“You will not touch her.” Each word was a crisply spoken command. “I’ll bury her myself.”
“But Lieutenant Tyler, there are regulations …. ”
Quint leaned forward, and the sergeant backed away from Lily and the golden hair that swung forward. “She was my wife, you idiot! Get out of my way!”
Hughes did as he was ordered. “Wife?” The shock showed on his face, then faded to understanding as Quint rushed past him and through the door with Roger close behind, wailing and moaning convincingly.
Quint could hear the echoing footsteps as Hughes and the other two guards followed him down the long hallway. They were all silent, still in a state of shock.
He was halfway down the hallway before he heard Lily’s release of air. Still she didn’t move. Quint wanted to lean over and kiss her, he was so relieved to know that she was alive. He wanted to speak to her, to shake her, to kiss her again and again, but he didn’t dare.
He carried her to the wagon, knowing now why the bed was cushioned with rags and hay and flour sacks. He ignored the soldiers who watched his procession across the yard, and they kept their distance.
It was the blood. On his hands, on Lily’s neck where he had felt for her pulse, on her dress and his uniform. The soldiers saw blood and death all too frequently… but not here. And not a beautiful young woman like Lily. They all stood back as Quint gently laid her on the wagon bed, smoothing her skirts and reluctantly moving away from her to hitch his own horse to the back of the wagon.
Roger rushed past and vaulted into the driver’s seat, still distressed but much less vocal about it. Quint jumped into the wagon bed and sat beside Lily, touching her hand to reassure himself that it was warm, laying a single finger against the pulse at her wrist, assuring himself that it still throbbed.
As they pulled away from the prison, Quint lifted his eyes from Lily only once, to watch the stunned guards gawk as he took his wife away.
“Pig’s blood!” Quint shouted at her, repeating her answer to his question. Instead of being appalled, as she should have been, Lily laughed.
She turned her back to him and unbuttoned the gray wool dress, reaching inside to remove the sliced oilskin bag. Using a dampened rag she washed the blood off her skin, her side, and her neck; then, with an unconcerned flick of her wrist, Lily tossed a damp rag to Quint, and he wiped the pig’s blood from his hands.
“Well, even the dimwitted Yankees wouldn’t have been fooled by berries and syrup.” She said the words with a small grin, but she could force no joy into her voice. She turned to Quint once again, her dress fastened to the neck. “Why didn’t you give us away?” Her smile faded.
Quint shook his head. He was leaning against the back of the wagon that lumbered down the bumpy road, the top of his head at Roger’s back. Lily sat beside him, carefully holding herself away from his swaying body.
“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It was a decision I had to make quickly, and I followed my instincts.” He looked into her eyes, and Lily turned away from him… too quickly, she knew. “I wanted you out of there, Lily. If not my way, then yours.”
Roger laughed. “That was great, mate. She’s me wife!” He mimicked Quint’s cry and was rewarded with a swift slap across the back, and he jerked his head around just in time to see Lily’s arm swinging away.
Lily stared down the road they’d just traveled over, the dust rising and falling in a red-brown cloud, while Quint’s bay kept pace with the lumbering wagon. There was a nip in the air, but her wool dress was warm, and only her nose seemed to feel the cold. Finally, she summoned the courage to look at Quint again.
“You were early.”
Quint met her stare, and she saw the moment of complete understanding mirrored in his dark eyes. Anger… amazement… the hurt she couldn’t take away or apologize for, were all evident.
“You would have allowed me to believe you dead?” His whispered words were chilling. “If I had arrived as usual… Roger would have absconded with you, and I would have believed… how could you do that to me?”
Lily wished that she could blind herself to the pain in Quint’s eyes, but she couldn’t. “I thought it would be best, for both of us, if you believed I was dead.”
Quint reached across and took her hand, holding her tightly as if he expected her to try to pull away, to snatch her hand away as soon as his fingers touched hers. But she didn’t. She twined her fingers through his, hungry for the touch of his skin against hers. She parted her lips to speak, to defend herself, but there was nothing she could say. Nothing adequate. So she closed her mouth and turned her face away from him.
“To believe that you were lost forever would be the worst pain you could possibly inflict upon me,” Quint said softly. “I’d like to think that someday… when this is all over… you and I…. ”
He couldn’t finish. Lily was staring away from him, her hair gleaming in the autumn sun, her profile showing him an impassive face. How could she so easily close off her emotions? Did she feel nothing of his pain?
“Are we really married, Quint?” she asked softly. “I mean, is it legal, or was that nice old preacher a Yankee in dis —”
“Of course we’re really married!” Quint snapped. “Dammit, do you think I would stoop so low?” The expression on her face answered that question for him. Lily believed him capable of any deceit. But still, she clutched his hand.
Roger hit a deep rut in the road, and the wagon danced, tossing Lily about until she ended up nearly on Quint’s lap. He expected her to move away quickly, but she stayed where her quick flight had taken her. After a few moments, she laid her head against his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her to him. She was skin and bones beneath the rough woolen dress, and his heart ached for her—and for himself. She might never forgive him.
“Will you tell?” she finally asked, her voice a husky whisper. “Will you bring the entire bloody Yankee army down on my head?” Her voice displayed more exasperation than anger.
“No,” Quint answered curtly. “But I want your promise.”
Lily snuggled against him, and Quint was painfully aware that her warmth was a luxury he would have to learn to live without… at least for a while.
“Promise of what?”
“That you’ll keep yourself safe. That you’ll stay out of this damn war and away from the blockade.” His voice was firm, demanding. He lifted her chin and tilted her head so that he could lock his eyes to hers. “Promise me, Lily.”
“You have my word.” She breathed her answer, the truth of it in her eyes, and relief washed over Quint, as tangible as any wave. He sighed and returned her head to his shoulder, threading his fingers through her hair. Lily would never break her word. It was her code of honor that had gotten her into this mess.
Lily closed her eyes as she buried her head against Quint’s warm shoulder. No, there would be no more blockade running, no more late nights sailing past the enemy. She would return to Nassau and stay there. But not for the reason Quint believed. Not because he demanded it of her.
She still loved him. There had been a time when she’d believed that nothing could penetrate her anger and deep feelings of betrayal. But she’d been wrong. She knew that, as she drank in Quint’s warmth and listened to the beat of his heart. Did that make her weak? Perhaps. Perhaps it wasn’t weakness she feared, but vulnerability. Quintin Tyler had the power to hurt her far more than any Yankee army or summer storm.
“Quint?” she whispered his name, a soft question caught on a cool breeze.
“Yes?” He sounded oddly content, for all that their lives were a shambles at the moment.
“Would you kiss me?” It was a tentative question, although she knew what his answer would be. She lifted her face to him, wide-eyed and serious, and Quint lowered his mouth over hers. At first his lips were gentle, barely brushing over her sensitive lips, but he gradually intensified the kiss, his tongue teasing against her own.
It was the involuntary low moan de
ep in her throat that seemed to break the last of the barriers between them, and Quint pulled her to him, tightly, possessively, melding their bodies as they were meant to be.
Lily wrapped her hands around his neck, pulling him closer, knowing he could never be close enough. She could no longer hear the sounds around her—the horses’ hooves against the road, the rattling of the wagon as it creaked along, the wind in the brittle leaves. All she heard was a roaring in her ears, something akin to the roar of the ocean, that impossible sound in her ears driving away everything else but the ecstasy of Quint’s mouth against hers, his hands against her breasts and at her back.
They slumped to the wagon floor, progressing an inch at a time until they were writhing in the straw. Quint ran his hand along her leg, slowly lifting the skirt that twisted around her legs. His hand rested against her knee, against her thigh. When she worked her hand between their bodies and laid her palm over the swelling at his crotch, Quint groaned and whispered her name again and again, his breath and hers mingling. She could almost smell the sea and the tropical flowers that grew outside her window.
Roger glanced over his shoulder, intrigued by the muffled sounds that were emanating from the wagon bed. He quickly returned his eyes to the road ahead of him. Gor! Tyler was on the Captain like a starving man at a kidney pie.
Moments later he saw the turn he had been searching for. “Captain?” he called, tentatively at first, and then louder. “Captain!”
Blimey, he couldn’t drive into camp with the two of them at it like that! Gibbon and the rest of the crew would be anxiously awaiting the Captain’s arrival, but they wouldn’t be expecting Tyler at all. They certainly wouldn’t expect to find the Yankee pawing their captain like that. “Mr. Tyler!” Roger shouted to be heard above the horses and the rumbling wagon. He glanced over the seat, his eyes finally resting on the only loose object at hand. He tossed the half-eaten apple over his shoulder, and listened as it landed with a thud.
He risked another peek into the wagon bed. The apple lay not far from the Captain’s head, but if she had heard it fall, she had ignored it.
Roger turned onto a narrow road, and in moments the wagon was surrounded.
The lurching wagon stopped so suddenly that Lily felt as if she’d been awakened from an intense dream before she was quite ready to give it up. She studied Quint with narrowed, lazy eyes.
“Blast it all, girl!” Tommy bellowed as he gaped into the wagon bed. He wasn’t alone. Half a dozen young faces, crewmen from the Chameleon, stared at her in evident astonishment.
Lily glanced at Quint briefly, and then turned her eyes to her red-faced uncle. Roger could have warned them! Tommy was staring at Quint with murder in his eyes, and this time it was her uncle who had the upper hand. She would’ve felt much safer if Tommy was shackled, as he had been the last time she’d seen him.
How could she have lost all control so quickly? All she’d wanted was a quick kiss, an assurance that what they’d once had wasn’t an impossible fancy she’d constructed in her love-muddled mind.
She bit her lip as Tommy held her eyes with a furious glare. He’d kill Quint if he got the chance. Suddenly, Lily smiled, and she turned to face Quint with that victorious grin in place. His mouth was just inches from hers and he watched her expectantly.
Lily gave a little squeeze of her hand that was still between their bodies, as she smiled at Quint.
“Checkmate.”
Twenty-One
Quint lifted his hand from Lily’s thigh as if her skin were scorching him. Her full skirt covered her limbs, all but her shapely calves. As he slowly withdrew his hand, his eyes delved into hers. Damn it all, her blue-green eyes sparkled mischievously, even as she squeezed him between the legs.
Eleanor Slocum had been right all along. She’d been leading him around by that appendage for months.
“Very good, Lily,” he said coolly. “I’ve always known you were devious, but you’ve outdone yourself this time.”
“Why, thank you, Lieutenant Tyler. How very kind you are.” She lapsed into her Southern accent as she withdrew her hand from between their bodies. “That’s quite a compliment, coming from the likes of you.”
As they sat up, Lily reached across and took Quint’s Colt from its holster. He started to protest, saw that there were several firearms pointed over the side of the buckboard, and lifted his arms in supplication as Lily lifted the weapon and tossed it to Roger.
“How does it feel?” Lily asked.
Quint gave her a mocking smirk. “How does what feel?”
Lily blushed prettily, like an embarrassed schoolgirl. “To be a prisoner.” To further make her point, she shoved him easily onto his back and sat on his belly. Quint placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes.
“Quite cozy, actually.”
“Shackles,” Lily said plainly. “I need shackles.”
Quint opened his eyes to no more than narrow slits that allowed him to watch Lily as she looked up at her uncle.
Tommy grinned. “It will do me soul good to see this blighter in shackles again.” He sent Sellers on the errand, and returned his attention to Lily, knitting his massive eyebrows together in concern.
“Damn them,” he muttered, “What ’ave the Yanks done to you, girl? You’re downright puny.” He shot a hate-filled glance Quint’s way, raking his eyes over the blue uniform—what he could see of it with Lily sitting on his stomach.
“Nothing, really,” Lily assured him, “I’ve been sick, that’s all.”
“Gor, and that’s the truth,” Roger exclaimed. “She lost ’er breakfast all over me shoes.”
Lily’s head snapped up, and she glared at Roger.
“Sorry, Cap’n,” he muttered.
Lily turned to her uncle. “Roger tells me we have less than two days to make it to a rendezvous point on the coast.”
Tommy nodded. “Aye. A ship’ll be waitin’.”
Lily looked down at Quint, and he closed his eyes quickly. Beneath the peaceful countenance he fought to display, he was seething. He was, to use Lily’s favorite curse, a bloody fool. He’d fallen right into her trap. She’d seemed so innocent, so sincere when she’d turned her face up to him invitingly and asked for a kiss. Had Roger signaled her that they were close to her uncle’s camp? Had she been familiar with the area? Either way, he’d been beguiled by Lily once again… and for the last time.
“Come on down here, girl.” Tommy offered Lily his meaty hand. “The lads can watch the prisoner.”
Lily sighed, almost wistfully. “No,” she said softly, drawing the word out. “I don’t trust him. I’ll wait for the shackles.”
Quint heard them, the clanking of the heavy irons, as Sellers approached the wagon.
“His right wrist to my left,” she snapped. “His right ankle to my left.”
He couldn’t ignore her any longer. His eyes flew open and he sat up, dislodging her from her seat. “The hell you say!”
Tommy’s response to her request was as loud and belligerent as Quint’s, but Lily would not be swayed. She was still the Captain, and Sellers did as he was told.
“Sellers,” Lily said calmly as the seaman fastened the irons to Quint’s wrist and then to hers. “You are to keep the keys to these shackles. They are to be removed only on my command. If I die, perhaps strangled in my sleep, then the chains will never be removed. Toss the keys into the deepest part of the ocean. Lieutenant Tyler will just have to haul my dead carcass around with him for the rest of his days.”
“Mighty short days they’ll be,” Tommy muttered under his breath.
Lily and Quint stepped down from the wagon with more than a little assistance. The chain that linked them was no more than a foot in length and made of heavy iron.
With a watchful guard, they walked into the camp. Several small tents were set up in a half circle of men—boys, most of them—and Lily smiled. “Thank you, lads. Tommy. It’s nice to know that I wasn’t forgotten.” She shot Quint a meaningful glance.
The group dispersed, and Lily and Quint faced one another. Her face was defiant, her chin lifted and her eyes hard. With great effort, Quint kept his own features set in an impassive mask. That seemed to make Lily even more resolute.
“Are you hungry?” she asked snappishly.
Quint shook his head.
“Well, I am.” Lily sent a flaxen-haired crewman to fetch her a snack. The young man returned moments later with an apple and laid it in her free hand.
“It could be worse, you know,” she said sensibly between bites of the fruit. Quint stared at her wordlessly as if he couldn’t imagine how that was possible.
“Cora could be here.” Lily’s eyes sparkled. “She never did like you. She saw through you when I could not. She knew all along that you were up to something.”
“Smart woman,” Quint growled.
Lily nodded her head in agreement. “I should have listened to her.”
“I wish you had.”
Lily led him around the camp as she visited with each and every sailor who had accompanied Tommy on his quest to rescue her. Quint was quiet, listening to every word Lily said. She knew not only every crewman’s name, but the names of his family, who had been ill, who had had babies or died or changed occupations. He felt like a monkey on a leash, led about as he was with nothing more than an occasional “Come along, Quint.”
The lads, as Lily called them, were very careful not to look directly at him. They kept their eyes on Lily’s face, answering her questions solemnly and acting as if to look at Quint meant death itself.
As dusk fell, Lily stifled a yawn and stretched her right arm over her head. She acted as if there were nothing unusual about their situation, yet she ignored him at the same time. She ate a plateful of pork stew and a hunk of soft bread, balancing her supper on her lap much more gracefully than he could manage. He cursed under his breath as he struggled to balance the tin plate and eat with his left hand.
When they were finished, Lily rose, dragging him to his feet. It occurred to him that in the dead of night he could pick her up and run. He doubted that any of her crew was a good enough shot to be confident of hitting him without harming their Captain. What he would do after that, he couldn’t say. Sellers had the keys. He would have to lift the keys from the boy first or stay shackled to Lily until he could find someone to remove the manacles. Perhaps that wasn’t such a bad idea.
In Enemy Hands Page 22
