Alex didn’t even try to hide his relief that she was not making a fuss. “Is there anything I can get for you?”
“Yes.” She’d almost forgotten her need for more shirts. “Some shirt linen if you please.”
He nodded as she watched the two men slip over the side and down into the rowboat. She followed the rowboat with her eyes until they made it to the jetty and disembarked.
The rowboat came back to the ship, the rower tying the boat to the rope ladder. The sailor then clambered on board and disappeared below deck.
She glanced at the men walking down the jetty until she could see them no more, then she made her way below to Mr. Foxhall’s cabin. She knocked before entering.
He was sitting on a chair positioned beside a small desk, writing his list. He looked up at her entrance.
“Sorry if I’m intruding, I just wanted to say that if you wanted to go ashore I’m sure I’ll be safe on the ship for a few hours. I swear I won’t try to go ashore.”
“No need. I’ve finished my list and one of the men will take it when they go ashore.”
She moved to stare out the small porthole. “I thought you might resent being stuck on board; I’m sure it’s for my sake.”
His heated gaze met hers. “I do not resent remaining on board. Quite the opposite.”
Her face warmed. “If I wanted you to go ashore to do something for me, would you?”
His smile faded slightly. “I can add anything you need to my list.”
She sighed. “Not this you can’t.”
His eyebrow rose.
“I should never have asked Alex to help me. It’s too dangerous. I should have simply hired someone to find my father and deliver a message, telling him what Fredrick was up to. Don’t you see, I’ve put all of us in danger, and if you help me I can hire someone in Palma, and then Alex can return to England. I can see what returning to the Mediterranean is doing to him. He’s worried about me, about my father, and it’s not his responsibility.”
“You want me to go behind Alex’s back and help you hire someone else?”
“Alex is far too gallant to consider calling off the search. I have already tried to convince him to return home. But if we both persuade him that my father will be warned by the men we hire, then he might listen.”
He looked away before asking, “How can we trust anyone we hire in Palma?”
“I know Governor Crespo and his wife, Emilia, from my previous visits here with my father. They could help me find a reputable ship and men. They might even know what my father’s plans were.” She pleaded with him. “Won’t you help me try?”
David stood and moved to stand right in front of her, looking down at her for an age. On a sigh he said, “It would not change Alex’s plan. He would still sail to the Mediterranean.”
Something began to build inside. The cold dread of fear wrapped talons around her insides. “There would be no need for him to continue on to Greece.”
“He’s not going to Greece for your father. Or for you. Not entirely.”
Her legs began to buckle under her, and it was only David’s strong arms that stopped her from sliding to the floor. “Oh God, he’s going after Murad.” And she fainted.
—
Hestia sat in the early evening sun, eyes peeled on the town.
She felt such a fool. Alex, her hero…Would he still be helping her if not for his plans to seek vengeance? This had nothing to do with her, or any feelings he had for her. This was a clear sign that she did not really know him. How could he want to go anywhere near the man who’d held him captive for two years? Surely the risk of being caught again, or worse, killed, was not something to even contemplate.
David had left her in her cabin once he had ensured himself she would not faint again. She’d told him she was fine but just the idea of being in the vicinity of Murad made her stomach churn. Her legs were still shaking.
David had told her that as soon as they found her father, Alex was sending her home in David’s custody, and hopefully her father too, on a smaller schooner. His friend, the Marquis of Clevedon, was to be their guard home.
Obviously the fact that Fredrick would still be chasing after her was of no concern to him. Anger sizzled under her skin. Fool. She was such a fool, and Alex had let her believe he was her hero…
With a sigh she admitted he had warned her not to put him on a pedestal. Swatting a fly from her nose she pondered her situation. At least her conscience was now clear. Alex wanted to walk into danger. He thirsted for revenge. That had nothing to do with her. She should be more worried about how to deal with Fredrick once they reached English soil once more. If they reached it.
She looked at the lights of the town twinkling in the dimming light and finally admitted to herself there was nothing she could do to change the situation. Alex would hardly listen to her if, as David said, he tried to dissuade him too.
Her heart felt heavy in her chest because she didn’t know how to fall out of love with Alex. The Alex of her dreams was not real. Perhaps this is what she needed to hear. To open her eyes to the fact life was passing her by while she sat waiting, pining for a man who would never be hers.
She could stay here and wait for her father. Emilia would let her stay and the governor would keep her safe. She would not sail to Greece. Not for her father and not for Alex. There was no need. She would wait to see what her fate would be if they found her father. If they didn’t find him…she didn’t know what she would do. Fredrick would want her dead for the money. She would have to marry.
A tear slipped out of her eye no matter how hard she tried to stop it. She’d promised her mother she’d marry for love, but fate was not her friend. She would have to marry for protection. She had the money that Fredrick wanted. Only a husband would protect her.
She didn’t need a title or a rich man. She needed a good man. An honest man. A man like…David Foxhall. He was the son of a viscount. A man who helped people. A man who she thought liked her, perhaps even desired her. A man who was as handsome as sin.
But a man she didn’t love. Could she learn to love him? Could he learn to love her? Only one way to find out.
Decision made, she was about to go below and find David and challenge him to the game of chess he had offered earlier when a large hand covered her mouth and an arm snaked around her waist lifting her off her feet.
She fought like a madwoman, but another pair of hands grabbed her booted feet.
Hestia tried to scream but could barely breathe through the hand covering her mouth and nose. Soon a rope was wrapped around her, a gag was pushed into her mouth, and she was being lowered into a boat.
To her horror, Connor, the sailor from the poop deck, was the one lowering her. They were hauling her over the side of the ship like a bag of grain, and when she hit the rowboat, it was Scar Face, his repugnant companion, who pushed her to one side.
“Were you wanting to go ashore, Lady Hestia? Me and Patrick would be happy to oblige.” The laugh that followed was full of evil.
Hestia could do no more than try and scream through the cloth. Her arms were pinned to her side by the thick rope. Her legs were free and she kicked out as Connor stepped into the rowboat.
Her breath came faster and panic rose. She was in serious danger. Their behavior that day on the poop deck made her very aware they were not gentlemen. They couldn’t very well hurt her until they reached the shore. She looked toward the jetty and realized there were plenty of people milling around; perhaps she could alert someone to her predicament.
She glanced down her body. Dressed as a man? Who would step in to help a man?
“Patrick, quit staring. We need to move before Foxhall comes looking for her.”
Patrick took up the oars and began rowing.
It was several minutes before Hestia noticed they were in fact rowing away from the jetty toward the far-off shoreline, on the other side of the bay. Her blood turned to ice in her veins.
Keeping an outward display of ca
lm, so as not to alert Connor that she’d noticed the change in their destination, Hestia furiously assessed her situation. What escape options did she have? With a shudder she told herself not to let them get her to the shore—away from people, all alone.
She had landed on her back across the edge of the seat. She used her legs and body to slide along the edge of the seat, loosening the rope wrapped around her. They had not tied it tight. If she could get it loose enough she could jump over the side and slip out of the bindings before sinking to the bottom. She was a strong swimmer.
Her heart was pounding and her palms were sweaty. She’d have only one chance at escaping. With a grimace, Hestia acknowledged jumping overboard and swimming seemed to be her only option.
However, she wouldn’t get far with her arms pinned. Chewing her bottom lip she pondered how quickly she could untangle herself once she hit the water. Her boots would have to go too; they’d fill with water.
She prayed the men were not good swimmers. In fact, they might not even be able to swim. She silently thanked her father for enforcing swimming lessons all those years ago. It was his one rule if she wanted to accompany him on his travels—she had to learn to swim. She had been a very apt pupil.
The idea of what could be lurking in the clear water unnerved her, but she’d rather take her chances in the sea than with the two men on shore. Even a shark would be preferable to what awaited her on land at the hands of a man like Connor.
The heavens must have answered her prayers. Connor moved back toward Patrick to whisper in his ear. Hestia snatched her opportunity and quickly pushed with her feet and literally rolled over the side of the boat.
She sank like a stone and soon panic set in as she tried to free herself from the unraveling rope. Suddenly she burst free and stroked underwater until her lungs were about to burst. Kicking strongly, she managed to surface some twenty feet from the rowboat, and while treading water she set about removing her boots.
Blast. Connor slipped off his jacket and was about to dive in. So much for him being unable to swim.
Adrenaline surged as she furiously kicked out for the long swim toward the jetty. Thankfully, her dive into the water was causing a stir on the dock. Hopefully a boat would stop to pick her up. In addition, she could make out David frantically trying to lower another rowboat from the deck of the Angelica. All she had to do was keep out of Connor’s clutches until they reached her.
She heard splashing behind her and willed her legs to kick harder as Connor was gaining on her. He was a strong swimmer and the current was pushing her away from the jetty toward the beach. Fighting against the current was sapping her strength. It was time to change tactics.
She’d swim with the current. She’d let the waves help her to shore. If she was lucky she’d land just south of the jetty. If she kept her lead on Connor she’d be able to run for help.
She almost swallowed a mouthful of sea as the surf got choppier closer to land.
With one more big kick, she knew the next wave would carry her ashore. Her hopes rose; she could make it.
Then a viselike grip around her ankle dashed all her hopes. Her stomach dropped and she gulped in seawater, spluttering as she fought for air. In a blind panic she kicked out at Connor with her free leg. Luck again aided her escape. Her foot landed squarely in the middle of his face and she heard his nose split with the force. The grip on her ankle loosened.
On she scrambled, crawling onto the sand on all fours. Panting from the effort and on shaky legs, she stood and raced toward the jetty in the fading light.
Exhilaration flooded her body; she was going to make it, only a few hundred yards to go. She heard Connor behind her, his curses drowning out all other sounds except the pounding of her heart. Anxiously looking over her shoulder, she felt panic rise again. He was too close—but she couldn’t move any faster.
One minute she was running, the next she was flying through the air with bands of granite wrapped around her. Her scream rented the air as Connor tackled her to the ground. The soft white sand did not break her fall. She hit the sand as if she’d fallen from a towering oak tree. She landed face first with a bone-rattling thud, sand spewing everywhere, filling her mouth and eyes. Connor’s heavy form smothered her, forcing out what little air she had left in her lungs, her face pushed further into the white sand. Hestia felt darkness overpowering her, as she could barely breathe.
Alex saved her. Not literally, but his face flashed before her eyes with such a guilt-ridden expression that she had no choice but to fight back. Hestia lifted her head from the suffocating sand only to find Connor had risen off her and was gripping her arms tightly behind her.
“If you struggle I’ll snap your arms. Hold still, there’s a good girl.” Hestia felt the strength in his grip. Opening her eyes and ignoring the sand that was making her eyes burn and water, Hestia calculated how close she was to freedom. So close. If she could only break his grip, she’d make it.
“I’m not your girl,” Hestia hissed at her captor. “You’re in so much trouble. Bedford will kill you for this.”
An evil chuckle filled her ears, his putrid breath on her bare neck. One hand snaked around to fondle her breast through her thin shirt. “He’ll have to find me first. Do you think I’d be stupid enough not to have a plan?”
Hestia screamed.
And kept on screaming until a large sweaty palm covered her mouth. But it had been enough. Men on the dock stopped what they were doing and stared toward the pair. She began to struggle in earnest. Having one hand on her mouth left Connor only one hand to hold her. In desperation, Hestia flung her head back and a loud crack ensued as she hit her target, hitting Connor’s already broken nose.
He let out a filthy curse, followed by another of Hestia’s screams. Ripping free of his clutches, she made to leap forward toward the wharf when another hand viciously gripped her hair, jerking her backward. “Where do you think you’re going, bitch?” It was Patrick. Now she had two men to escape.
She screamed again. The commotion on the beach started to draw a crowd. If she struggled long enough surely someone would arrive to help her. Arms still free, Hestia instinctively elbowed Patrick, catching him on the side of the head.
“Filthy whore, you’ll pay for that,” and he spun her around by the hair and slapped her hard across her face.
Seeing stars and unable to hear anything except the ringing in her ears from the blow, Hestia dropped to her knees in the sand.
Four strong, rough hands grabbed her and started to lift her up, but just before she could fight back she heard a conversation that struck terror into her heart.
“I hope she’s worth all this trouble.”
“Don’t you worry, I intend to enjoy her bountiful charms over and over and over again.”
Hestia’s final thought before she slipped into unconsciousness was of Alex. He would never forgive himself for allowing her to be taken by men he’d employed on his ship.
—
Alex’s frustration escalated with each passing minute. He was getting nowhere with his local contact, Jose.
“So you’re certain that no sloop was expected in port?” As the boat hadn’t followed them into the harbor, Alex had nothing further to go on.
“Sí, señor.”
Alex glowered at Jose. “Can you organize some men to watch the shoreline? I want to hear of any sloops anchored offshore.”
Running his hand through his hair, he said to Jacob, “It would seem for now that your fears are unfounded, but still it would be better to ensure the sloop has left the waters around Mallorca.”
“They could be hiding among all the ships at anchor. One small sloop would be easy to overlook.”
Alex grimaced. “Perhaps we should stay ashore and keep hunting?”
“Maybe. It’s almost a full moon, and with a clear sky visibility will be good.”
Before Alex could respond, Ned, one of the sailors who’d come ashore with them, raced around the corner, sliding to a halt in
front of Alex. Doubled over, hands on his knees and gasping for breath, he puffed out between gasps. “Your Grace, it’s Lady Hestia…”
Alex’s blood went cold. “What about Lady Hestia? Spit it out, lad.”
“Give him a chance to get his breath back,” Jacob said.
“I spotted her down on the beach; two men were after her. Douglas has gone after them, but he’ll need help.”
Without waiting to hear more, Alex set off at a run for the beach, Jacob and Ned close behind him.
Jacob called over his shoulder to Ned. “How did she get to shore?”
“She was in the rowboat and I saw her jump out and swim for the shore,” Ned panted. “I think Patrick was rowing.”
“Christ.”
Alex heard Jacob’s descriptive reply.
“I don’t like the sounds of that,” Jacob puffed as he pulled alongside Alex. “I have my suspicions about who would be so bold, and if so, I’d get those long legs of yours moving.”
Alex needed no further encouragement and he picked up the pace.
The sun was almost at the horizon as Alex pounded the sand near the jetty. “Which way, Ned?” he yelled back to the boy.
“Over there to the left—look, they’ve almost got her to the tree line. Douglas is almost upon them.”
Alex’s fear galloped out of control as he set off in pursuit. It would be nigh impossible to track her at night through the foliage. He prayed Douglas could at least slow them down if not stop them reaching the safety of the trees. His mind refused to focus on the fact she appeared lifeless in her captors’ hands. He wouldn’t waste his energy on anger, but God help them if they’d hurt her.
Emotions he’d buried deep struck him, sending tremors through his body, already on edge. If she died he’d never see her again; his heart thumped in his chest at the thought. Yet if his plan succeeded and he sent her home with Foxhall, he knew he’d also never see her again. It would be too hard to see her with David, living the life he so desperately wanted to share with her but couldn’t. The tightness in his chest wasn’t from the exhaustive chase.
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