“I’ll bear that in mind.” He continued toward her. “I can understand his tack, but it’s hardly the usual one a mercenary captain takes.”
She was opening drawers and pulling out ointment, gauze, and swabs, and tossing everything on the table. “You’ll find plenty of instances of Dubois’s strange ways as you go about the compound.”
He halted two feet away.
She laid her hands on the table. He saw her chest rise as she drew in a deep breath, then she swung to face him. Her eyes locked with his. “I am so terribly sorry you and your men were captured. I can’t imagine what you and the others think of me, and I cannot apologize enough.”
He studied her face. “You didn’t tell Dubois we were out there.” He made the words a statement; he couldn’t imagine that wasn’t the truth.
Her eyes flared. “Of course not! I would never have betrayed you in such a fashion.”
“Well, then. All’s well.”
“No, it isn’t!” She stared at him uncomprehendingly. “I’m to blame for all of you being captured. That’s a dreadful thing to have to say, and...” She gestured. “I’m sorry.”
He compressed his lips, regarded her for a moment, then offered, “If it makes you feel any better, if any blame is to be apportioned, then we ourselves should shoulder some of it. We were watching the compound from a rock shelf up on the hill.” With a tip of his head, he indicated the rise of the hill behind the hut. “But we didn’t catch any hint of Dubois and his men leaving the compound to follow you. My men only caught a glimpse as they fell in behind you, shadowing you as you went down the northbound track. They—Dubois and his men—must have left the compound in the early hours, before our watch commenced.”
She stared at him for several seconds, then said, “That doesn’t really excuse me—I must have done something to alert him.” She paused, then, her gaze steady on his face, on his eyes, her twisting fingers locking together at her waist, she said, “I don’t want you or your men to believe that I had any active hand in your capture, and I need to apologize—profusely—because it must have been something I inadvertently said or did that brought Dubois down on your heads.”
She was so earnest, her expression so open, her eyes so lovely, her gaze so beseeching in the low light.
Caleb finally let his expression relax, let his smile fully surface; she’d said they were alone, that there were no guards to overhear. “Don’t fret. None of us think any the worse of you.” He tilted his head and kept his tone reassuring. “Dubois has obviously got strong, well-honed instincts. He guessed. You can’t stop a man like him from picking up on tiny little things, putting them all together, and then guessing.”
She considered him uncertainly, then caught her lower lip between her teeth.
Sheer lust shot through him—he wanted to tug that lush lip free with his teeth. He shifted, swinging around and leaning back against the table’s edge, slouching enough to bring his face closer to level with hers, and wrestled his wits into line. “Truly, I mean that. You need to shrug this off—to stop feeling guilty”—and from the responsive spark in her hazel eyes, guilt was what she truly felt—“because it’s unnecessary, and”—inspiration struck—“giving in to it will mean Dubois wins.” He fixed his gaze on her eyes. “We don’t want Dubois to win, do we?”
She regarded him levelly for several seconds, then softly said, “Why do I get the feeling I’m being...led?”
He grinned, honestly delighted. “Because when it comes to manipulating people, Dubois could take lessons from me. Trust me—I grew up in a large family, and I’m the youngest. In such circumstances, being able to manipulate others is a necessary survival skill.”
She nearly choked on the laugh she tried to suppress. She attempted a frown, but it was a dreadfully weak effort. “Are you always this...irrepressible?”
He smiled happily. “More or less.” Then he blinked and sobered. “But right now, we need to concentrate.” Because if they didn’t, his baser self would be only too happy to take charge of this conversation and try to seduce her. She was so much more potent a magnet for his senses at close quarters and in private. He dredged up a serious look. “I didn’t pick up any telltale signs, but do you think Dubois guessed that all of you in the compound knew we were out there?”
“Your story made it sound as if I would have spoken with others, but I might not have.” She turned back to the supplies she’d assembled and started laying them out neatly on the table. “Regardless, given the way Dubois’s mind works, that point is most likely moot. He’s captured you and solved his big problem in one fell swoop, and marching you all in like that also allowed him to paint himself as even more omnipotent in the eyes of those already here. I’m quite sure he’s now celebrating. With any luck—and if experience is any guide—he’ll focus on that and not worry overmuch about the circumstances of your being out there in the first place.”
“Good.”
Valiantly ignoring the slavering of her senses, witless things, Kate—no, she was Katherine these days—reached beneath the table and pulled out a stool. She set it between them and tapped the seat. “If you’ll sit down, I’ll clean up that cut and then see what we can do for your other injuries.”
He obligingly sat, his long legs bent, his thighs splayed to either side.
To reach his face, she had to step between those long, lean, powerful thighs. All but holding her breath, she tried to block the impact of his shoulders and well-muscled chest—and all the rest of him—from her mind as she edged still closer and dabbed the long gash with a cloth wetted with a prepared herbal tincture. At least using the cloth, her bare fingers didn’t touch his skin.
He hissed in a breath, but clamped down on the impulse to pull away from her touch.
“I’m sorry—it stings. But we’ve learned to use this for cuts in this climate. It’s so easy to get an infection.”
He made a hmming, noncommittal sound and then remained silent, allowing her to doctor his face.
The silence, the lack of other distraction, allowed her mind, her senses, to wander....
Which was really not a good thing.
She frowned slightly, then turned to set aside the wash solution and damp cloth, now pink with his blood. She picked up another cloth and turned to dab the long gash dry. And tried not to focus on the thick fringe of his long, sooty lashes. Tried not to notice the strong patrician curve of his nose and the intriguingly mobile, inherently flirty line of his lips...
She set her teeth and stated, “I can’t see how there can be anything good in this situation.” She set down the cloth and picked up the pot of ointment. “You and your men have been stripped of your weapons, and you’re now captives with the rest of us, forced to work in the mine...how can any of that be good?”
She looked at his face in time to see those distracting lips curve.
“Because now we’re on the inside of the palisade and can actively help everyone here.”
Gently, she dabbed ointment along the cut. Her fingertips tingled. Ignoring the unsettling sensation, she silently prayed he wouldn’t scar; on a face like his, that would be a crime against womankind.
Unaware of the direction of her wayward thoughts—thank heaven!—he went on, “That was one of the problems I could foresee over attacking the compound once the rescue force gets here. There are too many mercenaries and not enough able-bodied men inside the palisade. Now the odds are much better. We’ve just succeeded in adding seventeen experienced fighters to our forces within the compound, and all without tipping our hand to Dubois.”
His lips lifted in a grin.
Satisfied with her ministrations to his face, she turned to set the ointment down.
“Of course, Dubois doesn’t know that we’re anything more than itinerant, opportunistic merchant-sailors. That’s why I had to let him hit me.”
She blinked. Slowly, she turned to stare at him. “You let him hit you?”
“Of course.” He looked faintly offended that she’d thought anything else. When she continued to stare uncomprehendingly, he consented to explain. “Dubois is slow. He’s powerful, but—at least compared to me or Phillipe—he’s slow. It’s a long time since he’s been on any training ground, so he doesn’t recognize that he is, but I saw each blow coming and had plenty of time to react. If circumstances had been different, I would have had some fun, then ultimately knocked him out. But I had to let him hit me instead, so that he felt he’d established his position as top dog, so to speak. He could tell that I was the one in charge—the captain—so it was me he had to put down. Now he thinks I’m slow, and because I am the leader of our group, he’ll assume all the others are even more so. That’s the way a mercenary’s mind works in measuring his opposition.”
He looked at her as if his reasoning was perfectly transparent. He’d been able to avoid the blows, but instead, he’d taken the beating in order to get him and his men safely into the compound.
And he’d thought of all that on the spur of the moment.
She opened her mouth and managed an “Oh.”
His insouciant grin bloomed again. “So, you see, all is, indeed, well.”
She had to shake her head at him. “I cannot believe you’re so...indefatigably cheery about this. When I brought you in here, I expected you to be, if not furious, then at least angry—at least grumpy.”
His grin deepened. “That’s me. Indefatigably cheery.”
“Be serious.” She could barely believe she was having this conversation. She found herself calling on her governessy voice. “Why are you accepting this so readily? Don’t tell me you had this all planned out—an option ready to put into place on the off-chance Dubois came upon you.”
He paused, then, sobering, said, “Seriously, then... I see men like Dubois—and situations like this—as a challenge. Something I can pit my wits against.” He shifted on the stool, as if the effort of being serious didn’t come easily. “Worthy opponents, even. Or at least, worthy targets. The man certainly needs to be removed from this earth.”
“There’s nothing worthy about Dubois, but bringing him and this enterprise down would certainly rate as exceptionally worthy.”
“So if we’re talking of good deeds and worthy actions, then all the steps that lead to success...”
She had to smile; how could she not? Again, she shook her head at him—this time in wonder. “How can you just...rationalize it all away? Just shrug aside the difficulties, reset your direction, and plow on with barely a pause?”
He shrugged. “I just can. What can I say? It’s an innate talent.” He met her eyes, and although his were clear, she got the distinct impression that he, the man he was, had at least two personas—the irrepressible adventurer he so often outwardly seemed, and the man of significantly deeper thoughts of whom she’d thus far caught only glimpses. Both were real, both genuine facets of his character, but he flipped from one to the other, using the former as a shield to deflect attention from the depths of the latter.
Before she could see—grasp—more, he blinked, and the moment was gone.
“We need to keep focused on the end game here,” he stated, “and not get tangled up in minor issues along the way.”
Truer words... She scanned all she could see of him. “You don’t have any other cuts, do you?”
“No.” He gently palpated the right side of his jaw, then somewhat tenderly massaged his lower ribs. “But if you have something to ease bruises, I wouldn’t say no.”
She nodded and told herself she could handle this. “He hit you on the back, too. Best take off your shirt.” And let me look. She swallowed the words and turned to search the cabinet for the bruise ointment.
When, pot in hand, she turned back, she couldn’t stop her eyes from widening, then she lowered her lashes and paid attention to loosening the lid of the pot. Finally mustering enough courage, she drew in a breath, held it, and, with the browny cream on her fingers, allowed herself to look—at the finely sculpted abdomen now revealed to her gaze.
The only factor that saved her from staring in utter fascination was the discoloration marring the muscled expanse. She focused on that and swiped the cream delicately across his skin. It flickered—was he ticklish? Again, her fingertips tingled; she applied more pressure, smoothing the cream over the bruise, then gently rubbed the ointment into his skin.
Caleb set his already aching jaw and directed his gaze upward and across the room—anywhere but at the delectable female ministering so seriously and carefully to his hurts. When she drew back to swipe more ointment onto her fingers, he surreptitiously shifted on the stool. Why had he thought this a good idea? It was tantamount to torture. But he’d had no notion his attraction to her would be anything like this strong. Yes, he was interested in her, in the way any man with eyes would be interested in such an appealing and pretty female, but this? It felt more like some sort of ravenous hunger than anything so mild as interest.
He tried to think of things powerful enough to haul his mind, his senses, away from the circular motion of her fingertips over his skin, the pressure reaching to the muscle beneath—and much further. Things like his mother. Or his aunt Gertrude.
Then she finished and stepped back, taking her touch with her—and suddenly he wanted it back.
Before he could embarrass himself by saying so, she circled him. She halted at his back. “This bruise is even worse.”
She started to smooth on the ointment, then she rubbed it in. He closed his eyes; it was an effort to hold his head upright and not drop it back—he hadn’t realized how tense the muscles between his shoulders had been, not until she set about her gentle massage...he bit back a groan. He closed his fingers about the front edge of the stool and endured. And fought not to growl with pleasure.
The moment was a small slice of unexpected bliss in what had turned into a day of disruption and having to walk with care. Until he and his men were firmly established in Dubois’s mind as just part of the company Dubois had successfully held captive for so long, they would need to tread warily.
After ministering to his back, Katherine shifted to his side and, with delicate strokes, smoothed salve over his bruised jaw; he cravenly kept his eyes shut throughout.
At last, she patted his shoulder. “All done. That should ease the hurt, and the bruises will fade more rapidly.”
He opened his eyes and saw her heading for the cabinet.
He wasted no time in reaching for his shirt and pulling it on. He stood and tucked the tails into the waistband of his breeches and forced his mind to the task at hand. “I take it Dubois rarely has guards stationed outside the buildings—we noticed that while watching, but weren’t sure if there were guards posted inside. We only rarely saw any going in and out, usually into the cleaning shed and occasionally into the mine.”
She shut the cabinet and turned to face him. “Yes. That’s right. As I said, it’s part of Dubois’s system of managing us.”
“So all his guards are—more or less—on the gates, patrolling the perimeter, in the tower, or at their ease in their barracks.” He arched his brows at her.
She nodded. “At most, only two will be anywhere else, but even that is probably only for an hour or so each day.” She paused, then asked, “Why?”
“It’s useful to know where the beggars are likely to be—and in fact, tactically speaking, that the guards are not generally close to the captives is something of a weakness.” He grinned at her. “Something for me to bear in mind for when the rescue force gets here.”
“Ah. I see.” Then she clasped her hands before her, drew in a breath, and parted her lovely lips—
He reached out, tugged her right hand free, smoothly raised it to his lips, and brushed a kiss across her kn
uckles. “Pax, Katherine—I may call you that, mayn’t I?” When, rather stiffly—or was it dazedly?—she inclined her head, he smiled. “We need to accept what’s happened and go forward—all right? No further apologies necessary on anyone’s part.”
Katherine found herself nodding...then he released her hand, and the vise about her lungs eased, and she managed to drag in another breath and haul her wits from where they’d gone. She studied him for a moment more. “Do you always get your own way?”
His grin was unrepentant. “Usually.”
Of course, his tone made everything seem all right. She watched as his gaze grew distant—and realized he was already doing as he’d said and moving forward. “Come.” She turned to the door. “I’ll take you to the men’s hut. Your friends will most likely be there.”
“You know,” he said, as he fell in beside her, “I’m actually looking forward to working out the ways to ensure that Dubois lives to regret ever having set eyes on me, let alone so arrogantly bringing me and my men into his compound.”
There was that deeper persona again, lending strength, determination, and a visceral edge to what could have been light words.
As they left the medical hut, with him pacing, alert and observant, by her side, she felt a buoyancy, a lightness, she hadn’t felt for months. His impact; he was such a positive sort of person—and exactly the sort of man all those in the compound had needed to appear.
Dubois had been wrong. Fate hadn’t smiled on him.
It had smiled on the captives and sent Caleb Frobisher to rally them.
CHAPTER 10
In the early evening, the expanded company of captives gathered about the fire pit. Katherine had wondered if Caleb’s men would embrace captivity as blithely as he, and as far as she could see, they were, indeed, cut from the same cloth. As if very little in life could throw them off their stride.
The Daredevil Snared (The Adventurers Quartet Book 3) Page 17
