A Dangerous Seduction

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  She had not seen Morgan for two days, and although she was going to Merdinn today, she knew she would not see him today, either. Today he would be aboard the Sea Witch, on the lookout for the pirates. There had been no more wrecks and Morgan speculated that the Harpy had sailed to France or London to sell its ill-gotten booty. But they would return, and he intended to be ready for them.

  Lalia made this visit, rather, to see Jeremy. Morgan had told her that the boy missed her, and she certainly missed him. He’d woven himself into her heartstrings as thoroughly as had his uncle. She had dressed herself for the beach and sailing, confident that she could persuade his new tutor, Mr. Grantham, recently brought to Merdinn, to release his charge for a few hours.

  In that she was not disappointed, but she was surprised to find Jeremy’s attention otherwise engaged. Smoke was among the missing.

  “I have looked and looked, Miss Lalia.” The despondent expression on the boy’s face almost broke her heart. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

  Lalia knelt beside the boy, encompassing him in a hug. “Do not despair, Jeremy. She cannot have gone far. She is probably playing least-in-sight with you. There are thousands of places she might hide.”

  “Do you think so?” Hope broke over his small face.

  “I am sure of it. Why don’t we go and sail the new ship your grandmama sent you? When we return, I’ll help you look.”

  “Oh, good. I know you can find her.” Spirits restored, he sprinted away, returning shortly with his favorite toy.

  As Zachary was suffering from a toothache, Eric, Joseph and Andrew escorted Jeremy and Lalia to the beach. The small company had nearly reached the sand when suddenly Jeremy cried out, “Smoke! There she is.”

  He darted ahead of them and around a curve in the path, disappearing from sight.

  “Jeremy, wait!” Lalia flung out a hand to restrain him. “Wait for Andrew.”

  Andrew picked up speed, jogging down the rough path. Lalia hurried after him, only to be, as she rounded a curve, brought up short by the sight of the footman standing immobile, his back rigid. She peered around him and gasped.

  Where the beach met the path stood a man, his hair gleaming gold in the sun, his arm around Jeremy’s neck, and a pistol pressed against the boy’s temple. Lalia stood wide-eyed and uncomprehending for several heartbeats. Then in a blinding flash the truth struck her.

  “You!”

  Cordell Hayne grinned wolfishly. “Well, well. If it isn’t my faithless wife.”

  The world threatened to close in on Lalia, but she fought it away, determined to stay on her feet. She could not faint now. Jeremy needed her. Joseph’s strong hand closed around her elbow, steadying her. Lalia gulped convulsively, trying to moisten her dry mouth, and drew in a long breath.

  At last she managed a ragged whisper. “But you are dead.”

  Hayne sneered. “Do not confuse desire with reality, dear wife, as much as you might prefer me dead.”

  “But I saw you… You were dead and rotted and…” She couldn’t go on. The image of the corpse danced before her eyes.

  “And my fingers fell off.” He laughed unpleasantly. “A gruesome sight, wasn’t he? You soak a man in the sea long enough, he tends to become so. So gruesome that I have been able to use him to entertain myself with your punishment for some time—you and your stupid Gypsy grandmother. I made a fine muló, don’t you think? I am told that you were absolutely quaking in terror.”

  Understanding gradually filtered through to Lalia. “It was you. You are the one who came into the house and… But why?”

  “To toy with you and your paramour, of course. I might have killed either of you whenever I wished, but I was not ready to strike so soon. I was enjoying my little game—your fear. Besides, I wish to destroy Carrick a bit at a time, as he attempted to do to me. It is now time to take his precious nephew.” He grinned ferally again. “After all, he is really mine.”

  “I am not!” Jeremy began to struggle, kicking his captor’s shins with his heels. Hayne’s grip on the boy’s neck tightened. Jeremy stopped kicking and clutched at Hayne’s arm, his small face turning red. Andrew and Eric inched forward, bodies tense.

  “Back off! I can achieve my purpose as well by killing him. Although perhaps with less enjoyment than seeing his lordship suffer the agony of anxiety.” The footmen paused.

  “No! Don’t hurt him.” The cry burst out of Lalia. She took a step forward.

  Hayne smiled and tightened his hold on Jeremy’s throat. The child’s face darkened with blood. “Don’t hurt him,” he mimicked. “Of course I will hurt him. Be sure to tell his most top-lofty lordship that I will keep hurting him until he grows to be just like his long-lost father. And I will tell him it is all his uncle’s fault. In time he will come to hate his dear guardian as much as I do.”

  He eased the pressure on the boy’s throat. Jeremy began to cry.

  A rustling suddenly sounded from the trees near the path and several dark-haired men appeared, knives in hand. Yoska Veshengo held a pistol steadily aimed at Hayne. Hayne’s lip curled in derision.

  “So…your ragtag relatives think to thwart me.” He whistled and four more men emerged from behind the rocks at the bottom of the path, also wielding blades. “They won’t do it. I will kill this little bastard in a heartbeat, I assure you.” He pressed the pistol to Jeremy’s temple more firmly and continued to back away. “All of you stay back.”

  Joseph slipped around Lalia to stand in front of her. The guards shuffled forward by minute degrees, as did the Gypsy men. Hayne’s party moved slowly backward toward a small boat that could now be seen clearing the rocks behind which it had been concealed.

  “No!” Lalia thrust herself between the footmen and ran forward several steps before they could react, coming to within a few feet of Hayne. “Let him go. Let Jeremy go and take me.”

  He paused his eyes narrow. “Ah, so dutiful. But do I want a wife who spreads her legs for everyone but me? Now let me think.”

  Lalia ignored the sarcasm. “Lord Carrick has asked me to marry him. Take me. Take his bride.”

  “Oh?” He considered her shrewdly. “He is a bit premature. I seem to remember that you are already married to someone else. Still, your value increases—to him and therefore to me. I will take you both. You will write to him, describing my tender care. Get in the boat.” Lalia hesitated. “Get in the boat, or I shoot the boy. Your choice.” Another step and he could fling Jeremy into the dinghy.

  “No-oo!” Lalia launched herself with the banshee shriek. Before the startled Hayne saw what she was about, she grabbed the arm holding the pistol. Clinging with all her might, she collapsed to the sand, dragging the pistol down with her and pulling him off balance. He stumbled and his grasp on Jeremy loosened for an instant.

  “Run, Jeremy! Run!”

  Jeremy struggled free and fled across the sand. Andrew picked him up and ran up the path for the castle. Joseph started toward Lalia. The Gypsy men also made a dash for her, but all were intercepted by Hayne’s men. Knives flashed. She heard the crack of shots. Joseph dropped to the ground.

  “Bitch!” Hayne seized Lalia and hurled her bodily into the boat. He sprang in after her and stood to loose a shot at her uncle. Once more she tried to get control of the pistol, clawing her way up his arm. He swung it around viciously and struck a stunning blow to the side of her head. Lalia crumpled to the bottom of the boat, her senses whirling. She felt the dinghy moving under her, felt the swell of the waves, heard the creak of oars. She struggled to sit up, but Hayne was on her, his knee grinding into her shoulder.

  “Don’t move, slut.” He leveled the gun at her nose. “I do not want to kill you this easily, but I will if you so much as twitch. I should have done it long ago.” He locked his fingers in her hair and leaned his hand on the bottom of the boat.

  Lalia could just glimpse the Merdinn towers receding as the boat moved away. Her shoulder screamed with the pain of his weight, and surely he would tear her hair from her h
ead. But she would not give him the satisfaction of crying out. She gazed defiantly into the face contorted with rage and hatred.

  His lips curled cruelly. “Aboard the Harpy you will find it harder to escape me. You will have nowhere to hide. Nowhere.”

  Lalia said nothing, shutting out his jeers. Let him talk. She had saved Jeremy, and nothing else mattered anymore. Whatever he did to her, her freedom was already lost by the simple fact of his continued existence. He was still her husband. Her cottage a mere memory. A lost dream.

  And Morgan?

  Another lost dream.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Lalia clutched at the swaying ship’s rope ladder, fumbling with her feet for the rungs. Her skirts tangled around her ankles, hampering every attempt.

  “Damn you, woman! Hurry.” Her captor prodded her bottom with his pistol.

  Hurry? For what should she hurry? There was nothing aboard this ship for her but pain, humiliation and ultimately death. At last she made the deck and hard hands pulled her over the rail.

  “Hear me, bitch. When you become more trouble than you are worth, in that second I will kill you.” Her husband fastened his fist in her hair and shook her. “Do you understand me?” Lalia nodded. “Very good. Now stand where you are.” He smiled slyly. “And stand very still.”

  He snapped his fingers, and the great hound that had attacked her at Merdinn bounded to his side. “Styx! Guard.”

  Lalia cringed, taking a step back. The dog lunged and snapped. Lalia screamed. Hayne laughed.

  “I told you to be very still. I especially like his name, don’t you? Styx, the barrier between the living and the dead. I have only to give the word and he will tear your throat out. Now I wish to be away before your lover sights us. I do not want him to find you too soon.” He strode away, giving orders.

  Lalia stood very still indeed, terror clutching at her throat. If she so much as shifted her weight, the dog was in her face, fangs clashing mere inches from her soft flesh. The sun beat hot against her bare head. The wind whipped her hair around her, flicking her face. She would have liked to restrain it, but every time she moved her arms, the dog was on her.

  Despair began to creep over her. Was it possible that Morgan would find her? She didn’t doubt that he would try, but the ocean was a huge place, the world beyond it even larger. If Hayne succeeded in leaving the area, Morgan would have no idea where to start looking. And if Morgan did eventually find her…

  What would be left of her?

  After what seemed an eternity, her husband returned to her. He dragged a keg nearer to her and sat, taking his ease while she struggled to stay on her exhausted legs. He smirked. “Are you enjoying Styx’s company? He came with this ship.”

  Lalia stared ahead of her, disdaining even to look at him.

  He laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Nice of you to ask. I took the ship from the man whose decaying form so distressed you. Of course, he was not decayed at the time.” When she still did not respond, he laughed again. “When we first met, he thought it a great joke that we looked so much alike. You might say he died laughing.”

  A shudder ran through Lalia in spite of herself.

  “I had not expected to be so lucky when I fled in the Sea Witch. I was planning to survive by smuggling. Killigrew and the parson and the others had been working for me for months.” He sneered. “But the gullible fool sailed this fine ship right into my hands and made it possible for me to ‘die.’”

  Without turning her head, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. With his blond hair and muscular build he might have been a very handsome man. Yet, somehow, the evil in him, the bitter hate, leached through to the surface, leaving its corrosion on his face.

  He reached out and fingered the fabric of her gown. “That’s a lovely gown, my adulterous wife. No doubt a payment for your services. I fancy I ruined most of your reward. But never mind, I have ample time to cut that one off your body—to shred it to ribbons.” He cackled with laughter when she winced. “I mean the dress, of course.

  “You are trembling, dear wife. Is that from fear or simply from fatigue? Perhaps if you walk to me and sit upon my knee with wifely affection, Styx will forget his duty.” He rose, with a bark of laughter. “Or…perhaps not.

  “Stand very still, Lalia.”

  The water was becoming too rough to bring the Sea Witch into the cove, so Morgan was obliged to use the ship’s boat. As his men rowed him nearer the rocks, the forms of Veshengo and his men, waiting on the strand, became clear. He’d seen them waving a bed sheet and had come ashore to find out the purpose of the signal. Morgan was out of the dinghy while the surf was still knee-deep.

  Lalia’s uncle hurried to meet him, his arm wrapped in a bloodstained bandage. “Ah, my Lord Carrick, thank God you saw us. I have grievous news.”

  Morgan’s heart stumbled. Lalia? Jeremy? “What? Out with it, man!”

  “My niece has been taken by the pirates. They would have had young Jeremy, except for her intervention. He is safe, but one of your men was wounded. We could not move on them, because he was threatening the boy’s life, until Lalia sprang at him.”

  “Hold a minute.” Morgan held up a hand. “Who is ‘he’? Who took her?”

  “The man to whom she was married—the one thought dead. He took her to his ship.”

  Morgan stood in stunned silence. At last, he shook his head. “You mean, Cordell Hayne? He’s alive? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, my lord. Unless, in fact, his muló has taken…”

  “Muló be damned! How…? Never mind. He must have gulled all of us.” Morgan spun around, making for the boat. Then turned back to Veshengo. “Did you see his ship depart? What heading?”

  “Southwest. Pulling away from the coast.”

  “We must find him before he loses himself to us.” Morgan leapt into the dinghy and turned to the men at the oars.

  “Pull, damn you. Pull!”

  The thought of the atrocities he now knew Hayne capable of chilled him to the bone. Morgan could only pray that her husband had not yet killed her.

  Her husband! Great God!

  No. He would not think of that, either. One way or the other, Cordell Hayne would soon be dead. Morgan fervently hoped that Hayne would die in the coming fight, but if he did not, then he would shortly hang. Morgan did not even consider that he, himself, might be the one to die. He could not die. If he did, Lalia would be left to her husband’s nonexistent mercy.

  He left her alone for the most part, pausing near her now and then to make some threatening comment on the fate of unfaithful wives. Lalia was beginning to understand that, as bad as his treatment of her had been in the past, it would be infinitely worse in the future.

  Cordell Hayne had passed some indefinable border between reason and insanity, between humanity and animal. The hatred in him had eaten through his heart and brain to explode in an orgy of cruelty. No one would be safe from him now. Ultimately he would be hunted down and killed like the brute he was.

  But that did not help Lalia now.

  Hayne stalked the deck, occasionally peering through his spyglass, but never moving far from her. Suddenly he leaned against the rail, his body stiffening. “Bloody hell, there is someone in our wake.” He adjusted the glass. “And in a cloud of sail.” He turned to Lalia and sneered. “I believe your betrothed has found us, after all. A pity. I had hoped to prolong his suffering a bit longer.” He licked his lips. “By prolonging yours. Well, it doesn’t matter. I will soon have you both.”

  He stepped away from the rail and seized her hair, jerking her nearer. The dog snarled and lunged, but subsided when Hayne placed her a few feet from himself. “Carrick can hardly miss that flag of hair. If he is sure you are aboard, he will not fire on us.” His eyes narrowed in thought. “I want that cutter. It is the only craft in these waters that can move with so much speed.”

  Lalia braced her feet against the motion of the ship. Her legs quivered. How much longer could she stand immobile? The w
eather was getting rougher. Even though they were far from the shore, she could hear the boom of the breakers as the tide and the storm rolled in. The sound was getting closer as Hayne ordered the sails reefed, slowing to let the Sea Witch approach.

  Lalia had but one thought now.

  How could she best help Morgan?

  She could see him now, legs spread, standing strong and steady at the rail of the Sea Witch. His black hair rippled in the increasing wind as he shouted orders to his men.

  Hayne watched his approach with feral joy. “I have him now. By God, I do!” He yelled an order and one of his men handed him a musket. “Let him but get a little closer and I can put a ball in him.” He turned to sneer at Lalia. “But don’t worry. I don’t intend to kill him…yet.”

  She spoke for the first time in hours, fury rising in her breast. “He will kill you first.”

  “Oh, no. He can’t fire at me with you so near. In this weather there is no knowing where a shot might go. But I don’t care who I hit.” He squinted at the cliffs. “But we best board them quickly, or we will all be on the rocks.” He jeered again at Lalia. “Watch closely. The entertainment is about to begin.”

  Leaning over the rail, he lifted the musket to his shoulder and took careful aim at Morgan. Lalia’s breath stopped in her throat. Without a thought for the consequences she flung herself at Hayne’s back. She didn’t even hear the dog’s bay. She landed on Hayne, fighting to grasp the musket. With a curse he tried to throw her off. At that moment the huge dog struck her. Its weight and the momentum of its lunge carried her over the side.

  Lalia didn’t even try to save herself. Instead she closed her hands with desperate strength around Hayne’s wrist. Woman, man and hound all plunged into the roiling sea.

  The green water closed over her head. Hayne’s foot struck her as he kicked away from her. Lalia struggled against the water, arms and legs flailing. Her head broke the surface. The dog swam strongly for the beach. Hayne was shouting for a line.