Till Dawn Tames the Night

by Meagan Mckinney

  Koonga shrieked and clung ever tighter to Vashon's neck with the loud blasts. In seconds Vashon was gone, pulling the firescreen back into its place as if they'd never even been there.

  Peterborough ran through the antechamber, covered in gunpowder and the dead boy's blood. He didn't pause until he ended in the bedroom. He spun around, looking at the five huge open windows, unable to decide which one Vashon had escaped from. But before he went far­ther, something familiar from the bed caught his eye. He went to the bed and saw the dragon locket glittering up from the mussed sheets. He picked it up, amazement and recognition in his beautiful green eyes. He ran his fingers over it, as if trying to recall something. When he found the secret latch, he flicked it open, obviously unsure of what he might find. When he read the inscription, he got more than he'd bargained for. He tipped his head back and laughed. The nasty sound echoed all through the empty chambers of Dragonard.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The mystery of Monkey Hill was solved. After they left Vashon's chambers through the underground passage, Isaac dragged Aurora through a beautiful coral cave of indescribable color, and they escaped from Mirage unde­tected. They went only a short distance before they reemerged through a cave on St. Kitts. Once in Basse­terre, their wait aboard the Seabravery was agonizing, and when at last Vashon and Koonga arrived on the docks, Aurora almost wept with relief. With no time for even the briefest of reunions, they barely exchanged a glance before Vashon handed Koonga over to Benny and was called to the quarterdeck. The crew busied them­selves for their departure, and Flossie took Aurora's arm and led her back to the widow's old cabin. There they shared a cup of tea and waited for full sail.

  "You're terribly quiet, lovey. Is anything wrong?" Flossie asked after a long moment.

  Aurora looked up from her teacup. She was so preoc­cupied she didn't realize what poor company she was being. "Forgive me, my thoughts were elsewhere—"

  "Vashon?" the widow finished.

  Letting out a deep breath, she nodded.

  "I guessed as much." Flossie quietly stirred her tea.

  Unable to bear much more, Aurora stood and began to pace the cabin. "I'm afraid the worst has happened. I've fallen in love with him."

  "Well, take heart, lovey, that's not the worst that can happen."

  Aurora glanced at her, then quickly looked away. She knew exactly what Flossie was hinting at.

  "The worst has not happened, has it?" Flossie asked, a frown creasing her brow.

  "I really don't know what you're talking about," Au­rora said evasively.

  "I'm talking about"—Flossie lowered her voice—"a baby. Have you missed your monthly time?"

  "I—I don't know. I can't think about that now."

  Flossie didn't look very relieved. "It's never too early to think of that, my dear. In fact, it's preferable to think about it before . . ."

  Aurora turned away and bit her lower lip. "You think I'm terrible, don't you? I've dishonored myself and then fallen in love with the man who dishonored me."

  "No, no, my dear!" Flossie hugged her. "I shall never think of you as anything but a lady, no matter what hap­pens." She hugged her again, but Aurora quickly com­posed herself.

  "I'll be fine, Flossie. I guess I just need to get home and forget about this terrible voyage. I had no idea any of this would happen. I suppose I was a fool to have ever left the Home."

  "But you are coming to St. George's with me, aren't you? You can't be entertaining the thought of going back to that wretched orphanage? Oh, what a bloody mess this is," Flossie finally exclaimed in her usual taciturn man­ner. "Pardon my language, my dear. When we ever re­turn to St. George's, I shall vow upon my grave that I've never done nor said the things I have on this voyage, but now that I've been driven to the most wretched behavior, I cannot keep quiet any longer. The man must marry you! You're too wonderful for him to leave you like this! Why, he's a villain! Not even Isaac beds a woman, then—!" Shocked by her indiscretion, Flossie stopped speaking. Her hand flew to her mouth and she blushed to the tips of her toes. After a long, painful silence, she gasped, "Oh, what you must think of me."

  Aurora emphatically shook her head. "No, no. We've both been driven to do things on this voyage we might not have done otherwise." She stared at her. "Is . . . is he going to marry you?"

  "Oh, heavens, I'm not sure. But he's not going to be leaving me with child!" Flossie fanned herself with her handkerchief, obviously uncomfortable with the conver­sation. "Oh, my dear, I hope you can forgive me. I don't admit this often, but I've been rather lonely since Mr. Lindstrom died. He was such a good, dear husband, and his memory has always been enough comfort . . . until Isaac distracted me with his . . . attentions." She al­most choked on this last word.

  "Don't apologize," Aurora whispered, trying to com­fort her.

  Flossie waved her away. "I'm not confessing for my sake, my dear. I was wrong and I know it. I'm telling you this to point out that my guilt is the only consequence I shall have to pay for my actions. You, on the other hand, have greater worries."

  "There will be no baby," Aurora said. "I'm sure of it."

  "As much as you'd like to think that, love, there's only one way to be sure. I'm determined that Vashon shall leave you alone on this trip. You'll stay with me from now on."

  "I don't think he'll like that, Flossie."

  "Pooh! Then I'll fight him tooth and nail! He's got to leave you alone! Or marry you!"

  "You can't make a man like Vashon do something he doesn't want to do," Aurora said. "And you can't stop him from taking what he thinks he must have. I know that all too well."

  "Well, I shall stop him. That villain."

  A deep booming laugh suddenly came from the door­way. Both women whipped around to find Vashon stand­ing with his arms crossed over his chest. Immediately Flossie stepped in front of Aurora and confronted him.

  "How dare you enter my cabin unannounced!" she ex­claimed. "How long have you been standing there?"

  "Not long enough. Obviously," he answered with a smirk.

  "Well, you've heard enough to know what I think of your behavior toward this girl. You blackguard!"

  "You act as if I beat her into submission, Flossie."

  "She was unschooled in the ways of the world and you took advantage of that."

  He looked straight at Aurora, his gaze lingering at her bare neck. "Is that what you think?"

  Furious, Aurora refused to answer him. Her emotions were all tied in knots; she was still angry from their tussle this morning, still frightened from their close brush with Peterborough, worn out from worrying about him when he went after Koonga. But she certainly wasn't about to let him bed her while he sailed to Bermuda, then leave her there without a fare-thee-well.

  "She was seduced," Flossie chimed in in her stead.

  "Was she, or was I?" he asked, staring ominously at Aurora.

  She met his gaze, then in defiance looked away.

  Impatient, he said, "Come along, wren, I have to talk to you. We've got to go to my cabin."

  "She's not going anywhere with you. She's staying right here in my cabin. If you must speak to her, Vashon, you'll do so with me as chaperon."

  Vashon looked at the widow as if she were out of her mind.

  "I meant what I said, Vashon, I'll fight tooth and nail." Flossie put her hands on her hips.

  "Madam, I hate to disappoint you, but you haven't the strength to stop me." He looked almost amused.

  "I'll fight for what's right," Flossie added, moving back toward Aurora and shielding her with her large form.

  "What's right," Vashon said, turning a bit more men­acing, "is that Aurora and I have time together. And no one"—he moved forward—"shall deprive me of that." He looked down at the widow. "Shall I pick you up, madam, or will you step aside of your own volition?"

  Flossie blanched. "Vashon," she sputtered, "you have no chivalry whatsoever."

  "None," he confirmed. He raised one eyebrow as if inviting her to st
ep aside one last time. When Flossie stood her ground, he reached for her. Flossie's eyes nearly popped from their sockets when he lifted her up by the armpits and placed her back on her feet several paces away.

  When the widow was out of the way, Vashon reached to take Aurora's hand, but she pulled back.

  "Flossie's not the only one who doesn't want me to go, Vashon." She gave him a daring look, and stepped away.

  "Brava, Aurora!" Flossie exclaimed from the corner.

  Vashon tipped his head back and studied her through half-closed lids. "You're coming with me, Aurora. You will reside in my cabin until we reach St. George's. And that is the final word. Now, you may walk out of this cabin or I can carry you. Which will it be?"

  "I despise your company. I won't go willingly," she taunted.

  "So be it." He reached for her and Flossie cried out in shock. Aurora kicked and scratched, but, like the pirate he was, he easily threw her over his shoulder and carried her off, not even bothering to shut the door in his wake.

  When he set her down in his cabin, the silence was thunderous. She was so furious she refused to speak. Placing her arms over her chest, she stared at him as if he were anathema.

  "Sit down," he told her. She didn't comply, so he pushed her back and she fell onto the dolphin-legged couch.

  "Is this where you make me walk the plank, El Draque!"

  "No, this is where I ask you where your locket is."

  The lines on his face deepened and she saw he looked worried. Her hand flew to her neck. When she felt noth­ing, she suddenly remembered where it was. "I—I left it on the bed. That was the last time I saw it. . . ." A terrible notion occurred to her. "Peterborough, will he find it?"

  Vashon didn't answer. He looked at his desk and said, "I blame myself. I should have thought to go back for it. I'm not one to overlook such things. I fear I must be getting sloppy."

  She watched him go to his desk and take out his maps. A frown furrowed his brow.

  "Could he decipher the rhyme?" she asked, softly go­ing to him.

  "Without your help, I doubt it." Vashon stared down at the map. The continents were massive. The Star could be on any one of them. Aurora had never seen such an impossible task.

  "Let's go through what we know." Vashon nodded to the couch. She sat again and looked at him.

  "We can give this up, Vashon," she said. "We can go anywhere where Peterborough can't find us and—"

  "Tell me what you know about Michael Dayne again." Vashon didn't even remove his gaze from the map.

  Depressed, she ran through the clues again. And again. Until the wee hours of the morning.

  "I think we lived on the West End. My father was born on St. Mary's. I remember once standing outside Carlton House. I remember the ladies' satin gowns. I remember my father admiring their beautiful jewels. I remember him teaching me the rhyme. . . ."

  Aurora opened her eyes and saw Vashon still studying his maps. She looked out the aft ports and saw it was almost dawn. She didn't know how long she'd slept, but certainly it was longer than Vashon had.

  "You won't find it like that."

  He looked up and stared at her. "Like what?" he asked.

  "Without eating. Without sleeping. You won't be able to go on."

  He looked back at his maps. "I will find it," he vowed.

  She stretched and rose from the black-draped bed. "If anyone can, you will. But come, I see Benny left us some coffee. Take some and I'll go fetch you some dinner from the galley."

  "Why are you so suddenly solicitous?"

  She smirked. "Because you look terrible." She smiled at his disgruntled look and poured him a cup from the coffeepot on the drum table.

  She took it to him and was just about to leave for the galley when his arm wrapped around her waist. He pulled her against him and said, "Don't go. I'm not hun­gry."

  "You must be," she exclaimed.

  "Not for food." He stood and took her hand. She dug in her heels when she saw he was leading her to the bed.

  "Only you could do that with your last strength, Vashon."

  "What better way to expend it?"

  "No," she whispered.

  He ignored her and untied his trousers.

  "I said 'No.' Are you losing your hearing?"

  He took her as if she'd never spoken. He kissed her and his tongue drew a ferocious response, but when they parted, she was all too anxious to hide it.

  "He may kill me." He spoke as if they were a room apart, not in each other's embrace.

  She composed herself and looked up at him. "You fi­nally care whether you live or die?"

  "Now that I have something to live for." He stared at her and it took her breath away. He looked at her as if she were the most precious of all jewels.

  "Vashon," she whispered, "don't put yourself in jeop­ardy. Let's run from Peterborough, let's escape—"

  His mouth cut off the rest of her plea. It was useless to try and change his mind. She knew that. But she knew too that she couldn't bear losing him.

  She meant to plead with him again, yet one kiss led to another. Soon her dress fell to the floor and for a bitterly short time they did escape. To that place right between heaven and earth.

  THE

  TRUCE

  . . . so that in love and sleep we may

  learn to trust one another.

  —Homer: Odyssey

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Lizzy Lizard sat and smiled

  And stared across the sea

  "I know the way

  But cannot tell

  So silly, silly me!"

  They sailed north. Aurora spent the afternoons with Flossie and the nights with Vashon. He hardly slept ex­cept in the small hours of the morning when he'd spent himself on her, finally falling into a brief, fitful sleep. As the week slipped into another, she watched him drive himself harder and harder searching his maps for the Star. He couldn't last, but somehow, he endured, madly studying his maps until she could hardly bear to watch.

  It was now nearing the third week. Later that evening —much later—Aurora watched Vashon rise from the bed, slip on his white trousers, and go again to his desk. She sat up, pulling the sheet to her chest, letting her hair cascade to her hip. She watched him, thinking St. George's was but a few days away, knowing it would be impossible to leave him. She lifted her hand and touched a tender place on her neck. She closed her eyes and re­membered his teeth dragging against her skin in a rare moment of surrender. He didn't surrender easily, and that had made his release that much sweeter for her. She couldn't believe that in a few days they would part, maybe never to see each other again. As she watched him, staring down at the maps on his desk, she was eaten away with doubt. Especially now when he was so weary, and so angry, and pushing himself so hard.

  "Shall I have Benny bring some dinner?" she asked quietly, interrupting his study.

  "All right." In disgust, he pushed back and went to his bookcases. He poured himself a stiff brandy, then went to the open aft ports. A good breeze kicked up the swells, and the ship was cutting through the water at an amazing pace. That depressed her more than anything.

  "It's there somewhere," he stated bleakly as if to reas­sure himself.

  "It must be," she answered, stilling her trembling lips with her fingers. She didn't know how she would survive losing him.

  "Perhaps if he gets it first, you'll finally be safe."

  "Don't even think that."

  He dropped his head. For the first time, she wondered if she saw him defeated.

  "Vashon, let's abandon the Star."

  He turned around and the wild glint in his eye fright­ened her. "I'll never relinquish it! What he did to me—"

  "He did monstrous things," she whispered.

  "You think rape is reserved only for women?"

  "I know," she said, biting back a sob. "But you fought back. First with those men Josiah paid to kill you all those years ago, then in the Casbah after they sold you.

  You sa
ved yourself then, so save yourself now. Peterbor­ough won't win if you forfeit."

  He turned back to the ports. The wind blew back his black locks. He looked terribly handsome in that pose: arms across his chest, feet splayed commandingly apart. But it wasn't his handsomeness that drew her to him. Nor was it his forlorn figure. Rather it was what had first made her run from him. His fierceness, perhaps even the dragon itself, lured her inescapably to his side. And she understood now that it was destined to be. Because with­out the dragon in him, he'd never have survived for her to love. And she did love him, with an ache so deep it brought tears to her eyes.

  "Vashon," she whispered, "I'd do anything to keep you. Just tell me what I need to do, because I'm losing you, and if I do—" Her voice broke and it was all she could do not to throw herself at his feet and beg him to stop this wretched course they were on.

  "Ask Benny to bring us some dinner," he said, ignor­ing her outburst.

  Staring at his cold figure, she said bitterly, "Of course. How silly of me. I'll go right away."

  He nodded. She made to leave the bed, but suddenly he stopped and turned again. "What did you say?"

  "I said I'll go right away."

  "No, before that."

  She stiffened. How needlessly cruel he was to flail her with her indiscreet outburst. "I said, how silly of me," she repeated softly, refusing to look at him.

  His eyes opened wide. " 'So silly, silly me,' " he mum­bled and strode to his desk littered with maps. He shoved aside all the others except the one of the British Isles. "Where did you say your father was born?"

  "Hugh Town."

  "St. Mary's?"

  "Yes," she answered, wrapping the sheet around her and walking over to the desk.