Desire in the Sun (48 page)

Some quarter of an hour later, on the third floor of the house, an old woman, sitting by an open window in the dark, heard the distant sound of hoof beats and felt tears come to her eyes.

“God go with you, my dear,” she whispered into the night.

LXI

L
ilah rode as she had never ridden before in her life. Speed was of the essence, she knew, because her absence would be discovered before the day was very old. Jane usually escorted Betsy in with her breakfast around nine. By that time she had to have found the ship—what was its name? the
Lady
something,
Jasmine,
that was it—and the man named Scanlon. She had to tell him her story, and where to find Joss, and hope that he could help them.

It was perhaps an hour before dawn when she crested the hill where she and Joss had rested their horses some two weeks before. This time she didn’t even pause, didn’t even look at the beautiful panorama of sleeping town and undulating ocean glittering beneath the stars. She rode at a full gallop to the very edge of town, and then only slowed her pace because she feared attracting too much attention. Even at this hour, the wharves were awake. Small fishing boats were putting out to sea, cargo was being loaded on ships set to sail with the tide. Lanterns lit the worn wooden docks, gleamed off the skin of men laboring to roll barrels up long gangplanks. Bits and pieces of sea shanties, sung as the men labored, spiced the cool salt wind that blew in off the sea.

Candida trotted along the edge of the wharf while Lilah strained to read the names of the tall ships that
bobbed gently at anchor alongside. During the wild ride the pain in her abdomen had returned. Resolutely she ignored it.

The
Lady Jasmine
did not appear to be among those tied to the wharf. Ah, there she was at last! She was the second to last ship, anchored just beyond the spot where two Bajans argued spiritedly over the price to be paid for a barrel of “kill-devil,” as the local rum was called.

Sighing with relief, Lilah slid from the saddle, and tied Candida to a post with the fervent hope that she would not be stolen by any of the disreputable-looking persons who took advantage of the dark hours to roam the quay. Then she hurried across the wharf, skirting the increasingly acrimonious quarrel, to the
Lady Jasmine’s
gangplank. It was blocked by two barrels rolled across it for just that purpose. A guard had been posted, but sat on the gangplank, leaning against the barrels, sound asleep. Much good he did. …

Ignoring a sudden sharp cramp in her belly, she edged around the guard and the barrels, hurrying up the gangplank. Another pain struck her at the top, causing her to clench her teeth.

“Who goes there?” The brusque hail came just as the pain subsided. The
Lady Jasmine
was totally in shadow and Lilah had to strain to see who was addressing her. She gulped down nervousness and stepped onto the deck.

“I … I’ve urgent business with a Mr. Scanlon. It concerns Joss San Pietro.”

“Indeed?” There was a scraping sound. A light flared, was touched to the wick of a lantern, caught and spread. The lantern was lifted so that the light shone on her face. The man holding it remained veiled in darkness. “And who are you?”

“Does it matter?” Lilah was both anxious and frightened. “I have to see Mr. Scanlon. It’s quite urgent, I assure you.”

“I’m Scanlon,” said the figure, and as he lifted the lantern higher Lilah saw the glow of butter-yellow hair. “How can I help you?”

“Joss—Joss is in gaol, at St. Anne’s Fort. My—my father had him arrested for horse thieving. He’s in love with me, you see, and … Ah! Oh!

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Scanlon said sharply as Lilah doubled over, clutching her stomach. “Are you ill?”

“I think I’m losing my baby,” Lilah gasped, and felt a warm rush between her legs even as she crumpled senseless to the deck.

LXII

J
oss lay on his back on the husk-filled mattress that was all that came between himself and the dirt floor. Around him men of every shade betwixt white and black snored and rattled, though the noises they made were not what kept him from joining them in sleep. His mind was busy with schemes for escape. Impossible schemes, he knew. He was in a gaol inside a fortress with walls twenty feet thick. Chains linked his wrists and ankles. He had no weapon. Two guards played cards outside the locked cell door. Two more guards were on duty farther down the hall. He had no money for bribes, and no friends save Lilah on this thrice-damned island. So figure a way out of this hole, San Pietro, if you can, he jeered at himself.

All male prisoners, regardless of race or offense, were kept in this one large cell. The reason for that was simple: The rest of the gaol, apparently having been damaged in a severe hurricane some years before, was still under repair. Most crimes on Barbados seemed to be linked to what his fellow prisoners called “kill-devil”; out of seventeen prisoners he was the only one who, if he ever came to trial, might conceivably hang. The rest, except for a pair of inept thieves who had tried to relieve a lady of her reticule and been beaten half senseless by the very object they’d tried to steal as the lady proved to
be a warrior of considerable valor, were an ever-changing lot.

He had to escape, or he would hang. He existed in daily expectation of being hauled up before whatever passed for justice in this tiny slice of hell, and finding himself facing Leonard Remy. That Lilah’s father would exact every bitter drop of revenge from the man who had ruined his daughter Joss had no doubt. He was only surprised that it was taking the man so long to get around to it.

Whenever he thought of Leonard Remy, he worried. The man had slapped his daughter, and Joss broke into a cold sweat when he considered what he might be doing to her even as he, Joss, lay waiting for his day in court. Would he harm her? His own daughter? The mere thought made Joss feel murderous. But there was nothing he could do to aid her. Not unless he could figure out a way to escape.

Footsteps approaching along the hard-packed dirt of the corridor brought Joss out of his half-savage revery. The guard had just been changed, and it was hours early for the repulsive dish of raw mashed fish that generally served as breakfast. Perhaps another drunk to be locked up?

The guards looked up from their card game, squinting as they peered at the newcomers. The stone wall on either side of the barred door prevented Joss from seeing the objects of those narrow-eyed looks.

“Oh, Hindlay, it’s you,” one of them grumbled, relaxing. “What the bloody hell do you want now?”

“I want you to open that cell damned quick,” came a growl, and four uniformed members of the militia were herded into view, held at gunpoint by half a dozen rough-garbed sailors.

Joss blinked, grinned suddenly, and got to his feet. Another inmate woke up, saw what was happening, and ya-hooed.

“It’s a bleedin’ jailbreak,” he whooped, and ran for the door that the scowling guard had just opened. Awakened by his cry, those who weren’t too drunk followed. Joss, the only one wearing shackles due to the seriousness of his crime, made his way toward the door a little more laboriously. He stopped before the seething guard, holding out his arms wordlessly. The guard, gritting his teeth, unlocked the shackles on wrists and ankles.

“I thank you, sir,” Joss said, and smiled as the guards were roughly bound, tied, and pushed into the cell that he was vacating. His yellow-haired rescuer turned the key in the lock, then nonchalantly pocketed it.

“Good evening, Jocelyn.” David Scanlon inclined his head with exquisite courtesy. The sailors with him saluted Joss with varying degrees of punctiliousness.

“Good to see ya, Cap’n.”

“ ‘lo, Cap’n.”

“Good to see you, too, Stoddard, Hayes, Greeley, Watson, Teaff. Davey here got you up to no good as usual?”

The men grinned. “Aye, sir.”

“Speaking of no good, my friend …” Davey was herding them all with quick efficiency from the now guardless gaol as he spoke. “That appears to be exactly what you’ve been up to since we last met.”

“My late lamented career as a horse thief, you mean? Not quite what it was made out to be, believe me.” Joss clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Thanks for coming so quickly, Davey.”

“You’re entirely welcome, of course,” Davey was looking around with his usual caution before he nodded to the others. Then, with Joss beside him and the rest following, he strolled cooly toward the open gates of the fort. “Actually, I wasn’t referring to that. I was referring to your quite unprecedented action in dishonoring one who was obviously, before she met you, an innocent young lady.”

Joss stopped walking, stared at his friend, stiffened. “Lilah—you’ve seen her?”

Davey inclined his head. “More than seen her, my friend. She appeared on the
Lady Jasmine
about two hours ago, obviously in some distress. She told me where to find you.”

Joss ignored all but the relevant part of that. “What do you mean, obviously in some distress? What’s wrong with her? Where is she now?”

“Still on the
Lady Jasmine,
in the captain’s cabin, to be exact. I’m sorry to tell you that she seems to be in the process of losing your baby.”

LXIII

S
tanding braced on the deck of the
Lady Jasmine,
Joss watched with something less than his usual appreciation as her sails filled with wind and she quartered toward the mouth of Bridgetown Harbor. Not even the rainbow of pinks and purples that were all that was left of the fading dawn had the power to lift his spirits. There was a hollowness deep inside him that he feared would never go away.

At that moment Lilah was in his cabin. Macy, the ship’s doctor, was with her. In the brief glimpse he’d had of her before Macy barred him from the room, she’d been writhing and moaning in pain. He’d been white himself when Davey had dragged him away.

Now he wrestled with hideous fear. Would she die? If she did, he would want to die himself.

“You can go in now, Captain.”

Macy had emerged from the cabin at last. Joss took one look at the blood that stained his shirtsleeves and felt his stomach lurch along with his heart.

“Is she … is she—”

But he couldn’t wait for the answer. Even as Macy tried to tell him, Joss was turning away, striding purposefully to the captain’s cabin.

Inside, the room was shadowy. The promised brightness that was dawn had so far barely penetrated.

Lilah lay on his bunk, a small mound under a pile of covers. He thought she was asleep. Her eyes were closed, her lashes black fans resting against cheeks that were as white as death.

He felt his heart turn over. She looked so young, so very small, so defenseless lying there. Only the cropped head of golden curls seemed to belong to the dauntless girl he loved.

“Lilah?” It was a husky whisper as he approached the bunk. Her eyes slowly opened. For a moment she seemed to have trouble focusing. Then she saw him.

“Joss,” she breathed, and smiled faintly. Then her lips quivered and her face crumpled. “Oh, Joss, I lost our baby!”