This Rebel Heart

by Patricia Hagan

  He stepped into the halo of moonlight that filtered down from the purple sky. It touched his face, illuminating him with a ghostly silver glow.

  "It is you!" Julie realized her legs had suddenly become as quivery as the palm fronds bending in the wind. She reached out to steady herself by placing her hand against a nearby tree. Her breathing was ragged, hoarse.

  "Why are you here?" She forced the words past the apprehensive knot in her throat. "I thought you'd be on your way back to the Ariane. Isn't it dangerous for you to be here?"

  "So many questions," he chuckled, moving to stand mere inches from her. "And there's no time to answer them now. You see, Captain Guthrie and his crew were picked up by a passing ship this afternoon and brought into port. They're combing the island for us now. We're anchored off a remote point with a small boat that we 'borrowed,' and we'll be leaving shortly. We set the Yankee steamer adrift, you see."

  Julie was bewildered. "Well, why do you risk being captured to come and see me? And how did you know I'd be here?"

  Her mind danced suspiciously. Something was not right.

  Then she remembered the times she thought she had seen him and pointed an accusing finger. "It was you! You've been following me ever since we arrived here, and you were supposed to return at once to your own ship. You stayed—to follow me... and that's how you knew I was here."

  The reality of her situation made her dizzy. "You watched while I slept, wanting darkness to come before I awoke. But why? What do you want from me?" She backed away, silently commanding her wobbly legs to move.

  "It's not me who wants you. It's the captain. This was all planned before you ever left the ship. I've orders to take you back with me."

  "Are you insane?" she exploded, stunned. "My mother and I are leaving for England the day after tomorrow. I'm not going anywhere with you."

  He sighed impatiently. "Julie, I have explicit orders, so come along peacefully now. You won't be hurt, and I don't have time to stand here arguing."

  He moved forward.

  She whirled about, ready to make a desperate attempt to run for the crowded streets. Surely someone would hear her screams and come to her aid.

  But she found herself bumping into another man waiting to grab her as someone quickly stretched a foul-smelling rag around her face, covering her mouth to stifle her cries.

  Struggling, she managed to free one hand to push the gag away as she cried, "Please don't do this. I can't go with you. My mother is waiting, and she'll be worried sick....."

  Edsel Garris clamped an arm tightly about her waist. "We can dispense with the gag, Julie, if you promise not to scream."

  "All right, all right," she answered frantically. "Just tell me what Derek wants with me."

  "Everything is going to be all right." He began to lead her away from the direction she had been headed and toward the dense woods and brush that led to the beach below. "You know you'll be treated well. We wouldn't hurt you. I've got my orders, and I'll follow them.

  "As for your mother," he continued, "a message will be delivered to her within the hour, and she'll know what's become of you. She isn't alone, you know. She has that old servant woman with her."

  Julie was trapped, and she knew it. Several more crewmen emerged from hiding places and walked along with them. She was surrounded. "Just tell me why you're doing this horrible thing," she pleaded.

  Garris took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Damn, he hated having to be so blunt, but it was obvious the girl was going to keep badgering him until he gave her an explanation. There was nothing to do but be completely truthful. "I believe, Julie, that Captain Arnhardt said something about a ransom."

  "A what?" she yelped, jerking to a stop only to be roughly yanked along. "He's crazy! He has to be out of his mind. This is a crime...."

  Her struggles were futile. "I might have known," she cried to the wind. "I might've known the greedy bastard would want more money. But he won't get it. My mother and Virgil will hire men to hunt him and all of you down. You can't get away with this—"

  "Julie, I'm going to have to gag you," Edsel said quietly.

  "No." She lifted her chin defiantly. "You won't I'll go with you."

  He raised an eyebrow suspiciously as he stared down at her in the moonlight. "Is this some sort of trick? As I said, we don't want to have to get rough and maybe hurt you."

  "No, it's not a trick. But mark my words, sir. Ironheart will rue the day he chose to make me his prisoner." Her voice was frosty, ominous.

  He chuckled. "Aye, I can surely believe that, Julie. I surely can." He seemed relieved that there would be no more need to struggle with her, at least while he was in charge.

  Chapter 10

  Derek sat at his desk, shoulders hunched wearily over the clutter of maps and charts. The lantern began to flicker. He wondered absently when it was last filled with oil. No matter. He didn't need light simply to ponder.

  Outside the wind swooped and shrieked, reminding of sounds he'd once heard coming from one of those places where they put people who've gone mad. Such people howl more when there's a full moon, someone had said. Derek wondered why, then shook his head, admonishing himself for letting his mind wander to subjects that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except getting his ship through the blockade and safely into port at Wilmington. There was a hell of a lot of cotton in the hold. Rose Hill cotton, he thought with a smile of satisfaction.

  He leaned back, throwing his long, trunk-like legs up and propping his booted feet on the paper-strewn desk.

  He thought of Virgil Oates. He hadn't liked the man from the first time they'd met. He was pompous, the sort to flaunt whatever power he felt he had, trying to make people think he had money to go along with it. Soon he was going to find out he'd been taken.

  Derek chuckled out loud as he imagined how Oates would sputter and stew when he learned his beautiful bride-to-be had been kidnapped.

  A quarter of a million in gold. It was a high price. When Garris had seen the amount scribbled on the ransom note, he'd accused Derek of not expecting, or actually wanting, the sum to be paid. He accused him of kidnapping Julie not to collect money but rather to have an excuse to keep her on board for his own pleasures.

  Derek liked Garris. He was a trusted officer. But that accusation had almost brought the captain to violence. And Garris had sensed he'd aroused his ire to the danger point and had immediately become contrite.

  Now Derek wondered why he'd let himself get so angry. Perhaps until that point he hadn't realized his true intention himself. Someone else had had to make him see it.

  There was no denying he was captivated by Julie's rare and delicate beauty. He had studied her features as he would a maritime chart, remembering everything until he could close his eyes and still see her clearly in his mind—the sensual shape of her mouth, her misty green eyes, mysterious, beguiling.

  And how well he remembered what it was like to touch her naked body, the skin creamy, silky... as though carved from the finest ivory—but not as cold and dead. Not Julie. She'd stopped playing games and pretending to be indignant over his possession of her body. She'd returned his kisses, his caresses, and he was aware that she wanted him physically in every way. They'd spent many enjoyable, passionate hours together.

  He frowned and reached into the bottom desk drawer to remove a hidden flask of rum. He uncorked it, tilted it to his lips, and took a large swallow. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he cursed himself for being so weak as to need a drink.

  Outside the ocean's swells grew larger, making the boat roll and pitch higher and higher. Thunder could be heard in the distance, and now and then Derek could see a hot white zig-zag of lightning fork across the inky black sky. The storm that had been brewing for several days seemed to be gathering strength to to leash its full fury at last. When it hit, Derek would need all his wits about him. He couldn't have his crew thinking he sat in his cabin getting soused on rum.

  But he knew why he had to have that one drink
. He wanted her. Dammit, he wanted her as fiercely as he'd ever wanted a woman in his entire life. Perhaps more so. Yet she was just that, he reminded himself crossly—a woman. Nothing more. He'd never let her mean more to him than any other female had.

  And God only knew how many women there had been. He never tried to keep count. But one thing was certain. He seldom saw the same one more than a few times. Oh, there was Opal, who ran that house of pleasure up in Richmond. Still, that was different. He paid her well, and it was her business to please him. She would never make noises about wanting him to marry her, or say she'd wait for him when he sailed with the sunrise. Not Opal. She knew what a woman was for, and she was good at it. And that's the way it should be, so far as he was concerned. The sea was his wife. No one would ever keep him from it; not for very long, anyway.

  All the same, he was starting to wonder about that, his love of the seafaring life. Where was it all going to take him? One day he'd be too old for it all. His skin would be parched and wrinkled from the salt and sun and wind. His shoulders would bend and ache from the damp and chill. What then? He could go and sit on the rotten, smelly docks and watch the ships come and go, swapping sea tales with others just like him as they all waited to die.

  Oh, hell.

  He lowered his feet with a thud onto the floor that pitched and rolled beneath him. This wasn't the time to be thinking grim thoughts. It was the damn war that made him feel depressed. True, as a runner he was making more money than he'd ever dreamed possible. When it was over, no matter which side won, he'd have enough put away to buy the best boat that ever sailed the seas. He wouldn't be forced to sit and whittle and spin yarns in his sunset years. He'd hire someone to run his boat, and he'd travel the seas till he died. Eventually he'd be buried somewhere in their murky depths.

  Until then, he thought caustically as he stood up, he'd take care of matters at hand. Julie Marshal was his prisoner, and she'd remain so till the ransom was paid, no matter how long it took. His crew could gossip and grumble all they wanted. He knew what he was doing. Not only would he make extra money; he was also doing her a favor. He was saving her from Virgil Oates!

  A sudden rumble of thunder exploded dangerously nearby, and he glanced sharply at the porthole to see the sky split with yellow-white streaks. Julie would be frightened, he knew. It had been over a week since she was brought on board and locked in her cabin. He hadn't allowed her outside for even a moment. Her food had been taken to her, though he received reports she was hardly eating enough to stay alive. She'd probably lost a lot of weight, and she was only a tiny scrap to start with.

  He tugged thoughtfully at the beard he'd grown. The polite thing to do would be to go and see about her in person. After all, he was the captain.

  But he'd promised himself to stay away from her. He had only brought her back for the money and in the hopes that he could save her from a miserable destiny in England. If the ransom weren't paid, what then? He shook his head.

  Another crash of thunder, louder this time. Lightning flashed on top of it. The storm was almost upon them.

  Derek walked to the door of his cabin, opened it, and peered out There was no one about, as best he could tell. The lanterns had long ago been blown out by the fierce wind.

  He moved down the ladder and stepped onto the deck, bracing himself against the harsh gale. It had to be a fierce storm to make him sway and bend, he thought with alarm.

  The ship was taking a beating. He'd ordered the men to batten down the hatches and secure everything. He knew some of them had probably shirked their duties in order to hide below, fearing they would be washed overboard.

  As the sky ignited, he could see the frothy, whipping waves. Never had he seen the ocean so angry, as though the wrathful breath of God, Himself, was breathing down upon them in His most vengeful of furies.

  Derek moved slowly, feeling his way and making sure he had hold of something before proceeding any further. He wanted to check and be sure everything was secured. In times such as this, he didn't even trust Garris and Watson to see that everything was taken care of.

  "Sir!"

  He turned his face into the wind; he was already wet and dripping with rain. It was Thurman Debnam, the ship's fireman, and he was soaking wet. His body was bent against the fierce gale, and he held his cap on his head with both hands as he made his way across the deck with great difficulty.

  "Sir, it's a bad blow," he said when he got closer. "I've got the fires stoked. All the riggin's are lashed. There's nothing we can do but batten down and wait 'er out. Mr. Garris, he ordered the men below. It isn't safe to be on deck. Gardner almost blowed over, and they barely grabbed him in time. Got him by the ankles, they did, and it took a few minutes of struggling to hoist him back over the railing."

  Derek was alarmed and worried, but years of experience had taught him never to show the slightest sign of fear in front of his crew. Standing perfectly straight, he towered above Debnam and stared down at him as though quietly contemplating the situation but certainly not upset by it. Finally he gave a quick, authoritative nod of his head and said, "Very well. Go below. We'll just have to ride her out, Debnam. We've done it before. We'll do it again."

  "Aye, sir," the fireman shouted, and turned to make his way back. Derek watched him stumble on the slick deck, then fall on his face. Righting himself by grasping a hatch, Debnam struggled to his feet and went on his way.

  The boat gave a sudden downward lurch, and Derek grabbed the railing to hold on as his feet began to slip from beneath him. It was dangerous to be on deck. That was for sure. He started back for his cabin, then hesitated. Julie would be frightened. He had forbidden any of the crew to engage in conversation with her, so in addition to being scared for her life, she was probably starved for companionship.

  He decided it was only humane to check on her. Precariously he made his way below, soaked to the skin by the time he reached her cabin.

  He unfastened the heavy bolt, started to enter, then hesitated as he decided to knock first. No sound came from within. He rapped harder, but when there was still no answer, he tinned the knob and entered complete darkness.

  "Julie?" he called softly.

  He heard a quick intake of breath, then an accusing voice. "It's you. Oh, how dare you come here to gloat!"

  He kicked the door shut with his foot. "Don't you have a lantern in here? I told them to make sure your lantern was working at all times."

  "I don't need light," she said quietly, emotionlessly. "It's miserable enough being kept prisoner, without having to look at my drab surroundings."

  The boat heaved again, so sharply that for an instant, Derek feared it would plunge straight to the ocean floor. Then, with an upward bob, it lurched to the side. He steadied himself by flinging his hands out blindly until he could touch the walls. "Dammit, Julie, light the lantern before I break my neck."

  He heard her emit an exaggerated sigh, followed by noises that told him she was obeying. In a few moments the cabin was filled with a mellow light. The glow gave the place some semblance of security, despite the raging storm outside.

  "That's better." His eyes raked over her, and, as he had feared, he saw that she was much thinner, and her complexion was pale, sallow. Irritably he snapped, "I've been told you aren't eating the food that's brought to you. From now on, you eat everything or I'll have you fed by force."

  She lifted her face to his, eyes flashing. "Yes, I suppose you do want to keep me alive, don't you? After all, you could hardly collect ransom on a dead body, could you? But does it matter how barely alive I am? All you want is the money!"

  She turned her face away in the direction of the porthole and the forked lightning that continued to split the black night and illuminate the sky with streaks of jagged silver and gold. Her eyes were burning with tears, and she did not want him to see that he'd made her cry. "You're despicable, Ironheart," she whispered in anguish, "and I wish you were dead."

  He could not suppress a chuckle. She was even more love
ly, if that were possible, when she was angry. "Do you think it's only the money I'm after? Come now, misty eyes. I think you know I find your company most enjoyable. Maybe I kidnapped you merely because I couldn't stand to let you leave me. Perhaps the money isn't important, after all."

  "I know how much money you make," she said sharply. "I have heard how a blockade captain can earn up to five thousand dollars a trip. Even your chief officer stands to make twelve-hundred dollars. And no doubt you will make much on Rose Hill cotton, in addition to what my mother already paid you. I hate you and your kind, who want only to make a profit on the war."

  "Why not?" She was sitting in a chair next to the table beneath the porthole, and he positioned himself on the edge of the bed, so close he could reach out and touch her if he wanted—and yes, he thought warmly, he did want to touch. But not yet. Perhaps not ever.

  He took out his pipe, then his pouch of tobacco, and Julie watched him in angry silence as he packed the bowl, then lit it and drew on it. He exhaled the smoke, which floated upward in a blue-gray haze. "Why should I get myself killed on a battlefield? I can do so just as easily at sea, and perhaps I will have earned a great deal of money before departing this life.

  "And," he continued, "you must realize that the blockade runners are the lifeblood of the Confederacy. Lincoln's closing the ports might starve our people if it weren't for the ships that manage to slip through with needed supplies. I hear that Savannah is now closed. Wilmington should be kept open, as it is an ideal haven for smugglers, since the Federal fleet cannot effectively block the mouth of the Cape Fear River. It's divided by an island and blocked by a shallow bar. With Wilmington just a few miles upriver and at the entrance, Fort Fisher is their protector, with big guns. The gray steamers of the runners can go in and out of that port and be invisible for more than a hundred yards away at night or in the fog. The Yankees can't hear our engines over the roar of breakers."

  He paused to draw on his pipe again, satisfied that his running conversation had taken her mind off the storm. The ship still heaved and tossed like the stomach of a sailor hung over from drinking too much rum, but Julie did not look quite so unnerved as when he had first entered the cabin.