Prisoner of Desire (6 page)

"The water gates then, that will be our point of exit." Walking toward the small doorway, he peered out at a water harbor. It was a hole that had been dug and lined with mortar and stones.

Two small gates, just large enough for rowboats, barred the way to the ocean. It made for easy delivery of powder and provisions from the ships in the harbor. The land route was a curving road which was uneven because of the tropical storms that blew across the island each winter.

The British were concentrating their efforts on the incomplete walls, making the water gate a simple way to supply the inner fort without wasting men on repairing the land routes. The iron gates were up, the open water beckoning.

"They'd be on us before we make a mile. But the real danger is the guards on the wall. They can fire down into any boat leaving the water gate. It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. Find a way around that and we have a chance. A slim one." Garrick's words weren't as hopeless as they'd first sounded. He'd moved toward the door, the iron ball shackled to his ankle held in one huge hand. His brother studied the gate. Their guards were all lying under the trees at the far end.

"Mordaunt is expecting a bride." Now his mother would be unhappy. Warren pushed his distaste aside. Their options were too slim to quibble over the means. A hostage would keep those rifles off the shoulders of those marines but only the right hostage.

"I've heard, poor girl. He's a nasty one." Garrick tossed the ball in his hand in spite of its weight.

His hand closed halfway around it. The thing was only meant to slow him down, not keep him in place. But it did its job, making noise when he moved and making swimming rather unwise. The chain wasn't long enough to loop over his shoulder. It would keep his right leg from being any help in the water.

"But getting our hands on her won't be easy. I doubt she'll have more freedom than I do.

Mordaunt has a possessive nature."

"Leave that to me."

Garrick didn't like that. His face was set into a deep scowl, betraying the rage burning inside him.

Warren understood. He doubted he'd take captivity any better.

"We're brothers. You'd have done the same for me."

Warren drew in a deep breath. It was the only way. As much as he detested hiding behind skirts, this wasn't a matter of courage. A rowboat made a fine target on the open water. They needed someone on board the marines wouldn't fire on.

So a hostage it would have to be.

"Land ho!"

After five weeks at sea, the word land was exciting. Lorena joined everyone else in rushing toward the top deck to get a glimpse of their destination. The sun had newly risen, turning the horizon scarlet. The faint outline of land was basking in the new light. In spite of her enjoyment of the trip, she gazed on their destination hungrily. The small deck space afforded her had seemed to shrink every week.

She longed to stretch her legs and escape the silence.

Oh, the ship was full of noise, from the slap of the sails to the men whistling while they worked to maintain the vessel, but they went to great lengths to avoid conversations with her. She was sick unto death of remembering it was for her own good.

The air was much warmer now, her bonnet slowly driving her insane with how much heat it

trapped against her head. Her tiny cabin didn't offer any relief. She might remove her gloves and bonnet below deck, but there was not even a tiny porthole to let air into the space she'd been allotted. Once the sun rose and began shining on the side of the ship, the space became an oven.

She'd spent a few hours standing at the bottom of the stairs that led up to her deck space because it was shaded and the wind blew down. Three weeks out of port, the air had changed and the

difference was dramatic. Even after having two weeks to adjust to it, she found it stifling.

The heat drove her down the steps before they reached the dock. Sweat coated her beneath the layers of her dress. She felt dank and smelly, and truthfully if she ever laid eyes on another bowl of porridge, it would be too soon. It was now far simpler to understand why sailors deserted ship in foreign ports. It was hunger which drove them to break their pledges.

"Water for you, ma'am. It's fresh water too. With land sighted, we can use up the stores."

Being spoken too was slightly shocking. The lieutenant appeared with a smile on his lips and a large copper cooking kettle in his hands.

"I told the cook to leave it cool since you're unaccustomed to the climate."

"Thank you."

Her skin began begging for a bit of that water. There had been naught but salt water for cleaning with and it left a gritty feeling behind.

The few times it had rained, the crew took to the decks to bathe under the sails, but she had been strictly imprisoned inside her cabin. Listening to the sound of fresh-water rain hitting the sails above her was a torment she was sure she would recall to her dying day.

The lieutenant shouldered his way past the slim planks that made up the door to her cabin. He left the pot on the floor because it was deep and would likely topple right off the short stool she had.

She pushed the door shut and slid the iron bolt to secure it. Her bonnet ended up on her bed in record time. Removing her gloves took longer because the fabric stuck to her sweaty fingers. She peeled them off, one fingertip at a time. The bodice of her dress followed. The ties on the front of her corset were tempting, but she resisted the urge to escape from the contraption. The problem with freedom was that once tasted, returning to prison was so much harder. She couldn't greet Adam Mordaunt in her chemise after all, even if the climate made her long to.

But the copper kettle held at least three gallons of water, and she was going to stick her head in it.

However ungraceful that might be. Picking up the slim bar of soap she still had and a small cup, she placed them on the floor where she might reach them. The cabin was growing hotter. She

pulled the pins from her hair and worked the braids loose quickly. Washing would serve little purpose, if she was sweating again.

With her head in the kettle, using the cup to pour water over her hair was awkward. Her

shoulders strained but she persisted until every strand was wet. The soap took an effort to lather but she worked it into her scalp to wash away weeks of grime. When she returned to using the cup, a soft sigh of relief left her lips. The water rinsed everything away, leaving her skin tingling.

She would never take the feeling of clean skin for granted again.

With her face and neck so clean, the chemise suddenly annoyed her past her endurance. She

could not bear it another moment. Standing up, she striped every last stitch of clothing off.

Modesty be damned, she was tired of stinking.

Three gallons of water had never brought such relief before. Lorena used it on every inch of her skin before nodding in satisfaction. She pushed the kettle into the corner of the cabin before struggling to lift the heavy lid of her trunk. Searching among the paper-wrapped bundles, she found a new chemise, stockings and corset. Her dress would have to do because the ones in the trunk would be wrinkled terribly from five weeks.

She dried her hair on her soiled chemise before slipping into the fresh clothing. Even if she detested the stiffly boned corset, at least the fashion was to have laces in the back and front.

It granted her a measure of control she liked. Her nose wrinkled when she lifted her dress off the bed, but there was no help for it. She raised it above her head and let it slither down into place over her new undergarments. Each button made her hotter when she closed it. But braiding her hair and pinning it back up brought a measure of relief. Never mind that it was still wet, the cabin was becoming unbearable.

Returning to the deck, she stared at the island. They were much closer now. Captain Connell was shouting orders and his men scurried to obey. Gleaming white walls covered the tip of the island.

She could see the flags of the British navy fluttering in the morning breeze. An explosion rent the air as a single cannon fired over them, the ball falling into the ocean.

The men sent up a cheer.

"You'll be happy to hear that the fort has granted us permission to approach, Miss St. John."

Captain Connell had turned to face her. He wore a pleased expression. "Quite soon you will be ashore."

And out of my hands...

She finished the sentence for him. The silence from him and his officers proved how little liking the man had for taking on the honor of bringing her to Bermuda.

"How delightful."

How dishonest common courtesies really are.

He said one thing and she answered back, all the while neither of them spoke the truth. It was exhausting when you thought about it. Her entire life had been about putting on a good show. It was the truth she was an experienced actress.

The hope she'd kindled dimmed. Mordaunt was an officer and no doubt would expect her to

continue on with this playacting of proper ness.

But there was nothing except to go forward. Even with the prospects dim. She didn't fight to hold on to her hope after all, her life had always been a struggle to make do. You would think she was accustomed to it. And still something inside her yearned for more. It burned in spite of the years of adjusting and bending. She hungered for something so badly but didn't even know what it was she craved.

Commissioner Adam Mordaunt did not remove his bicorn hat when they met. The man stood on

the green lawn that surrounded his house while she climbed the hill toward him. His dark eyes surveyed her without emotion. He was dressed as if he were standing in England, from the silk necktie to the white gloves on his hands. He wore both vest and overcoat, every button gleaming from a recent polish. His officers were lined up behind him, looking just as neat and formal.

Lorena stopped several feet in front of him. No one spoke, only the wind made sound. She stood sandwiched between them. It sent an odd tingle down her neck. Mordant didn't greet her. Instead the man began at her face and raked her with his gaze all the way to her hem. It was no hidden look either. He seemed confident in his right to look her over like a mare and did it while everyone waited.

"Turn."

"Excuse me?"

His expression darkened. "I instructed you to turn. All the way around, so I may have a look at the rest of you. Remove that bonnet first. Turn slowly."

His tone implied he expected obedience. The officers standing behind him didn't appear surprise by his command either. Nor by his public display of her. Her gaze cut from side to side and her temper sizzled. Men were watching them from the walls and from their positions at the gates.

Boys carrying water to the stables walked at a toddler's pace while they attempted to view the spectacle.

Her patience evaporated in a cloud of steam no doubt caused by how hot her temper was. She

clasped her gloved hands tightly together and held her chin steady.

"I shall not make a public display of myself right here in the middle of the green." Her sense of modesty didn't send her denial out, it was pure desire to refuse him.

One dark eyebrow rose. Only a fraction of an inch. But frowns appeared on the men behind him, hinting that her words were unwise.

She did not care.

Adam stepped forward, his gaze focused on her. Lorena stood her ground even when she had to lift her chin to keep eye contact with him.

"Modesty is well placed in a wife." He lifted one finger in front of her face. "However, disobedience is not."

He struck her, his open hand connecting with the side of her face. His glove prevented it from popping but he put enough strength into the blow to send her staggering away from him. Pain exploded inside her head, making her gasp for a deep breath or pass out from the blinding agony.

Catching herself, Lorena returned to her stiff posture. She would not whimper.

Adam studied her with a mocking expression. "You took that better than I would have expected.

At least I won't have the chore of whipping immaturity out of you. That much is to be

commended." He reached up to finger his chin. "My command here is absolute, madam. This fort runs on military discipline and there is no quarter extended to any soul residing behind the sanctuary of these walls. You shall follow my commands without a quibble."

He lifted his attention from her for a moment. "Thank you, Captain Connell, for escorting my bride. You may return to the dock to oversee the provisions for your ship."

"Thank you, Commissioner."

Captain Connell turned with a sharp motion, his officers following suit. They marched down the path without a single glance back.

"As for you, Miss. St. John, today is an excellent time for you to taste what it is like to suffer without the comforts which only come with obedience to my will." He raised his voice, ensuring it carried well. "You shall be barred from the commissioner's house for your defiance, and no one shall aid you in any way. You may present yourself in this same place at sunset and obey me, or I will have you locked in a cell for the night. You will remain inside the walls, madam."

He turned his back on her. Every man with him followed him up to the grand house sitting on the top of the rise. It was two stories, with a wide balcony running completely around it.

Floor-to-ceiling doors were open all along the balcony. It was a grand home but she would rather die than step foot into it.

Adam Mordaunt climbed the stairs and disappeared from sight. Noises began to fill the yard once more. Sounds came from a blacksmith and conversation began to drift on the morning air.

Well then, she would just find something to do. The sting left from his blow was far better company in her opinion.

Plenty of pairs of eyes watched her, but none of them appeared surprised by her treatment.

Everyone was working, although many of them glanced up to stare at her while their hands

slowed. She walked without knowing her destination. Moving along the green inner yard and up onto one of the walls. The wind whipped at her skirt, but it was cool coming in off the open sea.