My Runaway Heart (14 page)

"First man to the whiskey wins the first drink
once we're under sail," Jared goaded his compatriots, the three matching
his hard sprint toward a thick copse of elms where he'd hidden the kegs earlier
in the day, before heading to
Dovercourt
Manor. He
could barely see the lights of the main house for the thick mist billowing in
from the sea, but he didn't miss them. He missed nothing about that hated place
where his sister had suffered—Blast and damnation, what was that?

"
Shhh
, get down, all of
you!"

The three men threw themselves onto their stomachs.
Jared dove beside them into the damp grass, cocking his head and listening. He
could have sworn he heard a horse whinnying very near, so near that he judged
they might have run directly across its path. But the fog was becoming so thick
that he couldn't see anything more than fifteen feet away.

"
Cap'n
, do you think
Simon—?"

"No, there was only the one wagon of supplies."
Yet Jared wondered if the loyal old codger who served as caretaker of
Dovercourt
Manor during his long absences and butler during
his brief stays might have forgotten to include some foodstuffs and had decided
to ride back out to this desolate spot.

But no, Simon Tuft would have made himself known to
them by now; to do otherwise might risk a metal ball in the gut. Jared listened
for another long, silent moment,
then
lunged to his
feet.

"Let's go. Cowan and the rest are waiting—we can't
risk a delay."

Keeping low, Jared signaled for the three men to run
ahead of him into the trees even as he kept scanning the fog.

***

Lindsay slipped and slid down the rock-strewn path, her
heart pounding so fiercely that she felt its throb in every fiber of her being.

She knew she had to hurry. Jared and those three men
would surely return at any moment, and who could say how soon those other men
might row back to the beach? She couldn't see the ship for the dense fog—dear
Lord, to think she had stumbled so innocently upon Jared in this remote
place!—but she could hear low bursts of command and pulleys creaking as
supplies were hoisted aboard, and it was all so exciting she could barely
contain herself.

She had been almost in despair, the night grown so late
and she had yet to reach
Dovercourt
Manor. The
directions she had received from a sleepy innkeeper in Seaford had taken her
along a rutted coastal road which seemed to lead to nowhere when the fog had
arisen. And her poor horse had been so exhausted from the long journey, she
feared he might collapse, so she had disembarked and tethered him to a tree just
short of the cove and begun to walk, hoping someone from the house could come
back for him.

It was only then she'd heard male voices drifting to
her as if from the sea, one rich baritone making her heart stop— Oh, Lord!

Hearing the splash of oars cutting through the waves,
Lindsay darted across the sand to the lone galley and pulled back the canvas
covering with trembling hands. The boat was filled with supplies, but she
climbed in anyway, shifting and clearing a narrow space for herself near the
stern. Then she flipped the canvas back into place, pitch darkness enveloping
her, and listened breathlessly to more splashes and the sound of men wading to
shore.

"Any sign of them?"

"Not yet, Cowan."

"I don't see them, either,"
came
another man's reply.

"Well, we'll not wait with that galley. Tie the
rope to her prow and shove her into the water. She's loaded so full it'll be
the devil to tow, but as soon as they return, the seven of us should manage. Go
on, now, and be quick!"

Lindsay gasped as the boat was heaved with grunts and
low curses from the shore, the sudden rocking of the waves causing a small
barrel to shift and jam sharply against her ribs. Yet even that discomfort
couldn't temper her mounting excitement, her imagination aflame.

The cove, the creeping fog, the dead of night. What
better setting could there be for a gallant spy to embark upon his latest
mission? And Jared clearly had an entire ship at his service. With all these
supplies, it was clear, too, that he would be gone a long time, which only made
her
more glad
that she had followed after him.

He couldn't fail to think her the most daring of women
now . . . couldn't fail to see that she had a flair for secrecy that matched
his—she'd successfully come this far, hadn't she? Most importantly, he couldn't
fail to see that she was bold enough to face any danger they might encounter
together

"There he is! There's the
cap'n
now!"

Captain? Obviously one of the men she'd seen disappear
into the fog with Jared was the master of the ship, although it had been clear
to her, from her hiding place behind a huge rock, that they all followed Jared's
commands. And, of course, that was only right. With Jared forever risking life
and limb for Britain, she imagined he must need a ship and a loyal crew who
adhered strictly to his orders to better accomplish his mission.

Lindsay held her breath as rapid footfalls scrunched
upon the sand, but she nearly cried out when a heavy object was dumped atop the
canvas, just missing her head.

"All this bloody trouble for Scotch whiskey—no,
man, this galley's too full. Take the rest to Cowan's boat and let's be gone."

"Jared . . ." she whispered, her face burning
at how close he'd just been to her, and now he was forging with the others into
the surf. But at least he had saved her from being crushed; the man seemed
fated to come to her rescue.

She heard no more but the slapping of the waves against
the hull. The oars sliced with rhythmic strokes through the water, as the boat
she'd hidden in was towed by the other galley, leaving behind the fog-shrouded
cove, Sussex . . . England. Where might they be bound? France? Russia?

Her mind dancing with possibilities, Lindsay
nonetheless couldn't stifle a yawn, the gentle rocking causing her to feel the
long, tense hours since she'd left London. She was hungry, too, a gnawing ache
at the pit of her stomach; she'd had no money to buy food along the way. But
what did any of that matter compared with her finding Jared—she could have
trudged on to
Dovercourt
Manor and missed him
entirely, but she hadn't. They were together . . . blissfully together . . .

"Throw down the ladder! Captain coming aboard!"

Lindsay nearly sat
upright,
she was so startled, realizing she must have dozed off for a moment. She
snuggled back into the cramped space as best she could, but was jarred once
again when the boat bumped into something hard and massive.

"Easy, now; give us a bit more rope. Aye, that's
it, under the prow. Pull it tight under the stern; that's it. All right, lads,
swing her up nice and easy."

Recognizing the thick Irish brogue as belonging to the
man called Cowan, Lindsay grabbed onto a barrel when the galley suddenly lifted
clear of the water and swung free in the wind, her stomach jumping to her
throat. She could hear winches and hoists creaking just as before and realized
they were bringing the boat aboard, and here she was, hiding right in the midst
of tins of biscuits and crocks of salted fish and fresh vegetables and, oh,
yes, a keg of Scotch whiskey.

Preparing herself to be exposed when the galley came
down with a hard bump upon the deck, Lindsay couldn't help wondering with
sudden nervousness what Jared's reaction might be. Of course he would be
surprised, but she hoped pleased as well—

"Not now, men; we'll unload when it's light. Hoist
up the other galley and raise the anchor."

"Already raised,
Cap'n
,
soon as you came aboard."

"Good. Unfurl the sails!"

Lindsay slumped onto the galley's floor, confusion
vying with her keen disappointment that, for the moment, her surprise had been
spoiled. She would swear that had been Jared, so why was he answering to "Captain,"
and so forcefully? She had heard tension in his voice, too.

"A welcome sight to have you back aboard, friend.
And just in time.
Roscoff
was growing a bit dull—"

"Later, Walker. I'm not sure, but I think someone
or something was afoot on the coast."

"
Excisemen
?"

"I don't know and it doesn't matter. We've been
sitting in this bay too bloody long, fog or not. Get us out of here."

Doubly confused, Lindsay heard Jared
stride
away, then stop to utter another command.

"
Cowan,
get some men over
here now! Have them train their guns at the shore. If anything moves to follow
us, blow them out of the water."

Blow them out . . . ! Lindsay gulped, scarcely
recognizing Jared's voice for its harshness. And she didn't dare move a muscle
now, either, for fear some skittish sailor might train his weapon upon her
instead and squeeze the trigger.

Dear Lord, what if she had found a small rowboat and
tried to reach the ship or had set off swimming from shore? Would they have
blown her to tiny bits? Obviously, being a military spy was more dangerous and
secretive than she had imagined. So much so that Jared was even concerned about
excisemen
. But after three years of helping
Corisande
evade those snoopy fellows, she could teach him a
thing or two about the King's customs men and ways to fool them, another
benefit to having her aboard.

Smiling to herself, Lindsay closed her eyes and tried
to get comfortable, yet she wondered how long it might be before it was safe to
leave her hiding place. But at least it wasn't chilly, the canvas covering
keeping things quite snug and dry.

And thank goodness she was wearing a pelisse, in case
the coming day proved cool; she imagined in open water the weather might be
fierce. She had no other clothes, but she trusted Jared would help her think of
something.

Lindsay grew so
sleepy,
she
paid no heed to the sails flapping in the wind and the spars creaking when the
ship gathered speed. All she was conscious of was a soothing rolling motion, her
sore, travel-weary muscles relaxing,
her
arms dropping
to her sides, Jared's name upon her lips as she smiled contentedly and fell
asleep.

***

"Is it . . . ?"

Jared didn't have to answer; he knew his grim smile was
all Walker Burke had to see, his long years of friendship with the wry-witted
American having fused a bond stronger than words.

"Well, well, what do you know? Couldn't think of a
finer way to welcome the sun—
Cooky's
coffee, thick as
tar and about as tasty, and a sluggish merchantman at the horizon, soon to make
our acquaintance . . . unless you've decided to let this one pass?"

Jared lowered the spyglass and quickly weighed his
options. He usually preferred to wait a few days after leaving England to make
a first kill, so as to rule out any connection with his sudden absence, but
then again, this voyage wouldn't be like any that had come before.

He had already decided it would be different; he had a
record to break—thirteen vessels during his last cruise—and, with the
heightened level of fervor he had seen in London for his immediate capture and
execution, his immortality to flaunt.

Blast them all to hell. By the time he was done, they
would pray he was no more than myth.

"You've got your wish, Walker. We attack."

Chapter 13

It wasn't so much the deafening clap of thunder that
woke Lindsay; she tucked her fists under her chin and snuggled against a
barrel, thinking drowsily that a storm must be brewing. But when an acrid
stench burned her nostrils, she blinked open her eyes in alarm, disoriented by
fading dreams and the darkness all around her.

Oh, God, Aunt Winifred's house was on fire! She had to
get out—Lord
help
her, she had to get out!

Lindsay punched wildly at the blackness, wincing when
her left elbow connected with something hard,
pain
shooting like prickly pins through her arm. She couldn't breathe, the stench
had grown so strong, and she began to cough as she renewed her desperate
flailing. Her eyes tearing, her lungs ready to burst, she clawed at the inky
void, crying out with relief when blinding light poured down upon her.

Blinding light . . . ? As a shaft of realization
pierced her brain, Lindsay remembered then that she lay in the bottom of a boat
but that did nothing to allay her panic. Pushing aside metal tins and loose
cabbages, she lunged to her feet and stood squinting as she tried to get her
bearings.

"
Fire!
"

The roared command startled her even more than the
ensuing round of explosions. Lindsay spun about in place, her eyes growing
wide.

The entire world seemed ablaze, brilliant sunlight
glinting like a thousand mirrors upon the water, the deck alight in the
blinding morning sun. And everywhere seemed commotion, teams of men—young and
old—working furiously around starboard
gunports
to
reload a row of gleaming black cannon. With a nervous laugh, Lindsay realized
the caustic smoke choking her lungs wasn't proof of fire at all, but bore the
unmistakable reek of gunpowder.

Heaven help them, they were being attacked! Her heart
hammering, she ducked back into the boat and peered through an oar ring,
supplies shifting and tumbling around her as the ship listed sharply to port.
Oh, Lord, sinking, too! But the deck righted itself in the next instant, the
blinding sun behind her now.

Lindsay looked out over the waves and gulped at the sight
of another ship, a prosperous merchantman from the look of it, much as she'd
seen on shopping excursions to the port of
Penzance
.
But what caught her gaze was the British flag fluttering proudly against the
blue sky, yet at such a queer angle, and it appeared the flag was being
lowered, too . . .