My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  Yet Donovan knew the truth. Lindsay had entrusted the crumpled marriage license bearing Jared's name to Corisande even before they had boarded the H.M.S. Clementine, and later had told her how she and Jared had met, everything, so surely Corisande must have bared Lindsay's story to her husband. Would he keep her secret? Dear Lord, she could only hope and pray—

  A knock at the door to the tiny cabin made Lindsay gasp, but she felt an overwhelming sense of relief when Corisande entered, despite her friend's ominously somber expression. Corisande sank down beside Lindsay on the bunk, keeping her voice low.

  "It's as I feared. Donovan just told me the captain won't wait any longer to speak with you—"

  "Oh, Lord, Corie, no!"

  "Shhh, Lindsay, will you have them hear us? We knew this might happen, but I was hoping not until we reached Plymouth. They're planning to take your husband and his men to Dartmoor Prison, where other prisoners of war are being kept. But the captain insists he must ask you some questions now—no matter that we made it clear to him from the very start that you're no more than a poor unfortunate victim of circumstance and that you'd been desperately trying to escape when you came aboard the Industry."

  "Sounds like a story I might have thought up," Lindsay said with a forlorn smile, tears rushing to her eyes. But if she had expected sympathy from Corisande, she got nothing more than a sigh of pure exasperation.

  "For bloody sakes, Lindsay, I would have thought by now you'd cried every tear you possibly possessed! How can you hope to help Jared if you're unwilling to help yourself?"

  "I'm not unwilling to help myself," Lindsay countered, her friend's unexpected dose of temper making her bristle. "How could you even think—" She fell silent, staring at the satisfied smile breaking across Corisande's face. "You . . . you said that on purpose, didn't you?"

  "Of course I did, silly! You've faced serious trials before—living eight long years under the same roof with Olympia Somerset? Braving excisemen with me? And what about that wonderful imagination of yours? I can't wait to hear what you might say to that pompous captain—"

  "You'll be there, too?"

  "Only if they intend to keep me away with armed guards. I wouldn't miss this for anything and besides, it makes sense, given the horrible wretchedness you've suffered, that you'll need someone to lean upon."

  Staring incredulously at her dearest friend, Lindsay had to resist her sudden urge to laugh because of the hope suddenly burning bright as flame in her heart. Instead she threw her arms around Corisande and hugged her fiercely, then tensed when a loud rap came at the door. Yet Corisande's hushed voice gave her the reassurance she needed.

  "Shhh, Lindsay, and remember, I'll be right by your side. You've helped me so many times, now let me help you. Are we agreed?"

  Lindsay didn't dare reply, for a pair of grim-faced officers shoved open the door. But the cheering glance Corisande threw her made her feel, at least for the moment, that she might not have so much to fear after all.

  ***

  Unfortunately, a quarter hour later, Lindsay wasn't so sure as she sat meekly in a leather chair while Captain Horatio Billingsley paced in front of his desk, eyeing first her and then Corisande, who had remained staunchly silent at her side.

  "So you say you were abducted in London but you remember little about the incident."

  The man's voice as skeptical as he looked, peering at her down a long patrician nose as angular as the rest of him, Lindsay gave what she hoped was a thoroughly distressed sigh.

  "How could I, sir? All I know is that I was sitting in a carriage, waiting for my maid, Gladys, to come out of a hat shop, when a sickly-smelling cloth was pressed over my nose and mouth—oh, dear, it was so dreadful!"

  "Really, Captain Billingsley, must we go over all this again?" Corisande piped up for the first time, draping a comforting arm across Lindsay's shoulders. "The poor dear was drugged, abducted from home and hearth—"

  "And when you awoke, you found yourself aboard a ship," the man cut in, hooking his thumbs in his spotless white waistcoat. "Is that correct, Miss Somerset?"

  "Yes, yes, yes, a ship full of pirates! Cutthroats! God help me, why must I endure another telling?"

  "Because one of the passengers reported to me that they saw you embracing the captain of that scurrilous vessel, Miss Somerset—the privateer known as the Phoenix—just before you found it so necessary to 'escape' to the Industry. Now might you have an explanation for me?"

  A tense silence hung in the opulent cabin, Lindsay realizing with a niggling of apprehension that the time for playing the long-suffering maiden was past, if indeed she was to convince this man she knew nothing.

  "Embracing him?" she shrieked, startling both the captain and Corisande as she jumped shakily to her feet. "I ran to him to beg him not to fire on innocent women and children and I tripped, sir, tripped and fell against him! Yes, he threw his arms around me, and it wasn't the first time I felt his loathsome touch, God help me! I'm ruined, I'm ruined forever!"

  Her hysteria mounting by the moment, Lindsay advanced wildly upon the captain even as he took refuge behind his desk, his eyes round and horrified.

  "Miss Somerset, please, we don't have to continue. Pray spare yourself any further distress—"

  "Distress?" she shrieked anew, lifting her hands to tear at her hair. "Do you know what I've suffered at that pirate's hands, sir? The gross indignities—and not only that, sir, but he allowed his men . . . his men—oh, God!"

  As Captain Billingsley gasped, Lindsay collapsed to her knees and began to rock herself, tears slipping down her cheeks that were as real as the desperation suddenly seizing her. She had to find a way to see Jared—she had to!

  "Don't you see, sir? I'll never know justice," she cried out hoarsely through her gut-wrenching sobs while Corisande ran forward to comfort her, her friend's eyes as concerned as they were confused. "That despicable man took everything from me, everything! And I'll never be able to tell him that I hope he rots in hell for what he did—that I hope he hangs! Unless you let me go to him, unless I can tell him myself . . . Oh, please, sir, what other retribution can I hope for?"

  Again silence hung, Captain Billingsley looking almost sick, his face chalk-white. And when he nodded, Corisande was ready to seize the opportunity of the moment, tears streaking her own face as she tried to help Lindsay to rise.

  "My husband could accompany her, sir, Lord Donovan Trent. It's true; what other justice can this poor woman hope for than to lay bare her pain to her attacker?"

  The stricken man nodded once more, leaning heavily upon his desk as if witnessing their anguish was simply too much for him to bear. His voice, too, had lost its imperious weight, grown almost hoarse as he gestured to the two officers who had accompanied the women there.

  "Help Miss Somerset to her cabin and then find Lord Donovan. They've my permission to visit the gaol."

  Lowering her head, Lindsay truly needed their assistance as she rose on trembling legs, scarcely able to believe she had won the right to see Jared even when Corisande gave her hand a quick, victorious squeeze.

  Chapter 31

  An hour later, Lindsay couldn't say how deep they had descended into the man-of-war's belly, Donovan grimly silent at her side while the same two officers led the way. The air was foul and stuffy, guttering oil lamps the only lighting in the cramped passageways. She felt almost as if they were entering the portals of hell, for the place gave her such an unearthly chill.

  "The Phoenix is in here, the rest of the bastards further down," one of the officers informed them, stopping abruptly near a low door. "We'll be right outside if you've need of us."

  "Is the prisoner chained?" asked Donovan, his voice so stern and cold that Lindsay shivered, no doubt in her mind that Corisande's formidable husband didn't approve at all this visit.

  "Chained fast, my lord, hands and feet. He can't move more than a few inches from the wall."

  "Then Miss Somerset may enter alone and face her attacker. I'll wait he
re with you."

  Stunned at the unexpected boon he'd granted her, Lindsay sensed, too, that Corisande must surely have had a hand even in this concession. As the heavy bolt was drawn with an eerie thunk, she threw him a glance of thanks, but Donovan made no expression of acknowledgment, his dark eyes unfathomable.

  But what could she hope to expect from a man who had fought loyally under Wellington for years and seen countless men die for England, while inside the cell was someone he saw as no more than a traitor? Pity? That Jared had saved his life had probably brought him this far, but she would be an utter fool to imagine—

  "Make it quick, miss. Captain Billingsley said a few moments, no more."

  So he had, that admonishment coming just as Lindsay and Corisande had left the commanding officer's cabin, the slightest hint of suspicion in his voice. For that reason, she had to make this exchange sound convincing, though it wasn't hard to summon anguish to her breast as she ducked into the poorly lit cell, the smell of urine and sweat nearly overpowering her.

  She gasped, her eyes tearing, not so much from the fetid air, but because Jared sat slumped in one corner, his arms shackled to the wall. He was stripped to the waist, dried blood streaking his powerful shoulders, and she knew then that he'd been beaten. Dear God, it was her fault, too! His capture, that of his men, the Vengeance commandeered now by naval officers—but what else could she have done?

  Stricken, Lindsay wanted to run to him, but that would have been a fatal mistake. Somehow she made herself stand her ground just inside the door, summoning all the agony in her heart to shriek hoarsely, "You detestable bastard! I hate you for what you did to me! Do you hear me? Hate you! And I hope they hang you and then cut you down and tear out your filthy heart—"

  The door slamming behind her made Lindsay jump, her harangue obviously upsetting her escort more than it appeared to have moved Jared; he hadn't even lifted his head. She moved closer, horror filling her.

  "Jared? It's me, Lindsay . . . Jared?"

  No answer came, the cell so deathly quiet she realized only then that he was unconscious. Dear Lord, did they plan to kill him before they reached Plymouth? Were they giving him no food? No water?

  She flew to him, unable to hold herself back any longer and not caring if those officers burst in and had to drag her away kicking and screaming. Tears nearly choking her, she sank to her knees in the fetid straw, her hands trembling as she cradled his face.

  "Jared, oh, please, wake up," she whispered desperately, his flesh so clammy, his head limp. "Wake up, please."

  She tried to rouse him by shaking his shoulders, her horror only growing when her palms came away wet from his blood, the beating obviously recent. Yet she took heart when he suddenly groaned and licked his cracked lips. Wildly she looked around her, scrambling to her feet when she spied a bucket with a ladle near the door.

  The water stank, she smelled its foulness the moment she filled the ladle and rushed back to Jared, but it was all she had to give him.

  "Those bastards," she said fiercely as he drank like a man who hadn't tasted water in days; she imagined Jared had more likely suffered the rank stuff thrown in his face than been allowed a sip. Finally she drew the ladle away, fearing it was too much, too soon, and he did begin to cough and choke.

  He opened his eyes, too, staring at her in disbelief as she stared back at him helplessly while he wheezed and sputtered until gradually he grew still.

  "Lindsay . . . ?"

  "Oh, Jared, I've probably only another moment before—" She didn't finish but turned to the door and raised her voice to an agonized shout. "You bastard! Monster! I hope you burn in hell for everything you did to me! Do you hear me? Burn in hell!"

  "Probably what I deserve."

  Jared had spoken so somberly that Lindsay had to subdue a tender laugh, shaking her head at him.

  "No, no, I didn't mean you—it's only what I've led them to believe. That you cruelly abducted me in London and mistreated me and stole my virtue—that's why Captain Billingsley allowed me to come down here. To rant and rail at you—"

  "I did steal your virtue."

  She sucked in her breath, staring deeply into his eyes. "You know that's not true. I gave myself to you, Jared, wholeheartedly, completely. I only wish now that I hadn't sneaked back aboard the Vengeance" —her throat tightened as her gaze fell to his bloodied shoulders— "dear God, that I hadn't brought this horror upon you."

  "I brought it upon myself, Lindsay, years ago, just as it can no longer be your concern what happens—"

  "It is my concern," she whispered fiercely, wishing there were some way she could free Jared's arms so she could feel them around her. Wishing that just once he wouldn't tell her she couldn't care about him, couldn't love him. "Damn you, Jared Giles, you will always be my concern! I love you! Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

  When he didn't answer, she felt such a wave of despair that she was almost tempted to leave him, the pain was so great to think he truly might not love her. But his eyes held hers so intensely that she couldn't move, her heart beginning to thunder in her ears.

  "I can only cause you harm, Lindsay. Don't you see? Even now you're risking everything—"

  "Because I don't want to live without you, can't you understand? And I'll wait for you as long as it takes—Corie overheard you're to be taken to Dartmoor Prison once we reach Plymouth. They believe you're an American, so surely it will be only a matter of time before you're exchanged for another prisoner of war—"

  "Or before they find out who I really am."

  "But I've said nothing, done nothing to make them doubt my story, Jared, so how will they know? Surely your men would never betray you. And the only others who know the truth are Corie and her husband, Lord Donovan Trent. He's outside the door right now, waiting for me—"

  "Lindsay, enough, they might hear you. It's best you leave—best you forget everything, forget me . . ."

  He strained against his chains and grimaced, clearly in severe pain, but Lindsay was certain his agony at that moment was nothing like the torment she felt. Her voice sank to a ragged whisper.

  "Forget you? And what shall I do with the love in my heart, forget that, too? You ask an impossible thing, Jared. I only wish you would stop trying to protect me from harm and admit you might love me—"

  She didn't get to finish, the door starting to swing open so suddenly that she had time only to scramble on her knees to the center of the cell, where she dropped her head in her hands, moaning to herself. Moaning and wishing so desperately she'd had a moment more to touch her lips to his . . .

  "Enough, miss. The bastard will pay for his bloody crimes soon enough," came a sympathetic voice, one of the officers bending down to help her to her feet while the other cursed foully at Jared.

  Meanwhile, Donovan stood outside the door, staring into the cell and saying nothing, his expression as grim as before. But she saw something flicker across his face when one of the officers gave a sharp kick to Jared whose groan made Lindsay pale.

  "Come, let's be gone from here," Donovan murmured, his voice oddly strained. A second sickening thud of a boot hitting flesh made Lindsay want to turn and run back to Jared's side. And she would have if Donovan hadn't grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the cell and down the passageway while the officers laughed crudely that the legendary Phoenix didn't seem so bloody immortal now and slammed shut the door.

  None of them heard another groan, pained and raw, nor heard Jared whisper hoarsely, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, "I . . . love you, Lindsay. Love you."

  ***

  The afternoon couldn't have been gloomier when Lindsay stepped from the gangplank onto the Plymouth wharf. A chill wind that smelled of rain whipped at her soiled yellow gown, the sky heavy with clouds as miserably gray as her mood.

  Even the chatter of Donovan and Corisande's little daughter, Paloma, couldn't cheer her. The winsome two-year-old clapped her tiny hands and seemed to take delight in everything she saw, especially
the prancing white horses harnessed to the carriage Donovan had hired to take them to Cornwall.

  He and Corisande were going home to begin their life as a family, while for Lindsay, Cornwall unhappily meant returning to her father's house, where she must face Olympia. Yet her stepmother's expected wrath was truly of no consequence to her at that moment. She turned at the sound of heavy clunking of chains, her heart aching as Jared and his men—Walker, Cowan and all the rest—made their way, one by one, down the gangplank now that all the passengers from the Industry had disembarked.

  True to his word, Captain Billingsley already had a half-dozen wagons waiting to take his prisoners to Dartmoor; jeers and curses filled the air as other passengers turned to watch.

  "Lindsay, we should get into the carriage," Corisande whispered in her ear, handing Paloma to Donovan. "You've come this far unscathed, but you're still at risk—"

  "Listen to them, Corie," Lindsay said in disbelief as the jeers grew louder, joined now by those of passersby and sailors from other ships who hooted and spit. "Jared and his men saved those people only last week . . . and listen to them."

  She flinched as soldiers from the H.M.S. Clementine were forced to link arms and form a human barrier to hold back the crowd, which seemed to be growing larger and more raucous by the moment, word no doubt spreading throughout the port city that the dreaded Phoenix had been captured at last. Her stricken gaze flew back to Jared, at the haggardness of his face, at his ravaged shoulders, his captors having neglected to give him back his shirt.

  "Lindsay, please. . ."

  She nodded, the quiet urgency in Corisande's voice finally making her move, though she could not tear her gaze away from Jared even when she was assisted by a footman into the carriage. Tears stung her eyes because he could yet hold his head so high, not looking to the right or the left, not looking for her, which she knew was done to protect her. But she sensed from the tension visible in his body that he must have glimpsed her—