Damn!
He didn’t have time to be robbed today!
Bloody thieving bastards!
If they were itching for a fight, he’d give them one!
He thrust his hand inside the leather pouch riding on Beau’s flank to draw forth his pistol.
Then he took a step backward to better his aim.
Another loud crack sounded.
Lead whizzed passed his ear with a sickening high-pitched whine.
God’s teeth!
They weren’t trying to rob him!
They were trying to kill him!
The sound of hooves galloping toward him spun him around. The flash of metal ignited by a stray beam of light through the trees made him blink. Hunter raised the pistol, leveled it, and fired. A grim smile spread across his face as he watched his assailant catapult from the saddle to land with thump in the dirt. His horse galloped off with a screech of terror.
Hunter threw down his pistol to draw his sword, ready for the next assault.
None came.
He strode forward to see what damage he’d done, only to be forced back a step when the man rolled to his feet with his sword drawn.
Herrington.
He might have known.
“What’s the matter, Your Grace,” he said, panting like a well used whore. “Surprised to see me?” Blood dripped down the length of his arm to his fingers from a hole in his upper left arm, soaking the white lace cuff of his shirt. “Did you think I’d allow you to continue with your vile campaign to despoil my reputation?”
Hunter circled him warily. “If you were so concerned for your reputation you shouldn’t have killed Hartley.”
Herrington’s lips twisted in a snarl. “Hartley got what he deserved.”
“Is that what Phelia told you? Did you think you were salvaging her honor by getting rid of Hartley? If you did, you were a little too late.”
“I didn’t do it for Phelia!” Herrington’s lips curled in derision. “I did it for my sister, Claire. She drowned herself, thanks to him,” he rasped, his voice strangled with anguish. “She was only sixteen. Sixteen! Do you hear! Had I carved him up piece by piece it wouldn’t have been enough.” His face convulsed into an ugly sneer. “If anyone had a right to end his pathetic existence, it was me.”
Hunter continued to circle him warily. “If you were a man of honor you’d have waited until he recovered and called him out.”
“I admit my actions were premature, but I don’t regret them. It’s over and finished. Justice is served. Now you’re the only loose end that needs tying up. With you out of the way, Kay will be free to marry me. If my man was successful and she received my message, she’ll be waiting in Plymouth to sail to the West Indies with me. A lovely place for a honeymoon, don’t you think?”
Herrington raised his sword and charged like a wild boar.
Hunter was ready for him. He’d been watching him closely during his surprising speech. He side-stepped him easily. With Herrington wounded, it was hardly a fair fight. He was completely mad—out of control. He might have felt sorry for the poor wretch if not for the fact he was trying to kill him.
Herrington spun round, then came at him again.
Their swords met with a loud crash, the slide of steel echoing through the hollow passage of the trees.
Herrington’s breathe came hard. His injury unbalanced him, making his thrusts awkward. But he wielded his sword with uncommon vigor.
Hunter met each wild slash of his blade, muscles straining, gritting his teeth.
“Give it up, Herrington! Your wound leaves you at a disadvantage.”
“I’m not afraid to die.” He grunted and panted. A thin veil of sweat stood out on his forehead.
“Then say a prayer! Your time is near!”
This seemed to charge him with strength. He raised his weak arm for added force.
Hunter wasn’t prepared for the vicious blow dealt him. His sword flew from his hand. He ducked just as the whip of steel sliced through the air, mere inches above his head. With a quick agile roll he swept up his sword, then came to his feet, ready to do battle again.
But to his disgust the cowardly bastard had fled. If he wasn’t so angry he’d have laughed at the ridiculous sight Herrington made charging down the road, knees high, arms pumping him forward. Hunter was still debating whether to go after him when a rider burst through the tunnel of trees.
Robert.
What in the blazes was he doing here?
Herrington ran toward him, flailing his sword like a madman.
Robert’s horse reared.
Herrington screamed just before the front hooves of the horse sent him to the ground with a sickening thud.
By the time Hunter reached Herrington blood was gushing from his forehead. His skull appeared cracked.
“Oh dear God! Oh dear God!” Robert wailed. “Is he dead?”
“Quite.”
“He came at me so unexpected. I couldn’t do anything! I couldn’t get out of his way!”
“Not to worry. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I just came to bring you your coat, Your Grace.”
“You followed me all this way, to bring me my coat?” Hunter released a bark of laughter when he saw the burgundy frockcoat across Robert’s lap. At least Alex wasn’t his only loyal friend, there was Robert as well, and of course Bella.
But somehow that wasn’t enough. He didn’t have Kay. And by God he wanted her—he wanted her more than anything he’d ever wanted in his life. “You’re a good lad, Robert. You’re a good lad indeed. Now go and fetch the Constable from the village. I’ll make my statement through correspondence. Right now I have a ship to catch.”
***
Kay sipped her tea at the small table, while Cora set out her necessary toiletries by the washstand beside the wardrobe. The cabin was lovely, well appointed in every way. It reminded her of the one aboard the Isabella. It was so spacious and rich, she suspected Fabian had given the captain extra coin to relinquish his cabin for the crossing.
When they received word their ship was delayed, Kay had jumped at the chance to board another leaving the next morning. The captain of the first ship assured them of its sea worthiness and sang the praises of the captain of the substitute vessel. She and Fabian agreed it was the best solution to their dilemma. After a tearful goodbye and many assurances from Kay, Fabian took his leave.
After he departed, a numbness settled over her.
She barely blinked, staring at the morning sun, streaking beams of pink and gold through the many panes of the cabin window. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard Cora humming as she moved about the room.
Her mind turned to Hunter, as it did a hundred times that day. She listened to the voices of the crew above, readying the ship to leave the dock and imagined him standing at the wheel of the Isabella. A painful knot formed in her throat. He was heading for Boston and she for France. Distance was separating them, but the child growing inside her would be a permanent unbreakable bond, her one solace.
A knock sounded against the oak planks of the cabin door.
Cora left her sorting to go and answer the summons.
“Who is it?” Kay inquired absently. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors.
“A young lad, Your Grace. The captain sent him to inquire after your comfort.”
“Tell him to send the captain my regards and thank him for his generosity.”
Cora related the message in hushed tones, then turned back to her mistress. “The captain requests the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight. What shall I tell him, Your Grace?”
Kay groaned inwardly. She had no wish to see anyone. But to refuse would be rude. “Tell him I should be delighted to accept his invitation.” It was the least she could do. After all, he had rescued her. If he hadn’t offered them a berth, they’d still be sitting in Plymouth, or on their way to Dover to board a packet to France. Having dinner with him would give her an opportunity to express her appreci
ation for his gallant generosity.
Thinking of the energy required of her that evening, she decided to take a nap on the narrow bunk.
When she woke, she felt refreshed and more like her old self. Her doubts had vanished, to be replaced by a steady certainty that she was doing the right thing—following the only reasonable course of action.
After all, Hunter had been the one to leave. In truth, he had abandoned her first. By choosing to sail off to Boston, he’d hurried their separation along. She resolved not to feel any further guilt. She even managed to smile when Cora began tut tutting over the crumpled state of her gown.
She hustled her out of the green silk and into a warmer carmine velvet gown. “How am I to put you to rights in such conditions,” she fretted, smoothing the wide black ribbon under the bodice. “I’ve nothing to press that blessed thing out with.”
“Don’t fuss, Cora. We’re not entertaining royalty. The captain is unlikely to notice a small wrinkle here or there. Besides, he’ll be too scandalized watching me eat. I’m positively famished.”
“I should have left you something from my tray.”
Kay waved the idea away with a brisk flutter of her hand. “Nonsense! I’m not about to let you go hungry to preserve my vanity. I’m sure the captain’s seen plenty of healthy appetites in his day.”
Kay went to the table to pour herself a cup of tea from the sturdy earthen pot the cabin boy had delivered with Cora’s tray. The floor of the cabin moved beneath her with the rocking of the ship. The gentle rolling motion soothed her fears, making her sigh inwardly with relief. Soon they would be in Calais where there would be no reason to hide her condition. She’d be safe with her Grandmere—free to do as she pleased.
She sat down to sip her tea and let her mind wander to fonder memories of the chateau, and all that she planned to do when she arrived.
A firm rap sounded against the door.
Cora put aside her knitting to go and answer it.
Her short intake of breathe was followed by two hasty steps backward and a low curtsy.
“Hello, Gorgeous.”
Kay froze in her chair, hardly able to believe her eyes. For a moment all she could do was stare. Then she slowly began to drink in his handsome features, from his warm brandy eyes to the slant of his half-curved sensual lips. The sight of his black hair blown back from his face, made her want to rake her fingers through it. He looked like the pirate she’d met at the masquerade in Paris, wearing only a white shirt tucked into his snug black breeches.
She dropped her cup with a clatter. “What are you doing here? Where is the captain?”
He gave a crisp bow. “At your service, Madam.”
“What!” It couldn’t be true. “You’re the captain of this ship?”
“My wife and I require a few moments of privacy, Cora.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Cora skittered out, closing the door with a firm click.
Kay did her best to gather her scattered wits in the long stretch of silence that followed. Thank the merciful heavens she hadn’t rose from her chair. A stranger wouldn’t be able to tell she was breeding, but Hunter certainly would. He knew every intimate detail of her body from bow to stern. How would he react when he discovered she’d been about to abscond with his child—a child he knew nothing about?
Whatever happened, she knew she had to preserve her secret until the boat docked in Calais. If that meant staying seated at this blasted table for the entire crossing of the channel—so be it.
Her hands clinched tighter under the onslaught of his bold appraisal.
Her cheeks grew hot.
The pins at the nape of her neck pricked her scalp like tiny spears. The square neckline of her ruby velvet gown was modest, yet she wished it higher. Her heart pounded so fast, she could barely breathe.
“Why aren’t you in Boston?”
His tone came quiet and smooth. “Do you wish I was in Boston?”
His unexpected question made her blink. She could barely make her lips work. “No…yes, I mean, you wrote me and told me you were traveling there. You gave me no reason to think your plans had changed.”
“And so they have not.”
Her heart pounded fast. “I don’t understand.”
He strode to the oak desk by the window. “I’m still going to Boston.” He pulled opened one of the drawers, producing a bottle of brandy and a glass.
Kay observed him warily while he poured two fingers into the glass. It seemed strange that he’d travel to Calais before such a long journey. She wondered what business he had there. Perhaps it had something to do with Captain Hartley’s murder.
“Lord Herrington paid us a visit at Butterfield hall yesterday. It seems he’s traveling to the West Indies. He asked Uncle Fabian to look in on the Abbey while he’s away.”
“Yes he informed me of his plans this morning, right before he tried to kill me.”
Kay gasped. The thought of Hunter being in such peril made her hands tremble. “He tried to kill you!”
“He ambushed me on my way to Plymouth.” Hunter came slowly toward her, drink in his hand. “The filthy coward didn’t have the guts to call me out. He thought it would be a damn sight easier to shoot me off my horse and leave me for dead.”
“Is he...”
“Dead? Yes.”
“You killed him?”
“No. He managed that himself, under the hooves of Robert’s horse.”
“Did he admit to killing Hartley?”
“Yes, but not for the reasons I thought. It seems Hartley seduced his sister. When she discovered she was with child, she took her own life. Hartley wasn’t protecting Phelia’s honor, he was avenging his sister’s death.”
“How horrid. So many lives wasted all because of one indiscretion. The poor girl! Had she no other options?”
Hunter sighed. “She was very young and probably too grief stricken over his betrayal to see a way out.”
Kay’s lips tightened. Curse all men and their selfish lustful natures! At least Hunter had married her before he got her with child. Their separation would leave her husbandless, but she would suffer no disgrace, only a forced exile. She was lucky. She had a loving family to support and protect her. She would never be alone, and most importantly, she would have her child to love and protect in return. If only…
Her eyes welled up with tears. She turned her head away attempting to blink them away. There was no use thinking about it. He was leaving for Boston—she for Calais. Their time together was short.
When she turned back he was regarding her with studied interest. “I’m sorry to be the one to shatter your impression of Herrington’s character, Kay. But he was not the man you assumed him to be.”
She shook her head. “You mistake my feelings, Your Grace. My sympathies lie with his sister, not with him. What he did was wrong. It was a cowardly horrid act which does his sister’s memory ill. And if he were here, I’d tell him so.”
“Then it is fortunate his messenger didn’t catch up with you before you reached Plymouth.”
“He sent a messenger?”
Hunter nodded. “To ask you to go with him.”
Kay shivered at the thought. “We saw no messenger, only a highwayman bent one robbing us. Thanks to my good aim we escaped.”
Hunter took a swig of brandy then chuckled. “Knowing Herrington, that was his messenger.”
Kay put one hand to her breast and closed her eyes “Praise God for that pistol! It’s frightful to think how close I came to being kidnapped by a madman.”
Hunter downed the last of his brandy. He set the glass down on the table in front of her, leaning toward her with a wolfish grin. “Better the devil you know than the one that you don’t.”
Her eyes narrowed on him as he strode for the door.
Now what did he mean by that?
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Tell me this ship is headed for Calais.” Kay demanded.
Hunter turned with his hand on t
he cabin door. “I can tell you no such thing, Madam, since that would be a lie.”
She shot to her feet, then remembered herself and plunked back down in the chair. She ran her tongue across the dry surface of her lips, attempting to calm herself. “I was promised passage to Calais.”
The beginnings of a smile contradicted his apologetic look. “Now that, was a lie.”
She slapped her hands down on the table and came to her feet. “You scoundrel!!! You never had any intention of taking me there!”
He chuckled, bowing his head in a mock salute at her brilliant, yet tardy conclusion. “Guilty as charged.”
Her hands went to her hips as her lips smashed together in a thin line. How dare he out-maneuver her like that, when after months of agonizing she finally had everything sorted out—the future of her child planned. He couldn’t just march back into her life and take charge, as though he’d never left, as though those seemingly endless nights without him had never happened.
“What makes you think I’ll agree to suffer your company all the way to Boston and back? Well, I won’t, I tell you. I demand you turn this ship around!” A stony silence followed.
Panic rose in her chest.
Her voice turned pleading. “If you won’t take me to Calais, at least take me back to Plymouth where I can find an honest captain—one who’ll deliver what he promises.”
He leaned back against the door, folding his arms across his broad chest. The air between them crackled, charged with invisible sparks. His slow steady gaze raked her up and down. When he spoke his voice was low and thick. “You speak of promises, yet you have not kept yours.”
Guilt churned in her belly, welling up in her throat to almost choke her. “I tried,” she whispered, “But you were gone.” She turned away, to hide the trembling of her lips—tears of regret brimming in her eyes.
And then he was there with his hands on her shoulders, slowly turning her around.
By then she had collected herself. “You left,” she accused with a lift of her chin.
“I came back,” he said, wiping a salty tear sliding down her cheek. “Don’t you see, I need you, Kay. Every moment spent away from you is agony. I came back to ask you to stay. When I returned home to find you gone, my world turned upside down. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your plans, but please don’t ask me to take you back. I need you. I can’t ever take you back.”
The Thief and the Rogue Page 33
