Till Dawn Tames the Night

by Meagan Mckinney

  With amusement dancing in her eyes, Aurora turned to see Mrs. Lindstrom standing by the companionway with her maid. The little servant still looked deathly pale from her bout with the storm, but she proudly held on to her mistress's hatbox and seemed quite happy to have begun resuming her duties.

  "Oh, my dear! Can it be that we may truly never meet again?" Flossie rushed over to her and grabbed both of Aurora's hands. "How I wish you'd change your mind about this Lady Perkins and come with me instead . . . the Graftons need a governess and I know the—"

  "I couldn't impose," Aurora answered, shaking her head, "and besides, I couldn't let Lady Perkins down. She expects me. Please don't worry." She squeezed the widow's hands. "I promise I'll be just fine. It would be foolish of me to put so much weight in Mr. Vashon's knowledge of the local nobility. I'm sure he's wrong about Lady Perkins."

  Flossie studied her, then heaved a huge sigh. "I sup­pose you're right. Even with his riches, Vashon is an un­likely sort to hobnob with the peerage. But you will write and let me know how you fare? I'll be worried sick until I hear from you."

  "I'll dash off a note the second I arrive." Aurora gave Flossie a hug, and arm in arm they walked to the gang­way. The widow took only a moment to scan the empty docks before bursting out with an oath.

  "That rascal Robert! He's not here yet and it's ten to one he's deep in his cups! If he hadn't been with me all these years I'd fire him and procure another driver this instant."

  "Is he just coming from the town house?" Aurora asked.

  "Yes. He's got to know the Seabravery's arrived." Flos­sie twirled her parasol in agitation, then summoned her maid. "Go find him, will you, Jane, and if he's too besot­ted, acquire me another carriage. I'll be waiting in the private room at the Somers Island Inn."

  "Yes, mum." Jane curtsied and promptly descended the gangway.

  "Is there anything I can do to help?" Aurora asked. "Perhaps Captain Corbeil can assist you with your bag­gage."

  "No, no, I've already refused his escort. What an in-grate I would be to ask for it now." Flossie snapped closed her parasol and Aurora wondered if the widow wasn't going to miss the captain more than she let on.

  "Does the Seabravery come regularly to St. George's?" Aurora couldn't help but ask.

  Flossie looked away and Aurora thought she saw a hint of sadness around her eyes. "Apparently not" was all the widow said before she snapped open her parasol once more. "Listen, love, I'm sure I've a wait on my hands at the inn. Why don't you join me and we'll have a cup of tea? You need to get off this ship for a while any­way. They won't be sailing today."

  "Wonderful! I should love to get off this ship for a while!" Aurora laughed. Together the women descended the gangplank, but once on the dock, Aurora paused.

  "Oh, dear, I've forgotten my reticule," she said. She looked up the steep gangway, then back to Flossie's plump figure. "I can't ask you to reboard, and I can't have you waiting for me on these docks. Show me the Somers Island Inn, and I promise I shall meet you there in a minute."

  "It's straight ahead, love. You see the painted sign of the ship crashing on the rocks? That's it. You cannot get lost. In the meantime, I shall secure a private room for us."

  "I won't be a moment," Aurora assured her before she once more fled up the gangway.

  It took her hardly any time at all to be back in her room and to secure her brown silk purse. She was just about to quit her room when out of the corner of her eye she spied a set of keys lying on her newly made bed. She recognized them instantly as Benny's. They were the keys he used to get into the storerooms to supply the passen­gers' cabins with fresh linens. Thinking surely he was missing them, she dropped them into her reticule and quickly went to search him out.

  Most of the men slept in the fo'c'sle, except the captain and Benny. They had cabins in the deckhouse right in the middle of the ship. Aurora meant to see if Benny was about and if not, to slip the keys beneath his cabin door. But she didn't quite get that far. The captain's door was open a crack, and inside she could hear Vashon and the captain having a lively conversation. She certainly was not the type to eavesdrop, but when her name was men­tioned, she couldn't help stepping nearer the door, curi­ous about their discussion.

  "There's no chance Aurora will still take the widow's offer?" she heard Vashon say.

  "She hasn't requested her trunks be moved. I think we're in good stead," she heard the captain answer. "But, of course," he added wryly, "we've you to thank for that whole folly. You take such perverse pleasure in scaring the girl, Vashon, you almost scared her right out of our hands."

  "Being browbeaten by a bitter old woman is no life for a girl like her. I just want her to eventually "see that she's better off sailing with us—and hopefully working with us —than wandering where the path of her life was sure to lead her. If not Lady Perkins, then some other hag would have employed her. And made her miserable little life even more miserable."

  "But Lady Perkins doesn't even exist, man! She's a figment of our imagination. Why torture the girl?"

  Aurora's knuckles whitened as she clutched her reti­cule. What in God's name were they saying? That Lady Perkins didn't exist? Her Lady Perkins? She couldn't be­lieve it. Horrified, she looked about to see if anyone else had heard this news. But the narrow passage was still empty. Turning back to the door, her heart thumping like tympani in her chest, she moved forward to listen.

  Vashon mused, "I suppose I do enjoy tormenting her a bit—I've never encountered such a stiff vestal prig— where did they grow her? But nonetheless, when we leave tonight, that brittle facade of hers should crack like a mirror. I almost can't wait to see it . . . and find out what's behind it."

  Captain Corbeil sighed. "I must tell you I dread the next few days. Aurora's a quiet little thing, all right, but something tells me she isn't going to go along without a fight."

  "I'm up to the fight." She heard Vashon laugh sarcasti­cally. "My only fear is that she'll disappoint me." He suddenly changed tack. "How are the supplies coming? I don't want to wait a second longer than necessary to get this ship out to sea again."

  "The water's all we're waiting for now, and the men tell me the barrels are already on the docks. They should be loaded within the hour."

  "Good. We set sail at eventide then. With our most precious passenger, Miss Dayne." Suddenly Vashon laughed again, and the sound sent a chill down Aurora's spine. She couldn't believe what he was saying, but when the captain spoke, it seemed all too true.

  "Yes, finally we're to get this damnable plan under way. I must admit, it's about time."

  In shock, she stood in the passage and took in the captain's words. Unable now to deny what she'd heard, she felt the horror of her situation hit her like a brick wall. It was all a trick. The voyage was a sham set up for her benefit. Lady Perkins didn't exist. She was being kid­napped. And even the captain was in on this horrible deed. Vashon, she could believe would do such a das­tardly thing as kidnap her—but for what reason she still didn't know—yet the captain, the good, kindly, chival­rous Captain Corbeil? It just couldn't be. He seemed like such a fine man . . . how could he truly be a party to this?

  As she tried desperately to comprehend the situation, she failed to hear the scrape of chairs against the plank­ing. By the time she heard footsteps, she'd already lost precious moments. The captain's door flew open, and she found herself looking up into Vashon's assessing emerald gaze.

  Without wasting another second, she picked up her skirts and ran. She wasn't sure what the reasons were behind this man's plan, but after hearing what she had heard, she did know one thing: They meant to kidnap her. And she was not about to let that happen. But he cornered her as easily as if she were a wounded doe. He pressed her back against Benny's door, and though she still meant to escape, for the moment she was trapped.

  She looked up at him. Their gazes locked.

  "What have we here?" Vashon uttered before he slowly moved toward her. He searched her frightened face and she co
uld see he knew she'd heard everything. Pensively, he watched her, as if calculating the next move.

  "What reason—?" she rasped at him, fear making her mouth go dry. "What reason could you have for doing this? I have no money. You know that. No one will pay ransom."

  "We want no ransom. Just some information. In the meantime, let me take you to your cabin. After we sail, we'll talk." He spoke calmly, forcefully, as if he expected her total obedience, as if she were no more than one of the Seabravery's boys before the mast.

  "We won't!" she suddenly cried out and snatched her arm from his outstretched hand. Behind him, she could see the captain come up, a troubled expression on his face. She wanted to plead with him to help her, but in his deep brown eyes she saw no mercy for her situation.

  "Aurora, I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but there's no escaping now," Vashon said harshly, obviously trying to head off any rebellion. "We've got you. You're ours. Until we're satisfied we have the information we desire, any attempts to flee will not be tolerated."

  She clutched her little silk reticule and tried to think, to grasp exactly what was happening. Lady Perkins was no elderly woman in Jamaica in need of a companion. And Lady Perkins's letter and the trip on the Seabravery had been a grand attempt to take her captive. Now that she had fallen into their clutches, they were planning to set sail. For Jamaica still? She doubted it. They would take her elsewhere, someplace she didn't know, where she couldn't go for help, or escape. It was all too horrible to believe, let alone fight against. And all she could think of was that somehow, some way, it was all a mistake.

  "You must have the wrong girl," she said vehemently in a last attempt to reason with him. "There is nothing you can get from me that could be worth all this effort. I have no information on anything but the orphanage in which I was raised. You cannot do this. It's a terrible error. You'll surely come to regret it."

  "No, we have the right girl." Unexpectedly Vashon touched the jewel-studded locket at her throat. He picked it up and held it to her gaze. "There's only one of these, Aurora. Michael Dayne, your father, gave this to you before he fled England, taking the Star of Aran with him. That's what we need to talk about—the Star. That's why we had to take you."

  Her last hope that this was all a tragic mistake died with his words. She didn't know much about this Star of Aran he spoke of, but they did have the right girl. They even knew her father's name. Panicking, she licked her lips and searched the passage again for someone who might help.

  "Let's go to your cabin, Aurora. If you cooperate, we'll see to it that you come out of this for the better."

  She looked up when Vashon took her arm in a steely grip. He had just begun to lead her away like the prisoner she was when she dug her slippered heels into the floor boards and confessed, "But I don't remember my father. I can't help you. I won't cooperate."

  "We'll see about that" was his ominous statement be­fore he pushed her toward the companionway.

  Suddenly her composure snapped. All her life she'd been reared to appreciate and emulate gentle, civilized behavior. Mrs. Bluefield had taught her well, for not only had she been educated in art and literature, but her man­ners had been carefully molded until they were impecca­ble enough for the unlikely prospect of calling upon the Regent.

  Yet now she realized with brutal clarity that if she didn't fight right at this moment, if she succumbed to her instinct for equanimity, they would kidnap her and she would be in their hands until they saw fit to release her . . . or worse.

  Her gaze flew up to her escort and she studied every hard line of his face. Vashon was not to be underesti­mated. They had labeled him an eccentric only because they were too uncomfortable to see him for what he re­ally was—a man unbounded by society's rules—quite possibly a pirate. All too clearly she remembered the painting of the dragon on his back. They'd been fooled by his veneer of self-restraint and manners, but beneath it all lay that .dragon, that symbol of power and violence. If she didn't take on that dragon now, she would have no chance when the Seabravery left'port.

  Viciously she twisted her arm and tried to release her­self from his grasp. Her reticule fell to the floor and the articles within it scattered across the passage. Her bonnet slipped to her back and several curls slid from their pins. He seemed taken aback by her sudden obstinance and that gave her a moment of advantage. She wrenched her arm free and lifted her skirts. She was at the entrance to the deckhouse before he could grab her by the waist and drag her back to the companionway.

  "This is futile, Aurora—can you really think to fight me?" Vashon tightened his grasp at her waist and laughed. Suddenly her fury exploded.

  "What kind of man are you?" she shrieked. ' All at once instinct mingled with memory, and she lashed out, trying desperately to free herself from his hold. She'd seen enough little boys fighting in the Home to easily recall how to mimic them. Her thinly slippered feet began kicking at his shins, and her arms flailed wildly against his chest. He only laughed harder at her impotent vengeance until one artless kick landed her knee right in his groin. The shock on his face almost mirrored hers when she felt him drop his hold. He bent over and his eyes took on a glazed appearance. Temporarily stunned, all he seemed capable of doing was staring viciously at her and doubling over in his pain. Though she wasn't exactly sure what she had done to him, she'd seen enough quarreling boys bent over with just such an injury to know he'd recover all too quickly. Her priority now was to flee, and she once more gathered her skirts and ran for the weather deck.

  But Vashon recovered much more quickly than those little boys. He caught up with her just as the captain blocked her passage to the exit. She was sure the look of betrayal on her face was enough to give Captain Corbeil nightmares for a month, but just as she reached him, Vashon pulled her away. His hand caught the back of her dress and she resisted with such force, the rear seam ripped clear to her waist. Her drab little gown was now practically falling off her, and she had to add protecting her modesty to this battle as well as protecting her life.

  "You—villain!" she cried at him and skidded out of reach. Her name-calling didn't seem to bother him a bit. He was still panting from her previous attack, and his complexion was definitely several shades paler. His hu­mor seemed to have been quelled, but now there was a fire in his eye, as if she had forced his hand, and he was damned if he was going to lose.

  "I didn't want to do this," he murmured before he stalked her. "I thought you of all women would prefer to go along in a dignified manner. But I see you're not the woman I thought you were."

  "And you—!" she cried to him, "and you!"—she turned accusingly to the captain—"are not the men I thought you to be!"

  Vashon backed her against the passage wall. She clutched her dress to her shoulders, but when he moved over her she was forced to drop one hand in order to fend him off. He easily took both her hands and her gown fell off her shoulder. With a moan, she looked down and saw her bosom barely covered by the thin binding of her che­mise. She looked up and saw that he saw it too. The fire in his eyes only burned brighter.

  "Let me go," she demanded in a quick, panting whisper.

  "We will," he answered, brushing a loosened gold-red curl from her shoulder. "When we have what we want." His knuckles grazed her collarbone, and the feel of her skin seemed to please him, for he was reluctant to draw back his hand.

  "Even if I had this information you wanted, I'd never give it to you now. Do you understand me? Never. Not after this treatment," she vowed, defiance coloring her eyes a vivid sea green.

  "Ah, we'll see about that." He laughed darkly. "I haven't even tried to persuade you yet. Let's just get out of port, shall we? Then you can make all these vengeful promises . . . and I'll see what I can do to make you break them." His fingers slid along the hollows of her throat, and she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, trying desperately to shut him out.

  How could she have ever dreamed about this beast? What was wrong with her that he could have m
ade her believe even for a second that he was anything but igno­ble? His finger caressed the upper swell of one breast and she violently met his gaze. But he hadn't completely fooled her. Beneath that veneer she'd seen glimpses of this man before—this pirate. Now he was taunting her. He wanted to see her crumple like the shrinking little maid that he thought she was. But he wasn't counting on one thing. There were no longer any rules. He'd erased them the minute she'd found out about her kidnapping. And now she was not going to play fair.

  She bent her head and bit his hand as hard as she could. He jolted back and cursed heartily. Behind him she could hear the captain laugh.

  "Just what you deserve, Vashon!" he called out. "I knew you'd underestimated her."

  Vashon shot him a quelling look, and as he did so, she tried to slide from his grasp. With all h,er remaining strength- she pushed him off her, but he had her in hand and slung across his broad shoulder in a matter of sec­onds. She struggled and kicked; all she fought was the air. Her bonnet slipped again and with it, a hail of horn hairpins hit the planks. Her tresses tumbled down his back like a rich gilt-red robe. As she watched the floor, her bonnet fell altogether, and he seemed to take great relish in crushing it beneath his booted feet.