donatien grabbed Maddie’s arm. He pressed a derringer that had been secreted in one of his large pockets to her temple.
At the same moment Jenks appeared. He downed the closest man by swinging a belaying pin against his head.
Lundin slammed into the knot of sailors and sent everyone sprawling.
Donatien edged toward the gig. He pulled Maddie with him.
Stepping forward, Quentin halted when the Frenchman pressed the gun against Maddie’s head. He stared at her, willing her to read his thought.
As if she had, Maddie went limp in the Frenchman’s hold.
Donatien’s grip on her slipped. He pushed her at Quentin and fled to the gig.
Quentin caught Maddie. At that moment one of the sailors fell hard against him. They all tumbled down.
Maddie scrabbled away from the mélange of struggling limbs while Quentin grappled with the man who had hit them. Grabbing a fallen gun, she swung it toward the gig and aimed at Donatien. Her gaze met his as he stood in the gig. His cold hatred amazed her but she could not fire the gun.
Realizing Donatien was about to escape, Maddie whirled about seeking Quentin. De la Croix came into view first. She saw he was intent upon a man running for the gig where oars were already in place.
Maddie screamed as a hand closed about her waist.
Running, Quentin saw the baron fire at a man racing into the water toward the gig. The man jerked and clutched at his arm. Three men attacked the baron. Quentin ran harder toward them and tore one of them away from de la Croix.
When the last man was down, Quentin reached to pull André to his feet. He saw the young man’s face contort and wondered what had caused it. He followed his gaze to the water.
The Frenchman the baron had shot thrashed towards the gig. He grabbed hold of it with his good hand and rolled into it just as the oars were plied and it slid away.
The baron ran into the water intent upon reaching it.
After a quick glance back at where Jenks was tugging Maddie further from the scene, Quentin followed him.
André, knee deep in the water, fired at the retreating gig.
When Quentin reached him, the baron was cursing as he panted for air. In a frustrated rage, he threw his pistol at the gig and began to wade deeper into the water.
Quentin followed and grabbed hold de la Croix’s arm.
A shrill scream drifted back across the water. Two figures had stood up in the gig. They heaved a man over the side. Moonlight glistened on upraised flailing arms.
A canon report jerked Quentin’s gaze to the right. He saw the dark outline of a Revenue cutter tacking toward the French vessel. Looking back, he saw the flailing man slip beneath the waves. He did not surface again.
Quentin dragged André back to the beach. He thrust him to the sand saying, “Wait here.” Then he ran back to find Maddie.
* * *
On La Mademoiselle Rouge sailors dragged the occupants up from the gig. When Donatien reached the deck he calmly ordered all the cargo hauled aboard.
The captain of the vessel renewed his protest against doing so when a cannon shot fell in the water not twenty feet from the stern.
“Return fire,” Donatien ordered. Because he knew that the La Mademoiselle could outrun anything sent after her, Donatien refused to allow the anchor to be raised until the last ingots were onboard. When they got underway he retired to the captain’s cabin.