Enchanted by Your Kisses (27 page)

"But that does not change the fact that I have and that I need your help more than I've ever needed a person's help in my life."

She didn't say anything, knew he meant to say more.

She was right, for he turned to her, his eyes pleading. "I need your help, Ariel
D'Archer
. I beg you for it. Help me find my brother."

She felt a lump build in her throat. For the first time since meeting him she knew he was one-hundred-percent honest. It shone from his eyes, called to her.

At that precise moment Ariel knew she stood at a crossroads in her life. She could pretend to go along, have him taken captive at the first opportunity—and never be able to look in a mirror again—or she could help him to find his brother. The choice was hers to make.

But really, suddenly she knew it was no choice at all.

"I'll help you find him, Nathan
Trevain
. God help me, I'll help you."

Better an open enemy than a false friend.
                
17TH CENTURY PROVERB

It was dark in the hold of the ship, the air so chill it ate at
Wess's
wounds like sand mites. Almost he was glad for that darkness, for
Wess
didn't want to see what he'd become. He knew just by the effort it took to sit on the floor, his back screeching in agony, that he'd be lucky to stave off infection another day.

"You alright,
Cap'n
?"

It took him a moment to gather himself from the pain, to realize someone had spoken, and even then
Wess
could barely utter one word, "Aye."

It was Jaime in the hold with him. Jamie with his bright green Irish eyes and equally bright red hair. Jamie, who'd gone to his aid when they'd started to drag him below. Jaime, who'd been dragged into the hold with him as a result.

God, how had he gotten them all in such a mess? He should never have gone after that frigate. But he'd thought the accompanying ship of the line had been sunk—why else would the frigate be floating in the
Atlantic
alone? Too late he'd realized why. A trap, one he'd sailed right into. The realization still filled him with rage, the same rage that had propelled him to escape, no matter how ill thought out the scheme.

"Word is that they expect to be in port soon." And
Wess
could hear the fear in his former lieutenant's voice. "Heard one of the crew members talking. Seems they think the court-martial will take place on land."

Soon,
Wess
thought. And how soon was that? Days? A week? Could he survive that long?

He didn't know. Infections were rampant aboard a ship. If you didn't catch one from a fellow crewmember, than you caught it from the vermin.

"Jaime," he managed to rasp out, his voice raw from his cries of pain. "If I don't make it, find my brother for me."

"No. Don't talk like that,
Cap'n
. We haven't lasted this long to have you die on us now. The war's over. We won. They can't hold us
fer
much longer."

Jaime, young, impetuous Jaime. The boy didn't understand that they would never let them go. The captain's bitterness at losing the war was a palpable thing. No doubt he would take out his anger on him. '
Twas
the reason
Wess
had tried to desert. He knew they would kill him shortly. And though desertion was not a hanging offense in and of itself, they would hang him because a British officer had died trying to stop him from escaping. No matter that it wasn't
Wess's
fault that the man had died due to his own folly. He was dead. That was all the bloody Brits needed to know.

"Jaime,"
Wess
tried again. "Tell my brother Nathan—"

But
Wess's
words were cut off abruptly by the sound of a door opening. A click and a snick later and their own door opened. Lantern light illuminated the gloomy inside of their makeshift cell.
Wess
caught a glimpse of Jaime's pale face before he turned to greet Captain Pike's stare.

"You're still conscious?" the man asked. "I must say I am surprised."

No matter that it caused excruciating pain to expand his rib cage, then release it to form words,
Wess
would rather have been pitched overboard than let the bastard see what he'd done to him. "Come here and give me your blade," he growled, "and I'll surprise you with the cold feel of it between your ribs."

Captain Pike's aristocratic face did not look well with a sneer. "I see your flogging has not improved your attitude."

"About as much as your good breeding has helped your manners."

The captain's eyes narrowed. He waved a man forward, the motion sharp, giving away his anger.
Wess
felt satisfaction surge through him, satisfaction that faded as a sailor came forward and grabbed Jaime by the arms.

"
Cap'n
?" his friend asked.

"Where are you taking him?"

"To be flogged. The young man will learn that his loyalty to you is severely misplaced. While he is aboard my ship, he will serve me. No other."

Wess
wanted to shove himself to his feet, to wrap his hands around the insolent pig's throat. God, how he wanted to, but he could barely find the strength to sit there. To breathe in and out. To keep conscious.

"The boy was trying to protect me."

"He would do well to protect himself."

"
Cap'n
?" Jaime asked again,

Pike turned on him. "I'm your captain now, boy."

In response young Jaime straightened, drawing his shoulders back. "You'll never be half the man Captain
Trevain
is."

Wess
thought Pike would hit him, but to his surprise, he didn't. Instead, he waved the boy away.
Wess
watched him go, never having felt so much pride in one of his crew. He looked at Pike, his fingers automatically flexing, then relaxing, then flexing again. He would kill the man one day. That he vowed. The bastard represented everything
Wess
hated about the British: power given by birth, not merit. Authority given by noble blood, not noble character. And with Captain Pike, that control was grossly misused.

When Jaime was gone, Pike turned to him.
Wess
straightened up, though the motion brought fresh waves of fire into his mind.

"I thought you should hear at first hand that we should hit land soon."

Wess
didn't let on that he already knew that.

"I've sent word out that a court-martial will need to be convened. Three days at most and you shall be hanged from the gallows."

"I look forward to it," he rasped, his strength fading quickly now, unconsciousness hovering nearby like a dark specter.

Captain Pike must have seen it, because his expression turned gloating. "Oh, no. I would never go against the Articles of War, much as it would please me to do so. No, I will adhere to the letter of the law, and the law states we must have five men ranked captain or higher to rule on your fate, no matter that the outcome is a foregone conclusion."

Wess
didn't have the energy to answer, but Pike must have thought his silence deliberate.

"I should have let you sink along with your ship,
Wess
Trevain
. And your men with you. You're a disgrace to the noble blood that runs through your veins."

Wess
started, the motion causing him to gasp in pain, not that Pike noticed.

"Oh, yes. I know who you are. Your resemblance to your uncle is quite remarkable, and it is an unusual name." He took a step forward. "You disgust me with your patriot beliefs. And if I had my druthers, every member of your crew would be hanged. Instead I'll take great satisfaction in seeing you dangle from the end of the rope."

And with that, the bastard turned.
Wess
watched him go, vowing that it would not be he who dangled from the rope. No indeed.

Once Ariel had settled on helping Mr.
Trevain
, she would not rest until they'd arrived at a plan. Unfortunately, her newfound accomplice had a hard time agreeing to any plan she conceived. Bother.

"I've already broken into the Admiralty," he said. "No, there must be another way to find the information I need."

"But the information must be there, Mr.
Trevain
. It must."

Nathan shrugged. "No doubt it is, but we have no way of searching the place adequately." He paced to the end of her father's room, turned and paced back. Ariel watched him, feeling his kiss still burn upon her lips. But she tried not to think about that as she stared at him, tried not to feel a combination of both wonder and fear at her reaction to his touch.

"Perhaps there is a way," she forced herself to say.

He turned to face her suddenly.

"How?"

"Reggie."

"Reggie?" he asked.

"Phoebe's husband, my cousin. He is one of the secretaries at the Admiralty. '
Tis
how they met, through my father."

He appeared to consider the notion, then shook his head. "No, I do not like it. We would have to trust this Reggie, and I do not trust British officers."

"He is not an officer, and really, we have no choice. As you said, every day you delay in finding your brother is a day he could die. Frankly, there is no other way to discover the information you need, short of waiting for my father to return. My father would tell us."

"So you think."

"No, he would. He may not like me much, but he is honorable. But ‘tis neither here nor there. Reggie must be the one to help us. No one will question his presence at the Admiralty."

But Nathan
Trevain
did not seem impressed by her idea. He paced the length of the room again, his hands clasped behind his back, queue swishing back and forth like the tail of an irate horse. He looked dangerous in a sinister, darkly handsome sort of way. She found herself thinking things she oughtn't to think, given their circumstances, and forced herself instead to concentrate on the problem at hand.

"Come, now," she reiterated. "The idea is sound."

"Sound?" He whirled to face her, his queue all but hitting him in the face. "You believe it sound to ask Lord
Sarrington
to help me? Me, a man who's kidnapped his cousin?"

Ariel dismissed his argument with a wave of her hand. Men. Sometimes they did not see the logic of something if it hit them square in the face. "Reggie will do as I ask. That is all you need know." Especially once Ariel reminded him of the favor he owed her.