My Runaway Heart

by Miriam Minger

  "I know that man! Stop, stop—I know him!"

  Gasping, Lindsay gripped the carriage door as a woman burst through the crowd, disheveled and wild-eyed. Dear Lord, it was the same woman, wretchedly ill from seasickness at the time, whom she and Donovan had rescued from the Industry.

  "You're Jared Giles!" came an unearthly shriek that made Lindsay's blood run cold and a startled hush fall over the wharf. "In chains, eeee! Only what you deserve! The mighty have been brought low, ha, ha! The Earl of Dovercourt in chains!"

  Chapter 32

  To Lindsay, it seemed no one moved for a horrifying moment while the woman danced a demented jig in front of Jared. Then bedlam erupted, none other than Captain Horatio Billingsley bellowing down from the H.M.S. Clementine, "Seize her! Seize that woman!"

  "Oh, God, Donovan, what are we going to do?" Corisande's voice broke through Lindsay's paralyzed haze, Corisande appearing, for the first time in her life, completely at a loss. While Lindsay could only stare as the woman frantically fought off three ship's officers trying to subdue her, her outraged shrieks rending the air.

  "How dare you! Leave me be! Where's my Ryland? Where's my son? Ryland, help me!"

  Dear God, Ryland? In shock, Lindsay sank back against the seat, staring at Corisande, whose face had gone as deathly white as she imagined her own to be.

  "Lindsay, she said Ryland. Wasn't that the name of the man who married Jared's sister? Ryland Potter?"

  Numbly, Lindsay nodded as disorderly shouts and jeers once more erupted outside the carriage. Little Paloma began to cry, the noise surely frightening her. Which made Donovan curse so vehemently that all three of them jumped, his voice brooking no argument as he lunged from the carriage and slammed the door behind him.

  "Stay here, all of you! Do you understand me? Just stay here!"

  ***

  Somehow they did, Lindsay so sick at heart she thought she might be ill, while Corisande did her best to soothe Paloma, no matter the bedlam which continued outside for what seemed a very long time.

  At one point a harsh cry was heard urging that all the prisoners be hanged right there on the wharf; it was echoed around them until Lindsay pressed her hands to her ears, trying to shut out the horrible racket as futilely as she could chase away her crippling fear. In her mind's eye she could see Jared standing tall and unafraid amidst the fray, just as she'd seen him aboard the Vengeance in the heat of a sea chase, which renewed her flagging spirits. Yet it was all so awful—to think that woman might be Sylvia Potter . . .

  "Lindsay, you know no matter what happens, I'll do anything to help you," Corisande said gently when it seemed, finally, that the din was lessening, if only a little. "I can't speak for Donovan, but he knows my feelings. If not for Jared, I wouldn't have my husband, or Paloma . . ."

  Lindsay's chest grew tight from the tears brimming in Corisande's eyes; she'd rarely seen her stouthearted friend cry. As Corisande hugged the beautiful little girl in her arms, Paloma amazingly having fallen asleep, Lindsay couldn't help but be touched that Corisande could already love so deeply another woman's child. Just as she so clearly loved her husband, even now Corisande craning her neck to look for Donovan out the carriage window, while Lindsay couldn't look at all for dread of what she might see

  "Oh, Lord, Lindsay, here he comes now."

  With Corisande's announcement sounding both apprehensive and relieved, Lindsay lost all ability to breathe as Donovan climbed into the coach and took his seat beside Corisande, his hand tenderly caressing Paloma's mahogany curls. Yet his expression remained grim, and on a man as swarthily dark as Lord Donovan Trent, it was even more ominous to behold.

  "The prisoners are being taken to Dartmoor just as planned—all of them."

  Lindsay exhaled in a rush, her gaze jumping to Corisande and then back to Donovan as the carriage jolted into motion. "So . . . so they're allowing me to leave?"

  "For now, but they may call you back for further questions. An official inquiry has already begun into Jared's—the Phoenix's true identity. Messengers have been sent to London. It probably won't take more than a few days to summon acquaintances of the Earl of Dovercourt to Plymouth."

  "And that woman . . . the one who recognized him?"

  "Mad as a hatter. Otherwise, they might have tarred and hung your husband this very day. She says her name's Sylvia Potter, though they got little else out of her before she fell into a fit. She's been taken to the Three Maidens Inn near the town square and put under guard until the investigation can begin."

  "So it was Sylvia . . ." Lindsay murmured, not astonished at all that Donovan knew she and Jared were married. She slumped back, horrified, against the seat. "Sylvia Potter."

  "Bloody woman should have drowned."

  Stunned that Corisande had voiced what Lindsay had just been thinking, however cruel it sounded, she couldn't help but wish that she'd never gone belowdecks on the Industry—but there was nothing to be done about it now. And she didn't think it wise to discuss Jared further, given the forbidding scowl settling over Donovan's handsome features as he stared out the window at the passing streets, although the glance that Corisande sent Lindsay told her the matter was far from finished.

  Thank God, for a short while at least, Jared was safe. But, remembering how he'd been so cruelly treated aboard the H.M.S. Clementine, Lindsay drew little comfort that Dartmoor Prison would be any better.

  Meanwhile, she had a trial of her own to face, although it paled next to Jared's. Yet a full day's coach ride wouldn't seem nearly long enough to prepare herself for what was to come once she reached Porthleven.

  ***

  "Disgraceful! Absolutely disgraceful! Just look at you, girl! Look at you!"

  So weary from the journey she could barely stand, Lindsay nonetheless bore Olympia Somerset's fury just as she always had, silently, stoically, not wanting to make things worse for her poor father even now . . .

  "Have you nothing more to say? This is utterly scandalous—scandalous! We'll never be able to lift our heads in the village again! In London! Anywhere!" Throwing the train of her blue silk dress behind her, Olympia paced in front of Lindsay like an outraged pigeon, her massive breasts heaving, her double chin fluttering, her narrow, high-bridged nose positively pinched with displeasure.

  "When we received word from Winifred that you'd disappeared, your father and I were beside ourselves! Who will marry you now? Will you answer me that, my girl? When everyone hears you were found aboard a pirate's ship? That you were abducted and—and—dear God, I can't bring myself to even say it!"

  "Ravaged."

  As stunned silence fell in the lamplit drawing room, Lindsay didn't think she had ever seen Olympia's powdered face so red, near hatred distorting her features and blazing from her cold blue eyes.

  "You . . . you ungrateful girl. To think I allowed you to go to London for the Season and this—this scandal is how I'm rewarded for my generosity! You knew your responsibilities! You could have married well—won a title for yourself, enhanced our family name and position—"

  "And given you someone else to bully?"

  Incredulous that she had spoken up even as Olympia advanced upon her with an ominous rustle of silk, Lindsay didn't think to back away but held her ground, lifting her chin to take what she had endured a thousand times before—something her father knew nothing about, nor even Corisande. White light burned in front of her eyes as Olympia slapped her viciously across the face, and then slapped her again on the other cheek.

  "Damn you, girl, I've borne all I will from you! It's not enough I must suffer the embarrassment of having your father for a husband—wretched, spineless little man. You'll not live under my roof another day, do you hear?"

  "And you will never touch my daughter again, do you hear me, Olympia?"

  Lindsay gasped, her gaze flying to the doorway, where her father stood, his face ashen, his hands visibly shaking. Olympia looked startled, a flush creeping past her painted eyebrows, although she threw back her head contemptu
ously.

  "This is between Lindsay and me, Randolph. It has nothing to do with you—"

  "It has everything to do with me! God help me, woman, have you struck my daughter before this day?"

  Lindsay wasn't sure if she was more astonished that her father had roared at the top of his lungs, almost incongruous in so slight and graying a man, or that Olympia seemed truly nonplussed, a bejeweled hand flying to her breast.

  "Randolph, please, of course I would never—dear me, no, this is the first time, truly, and once you hear of what has happened— It's so dreadful! Horrifying! I was just about to send a servant to find you, to tell you Lindsay was home so you might know what your daughter has done, the scandal she's brought upon us—"

  "If there's any scandal, madam, it's that I no longer recognize you as my wife. A pity you don't lie as well as you've a gift for making everyone around you perfectly miserable—and I'll stomach no more. Leave us! Now, or I'll summon the footmen to throw you out!"

  Lindsay had never thought she might see the day, Olympia's jaw dropping, her imperious shoulders slumping, tears swimming in her eyes. But somehow the woman managed to maintain her composure long enough to tilt her fleshy chin and sweep haughtily from the room, though Lindsay heard her stepmother gasp in shock when her father slammed the drawing room door shut behind her.

  "Damned witch. Should have been rid of her years ago."

  Her own eyes clouded, Lindsay gave a choked laugh, remembering how Jared had once called her stepmother a witch. But in the next instant she flew into her father's arms and buried her face in his coat as she sobbed ridiculously, for so long and so hard, that he actually began to chuckle.

  That made her stop and draw back from him in surprise, but he had sobered, his kindly gaze full of concern.

  "So tell me about this privateer who's won your heart. Jared Giles is his name, the Earl of Dovercourt?"

  So astounded she couldn't speak, Lindsay dropped her gaze to the neatly folded piece of ivory vellum he withdrew from his coat pocket.

  "A letter from Corie. Seems while you and Donovan and their little daughter were asleep in the carriage last night, your friend was very busy. She must have slipped this to the footman somehow when they dropped you at the door; he told me she said I must read the letter straightaway—and then he informed me you were in the drawing room with Olympia." Tenderly, he lifted his hand to wipe a tear from Lindsay's face. "Corie has a plan, you know."

  "She does?"

  As her father nodded, Lindsay had never felt so brilliant a burst of hope, and she couldn't help blurting out, "Oh, Papa, you would like him, I know you would!"

  "I believe I would, too, and perhaps someday I'll have a chance to meet him," came his reply, his expression tinged with sadness. But the next moment found him drawing her over to the far end of the room, keeping his voice low. "There's much for me to do, and much for Corie to arrange, but all you must do is wait patiently until tomorrow morning."

  "Wait? But how can I wait while Jared—"

  "Shhh, Lindsay, you'll have a chance to play a part, I wish not so dangerous a one, but there's no other way. At least I've a chance now to make amends for the years you've suffered—"

  "But you've suffered, too, Papa."

  "Yes, but no more. No more." Emotion welling in his eyes, he squeezed her hands. "I've wanted to tell you for some time that I haven't forgotten the promise I made to your mother so long ago, though it might have seemed . . ."

  His voice failing him, Sir Randolph Somerset shook his head, but Lindsay didn't need him to finish to know he intended to do anything he could to help her.

  He already had.

  Chapter 33

  The long night a sleepless torture Lindsay wanted to forget, her only relief came in the morning, after she had rushed through her first real bath since Gijón and then dressed hurriedly in one of the nicest gowns left in her wardrobe and a fine gray cloak. Her father was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase and together they left the house, neither of them mentioning Olympia at all, as if the despicable woman were already gone from their lives.

  Sir Randolph seemed disinclined to speak, in fact, just as he had become last night after telling Lindsay about Corisande's letter, except to encourage her to try to get some rest and to mention again that he had much to do. But what he had to do, she hadn't divined, the crux of Corisande's plan still unknown to her.

  Even now, as they settled into the carriage, she had no idea where they might be bound, but it became clear after many long, silent moments that they were heading into the fishing village of Porthleven. Was Corisande perhaps meeting them at the Easton parsonage? Lindsay was almost relieved when they rumbled by the cozy stone house with its blue shutters, not because she didn't want to see Corisande's three younger sisters and Frances, their motherly housekeeper, but because she felt little like talking to anyone herself, her nerves on edge.

  Her father was so still, so grim almost, occasionally checking his pocket watch and then staring out the window, until finally she could bear the suspense no longer.

  "Papa, will you please tell me—"

  "Good, she looks ready to sail."

  Her heart rearing at his words, Lindsay followed his gaze to the quay down the hill and a single-masted ship she recognized at once, Oliver Trelawny's Fair Betty. She could see men moving busily about the deck and sails being unfurled, but what made her mouth drop open in astonishment was that Corisande stood at the starboard railing next to the burly Cornish captain, though she left him and bolted down the gangplank when the carriage rolled to a stop.

  "We've no time for good-byes, Lindsay—you must go," her father urgently insisted as the footman opened the door.

  Almost in a daze, Lindsay obeyed him, allowing herself to give him only a quick, fierce hug before she found herself on the quay, Corisande rushing to her side.

  "Lindsay, come! I don't know how long before Donovan—"

  Corisande didn't finish, instead grabbing Lindsay's arm as they both hurried up the gangplank, two sailors dropping the heavy plank of wood to the dock as soon as they were safely aboard. Everything was happening so fast, the sails flapping and swelling in the stiff breeze, the Fair Betty slipping away from the quay while Oliver shouted commands to his men, that Lindsay felt the only thing steadying her was Corisande's reassuring presence at her side.

  Her eyes filled, her chest aching at the sight of her father sitting so alone in the carriage, but when he lifted his hand in farewell, somehow she managed a smile.

  "We couldn't have come this far without him," Corisande said softly, squeezing Lindsay's arm. "Gold, enough muskets for an army, gunpowder—"

  "Gunpowder!" Lindsay met Corisande's eyes, apprehension gripping her. "Dear God, Corie, what have you planned?"

  "It's a last resort, but we'll use it if we have to. Oliver says it wouldn't take but a small cask or two to blow a hole in a prison wall, no matter how thick."

  "Oh, no, but that would mean a battle, wouldn't it? Lord, Corie, I don't want any of his men to be hurt or Oliver or you—what did you say about Donovan? And where's Paloma?"

  "Safe with Frances and my sisters, so you needn't worry for her, and Donovan's at Arundale's Kitchen. The tinners staged a mine accident only an hour ago, I hope convincing enough to keep him occupied until we're out of Mount's Bay—"

  "Oh, Lord." Her knees suddenly gone weak, Lindsay wasn't sure why she felt so distressed, but there were so many people involved, so many people willing to risk their lives to help her, and if anything should happen to a one of them . . .

  "Lindsay, stop, I know what you're thinking." She shook her head, her throat constricting as her father's carriage finally rumbled away from the dock, Porthleven shrinking farther into the distance as the Fair Betty forged south toward the Channel.

  "No, Corie, I can't allow you to do this for me—it's too dangerous—"

  "Dangerous mostly for you, I fear. We'll be there as a last resort, just as I said, but it's you with the lar
gest part to play. You're at the heart of this plan, Lindsay. Jared's life depends upon you."

  Her hair whipping about her face, she looked at Corisande, her friend's brown eyes as somber as she had ever seen them. But all Lindsay had to think of was the way Jared had stared at her so intensely in his cell, and her heart began to thunder.

  "Tell me what I have to do."

  ***

  With darkness heavy all around them save for the lighted fortress at the distant crest of the hill, Lindsay swallowed hard. Corisande crawled closer to her friend, her voice barely above a whisper.

  "Remember, if anything goes wrong, find a window and scream, Lindsay, as loud as you can. We'll be waiting right here to help you."

  Flinching as a horse snorted, Lindsay nodded and glanced behind her toward the copse of stunted trees where Oliver and a dozen of his crew waited with their hired mounts and casks of gunpowder and muskets primed and ready—and once again she was nearly overcome by the odds of any of them escaping with their lives if something did go wrong. Yet she forced away her daunting thoughts; every mile they had ridden from the inlet where the Fair Betty lay anchored made her that much more determined to play her part, for she'd been drawing closer and closer to Jared.

  "All right, you'd best go. Whatever happens, we've got to clear Plymouth harbor before dawn."

  Lindsay didn't answer, simply squeezed Corisande's hand, and then she was on her feet and trudging across rugged moorland that seemed to have been crafted to shelter a prison.

  Her pulse pounding in her ears, she imagined it wouldn't be long before she was spotted by guards, and she ruffled her hands through her tangled hair one last time. She licked her dry lips, tasting the dirt she had rubbed over her face and upon her pale blue satin gown, Corisande having used a knife to prick and tear at the hem to make it appear as if Lindsay had stumbled through dense patches of brambles.