Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - Wyndmaster 1 (22 page)

Celeste agreed that it would. When Seth got down and came to the door to open it, his young face was

filled with surprise.

"Lady Jillian wishes to give the fisherman some money," Celeste told him.

Seth frowned. "Milady, I don't know that that's a good idea," he said. "Men around here tend to be

rather self-reliant. I don't know that he would appreciate the offering of charity." He glanced up at the

lean-to. "And I don't know these men. They look to be poachers, if truth be told."

"Oh, poppycock, lad!" Jillian said. "Run along and ask the man with the fish to come down and see me.

I'll give him the coin. If there is more than one man, I'll give two but no more."

"I can take the coins up to him, milady," Seth said, uneasy with the whole thing.

Jillian raised her chin. "Do as I say, boy!"

Celeste smiled at Seth. "Please?" she asked nicely.

Seemingly against his better judgment, Seth shut the door to the brougham and started up to the lean-to.

When a thick tarpaulin was flung aside, the man with the fish came out, looking to the coach when Seth

flung an arm that way. The man nodded and jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating Seth was to go

inside.

"Oh, look!" Jillian said, pointing out to sea to draw Celeste's attention from the lean-to. "Is that a

humpback whale?"

Celeste turned her head but she saw nothing. "Where?"

"There!" Jillian said excitedly. "It's a whale! I just know it is!"

Celeste saw nothing that even remotely resembled a whale out on the rolling waters. She shook her

head. "You must be seeing things, Jillian. All I see are the waves."

Jillian sighed dramatically. "I thought sure that was a whale!" she said.

The door to the coach was jerked open and the man from the lean-to poked his head inside. "You got

money for me?" he asked in a harsh tone.

"Aye," Jillian said and extended the coin toward the man.

The man snatched the coin and put it between his teeth to test it. He grunted and his heavy brow

twitched as his gaze slid to Celeste. "There be two of us," he growled.

Celeste felt the first stirring of unease as the man's leer swung to her. She turned her head to search for

Seth but did not see him. Her unease escalated to fear but before she could react, the man had pulled

himself up into the coach and was crowding her, pulling something from his pocket to slap over her face.

Though she clawed at the rough, fish-smelling hand that covered her nose and mouth, Celeste felt herself

slipping into darkness and as she did, she heard the unmistakable sound of Jillian's pleased laughter.

* * *

Brenton LeMoyne took his cup of hot spiced tea to the window and stared out at the rolling sea as

he took a sip from the fragrant brew. He had been anxious ever since arising that morning, his nerves on

edge. Whatever was causing him such apprehension kept drawing him to the spectacular view that swept

up from the harbor all the way to his secluded beach where he kept his little 15-foot sailing boat.

Catching sight only of the two men who had been fishing off the coast for the past few weeks, he could

find nothing that should concern him. The men were down-on-their-luck fishermen and had been

respectful and polite when he'd gone down to speak with them right after they'd built their lean-to. They'd

explained that they had ventured a ways from their home grounds for the fishing had become scarce of

late. It was a good explanation as far as he was concerned. He'd found nothing to set off any warning

bells in his mind but he'd been keeping a wary eye on them just the same. They never went further than

right where they were and had caused him no trouble. He had all but forgotten about them.

As he stood at his window, he saw the boat the men used to fish heading out to sea, into the deeper

waters, well past where they dropped anchor to fish each day. He watched them for a moment, figured

they were finally headed home—wherever that was for he'd not cared enough to ask—and were leaving

Zykanthos Island. He didn't give them or the bulky tarpaulin covering what he surmised was their weeks'

worth of catch another thought.

* * *

Jillian was fuming as she lay huddled beneath the stink of the tarpaulin. She had already gotten sick twice

from the putrid smell wafting around her and her beautiful gown was ruined from coming into contact with

the water in the bottom of the boat, her gloves and muff spoiled beyond redemption.

"Just a mite further, milady," one of the fishermen laughed, "and you can get out from under the tarp."

"Go to hell!" Jillian snapped. She was staring at her unconscious sister-in-law and thinking Celeste had

the better part of the deal by being unaware of this cold, odorous journey on the high seas. Shivering

uncontrollably, she kicked out at Celeste with the toe of her fashionable boot.

By the time the men had rowed the boat out to the rendezvous point with Peyton's sloop, the
Argyle,

Jillian's lips were blue and she was beyond being able to curse the men who manhandled up onto her

brother's ship. Her teeth were clicking together and she smelled worse than any dockside floozy.

"I'll get her a bath drawn. She's like ice," Peyton's first mate suggested as he put a hand to Celeste's

cheek. He nodded to the Guernsey fishermen who carried Celeste toward the companionway.

"M-me…t-too!" Jillian managed to hiss as she stood there trembling with her arms wrapped around her.

"Of course, little sister," Peyton said, his nose wrinkled from the stench as she passed him. He turned to

his men. "Weigh anchor and get us the hell out of here before Sierran finds them missing!"

* * *

Half an hour later in the lean-to, Seth tried to sit up and found himself trussed like a feast goose with his

arms and legs tied behind him with heavy hemp. With a gag thrust between his teeth, he knew no one

would be able to hear him if he tried calling out.

Not knowing how much time had passed, he figured it would be at least a couple of hours before

anyone came looking for him. Though the bump on the back of his head hurt something fierce, it was his

manly pride that plagued him the most. He knew Sierran was going to be livid and he wasn't looking

forward to the fist he reckoned would be his reward for having lost the commander's woman.

* * *

Sierran paced the solarium as the sun dipped lower on the horizon. By his calculations, Seth should have

returned the women by now. He was not pleased that they had taken this long and even less pleased that

a storm was showing on the horizon where the day had been clear and sunny.

"If you don't like the weather on Zykanthos, just wait," Vargas said and received a glare from the

commander for his trouble. He tugged at his chin. "You want me to go after 'em?"

With his hands thrust deep into his pockets to keep from striking out at Vargas, Sierran merely nodded,

unable to trust himself not to curse the man.

Vargas turned and left the room without another word. He'd known the younger man long enough

to know when Sierran Morgan had just about reached the limit of his tether.

"You think something's happened?" Mac inquired as he fell into step beside Vargas.

"I hope not!" Vargas replied. They walked hurriedly out to the stables.

It took less time than normal for the two men to saddle their mounts and they were trotting across the

drawbridge as the chill winds began to pick up from off the seas. Huddled down in their thick wool

coats, they took the coastal road that Seth had chosen earlier that day, kicking their mounts into a fast

gallop to retrace the brougham's route.

* * *

When Celeste's eyelids flickered open, she found herself staring into a face that bore a remarkable

resemblance to that of her husband. The man hovering over her was a bit older with fine wrinkles at the

corners of his smiling eyes—a smile that did not quite reach his full lips.

"Good evening, sleepy head," he greeted her. "I am your brother-in-law, Peyton."

It didn't take Celeste but a heartbeat to realize she was no longer on Zykanthosian soil but rather at sea

and in the midst of turbulence.

"Where am I?" she asked.

"About twenty miles from home," Peyton replied. "My home, that is." He folded his arms over his chest.

"Seamlas to be exact."

"On Argonne," she said.

"On Argonne," he agreed with a nod.

She knew her husband would come after her. He had been given no other choice. His family would be

waiting for him—along with the woman with whom he would be expected to consummate his proxy

Joining.

"Once the deed is done, he will be free to take you and return to Zykanthos," Peyton said as though

reading her thoughts. "We've no desire to have him underfoot, wench." He cocked his head to one side.

"Though to have you about would not be a burden by any stretch of the imagination. Our little brother

chose well for his brideling."

She turned her face away from the smug look on Peyton Morgan's face. Outside the cabin where she

lay—wrists and ankles bound to the bunk, she could hear Jillian berating someone in a harsh tone. What

a fool she thought herself to be for having allowed Sierran's sister to trick her this way.

"If it's any consolation, we would have gotten to him come hell or high water, lass," Peyton said, moving

to the door. "It was but a matter of time."

A single tear slid barely noticed down Celeste's cold cheek.

"They had a ship," Vargas said. "Had to have."

"And rowed out to it," Mac said. "Beyond where we could see them from any station on the island."

Brent LeMoyne shook his head. "I am so sorry, Sierran. I never thought those men were up to no

good."

"You couldn't be expected to think of something so evil," Sierran said wearily. From the moment

Vargas and Mac had ridden out, he knew something was wrong and he figured he knew what had

happened. "I was a fool for trusting Jillian."

The men huddled around Sierran looked at one another. There was nothing to say. Each of them knew

the man sitting beside the fireplace with his head down, his hands clenched, would go after his woman. It

was a given.

"I would like to go with you," Brent said. "If only I'd come down and told you about the fishermen…"

"They would have passed muster, Milord," Mac suggested. "From Seth's description, they were

Guernsey men and from time to time such do come to fish off our coast. We'd have thought nothing of it."

"Don't blame yourself for this, Brent," Sierran said. "There's no one to blame but me." He glanced up at

Vargas. "How is Seth?"

"He's got a rock-hard head, Commander," Vargas reported. "Got a knot on it but otherwise he's all

right. Mad as hell but all right."

"They'll expect me to come right after them," Sierran said, getting to his feet. "The sooner, the better."

"Are you sure?" Vargas inquired. "Maybe we could find out where they took her and…"

"Whose ship was it, Vargas?" Sierran asked. "Peyton's or Fallon's or Dyllon's? Was it Vaughn's or my

father's or one of my sisters' husbands? How would we know? Do we have any idea where Peyton or

Fallon live? Dyllon or any of my sisters?" He shook his head. "She could be anywhere on Argonne but if

I go to Eagle Grove, they'll bring her there."

"Will they try to keep you?" Brent asked, afraid that might be the case.

"They don't want me there anymore than I want to
be
there," Sierran replied. "Once I screw the widow

Summerall and sign over Patterly to my father, they'll let us leave. That's all they want any way."

"I hope that's all they want," Brent said.

"It is," Sierran said. "Trust me. I know. Get the
Akinos
ready and tell Kynth I want her armed."

Vargas blinked. "Armed?" he repeated. "Armed as in cannons?"

"Cannons and musket and plenty of shot," Sierran said with a nod. "I want every sailor going with us

armed with pistol, sword, and dagger. No family men, just warriors this time out."

"You are expecting treachery?" Brent inquired.

"No, but if it comes, I'll be ready for it," Sierran replied with a grim face. He gave the lawgiver a stern

look. "Unless you're ready to kill if need be, I suggest you stay here."

Something dark flitted across the Brent's face then vanished as quickly as it appeared. "I can take a life if

I need to," he told Sierran. "Give me half an hour to get my weapons and I'll meet you at the quay."

"Before you go," Sierran said. "May I have a word with you in private?"

Brent nodded and waited until they were alone before he cocked an inquisitive brow to Sierran.

"You sent word to the Federation of Lord Charles' passing," Sierran said.

"Aye," the lawgiver replied.

"Who did you send?"

A frown developed between Brent's brows. "One of my trusted men," he replied. "I am your lawyer,

Sierran, and time was of the essence in regard to Dragonmoor."

"Why?" The one word was like a rapier cut.

"Surely you know why," Brent said.

"If I did, I wouldn't be asking," Sierran snapped.

"She didn't tell you her father was Duke of Northumberton? That he was the younger brother to King

Edmond? Queen Tatiana is her godmother."

Sierran's face turned pale. "She is royalty?"

"Aye," Brent said. "She is now the Duchess of Northumberton. I am amazed you didn't know. It was

imperative that word be sent to the Federation that the property go to her. And you—as her legal