Dark Prelude (5 page)

She gave a desperate little laugh, then
swallowed hard and grabbed her bag. She would not be caught like a
mouse in a trap. With energy born of defiance she climbed the
stairs and quickly stripped the sheets from his mattress and hers.
Knotting them together, she tied one end to her bag and the other
to her bed frame.

A bump of the bag hitting the ground assured
her the makeshift rope stretched far enough for climbing down. She
started out the window, then stopped with a jolt at the click of a
door opening and pounding footsteps on the stairs. A hard knot
formed in her stomach; still she turned and raced to the bedroom
door and jammed a chair against it. She felt her breath catch in
her throat as the door was secured, then she shook herself into
action once more and clambered out the window.

Silvia’s lips thinned with anger as she
swung past the sill, half falling, half climbing to the alley
below. Her breath gushed out as she dropped the last five feet,
bruising her backside and not worrying about the noise. Above, the
splintering sound of the door crashing in hurried Silvia to her
feet.

“You’ve nowhere to go Missy! You’ll be
back!” Uncle Hollister yelled contemptuously from the window.

Silvia turned and hurried away in the cover
of the fog, following streets she knew as well as the back of her
hand. Each footstep loosened a painful memory that burned like a
scorching, silver flash in her mind. But with a spurring
determination, she plunged on.

Soon the penetrating dampness came to her
aid. Before walking far she was shivering with chill and
concentrating on reaching her destination as quickly as possible
with lessening fear her uncle could overtake her. As she approached
the docks, where the activity of loading cargo had slowed or
stopped as the fog grew denser, she thought only of Wilhelm
Schlange and what awaited her in the colonies.

In the distance she could faintly
distinguish the imposing lines of the
Eastwind
, a larger
craft than those about her. A yellow flag emblazoned with an
ogresish red serpent flapped a beckoning signal as it trailed from
the main mast. Silvia sighted it through a thinning patch of fog
and hastened along thankful for the foresight to have located the
ship days before.

She could see the decks crowded with cargo.
The hold had been left partially empty to accommodate a dozen
bondservants bound for Schlange Island, she among them. The large
overflow of barrels and crates were lashed topside, filling every
available spot. Silvia breathed a sigh of relief to be so close,
for moments earlier she had been startled by the whispered murmur
of voices not far behind her.

Knowing the danger on the docks, her heels
now clicked rapidly on the rough cobblestones as she hurried to
board the
Eastwind
. Still there were bales and boxes of
cargo to weave her way through before she could reach the ship.

“Do you see her?” a shrill, youthful voice
pierced the fog no more than four paces back.

Silvia drew a sharp breath and fear stabbed
at her chest in a dozen places.

“Ahead by the bale!” another voice, a raspy
one, answered from beyond the boxes.

Was it only her qualmish imagination or did
they pursue her? Silvia darted forward, her eyes wild with fright.
A sudden flux of sounds, the scrape of a box being moved, the clank
of a chain against the side of a ship, joined the pounding of
hurried footsteps behind her. A bitter taste of fear filled her
mouth and her heart seemed to leap to her throat.

Just ahead she could make out the gangplank
to the
Eastwind
. Safety was within sight. Shaking with
fright, she thought of dropping her bag—the weight slowed her—but
all she owned was within, even the crowns Mr. Wickes had advanced
her. And then there was no time to think, no time to sound an
alarm. Hands lurched out from the fog and caught her cloak on
either side.

“Got her!” the raspy voice said and followed
with a grating laugh that chilled Silvia’s blood. She screamed once
and stumbled but got her footing and whirled away from the dark,
angular shape at her right.

“Caught!” the shrill voice rang out at her
left and echoed the harsh laughter.

Silvia knew in an instant of terror, she had
been stalked and hunted like a deer in the forest. In that same
instant the assailants flipped the cloak over her head in a
practiced move that covered her face and made her frenetic scream a
muffled sound no louder than the groan of a tired dock hand. Fear
flooded her brain as her breath was cut off by the suffocating
cloak as they twisted it tightly, spinning her round and round
until she lost her footing and crashed to the planking.

Her hands were useless, entangled helplessly
in the garment. With a savage snarl, one of youths was upon her,
running his hands over her body, searching for pockets and taking
his pleasure in the touch as he went. She kicked and thrashed
vehemently with her feet even as her strength faded, until one wild
kick struck him in the groin.

“Help! ‘enry! She’s kilt me!” With a cry of
pain the man fell away and began to writhe on the pavement beside
her.

Silvia rolled to her knees and tried vainly
to stand, but her feet were as entangled in her skirt as her arms
were in the cloak. Unable to see, she scrambled away as best she
could hoping to hide herself behind a box.

Henry dropped her bag and cursed as he
watched her squirm for a few feet before he caught the hem of her
skirt and yanked with all his might.

“She’s a live one, ain’t she,” he bellowed
and then howled in laughter at the plight of his cohort. “Got you
in the jewels, did she?” But he got no reply for Silvia had planted
her foot soundly and it would be some time before the youth would
want to molest a lady again.

Wiser than his crony, Henry knew a better
way to search a flailing victim. He pressed her belly to the
pavement and pinned her legs with his knees as he checked her
pockets for coins or valuables. Finding none he cursed again and
took a swipe at her head.

Silvia struggled, panic tearing at her
insides. But with the youth resting his weight on her thighs the
effort gained her little. She gasped in pain as he snatched her
arms free of the cloak and twisted them behind her back. There he
held them in the clamp of one hand while he ran the other up her
back to claw at her neck and ears. Finding no jewelry, he turned
his attention to her hands. He was not long in discovering the gold
band on her hand and began wrenching it roughly from her
finger.

She had used the small supply of air within
the enveloping cloak with muffled screams and shouts for help and
now the smothering blackness enveloped her brain like the lowering
of an ebony curtain. In her fading thoughts she feared they meant
to kill her. Her limbs went limp and yet she clenched her hand into
a fist. She would as soon die as part with the ring. If he wanted
it, he must cut it from her lifeless form.

A sudden easing of the weight on her back
brought a welcome breath of air as she was able to roll to her side
and brace with numb hands. She tried to rise to a sitting position
but her quaking limbs would not support her. Instead she drew her
arms and legs into a tight ball as she heard a new voice, one
strong and angry as it uttered a violent curse.

“Up! Mangy cur!” Even in her terrified state
Silvia knew the sound of flesh striking flesh and recognized that
of bone crunching.

With her eyes still shielded by the soiled,
damp cloak she heard the drama around her, agonizing cries of pain,
the thump of bodies hitting the dock and then the scraping
footsteps of men running and dragging away.

“Bloody bandits!” a voice not far from her
bellowed to the departing youths and then followed the shout with a
caustic curse.

Silvia gasped as another voice, very like
the other, though calm and mellow, rang out. “And what have we
here, Roman? Some elfin creature with legs and no head?” He spoke
with a teasing rail but there was an underlying kindness in the
tone.

“Aye. And shapely ones at that,” the other
responded. His voice was soothing and without the anger, rich and
deep and sweet to her ears. Even in her agitated state she
envisioned a face to match the voice, one strong and handsome and
certainly with kindness in the eyes.

A gentle movement lifted the cloak from her
head and she parted the hair fallen over her eyes. Her combs had
been lost in the struggle and her dark hair fell in a snarl of
tangles above a face smeared with dirt and grime from the dock.
Beside her knelt a man dressed in dove gray trousers and waistcoat
beneath a heavy cloak of a charcoal color. A diamond pin set in
gold sparkled in the white silk jabot at his throat.

Silvia’s lower lip trembled as she looked
into the face that regarded her curiously. His eyes were like blue
flames and the kindness was only a flicker subject to come and go
at will. His flaxen hair was long and tied at the back of his neck
with a black ribbon. The face was fetchingly handsome, the nose
straight with nostrils still wide from anger, the cheekbones high
and the chin squared and strong. He had a sensuous twist to his
mouth and there she could detect a small vestige of arrogance.

“Are you hurt?” he asked softly, a frown
creasing his brow. His fingers gently caressed a bruise on her
chin. In a moment she could have melted into the fire in his eyes,
forgotten why he was there, how they had come to be so close she
could feel his breath brushing her cheek. A half smile crossed his
lips, then changed to a brooding scowl. “Madame, you should choose
your customers with more care,” he said curtly, taking her arms and
helping her to her feet. “That one could do with better
manners.”

Silvia’s jaw dropped. She jerked her arms
free. “I beg your pardon, sir!” she sputtered with churning anger.
Shaking out her cloak with a haughty flourish, she swung it about
her shoulders. “The swains set on me to rob and kill.” Her eyes
blazed with fury. She might have stung his handsome face with a
slap, but her strength was spent. “Grateful as I am for your
intervention, I’ll thank you not to tarnish my good name.” With an
angry stamp of her foot, she continued indignantly, “Good sir, a
lady might land on her back and not make a living that way.”

“Forgive my brother, Madame. ‘Tis the
company he keeps. Doesn’t know a ‘lady’ when he sees one.”

There was a bandinage of laughter in the
face Silvia saw when she whirled to confront the man behind her,
but the jesting look was directed at his companion. The man was
about the same height and build as the other and for a moment she
thought she was seeing double. But he was dressed in brown, in
garments as rich as those worn by the other. His cream shirt was
trimmed with lacy ruffles at the sleeves and at his neck. His cloak
was a dark shade of brown and fastened with a leather tie. The
greatest difference in the two was in the eyes; his were a milder
blue, that of a summer sky, softer and less serious, less
mocking.

He smiled and made a slight bow. “My brother
has not learned his manners.” His eyes were consoling and she
blushed faintly as Morgan Toller took her smudged hand and raised
it to his lips.

“I apologize, miss. One doesn’t expect to
find a ‘lady’on the docks.” Her first rescuer’s derisive tone
seared her nerves as he made a gallantly mocking bow. Kneeling
again, he retrieved his hat from the pavement and collected her bag
from where it had fallen a few feet away. “Allow us to escort you
to your destination. A ‘lady’ isn’t safe alone.”

Silvia whirled and jauntily placed her hands
on her hips. She knew she did not appear the least bit ladylike.
Her hair still streamed over her dirt stained face. Her skirts and
cloak, she could see, were covered in filth from the docks and
reeked of something foul she dared not think about. Still, the man
before her in all his finery, was insufferable and persisted in
adding one insult to another.

With a temperate smile hiding her anger, she
replied coolly, “Sir, you have most kindly rescued me but I will
trouble you no further. I have only a little way to go and I am
certain those two will not return.” A kick to her rescuers shin
would have satisfied her better, but she deliberately held her tone
soft, as she added, “In truth sir, I fear I would be no safer in
your company.”

“A pity, Miss.” He tilted his head to one
side and his blazing eyes seemed to strip her garments away. “I
thought perhaps we might share a few pleasant hours.” The low
chuckle of his laughter stung her ears as she hoisted her bag and
spun away.

Was this side of the ocean filled with boors
and villains? She could not remember a single man since he father
who had shown her lasting kindness and consideration. All others
had wanted something they were not entitled to in return. Her frown
did her face no favors but she did not care for her appearance or
how it was received. She had but a few feet and a few hours to put
an ocean between her and those who had roughly used her in this
land, her uncle, those ruffians, and the two men with their costly
clothes and pretentious manner.

“Good riddance,’ she whispered to them all.
She could at least content herself she would see none of them
again.

As if he read her mind, Captain Langham
greeted Silvia with a warmth that should have quickly set her at
ease. He was a stalwart fellow, with bowed legs and large meaty
hands. His walk had the smooth rolling gait of a man who had spent
his life at sea. With welcome civility, Langham refrained from
mentioning her unsightly appearance and spoke as if her comfort
were his primary concern.

A black tricorn partially obscured his
weathered, though affable face. Silvia strained to her tiptoes to
see better. Something about him disturbed her. Yet at a glance his
expression was full of reassurance as he insisted Mr. Schlange had
given orders for her to occupy a small cabin usually reserved for
paying passengers. Only a dull light in his steely eyes indicated
all was not as it seemed with the master of the vessel.